Theatre Shoes (29 page)

“I shouldn't wonder if it was something to do with your school. That Madame that teaches you and that Miss Jay came here this afternoon.”

Sorrel shot off her chair and came over to the stove.

“Hannah! And you've known that ever since we came in and you never told us!”

“I didn't know you'd be interested. That Madame looked ever so comic, I thought.”

Sorrel paid no attention to Hannah's views on Madame. She caught her arm.

“What did they come about? Didn't you hear anything?”

Hannah was puzzled at Sorrel's eagerness.

“No. I've got more things to do than to wonder why your teachers come round. I've got ever such a lot of washing and mending. Holly's torn a great jagged piece right out of those rompers that she was given for her dancing.”

Sorrel went back to the table. If only Alice were in! Alice was never muddled about what was important and what was not. Rows of ideas rushed through her mind. Alice had said it was good news. Of course, Alice was probably right, but just suppose she was wrong. Nobody knew it, but she was not quite clear in her conscience. She had felt that everybody was pleased with her about the broadcast and she had been rather proud this morning; and Miss Jones had said to her during arithmetic, when she had answered a little rudely: “I don't know what's the matter with you, Sorrel. It's not like you to speak like that.” Later, when she had asked somebody to bring up something for her from the cloak-room when they went down, one of the girls had said: “You want a lot of waiting on to-day, don't you? You know, you're not the only person who ever broadcast.” Neither what the girl had said nor what Miss Jones had said had until this minute made much impression on her, for she had felt important and thought other people ought to think her important too. Now a fearful doubt crept into her mind. Had Madame and Miss Jay come to see Grandmother in order to say, “If Sorrel gets cocky about anything she does, perhaps we had better not let her take another part?”

Alice came down to fetch Sorrel. Sorrel had, of course, heard Grandmother come in and was waiting at the top of the stairs that led up from the kitchen. Alice gave her an unexpected kiss.

“Run along up. You're to go straight in while I get our supper.”

Grandmother was in her drawing-room. She came home from the theatre in a hired car and did not bother to take off her make-up until she got back, so she was looking more like Grandmama on the stage than Grandmother in real life. She was sitting in an armchair. She held out a hand to Sorrel.

“Come here, granddaughter. You have, of course, heard all about Miranda playing Ariel in her father's production. Well, the management won't release her, and so I have told your Uncle Francis that he's to try you in the part.”

Sorrel felt as if the drawing-room was turning upside down.

“Me! But I couldn't!”

Grandmother, which was unlike her, thought a moment before she answered.

“No actress should say that about any part, but possibly on this occasion you're right. Your Uncle Francis is, in my opinion, a pompous ass of an actor, but then I've always thought Prospero was a pompous ass of a man, therefore it's never been any surprise to me that your uncle's considered superb in the part. I, fortunately, have never had the misfortune to see him play it. In the early days of their marriage your Aunt Marguerite played the part of Miranda, and that, I knew, could be nothing but a disaster, so I saved myself from suffering and kept away from the theatre.” Her voice changed. “All the same, whatever my private opinion may be, your uncle is considered an extremely fine Prospero, and it's been his dream to put on a splendid production of the play. One of the difficulties has been to find a good Caliban. You know the play, I suppose.”

“No. I've heard about it lately, of course, because of Miranda, and I know Miranda got her name from that play, but we haven't done it yet at school.”

“Well, Prospero, pompous fellow, lived on an island with his tiresome daughter, Miranda. He had magic powers and made creatures his slaves; one of these was Caliban, a strange, sub-human creation, and the other was what Shakespeare calls an airy sprite. That's Ariel. What Shakespeare meant I've no idea, but I can see what your Uncle Francis thinks he meant. From Caliban he wants a monstrous, grovelling creature hardly human at all, entirely of the earth; and from Ariel something that's got nothing to do with the earth at all. He sees Ariel as neither a man nor a woman, a creature of light and air and spirit, and to get this effect he thinks he needs a child. That's why he wanted Miranda, who speaks blank verse so exquisitely.”

