Kitty Little (22 page)

Esme was the one who helped most by bringing her tea in bed each morning, insisting she rest whenever she could do so without exciting notice from the others.

What was she thinking of, to allow herself to fall into such a state? They were at the start of a wonderful adventure, the realisation of a dream, and she was putting the entire project in jeopardy, simply because she couldn’t come to terms with losing a man she’d never had any hope of possessing.

Chapter Twelve

The tour was a resounding success. Costs were heavy, the actors alone being paid two guineas a week, but on a good night the show might take as much as fifteen pounds. On a bad one little more than one.

They learned to perform in all manner of venues and to every size of audience. They played in a delightful little school room in Kirkby Lonsdale where they had to change their costumes in the shop next door. In Keighley the hall was vast if rather draughty but the audience had travelled from as far afield as Ilkley to watch them. Sometimes the venue wouldn’t have electricity and they’d have to use their acetylene lamps or resort to candles in tins, praying they didn’t set fire to the place. Once they performed in a freezing barn right in the middle of a farmer’s field with the sound of cows lowing noisily from adjoining stalls.

Whatever the difficulties, once the show was under way, the atmosphere became thick with excitement. People love to be entertained. The audience always made all the effort worthwhile, yet each one was different. Some would relish every joke, roaring with laughter from start to finish. Others would be quieter, more thoughtful. In the port of Barrow-in-Furness, they’d consisted chiefly of miners who sat politely silent throughout, yet their applause at the end proved their enthusiastic response.

Throughout the cold short days of November and early December as the LTP’s progressed through the towns and villages of Lakeland, Yorkshire and Lancashire, Charlotte observed with a pleased satisfaction how Archie barely exchanged a word with Kitty beyond what was essential for the smooth running of the show. He seemed to go out of his way to avoid her and the tension between the two old friends grew by the day.

Even so Charlotte took care to add fuel to the disappointment he felt in Kitty. Should he ever cast lingering glances in the girl’s direction, Charlotte would point out how she was racketing through some task or other without ever consulting anyone else’s opinion, or even stopping to think for five minutes. More importantly, she would remind him of Kitty’s hypocrisy, so that his mouth would tighten with fresh disapproval.

Archie’s doleful mood affected everyone. Esme too seemed to be on the brink of despair half the time, her eyes following his every move with a pitiful misery, rather like a pathetic puppy dog begging for a titbit from its master.

Indeed, matters were proceeding entirely according to plan. All Charlotte need do now, was to ensure that the current state of affairs was permanent. Divining secrets people thought well hidden and manipulating them into behaving as she wished, was proving to be remarkably simple. And highly entertaining.

It was the last week of the tour and, as usual, Kitty was scolding Charlotte for being late for rehearsal.

‘Esme has hardly touched her breakfast. I’ll grab a slice of toast and a cuppa while she finishes it. We’ll be over in ten minutes.’ Knowing that Kitty was most anxious for Esme to eat properly.

‘See that you are.’

The others went off with Kitty to rehearse in the local school room where their final performance was to be held that very night. When the landlady disappeared back into the kitchen, Charlotte grabbed the opportunity to enquire, in a sympathetic, woman to woman sort of way, if Archie had yet declared himself. She tutted sorrowfully when Esme shook her head and confessed that he hadn’t, not in so many words. ‘He seems to be ignoring me these days.’

‘I did try,’ Charlotte assured her, smiling sadly through the lie. ‘I made it abundantly clear that you would not repulse his advances. Give him time. It’s never easy to bring men to the point and he’s probably suffering terrible guilt from having let Kitty down by getting drunk on the first night of the tour.’

‘I’m not at all concerned,’ Esme said, the pallor of her face showing otherwise. She longed for Archie to utter those magical words, for him to speak of his love for her, instead he seemed hardly to notice that she was around. ‘I’m being stupid. I dare say if it were you, you’d give him the glad eye, or whatever you call it. You’d know how to encourage him.’

