Dancing Shoes

by Noel Streatfeild

  “She must be somewhere. Both she and Hilary were told to come and watch.”

  Betty dug Poppy in the ribs with her elbow. “There she is, standing by the door.”

  Rachel had been looking for Hilary, and it had made her late. She had arrived panting, to find standing room only. She too was looking at the audience, for she was hoping to see Hilary. There would, she was afraid, be a terrible row if it was discovered Hilary had not been in the theater to watch Dulcie dance.

  “Number fifty-one,” called the manager.

  Rachel was not interested, but the Wonders all leaned forward, for number fifty-one was Dulcie.

  Dulcie, as she came onto the stage, was the perfect little professional. Her mother had taught her to acknowledge the applause which each child received as encouragement with a little curtsey towards the judges. Then, taking her time, she was to signal the pianist that she was ready to start.

  Dulcie looked simply charming and knew it. She had a tight crimson bodice and a very full skirt which came just to her knees. On her head was a dear little hat with a red feather curling over her right ear. She was wearing white socks and crimson dancing slippers. As she raised her frock to dance she showed the proper lace frills of the can-can dancer.

  “You won’t beat that this afternoon,” said the woman pair dancer.

  “I must say she’s a little duck,” the singer agreed. She turned to the starlet. “What do you think?”

  The starlet was a starlet because of her figure and seldom thought sensibly. “I don’t know—really I don’t—it’s so difficult, isn’t it…?”

  “It’s not difficult at all, my dear young lady,” said the man from the panel game, who could not endure silly girls. “Either you think the child can dance or you don’t. It’s as simple as that. Personally I loathe the can-can.”

  The starlet giggled. “I’m afraid judging isn’t one of my things.”

  When Dulcie’s dance finished there was the first real applause of the evening.

  “We must not be influenced by that,” said the panel game expert. “We must mark each child by our own standards.” He looked severely at the starlet and added: “Those of us who have standards.”

  “I’ll Walk Beside You” came next. He sang very well indeed.

  “I’ll take a bet that’s first prize for boys,” said Poppy, and she was quite right. Then she gripped hold of the Wonder next to her, for the manager had called out number forty-seven.

  Mrs. Wintle was so proud of Dulcie she felt as if she had blown up like a balloon. Her ears lapped up what those around her had said. “That’s the winner for sure.” “Proper little professional, and ever so pretty.” “As far as I can see that’s the end of the contest.” “I bet those five judges have given that kiddie full marks if they know what’s what.”

  “She was good, wasn’t she, Pursey?” Mrs. Wintle whispered. “Weren’t you proud?”

  Pursey was feeling uncomfortable. It had been all very well going with Hilary to rehearsals, but she felt very different now that she was sitting in the theater beside Mrs. Wintle. She told herself it was only a children’s talent contest, and what did it matter anyway, but one glance at Mrs. Wintle out of the corner of her eye and her hopeful thoughts died. To Mrs. Wintle the result of the talent contest was enormously important, and it was outside her imagining that any children whom she taught would dance anywhere unless she said they might.

  Waiting to be called, Hilary had a low mood. She wandered round the dressing room, annoying the mothers of the other children by kicking at the chairs with her awkward-Adas. Why was she doing anything so silly as going in for the contest? Rachel would be angry, Rachel’s Aunt Cora would be angry, and she would not win. Nobody could beat Dulcie so why try? She almost sneaked out of the theater and went back to her chalet. But just as she was thinking how nice it would be in her chalet a woman who was helping to run the contest came to fetch her.

  “Number forty-seven?” she asked, and when Hilary said that was her number she held out a hand. “Come along then, you’re next.”

  At those words Hilary suddenly stopped feeling low, and, as had happened when she had danced in the garden at Folkestone with the tea cloths, her spirits shot into the air like a firework. Cheerfully she skipped down the stairs.

  “Nervous?” asked the woman.

  Hilary smiled up at her. “Not a bit. I shall like doing my dance.”

  “Good, I hope it goes well.”