“But I don't!” Sorrel exclaimed. “I'm getting on quite well, Miss Jay says, but it's only my third term and we didn't learn that kind of elocution at Ferntree School.”

“Naturally, I know exactly how far you've got. I saw Madame Fidolia and your Miss Jay this afternoon. Miss Jay said that you have a natural gift for verse speaking, that you have rhythm and that you have a quite nice singing voice, and that's important, because Ariel has a song.”

“Oh, goodness!” said Sorrel. “A song, too! He—I mean she—I mean it—doesn't dance as well, does it?”

“Never still for a second,” said Grandmother. “Every step a dance, every movement an inspiration. You'll see what your uncle wants when you get to rehearsals.” She patted Sorrel's hand. “Don't look so scared, child. Exactly two things can happen to you, and neither would mean the end of the world. You will, of course, be rehearsing on approval, and your uncle may refuse to let you play the part, or you may be allowed to play the part and get quite appalling notices. Appalling notices are unfortunate for anyone, but at the age of twelve they are unlikely to ruin your career. Now, run up to bed, child; you should be transported into the seventh heaven of happiness by what I've told you. What an opportunity!”

Sorrel went down to the kitchen where Alice was cooking Grandmother's supper. Alice grinned at her from the stove.

“That'll teach you, Miss Can't-do-it. I said to Hannah we should see you coming in looking like a wet week.”

Sorrel had almost lost her voice.

“But, Alice, you can see I can't do it, can't you?”

Alice had no patience at all with faint hearts.

“Oh, run along up to bed! You've got a chance that hundreds of children would give their eyes to have, and you stand their with eyes like a frightened cow, saying ‘Oo-er, Alice, I can't.' You make me sick. You've got Warren blood in you, haven't you? You are your mother's daughter, aren't you? Well, run along up to bed and before you get into it say fifty times, ‘I can do it if I try, I can, I can, I can.'”

Sorrel's rehearsals were to begin on the following Monday, and since it was term time and she could not be allowed to be free of lessons, it was arranged that Miss Smith was to teach her with Miranda; the lessons were to be taught in the wardrobe of the theatre in which Sorrel was rehearsing. Sorrel dreaded them. Bolstered up by Alice and conscious of Grandmother's scorn if she showed any fright, she was managing to pretend that she had some confidence in her acting, but she could not even pretend she looked forward to doing lessons with Miranda. To begin with, anybody would be sorry for Miranda, who had lived and dreamt of playing this part, and it was bad enough not to be going to play it; but to have your younger cousin given it in your stead would obviously be simply frightful. Then, Miranda was not the sort of person who liked her life upset for other people. At the moment, she and Miss Smith were doing lessons comfortably in her own schoolroom, and now, instead, she was expected to turn out after breakfast and go round to a theatre to do lessons in a wardrobe for the convenience of the cousin who had taken her part. Whatever way you looked at it the arrangement was a pretty mean one for anybody, and it would be an extraordinarily nice girl who could be pleasant about it. Miranda might be a lot of things, but “nice” was not a word you would ever use about her. Sorrel shuddered whenever she thought of lessons on Monday.

Sorrel was not the only one who was shuddering. On the Thursday, Alice came back from the theatre with a message from Miss Smith. Would Alice bring Sorrel to the Saturday matinée so that they could discuss what books and things she would need for Monday.

Miss Jay was taking an enormous interest in Sorrel's part. From the time Sorrel had been given it there was less than a week to the first rehearsal, so there was no time with everything else she had to do to learn the whole part, but Miss Jay took her through as much of it as she could, explaining any word that she did not understand, but being careful not to teach her any inflexions.

“I know your Uncle Francis is a great authority on this play and I don't want to let you get ideas before he starts in on you. All I want is to be certain that you're word perfect in each scene as you study it, and don't say any word like a parrot, but know its meaning.”

Sorrel confided in Miss Jay her fear of lessons with Miranda. She did not, of course, put it that way. She said:

“Do you think I must do lessons in the wardrobe? If I absolutely promised to come here every minute I could and worked before breakfast and when I got home at night, wouldn't that do?”

