Читать книгу Hettie of Hope Street - Annie Groves, Annie Groves - Страница 11

Hettie stared uneasily around the room to which she had just been shown. A long, narrow attic room with a row of equally narrow beds, each separated by a small cupboard. There were threadbare rag rugs on the dusty wooden floor, and equally threadbare covers on the beds. Her trunk, which had been carried up the stairs by two disgruntled and sweating men with dirty hands and clothes, called in from the street by her landlady, was on the floor at the bottom of the bed furthest from both the door and the window and thus from any fresh air. Already the heat of the autumn sun and the low ceiling had made the room uncomfortably warm, its air clogging the back of Hettie’s throat. Or was that her tears?

This was not the pretty, well-furnished room she and Mam had been shown when they had visited before, but when she had tried to say as much to Mrs Buchanan’s sister, the landlady had simply told her sharply, ‘Them rooms are three times what you are paying, miss, so if you’ve any complaints to make then make them to yer ma.’

Hettie had tried to stand her ground, remembering that Mrs Buchanan had told her mother that her ‘keep’ would be deducted from her wage and that what was left would be handed over to her in spending money. But when she had mentioned this, the landlady had given her a contemptuous look and announced, ‘Your mother must have misunderstood. Only those who can afford it get to sleep in my best rooms and they are always top artists, not little nobodies like you.’

Hettie’s stubborn streak had reared itself and she had wanted to stand her ground, but the landlady had simply not given her the opportunity to do so and now she was up here in this dreadful, dingy dormitory of an attic room.

The sound of several sets of footsteps on the stairs and female voices made her turn round and face the door as it was thrust open and half a dozen or more laughing, chattering young women came rushing in, only to stop and stare in silence at Hettie.

‘So ’oo might you be, then?’ the tallest and, Hettie guessed, the oldest of them demanded, her hands on her hips as she surveyed Hettie.

‘Hettie Walker,’ Hettie introduced herself hesitantly.

‘Leave off, Lizzie,’ one of the other girls protested. ‘You’re half scaring the poor little thing to death. Tek no notice of Lizzie, Hettie, she’s allus like this when she starts on her monthlies.’

‘Oh, and you ain’t, I suppose, Sukey Simmons?’ Lizzie turned away from Hettie to demand sarcastically, before adding, ‘Lor, but I ’ate bloody Monday matinées. Why the hell does management do them, it’s not as though anyone comes in, especially now there’s a Depression going on.’

‘P’raps you should tell ’em that they don’t know how to run their own business, Lizzie,’ another girl called out, laughing.

‘Oh aye, and lose me job. No thanks,’ Lizzie retorted, but she was smiling, Hettie noticed, and she relaxed slightly.

‘So what show are you in then, ’Ettie?’ Lizzie asked. ‘I know they were looking for a couple more chorus girls for the show at the Empire, and no wonder, since ’e pays even less than that bloody so and so we work for. But you don’t look tall enough for a chorus girl.’

‘I’m going to be singing at the Adelphi,’ Hettie explained shyly, trying not to look shocked by the girl’s coarse language. ‘During the afternoon, accompanied by Mr Buchanan.’

‘Wot, that old…’ Lizzie began scornfully, only to stop when Sukey gave her a quick dig with her elbow.

‘So you’re a singer, then?’ Sukey asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Where have you appeared before?’ another one of the girls asked as they all began to move around the room, some of them going over to fling themselves on their beds, others sitting down on them and bending to massage their weary feet.

‘Nowhere,’ Hettie admitted.

‘First time away from home, is it?’ Sukey asked her sympathetically.

Hettie nodded, relieved to see that it was Sukey who had the bed next to her own and not Lizzie.

‘Well, mind you don’t let Ma Buchanan cheat you,’ Sukey warned. ‘If she’s anything like ’er sister, she’all be as tight as a duck’s arse. What’s Ma Marshall charging you here for your bed, by the way?’

Hettie shook her head. ‘I don’t know. Mrs Buchanan said that she would deduct all my expenses from my wage and that I could have the rest. I think there’s been a bit of a misunderstanding, though, because I thought I was going to have a room to myself.’

A couple of the girls started to laugh, although not unkindly.

‘Pulled that old one on yer, did she kid?’ Lizzie chuckled. ‘I suppose old misery guts Marshall showed yer ma one of her best rooms and let ’er think you’d be ’aving one o’ them instead of kipping in here with us?’

Hettie nodded, embarrassed.

‘Yer should have asked to have all yer wages handed over to yer and then divvied them out to pay for yer room. And mind that yer don’t leave nothing valuable lying around in here, or she’ll have that off yer as well.’

‘But surely if you complained…’ Hettie began, shocked.

‘Complain? To her? She’d have anyone who tried out on the street, and bad mouth them as well so as they’d never get digs anywhere else in town, and then what’ud happen – they’d be out of work, that’s wot!’

As Hettie listened to this impassioned speech she acknowledged that, appalled as she was by her landlady’s deceit, if she were to inform her parents of it they would insist on her returning home immediately. Upset and intimidated though she had felt by the landlady’s manner towards her, and the other revelations from the other girls, she couldn’t bear to lose the job she had wanted so badly for years.

‘There’s a lad down at the ironmongers who’s a bit sweet on Aggie, he’ll put yer a padlock on yer trunk for yer if she asks him nice enough.’

A tall, blonde-haired girl who had been examining her feet straightened up and screwed up her face. ‘Well, you’ll have to come with me, I ain’t going to be left on me own with ’im. Nasty clammy hands he’s got!’