  “It’s got to go well. Do you know I’ve worked and worked, which is something I never do, just simply to win that beautiful, beautiful gold wrist watch.”

  The woman laughed. “You mercenary little thing! What about the honor and glory of winning?”

  “Oh, them,” said Hilary. “I can’t explain, but quite truthfully if I win there wouldn’t be much of that, more rage I should think. But I wouldn’t care. Imagine a wrist watch! I don’t know how I could bear the glory.”

  They were nearing the stage, where the boy was singing “I’ll Walk Beside You.” The woman signaled to Hilary they must be very quiet, then she stooped down and kissed her. “Good luck. I hope you win the watch.”

  Feeling gay and not caring was just right for Hilary’s dance. As her number was called she ran onto the stage looking as if she were twinkling all over, and because she looked so pleased the audience felt pleased and clapped a little louder.

  The panel game player looked at Hilary with approval. He liked to see little girls dressed as little girls.

  The audience were charmed with Hilary, for she made them laugh, which none of the other children had done. The judges too were delighted with her, but she set them a problem. How were they to mark her amusing take-off of a dance against Dulcie’s clever, well-arranged performance? The Wonders, listening to the laughter and applause, felt as if each one of them were Hilary’s proud mother. But two people in the audience were not charmed, delighted, or proud. They were Mrs. Wintle and Rachel.

  Pursey, though she had watched Hilary rehearsing each morning, had no idea what sort of dance she was doing. To her, dancing was dancing. Some did it better than others, that was all, and she knew from what Pat and Ena had told her that Hilary was good. So it was a great puzzle to her when Mrs. Wintle was annoyed not only that Hilary was dancing without permission but also at what she was dancing. Of course, with people sitting all round her who might know who she was, Mrs. Wintle could not be angry out loud, but in a hissing sort of whisper she let Pursey know how she felt.

  “Preposterous!…How dare the child!…I suppose she thinks this dance funny, I think it merely silly….I wonder whom she thinks she is amusing, certainly not me….I wonder whom she thinks she is imitating…”

  Rachel watched Hilary with a kind of sick fascination. It was no good trying to stop her, she could not make her voice carry above the laughter of the audience. If Madame Raine could see Hilary now, what would she say? But worse, far worse, what would her mother say if she could come back? Imagine her face! “Oh Mummie,” she thought, “I’m terribly sorry. But however angry everyone is I’ll do my absolute best to see it never happens again.”

  But it did happen again, and happened that very evening, for when the marks were added up it was found that Dulcie and Hilary had tied for the first place.

  The manager came on to make the announcement. “Two children have tied for the top place. Number fifty-one, Dulcie Wintle, aged ten, who danced the can-can number, and number forty-seven, Hilary Lennox, who danced that amusing little skit. She also is ten. I have asked the judges if they will see these two little girls dance again and perhaps slightly revise their marks so that one is first and the other is second.”

  “It’s nonsense,” said the man pair dancer. “The little can-can has it. She’s a real dancer, and I ought to know.”

  The panel game player was bored with being a judge, but he was not pu
tting up with being told anything by a dancer. “Nonsense. The little fair thing wins hands down. She has personality, and that is something I know about.” He turned to the starlet. “Isn’t that true, my dear?”

  The starlet hoped he was talking about her. “Thanks ever so.”

  Dulcie was furious at being tied for first place with Hilary.

  She thought it was a ridiculous result, and she was extra angry because it had happened in front of the Wonders.

  “I don’t think I’ll bother to dance again,” she told the Wonders’ head matron, who was looking after her. “Let Hilary take the prize if she’s so keen.”

  “I think I’d dance again if I were you, dear,” the matron answered gently. “The people in the audience will be upset if you don’t, and your mother wouldn’t like that.”

  Sulkily Dulcie agreed. But feeling cross and sulky is not the best mood in which to dance a can-can, so it happened that though her footwork was just as good, something that had been there the first time was missing when Dulcie danced again.

  Hilary, on the other hand, was overjoyed at having tied with Dulcie and charmed to dance again.

