Dancing the Charleston Read online

  ‘Barbara made them for me,’ Marcella told us unnecessarily. ‘Look, she’s over there.’

  She was supervising Ella and the other maids as they set out yet more platters of food. Aunty and I stared. Barbara wore a cobbled-together patchwork dress in red and yellow and blue and green – and a very large black false nose. I didn’t dare look at Aunty. I had to press my lips together to stop myself bursting out laughing.

  ‘Can you guess what she is?’ Marcella asked.

  We struggled. ‘Is she the Pied Piper?’ I suggested, because the dress was predominantly red and yellow.

  ‘No! Why would she be wearing a beak if she was the Pied Piper?’ asked Marcella. ‘She’s a parrot!’

  ‘Of course she is,’ said Aunty weakly.

  ‘But parrots aren’t sea creatures,’ I said.

  ‘Yes they are, if they’re on a pirate’s shoulder,’ Marcella said triumphantly. ‘See Stanley over there? He’s Long John Silver.’

  He was helping himself to oyster patties, making a mess of the careful arrangement. He wore his ordinary paint-stained smock and trousers, but sported a scarf knotted around his head and a patch over one eye.

  ‘Barbara begged him to tie one leg up behind him, but Stanley said he wasn’t going to stump around looking like an idiot all night. He’s such a bad sport,’ said Marcella, shaking her head.

  All at once the band struck up a lively new tune.

  ‘Oh, it’s a polka,’ she said. ‘I love the polka! Come and dance with me, Mona.’

  ‘I don’t know how!’

  ‘It’s ever so easy. Even Bruno can do it. One-two-three-hop! That’s all it is,’ said Marcella, demonstrating. She did it very daintily, picking up her skirts and pointing her toes. I was sure I’d look silly beside her in my green bloomers.

  ‘I don’t like dancing,’ I lied.

  ‘Oh, meanie!’ Marcella pouted. ‘Please, Mona!’

  ‘Go on, dear,’ Aunty urged.

  I shook my head.

  ‘All right, I’ll go and find Bruno,’ said Marcella, and ran off.

  ‘Why did you say no, you silly girl?’ Aunty hissed to me. ‘You do like dancing! You’re forever prancing around the house.’

  ‘I don’t like this kind of dancing,’ I said obstinately.

  I thought Bruno would look ridiculous dancing naked, but he seemed entirely unselfconscious. He whirled around merrily with Marcella, and the guests cheered.

  I looked across at Esmeralda, wondering if she was feeling hampered by her beautiful tail, but several young men had deserted Desiree and now lounged at her side, plying her with drinks and plates of food.

  Desiree herself was dancing with Mr Benjamin, her white chiffon in danger of falling off altogether. Lady Arabella was dancing with the silver fish. He was tall, so I thought he might be Ambrose, but then I spotted Ambrose himself drifting about in white gauze with long dangling tentacles, the white turban on his head wobbling like a jelly.

  I spluttered into my strawberry cordial. Harold was keeping Aunty and me regularly supplied with drink. He brought us wonderful food too – gigantic prawns, tiny portions of fried fish in crispy batter, smoked salmon and oyster patties. I liked the desserts even better. I tried lime posset, pale green blancmange, and little blue fairy cakes studded with pearly sweets.

  I ate and drank with gusto – until I spotted Roland dancing with a fair-haired girl in a sea-green dress. A little later he was dancing with a redhead in a midnight-blue costume. Neither seemed to be wearing fancy dress, but they both looked very pretty. I wished I wasn’t wearing my baggy bloomers. Roland glanced at me once or twice, but he didn’t come and ask me to dance.

  Aunty saw me looking. ‘It’s your own fault, dear. Marcella probably told him you didn’t like dancing.’ She reached out and squeezed my hand, nearly knocking my glass of cordial over. ‘Whoops!’ she said. ‘Silly old Aunty!’ She seemed to be enjoying herself, which was quite a surprise.

