A Night of Gaiety (4 page)

Chapter Two

T
HE
house
looked
rather dingy and gloomy on the outside and Davita told herself it was because she was not used to London houses.

She asked the cabman who had climbed down from his box to wait, and went up two steps to raise the knocker which she noted needed polishing.

There was some delay before the door was opened, and a rather blowsy but pleasant-looking woman stood facing her.

“Could I please ... speak to ... Miss Violet Lock?” Davita asked in a voice that sounded somewhat hesitating.

The woman smiled.

“I thinks yer must be the friend her’s expectin’ from Scotland,” she said with a Cockney accent.

For a moment Davita felt such a wave of relief sweep over her that it was difficult to speak. Then she said:

“
Yes ... I am ... Is Miss Lock
...
here?”

“You’ve just missed her, dearie, she’s gorn to the Theatre,” the woman replied. “I’m Mrs. Jenkins, an’ I gathers I’m to expec’ a new lodger.”

“I should be very grateful if I could stay here,” Davita replied.

The Landlady had already pushed past her to shout to the cabby outside:

“Bring ’em up t’ the Second Floor back, there’s a good man!”

D
avita thought the cabman grumbled at the instructions, but she did not wait to hear as she followed Mrs. Jenkins up the stairs.

They were narrow and the carpet was worn, but she could think of nothing but the joy of knowing that Violet had expected her and she was not, as she had been half-afraid, alone in London with nowhere to go.

When they reached the second floor, Mrs. Jenkins opened a door at the back and Davita almost gasped as she saw the tiniest room she had ever been expected to sleep in.

There was just room for one bedstead and a rather rickety-looking chest-of-drawers. There was a rag-mat on the soiled linoleum.

“It’s a bit small,” Mrs. Jenkins said, which was an understatement, “but yer friend’s next door, and I feels yer’d rather be near ’er than up another flight.”

“Yes ... of course,” Davita said quickly, “and it was very kind of you to think of it.”

Mrs. Jenkins smiled at her.

“I tries to ’elp,” she answered, “an’ I never tikes a lodger in what ain’t on the boards. Yer’re the exception, but wiv yer looks yer’ll soon find yersel’ a place at the Gaiety.”

She looked at Davita appraisingly as she spoke, taking in the red hair under her bonnet, the clear petal-like skin, and her large, rather frightened eyes.

“Yer’re pretty enough—I’ll say that for yer,” she said. “Can yer dance?”

“I ... I am afraid not,” Davita answered. “And I would be far too nervous to go on the stage, besides
...”

She was just about to say that it was something of which her mother would not have approved, then she thought it would be a mistake to do so.

Mrs. Jenkins laughed.

“If yer gets the chance, yer’ll jump at it!”

Davita did not have to reply, because at that moment the cabman, breathing heavily, came up the stairs with one of her trunks on his back.

It was impossible for him to get it into the room unless they both moved into the passage, and when finally he brought up the other trunk, Davita thought she would have to climb over them to get into bed.

Then, having paid the cabman, as she stood looking rather helplessly at her trunks, Mrs. Jenkins said:

“Now what yer’d better do, dearie, is change yer clothes, clean yerself up a bit, nip round to the Theatre, an’ tell Violet yer’re ’ere.”

“G-go to the ... Theatre?” Davita questioned.

“Yeah. Billy’ll get yer a hackney-carriage when yer’re ready, an’ yer tell ’im to go to the stage-door. Yer’ll find ’er in ’er dressing-room. The Show don’t start for another ’our.”

Because Mrs. Jenkins spoke so positively, Davita did not dare to argue with her.

Instead, as the Landlady went down the stairs, she obediently took off her travelling-gown and cape, and found in one of her trunks a pretty afternoon-gown which was not too creased.

It had belonged to her mother, and she had altered it to look a little more fashionable, copying one of the gowns which Katie had brought North with her.

When she was ready, Davita looked very pretty. Katie had told her that everybody in London always wore a hat in the evening unless they were going to a Ball, so she took one from her hat-box.

It was a hat which Katie had given her and which she had thought she would never wear because it was far too smart and over-decorated for Scotland.

Even now she hesitated after she had put it on, thinking as she looked at herself in the mirror that if she appeared in the Kirk in such a creation, the Congregation would either be scandalised or would laugh at her.

Quickly she removed two of the ostrich-feathers, and when she thought she looked comparatively ordinary
and her appearance was unlikely to cause comment, she picked up her handbag and went rather nervously down the stairs.

S
he had difficulty finding Mrs. Jenkins. Then, hearing a noise from the basement, she descended to find her in a large, dark kitchen, cooking on an old-fashioned range.

“
Excuse me
...
”
Davita began nervously.

M
rs. Jenkins turned round.

“
Oh, there yer are, dearie,” she exclaimed, “quicker’n I expected!”

“
Do I ... do I look ... all right?” Davita asked hesitatingly.

“
O’ course yer do!” Mrs. Jenkins replied. “A bit plain for th’ Gaiety, but London’ll soon smarten yer up, don’t yer worry about that!”

S
he suddenly shouted so loudly at the top of her voice that Davita jumped.

“
Billy! Where are yer? Come ’ere! I wants yer!”

T
here was no response for a moment. Then just as Mrs. Jenkins opened her mouth to shout again, a strange-looking, under-sized man, with arms that were too long for his body and a leg that limped, came to the door on the other side of the kitchen.

