Judith

by Noel Streatfeild

  “If I was you I’d sit down there. You won’t be in anyone’s way, and you can see how your young lady does.”

  Charlotte chose a seat about five rows back, and was embarrassed when a few minutes later three men and one woman, who were obviously management, came in and sat in front of her. She need not have bothered for apparently theatrical people thought only of the job in hand, for she might have been invisible.

  “Are you there, George?” the man who appeared to be in charge shouted.

  A figure could just be seen in the dim light walking to the front of the stage.

  “Yes, and I’ve the three girls waiting.”

  “Good,” replied the man in charge. “Turn up some lights, and let’s have a look at them.”

  In a moment the stage was flooded with light. George conducted Judith and the other two girls to the front of the stage and stood them in a row facing the stalls. At once the four heads in front of Charlotte moved together.

  “On looks there could be no question,” said the man in charge. “The little dark one is right for age, but she’s a plain little piece.”

  “What do you think, Marion?” another man asked. “You wrote the play. Are any of them remotely like your José?”

  Marion stared at the girls.

  “The pretty little fair thing is perfect if she can act.”

  The third man, who had not yet spoken, broke in:

  “No need to worry about that, I told you I picked her at The West End School. Very nice Phoebe she was.”

  “I dare say, Bing,” said the man in charge. “But Phoebe is not José. However, let’s see. What’s her name?”

  Mr. Bing spoke as if they ought to have heard the name before.

  “Judith Winster.”

  “George,” shouted the man in charge, “I’ll hear Judith Winster. Better have a word with her, Sam.”

  George shifted the other two girls to the side of the stage, and gave Judith a script, and showed her from where she should read.

  “Take your time, my dear,” the man in charge called out. “George, you give her the maid’s cues.”

  The man called Sam had left his seat and had climbed into the orchestra pit to talk to Judith.

  “I’m directing the play. The part we are going to hear you read is a fifteen-year-old girl. As you’ll see, the scene starts with her perfectly happy chatting to the maid, just an ordinary schoolgirl. Then from the window she sees a man making love to her Mother. I want you to be slow to take in what you’ve seen. In your script you’ll see a lot of odd words such as ‘Mother!’ and ‘Oh no!’ I want those hardly spoken, just whispered under your breath. They are protests you scarcely know you are uttering. Then your brother comes in and asks what’s wrong. George will read the brother. Shocked that you should have seen what you have he tries to make light of things and at that you fairly let yourself go, have hysterics if you like. At José’s school she has known girls whose homes have been broken up, so you feel scared stiff that is what is going to happen to you. Now I’m going back into the stalls, start when I tell you. Best of luck, my dear, you look the part anyway.”

  The director told Judith to start reading, and the four in front of Charlotte settled back in their seats, so she did the same.

  Nothing appeared to be happening, however, for no sound reached the stalls.

  “Scared I suppose, poor kid,” said Marion.

  “Start again, my dear, and speak up,” shouted Sam.

  Judith spoke up. She had plenty of voice, it filled the theatre, but what a reading! All her spontaneous charm and gaiety had left her, she was an automaton, reading the part as if it were a railway time-table.

  “God!” groaned Sam and got out of his seat. “I’ll have a word with her. I suppose it’s stage fright.”

  This time he went on to the stage and whispered to Judith so Charlotte did not hear what was said. When he came back to his seat he seemed despondent.

  “Funny kid. She insists she can’t read any better than that. It must be nonsense, you swore she was good, Bing.”

  Mr. Bing sounded sulky.

  “So she was.”

  Judith began again, but there was no improvement.

  “Shall I stop her?” the man in charge whispered. “We don’t want to waste our time.”

  “Let’s see how she gets on with the hysterics,” Marion whispered back. “She looks so right, I don’t want to give up hope too soon.”

  Judith reached the hysterics. Charlotte, who had not blushed for years, found her cheeks flaming. Far from doing anything with the hysterics Judith, apparently embarrassed, became more wooden and lifeless than ever. It was a deplorable display.

