The Sequin Star

by Belinda Murrell

  ‘Come on, Princess Rosina,’ called Claire. ‘It’s time for us to go down.’

  The girls walked together down the wide, sweeping staircase and into the entrance hall. Kit and Jem were already down there, dressed in their evening suits. Kit wore the traditional white bow tie with wingtip shirt and waistcoat, black tails and trousers, and a white rose in his buttonhole. Jem had borrowed a spare evening suit from Manfred the Magnificent, which was a little too big for him.

  ‘Well, you both look stunning,’ Kit said. ‘But aren’t you missing your little monkey stole? I quite expected you to have smuggled Lula in your bag.’

  Claire laughed. Sometimes Lula did look like a little brown fur cape.

  ‘Lula is safe at home,’ said Rosina. ‘Otherwise, she would be pilfering food and probably stealing the family heirlooms as well.’

  ‘Then I’m glad you came without her – and without Elsie as well. I have seen firsthand what she is capable of doing to our supper room.’ Kit grinned as he led the way towards the back of the house.

  A long, wide ballroom ran across the back with a timber parquet floor, cedar-panelled walls and crystal chandeliers. Large urns held massive flower arrangements. The only furniture in the room was a grand piano in the corner, which was being played by a musician in a black tuxedo. The band musicians were set up beside it, playing drums, a saxophone, trumpet and trombone in a mellow waltz.

  French windows opened onto the terrace and the lawns running down to the harbour. The scent of roses wafted in on the warm breeze. Coloured lanterns hung in the trees. On the harbour, a flotilla of boats, bedecked with lights, sailed back and forth as part of the Venetian carnival.

  ‘It looks like a fairyland out there,’ said Claire.

  ‘We’ll get a stunning view of the fireworks later,’ Kit replied.

  Waiters circulated, carrying silver trays of crystal glasses filled with various beverages. Rosina and Claire sipped on tall glasses of icy lemonade, while Jem and Kit had a ginger beer. The room was filling with people, chatting, laughing and dancing. Claire loved watching the couples dance together in complicated routines.

  Kit’s father came over, accompanied by a group of his cronies, all dressed in formal white tie and tails. One man was tall and confident, with a neatly trimmed moustache.

  ‘There you are, Christopher,’ said Mr Hunter. ‘I wanted you to meet my very good friend and business associate, Colonel Eric Campbell.’

  As everyone was introduced, Claire realised that she was meeting the infamous leader of the New Guard that she had heard so much about.

  ‘Eric says that the police are trying to have Captain de Groot declared insane,’ said Mr Hunter.

  ‘They won’t succeed, of course,’ said Colonel Campbell, smiling at Claire and Rosina. ‘He’s as sane as you or me, and certainly saner than that scoundrel Lang.’

  ‘Well, I think the whole performance was an ill-advised scheme,’ said one of the other men. ‘He could easily have started a riot. There were plenty of Lang supporters who were ready to lynch de Groot.’

  Claire exchanged glances with Rosina and Jem. Kit fidgeted.

  Colonel Campbell nodded sagely. ‘We were prepared for that. We had hundreds of well-trained, patriotic and loyal men, many of them ex-army officers and veterans, standing by in the crowd, ready for trouble. The New Guard have been drilling for months, ready to defend our country against the communists, so a few rabblerousers would have been easily dealt with.’

  ‘It was an excellent notion of de Groot’s,’ replied Mr Hunter. ‘I wish I’d thought of it myself.’

  Colonel Campbell clapped Mr Hunter on the back and laughed. ‘I still have work for you, my good friend. Our mission will not be finished until that tyrant is gone.’

  Kit glanced over towards the band, looking uncomfortable. ‘Well, Father, if you’ll excuse me, I think it is time that we asked these ladies to dance.’ He offered Rosina his arm. ‘Rosina, would you care to join me?’

  Rosina’s hazel eyes sparkled. ‘Thank you, Kit,’ she replied, draping her gloved hand on his arm. ‘I’d love to.’

  Jem turned to Claire and grinned, gesturing towards the dance floor. ‘Shall we, Mademoiselle Claire?’

  As Claire and Jem followed Kit and Rosina, Claire could hear Mr Hunter talking loudly behind her.