  I turned and saw Ella scurrying past, lugging another bowl of fruit cup. She scowled at us. ‘It’s all right for some,’ she hissed.

  ‘Poor Ella,’ Aunty murmured.

  Then I spotted Mr Benjamin threading his way through the dancers towards us.

  ‘Here’s your chance, Mona!’ said Aunty. ‘I think he’s going to ask you to dance. Don’t be shy this time! It doesn’t matter if you don’t know the dance – you just have to follow the gentleman’s lead. Oh, my, I still think we’re dreaming! Imagine us, at a Somerset ball.’

  Aunty was right. Mr Benjamin bowed formally to me. ‘May I have the pleasure of this dance, Miss Mona?’ he asked politely, eyes sparkling.

  I took a deep breath. ‘Yes, you may,’ I said.

  I felt very shy but very proud as I took to the dance floor, Mr Benjamin holding my hand. I repeated onetwo-three-hop in my head as the band struck up the new tune. But it wasn’t a jolly polka! It was a slow and stately waltz and I didn’t have a clue what I was doing.

  I tried to follow Mr Benjamin’s lead, but kept stepping forward instead of back and treading on his toes.

  ‘I’m sorry! So sorry! Oh dear, I’m so clumsy,’ I muttered.

  I was horribly aware that people were staring at us. Lady Arabella swirled past us, bending and swaying with some young man, and Desiree raised her eyebrows as she danced with horrible Stanley, who was holding her far too closely. Barbara was dancing with Marcella while Bruno capered around them. All three were making up their own dance rather than sticking to the waltz, but at least they weren’t stumbling about like me. I saw Esmeralda watching from her chaise longue, shaking her head in a superior fashion. I was sure she was shaking it at me.

  Mr Benjamin kept up the conversation, doing his best to put me at my ease. I prayed for the dance to finish, but it seemed to go on and on and on, until it seemed I was wearing fairy-tale red shoes, doomed to dance for ever.

  ‘You look as if you’re in absolute agony, Mona,’ said Mr Benjamin.

  ‘You’re the one who must be in agony – I’ve stepped on your toes so often,’ I said despairingly. ‘I just can’t remember which foot I should be using.’

  ‘Tell you what, why don’t you step up onto my feet and then I’ll guide you along. You won’t hurt me, a little scrap like you,’ he said. ‘Come on, climb up!’

  So I stood on his beautiful sparkly shoes and we progressed more smoothly around the floor, though I was sure his feet would be black with bruises in the morning. At last the waltz finished and I jumped off immediately.

  ‘Not so fast, little mermaid. Shall we try another dance now that you’re getting used to it?’ Mr Benjamin suggested. ‘Ah, listen to the introduction! This sounds much livelier!’

  I hoped for another polka – but it was something wild and jazzy. Mr Benjamin’s guests cheered and started prancing about, kicking their legs out at odd angles. It was the Charleston!

  ‘Oh goodness!’ I said. Maggie had taught me the steps. Maybe I’d manage better this time.

  ‘Perhaps we’d better have a little rest now.’ Mr Benjamin was trying to be tactful in case I made a fool of myself again, so I let him walk me back to our table.

  Aunty had drained another glass of fruit cup and was tapping her fingers on the mosaic table and nodding her head to the music, the gold star in her hair glinting.

  ‘There you are, Mona! Did you have a lovely dance with Mr Benjamin?’ she asked. ‘What a lucky girl you are.’

  ‘I don’t think Mona cares for dancing – but perhaps you do, Miss Watson?’ said Mr Benjamin. ‘Would you come and do the Charleston with me?’ He was joking, in the nicest way possible.

  Aunty looked at him, realizing that he wasn’t serious. Then her chin jutted. ‘I do like dancing,’ she said, standing up. ‘Thank you very much.’

  Mr Benjamin bowed and took her hand, looking amused.

  I went hot with horror. ‘Aunty! Stop it! You’ll make a fool of yourself!’ I hissed, trying to grab her old dress, but she shook me off.

  ‘Ssh, Mona!�€