Rhiannon

by Carole Llewellyn

  ‘Rhiannon, please calm down. It wasn’t like that. My hands were tied. Nellie is Mair’s mother. She was well within her rights. I’m afraid there was nothing I or anyone else could do to stop her. So the sooner you come to terms with it the better.’ With that her aunt left the room.

  Rhiannon was fuming. It was obvious that as far as her aunt was concerned there was nothing anyone could do. But Rhiannon was having none of it. She didn’t believe for one moment that Nellie wanted Mair back with her. This was not the Nellie she remembered. So what had really happened between Nellie and Aunt Florrie?

  Rhiannon vowed to get to the truth. She had meant what she said when she promised Mair that this was not the end of it. She took her mind back to the events earlier in the day, when Walter had asked her to help Mair to pack her things. When she questioned why, he simply told her that Mair’s mother had come for her.

  ‘I don’t want to go with her, Rhi.’ Mair had cried. ‘Please let me stay with you. I promise I’ll be good.’

  Rhiannon felt powerless.

  ‘I don’t understand. Where has Nellie suddenly appeared from? How did she know where to find you?’

  ‘It’s my fault. I bumped into her at the theatre last week. She and Harry Stone are living together in Cardiff and, apparently, she’s a regular visitor to the Theatre Bar. Oh Rhi, it was obvious to me that she hadn’t missed me one bit. I wanted to show her how well we were doing without her. You should have seen the way her eyes lit up when I mentioned that we were staying at the Angel Hotel.’

  ‘Mmm – I bet. But why didn’t you tell me that you’d seen her?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Rhi. I just didn’t want to admit how little I meant to my so-called mother.’

  Rhiannon could well understand Mair’s secrecy. It must be very difficult – having to admit that your own mother does not care for you. But knowing the truth only made the mystery deepen as to the reason behind Nellie’s visit.

  Outside the Angel Hotel Nellie stopped and stared at Mair.

  ‘What now?’ Mair asked.

  ‘You may well ask! I’m in a fine pickle, I can tell you.’

  ‘And I suppose it’s my fault?’ Mair quipped.

  ‘Well, in a way, yes. If only that damn woman hadn’t been so ... so unreasonable.’

  ‘Aunt Florrie, you mean?’

  ‘She’s no aunt of yours,’ Nellie scoffed. ‘She, with all the airs and graces, has certainly shown her true colours. How right you were when you said she never wanted you.’

  ‘Just like you then, eh?’ Mair snapped. ‘Why couldn’t you have let me be? I was all right with Rhiannon – at least she wanted me with her.’

  Mair felt her mother’s gloved hand strike her face.

  ‘Ouch, that hurt.’

  ‘So where’s Rhiannon now? I didn’t see her run after you. No! From now on you’re stuck with me, so, if I were you, I’d keep a civil tongue in my head. Now, come on. Harry will be wondering where I’ve got to.’

  ‘Is he expecting me?’ Mair asked still rubbing her face.

  ‘No, he bloody well isn’t. And what’s more, my Harry don’t like surprises. If I were you I’d be on my best behaviour – no backchat! Harry’s got a right temper on him. You’d do well to remember that. If you upset him, you’re on your own.’

  No change there, then, Mair thought.

  It was with great trepidation that Nellie, with Mair and her suitcase following behind, entered the flat that she shared with Harry. How was she going to explain Mair and the fact that she had been outdone by Florrie Grayson? Her only saving grace was the fifty pounds in her pocket – at least she had that.

  Harry Stone stood larger than life in the bay window. Mair’s first impression was of a man not long from his bed. He looked unshaven and dishevelled; the braces of his trousers were hanging at his side and his vest was not yet properly tucked in.

  ‘Where the hell have you been, dressed up like a dog’s dinner?’ he growled.

  Mair sensed her mother’s uneasiness.

  ‘Harry, I’ve—’

  Harry spotted Mair. ‘And who might this be, then?’

  Mair didn’t like the way Harry was eyeing her up and down. Nellie turned to Mair and, taking her by the shoulders, presented her to Harry. Mair felt Nellie’s hands shake. Why was she so nervous?

