by Jane Smith
Superstar
JANE SMITH
Copyright © Jane Smith
First published 2021
Copyright remains the property of the authors and apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without written permission.
All inquiries should be made to the publishers.
Big Sky Publishing Pty Ltd
PO Box 303, Newport, NSW 2106, Australia
Phone:1300 364 611
Fax:(61 2) 9918 2396
Email:[email protected]
Web:www.bigskypublishing.com.au
Cover design and typesetting: Think Productions
Printed by Jilin-GIGO International
National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry
Creator: Smith, Jane Margaret, author.
Title: Superstar / Jane Smith.
ISBN: 9781922387646 (paperback).
Series: Smith, Jane Margaret. Carly Mills, Pioneer Girl; bk 3.
Superstar
JANE SMITH
Contents
Chapter 1 Choir
Chapter 2 The concert
Chapter 3 Little Nellie
Chapter 4 Success
Chapter 5 Wagging Latin
Chapter 6 Fun!
Chapter 7 Fitzroy Gardens
Chapter 8 Sightseeing
Chapter 9 Mrs Armstrong
Chapter 10 The opera
Chapter 11 Home, sweet home
Chapter 12 Peaches Melba
Historical note
Q & A with Nellie Melba
Quotes from Dame Nellie Melba
About the Author
CHAPTER 1
‘Is someone torturing a cat?’ Simone sneered.
‘No,’ Dora replied cheerfully. ‘That was me singing.
Carly flushed red with anger and hooked her arm through her friend’s. ‘How dare she be so rude?’
‘It’s okay,’ Dora said with a smile. ‘I know I can’t hold a tune.’
‘Then why are you in the choir?’ Simone asked, wrinkling her nose in disgust.
‘Because singing is so much fun,’ said Dora. ‘And I wanted to come to Melbourne with Carly on the music tour.’
‘No talking, girls!’ Ms Carrigan scolded. ‘The concert starts in half an hour and we need to warm up. Sopranos, let’s hear your part from the top of page two.’
Simone was right: Dora’s singing did sound a bit like a cat fight in progress, but Carly couldn’t see the point in being unkind about it. Carly, Dora and Simone turned back to their music scores and began to sing, while Ms Carrigan stood out the front and waved her arms about. The sight of her wild, frizzy black hair, bright eyes and beaming smile made Carly forget her anger.
‘That’s right, girls,’ Ms Carrigan said. ‘Enjoy yourselves! Simone, smile! The audience won’t want to see you scowling.’
Simone bared her teeth, and Dora stifled a giggle.
They started to sing. ‘Gin a body meet a body, comin’ through the rye...’
‘What does that even mean?’ Carly whispered to Dora.
Ms Carrigan heard her. ‘It’s Scottish,’ she said. ‘“Gin” means “should” or “if”. In other words: If a person meets another person coming through the rye. It’s a lovely folk song. Famously sung by Dame Nellie Melba as a child.’
‘Who’s Nellie Melba?’ Carly asked.
Simone rolled her eyes and groaned. ‘You are so ignorant,’ she said.
‘She was Australia’s most famous opera singer,’ said Ms Carrigan with a warning look at Simone.
‘Oh,’ said Carly. ‘I don’t like opera.’
Ms Carrigan’s eyes opened so wide they threatened to pop out of her head. Carly, terrified that the choir teacher might lose her eyeballs, quickly added, ‘But I haven’t listened to it much.’
‘Well,’ Ms Carrigan said in a pained voice, ‘we’ll have to fix that.’
Dora whimpered quietly beside Carly.
‘Right,’ said Ms Carrigan. ‘One more warm-up and we’re ready. Here’s your note! La-la-la-la -la-la-la ...’
The choir trilled up and down the scales with gusto. Carly had to admit to herself that Simone had a lovely voice, but she wasn’t going to tell Simone that. She didn’t want to give Simone even more reason to look down on her. They were practising backstage in a hall in Melbourne, getting ready to perform in a concert with school choirs from all around the country. When they had gone up and down the scale ten times or more, a man popped his head in through the door and told Ms Carrigan that it was time to take their seats for the concert.
