Kitty Little (42 page)

Archie was a child, a creature of simple pleasures. He often acted without thinking but he meant no harm by it. She must remember that.

As Kitty led him down the lobby and firmly out into the street, she spoke with a calculated crispness. ‘We can’t turn back the clock. This wallowing in nostalgia won’t do at all. Charlotte is right. Best to let the past go.’

Archie looked startled and a shadow, almost of accusation, seemed to darken his blue eyes, as if she’d rejected him in some way. ‘Never forget that I always loved you best old sport, right from when we were in Ealing. I mean, I knew you didn’t care a fig for me but...’

‘
Archie
! How can you say that? I
adored
you! But you must
never
say such things to me now, nor touch me ever again. You really mustn’t,’
and without waiting for him to respond, she whirled on her heel and went back inside, slamming the door of Laburnum House far harder than it had ever been slammed before.

The trip to the theatre was an inspiration. Kitty knew that she loved it still, even after all these years. Merely to enter its plush interior was like stepping into a magical world, a world where anything could happen; where hearts could be lifted, or broken at the will of an emotionally adept actor. The smell of the greasepaint, the sound of the pianist playing the opening bars brought a spurt of excitement akin to fear in the pit of her stomach, whether she were herself going on stage or not. Kitty’s love for the theatre ran through her veins like blood. But she wasn’t the only one affected on this particularly evening.

Archie sat enraptured throughout, drinking it all in like a thirsty man finally given a drink. He hadn’t realised how utterly bored he had become, living in the country with Charlotte.

As for Charlotte herself, she too was utterly captivated. Not so much by the performance, though it did bring back fond memories, but by the fact that during the interval a young man approached her. Diffident, shy, he nonetheless asked if she was
the
Charlotte Gilpin.

‘Why yes.’ Charlotte was enchanted if not particularly surprised to discover that she had been recognised.

‘I saw you play here on a number of occasions.
Much Ado About Nothing
was my favourite. You were brilliant as Beatrice. You were indeed the “incarnation of mirth and merry malice.”’

‘Oh, my dear.’ Charlotte was overwhelmed and happily signed his programme, making it seem as if she had starred in this excellent production as well.

It was then that the idea came to her. Charlotte too was bored. Living at Repstone had its charms, naturally. She was highly regarded and greatly sought after as a guest for several ladies’ luncheons and bridge afternoons. But these were becoming something of a yawn. To date, Charlotte had not yet achieved what she had set out to achieve. She had not reached the echelons of society. Why weren’t she and Archie receiving deckle-edge invitations from the Lowthers or the Somervells?

Watching this performance of
Midsummer Night’s Dream
, not to mention the delightful young man who had recognised her, reminded her of the adulation she had once enjoyed and so taken for granted.
 

Eyes bright, Charlotte was effusive as she sipped her sherry in the interval, and complimented the show. ‘It’s almost like old times, isn’t it? Not that we couldn’t do much better, of course, than this amateur set-up. I do wonder, sometimes, if it wouldn’t be absolute
fun
to make a comeback.’

‘Comeback?’ Kitty regarded her with mild amusement, for Charlotte always spoke as if she were the only one among the Lakeland Travelling Players with any talent; as if the company was of no account now that she had left it. ‘We’re still operational, Charlotte.’

‘Oh I do know you’re doing your best, darling - and I admire you enormously for struggling on. However, it can’t be easy without me, the focal point of the show as it were.’ She smiled condescendingly at Kitty, who simply looked bemused. ‘I’ve been thinking that perhaps I should put on a Benefit.’

Even Archie sat up and began to take notice at this surprising suggestion. ‘What d’you mean, old love. A Benefit?’

‘Don’t call me “old love”, Charlotte snapped but quickly restored her angelic smile, in case any of her other adoring fans were present and should recognise her. ‘We could put on a show for the benefit of the soldiers, the wounded who are convalescing in the Lakes. And whatever money we make can go to the War Fund, for ammunition or whatever it is they need.’ Charlotte finished this surprisingly well thought out description to be met by stunned silence.

Kitty said, ‘That’s not half a bad idea.’