  When she had finished the man in charge called out “Next please. You can go, Miss Winster.” Then he leant forward and faced Mr. Bing. “I’m a patient man, Bing, but if ever you waste my time again asking me to see someone who knows as much about acting as a dead mouse I’ll strike you off my list, and never see anyone on your books again. That is a promise.”

  In the taxi Charlotte found Judith’s behaviour inexplicable. She appeared not to know she had made a fool of herself, or, if she knew, not to care. In fact she seemed as excited as if she had got the part.

  “Thank goodness that’s over, Charlotte, now I can enjoy myself without worrying about anything.”

  Charlotte spoke with caution.

  “Are you disappointed, darling, at not getting the part?”

  Judith laughed in so obviously an unforced way that Charlotte had to believe her.

  “Of course not, I knew I wouldn’t. That isn’t my sort of thing.”

  Charlotte felt it would be kind if she were able to break the news to Judith that after what had been said at the interview, it was not likely she would go on with her theatrical training.

  “It’s a good thing to know early what you can’t do, then we can search round to find where your talents really lie.”

  Judith had known almost all her life that her talent was for mimicry, and you cannot in one minute un-know what you know, so she stared at Charlotte in amazement.

  “But that is where my talent lies, it’s the only talent I’ve got . . .”

  “Poor little beast,” thought Charlotte. “Someone has to tell her. Perhaps Edward’s the one, he’s used to breaking bad news.”

  Edward had a surgery when Charlotte and Judith arrived at the house. But leaving Judith to her tea Charlotte slipped in between patients.

  “Don’t kill me for interrupting, but you must hear what happened this afternoon . . .”

  When Charlotte had finished speaking Edward let out a low anxious whistle.

  “Poor kid. I don’t like it, I don’t like it at all. Children of divided homes are so sensitive. As bad as that, was it? What on earth has everybody been up to telling the girl she was good?”

  “That was her imitations, but all she had to do this afternoon was imitate a fifteen-year-old girl, and you should have heard her! I could have done better.”

  Edward thought for a moment.

  “I suppose we ought to say something. It’s no good her wasting time at that school, and I can’t help thinking we’ll make a kinder job of telling her than Beatrice would.”

  Charlotte nodded.

  “It’s a pity Beatrice has to know at all, but it’s no good sending her back. That horrid agent, called Bing, is certain to tell the school, for that’s where he found her.”

  Edward made up his mind.

  “I’ll do it. Send the kid in here after the last patient has gone.”

  Judith went into the surgery to see Edward without a suspicion that he was seeing her for any special purpose. So she hugged him in her normal way, then sat on the arm of his chair.

  Edward put an arm round her.

  “I hear you didn’t get the part.”

 
; Judith, counting the minutes left before she would see Lance, could not keep the happiness out of her voice.

  “No, but I knew I wouldn’t. I knew I couldn’t do it.”

  Edward was amused.

  “Then what are you doing at that School, do you think?”

  Judith fiddled with a paper-weight on his desk.

  “They had to do something with me. Even Aunt Mercy, who’s an angel, didn’t always know what to do with me, so they sent me there, it keeps me occupied.”

  “But when it was suggested, didn’t you say you didn’t want to go to a stage school?”

  Judith was surprised at such a question.

  “Of course not. Who would I say it to? I keep being sent to places, and nobody asks me if I want to go.”

  Edward felt a dim edge of exasperation, the sort of exasperation he felt with a backboneless patient.

  “But, my good girl, you are seventeen, and you have a tongue. You could have said ‘I don’t want to go to a stage school’. You couldn’t have been forced.”

  Judith, who had spent her life obeying orders, thought Edward was talking nonsense. As she could not be so rude as to say so she seized on the other half of what he had said.