‘And you can’t bring yourself to do that?’ Charlotte gently enquired and had to struggle to hide her elation when Esme pulled off her spectacles and began to rub them quite vigorously on a corner of her jumper. ‘Too shy eh? Even though you’ve known him all these years? Never mind, mebbe that’s why you can’t. Because you know him a bit too well.’

Esme looked up at her and frowned. ‘Do you think so? Do you think that might be why Archie never quite tells me how he feels?’

‘Now why didn’t I think of that?’ Yea Gods, Charlotte thought, this was all getting amazingly convoluted, and almost wished she’d never started down this road. But then she remembered that all she had to do was to follow her instincts.

‘There wouldn’t be any other reason he’d hang back, would there?’ she casually enquired. ‘I mean, that time we were on our way home from the flicks and we were sharing secrets, talking about parsons and - well -
you know
,
IT
, and you went all coy. I did wonder if there was something you weren’t telling.’ Seeing Esme’s cheeks flare up Charlotte dropped her piece of toast and put a hand to her mouth as if in shock, but actually to disguise the burst of satisfaction which shot through her. She’d hit the jackpot yet again. It must take her very special gifts to work these things out. ‘Oh, me and my big mouth,’ she said with mock concern. ‘That’s it, isn’t it? You poor thing.’

Esme stared at her wide eyed and appalled. ‘You mustn’t say anything. No one must know. He meant nothing by it.’

‘Course he didn’t. No man does. Don’t worry about me knowing. Had a few problems in that department myself over the years.’ Charlotte put out a consoling hand to pat Esme’s shoulder. ‘My stepfather was a shocker when he was drunk. I want you to know, love, that whatever that parson father of yours did, your secret’s safe with me. I’d never tell a living soul, particularly Archie.’ So there it was, handed to her on a plate, exactly what she needed to block Esme’s path for good and all. ‘Wouldn’t be safe in the circumstances, now would it?’

Esme had replaced her spectacles and was staring at Charlotte, bewildered. ‘Safe? I don’t quite understand.’

‘Nobody knows men better than me. And there’s one thing they hate above all else.’

‘What’s that?’ Esme was almost breathless with her need to understand even a half of what seemed so obvious to Charlotte. Archie and she had once been such good friends, more than friends you might say, yet despite everyone assuring her that he cared, he barely glanced her way these days. He seemed completely locked in himself. It didn’t occur to her that he might be behaving in this way with Kitty too, that the problem may lie elsewhere, perhaps even within his own flawed nature. To Esme, with her low self-esteem, if something went wrong, then it must be she who was to blame for it and not those who were brighter and cleverer than she. This fact had been made clear to her from a very early age. Obedience and duty was all, self-worth was nothing. The vanities of man, of life itself, was a puzzle to her, filled as it was with strange emotions and conflicting signals, all seemingly at odds with each other.

Charlotte was looking at her with the kind of pity in her eyes that filled Esme with the sudden, cold realisation that she may not care for what she was about to hear. Nevertheless, if her more experienced friend could shed some light upon these mysteries, then it would surely be to her benefit to learn. ‘Tell me, Charlotte. I need to understand.’

‘Men don’t like tarnished goods, d’you see love? They only like what’s untouched by human hand. Not that they’d be against taking advantage with any girl what gave them half a chance, you understand,’ winking broadly. ‘But they’d never take such a girl home to mother as it were, let alone down the aisle. Not one that had been - spoiled - in any way. D’you see?’

And now Esme understood perfectly why Archie had not declared himself.

She was one of those girls. Cheap and worthless. Her father had known it, and so had Archie. It was really all her own fault.

Charlotte noted with satisfaction how Esme’s skin had turned a muddy grey. Twisting a smile of satisfaction into one of complicity, she tapped the side of her nose. ‘But your secret is safe with me. Not a word, eh? Let’s hope he hasn’t heard any rumours, because what a chap don’t know, won’t hurt him,’ privately congratulating herself for a task well done.

Charlotte retired to her room, quite sure she had Esme right where she wanted her. Taking an envelope, already stamped and addressed, from out of a secret pocket in her suitcase, she smiled to herself. Then with a jaunty lilt to her step, she walked along to the village post office and dropped it into the post box. And that should settle Madam Kitty.