  ‘I’m not sure where that son of mine has dug up those new friends of his,’ confessed Mr Hunter. ‘I think he’s going through a rebellious stage. The sooner he meets a lovely young girl from a respectable family the better.’

  Colonel Campbell laughed. ‘A few years at university and he’ll settle down. In our generation, the Great War made sure we grew up very fast. There was no time for being rebellious then.’

  Claire tossed her head. She didn’t appreciate the suggestion that she and Rosina were not respectable.

  ‘Ignore them,’ Jem advised. ‘The whole lot are clearly snooty upper-class snobs talking a load of twaddle.’

  ‘Mutton-heads?’ asked Claire.

  ‘That’s being too kind,’ Jem decided with a grin.

  Claire’s annoyance quickly passed as she was caught up in the sheer fun of dancing. Kit had a word to the band and they switched from playing old-time dances to modern jazz tunes.

  Rosina and Jem had taught Claire some dance steps on the sawdust floor under the Big Top to some scratchy gramophone records. She had learned to waltz, foxtrot, quickstep and, her favourite of all, some of the latest swing steps. These were fast-moving routines where partners improvised as they went along, spinning out and back in again, dipping and weaving.

  The four friends lost themselves in the rhythm of the music.

  Claire danced with Jem, then with Kit, then with another couple of young men, until she was pink-cheeked with exertion. When she was feeling quite puffed out, Kit led them to the supper room to partake of a delectable feast of oysters, smoked salmon, caviar, lobster, mushroom canapés, roast beef and asparagus. It was a stark contrast to their usual circus meals of gravy and potatoes or bread and dripping. Claire, Jem and Rosina had to restrain themselves from gobbling their meals like starving children.

  After supper the band beckoned once more and they danced out on the lawn under the light of the moon and the lanterns, which looked enchanting reflected on the surface of the harbour, especially when the cascade of fireworks began. They stopped to watch the spectacular showers of multi-coloured explosions. Rosina shivered in the cool autumn air, and Kit quickly shrugged off his black evening jacket, gently wrapping it around her bare shoulders.

  ‘You’re cold,’ he murmured. ‘Would you like to go back inside?’

  Rosina snuggled into the warm jacket. She lifted her hair from under the collar and shook it out. ‘Thanks, that’s lovely. Let’s stay out here – it’s so very beautiful.’

  The band struck up a slow melody. Rosina turned and slipped into Kit’s arms. ‘One more dance?’

  The two of them seemed oblivious to everyone else around them. Kit was ignoring his duty as host to dance with other girls. The pair gradually moved down towards the shadows near the water, dancing close together. At last, the band stopped to take a rest.

  The spell was broken. Kit and Rosina strolled back to join Claire and Jem, who were sitting on a low garden wall.

  Rosina glanced at Kit’s watch and sighed. ‘It’s nearly midnight.’ Claire had a sinking feeling: the magical evening was nearly over.

  ‘I’ve asked Larry to drive you back to the lot at midnight,’ offered Kit. ‘I don’t like to ask him to drive too late.’

  ‘That’s kind of you,’ said Jem. ‘There aren’t many trams at this time.’

  Rosina swept her arm out towards the view and the glimmering lights. ‘It has been the most wonderful evening,’ she said. ‘Thank you, Kit. I’ll never forget today and this fabulous party. We don’t get invited to balls very often.’


  ‘My pleasure,’ Kit replied. ‘I’ve enjoyed your company very much.’

  Claire glanced back inside. Larry came into the ballroom in his chauffeur’s uniform and glanced around, looking for them. ‘Larry’s here already,’ she said.

  Mr Hunter was talking to some friends near the doorway. He turned to Larry and asked him a question. Claire thought she saw Mr Hunter’s face darken at Larry’s reply.

  ‘We’d better go in then,’ Kit suggested. ‘I don’t want to keep him waiting.’

  Reluctantly, Rosina took off Kit’s jacket and handed it back. Kit shrugged it on, did up the button then took Rosina’s gloved hand and tucked it under his arm.

  The four strolled inside and crossed the parquet floor. Mr Hunter marched forward and grasped Kit by the shoulder. He glared at Rosina, Jem and Claire. Rosina drew away.