  “If I hadn’t gone there I’d have been sent somewhere else, and honestly The West End School was the best place, for it’s the only talent I have.”

  Edward gave Judith a little push.

  “Sit on the patients’ chair and listen to me.” Judith obeyed, and looked at him expectantly. Edward felt carefully for the right words. “The people you saw this afternoon didn’t think acting was your métier, Charlotte sat behind them and never missed a word. It looks rather as though we’ll have to tell your Aunt Beatrice and see if we can find somewhere else which will be more use to you. You see, that agent fellow is likely to tell the School what happened, so we may as well nip in first.”

  Judith gazed at him thoughtfully, her mind turning over what he had said. She would be glad to leave The West End School, but it could not be until Lance left. That would mean one more term.

  “I expect next term’s paid for, so I may as well do that. Some of it’s useful, my voice is much bigger and my breathing is good. Feel my diaphragm. Anyway, I don’t mind what Mr. Bing says.”

  Edward felt the diaphragm.

  “Wonderful. But what’s the good of an iron diaphragm if you aren’t going to act?”

  Judith did not answer that. People, even Aunt Beatrice, liked her imitations, so obviously plenty of breath and voice must be a good thing.

  “When I leave that school, do you know what I’d simply love to do?”

  “What?”

  “Help Aunt Mercy Stratford-Derickson at her hospital, and I could use what I’ve learnt entertaining the patients.”

  Edward had no more to say. Here he had been trying to tell Judith something in such a way that she would not get an inferiority complex, and he had got nowhere. Entertaining the patients! She still apparently thought she was God’s gift to the stage. He held out a hand.

  “Come on, old lady, let’s find Charlotte. Perhaps the hospital is a good idea.”

  As the evening passed Judith found it impossible to disguise her rising excitement, or to stop herself from looking furtively at the clock. Charlotte and Edward watched her and were bewildered.

  “Extraordinary child,” thought Charlotte, “makes a fool of herself in the afternoon, has nothing to look forward to except sleeping in a house with no one in it except the charlady, and she looks as if she was off to choose herself a birthday present. Oh well, perhaps Edward has made something of her, I’m damned if I can.”

  But Edward, after driving Judith home, admitted he was as perplexed as Charlotte.

  “Do you know, I could swear all that excitement wasn’t put on. In the car she was so keyed up I could feel it, I was expecting an electric shock any minute.”

  “What happened at the house?”

  “Nothing. Judith shot out of the car as if she was meeting her bridegroom. Then the door opened and Mrs. Welsh said ‘There you are, ducks.’ It beats me.”

  Charlotte shrugged her shoulders.

  “Oh well, she’s not our problem, thank goodness. I’m glad the poor child has got something to sing about, for Beatrice rang up while you were out.”

  Edward groaned.

  “I thought she might. Did you tell her all?”

  “I couldn’t see much future in beating about the bush.”

  “What did she say?”

  “That Judith was a thoroughly tiresome girl. But she was relieved when I said she was expecting to go back to her School for another term, she said it gave everyone time to look round.”

  “I know it would be a nuisance,” said Edward, “but I rather wish we had a spare bedroom. I’d like to keep an eye on Judith, I don’t feel happy about her.”

  Judith, having greeted the Welshes and joined them over a cup of tea, made the excuse she was tired and ran up to bed. The house seemed quite changed, no Aunt Beatrice, no Catherine. “Almost,” she thought, “it feels of Lance.” She had made her plans in advance. Lance of course would be late. She would have plenty of time to undress, which was important in case Mrs. Welsh came up to see if she needed anything. But when Mrs. Welsh had gone to bed she would put on her dressing-gown and slippers, and she would sit on the bottom of the stairs leading to Lance’s room. However long she had to wait the time would pass quickly. It was so gorgeous to think of the lovely surprise she would give him. She imagined him coming in lonely and scared, to find the person who loved him waiting.