They filed out of the practice room and into the hall. Carly gulped; the hall was huge, with a high ceiling and rows upon rows of seats for the audience. She trembled with fear.
‘Don’t worry,’ Dora whispered, squeezing Carly’s arm as they shuffled along the row to their seats. ‘I’m sure the other choirs will be just as bad as us!’
‘Speak for yourself,’ Simone muttered.
Carly sat between Simone and Dora. Nerves had made her throat dry, so she rummaged in her bag for a drink bottle. A piece of fabric fell from her bag.
‘Hey!’ said Simone, pouncing on the fabric and holding it up with a sneer. ‘You brought that old shawl with you to Melbourne? You take it everywhere, you baby! Is it like some sort of security blanket for you, or what?’
‘Give it back!’ Carly cried.
‘Ssshhh!’ said a cranky-looking lady in the seat in front of them.
Carly snatched the shawl from Simone. Simone gripped it tightly. Carly pulled. There was a sickening tearing sound as the lace edging came away in Simone’s hand.
Dora looked on in horror. She was the only
other person in the world who knew how special Carly’s shawl was, for she had one just like it herself. They were very old shawls with magical powers. She and Carly had found them discarded in a museum once, and had discovered if they draped the shawls around their shoulders, they would be transported back in time. The two friends had already had a couple of journeys to the past and were hoping for more. But if Carly’s shawl was broken, their adventures might be over forever!
‘Oh, don’t be such a baby; it’s only an old shawl,’ Simone said crossly to Carly, who was staring open-mouthed at the torn shawl in her hand. ‘Besides,’ Simone went on, ‘this lace would make a nice choker, don’t you think?’
Simone took the strip of lace, wrapped it around her neck and tied it into a bow. ‘See?’
Carly and Dora gazed at each other in shock. Simone was starting to look funny: pale and blank-eyed.
‘Dora!’ Carly gasped. ‘She’s going back to the past—’
‘We can’t let her go alone,’ said Dora, diving into her bag to pull out her shawl. ‘She’ll make too much trouble.’
‘Let’s go, then,’ Carly said. ‘I really hope my shawl still works. Ready?’
Dora nodded. Carly and Dora spread out their shawls and got ready to wrap them around their shoulders.
‘Okay,’ said Dora. ‘One, two, three!’
And the two girls slipped into darkness.
CHAPTER 2
‘Okay,’ Simone said. ‘This is some kind of joke, right?’
She was staring down at herself in horror. She was no longer wearing her choir uniform – black trousers and black shirt – but a pink, floor-length dress with a close-fitting waist, bell-shaped skirt, long sleeves and frilly neckline. Her spiky blonde hair was hidden under a pink bonnet.
‘Well, I guess my shawl still works,’ Carly said with relief. She wriggled uncomfortably, as she was in olden-day costume as well.
‘What have you done to me?’ Simone wailed.
Dora snorted with laughter. Dora normally wore colourful, mismatched tops and skirts – often with patterned tights and ankle boots – and round, red-rimmed glasses that clashed with her orange pigtails. Now, like Simone, she was in a big, frilly dress. Carly laughed with her, although it was hard to laugh with the tight corset squashing her ribs. Seeing Dora in old-fashioned dress was always funny, but seeing the trendy Simone in a pink gown was hilarious.
Poor Simone was panting in panic, her mouth open and eyes wide.
‘I wonder where we are?’ Dora said, gazing about the room. They were in a big hall, similar to the concert hall they had just been in with the choir. Crowds of people were bustling in
and sitting on wooden chairs that lined the room. The women were all in long dresses and the men in three-piece suits.
‘Excuse me,’ Simone said, her voice growing nasty now that the shock was wearing off, ‘but what’s going on here? Why is everyone looking so weird? And where’s Ms Carrigan and the rest of the choir?’
‘Don’t worry, Simone,’ Carly said. ‘We’ve just gone back in time to—’ she looked over the shoulder of a woman who was holding a concert programme, and read the date on its cover, ‘—1867. I think we’re about to see a concert.’