  ‘Harry ... love. This is Mair.’ Nellie swallowed hard.

  Harry eyes lit up. ‘Well hello, Mair,’ he gushed as he crossed the room to her.

  He turned to Nellie. ‘She’s perfect. She looks so sweet and innocent. She could earn us a fortune. How old is she?’

  ‘If you must know, I was thirteen in January,’ Mair snapped, annoyed by the way he was talking about her as if she wasn’t there.

  ‘The perfect age, I’d say. Nellie you are such a clever girl.’

  Nellie looked puzzled.

  ‘Don’t you remember our little conversation the other night, about you taking on a new apprentice? He turned and stared at Mair, his mouth curved in a lecherous smile. ‘Well, I say we need look no further. Mair here will do very nicely, thank you.’

  Nellie cast Mair a worried glance. She watched in horror as Harry ran the back of his hand slowly down the contours of Mair’s face and neck and then down to her breast... .

  ‘Harry. Stop!’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Harry! Mair is my daughter!

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The next morning, as Rhiannon readied herself for work, she felt weighed down by an overwhelming sense of guilt. She had spent a restless night tossing and turning, convinced that she should have done more to stop Nellie from taking Mair. There could be no denying that she had let her sister down and she could only imagine how disappointed her dear father would have been with her.

  One thing was certain: she had to find Nellie, and the sooner the better. If Nellie was a frequent visitor to the Theatre Bar, then that was where Rhiannon would begin her search. Nellie knew the truth. Nellie knew where Mair was now. Rhiannon vowed to visit the bar behind the gods at every opportunity until Nellie showed up, maybe then she would get the answers she needed if she was ever going to find Mair.

  She was thankful that Walter, ever the diplomat, had arranged for Rhiannon’s breakfast to be sent to her room with a note saying that he would be waiting in the foyer at ten to escort her to theatre in time for rehearsals. Aunt Florrie always followed later in the day, usually arriving an hour before curtain-up. Rhiannon and Walter travelled to the theatre in silence, he obviously sensing her mood. As soon as Rhiannon was safely delivered to the theatre Walter, before bidding her goodbye, handed her an envelope ‘This letter arrived for you this morning.’

  ‘A letter for me?’

  ‘Yeah. Well go on, take it.’

  Taking the letter Rhiannon instantly recognized Frank’s uneven scrawl and her heart missed a beat. At last, some news from home.

  ‘I’ll be off then. Catch you later,’ Walter said.

  Rhiannon gave him a token nod then turned and pushed open the stage door, eager to get inside and find a quiet place to read Frank’s letter.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Hughes,’ Fred the doorman called as she entered.

  ‘Morning, Fred,’ she replied.

  ‘Miss Hughes, Adam Fletcher’s been asking for you. He told me to tell you to get yourself to the front stalls.’

  Rhiannon slipped the Frank’s letter into her skirt pocket. Much as she wanted to read it, if Adam Fletcher was asking for her then something must be wrong, As Rhiannon quickly made her way to the auditorium, she complimented herself on how quickly she had learned to find her way around the dimly lit maze that was backstage, expertly weaving her way through the narrow corridors lined with obstacles: ladders, guy ropes, angle rods and various flats and backdrops for numerous scenes. She found herself squeezing past groups of artists, everyone nervously chatting, eagerly awaiting their call on to the stage.

  From the wings Rhiannon heard the orchestra tuning up and immediately felt butterflies in
her stomach. She loved everything about the theatre, from the excitement of anticipation that was backstage to the glamorous splendour of front of house.

  Adam Fletcher stood in front of the orchestra pit reading his notes. As she took the few steps from the wings to the door that led to the auditorium he looked up.

  ‘At long last; there you are, Rhiannon.’

  ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘How do you feel about understudying Sally Webber’s street-urchin performance today?’

  ‘What! Are you serious?’ Rhiannon couldn’t believe what he’d asked.

  ‘Yes, very! It’s an emergency. Last night the stupid bitch ... excuse language ... only went to a party with, wait for it ... her understudy and, unbelievably, both ate the shellfish. As I speak the two of them are in hospital with food poisoning and puking for Wales!’