  ‘What’s this that Jenkins says about your friends?’ hissed Mr Hunter. ‘Jenkins said you’ve asked him to drive them back to the circus. He said they are performers.’ This last word was spat out with disgust.

  Claire shrank back, hearing the venom in his voice. Mr Hunter looked at her as though she was some loathsome insect that had crawled in from the garden. Jem slouched, hands in his pockets. Rosina stood tall in her gorgeous crimson dress, her eyes flashing defiantly.

  ‘Father,’ Kit began. ‘They’re my friends –’

  ‘I will not have vagabonds like that in my house,’ Mr Hunter insisted. ‘They are not respectable people.’

  Jem flushed a dark, angry red and looked ready to protest. Claire felt completely humiliated.

  ‘Father,’ Kit replied. ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘Get out of my house,’ Mr Hunter spat at Claire, Rosina and Jem. ‘Jenkins will not be driving you. It sounds like he has done far too much of that already.’

  Mr Hunter turned to Kit. ‘Christopher, I forbid you to see these gypsies again. Do you hear me?’

  As Mr Hunter’s voice rose, a number of guests had turned to see what was going on. Claire felt her cheeks flame with embarrassment.

  ‘I heard you, Father,’ Kit murmured, his face white.

  ‘I will talk to you about this in the morning.’ Mr Hunter dropped his voice again. ‘I realise you have been on your own a lot since school finished, but you should be mingling with people of your own kind.’

  Kit threw a look of despair towards Rosina and Claire.

  Mr Hunter turned towards them. With icy calmness he looked them over once more, then spun on his heel and walked away. He stopped at the doorway and spoke to Larry, who nodded his head, shot a look at Kit, then left the room.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Kit said. He could hardly meet their eyes. ‘I cannot believe he behaved like that. It is unforgiv­able . . .’

  Jem dug his hands deeper in his pockets. ‘Cripes, did you think your father wouldn’t notice that we were ordinary? That he wouldn’t smell the stink of poverty?’

  Rosina’s eyes glinted in the light. She blinked rapidly. ‘Thank you, Kit,’ she said with great dignity. ‘We must go now.’

  Claire thought she carried herself like a duchess. Rosina walked towards the door, her head held high and her long skirts swishing. Claire tried to copy her demeanour, but really she just felt like crying.

  Kit looked crushed too. He accompanied them to the front drive. Larry was out the near the garage.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ said Larry. ‘Your father said I’m not allowed to drive your guests back.’

  ‘I understand, Larry,’ Kit said, dejected. ‘Goodnight.’

  ‘Goodnight, sir,’ Larry answered as he walked back towards his apartment over the garage.

  ‘Larry, would you be so good as to bring the car around for me in the morning?’ Kit asked. ‘I have an early errand I need to run – say, at half-past eight?’

  Larry paused and nodded. ‘Of course, sir.’ He turned and walked away.

  ‘Rosina, I am so sorry,’ Kit began. ‘My father . . . Well, my father and I don’t always see eye to eye. He can be very old-fashioned.’

  Rosina inclined her head without meeting his eyes.

  ‘I’ll come and see you all tomorrow morning,’ Kit promised. ‘I do want to talk to you about my charity lunch. I would really like to organise a circus performance for a group of needy children. I’ll see you about eleven?’

  ‘Goodnight, Kit,’ Claire whispered. ‘See you tomorrow.’

  ‘We have a lot to do tomorrow,’ warned Rosina.

  Rosina stared at the white roses, ghostly in the darkness. Jem kicked his foot against the white gravel, scuffing his black shoes.

  ‘I’ll walk you,’ Kit offered awkwardly. ‘Make sure you get home safely.’

  Rosina tossed her head. ‘Don’t, Kit. Just don’t.’

  Rosina began walking, her heels slipping on the glassy gravel. Jem hurried after her, his bow tie pulled loose and his hair mussed. Claire stared back at Kit imploringly.

  ‘Claire,’ Kit whispered. ‘I promise I’ll come tomorrow. I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

  Claire whispered goodbye then turned and hurried after Rosina and Jem. Once out of sight of the house, Rosina took her crimson shoes off to walk barefoot. Claire did the same, walking gingerly on the rough road.

  The scene with Kit’s father in the ballroom played and replayed in her head. How could he be so rude? How could he be so narrow-minded?

