Little Stars Read online

  ‘My goodness, let’s stay in the wings and watch them,’ I whispered to Diamond. ‘I think they’re going to be interesting!’

  They were amazing. They performed the most astonishing play. It was all about a murder, with Mr Parkinson solving the mystery and saving Marina Royal from a similar fate – but it wasn’t a tragedy at all, it was wondrously comic.

  ‘It’s called a farce,’ said Bertie knowledgeably.

  Diamond was worried when so many things went wrong: the actors tripped or dropped things or hid behind doors and were discovered. ‘Will they get into trouble?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘No, no, it’s meant to go wrong,’ said Bertie. ‘That’s why it’s so funny.’

  The audience were in stitches, and half the Cavalcade artistes crowded into the wings, hands over their mouths, rocking with laughter too.

  ‘Bit of a change from all that dreary dancing!’ said Bertie. ‘Isn’t Marina Royal comical when she wants to be! I love her funny way of walking. She’s still a fine figure of a woman, isn’t she?’

  ‘Well, personally I think she’s a little past it, poor old dear,’ said Ivy Green, sniffing. ‘Bit of a come-down, isn’t it? I thought she used to be a serious actress?’

  ‘I think she’s doing splendidly now,’ I said fiercely. ‘Bertie’s right – she still looks marvellous.’

  ‘Yes, well . . .’ said Ivy, looking at me and not finishing her sentence. She clearly meant that a plain little thing like me would think Marina Royal marvellous.

  ‘She can still act all of us off the stage,’ I said sharply.

  Bertie looked amused. He always liked it when the two of us got into a spat. He especially liked acting as a referee, trying to calm us down.

  I wasn’t in the mood for that. ‘Come on, Diamond, let’s go home,’ I said.

  ‘But we always wait till after Bertie’s act, then he can walk us home,’ said Diamond.

  ‘Yes, but I think we’re both tired and need to go home now,’ I said firmly.

  However, when I’d dragged her away, I stowed the penny-farthing down with grumpy old Stan, and we slipped back into the Cavalcade. As it was a Monday, we weren’t sold out, so it was easy to find two seats in the back stalls. I watched the rest of Mr Parkinson’s comical farce, which continued at a glorious pace until the grand finale. The applause was tremendous.

  ‘Mrs Ruby knows what she’s doing! They’re so much better than the ballet,’ I said to Diamond. But she had already curled up on her plush seat and was fast asleep.

  I didn’t wake her up. I waited during the long interval, going over the play in my head, marvelling at their comic timing. They made it all look so easy, but I realized how much practice it took to get everything so spot-on perfect.

  I was tired myself, and knew I should take Diamond home to bed and go to sleep myself, but I was keen to see what the actors would do in their third-act spot.

  It was worth the wait. I was expecting another comedy, but this seemed to be a romance between two actors, Miss Royal and Mr Parkinson – Romeo and Juliet. I’d never seen or read the Shakespeare play, but I had a vague idea that it was about two young lovers. The audience knew this too, and when they saw a makeshift balcony being rolled on stage with Marina Royal standing on it and Mr Parkinson pacing below, there was a guffaw of laughter: it seemed ridiculous, two elderly people acting such parts.

  Perhaps that was the point . . . Were they going to ham it up and make it deliberately foolish? I wondered. But when Miss Royal gazed out into the auditorium in seeming frustration and said, ‘O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?’ I knew she was playing the scene with all due seriousness.

  Suddenly she became Juliet, everything about her young and lissom and eager. When Mr Parkinson answered, he seemed to become an ardent passionate youth. There were still a few titters from the rowdier elements, but these soon subsided. Marina Royal and Gerald Parkinson had managed to overcome an entire semi-drunken Cavalcade audience by the simple power of their acting.

  I sat bolt upright, tingling all over as their words reached me. I believed in them, I believed in their sudden overwhelming love, I hoped that somehow they could live happily ever after, even though I sensed there would be a tragic ending. The words themselves made complex patterns in my head. They were archaic, difficult to understand at first, and yet so beautiful that it was worth the effort. Marina Royal and Gerald Parkinson seemed aware of this, and spoke slowly and dramatically, emphasizing everything with gestures, but at the same time they managed to seem utterly natural, two young people longing for each other.

  I thought of my time in the wood with Jem, my dalliance with Bertie. My own romances seemed so small and stunted compared with Romeo and Juliet’s grand passion. Perhaps it was simply Shakespeare’s words that worked the magic. I tried to imagine straightforward Jem with his country burr proclaiming such passionate poetry, Bertie with his Cockney twang and constant teasing speaking with such ardour. It was impossible.

  I wanted the scene to go on for ever, but it was only minutes before the couple parted. There was a little silence after Juliet had disappeared from her balcony and Romeo had run off stage – and then everyone clapped furiously.

  I stood up and clapped too, so enthusiastically that Diamond jerked awake, startled. ‘What’s happened, Hetty? What is it?’ she muttered.

  ‘Oh, Diamond, I should have woken you. Never mind, we’ll watch tomorrow – and tomorrow and tomorrow! They’re so wonderful, especially Miss Royal! Oh, if only I could act like her!’ I burbled, completely overcome.

  ‘I’m sure you could, Hetty,’ said Diamond, loyal as ever. ‘In fact, I’m sure you could do it better!’

  She’d thoroughly woken up now, so we stayed right till the end of the show to watch Lily Lark, who was as saucy as ever, and sang her heart out – but suddenly her act seemed almost tawdry, compared with the style and passion of the two actors. Perhaps I didn’t want to top the music-hall bills any more. I wanted to be a real actress!

  At the end of the show Diamond and I went out with the crowd, but I lingered outside the stage door, wanting to see Marina Royal again. There was a crowd already gathering there. Most of them recognized Diamond and me, and several asked us to write our names on their programmes.

  It was the first time this had happened, and I must admit I found it thrilling. I wrote Emerald Star with a fancy flourish, and added a five-pointed star to set off my signature. Diamond had a little more difficulty: her ds were a little wobbly, with a tendency to slope in different directions, but she managed reasonably well, though she stuck out her tongue as she struggled to control her pen. She added Star to her name, and copied me with her own little star at the end.

  The crowd thought she was the sweetest child ever, but they forgot all about us when the stage door opened. There was Marina Royal, looking tired but splendid, with a sable fur wrapped round her gown. Mr Parkinson stood at her side protectively. They were immediately surrounded, everyone babbling, Oh, Miss Royal, you were splendid tonight; Please sign my programme for me!; I’ve been following your career for the last twenty years, you’re the best actress of your generation; Dear Miss Royal, please accept this little posy as a token of my appreciation . . .

  I found such adulation a little sickening, and I suspect Miss Royal did too, but she smiled and signed and said a few words to each person, while Mr Parkinson waited patiently at her side.

  ‘Are you going to speak to her, Hetty?’ Diamond asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. I wanted to, but for the first time in my life I couldn’t think of anything to say. I wanted to distinguish myself from all these other sycophantic people, to say something that would really interest her, but nothing came to me. Perhaps it would be better to go straight home. I would probably embarrass myself if I tried to speak to her.

  The stage door opened again. The crowd surged forward once more, hoping for Lily Lark, but this time it was Samson in his crimson cloak, an ivory cane in one hand. I ducked my head, bu