“Might be better if yer did occasionally!” Jessie answered tartly. “All these late nights’ll make yer old before yer years, yer mark my words!”
Violet laughed spontaneously, just as she had when she had been in Scotland with Davita.
“I’ve got a bit of time left to get my ‘beauty-sleep,’ as you call it,” she answered, “when nobody asks me out to supper.”
As she spoke, Davita realised that she had been very stupid.
She had somehow thought that when she stayed with Violet they would be together and she would go back with her to her lodgings.
Now she knew that, looking so lovely, Violet would have a “Stage-Door Johnny” waiting to take her to the places her father had mentioned—Romano’s or Rules—and there would certainly be no point in her waiting.
“I am sorry, Violet,” she said quickly. “I did not mean to be a bother coming here. I will go back and we can talk tomorrow.”
“You’ll do no such thing!” Violet said.
She turned her face first one way, then the other, looking at her reflection in the mirror. Then she said: “That’s all right, Jessie. Now nip down and find out if Lord Mundesley’s in his usual Box, and if he is, ask him to come through the stage-door and speak to me for a moment.”
“The Guv’nor don’t like gentlemen coming through ’fore the interval!” Jessie said.
“I know he doesn’t,” Violet replied, “but I’ve got to introduce His Lordship to my friend, haven’t I? Go on, Jessie, and hurry up!”
Jessie flounced off with rather a bad grace and Davita said anxiously:
“Oh, please, Violet, I shall be all right. I can see the Show another night.”
“What’s the point of waiting?” Violet asked. “Let’s have a look at you.”
She turned round from contemplating her own reflection to look at Davita.
“Your gown’s not bad,” she said. “It’s a bit dowdy, and it’s not right for the evening, but you’ll pass.”
Her eyes rose a little higher and she said:
“I remember that hat. What have you done with the feathers?”
“It was so kind of your mother to give it to me,” Davita said apologetically, “but it looked rather overpowering on me.”
“She owed you something, didn’t she,” Violet said with a touch of humour in her voice, “nipping off like that. Your father must have been a bit upset.”
Davita drew in her breath, remembering how dreadfully upset her father had been; in fact, after he’d lost Katie he’d been incapable to cope with life at all.
“Yes, he minded very much,” she said in a low voice.
“I’m sorry,” Violet said casually, “but after all, she’d never have stuck all that empty space for long. I had a letter from her—it must be three months ago—and she was doing all right.”
“On Broadway?” Davita asked curiously.
“No, she was on tour,” Violet replied. “I gather she’d left Harry for someone else.”
For a moment Davita was too shocked to reply.
It seemed bad enough that Katie should have left her father to go to America with another man, but that she should have already left him seemed both incredible and positively wicked.
Then Davita told herself that she had no right to judge anybody, and she was honest enough to know that Violet was right. Katie could never have stayed in Scotland for long, especially when there had been no money to buy her all the pretty things that she expected.
“Do you really mean you’ve got no money?” Violet asked suddenly.
“Very little,” Davita replied. “My father’s Solicitors suggested they might get me a job looking after children in Edinburgh, but I thought I could find something I would like better in London.”
“With your looks, you don’t want to be cluttering yourself up with other people’s children!” Violet said scathingly.
Then she smiled.
“You leave it to me, Davita. I’ll look after you and see you have a bit of fun for a change!”
She put out her hand in a slightly protective manner to pat Davita on the arm.
“You gave me a good time when I came to Scotland,” she said, “and I’ll do the same for you.”
There was a sudden rat-tat on the door and a boy’s voice called:
“Ten minutes, lidies!”
Violet rose from the chair.
“Where’s that Jessie?” she asked.
As she spoke, the dresser came wending her way through the other women towards her.
“You’ve given him the message?” Violet asked.
“Yus, but yer’ll have to hurry if yer’re going to see ’im.”
“I know! I know!” Violet replied. “Come on, Davita!”
She walked across the room like a ship in full sail and Davita followed her.
They went down the iron staircase, which now seemed even more crowded with people than it had been before.
They greeted Violet admiringly or jokingly.
Then when they reached the Ground Floor, Davita heard Violet speak to somebody and saw that standing just in front of the door that obviously led into the Auditorium was a man in evening-dress.
He looked, she thought at first, very magnificent with his stiff white shirt and tail-coat, a tall, shiny top-hat on the side of his head.
Then at a second glance she realised that he was older than she had expected. He had heavy moustaches and side-whiskers, and his figure had thickened as if he was approaching middle-age.
However, Davita could see that he was a gentleman, and the voice in which he spoke was cultured, which was made all the more obvious because Violet’s voice was, Davita had noticed before, at times slightly common.
“Hullo, Bertie!”
“You sent for me, my fair enchantress,” Lord Mundesley replied, “and of course to hear is to obey!”
“I haven’t got much time,” Violet said quickly, “but this is the daughter of my Stepfather, if you can work that out, and she’s just arrived from Scotland and wants to see the Show. She’s never been in London before, so look after her for me—and no tricks!”