‘Where could we stage it?’ Archie asked, interested, despite his misgivings. There was always the fear that Charlotte might suddenly grow bored and the whole thing would turn into another nightmare of squabbling and histrionics.

But Charlotte had thought of this too. ‘In the old barn at Repstone. Kitty always said she wanted a theatre, well why not turn that into one. Intimate, of course, but it has potential, don’t you think?’

For the first time in years, Kitty felt a flood of warmth towards Charlotte. Wasn’t this what she had always dreamed of? A theatre of their own. Somewhere to put on their shows without the constant travelling. She reached forward and planted a kiss on her cheek. ‘Charlotte. I adore you.’

‘So do I, old thing,’ Archie said, crushing Charlotte to him in an all-embracing hug, so that she re-emerged looking flustered and dishevelled.

‘Oh dear God,’ Charlotte thought later, as the effects of the sherry and the young man’s flattery wore off. ‘What have I let myself in for?’

Chapter Twenty-Five

It was indeed like old times, the launch of the Lakeland Players all over again. Kitty felt she was in seventh heaven. Using Miss Frost’s trusty bicycle, with Dixie seated in a carrier on the back and Lad running alongside, she would pedal madly along the country lanes each morning from Carrackwater out to Repstone; the sun glinting off the blue-hazed Langdales to her right, the glittering lake to her left, with the promise of spring in the air. It was more than three miles of winding, undulating track but worth every bit of effort to have the opportunity to fulfil a dream.

But what did it all mean? What would be required to get this production of a Benefit production off the ground?

Long before Kitty could make any decisions about what to actually put into the show, it meant many late nights drawing plans for designing the new theatre. It meant the procuring of a dramatic licence, the purchase and installation of rows of theatre seats, (since Charlotte insisted they have only the best and Kitty did not disagree.) It involved the construction of a decent sized stage, complete with trapdoor, moveable set and wings, not forgetting a proscenium arch and curtains which pulled together smoothly without snagging. The barn had a high, cruck roof so could therefore provide decent flies in which to store raised scenery, but its long narrow shape with only an old dairy tacked on the end, meant a shortage of dressing rooms. Never mind, they could always use the house for now. And then there was the vexed question of lighting. Since there was neither gas, nor the new electricity system installed in the barn, they would have to resort to their old fashioned methods of acetylene lamps.

‘Anything but candles,’ Kitty insisted. ‘They are a positive hazard.'

But Charlotte would have none of that. ‘I’ve been complaining to Archie for months now that we should have electricity installed in the house. Heavens, simply everyone has rid themselves of smelly old gas mantles these days.’
 

So electricians were hired, cables laid, and in no time at all the newly built stage was fully equipped with footlights and spotlights, the very latest in lighting equipment, purchased from a specialised company in London at heaven knows what cost.

‘Can you afford all of this?’ Kitty asked, for whatever she suggested, Charlotte ordered and Archie paid for. It was really quite alarming.

‘Don’t ask me. Charlotte seems able to make my funds stretch twice as far as I can.’

Not that Kitty objected too strongly, because of course she was privately thinking beyond the Benefit. She hoped that this would not be a temporary project at all. It seemed such a waste to take all this time and trouble to turn an old barn into a theatre simply for a one night war effort, however worthy, when a little stretching of resources could achieve much more than that. Kitty wanted a long-term future for the Barn Theatre, as it came to be called, and a long-term future for the Lakeland Players.

And she meant to be the one to manage it, if the dream came true.

The Great War had caused a boom in theatre-going but had almost killed off good British drama. Archie was right when he said that anything vaguely intelligent had been pushed aside by this craze for entertaining the fighting men with the light-hearted and the spectacular. Politicians, newspapers, even the church, insisted that everyone needed to be cheered up and amused, and not be encouraged to use their brains as this was far too taxing.

Kitty went along with this to a degree, naturally. Hadn’t she personally seen the benefits of raising a young soldier’s morale while he was on a well earned rest from the Front? But here, back home in Lakeland, she longed to redress the imbalance. She wanted to bring back
art
to the theatre. Kitty longed to put on new plays, to discover new talent. Some of these could be comedies, of course they could, but in no way vulgar and she would retain some of the old favourites. Shakespeare, Ibsen, Shaw. Perhaps even
Hindle Wakes
, the new, and some would say, outrageous, Lancashire drama by Harold Brighouse. Kitty could rather empathise with Fanny Hawthorn off on her weekend ‘lark’ with her young man.

