Little Stars Read online

  Then we went on our way, relieved but still down-hearted. We were in a much poorer part of Fenstone, which wasn’t really a good idea. A weasel-faced old man eyed our penny-farthing and sidled up to us, asking if he could examine our marvellous bicycling machine.

  ‘No, I’m sorry, we’re in a hurry,’ I said firmly. ‘No! Absolutely not! Leave go or I’ll call a policeman!’

  He laughed unpleasantly – it was unlikely a policeman would wander down such dismal streets – and seized hold of the handlebars, elbowing Diamond sharply out of the way. That was enough. I was wearing the beautiful hard leather boots I’d worn in the circus ring. I raised my leg swiftly and kicked him extremely hard in his softest and most vulnerable place. He collapsed, groaning, and we started running back towards the town centre.

  I knew we were safe when we got to wider streets. In fact, we soon found ourselves in the most stylish part of town, with rows of interesting shops. We urgently needed to find lodgings and prepare our acts for the Cavalcade, but we both became momentarily distracted. Diamond leaned her forehead against the window of a toyshop, dazzled by the dolls, gazing longingly into their blue china eyes.

  ‘They’re just like real children!’ She pointed at their jointed legs, their dainty knitted stockings, their kid leather boots. ‘Do you think they can walk?’ she wondered.

  ‘No, they’re only dolls,’ I told her.

  ‘But such dolls!’ said Diamond. ‘I wish Maybelle had little leather boots.’

  Maybelle was her own home-made doll. I had sewn features on her plain rag face and fashioned her a little outfit, but of course she wasn’t anywhere near as fine as these china beauties.

  ‘If only I could have one of these dolls,’ said Diamond. But then, conscious of Maybelle stuffed into our suitcase, she said loudly, ‘But I will always love Maybelle best because she is my first born.’

  I suddenly remembered the rag baby my foster mother Peg had made me when I was tiny. She had done her best, but she was not a fine seamstress. The rag baby had ill-matching limbs and a lumpy face, but I remembered loving that ugly little doll as truly as any mother loved her child. It was such a shock when I arrived at the Foundling Hospital clutching my cloth baby to have her snatched from me by Matron Peters. She burned my baby, along with all my Sunday best clothes from home.

  I’d grown up in the Foundling Hospital without any toys at all, and Diamond’s early childhood had been equally bleak. We gazed at the toys in the window with awe, coveting each and every one, even though I at least was long past the age for such things. But I still longed to sink my hands in a tub of glass marbles, ached to fly a red-and-yellow kite with a long tail, and yearned to sit on the great rocking horse I saw stabled at the back of the shop.

  ‘Can we go into the shop, just to look?’ Diamond asked.

  I hesitated. But then I heard a church clock strike three. ‘No, there isn’t time. And they’d probably chase us away. But I promise that when we’re stars at the Cavalcade, we will come back here with my first wage packet and I’ll buy you a present. I probably won’t be able to afford a china doll just yet, but perhaps I could buy Maybelle a pair of boots.’

  ‘Oh, you would absolutely love that, wouldn’t you, Maybelle?’ said Diamond, talking into the suitcase.

  ‘Yes, yes, yes!’ she said again, in a tiny Maybelle voice.

  We carried on along the street, hoping that when the shops petered out there might be suitable lodgings nearby. But then I was stopped in my tracks by another shop. It was a small fashion emporium. GIBSON’S GOWNS said the sign above the door, in discreet gilt lettering. There was a window either side of the door, with just one finely dressed mannequin in each.

  I was startled to see such a sparse display. I was used to shops stuffed with a hundred and one items.

  ‘Just look, Diamond!’ I said.

  Diamond looked obediently, but didn’t seem impressed. ‘The windows are nearly empty,’ she said dismissively.

  ‘Yes, because this is a very special, elegant shop,’ I said, as if I knew all about it. ‘They don’t need an enormous vulgar display. They are content to let each gown speak for itself. And so it does. Eloquently!’

  Diamond wrinkled her nose. ‘Why are you talking so silly, Hetty?’ she said.

  ‘Well, you’re just a little girl. I don’t suppose you could understand,’ I said.

  I felt I understood, even if it was just by instinct. Each mannequin stood serenely in her own window, white arms outstretched as if bestowing queenly blessings on passers-by. The one on the left was dressed in a blue and violet gown with extraordinary huge sleeves. They made such a statement that the rest of the dress was restrained, almost subdued. It was breathtakingly effective.

  The one on the right was a deep emerald green, almost the exact shade of the velvet gown I’d once made, and then cut up in an attempt to fashion myself a mermaid’s costume. At the time I’d thought it a masterpiece, but I could now see that it had been clumsily designed and cobbled together. This green gown was silk, with an iridescent gleam as it caught the sunshine. It was styled in a perfect hourglass that would make any woman’s waist look minute.

  I thought how that bright green would set off my red hair, though I knew I was being ridiculous. I could tell by the sweep of the skirts that the gown would be at least nine inches too long on me, and the style and stitching told me that it would be extremely expensive, beyond my pocket even if I got star billing at the Cavalcade.

  I sighed wistfully and wouldn’t budge, though Diamond was pulling at my arm, starting to get bored. Then the door to Gibson’s Gowns opened with a musical trill of the bell, and a very stout lady peered out at me, twitching her pince-nez up her snub nose. She was dressed in severe black satin.

  I started, though I had been doing nothing wrong. She looked at me enquiringly. ‘Have you come to collect your mistress’s gown?’ she asked. Her voice was surprisingly girlish and high-pitched.

  I flushed. ‘I am not a servant, ma’am,’ I said with dignity, although I had been exactly that the year before.

  ‘Oh my dear, I do apologize. Then might I ask why you’ve been staring at my windows for the past ten minutes?’ she asked, sounding genuinely curious.

  ‘I was admiring your gowns. I have never seen anything like them before. Did you invent the new styles yourself?’ I asked.

  ‘I did, though I’m influenced by the French fashion journals,’ she said.

  ‘French fashion journals,’ I repeated. ‘Oh, where can you buy them?’

  ‘I send for them from Paris.’

  ‘Paris!’ I echoed, as awed as if she’d told me she’d sent for them from the moon.

  ‘You seem very interested in fashion.’ The woman’s small eyes peered through the pince-nez at my dress. ‘Did you make that dress yourself?’

  It was my best dress, and I’d worked hard at the stitching, but now I felt ashamed of the cotton sprigging and girlish styling.

  ‘This old thing,’ I said hurriedly, blushing.

  ‘Why, Hetty, it’s your bestest dress,’ said Diamond. ‘And this is my best dress. Isn’t it lovely?’ She held out her blue skirts and crumpled pinafore and twirled around happily.

  ‘It is indeed lovely,’ said the stout lady, and she didn’t sound as if she were mocking us. She even took two steps out onto the pavement and examined Diamond’s collar and hem.

  ‘I didn’t have a proper pattern,’ I said hastily. ‘And it’s a little tight on her now because she’s grown.’

  ‘I can grow as big as big can be now, because I’m no longer a circus girl,’ said Diamond.

  ‘Ellen-Jane!’ I said sharply.

  But the stout lady looked interested rather than shocked. ‘Circus girls!’ she said. She nodded at the penny-farthing propped against her windows. ‘Well, I guessed you were something out of the ordinary. And you have an air about you.’

  ‘An air,’ I echoed, relishing the phrase. Oh yes, I loved the idea of having my own air. I’d spent nine long yea