“
Wot yer want?” he asked.

“
Sleepin’ again?” Mrs. Jenkins demanded. “ ’Ow often do I have to tell yer, there’s work to be done?”

“
I were working,” Billy answered sullenly.

“
Well, work yerself out the door an’ find a cab for this young lidy.”

B
illy looked at Davita with what she thought were bright, rather intelligent eyes which belied his appearance. Then he gave her a grin.

“
A’noon, Miss.”

“
Tell the driver to take ’er to the Gaiety—to the stage-door!”

A
s Billy passed Davita and started up the stairs ahead of her, Mrs. Jenkins shouted:

“
An’ mind ’e don’t over-charge yer. Ninepence is th’ right fare from ’ere to th’ Gaiety, an’ threepence for th’ tip.”

“
Thank you for telling me,” Davita said, and hurried up the stairs after Billy.

T
he Gaiety was ablaze with lights. Katie had told her that it was the first Theatre in London to have electric lighting, and although it was what Davita had expected, it seemed dazzling.

T
he stage-door, the cabby told her, was down an alley-way at the side of the Theatre.

D
avita expected to see young men in top-hats outside it, but there were only a few poorly dressed people, obviously waiting to see the actors and actresses arrive.

Then she told herself that of course the “Stage-Door Johnnies” would not be there until after the Show.

T
here were a number of messenger-boys arriving with magnificent baskets and bouquets of flowers, and she followed them nervously through the open door.

Inside, there was what looked like the Ticket-Office in a Railway-Station, and behind the counter was an elderly man with grey hair, surrounded by the flowers for the actresses.

On the walls of the tiny room, which was no bigger than a cupboard, there were pictures of Gaiety Girls and the leading actors and actresses.

Despite the warmth of the evening, there was a fire, and the moment Davita appeared, the old man left it to say politely:

“ ’Evening, Miss, an’ what can I do for you?”

“Could I please see ... Miss Violet Lock?” Davita asked.

The elderly man looked at her keenly.

“Is she expecting you?” he enquired.

“I ... I think so,” Davita answered. “She knew I was coming to ... London from Scotland.”

The elderly man raised his eye-brows.

An old sea-captain, Tierney, unlike many stage-door keepers, was always polite and never forgot a message. He knew almost by instinct who could go in and who should not. Davita was not aware of it, but for the moment he could not place her.

She was obviously not one of the girls who were always trying to sneak in and get an autograph or a souvenir from one of the actors they admired, nor did she look as if she wanted a part.

As if she was suddenly aware of his hesitation, Davita said:

“I am a ... sort of ... relative of Miss Lock.”

Old Tierney smiled.

“Then you’d better go up and see ’er,” he said. “Third door at the top of the First Floor. If she doesn’t want you, you’re to come back down again. You understand—Miss?”

The “Miss” came after just a slight hesitation, as if Tierney had suddenly decided she was entitled to it.

“Thank you very ... much,” Davita said breathlessly.

Then she was climbing an iron staircase, thinking as she did so that whatever the Theatre was like in the front, at the back it was not very prepossessing.

It was also rather frightening because it was so busy.

As she went up the staircase, several people passed her in a hurry, going either up or down, in various stages of dress and undress which made her want to stare at them curiously.

When she reached a long corridor with doors opening off it, she could hear the chatter of voices and laughter, and when a door opened she had a glimpse of several women in various stages of undress.

She hurried to the door that had been indicated.

She knocked, but because she was nervous it made very little sound.

The voices she heard inside did not stop talking.

Then she knocked again, and this time somebody called out: “Come in!”

She opened the door and found herself facing a long room in which there were a number of women, each, to Davita’s startled gaze, more beautiful than the last.

Several were sitting in front of mirrors, applying grease-paint to their faces, two were struggling into very elaborate, brightly coloured gowns, helped by two elderly women.

One at the far end of the room was being laced into a very tight corset, and with a leap of her heart Davita recognised Violet.

She moved forward, and as she did so the woman nearest to her said sharply:

“Shut the door behind you!”

Apologetically, Davita obeyed, and as she did so Violet recognised her.

“Davita!” she cried.

Because there was a warmth in her voice which Davita recognised, she hurried across the room to fling her arms round her.

“I am here, Violet! You were expecting me?”

“I got your letter and I knew you’d turn up sooner or later,” Violet said. “I suppose Ma Jenkins sent you here?”

“Yes, she did. And she has given me a room.”

“That’s all right then.”

As Violet spoke, she turned her head to look back at the dresser who was lacing up her corset, and said: “Here, Jessie, not too tight! I can’t breathe!”

“You don’t have to!” Jessie answered.

“If I faint on the stage, it’ll be your fault, not mine!” With barely a pause between the words, Violet went on to Davita:

“Let’s have a look at you! Goodness, I wish I had a complexion like yours! I suppose you’ll say it’s all that Scottish air. Well, there’s too much of it for my liking!”

“Oh, Violet, you did not mind my coming, did you?” Davita questioned. “I had nowhere else to go, and I have to find employment of some sort.”

“You said in your letter your father was dead. Didn’t he leave you anything?” Violet enquired. “What about the Castle?”

“It was ... mortgaged,” Davita said in a small voice, feeling embarrassed at talking so intimately when there were other people round her.