by Bell, Julia
Miss Rupp nodded enthusiastically. “If I’m welcome there, then certainly.”
I frowned at her odd remark. “Why shouldn’t you be welcome?”
Miss Rupp looked at me over her spectacles. “I’m a governess, ma’am. Too high for the servants’ hall and too low for the family drawing room.”
“Oh, nonsense.”
“It’s the truth, but I’ve learnt to live with it.”
And so plans were underway and Andrew’s frantic pace seemed to increase. I didn’t think that was possible, but handing over the running of the theatre, organising the cast and arranging my bookings was taking up all his time.
Don Giovanni would close in the middle of February and then my first concert would be four weeks later. I would open in Birmingham, since Andrew thought it better to make the longest journey first and then zigzag our way down the country back to London. It was an excellent scheme especially since we would be in Birmingham for four nights, staying at the Imperial Hotel. Then would come a series of some thirty towns and cities, before reaching the south coast. The summer would be taken up with coastal towns amongst others, Plymouth, Bournemouth and Brighton. I wondered if these towns and cities would become a blur as I moved from one to the other. It was an insight that would turn out to be all too true.
My life had settled down in Ealing but I missed Brett with a yearning that bordered on pain. And sleeping in the same room, the same bed we had shared hadn’t helped matters. I could feel him next to me and I would dream of his touch, his kisses. Often I would wake in the night crying into my pillow. I tried to write to him, but my emotions and thoughts were torn to shreds. I tried not to think of my daughter.
Diamond had been a resounding success in The Mikado and had continued so during the next twelve months in every operetta she was in. Her romance with Victor had blossomed and plans were being made for an autumn wedding. On the surface, it seemed that everyone’s dreams had come true.
It was always sad when a production closed but the final performance of Don Giovanni was especially poignant. Of course, Andrew had advertised my imminent departure on a poster in the foyer of the theatre, but when he made the final announcement before the curtain went up, a soft sigh reverberated round the auditorium, that I found very touching. And after the curtain-call, I was presented with a huge bouquet of flowers and the kind of applause that would have amazed me five years before. Now I was getting used to it and I looked forward to the tour as a new start, a fresh challenge.
Martha fastened the gown I had chosen to wear for the farewell party at The Savoy Hotel. She pinned the feathers in my hair and spread the fur cape over my shoulders. It was obvious her mind was on the tour.
“I’ve heard from the dressmakers,” she said. “Your new wardrobe will be completed in two weeks’ time. Oh, Miss Barri, I will make you so lovely when you step on that stage that the audience will fall in love with you straight away.”
I nodded in satisfaction. “I do hope so,” I said, laughing. “Because it will be the real me out there and not me hiding behind a role I’m playing.”
I had been measured and fitted for a variety of gowns that I would wear for my concerts. Martha was as excited as I about the tour and had diligently helped me shop and advised me on what I would need in the way of accessories; silk flowers and feathers for my hair, a few small hats and some pretty silk shawls along with fans and parasols.
The party was wonderful and everyone was there, including Nan and Diamond and my son who would celebrate his tenth birthday before we left on tour.
Andrew put his hand on my arm. “Covent Garden is going to miss you.”
“I’m going to miss Covent Garden.”
“Are you ready for your big adventure?”
“Yes, but I hope you won’t become a nuisance and start proposing again.”
He grimaced as he filled my glass with champagne. “I’ll try to keep it to a minimum. Would once a week be too often?”
“Far too often.”
He smiled softly. “Well, let’s wait and see, shall we.”
I grunted and then took a sip of my drink, watching him over the rim of the glass. He was an attractive man, there was no doubt about that. But I didn’t love him. And despite his assertions that I would grow to love him, I knew that would never happen. My heart was with another.
It was only one month before we set off for Birmingham. I was to play at two venues for two nights each and I had decided on the programme, a mixture of ballads, folksongs and arias. I had asked Miss Rupp if she would do some research for me and discover what songs were particular to that area. I thought it would delight the audience and make them more responsive, if I included some local melodies in the programme. As was typical of Miss Rupp, she threw herself into the task with enthusiasm. Andrew had done marvels in organising everything, but as the time crept nearer I began to have twinges of doubt. We would be travelling a great deal and I worried that Danny would find it exhausting. I worried that I might find it exhausting.
Letters had passed between Eloise and I and it was finally agreed that Danny and Miss Rupp would visit Claythorpe House in May as well as August. After the summer visit, Miss Rupp would then take him back to London to prepare for starting at The Hall. And no matter where I was I would see him settled on his first day at school, even if it meant breaking from the tour for a while.
Letters from Ruth and Gwilym were intermittent. It seemed the Dorothy-May had been en route to South Africa and had sustained some damage. They had limped into Cape Town for repairs. But when these repairs were completed they were then heading back to England. They hoped to be home by June if not July and then they would settle down in England. I was elated. When my tour ended, we would all be together for Christmas.
The following weeks were spent shopping and packing. I tried to write numerous letters to Brett but they didn’t get as far as the pillar-box. I imagined him waiting for the post that didn’t arrive and my heart ached for him. But I hadn’t the courage to send him what I had written and my mundane and clumsy words ended up as fuel for the fire.