‘Aw, listen to it. Bet they ain’t anywhere near as clammy as old Basher’s. Calls himself an impresario. A dirty old man, more like. You should ’ave seen them costumes he wanted us to wear for that bloody revue in Blackpool, d’yer remember, Lizzie?’ another girl chipped in.

‘’Ow could I forget, Babs, mine felt like it were cutting me in two,’ Lizzie answered whilst Hettie looked on perplexed when they all burst out laughing.

‘Gawd, my feet,’ Babs complained. ‘But that’s what you get for being a chorus girl – corns and blisters.’

‘Are you all in the same chorus?’ Hettie asked her a little timidly. These girls were nothing like any of the girls she knew back in Preston. Their language, for one thing, and their loud confidence. But nevertheless, she liked them, she decided.

‘At the moment there’s a big panto coming off at the Royal Court Palace, and there’s two hundred girls in the chorus, plus the understudies. We’ve bin rehearsing for the last six weeks, plus doing our ordinary shows as well – six nights and six matinées. It’s damn near killin’ me. So what do yer sing, then, Hettie?’ Babs asked.

‘Soprano,’ Hettie replied automatically.

‘Oh, soprano is it,’ Lizzie mocked, putting on an exaggeratedly posh accent.

‘Oh leave off, Lizzie, give the poor kid a break,’ Babs told her, giving Hettie a friendly smile.

‘Don’t mind Lizzie. Her tongue’s sharper than her wit sometimes. No, I meant what sort of songs do you sing. You know, what’s your repertoire?’

‘I don’t know. I haven’t got one,’ Hettie admitted.

‘Well, you should have,’ Babs reproved her. ‘And with them dark looks of yours being all the rage right now, you want to cash in on them and get yourself a repertoire that will get you some decent parts. Lor, but I’m hungry,’ she moaned, changing the subject and taking the spotlight off Hettie, for which she was very grateful. ‘Anyone else want to go out and get some supper?’ she called out.

‘Go out for supper?’ Hettie repeated, concerned. ‘But I thought that all our meals were included in the rent?’

‘Did you hear that, girls?’ Lizzie called out, shaking her head and laughing mirthlessly. ‘The only supper you’ll get here is a bit o’ mouldy bread and some soup wot looks as though Misery Guts peed in it.’

Hettie made sure she joined in the others’ laughter as though such coarse talk was as familiar to her as it obviously was to them.

‘You don’t ’ave to come with us if you don’t want,’ Babs told her. ‘I’ll bring you back a nice bit o’sommat if you want – not fish, though, cos if Misery Guts smells it she’ll be wanting more rent off all of us – it’s extra if you bring in your own grub. Still, at least ’ere’s clean, not like some of the digs you can get. Lor, but I were scratching for months after one place where I stayed, covered in bites I were and me hair full o’nits.’

When Hettie shuddered, Babs laughed and shook her head. ‘My, but you’re a green un, aren’t you? Never mind, we’ll tek care of you and you’ll soon find yer feet. Just don’t let Ma Buchanan boss yer around. Dance do yer as well as sing?’

‘A little,’ Hettie agreed.

‘That’s good,’ she approved, getting up off her bed.

Lizzie called out impatiently, ‘’Ere Babs, are you coming wi’ us or what?’

‘Give us a minute,’ she called back before coaxing Hettie, ‘Go on, come wi’ us. A bit o’ fresh air will do you good.’

Uncomfortably aware that both her parents and John would have been shocked by and disapproving of Babs and the others, Hettie gave in to the hunger in her stomach. Besides, if this was to be her home for the foreseeable future, she would have to try and fit in.

The street might have been quiet when they all spilled out on to it, but its silence was quickly shattered by the laughter and chatter of the girls. Despite their aching feet, two of them suddenly took hold of one another and danced along, performing a high-stepping routine that caused two men on the opposite side of the street to stop and stare.

‘Ere, Lizzie, go over and tell those two gawpers over there that that’s two shilling and sixpence worth they’ve just had.’

‘Mary, you’re out of time and you missed a step,’ another criticised, causing the dancing pair to stop as one of them – Mary, Hettie assumed – turned on her critic.

‘Sez who?’ she demanded. ‘You couldn’t keep time even if it was beaten into yer. That’s why yer at the back of the line and I’m at the front!’

‘Who does she think she’s kidding?’ Hettie heard someone else mutter. ‘The only reason she’s still in the bloody chorus at all is because she’s been keeping old Charlie sweet.’

Fifteen minutes later, squashed up on the narrow wooden bench seats in the snug between Babs and Lizzie, a plate of appetising beef and dumpling stew on the table in front of her, Hettie felt a world away from the person she had been this morning. Her eyes widened as she saw the relish with which the other girls were drinking the port wine they had also ordered.

‘Try it,’ Babs urged her.

Unwilling to be mocked yet again by sharp-eyed Lizzie, Hettie dutifully sipped at the liquid Babs had poured into her empty glass, and then fought not to show how sour and unpleasant she found it, valiantly emptying her glass.

It was shortly after that she became aware of how very tired she was, and now her eyes were starting to close as her head dropped toward Babs’s shoulder.

‘Look at ’er, Babs,’ whispered one of the others. ‘Poor little kid. What a bloody shame.’

After studying Hettie’s sleeping profile Babs sighed and said determinedly, ‘Come on, we’d better get her back.’

‘Lor, Babs, we ain’t bloody nursemaids,’ Lizzie protested, but even her expression softened a little as she looked down at Hettie, sleeping peacefully as if she didn’t have a care in the world.