  ‘But what will the other girls think? Shouldn’t you consider one of the chorus girls before me?’

  ‘In theory maybe. But, in practice, I don’t think it would work. The girls of the chorus would be the first to admit that they’re all far too tall and, if the truth be known, far too old, to carry off the part of a young street urchin. They’ll understand that, with you being, more or less, the same size as Sally, you’d be my obvious choice. So ... what do you say?’

  Rhiannon hesitated. Part of her, flattered by this vote of confidence from Adam, wanted to jump at the chance; another part was scared stiff, terrified at the thought of letting him down.

  ‘Come on, you know you can do it. I’ve seen you singing along at rehearsals and you’re word perfect,’ Adam encouraged.

  ‘I may be able to sing the song, but what about the dance steps?’

  ‘Well, we’ve got hours before tonight’s first show, so what are you waiting for? Get yourself off to the dressing-room and change into her costume. If you need it altered in any way, the wardrobe mistress will be standing by.’

  Sally Webber shared a dressing-room with the Empire Belles. As Rhiannon entered the dressing-room she took a deep breath and inhaled the familiar scent of attar of roses, inexpensive rose-water cologne that the girls generously splashed over their bodies. As she ventured forward she was still apprehensive about how they would react when they found out that she, a complete novice, was going to stand in for Sally.

  One thing was for sure: they had to be told, and sooner rather than later. In less than half an hour Adam expected her to appear on stage dressed in Sally’s costume. So, taking another deep breath, she took the plunge.

  ‘Girls, I’ve something to tell you ... you’re not going to believe this but ... Adam has asked me to stand in for Sally. What do you think?’ She hoped she hadn’t sounded as nervous as she felt. She really wanted them to be pleased for her.

  To her great relief she found that she needn’t have worried. They all welcomed her with open arms.

  ‘Have you told Mair? I bet she’ll be green with envy,’ Clara Boxall asked.

  ‘Mair – no she’s... .’ Rhiannon couldn’t believe that, faced with the prospect of appearing on stage, she had so quickly dismissed Mair’s predicament from her mind.

  ‘She’s what?’ Clara asked.

  ‘She’s gone. Last night Mair’s mother came to the hotel and took her away. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own good fortune that I haven’t spared a single thought for her. How shallow does that make me?’

  ‘Welcome to the world of theatrical performance! That’s what I say,’ Clara scoffed. ‘Now listen to me, my girl. Today you’ve been given a chance of a lifetime and you can’t afford to let anyone, not even Mair, stand in your way. Trust me, this is a cut-throat old world, you’ll not get far if you waste your time with guilt,’ Clara offered.

  It was true. Rhiannon did feel guilty but somehow she managed to convince herself that her stepsister would understand. So what if it took Rhiannon a few days to find her? It wasn’t as if Mair was alone. She was with her mother, for goodness’ sake. Now where could the hardship be in that?

  ‘Clara, will you help me? I need to get into Sally’s costume and be on stage to rehearse Sally’s dance routine.’

  ‘Of course I will. Come on, follow me.’

  Clara led the way to Sally’s chair and dressing area, situated at the far end of the room. She took Sally’s costume from its hanger and handed it to Rhiannon. ‘If I were you I’d get changed quickly into this; it wouldn’t do to keep Adam waiting. You never know, he might change his mind,’ Clara teased.

  As Rhiannon accepted the small costume she smiled and quipped, ‘He’d better not.’ Then, not used to undressing in front of strangers, she hesitated.

  ‘Come on, don’t be shy, I doubt if you’ve got anything us girls haven’t seen before,’ Clara encouraged.

  As Rhiannon slowly slipped out of her clothes she glanced down the room and was relieved to find that the other girls were too busy titivating themselves to pay any heed to her state of undress.

  Clara proceeded to help Rhiannon into the street urchin costume. ‘I must say Adam got it dead right when he picked you to cover for Sally,’ she said. ‘It fits you perfect. Well, what do you think?’ Clara turned Rhiannon round to face the mirror.

  Rhiannon stared at her reflection; dressed in the coarse serge shirt and trousers, and with her hair forced under a cloth cap slouched over her dirt-grimed face, she had been totally transformed into a young lad. ‘I look so different.’