When she put this notion to Archie and Charlotte, neither of them raised any objections, though Charlotte did sink into thoughtful contemplation for quite a long while before asking: ‘Are you saying that we make the theatre permanent? You want to put more shows on after the Benefit?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m not sure that I would have the time or the energy,’ Charlotte complained, and Kitty tactfully commented that there were other actresses she could hire, when Charlotte was too busy. ‘And she’d have to pay us rent, wouldn’t she Archie? We couldn’t allow you to use the barn for nothing Kitty.’

Kitty smiled. ‘Of course not. I wouldn’t expect you to. I’m sure we could agree a reasonable rent.’

‘But would people be prepared to come out here, to Repstone, just to see your little plays? What sort of productions could you put on?

‘New ones, whenever possible.’ Kitty said, her enthusiasm bubbling over. She would read dozens of plays every week in order to choose only the best, and not be influenced in the slightest by prejudice or critical reviews. She saw herself as becoming almost as famous as Miss Horniman at The Gaiety Theatre in Manchester.

For the Benefit, however, Kitty told them, the tried and true would hold good. They must have the audience laughing and singing and having a lovely, jolly time. There would be lively songs for the men to sing along with, plenty of rousing patriotism, and perhaps one or two amusing sketches. ‘Charlotte, would you care to dress up as a soldier and do
Soldiers of the Queen
?

Charlotte coolly declined, saying that she wouldn’t sink so low. ‘I prefer a splendid little drama to better show off my talent, naturally. I am the one they are coming to see, don’t forget.’

‘Quite right. I hadn’t forgotten,’ Kitty kindly agreed, hiding a smile and deciding she could do the soldier act herself. Why not? Kitty was itching to get her feet back on stage.

But no matter how many hours she spent each day working in the theatre; no matter how exhausted Kitty was when she arrived back at Laburnum House, she always found time to write to Owen. Perhaps it was only to add a page to a letter she would complete and send in a day or two, but never for a moment did she forget him.

Deep in her heart Kitty felt cleansed. She was finally free of the nostalgia which had held her back, kept her clinging to Archie long after she should have let him go.

Would that he would adopt the same attitude.

He could hardly keep his hands off her, always seeking some excuse to slip his arm about her waist, peck a kiss upon her cheek, tweak her nose or tidy her hair, just as if he had every right so to do. Kitty found herself studiously avoiding being left alone with him. It was all most trying.

On two separate occasions while working late in the evening at the Barn Theatre he’d suggested that she stay, and not bother to return each day to Laburnum House. Kitty’s response was always that the Misses Frost looked after them exceptionally well, and that Charlotte wouldn’t approve. ‘Your wife deserves some privacy. I’m intruding too much upon her life as it is.’

Yet again today, he’d taken hold of her cycle handlebars as she was about to ride off up the lane, holding it fast while he informed Kitty that he and Charlotte now occupied separate rooms; a fact she really had no wish to learn. ‘It would give you and I ample opportunity to become – reacquainted,’ Archie announced with a smile, and since there was no mistaking his meaning, Kitty had laughed, unable to disguise her embarrassment.

‘I shall pretend you never said that, or that I have mistaken your meaning entirely.’

‘I’d rather you did neither.’

‘Archie, we aren’t foolish young things any more. You’re a married man and I...’ Kitty knew, with a certainty borne of true love, one fed and nurtured by the weekly and sometimes daily letters she received back from Owen, that he was the man for her. Captain Dafydd Owen Williams, that obnoxious, cantankerous, unpunctual, arrogant, exciting and amazingly sensitive tyrant, was the face which haunted her dreams. He it was who filled her heart with longing and with the pain of worry over his well-being. Archie was her past. Owen her future. Kitty was sure of that fact, more than anything else. ‘I prefer to turn the page and go forward,’ was all she said now, then calling Dixie and Lad to her like a pair of recalcitrant puppies, got on her bicycle and set off back to the Misses Frost’s with relief.