  “I’ve still got a chance for that watch,” she told the woman who had fetched her from the dressing room. “Please hold your thumbs for me.”

  Because Hilary was in such wild spirits her dance was even better the second time than it had been the first. Neither the professional dancers nor the panel game man changed their marks, nor did the starlet, but the professional singer did, giving more marks to Hilary.

  The manager took Dulcie by one hand and Hilary by the other and led them forward.

  “Well, you all want to get off to your suppers, so I won’t keep you. This little lady comes first,” he looked at Hilary, “so this little lady is second,” and he beamed at Dulcie. Then he nodded to the starlet. “So if you please, my dear, would you hand the first prize to Hilary Lennox and the second to Dulcie Wintle, daughter I may say of the famous Mrs. Wintle, whose Wonders have been such a success here this summer. I think we can all agree little Dulcie is a chip off the old block.”

  Mrs. Wintle, beaming as if the result delighted her, left the theater holding Dulcie by one hand and Hilary by the other. Graciously she accepted congratulations for both. “It’s all in the family really. Yes, Hilary is my ward. Yes, Dulcie will be dancing professionally as soon as she’s twelve.”

  Outside the theater Rachel, blind and deaf to what was going on around her, waited for Hilary. It was dreadful what had happened. Winning a watch, which of course was something every child wanted, was the worst thing that could be imagined. No child winning a watch for awful dancing could remember words like “position” and “line.” Oh, what would her mother have said if she could have seen her?

  Hilary knew she was in for a row with Rachel’s Aunt Cora, but she did not care. “Oh glory, glory,” her heart sang, “look at Hilary Lennox wearing a real gold watch. Who’s afraid of the big bad wolf?” Then suddenly, pushing people to right and left, Rachel was in front of her. Her eyes looked enormous, and her face was pale. She spoke loud enough for all the people round to hear. “Are you dead to decency, Hilary? You know what Madame said about high kicks and cartwheels. You know what Mummie hoped for you. If she’d seen you doing that dance she would have been sick on the floor.” She clutched at Hilary’s right wrist. “Give me that watch. You’re not to have it. I’ll give it back…I’ll throw it in the sea…I’ll…”

  Whatever else Rachel planned to do with the watch the listening people never knew. For in a voice which made many of them feel slivers of ice sliding down their spines, Mrs. Wintle said: “Pursey. Take Rachel away and put her to bed. She must be ill.”

  CHAPTER 16

  The Autumn Term

  Although when Rachel went to sleep that night it seemed as if nothing would ever come right again, by the next morning yesterday’s troubles were already blowing away like mist before a breeze.

  The first person to help blow them away was Hilary. Rachel woke up to find her bouncing up and down on her bed, singing to the tune of “Three Blind Mice”:

  Hilary’s got a watch,

  Hilary’s got a watch.

  Oh glory be,

  Oh glory be,

  Who could imagine Hilary wearing a watch,

  A simply glorious golden watch,

  A watch that every Wonder wants,

  Oh Hilary’s got a watch,

  Hilary’s got a watch.

  When Hilary saw Rachel’s eyes were open, in one spring she was across the chalet and sitting on the end of her bed. “I was thinking, it’ll be our watch. You’ll wear it one day, and I’ll wear it the next.”

  Rachel sat up. Her face felt, looked, and sounded like a cold, because of crying the night before. “I wouldn’t wear it, it’s yours.”

  Hilary thought that idiotic. “We’ve always shared everything. If you had a gold watch you’d let me wear it.”

  Rachel knew that was true. “Yes, but I won’t wear yours.” She hugged her knees, trying to find words to explain what she meant. “I’m truly sorry I said all that about throwing it in the sea. I didn’t mean it. I meant to tell you last night only…”

  Hilary interrupted. “Pursey told me, but you were asleep when I came to bed.”

  “But I did mean you shouldn’t have won it for that sort of dancing. Imagine what Madame Raine would have thought if she’d seen you.”