Simone narrowed her eyes at Carly. ‘What are you talking about?’
Dora smiled. ‘It’s true. It’s our shawls, you see. They send us back in time when we wear them. And you’ve got a piece of Carly’s shawl tied around your neck!’
Simone put a hand to the lace tied in a bow around her neck. She turned even paler.
‘We didn’t ask you to come,’ Carly said grumpily. ‘So don’t you dare complain. But since we’re here, we might as well enjoy it.’
For once, Simone had nothing to say.
‘Move along, please,’ said a lady behind them. ‘The show’s about to start. We need to take our seats!’
Carly and Dora did as they were told and Simone, still stunned, quietly followed. They sat together on the wooden seats and waited for the show to begin.
A man appeared on the stage and the audience clapped politely. ‘Welcome to our Sunday-school concert, ladies and gentlemen,’ he announced. ‘Please welcome Miss Helen Mitchell.’
Carly and Dora clapped along with the rest of the crowd. Then there was silence, and they watched as a little girl trotted onto the stage. She had long dark hair and dark eyes and was dressed all in frills. She looked about six years old.
Dora wriggled in her seat, straining to see the stage over the hats of the ladies in front. Then the little girl climbed up onto a chair so the whole audience could see her better. Carly sighed. This was going to be boring: a Sunday-school concert with a six-year-old singer. Great.
Then the piano started up and the little girl began to sing. ‘Gin a body meet a body, Comin’ thro’ the rye ...’ she sang.
Carly sat up straight (which wasn’t hard, since the corset made it impossible to slouch); this was her choir’s song! The Scottish folk song. Once the surprise had passed, an even greater surprise took its place: the little girl’s voice was beautiful ! She sang with a high, clear trill such as Carly had never heard before. To her left, Simone leaned forward, eyes wide. Carly snuck a glance at her; she couldn’t be sure, but it seemed as if Simone might even be smiling!
When the little girl finished and hopped down off the chair, the crowd broke into wild applause. The three girls joined in.
‘Wow!’ Dora whispered. ‘She was amazing.’
Simone shrugged, but her face was pink with pleasure. ‘She was all right.’
The rest of the concert was long and dull, and the girls were glad when it was over. They filed out of the hall onto the lawn, where the crowd gathered for sandwiches and gossip.
Simone was tugging at her dress. ‘I can’t breathe in this thing,’ she complained. ‘I thought it might be better in the fresh air, but it’s not.’
‘You’ll get used to it,’ Carly replied. ‘Hey, there’s that little girl!’
Dora and Simone looked to where she was pointing. They saw the tiny singer standing with her hands on her hips, facing a little girl with blonde ringlets.
‘Yeah,’ said Simone. ‘It’s that kid who can sing. Helen Mitchell.’
CHAPTER 3
‘Just tell me,’ the little singer was saying to the blonde girl, ‘How was my performance?’
The blonde girl leaned forward, smirking and pressing her face close. ‘Nellie Mitchell,’ she said, ‘I saw your drawers!’
The little singer scowled and stamped her foot, as her playmate laughed cruelly and ran off.
Carly watched as Dora’s face grew fierce. She knew that Dora didn’t like to see anyone being treated unkindly. Dora pushed her glasses up her nose (not her usual red-rimmed glasses, but old-fashioned wire-rimmed spectacles that made her look like a granny), took a deep breath, and marched over to the little singer. The girl was standing with hands on hips, clenching her jaw as if she was trying not to cry.
‘Why did that girl call her “Nellie”?’ Carly asked, confused. ‘Her name’s “Helen”. And what are drawers?’
‘Uggh, you are so stupid,’ Simone huffed. ‘“Nellie” is a nickname for “Helen”. And drawers are underpants.’
‘Underpants?’ Carly repeated. ‘You mean those big, long bloomers sticking out the bottom of her dress?’
Simone’s mouth twitched as if she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. ‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘I think we might be wearing some of them ourselves!’