  ‘Well, you certainly look the part, I’ll give you that. Now get yourself on stage and, if I were you, I’d work my arse off until I got the performance as good as the look!’

  Two hours later, due in the main to Adam’s professional expertise and patience, and her dogged determination, Rhiannon had the song and, more important, the dance routine mastered.

  ‘Well done. Now go and rest. You’ve over an hour before your five-minute call. When you hear that, be sure to get yourself into position in the wings and wait for Gus to announce you, then – go break a leg,’ Adam Fletcher encouraged.

  ‘Thank you, Adam; I’ll try not to let you down.’ She reached up and gave him a peck on the cheek.

  If her action surprised him, he didn’t show it. He simply smiled and said, ‘I’ve every confidence in you.’

  Florrie Desmond and Walter Cahill were almost out of the door of the Angel Hotel, on their way to the theatre, when the hotel manager called them back.

  ‘Mr Cahill, a cable has just arrived from America for you. It’s at the reception desk.’

  ‘America you say? Thank you,’ Walter said. Turning to Florrie, he flashed a smile. ‘Take a seat, my dear. I’ll not keep you waiting long.’

  Florrie watched as Walter headed back to the reception area. She hoped the delay wouldn’t make her late for the theatre – that just wouldn’t do.

  A few minutes later an excited Walter, with a noticeable spring in his step, returned waving the cable above his head. ‘Florrie, after all this time, why, I’d almost given up hope... .’

  ‘Walter, what is it?’

  ‘It’s such wonderful news. The Americans want you.’

  Florrie stood up. ‘They do?’

  ‘Yes. They want you to replace ... wait for it ... Alice Lloyd – the great Marie Lloyd’s talented sister, at the Colonial Theatre, New York. Alice Lloyd, one of the highest paid music hall stars in America has decided to make a ten-week return visit to Britain. The Colonial Theatre need someone to replace her short time. You were their first choice.’

  ‘How soon do they want me?’

  ‘Alice Lloyd is booked on the White Star line out of New York on the sixteenth April. If we want to be there by then we shall have to move quickly in order to make the make the necessary arrangements.’

  ‘But how can I leave? I’m contracted to the Empire Theatre for almost another three months. Oh Walter, please say that there’s a way out? You know how long I’ve waited for a chance to make an American début.’

  ‘You leave it to me. I’ve an idea that might just work.’
/>   The girls’ dressing-room was buzzing with excitement in anticipation of Rhiannon’s stage début.

  ‘Whatever you do, don’t rush on stage. Take your time. It gives the audience a chance to give you the “once over”, and you, time to steady your nerves. A confident smile can help too,’ Clara advised.

  There was a knock on the door and without waiting to be answered Gus Davenport entered.

  ‘Well, what’s this I hear, Princess Rhi? You’re to appear in Sally’s place for tonight’s shows. I do hope that you’re up to the job. For while I admit to you making as good-looking a young lad as Sally, the question is, have you got her talent?’ he asked, nonchalantly leaning against the dressing-room door.

  Rhiannon thought how handsome he looked in his stage apparel.

  ‘Adam Fletcher has confidence in me,’ she quipped, determined to show him that she could give as good as she got.

  ‘Ah, yes. But it’s the Empire’s audience you need to convince. They’re a canny lot. You’ll have to be good to get them on your side. Sally’s a favourite.’

  ‘I ... I... .’ Rhiannon stammered, her confidence starting to wane.

  Gus gave a loud laugh.

  ‘Gus Davenport, leave the poor girl alone. She’s nervous enough without your attempted black humour. Anyway, why are you here?’ Clara asked.

  ‘As I’ve only just been told about the performance change, it would help me to know what this little song-bird wanted to be called.’ Gus raised his eyebrows and looked to Rhiannon for an answer.

  ‘I don’t understand. You know my name.’ She scowled at him. Her confidence was now restored as she found out that he’d only been trying to goad her.

  ‘I do. I just thought that you might want to use a glamorous stage name – you wouldn’t be the first.’ He beamed a smile.

  ‘No thank you, Mr Davenport. Rhiannon Hughes will do just fine.’