  Hilary nearly made a face to show how little she cared what Madame Raine thought. Instead she wriggled up the bed and got into it beside Rachel. She held up her wrist so that Rachel could hear her watch tick. “She’d have thought my dancing absolutely awful, too awful to be true, I shouldn’t wonder. But she is sensible, so I think she would have said: ‘But if that sort of dancing was the only way you could win a gold watch, Hilary dear, then I’m glad you did it.’ ”

  Rachel knew that Hilary knew Madame Raine would never have said anything of the sort. “It was truly terrible dancing, especially that bit where you were upside down.”

  Hilary tried to look as if she was ashamed, but instead she laughed. “Half of me is sorry you’re angry, but most of me is glad about the watch. But to make up I’ll promise you something on my awkward-Adas.” She raised a hand. “I swear to work like a slave at ballet next term, and, though I still want the pocket money, I’ll be working because of my swear and not because of the two-and-six.”

  The next person to help was Pursey; it was when she was doing Rachel’s hair.

  “Your Aunt Cora is taking Dulcie to see some friends today,” she said, as if her news had nothing to do with last night’s troubles. “That Mr. Pinkerton and his boys are playing at church service this morning. What were you planning to do after, my lambkin?”

  “Uncle Tom said I’d find him painting on the beach.”

  Pursey pinned Rachel’s second plait firmly in place. Then she gave her a kiss. “You enjoy yourself, and remember that next Sunday we’ll be back in London.”

  The last person to help clear the watch trouble away was Uncle Tom. He had seen Dulcie dressed up for her dance, but he had not taken in where and when she was dancing. He had not heard a word about a talent contest, and so of course it was not mentioned. It is very difficult to worry about anything when you are sitting on hot sand with a blue sea in front of you, cliffs behind you blazing with poppies, and between you and your uncle there is a basket with a gorgeous luncheon inside it. Rachel did think for a moment of telling Uncle Tom the whole story, but she knew that though he would listen, he would not think it very important. At that moment Rachel almost wondered herself if it were important.

  All next week Rachel expected a summons to talk to Aunt Cora, but it never came. She supposed this was because Aunt Cora thought sending her to bed was punishment enough. But she had not heard a conversation between Pursey and Mrs. Wintle
on Monday morning.

  “I’ve been thinking, Pursey,” Mrs. Wintle said, “that I’ll send Rachel to a boarding school. She’ll never make a dancer, and I don’t think I can stand much more of her.”

  They had met in the theater, where Pursey was having a final check of the Wonders’ apple blossom dresses. She spoke quietly. “The day you send Rachel away, I give up the school.”

  Mrs. Wintle turned a sort of plum color from shock, for she looked upon Pursey as a dear kind old sheep who never said things like that. “What do you mean, Pursey?”

  “What I say. Of course Rachel’s behaved badly about the dancing, but she knows it, so there’s no need to say any more. You know, Mrs. W., at last Rachel’s settling in with us, and in time she’ll get into our ways. Sending her away now, where she couldn’t keep an eye on Hilary, would be downright wicked.”

  Mrs. Wintle was so angry her words came out on top of each other. “What impertinence…whose niece is she…I won’t be interfered with….”

  Pursey picked one of the apple blossom dresses off its peg and looked it over. “Do what you like, Mrs. W., but if Rachel leaves the school I go too, and that’s my last word. And if you’ll take some advice I would forget Saturday. After all, you can’t put milk that has been upset back in the bottle, so what I say is let it lie.”

  Of course just not saying anything did not make Rachel easier with Aunt Cora, or Aunt Cora fonder of Rachel. But luckily for Rachel the autumn term was that year busier than usual, and Mrs. Wintle had no time to waste on such an unimportant person as Rachel. So Rachel was able to get through the whole term without one row with her aunt.

  Hilary, stimulated by her holiday with the Wonders, was for her really working at her dancing. This meant that she not only kept her promise to Rachel but, which Rachel did not know, worked so hard at her tap, acrobatics, and musical comedy that her progress was considered by Pat and Ena to be startling.

  “Hilary, if she keeps it up, will be a better dancer than Dulcie,” Pat whispered to Ena.