Dora was bending down to the little girl; she didn’t have to bend far, for Dora was small for her age ... which was lucky, because it was hard to bend in a corset.
‘Don’t listen to that awful girl,’ Dora said. ‘Your performance was amazing, Helen!’
‘Thanks,’ the girl sniffed. ‘But call me Nellie. Everyone does.’
‘Nice to meet you, Nellie,’ said Dora. ‘I’m Dora. Would you like to meet my friends?’
‘All right,’ Nellie replied. ‘But I have to go home now. You can all walk with me if you like.’
Dora introduced Carly and Simone to Nellie.
‘You have a beautiful voice,’ said Carly.
‘Thank you,’ Nellie replied. ‘We’ve got guests coming to my house for afternoon tea today. Do you want to come too?’
‘Sure,’ Carly and Dora replied.
Simone scowled. Carly guessed that she didn’t like the idea of a polite afternoon tea with strangers. But Simone didn’t seem to like many things, so Carly decided not to take any notice of her bad mood.
They followed Nellie down the road. It was a dirt road, and there were no cars in sight. Now and then, a horse-drawn buggy rattled past. Simone stared in confusion and wonder.
The little girl skipped and trotted, humming and whistling all the while. Sometimes she bent down to pick up a stone and toss it. Now and then, as they passed
under a tree, she leapt up to swing from a branch. Carly wished that she could throw away her corset and climb up into the tree too, but she knew that would only cause trouble. She had been back into the past often enough to know that the rules of behaviour for girls were different back then. Girls were not supposed to climb trees or romp about as Nellie was doing.
Carly sighed; she didn’t like those rules, but she didn’t think she could do anything to change them. Carly wondered if Nellie got into trouble often. Maybe she gets away with it because she’s so charming, Carly thought, as Nellie slipped a hand into hers and laughed. She really was a friendly and warm-hearted little girl.
At last they came to a big house with carriages parked out the front. Nellie leapt up the stairs and heaved the front door open. ‘In you come,’ she said. ‘They’ll be in the sitting room.’
They followed her inside. It was nice to be in the cool house after walking through the dusty heat of the day. The house was very fancy, with high ceilings and heavy dark furniture. A group of adults sat straight-backed upon chairs, holding china teacups and nodding polite
ly to each other. Some small children sat in a corner and played quietly.
Nellie sprinted in. ‘Hello,’ she trilled. ‘I’ve brought some friends.’
Nellie introduced her mother and father. The adults smiled and nodded at the girls and then turned back to their teacups.
‘It’s going to be a long afternoon,’ Simone muttered, but then Dora spotted the scones.
Nellie noticed her gaze and said, ‘Do you want a scone?’
She piled scones and jam and cream onto plates and handed them to her new friends. Then she gave them tea in fine china cups, and they all sat in a circle to eat and drink. Carly took a bite of the scone. It was home-made, still warm, and delicious.
‘Mmmm,’ she said. Then she took a sip of tea. ‘BLECCCHHH!’ she cried, spilling the tea into the saucer and down her chin. The adults turned, startled, and frowned at Carly.
‘S ... sorry,’ Carly spluttered, wiping her chin. They turned away again.
Nellie broke into peals of laughter. ‘I put salt in it,’ she said, once she had recovered enough to speak. Carly gritted her teeth.
Then the little girl sighed, jumped off her chair, ran to the fireplace, and picked up a pair of bellows that lay on the hearth. She turned back to the girls and put a finger to her lips, whispering, ‘Ssshhh!’
They watched as Nellie tiptoed back to the group of adults. She dropped down to all fours and crawled under the table. None of the adults knew she was there. Nellie placed the bellows up the cuff of her father’s trouser leg. Dora’s eyes grew round, and Simone’s lips stretched into a smirk.
Nellie pumped the bellows and blasted a great gust of wind up her father’s trousers.
‘AAARRGGGGHHHH!’ he yelled in shock, leaping from the chair and spilling tea and scones all over Nellie, who was crouched at his feet. He hopped about, knocking his chair over, while Nellie fell onto the floor, covered in cream and jam and rolling around laughing.