The Songbird (24 page)

It's me! She suddenly woke up, licked her dry lips, held up her head and squared her shoulders as she was announced. ‘A young lady – fresh from her astounding success in northern England – come specially for your entertainment . . .'

Anthony nodded encouragingly to her, as Jack Bradshaw, holding out his arm to draw her on, proclaimed, ‘
Miss – Poppy – Mazzini
.'

She threw off her shawl and ran to centre stage. Bowed. Put her hands on her hips, her head to one side, and Miss Jenkinson began the lively music of the mazurka.

Poppy smiled as she danced the spirited rhythm, for she could hear some members of the audience clapping in time to the music. Then she shut her ears to it and concentrated solely on the piano, as some of the clapping was half a beat behind.

There was spontaneous applause as she finished. She came to the front of the stage and took a bow, and saw that the theatre was only partly full in the stalls, and that, as Anthony had said, most of the audience was made up of elderly people who probably didn't care to venture out in the evenings. She took several breaths as she unfastened the scarf which had bound her head, shook out her hair and announced that she would like to sing two particular favourites of hers, and she hoped that they would like them too.

She sang first of all an appealing, merry tune, one which people were whistling in the streets of Hull. An earnest young swain was urging his ladylove to marry him, and soon. ‘Come, pretty May, Come, pretty May, Marry me now 'fore I'm old and grey.' Then she sang the response of his sweetheart, in a voice all sweetness and guile. ‘I'll not marry you, Harry, I'm too young and merry.'

She paused for a second's effect, and Miss Jenkinson, taking her lead, held her hands over the keys, before she ended, teasingly, ‘But don't go away – for maybe – one day!'

Poppy invited the audience to join in the chorus and found that her nervousness had gone and she was elated at their response.

She took her bow again and began her final song, ‘Will You Be Forever True?' She assumed a graceful appealing pose, lifted her arm to let the flimsy scarf float above her head, and began. ‘La la, la la, la la-ah, hold me close forever more.'

Though she concentrated on the music and her voice, she couldn't help but think of Charlie. This is my song for him, to show that I love him. If only he would come and hear me, then he would really understand. He wouldn't think that I was only a girl just out of school. She did one more glide round the stage, came to the front and let her voice soar for the final line. ‘Gone on the silent breath of night.'

There was polite sporadic applause and she backed away, then she returned, tripping lightly to centre stage and giving a deep bow before exiting.

She breathed hard and stood back as a magician in black tailcoat and tall hat and carrying a tall box with a spangled cover pushed past her. Anthony was still there, but standing back so as not to be in the way.

‘They didn't like me!' she said. ‘What was wrong?'

He took her arm and they moved away from the wings. ‘They did like you,' he said. ‘But they don't often get your quality of singing. They liked the merry song best,' he added, looking down at her. ‘They want to tap their feet and clap their hands and go home happy.'

‘I see,' she said in a small voice. ‘Should I give up and go home?'

‘Give up!' He was astonished. ‘With a voice like yours? Certainly not. But you need to take some advice. I have to go,' he said. ‘I need to change.' She was so wrapped up in herself that she had almost forgotten that he was performing too.

‘Oh! I shall stay and listen,' she said. ‘I so loved your playing when you came to Hull.'

‘Ah!' He raised his eyebrows. ‘You might find this quite different; but go and put on something warm,' he advised. ‘Backstage can be a chilly place.' Though he was wearing black dress trousers, he also had on a thick high-necked jumper over his shirt. ‘Don't catch a chill.'

‘That's what Miss Jenkinson told me,' she murmured, and he nodded briefly and went off to the men's dressing room.

Poppy shivered as she made her way back to the dressing room. Anthony was right; it was cold and draughty down these narrow passages. She'd dropped her shawl as she'd made her entrance on stage but it wasn't where she'd left it.

‘This yours, miss?' One of the stagehands, coming towards her down the corridor, held it up. ‘I found it in a corner in the wings.'

‘Thank you,' she said, taking it from him and noticing how grubby it had become. Someone must have kicked it to one side.

