Little Stars Read online

  ‘Of course you can act, child! I watched you day and night at Tanglefield’s, playing the role of ringmaster to perfection. You’re simply suffering first-night nerves,’ she said, putting her arm round me. ‘You will do splendidly, I promise you. I believe in you, Hetty. Now you must believe in yourself.’

  ‘Will you come and watch me, Madame Adeline?’ I begged. ‘Mr Parkinson says we can invite special family and friends for the opening night.’

  ‘Of course I will,’ she said, clasping my hand and squeezing it. ‘Are you inviting anyone else? Perhaps Miss Grundy?’

  Harry had already invited Miss Grundy as his special guest. There were so many people I’d like to invite. Some were neither family nor friends. I’d have loved to invite Matron Pigface and Matron Bottomly from the Foundling Hospital, just to see their expressions when the red-haired child of Satan came bounding onto the stage. I didn’t think Miss Sarah Smith would approve of my new profession either, but she would appreciate the literary content of the play. My older foster sisters would tut and act superior, though they might secretly be envious. Gideon would love to see me in a play, but he wouldn’t leave Mother – and she would be shocked. She’d been appalled when I joined Madame Adeline in the circus ring as a tiny child.

  What about Jem? Oh, how I’d love Jem to see me, and Janet too, but they’d have to stay in London overnight after the performance, and where would they go? I couldn’t ask Miss Grundy to accommodate yet more friends. Father was even further away, though how wonderful it would be if he could see me playing the young David Copperfield when he had given me the precious book. And Mama . . . I ached for Mama. I so hoped she would be proud of me.

  I’m always proud of you, Hetty, she said when I crept back to my own bed. You’re my own dear child. I can’t wait to see you act on stage.

  I was still desperately anxious, but I was comforted by Madame Adeline’s presence in the next bed, Diamond’s warm little body nestled against my own, and Mama safe in my heart.

  There was one more person I longed to invite. I longed and longed and longed to invite him. I lay awake thinking about him, turning the ring on my finger. I didn’t fall asleep till the room was starting to turn silvery-grey and the first birds were singing outside the attic window.

  When I woke up, the room was bright with sunlight, in spite of the drawn curtains, and the bedroom was empty. Running downstairs, I was astonished to find it was nearly midday. Madame Adeline and Miss Grundy were baking cakes together, Diamond was teaching Mavis a new trick, and Harry was sprawled in his dressing gown, reading a newspaper on the sofa, with Miss Grundy’s kitten comfortably draped across his large stomach.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Rip Van Winkle,’ said Harry. ‘Or should I say, good afternoon?’

  ‘Take no notice of Harry, dear. What would you like for breakfast?’ asked Miss Grundy.

  ‘I’m so sorry I slept in. I feel dreadfully lazy,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, you absolutely wouldn’t wake up, even when I gave you a little shake,’ said Diamond.

  ‘I think Hetty was awake half the night.’ Madame Adeline smiled at me. ‘You needed to sleep on, dear. Do you feel rested now?’

  ‘I think so,’ I said.

  I didn’t really know what I felt. My head was still whirling, and every time I thought of the evening’s performance I felt sick. I could only manage a couple of bites of toast for breakfast, and a mere mouthful of egg-and-bacon pie for luncheon an hour or so later.

  I was glad to see Madame Adeline eating heartily. Diamond ate enthusiastically too, and Miss Grundy cleared her own plate, though she always ate slowly, taking care not to spill anything. Harry usually wolfed his meals down and hoped for seconds, but today he was only toying with his food.

  ‘It looks as if you and I have first-night collywobbles,’ he said to me. ‘I think we should go for a long walk to clear our heads and stretch our tense muscles. Let’s all go!’

  Harry’s idea of a long walk was an amble to St James’s Park, where he flopped down on a bench by the lake and fed the birds crumbs, but it was enjoyably diverting all the same. Passers-by sometimes stopped and stared because we were a motley crew. There was huge Harry and chalk-white Miss Grundy, fragile Madame Adeline with her defiant bright red hair, and pretty little Diamond laden with two dolls and a monkey on a lead. And there was me, Hetty Feather, brought up a mile or so away, and yet only let out to see London once in those nine long years.

  Folk had stared then, that day of freedom on Queen Victoria’s Golden Jubilee. They’d shaken their heads at my old-fashioned brown frock, my white cap and tippet and sleeves, my thick darned stockings and worn boots. I was obviously a foundling child, an object of pity and contempt.

  I wondered if anyone would guess that I was a foundling now. We walked back to Miss Grundy’s via Shaftesbury Avenue. We paused outside the theatre, looking up at the posters. There was a beautiful full-length portrait of Miss Royal in her prime. Her name topped the bill. Harry was photographed too, a head-and-shoulders portrait, with Hilarious Harry Henderson, world-famous character actor written underneath. He muttered the wording to himself approvingly.

  Diamond and I didn’t get a photograph, but our names were there, albeit at the bottom of the poster.

  And introducing our Little Stars Emerald and Diamond, child actors extraordinaire!

  ‘Look, Diamond! Do you see our names?’ I said excitedly.

  ‘What does that funny long word say at the end?’ she asked.

  ‘Extraordinaire. It’s a foreign way of saying we’re extraordinary,’ I said.

  ‘And so you are,’ said Madame Adeline.

  ‘Extraordinaire! Extraordinaire!’ Diamond sang, twirling round and round.

  ‘Extraordinaire! Extraordinaire!’ Harry sang in a deep fruity voice, copying Diamond’s little-girl dance.

  ‘Extraordinaire! Extraordinaire!’ Madame Adeline sang, and she hitched her skirts to her knees, and twirled too, her thin legs suddenly showing their strength.

  ‘Extraordinaire! Extraordinaire! Oh my goodness, we are all extraordinaire!’ I sang, and I danced right round them in a circle.

  I tried to murmur extraordinaire to myself hours later, shivering in the wings, waiting to go on stage. Marina Royal was acting the first scene with Stella, who was playing my mother. Miss Royal played Aunt Betsy Trotwood to perfection, so neat and particular and impatient, fiddling with her bonnet strings and twitching her crinoline. Stella was clearly very nervous and stammered her lines a little, but it didn’t matter because my mother was supposed to be afraid of this alarming relative. At least she was word perfect. My own lines darted in and out of my head, frequently disappearing. How could I hope to be extraordinaire if I stood on stage like a dummy, unable to say a single word?

  I’ve never known you at a loss for something to say, Hetty!

  It was Mama, there inside me, gently teasing me.

  ‘Oh, Mama, I’m so scared,’ I told her. ‘I know I’ve performed hundreds of times before. I’ve shouted in the circus, I’ve been a Little Star, I’ve played Alice – but this is different. This is a proper theatre in the West End and it’s real acting and I don’t think I can do it.’

  Yes you can! I’m so proud of you. Good luck, darling girl!

  ‘Good luck, my dear!’ Miss Royal whispered, coming off stage in her crinoline. She gave me a hug. I felt her trembling, and realized that even she got nervous on a first night.

  Then Harry appeared in the wings in long skirts and apron, a splendid Nurse Peggotty. ‘Come along then, Master Davy,’ he whispered, in character already.

  We went on stage hand in hand. I don’t know whose was clammiest, his or mine.

  For a moment the lights were so dazzling after the dark wings that I hung back, startled, horribly aware of row after row of faces, like apples stored for the winter, but I let Harry lead me to the armchair in the centre of the stage. He sat down, showing his long lace drawers, which made the audience chuckle. I perched beside him and asked