Theatre Shoes (24 page)

Sorrel explained the sad truth that it was Miranda's, but she was very fair about it. She agreed that each of them in turn should carry it. Holly as far as Russell Square station, Mark on the Tube, and she from Knightsbridge home, and the next morning the system would be reversed. Holly would carry it from home to Knightsbridge, and she would carry it on the Tube, and Mark from Russell Square to the Academy. Holly was so shocked at this arrangement that she stood still, as if her legs were refusing to walk any more.

“But, Sorrel, Mark's doing the one bit that matters. He's carrying it where all the Academy can see him; couldn't, oh, couldn't I have that bit?”

As a matter of fact the moment Sorrel had divided up the carrying arrangements for the attaché case she had realised that she had given Mark the one bit that mattered, but even as she had made the arrangement she had seen his face, and it would be impossible for anyone to look more pleased, so she gave Holly a little push to hurry her along.

“No, I've said that's what's going to happen, so that's what is going to happen, and it's no good arguing.” Then she turned to Mark, “But at the bottom of the Academy steps you'll hand it to me, for I've got to put it back in Miranda's locker.” She passed the attaché case to Holly. “There you are. Make the best of it, you've only got it as far as Russell Square.”

They walked along in silence for a bit, eyeing the case, and then Mark said what was in all their minds.

“To think there could be a person in the world with an attaché case like that that was only their second best.”

For Mark, Miranda's attaché case was eclipsed the next day by a letter from Petrova.

D
EAR
M
ARK
,

I've heard from Pauline about you and I have written to Madame to say that I will give you the same as Pauline gives Sorrel and Posy gives Holly. This will, of course, include a shilling pocket-money. I have also sent two pounds for your Christmas present. I would have written before, but I have been posted to a different place for a week or two, and Gum (my Great-Uncle Matthew) never can remember to forward letters.

I hope you like the Academy. I simply hated it myself, but then I had no talent.

Yours,

P
ETROVA
.

P.S. Let me know if you want anything special—a spanner or anything like that.

Madame sent for Mark and told him she had got his two pounds and he could have it whenever he liked, and that she would give him his shilling every week as she did Sorrel and Holly. She said that she was going to make a formal announcement about the scholarships and she had only been waiting for this letter from Petrova to do it, and would he find Holly and send her to her.

Holly was devoted to Madame. She came skipping along the corridor and only collected herself at the door of the study. However devoted you were to Madame she was not the sort of person that even the most careless child would burst in on. She pulled her black tunic straight, pulled up her socks, felt her hair-ribbon to be sure it was holding back her curls properly, and tapped on the door. In answer to Madame's “Come in,” she opened the door and made a really beautiful curtsey before saying “Madame.”

Madame was sitting at her desk. She held out her hand.

“Come here, my child.” When Holly came to her she put an arm round her. Holly wanted to play with the fringe of Madame's cerise shawl, but Madame took hold of her hands and held them. “I want to talk to you about Posy's scholarship. As you've heard from Posy, she's making another scholarship especially for you. What she means by that is that she would like to pay for the training of somebody at the Academy, but that her scholarship and all her interest and her letters are to go to a dancer if I can find one. Posy was always like that. She eats and sleeps and lives dancing. I was afraid that I wouldn't find her the sort of dancer she wanted, as we haven't had one since she was here, but now I think I can say I've found a dancer, and you know who that is, don't you?”

Holly nodded. All the children in the Academy knew that.

“Miriam.”

Madame held her tight.

“Yes, Miriam. Would you mind very much if you only just had the money? You'll get your pocket-money every week and birthday and Christmas presents, but it is only fair to tell you that when it comes to writing letters, at which Posy was always very bad, I think they'll go to Miriam.”