“I do not know what you mean!” Bertie said in affronted dignity which was obviously assumed.
Then he swept his silk hat from his head and put out his hand.
“How do you do? Perhaps the alluring Violet will introduce us a little more elegantly.”
“I expect you’ll introduce yourself, Bertie!” Violet said. “This is Davita Kilcraig, whose father was the Baronet my mother married.”
“And left!” Lord Mundesley added.
“All right, so she left him,” Violet retorted, “but that’s none o’ your business and it wasn’t Davita’s fault neither!”
“Of course not,” Lord Mundesley agreed.
He was still holding Davita’s hand, which made her feel a little embarrassed.
He was about to say something when a boy’s strident voice called: “Three minutes, lidies!” and Violet gave a little cry.
“See you after the Show!” she said, and picking up her skirts with both hands ran back up the staircase.
“We had better go to the front of the house,” Lord Mundesley said to Davita.
He opened a door for her, and, because he obviously expected it, Davita preceded him down some steps and found herself in the Auditorium of the Theatre.
The noise of the audience seemed to hit her almost like a wave, then there was a kaleidoscope of colour, and, as women passed her being shown to their seats in the Stalls, the fragrance of exotic perfumes.
“This way,” Lord Mundesley directed.
Davita climbed a small staircase which was very different from the iron one behind the scenes. The walls were painted in an attractive colour, it was lit with electric light, and there was a thick carpet under her feet.
A moment later she found herself in a Box draped with red velvet curtains and with seats covered in red plush.
Lord Mundesley seated her on his right so tha
t she had the best view of the stage, and he sat in the centre of the Box, picking up a pair of Opera-glasses which rested on the ledge.
Davita stared about her with an excitement that made it impossible to speak.
She had several times been to a Theatre in Edinburgh, but it had been nothing like as large and certainly not as colourful as the scene before her now.
Everything seemed to sparkle, and the crimson and gold of the Boxes, the splendour of the dropped curtain, and the lights were only part of the background for the audience.
Never had she imagined it possible to see so many attractive, beautiful women and distinguished-looking men congregated together in one place.
Then, as she was staring almost open-mouthed at the people being packed into the Stalls, at the Royal Circle filled without an empty seat to be had, and the Gallery sloping up to the ceiling and apparently just as full, the lights were dimmed.
The Orchestra that had been playing softly swelled in a crescendo until the sound seemed to vibrate through the whole Theatre and become part, Davita thought, of her very breathing.
Then she forgot everything except the excitement of seeing for the first time in her life a Show at the Gaiety.
Because she had of course been interested in what was being produced at the Theatre in which first her Stepmother had played, and then Violet, she knew that the Show she was about to see was called Cinder-Ellen Up-Too-Late.
The Lead had originally been played by Nellie Farren, one of the great stars of the Gaiety, but now she had left because she had rheumatic trouble which made it impossible for her to carry on.
The few newspapers that Davita had read in Scotland which reported what was happening in London had all declared what a tragedy it was for the Gaiety that one of the greatest Leading Ladies they had ever known should have been forced to retire.
Hector, who had often seen Nellie when he was in London with her father, had told her with what for him had been fulsome praise of her achievements and her courage.
“Her wouldn’a gi’ in wi’out a struggle,” he had said to Davita, “an’ it’ll be awful hard for ’em to find someone to replace her.”
“I would like to have seen her,” Davita had said, thinking it was something she would never be able to do any more than she would ever see the Gaiety itself.
Yet here she was, watching a new edition of the Show, and she was aware that Lottie Collins, who had been in the Gaiety chorus and was the well-known skipping-rope dancer, had now taken over the Lead.
It was difficult, however, to think of anything but the beauty of the stage-sets and the dancing of the corps de ballet.
And of course there was the elegance of Violet and the seven other girls like her as they came onto the stage, looking so exquisitely beautiful that she thought that every man in the Theatre must fall in love with them.
Just once when Violet was on the stage, Davita glanced at Lord Mundesley sitting next to her and found, to her surprise, that he was looking not at Violet but at her.
She wanted to tell him how much she was enjoying herself, but she thought she should not speak, and instead gave him a shy little smile.
Then her eyes went back to the stage.
There was an amazing performance from Fred Leslie, and Davita was to learn later that he was a unique draw of the Show. Then after several dancing-sequences and some very comic performances, Lottie Collins came onto the stage dressed in a red gown and a big Gainsborough hat, with her blonde hair streaming over her shoulders.
She sang softly, almost timidly, it seemed to Davita, making a great play with a lace handkerchief.
She sang the verse of a song in the manner, although Davita did not know it, of a Leading Lady in a Light Opera, quietly, simply, and perhaps rather nervously:
“A smart and stylish girl you see,
The Belle of High Society,
Fond of fun as fond could be—
When it’s on the strict Q.T.
Not too young, and not too old,
Not too timid, not too bold,
But just the very thing I’m told,
That in your arms you’d like to hold ...”