Nan and Diamond saw us off at King’s Cross Station and as their figures faded into the distance, I sat back in my seat and felt relieved that I was travelling away from my sorrows. Because of the long journey, we had been advised to take seats in the dining car as only the guard was allowed to pass between the carriages and always locked the interconnecting doors after him. I allowed Danny to wander down the aisle and stretch his legs, reminding him not to disturb any of the other passengers. I turned my attention to Miss Rupp and Martha who seemed to be getting on very well as they chatted away. Andrew became absorbed in his newspaper. I looked out of the window. It would take about five or six hours to reach Birmingham, but tea and coffee would be served to us as well as luncheon. Andrew’s organisation had been impeccable.
After an hour, he stood and stretched. “I think I’ll just wander down to the far end and enjoy a cigar, if you don’t mind,” he said nonchalantly.
Miss Rupp looked up. “Would you mind if I joined you, sir?”
Martha and I exchanged horrified glances.
“Of course you may,” he stuttered. “You smoke?”
“Yes, although cigarettes not cigars.” She rose to her feet and collected a small silver chain bag, whispering conspiratorially, “But please don’t tell my mother. She abhors cigarettes.”
We watched them leave with shocked expressions.
“Well, I never knew that,” I said.
Danny had returned from his short walk and was reading his book. He looked up. “She rolls her own and I’ve helped her. She timed me and I can make three in a minute and she says that’s not bad going.”
Ten seconds of stunned silence followed before Martha and I burst into laughter. It felt good and went some way in easing the tension that made me feel like a coiled spring.
We arrived in Birmingham and went straight to our hotel. It was a splendid place, of shining glass and brass and polis
hed mahogany. Although it didn’t have electric lighting like The Savoy at least it had had modern bathrooms installed. I was to share a room with Danny, while Martha and Miss Rupp would be next door. Andrew was down the corridor from us.
We went to see the theatre that night. It was large and would have been grand in its day, but now seemed rather shabby. While Andrew had a word with the manager, I spoke to the conductor of the orchestra and gave him my programme. The following morning I would attend a rehearsal before the first performance in the evening. Looking round the rather run-down auditorium, I felt apprehensive and hoped I had made the right decision.
Martha pulled a face at the dressing room. “Couldn’t swing a cat in here,” she sniffed.
“It’s only for two nights and then we move to the next theatre,” I said.
“Well, let’s hope that one is better.”
The following morning I rehearsed. I stood on the stage feeling very self-conscious. There was no scenery, no other performers. Nothing! Just me and an empty stage. I felt anxious. I asked the manager if tubs of flowers could be dotted about and perhaps some sort of a backdrop to soften the loneliness of a barren stage.
“What are you considering, Miss Barri?” he said, frowning at the thought of any effort on his part.
I explained. “I want to appear as an English lady, perhaps standing in a garden.”
“We have an old curtain with trees and flowers printed on it. Will that do?”
I nodded. “Yes, anything. I don’t want to stand on a bare stage.”
The conductor of the orchestra was a lovely man. Tall and wiry with grey, untidy hair, he tapped his baton and his players followed him through the songs I had selected. I rehearsed my entire repertoire and he nodded in satisfaction. At least they enjoyed my choice.
That evening, Martha dressed me in one of the special creations. She did my hair and pinned feathers amongst the curls.
She stood back and looked me up and down. “You look lovely. Now, you go out on that stage and knock their hats off.”
I waited in the wings for my turn and it reminded me of my first night as Carmen. That had been successful, so why shouldn’t this? And then the Master of Ceremonies announced me and I stepped to the centre of the stage, smiling as the clapping, although not deafening was at least welcoming. I quickly glanced about me. The manager had found some tubs and pots and they were filled with silk flowers, but I was rather disappointed with the backdrop. Yes, it depicted a garden of sorts, with trees and flowers, but it was old and faded. I hoped the audience wouldn’t notice. I went straight into the first song. A lovely melody from Wales although I sang in English. The applause was polite. Undaunted, I carried on.
I was on my last song when I heard the most terrible creaking and I furtively looked about. The stagehands were trying to hold onto the backdrop that had snapped from its rope and was in danger of falling onto the stage. I moved out of the way in case it came crashing down. I realised that if it did it would hit a wicker basket filled with flowers that had been fixed to the side. Since I considered myself a professional, I kept on singing. And then I heard a cry from the back and knew that they had failed in their attempt to secure the old and worn out curtain.
It moved slowly at first, but then gathered momentum, crashing in a sad and untidy heap just four feet from me and sending up a cloud of dust. As I had suspected, the edge caught the hanging basket and it toppled from its position. I don’t know what made me hold out my arms, but I did and as the last note left my throat, the profusion of rather tattered silk roses, carnations and lilies landed in my arms. My nose began to tickle and I sneezed violently. Someone sniggered in the audience and there was an outburst of laughter. Clutching the basket, I stepped forward.