On this, the last night of the tour, the show did not go well. Esme’s performance was dire. Her depression was now so complete that her level of concentration had fallen to an all time low. She came on stage without an essential piece of property and had to go off again to fetch it. Then she started to say lines from the wrong play, ever a fear since they performed scenes from two or three at a time. In consequence she lost the drift, panicked, and failing to hear Suzy madly prompting in the corner, suddenly dried. She stood frozen on stage, shaking with terror while Kitty was obliged to précis all of her speeches in order to clarify the scene for the bemused audience.

Once off-stage, before Kitty had chance to offer a consoling word, Esme fled to the dressing room in floods of tears where she locked herself away for hours.

Kitty knocked on the door, Charlotte gave her a brisk talking to and Reg pleaded with her through the keyhole, all to no avail. All they could hear were great gulping sobs. Even Archie failed to shift her.

‘Come on, old thing,’ he calmly called through the closed door. ‘Everyone else has gone home. If you don’t come out soon, we’ll have to call out the dratted fire brigade, don’t you know. What if they squirt us all with water, thinking we’re on fire, eh? We’d be the soggiest actors in the history of the theatre.’ But the door remained firmly closed, his wit failing to have any effect.

It was Suzy who finally persuaded Esme out, with her irresistible motherly warmth. Gathered the distressed girl close in a swathe of silk wraps, cheap scent and sticky grease paint, she bore her off for a nip of something warming. ‘Sure to do the trick, darling girl. Then it’s a good rest for you, and all of us.’

Christmas was upon them and, satisfied at a job well done, the company was looking forward to a couple of week’s rest with their families before the start of rehearsals for the second tour. There would be new plays and new parts to learn, each member of the cast hoping for a good one for themselves. For now they went off happy and content, with a lively buzz about them born from a tired sort of excitement.

Charlotte too went home to her “ailing mother” feeling quite certain that it was safe to leave Archie, Esme and Kitty alone since their close-knit relationship was now fractured beyond repair.

The one-time triumvirate of friends ate Mrs Pips’s delicious turkey dinner with all the trimmings, but there remained a distance between them, a stilted quality to their conversation and most evenings found them all in their respective beds by nine. The housekeeper became increasingly disturbed by the odd behaviour of her dear charges. Something was amiss but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was. But she’d get to the bottom of it, oh dear me yes, if the happiness of her boy was concerned. She attempted to jolly them into playing cards or backgammon, fondly describing it as a peaceful rather than a merry Yuletide. ‘A time for resting and recuperating, and going for long walks. That’s what you all need. You’ve all worked far too hard.’

The weather was certainly perfect for walking. The air had become dry and utterly still, the days short while the nights were hard with frost. Even the sounds of the lake seemed muted as ice formed around the edges, cracking and creaking like snapped twigs. A few powdery flakes of snow fell, crusting the tops of the fells like frosted icing on a cake, and they all realised that if temperatures dropped still further, there could well be a blizzard. Great swathes of snow would then blanket the land and lanes alike, which could well put paid to their next tour, due to begin in three weeks time. The possibility of not being able to travel and meet their commitments was a constant worry.

Kitty spent most evenings in her room, writing, or blocking out moves on bits of paper, ready for when rehearsals started next week, which all proved to be good therapy. Even so, more personal concerns kept intruding upon her thoughts.

What should she do about Esme, whose depression now seemed deeply alarming? She wondered if the problem lay with the pact, made for the best of reasons but which was perhaps creating a block in their friendship.

Esme came to the same conclusion, for the next day she approached Kitty and announced that her depression had been caused by her foolish obsession with Archie. She’d come to realise that it was all a mistake. ‘If it were truly me he loved, he would have said so by now. He’s had ample opportunity. Perhaps it was all a silly schoolgirl crush, an illusion. Anyway, I want you to know that I release you from our pact. Let’s put an end to it. I always did think that you should be his choice, Kitty, so you’re free to have him. Go and tell Archie what you feel.