Then suddenly, so suddenly that Davita started, the chorus crashed out, wildly, boldly, and noisily, and the first boom was accompanied by the bang of drums and a terrific crash of cymbals which seemed almost to break the ear-drums.
Then, with one hand on her hip, the other waving her handkerchief, Lottie appeared to go mad.
Her voice and those of the chorus seemed to grow louder and louder:
“Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay, Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay,
Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay,
Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay!”
The whole Theatre was filled with it, and as her hair streamed the hat bobbed, her short skirts whirled and showed her white petticoats. She was primeval, Bacchic, with all the fury of wild abandon that was associated with a Gypsy dance.
As Davita found it difficult to breathe and impossible even to think, and she could only stare in astonishment, the refrain grew wilder and wilder and the drums, the cymbals, and the wild dancing swept the audience off their feet.
There was a last “Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay” that finished with the whole audience shouting and applauding, the gentlemen shouting “Bravo! Bravo!” while those in the Gallery were screaming their heads off.
It was not what Davita had expected. It was not anything she could have imagined in her wildest dreams would occur at the Gaiety.
Only as the curtain fell and the applause gradually subsided did she look at the man sitting next to her. His eyes were still on her face and he was smiling as if at her surprise.
Because she felt he was waiting for her to speak, she said in a hesitating little voice:
“I ... I had no idea ... that ... anyone could ... dance like that.”
“Were you shocked?”
“N-not ... really.”
“I think you were,” he said with a smile. “Lottie is rather overwhelming when she lets herself go.”
“How ... how can she do that ... every night?” Davita enquired.
Lord Mundesley gave a laugh.
“That is what acting is all about. Come, let us go and see Violet. We are allowed to go behind during the interval.”
He led the way and they had to push through crowds of people moving from their seats and also a number of men who were walking in the same direction as themselves through the small door which led behind the scenes.
It took them some time to climb the staircase, and now in the dressing-room the eight girls who shared it were already holding Court.
Davita noticed there were dozens more bouquets than there had been before the performance began, and each beautiful Gaiety Girl, looking more attractive than the last, was receiving her admirers.
Violet was already talking to two gentlemen when Lord Mundesley and Davita joined her.
“What did you think of the Show?” Violet asked Davita.
Because she did not reply, Lord Mundesley answered for her.
“She was stunned and a little shocked!”
“Shocked?” Violet questioned. “Well, I suppose Lottie would seem a bit of a firebrand to anyone who’d just come off the moors!”
“Of course! Your friend is Scottish!” one of the gentlemen ejaculated. “I should have known it, with that colour hair.”
“It’s not out of a dye-bottle, if that’s what you’re insinuating!” Violet said sharply.
“I would never be so ungallant as to suggest anything of the sort!” the gentleman replied.
“I want to talk to Miss Violet alone,” Lord Mundesley said in a proprietary manner which made the two gentlemen who were there before him move off to speak to the other girls.
“Bertie, you’re being bossy, and I don’t like it,” Violet complained.
“I only want to ask you if Miss Kilcraig is coming to supper with us,” Lord Mundesley said. “In which case, I will have to find somebody to partner her.”
�
�No ... no, please,” Davita said quickly in an embarrassed tone. “You have already been kind enough to let me share your Box, but as soon as the Show is over I will go back to my lodgings.”
“There is no reason for you to do that,” Lord Mundesley replied. “In fact, I think as this is your first night in London it would be a great mistake. Do you not agree, Violet?”
Davita thought uncomfortably that Violet hesitated a moment before she said:
“Of course! I want Davita to come with us. She’s staying with me, isn’t she?”
“Very well,” Lord Mundesley said. “Shall I ask Tony or Willie?”
Violet glanced at him provocatively, Davita thought, from under her dark, mascaraed eye-lashes before she said:
“How about the Marquis?”
The expression on Lord Mundesley’s face changed. “Do not mention that man to me!”
“I heard his horse had beaten yours today.”
“Damn him! That is the third time, and it has made me hate him even more than I did before!”
There was something ferocious in the way Lord Mundesley spoke, and it seemed to Davita to be almost as violent, though in a different way, as the dance she had just witnessed.
Violet laughed.
“Why waste time hating him? He always seems to get the better of you!”
“You are deliberately trying to make me lose my temper!” Lord Mundesley said aggressively. “You know what I feel about Vange.”
“Well, for Heaven’s sake, don’t tell me,” Violet said. “I’ve listened to Rosie crying her eyes out all the afternoon.”
“Are you telling me he has broken off with her?” Lord Mundesley enquired.
“Chucked her out, bag and baggage, from his house in Chelsea, and told her she was lucky to be able to keep the jewellery.”
“He is intolerable!” Lord Mundesley ejaculated. “I loathe him, and a great many other people feel the same.”
“Rosie for one!” Violet said. “But it’s her own fault for losing her heart. I told her what he was like when they first started.”
A Night of Gaiety Page 4