‘Best to hang it up next time, miss,' he said. ‘There's some hooks on the wall just inside the wings. Anybody might have tripped over it,' he added.

‘Oh! Sorry. I must have dropped it.' She felt foolish. How unprofessional of her. She hadn't been thinking of the other performers but only of herself. As she opened the door to the dressing room she heard the applause for the magician, but then was almost knocked over by the comedienne Nancy Martell.

‘Outa my way,' she barked. ‘I'm on,' and the large woman, dressed up in a curly red wig and a voluminous apron over a striped bodice and skirt, rushed past her.

The Terry Sisters, who were appearing in the second half, were sitting in front of the mirror finishing off their make-up. Their eyes were heavily outlined in black with bright blue shadow on their lids. Their brows were arched high and long false eyelashes swept their cheeks. As they sat, Poppy would hardly have known one from the other.

They both looked at her through the mirror. Ena didn't speak but reached for a lip brush and paint pot, and began to fill in her mouth withscarlet. Ronny swung round to face her. ‘How'd you get on? Your first time, wasn't it?'

Poppy nodded. ‘Away from home,' she said. ‘So it was different.'

‘Course it is,' Ronny said. ‘No friends or family to support you and give you a clap. So how was it?' she repeated. ‘Did they like you?'

‘I'm not sure.' Poppy hesitated. 'They liked the first two numbers anyway. The mazurka and the ditty. I don't know if they liked the romantic song.'

‘Probably didn't.' Ena spoke to Poppy's reflection. ‘The matinee audiences like something lively. They don't want romantic mush to remind them of what they've lost – or never had,' she added sourly.

Ronny made a moue and raised her eyebrows even higher, causing them to shoot up into her hairline. ‘Hark at Miss Crabby,' she said. ‘She knows all about it if anybody does!'

Poppy, glancing at Ena, gasped. Ena had mouthed an expletive through the mirror at the back of Ronny's head, and though she had stopped short of saying it aloud, there was no mistaking what she had meant.

‘Come here.' Ronny indicated for Poppy to come closer. She peered at her face. ‘Have you been on like that?'

‘What do you mean? Dressed like this?' Poppy was flummoxed. This was one of her best dresses. The skirt was cut to flounce and the bodice had floating sleeves.

‘No! The dress is lovely. Your face! You ain't wearing any make-up.' Ronny stared at her. ‘Why not?'

‘I am. I am!' Poppy insisted. ‘I've rouged my cheeks and I've got lipstick on.'

Ena swung round now. ‘Well, they'll not see that from the back of the stalls.' She laughed. ‘Your face will have completely disappeared!'

Poppy stared open-mouthed at the sisters. ‘Will it?' she said. ‘No-one has ever mentioned that before.'

‘Well, I dare say that when your family and friends came to see you on your home turf, they were sitting in the front row. Am I right?' Ronny asked.

‘Yes.' I've so much to learn, Poppy thought miserably. I'm such a beginner.

Ronny and her sister swung round to face the mirror again and both fastened back their hair and began to pin on their headdresses. Ronny saw Poppy watching them. ‘If you like,' she said, with a mouthful of hairpins, ‘I'll show you how to do your face. Maybe tonight at Johnny's, after the show? If I'm not too tired,' she added.

Poppy saw Ena glance at her sister, but she made no offer of help, instead continuing to arrange the feathers and beads around her head. Then they both stood up and seemed to tower above her. They were wearing very high-heeled shoes with the front of the shoe made from transparent material, with sparkling diamante straps around their ankles.

‘So how do we look?' Ronny asked.

They were transformed. Poppy could see that. From being rather mousy, unremarkable women who wouldn't merit a second glance out in the street, they were now elegant, glamorous performers.

‘Wonderful,' she breathed. ‘Just wonderful.'

‘Glamour. That's what people come for,' Ronny said, looking down on her. ‘That, or to be made happy and merry. And it's our job to satisfy them.'