Cocking my head to one side, I gave a theatrical sigh. “Well, as they say. All’s well, that ends well.”
The audience gave a roar of delight and started clapping. I smiled and then pulling the flowers from the cork in the base of the basket, I threw them into the audience and up into the boxes. Young men leaned forward trying to catch them and cries of ‘to me, to me’ rose above the applause. Finally, I waved and left the stage. It was over for the night and I felt utterly exhausted.
“I think they like you, Miss Barri,” said Martha, meeting me in the wings and putting a cape over my shoulders. “But Mr Perry is very angry with the manager. They’re in the office now having a right ding-dong. He’s saying he’ll sue the theatre for such negligence. He was so afraid that you could have got hurt.”
And he was angry! I’ve never seen him in such a state. He wanted to pull me out of the following night’s performance, but I insisted that I must carry on.
“If that damned curtain had come down on your head, you would have been knocked senseless,” he said furiously. “Or killed.”
I smiled encouragingly. “Why worry? I saw it moving and took the necessary action.”
He seemed pacified. “I can’t believe you caught that hanging basket. And to throw the flowers into the audience, that was a inspired idea.”
“Perhaps I should do it tomorrow night,” I said thoughtfully.
“Would you like to?”
“Yes, but not dusty, silk flowers. Some fresh, fragrant ones that I can lob into the auditorium.”
“Then I’ll organise it.”
The following night was better. The manager was very remorseful and worked hard to make the stage appear more like a garden, with a swinging seat, although I wondered at the safety of it. I sang the arias, the melodies and the folksongs and when I realised the audience were humming along, I encouraged them to sing with me. It was the second time I had spoken to them and already I had discovered that I liked to relate to my audience. I wanted to sing to them and not at them. And at the end, I took up the basket of fresh flowers and threw them into the stalls and boxes. I even tried aiming for the balcony. Again, the young men leaned forward to catch them, shouting at the top of their voices.
The next theatre was modest, but friendly. When I was introduced to the manager, I was stunned for Mr Samuel King was a huge man with skin the colour of ebony. Shaking my hand vigorously, he welcomed me to his ‘small and humble place of entertainment’ and informed me in a profuse manner that whatever I needed would be sent for immediately.I smiled politely and breathed a sigh of relief, for it was apparent that this theatre was run efficiently. And so that first night I followed the same routine, laughing gleefully as I threw the flowers to hands that reached for them. But the next evening, the manager surprised me completely.
Martha was just pinning feathers in my hair when there was a gentle knock at the door and she went to open it. Mr King stood on the threshold, hesitating, as if he was afraid to enter my domain.
I beckoned him in. “I don’t bite, despite what Mr Perry might have told you.”
He grinned, showing perfect white teeth. “He’s told me nothing of the sort, Miss Barri.” He stepped into the room and then coughed nervously. “I just wondered if I could ask you a special favour.”
“Of course,” I said, turning to face him.
He looked down at his feet. “I was born in New Jersey, ma’am,” he said softly, but then he raised his head and spoke vehemently. “And in New Jersey they never had no slavery. So, in the war I joined up with the northern states and General Grant.” He shook his head sadly. “I thought it would be a way of helping my black brothers and sisters in the south and glad I am that we won, for I dread to think how it would have been otherwise.”
I nodded, understanding his meaning. The southern states of America had wanted to maintain their state rights and in particular the institution of slavery.
“Yes, Mr King. I quite agree with you. But why are you telling me this? I get the feeling that your story has a purpose.”
He gave a raucous laugh and rubbed his hand over his grey, thinning hair. “My wife says I can ramble on ‘till Judgement Day. What it is Miss Barri, I just wondered if you’d be so good as to include the song
Amazing Grace in your repertoire tonight, for if any hymn means anything to me then that one surely does.”
I pondered on his suggestion for a moment. “Curtain goes up in thirty minutes. What a shame you hadn’t mentioned it this morning, then we could have made the necessary arrangements with the orchestra and…”
He raised his hand to stop me. “Forgive me, Miss Barri. But I’ve already spoken to the orchestra and if you care to take a look at the stage, you will see that it’s already prepared.”
I couldn’t help laughing. “You guessed I would say yes, then?”
“No, ma’am. I hoped you would say yes.”
Before I went on stage, I did take a peek at the scenery and to my utter amazement, discovered that Mr King had worked hard to construct the inside of a church, even hanging flags on poles against the walls. Undoubtedly, he had rushed about borrowing the numerous flags of the different regiments that had fought in the many battles of the American Civil War. He told me that with the slight breeze from the wind machine, the flags would wave gently and look wonderful.
I performed in front of a closed curtain, grateful for the applause that greeted me. But when I reached the finale, I stepped forward and said in a clear voice,
“My final song, ladies and gentlemen, is a hymn that has been requested by Mr Samuel King, the manager of this theatre.”
The curtains slowly opened revealing the representation of a church. I took my place near the altar and the orchestra accompanied me as I sang the hymn, my voice soaring above the heads of the audience. I had never sung that hymn with as much feeling as I did that night. But when I finished, I thought it had been a terrible mistake.