“I’ve been in the theatre long enough to know about the theatre. And for every one who gets to the top there are ten thousand trying to.”
“Some of us manage it. Why not this girl? I think she ought to have a chance at least. She’s done something in her village.”
“Village audiences are not London audiences.”
“Of course they’re not. But I don’t think the girl should be dismissed as no good before she’s had a chance to show what she can do.”
“So you are going to see if you can give her a chance, are you? Like the others you’ve tried to help. And what thanks did you get, eh? Some of them had the nerve to blame you because they thought you were going to hand them success on a plate, and when they didn’t get it, they thought you’d stopped them. They said you were jealous. The Lord spare us from any more of that nonsense.”
“I think everyone should have a chance,” persisted my mother.
“She did come to London,” I put in. “She’s got the right spirit, and I’ve heard you say that that plays a big part in getting there in the end.”
“We could at least see what she could do,” said my mother.
“Don’t forget you’ve got six shows a week, plus two matinees, before you start setting up the Good Samaritan act.”
“I’ll remember,” said my mother. “But I do think everyone should have a chance.” She yawned. “Good show tonight. I thought they were going to keep us there till morning with all those curtain calls. It’s good when they stand up and cheer. It looks as though Maud is here for a very long time.”
“And it looks as though it’s time for your bed,” said Martha tersely.
“I know,” replied my mother. “I’ll never get up in the morning.”
I kissed her suddenly. I thought how good she was, how kind. She really cared about that girl. In the midst of all her success, her first thought had been of her, and I knew she would do everything she could to help her.
The ultimate virtue, I thought, is caring for others. On impulse I went to her and kissed her.
Lisa Fennell had been with us for a little more than a week. My mother had heard her sing. She thought she had quite a good voice. There was nothing that a few lessons would not put right. Her dancing was not bad either. It was arranged that she should go to a singing teacher whom Desiree knew.
Desiree could be wildly enthusiastic about a project. She was, according to Martha, a natural Samaritan and more often than not a bit of a fool over her lame ducks. It was her carriage which had been involved in the accident, she insisted, and it was only right that she should try to make up to that poor girl, who had been terribly upset. She was impecunious; she was struggling; and to my mother it seemed only natural that she should take her under her wing.
Lisa was to stay with us for the time being, until she could be satisfactorily “fixed up.”
Her few possessions had been collected from her lodgings, the poverty of which had shocked both myself and my mother. I shared my mother’s feelings regarding her and was as eager to help as she was. We were both tremendously sorry for Lisa.
After three lessons with the singing teacher, my mother said to Martha and me; “I can’t see why Dolly couldn’t give her a place in the chorus. It’s rather thin, I’ve always thought.”
“Thin!” screamed Martha. “What are you talking about?”
“The girls should be closer in that number when they put their hands on each other’s shoulders and do the high kicks. Some of them have a little difficulty in reaching and it spoils the effect.”
“Nonsense,” said Martha. “It’s one of the best of the dances.”
“It could be better. Don’t you think so, Noelle?”
I hadn’t noticed the girls were having difficulty in stretching, but I had to agree with my mother.
“Yes,” I said. “They could do with one more girl.”
“I’ll speak to Dolly,” said my mother.
“He’ll go mad,” retorted Martha.
When she spoke to Dolly, I was present. She said: “I don’t want Martha there. She’ll side with him. But you be there, Noelle. He’s got a soft spot for you and a respect for youth. He won’t fly off the handle so profanely if you’re there.”
So I was present.
“Dolly,” she said. “I think the chorus line is a little too thin.”
“Thin?” cried Dolly.
“I fancy it is.”
“As long as it’s only one of your fancies.”
“There’s this girl,” she went on. “She’s good. It would be a wonderful start for her and it was my carriage. I thought, if we could squeeze her into the chorus it would be a good turn for me and just what she needs.”
“I’m not in this business to squeeze people into the chorus just because they run under your horse’s feet.”
“This is a poor girl, Dolly. Do listen.”
“Not if you’re going to talk about squeezing one of your protegees into my chorus.”
“Your chorus! Who made the show what it is? / did.”
“With a little help from me and some others. Actors and actresses always have inflated ideas of their importance.”
“Dolly, you’re not such a fool as you like me to think. We could do with another girl in the chorus. You know we could.”
“No,” said Dolly firmly.
“Dolly, I’m asking you.”
“I’m fully aware of that. You get these crackpot ideas about helping people who come along to you with a mournful tale. It’s just like you. It’s not the first time. Give this girl a job and you’ll have thousands tracking to your door. You’ll have them under your carriage wheels by the thousand. We’ll have a stage full of chorus girls. There won’t be any room for the principals.”
“Dolly, I am only asking for one.”
“Look here. I’ve just about had enough of your charities. Have them, if you must, but keep them out of my business.”
“I hate you, Dolly, sometimes. You’re so smug. Can’t you see you’re upsetting me? You’re going to spoil my performance tonight.”
Dolly struck one of his theatrical poses, pressing his hand to his forehead, his face set in lines of despair.
“What I suffer, Almighty God, who has seen fit to punish me. What have I done to suffer this woman? How can I endure this torment? She is determined to ruin me. She plans my destruction. She wants to ruin the play to which I have given all I possess. She wants to fill my stage with hundreds of simpering idiotic chorus girls.”
“Shut up!” said my mother. “Who said anything about hundreds? I keep telling you, it is only one. And if you are ruined, Mr. Dollington, it will be by your own hand. Now you are making me ill … too ill to go on tonight. You’ll have to use Janet Dare. See how the audience likes that. She won’t mind playing with a chorus that’s miserably thin because Mr. Dollington, who fancies himself as Garrick and Kean all rolled in one, is afraid of spending a few more pence on a show others are working themselves into the grave to keep going. Come on, Noelle, I need you to put one of those eau de cologne presses on my forehead. I can feel a splitting headache coming on.”
She had taken my hand and started towards the door.
Dolly said: “All right. I don’t promise anything, mind, but I’ll have a look at the girl.”
My mother was all smiles. The headache had evaporated.
“Dolly darling,” she said. “I knew you would.”
The result was that Lisa Fennell sang for Dolly while George Garland, my mother’s pianist, accompanied her on the piano. I was there with Martha.
“It’s good to have an audience,” my mother had said.
Lisa sang “Can I help you, madam?” and it was a good imitation of my mother.