Holly was finding it difficult to concentrate on what Madame was saying, because, leaning against her, she found how silky and rustly was the black silk of her dress, and she was imagining herself dressed like that and living, because it seemed the proper place for black silk, in a palace. But she was just sufficiently attending to catch Madame's question and she knew what every pupil of the Academy knew, that when Madame asked a question it had to be answered. She could not, at the moment, see why Madame should suppose she would mind. It was nice to get a letter, of course, because everybody at the Academy wanted to see it and read it, but it was the presents and pocket-money that were really important. She looked up at Madame.

“No, I wouldn't mind.”

Madame gave her a pleased squeeze.

“I'm very glad, Holly. You have worked very hard and I shouldn't like your feelings to be hurt, and your dancing's coming on very well indeed, but we can't pretend you're the same sort of dancer as Miriam, can we?” She gave Holly a kiss. “Run along now, back to your class.”

That afternoon the school was summoned to the big hall. After they had greeted Madame the pupils were seated in the usual rows across the floor. Madame addressed them from the platform. She told them about the scholarships.

“All you children know, I think, that last term I was given scholarships from Pauline and Posy Fossil in Hollywood. I expect you children are tired of hearing about the Fossil girls, but we're all so proud of them. Last term I granted the scholarships temporarily to Sorrel and Holly Forbes. Pauline's scholarship has to be given to a child with marked acting talent whose career would be helped by financial assistance. After Sorrel's performance at the matinée at the end of last term I made up my mind that she was exactly the right person for that scholarship and, therefore, she will hold the Pauline Fossil scholarship for the rest of her time here.” She searched the rows of children. “Congratulations, Sorrel.” Everybody clapped. Madame waited for them to finish clapping and then she went on: “Posy's scholarship was for a dancer and I granted it to Holly because I knew that last term I had no one in my mind entirely suitable for it, and when she came to an audition here she certainly was promising. Well, since then somebody else has come along who is the sort of dancer Posy wants to help. Miriam.” Everybody clapped again. “In your case, Miriam, you will keep the scholarship just as long as you go on showing the sort of talent, together with hard work and application, that Posy meant. Now we come to a third scholarship, which is not for any particular talent, but is presented by the third Fossil pupil, Petrova. Petrova, as you all know, is on our honours list of Academy pupils who are serving. We are, I think, more proud of Petrova than almost any of our girls because she is a ferry pilot. Petrova is giving her scholarship because the Fossil sisters always stuck together and did the same things, and so, because I know that's what she would like, I'm giving it to Mark.” Everybody clapped again. “The money will be useful to him in his career, and I'm sure he'll work very hard to deserve it. Posy has made a little arrangement to make up for Holly's disappointment, and so we have a family of brother and sisters with scholarships from a family of sisters, and that, as everybody who worked here when the Fossils were here will know, is exactly what they would like. Their family feeling ran very high indeed. Thank you, children.”

It was when Holly was back with her class in the classroom that she realised she had lost something very important. Everybody thumped Miriam on the back and most people said, “Bad luck, Holly.”

Miss Jones, who was taking the class for arithmetic, said to Holly in what was meant to be a kind way:

“Well, dancing isn't everything, is it, Holly?”

Holly, sitting at her desk, and trying to look as though she was attending to the arithmetic lesson, felt as if all of a sudden she had grown older. All her nine years she seemed to have been drifting along with people making plans for her and she was just a little girl and, of course, nobody would be deliberately unkind to a little girl. Nobody was being deliberately unkind now. They had made her see herself as she was, and that hurt. She suddenly saw how inferior she was to the other children. To begin with, everybody else had a mother and, because of these mothers, they were always a bit better dressed than she was. Hannah and Alice did their best, but they did not take you suddenly to a hair-dresser to see if something more amusing could not be done with your hair, which was what had happened to two of the girls in her class last term. They did not embroider your name inside the hem of your tunic so that it would be easy to pick out from all the others. They did not worry quite so much if your dancing tunic was a little bit too long. Hannah was fond of saying “It'll do.” Mothers did not seem to do that. Then, of course, there was bees and honey. With the scholarships they were not badly off, but the house still looked awful. It was not a lovely flat like Miriam's, where you would be proud to ask anyone to tea. Then there were the attaché cases. This term she was the only child in the class who was carrying her things about in a brown-paper parcel. The more she thought about things the worse she felt, and suddenly she knew that she was going to cry. She could not cry, she simply could not, everybody would think she was crying because she was jealous of Miriam. She asked to be excused, and ran downstairs to the cloak-room, and sat behind her locker where nobody would see her, and cried and cried.