Miss Jay laughed.

“I sympathise with you, but I can't help you. The law is the law and you've got to do lessons. It'd be a shocking thing when you go down to the L.C.C. on Monday for your licence if it was turned down because you're not having sufficient education. That's why Miss Smith's taking you; they've approved Miss Smith to teach Miranda, and they can trust her to see that your lessons are not neglected for your stage work.”

“Well,” said Sorrel, “I don't care what anybody says, but I think it's going to be awful for everybody. If I was Miranda I'd simply hate it if I had to go out to do my lessons to suit her, and, being Miranda, she'll hate it even more than I would.”

Miss Jay reopened Sorrel's copy of “The Tempest.”

“I quite see your point, but, really, what you two little girls like and don't like can't be considered. If you are to play the part it's the only solution and, as a matter of fact, it will be very good for you. If you're ever to be the actress that I hope you're going to be, you'll have to learn to assert yourself.” She looked up from the Shakespeare. “You do want to be an actress, don't you?”

Sorrel was surprised at the fervour with which she answered. She had not known until that moment how fearfully she did want to be one.

“More than anything in the world.”

“Good, because in my opinion, and, mind you, it's only an opinion, you've got as great a chance of becoming a good one as any pupil I've taught since Pauline Fossil.” She turned back to the book. “Now then, we'll take that scene again, I'll give you the cue.

‘Come away, servant, come! I am ready now.

  Approach, my Ariel; come!'”

Because Sorrel was going to the matinée with Grandmother, Holly and Mark were allowed to invite Miriam to tea. Miriam came flying to Sorrel the moment the children reached the Academy on Saturday morning.

“I've had another letter from Posy. She says I don't tell her any of the sorts of things she really wants to know, and she's asked me rows and rows and rows of questions, and I do most awfully want to answer. I haven't got a class after twelve o'clock, but Mark and Holly have. Could you possibly write to Posy for me then, if I told you what to say? You write beautifully, and I write so terribly slowly, and all the things I think don't get time to be put down by my pencil.”

Sorrel had come to the Academy that morning for a special class with Miss Jay but she would be finished by twelve o'clock. She had meant to spend the rest of the time, while she was waiting for Holly and Mark, learning Ariel's next scene, but Miriam was so full of hope that she simply had not the heart to say no.

At twelve o'clock Sorrel sat at her desk and Miriam leant over her shoulder. Miriam laid Posy's last letter in front of her.

“You read it and you'll see what a terrible lot of things she wants to know.”

Sorrel smoothed the sheets of paper.

D
EAR
M
IRIAM
,

Have you started centre practice? When you get to the bourrées, especially the bourrées changé, ask Madame to show you what she showed me, or perhaps she has already. It's that point coupé jetté bourrées changé bit that she makes so clear. I do wish I could talk to you instead of writing a letter, and then I'd know how far you are and if Madame has shown you any of her things. You ask in your last letter about the American ballets. Of course, there are some, and I hear they are just wonderful, but my contracts have not let me get away and nothing has been here lately. I asked you in my last letter to tell me about “Hamlet” “Comus” and “The Birds.” How is Helpmann's choreography? Do you like it? I hear that he is very keen on line and so is Manoff. They say there's been a new ballet this year called “The Quest,” about Una and the Red Cross Knight. Pauline and Garnie say I ought to know about them, but I always hated English literature, and if it's Spenser I wouldn't be interested. Please go and see it before you write again and tell me all about it. Pauline says will you please tell Sorrel that she's working in a new picture, and she won't be writing for a week or two because she is on location. Nana says she hopes that you wear enough when you're dancing, as England's so damp, and from the sound of you you probably suffer with your liver. That's because Madame described you as a pale little thing with dark hair. That's how Petrova looked and Nana always thought she had a liver. Please give my love to Madame and tell her that I've added a little bit to my message that my feet say each morning. When you're ready to work on your points, I'll send a combination to you which you can send to me every morning at your practice, and I will send it back to you. I won't send it yet because it's not so good demi-point, and too advanced anyway.