  The waiting was very long indeed, far longer than Judith had expected. So long that once or twice she fell asleep, to be woken by her head falling forward. One struck. Two. Two-fifteen. Then she heard an infinitesimal sound, and slow, soft steps on the stairs. She knew she must not frighten Lance, so she whispered:

  “Don’t be scared. It’s me. Judith.”

  In a moment Lance’s arms were round her. But not in affection, but fear, for he was shaking and icy cold.

  “Oh Judith. Judith. Look after me.”

  Because it was nearer she led him to her bedroom. When the door was shut and she had turned on the light and seen his face, such pity and love that they hurt ran through her. He looked terrible. His colour was greenish-white, his teeth were chattering, his eyes glazed-looking.

  “What’s the matter, Lance darling? How did you get in? It sounded like a window.”

  “It was. I always come that way. Of course the front door’s bolted, we ought to have thought of that. It is bolted now, isn’t it? Did you hear the Welshes bolt it?”

  Judith pulled him to the bed, and sat down beside him, and stroked his hand.

  “Yes, I heard them. I wondered what you did, but I guessed you’d found a way.”

  There was a sound of a car in the street. Lance jumped up, perspiration streaming down his face.

  “I’ve been followed. Hide me, Judith.”

  Judith pulled him back to the bed.

  “It’s only a car. I expect someone’s been to a party. What is it, Lance? Tell me. Something’s awfully wrong, isn’t it? But I shan’t mind, I’ll love you just the same whatever it is.”

  It seemed as if on those words whatever held Lance together broke, he collapsed sobbing, and between his sobs his story fell out in gusty whispers.

  “Those men I told you about, it wasn’t poker . . . I had some money of theirs, they said I took it, but I didn’t, I found a note-case . . . they said they’d go to the police unless I helped them . . . they wanted me to look after stuff they’d pinched, but I couldn’t, I mean everybody knows I live with Mother, they’d be sure to spot me . . . that’s when I came to stay with you.”

  Judith, through his recital, softly stroked Lance’s hair.

  “Poor angel. What beastly men. Then what hap
pened?”

  “I wrote to you that I thought they’d followed me here. Well, about a week ago, they stopped me on my way here. They made me take the stuff they had on them, then they ran away.”

  “What stuff?”

  Lance slightly raised his head and pointed to one of the cupboards.

  “I thought here would be safer than Robert’s room as he might come back before I could find somewhere else to put it. You’d told me where you slept. It’s all amongst your pants and things.”

  Judith crossed to the cupboard, opened the door and felt amongst some winter underclothes. There was no need to search, it was easy to find, rings, brooches, earrings, clips. She was too dazed to take in all that was there.

  “Are these stolen?”

  “Yes, but not by me. I promise you, Judith, I know nothing about them.” Lance dived in his pockets. “There’s some more here.” He brought out a shimmering necklace and one enormous brooch. “They took those at a party . . .” He broke off, his hands to his mouth, panic in his eyes. “Listen. What’s that?”

  Judith listened, but before she could speak there was a long peal on the front door bell.

  Lance was like a small scared child, he could clearly no longer think for himself, so Judith thought for him. She switched out the light. Put the necklace and brooch with the other jewellery. Closed her cupboard door, snatched off her dressing-gown, then dragged Lance to his feet.

  “Get into my bed, and lie as flat as you can. You’re so thin I don’t think you’ll show. I’ll curl up, which makes a bump anyhow, and pretend to be asleep. I bet whoever it is won’t come in here, Mrs. Welsh won’t let them.”

  Judith knew nothing of the police. It never crossed her mind the house might be surrounded, and that her light suddenly put out as the bell rang had been noticed. All she knew was that in an incredibly short time the Welshes and several men were in her room. One of the men said something to her, but, her mind on Lance, she missed what it was. Then Mrs. Welsh, with tears running down her cheeks, had her out of bed and back into her dressing-gown. Then the sheets were pulled back, and the shivering, crying Lance exposed.