  After a couple of kilometres, Claire noticed that Rosina was limping badly.

  ‘Is your knee sore?’ asked Claire. Rosina looked pale in the moonlight, like an ice queen. She shook her head and limped faster.

  By the time they had walked for an hour, Claire and Jem had to support Rosina on either side as she hobbled along. It was one o’clock in the morning when they finally stumbled onto the lot. Claire had nasty blisters on her heels and bruises on her soles. She felt numb with exhaustion.

  The camp was quiet, with all the performers asleep in their caravans. Jem said a very subdued goodnight to Claire and Rosina, who could still hardly speak. Rosina carried herself tall and proud until she had undressed and crawled into bed. It was only later when the light had been out for a long time that Claire thought she heard the sound of muffled sobs coming from Rosina’s bunk.

  The next morning it was jobs as usual, which seemed hard after the excitement of the day before. Rosina was being bright and cheerful, limping around the lot as though the ugly scene at the ball had never happened. Claire tried to talk to her about it but was gently brushed aside. There was no sign of Kit’s promised visit. Claire kept half an eye on the entrance to the lot, expecting the black limousine to pull up at any moment.

  It was Sunday so there was no performance planned. The girls were busy feeding the monkeys and Jem was raking out the cage when Flash Frank wandered over.

  Lula was dangling upside down from one of the swings. She reached out and in a moment was clinging to the top of Jem’s head.

  ‘How did you enjoy the celebrations yesterday?’ asked Frank, leaning on his shovel. ‘Did you get a good view?’

  ‘We saw everything,’ said Jem, gently peeling Lula off and putting her on the ground. ‘We were sitting right next to all the dignitaries.’

  ‘Captain de Groot was pulled off his horse directly in front of us,’ Rosina added.

  ‘It’s a shame I wasn’t closer,’ said Frank. ‘I could have thrown the fascist mongrel off the bridge.’

  The four chatted about the opening celebrations. Claire was glad that Frank hadn’t been able to start trouble on the bridge. She could imagine him instigating a riot right in front of the VIP dais.

  ‘I heard you spent the day with that townie who’s been hanging around the lot?’ asked Frank.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Claire. ‘Kit Hunter – he asked us to be his guests.’

  ‘You should be careful mixing with that type,’ adv
ised Frank. ‘I’ve heard his father is high up in the New Guard.’

  ‘Who told you that?’ asked Rosina.

  Frank tapped the side of his nose. ‘Oh, just a little birdie. I’ve heard he’s in tight with Campbell.’

  ‘Eric Campbell was there last night,’ Jem said. ‘He was boasting about his massive secret army and how they were ready to defeat the communist revolution – or more likely stage a coup and overthrow our own democratically elected government.’

  ‘Eric Campbell is a lunatic,’ Rosina agreed. ‘But Kit’s all right. His heart is in the right place.’

  Jem snorted. ‘Well, we certainly had a taste of how the filthy rich live in luxury while we all starve.’

  ‘Really?’ asked Frank.

  Jem described the supper from the night before. Rosina added in the details of the mansion on the harbour.

  ‘You should have seen the artwork,’ Jem continued. ‘Original paintings in every room. It all must be worth a bloomin’ fortune.’

  ‘Where does he live?’ asked Frank.

  ‘It’s a huge house called Beaumont at Kirribilli,’ Claire replied. ‘It’s beautiful.’

  ‘Lucky chap,’ Frank observed. ‘Well, Roy and I are off to see the rabbit skin merchant. Have you loaded your pelts on the truck yet, Jem? I’m hoping we’ll get a beaut price for them all.’

  15

  Visit to Beaumont

  After the monkeys there were the horses and elephants to tend to. Jem set off by tram to visit his family at Happy Valley. Many of the other circus workers had headed off into the city for the day. Alf was giving his three children riding lessons on the miniature ponies in the ring. Frank and Roy drove off in one of the small circus vans, laden with rabbit pelts.

  Rosina pushed a flick of her fringe back from her forehead. ‘I thought you might like to come for a ride,’ she suggested. ‘We could go down to the harbour and take the horses for a swim.’

  Claire glanced over towards the road. There was still no sign of Kit. He had promised to come over in the morning.