Of course, the awful thing about crying is that even when it is over it leaves you swollen up and looking like it. Holly, after one horrified glance at the looking-glass, knew she simply could not go back to her class looking like that, so she decided to fill up the time until dancing class began and then go and apologise to Miss Jones. It was while she was filling up the time that she saw Miranda's locker was ajar and, idly opening the door, saw the attaché case lying in the locker looking very abandoned because there was nothing else in the locker at all.

Holly looked at the attaché case. What a difference it would make if it were hers! How little it would matter to Miranda! Quite likely it would lie there all the term, and Miranda would never notice it. How lovely if Miranda would just lend it! Quite likely Miranda would lend it if she were asked. If a person was asked to lend an attaché case and would have said yes, could there be any harm in borrowing it without asking? When Holly reached this point in her reasoning the attaché case was in her hands.

Holly's eyes were still a little swollen, but her face was flushed with pride when she walked back to her arithmetic class.

“You've been a long time, dear,” said Miss Jones. “I was just sending someone to look for you.”

Holly looked round the class to be certain that everybody was listening. This was a lovely moment when they would all envy her instead of thinking her inferior.

“I was talking to my cousin Miranda. She's come round to see me specially. ‘Dear Holly,' she said, ‘I don't like to see you carrying about a nasty paper parcel while other children have attaché cases; do let me lend you this one of mine.'”

That evening Holly put the attaché case in her locker. Though by now she had almost persuaded herself that Miranda had lent her the case, she had not persuaded herself sufficiently to make herself think that Sorrel and Mark would believe that Miranda had lent it to her. It was sad to think of that lovely attaché case put away in a locker all night, but there was no doubt it was safer there.

The case was not missed for a week. Then Miss Smith asked for it and Sorrel went to fetch it and found it was gone. Anything missing in the Academy had to be reported, and the loss was reported to Winifred who, having examined the locker and found it empty, reported what had happened to Madame.

Madame was puzzled.

“Attaché case? Empty, you say? I expect one of the children borrowed it. Have you asked all Miranda's class?”

“Everybody,” said Winifred. “The whole class saw Sorrel receive it and two or three of them saw it put back in the locker the next morning, and Miranda now remembers seeing it there for one day. She says that now she comes to think of it she hasn't seen it since; she didn't happen to want it, so she never noticed it was not there.”

“Oh, well,” said Madame, “I'll keep the whole school back after lunch and enquire about it. I don't suppose it will be far off.”

The children had finished lunch and were pushing back their chairs when Madame came in. When she had been greeted she walked to the top of one of the tables where everybody could hear her.

“One moment, children; I'm sorry to keep you from your recreation time, but there is a little muddle that wants clearing up. Last week Miranda's governess, Miss Smith, brought an attaché case to the Academy with things in it for Sorrel, and asked Sorrel to put the case, when she had done with it, in Miranda's locker. This Sorrel did and Miranda saw it there the next day, since when it seems to have disappeared. Has anyone seen it, moved it or borrowed it?”

All the children, except those in Holly's class, shook their heads and looked as uninterested as they felt. Holly's class was sitting round the junior dining-table with Miss Sykes in charge. The children were bobbing about like corks in a rough sea, and a storm of whispers ran round the table, and one name predominated—“Holly.” And the more the children thought about Holly the more full of expression this whisper became. “Hol-lee. Ooh! Hol-lee.”