Little Stars Read online

  We followed her.

  ‘I’m sorry about the noise just now, Mrs Ruby,’ I said, struggling with the penny-farthing. ‘But it wasn’t really our fault.’

  ‘Oh yes it was!’ she replied.

  ‘But – but . . .’ I spluttered. I’d had too many years in the Foundling Hospital to know you never ever told tales, but this seemed monstrously unfair.

  ‘Cat got your tongue?’ said Mrs Ruby. ‘You had plenty to say on stage!’

  ‘Did we go on too long?’

  ‘Yes, you did! You were nearly ten minutes over, a cardinal sin where I’m concerned. And then there was the extra minute when you milked the applause.’

  ‘But we were called back!’

  ‘Of course you were. I gave my Samson a nod to do just that. I know success when I see it. And that’s why all the other artistes were so over-excited one way or another. Old Benjamin grew as green and sour as a cooking apple! You’ve pipped his little performance.’

  ‘We didn’t mean to!’

  ‘Didn’t you? Well, for your information, little Miss Innocent, you two ran away with the whole show. I knew you’d look sweet on stage, and the penny-farthing acrobatics are a clever idea, but I didn’t realize how you two would come alive. And tonight’s audience is as sticky as treacle, I’m telling you. Poor Peter Perkins died a death and the others didn’t do much better.’

  ‘Bertie did,’ Diamond piped up.

  ‘Yes, little Bertie worked his charms, as always. He’s clearly very smitten with you, Emerald Star. He seems to have a penchant for little green girls, our Bertie.’

  I quivered at that. Ivy Green!

  ‘You two are a big success. I’m very pleased with you. I might well put you on in the second act. It’s a bit saggy at the moment, with that interminable ballet. I’ve got some adjustments to make. But you need a better spot – and it looks like it had better be far removed from Benjamin Apple or he’ll get so het up he’ll bake himself. Now, off you go – and well done!’

  ‘Can’t we watch the rest of the show, Mrs Ruby?’ I asked.

  ‘No, you girls need to go home and get your beauty sleep. Look at this little one.’ Mrs Ruby put her hand under Diamond’s chin and tilted her head.

  I saw the dark shadows under her eyes and didn’t argue any further.

  ‘See you tomorrow, girls. Pedal carefully. You’re a valuable asset!’ said Mrs Ruby.

  ‘What’s a valuable asset?’ Diamond asked sleepily, clutching me as we wobbled back to Miss Gibson’s.

  ‘Us!’ I said. ‘We really are Little Stars, Diamond. We’re the stars of the whole show!’

  WE WERE STILL nervous the next night – more so, in fact, because we’d been such a hit on our opening night. Perhaps we’d simply had beginner’s luck, and we’d never be as good ever again. But we were, we were! The applause was still deafening and Samson Ruby called us back to take our bow.

  We were circus girls and used to performing day after day, night after night, but by the Saturday we were both exhausted. Diamond was looking permanently pale and peaky, with shadows under her eyes. Now that we’d been promoted to the second act, we were at the theatre until ten, and Diamond often wasn’t asleep until eleven at night, which was certainly much too late for a small girl.

  I made her take a nap after lunch on Saturday. She slept all afternoon while I stitched away, fashioning Mrs Ruby’s free frock. (Miss Gibson was an angel and helped me with all the extra-tricky parts.)

  Diamond still seemed exhausted when I woke her. I brought her a bowl of bread and milk, with sugar sprinkled on top. We couldn’t eat a proper meal before a performance in case we were sick, and Diamond had to have a near-empty stomach to manage all her acrobatics.

  She could only manage a few spoonfuls, even when I tried to feed her. ‘I’m not hungry, Hetty. I’m just so sleepy,’ she said, rubbing her eyes. ‘Can I go back to bed now?’

  ‘No, darling, we’ve got to wash and brush you and get you all gussied up in your costume for the performance,’ I said.

  ‘I’m a bit tired of performing,’ she sighed. ‘We’ve done it so much. Couldn’t we stay at home today?’

  ‘You know we can’t. It’s Saturday, the Cavalcade’s big night. Mrs Ruby says there isn’t a seat to be had. We must go, whether we want to or not. We have to show we’re true professionals.’ I gently pulled her out of bed.

  She stood before me in her skimpy nightgown, shivering. ‘I wish I didn’t have to be a true professional,’ she said. ‘I want to be a real little girl.’

  ‘You are real, silly! Well, you have to pretend to be a doll, but that’s just play-acting. You do know that, don’t you?’ I said worriedly.

  Diamond nodded wearily. ‘Of course. It’s all right, Hetty. I’ll come. I’ll do the show.’

  ‘Everyone thinks we’re wonderful. Well, everyone except Mr Apple and his weird little dummy. I am Little Pip and I copy everything my papa does.’ I mimicked his strange squeaky voice, hoping Diamond would laugh.

  She smiled politely but still looked very wan.

  ‘Diamond, I know you’re very tired now, but you do like performing, don’t you?’ I asked.

  Diamond looked uncertain.

  ‘You like doing our penny-farthing routine better than doing the human column with the Silver Tumblers?’ I persisted.

  ‘Oh yes! Much better,’ said Diamond. ‘And no Mister beating me!’

  I didn’t enquire further as I washed her face and helped her dress and brushed the tangles out of her hair. I told myself that Diamond was simply in a contrary mood because she was over-tired. Of course she liked performing. She’d been out on the streets turning cartwheels for pennies when she was scarcely more than a baby. She didn’t have a cruel master now. I knew she loved receiving applause at the end of our performance. She skipped, she smiled, she waved her hands.

  I wouldn’t admit even to myself that there was now something mechanical about Diamond’s behaviour on stage, as if she really were a doll moving by clockwork trickery. Deep down, she really would prefer an ordinary little girl’s life.

  But then where would that leave me? I’d devised our act, but I knew that Diamond was the real star – she could perform amazing acrobatics, she could pass for a five- or six-year-old, and she was incredibly pretty, like a little fairy. I was a plain skinny redhead with no extraordinary skills whatsoever, just the gift of the gab. I couldn’t be a music-hall artiste without Diamond.

  I worried all the way to the Cavalcade. Diamond slumped behind me on the penny-farthing, dozing again. But when we got to the theatre, she perked up at last, and chatted happily to Bertie. I told him that she was feeling a little off-colour, so he was especially charming and gentle, pretending that she was little Cinderella and he was the handsome prince. He even danced with her at a pretend ball, though there was scarcely any room to move in the wings.

  The waiting ballet dancers thought this charming, and showed Diamond how to point her feet and stand on tiptoe, but Sven the Sword-Swallower objected.

  ‘I have to concentrate and prepare my throat,’ he said. ‘Keep the wee girls away from me, Bertie.’

  He was no more foreign than Signor Olivelli. He was actually Sam McTavish from Glasgow. He used to work the Scottish halls as Bagpipe Mac, but those tartan acts were two a penny, so he’d come down south and tried something different. He shared Bertie’s digs and was a nice enough fellow, often giving Diamond and me very sweet sugary lumps called ‘tablet’, but he was always edgy before a performance. I could understand. If his sword went awry, he could easily slice a strip off his throat or perforate his stomach.

  I pulled Diamond away from Bertie and made her stand still beside me.

  ‘Oh, poor Bertie. You’ve lost your Cinderella. Shall I have a little dance with you instead?’ said Ivy Green.

  She was the other disadvantage of being in the second act. We had to wait beside her in the wings. She pretended to make a fuss of Diamond, treating her as if she really were five, talking in