During the interval, the Terry Sisters drank coffee and rehearsed some of their dance steps. Poppy felt as if she was in the way, so she changed into her outdoor clothes, packed away her stage clothes, and made her way to the back of the stalls where she sat alone in an empty row and waited for the second half to begin. Will I ever be on in the second half, she wondered? Will I ever top the bill as I did in Hull? Will I even have the stamina to continue? I did so want to sing my romantic songs. I wanted to perform with feeling, and not just sing merry ditties!

The lights were dimmed and she sank down into her seat as the curtain rose to show a piano on stage with a potted palm tree in the background. Jack Bradshaw appeared and the audience applauded as he announced, ‘Your favourite pianist and mine – returned by special request – the talented –
Mr Anthony
–
Marino
!'

Anthony strode onto the stage, bowed, flourished a white handkerchief which he then tucked into his trouser pocket, and took his place at the piano. How splendid he looks! Poppy gazed admiringly as Anthony ran his hands across the keys. He wore a black frock coat and crisp white shirt with stand-up collar and a white rose in his buttonhole. His hair curled just below his collar whilst a stray lock hung about his forehead.

He wears his hair like that because it looks appealing, she thought. He seems – she smiled – a romantic figure, I suppose. And just out of reach! The old ladies will love him. How clever! Whereas I need to look older if I'm to sing romantic music. I need to look as if I know what love is. She gave a small sigh. They won't realize that I do know already.

Anthony played merry tunes and marching songs, waltz arrangements by Johann Strauss, and charming lyrical pieces, but not the music that had once made her cry. She sat and listened and watched, not just Anthony but the audience too. She let her gaze wander about the auditorium and saw them nodding their heads in time to the music, tapping their feet to a hornpipe or singing softly to the popular melodies. Poppy realized that Anthony had chosen the music especially for this audience. He has learned to know what they want, and in order to make a living he plays the music they like. And that is what I must do if I'm to succeed. For now, she decided. Only for now.

She joined in the applause at the end of Anthony's performance and then stayed to watch the Terry Sisters, wondering as she did so why they appeared higher up the bill than Anthony when he was so evidently more talented. They looked good though, she thought, from the rear of the stalls, and even if their singing wasn't quite what it might be, they had developed their act to incorporate dance steps which provocatively showed off neat ankles through their split, glittering, befeathered skirts. The lyrics of music hall songs were enhanced by simpering expressions and much fluttering of fans, and Poppy guessed that the singing might be further enlivened at the evening performance.

As the Terry Sisters took their bow, Poppy got up to leave. As she made her way to the exit, an elderly woman blocked her way. ‘Excuse me, Miss Mazzini.'

Poppy glanced down at her. She was quite tiny and looked rather frail and was dressed in black. ‘Hello,' she said softly, for the next act, a tenor, was about to begin.

‘I just wanted to say . . .' The woman whispered so low that Poppy couldn't hear her, and indicated that the woman should follow her through into the foyer.

‘I just wanted to say,' the woman repeated as they went through the doors, ‘and I hope you'll pardon my intrusion, but I saw you sitting in the stalls.' She nodded. ‘The stars often sit at the back, so I look out for them. And I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your singing.'

‘Thank you,' Poppy said gratefully. ‘That is so very kind.'

‘And I especially liked that lovely song – “Will You Be Forever True”.' The old lady blinked up at her. ‘It reminded me of when I once loved somebody and I thought he loved me. Except that he didn't,' she added sadly. ‘He left me for another.'

‘I'm so sorry.' Poppy was embarrassed. ‘So very sorry.'

‘Oh, don't be, dear,' she replied. ‘It was a very long time ago. But the love I had for him has sustained me all of my life. I never loved again, you see.' She gave a wistful smile that deepened the lines in her face. ‘There never was another. But I don't ever want to forget him, and your song reminded me again.' She lifted her head and her blue eyes gazed into Poppy's. She smiled. ‘I'm a sentimental old woman, and I do realize that it's only a song and not your own experience. You're far too young to know. But you sounded as if you had really known love.' She patted Poppy's arm. ‘I hope that when you learn to love, it will be with someone who will love you in return.'

She turned and hobbled with the help of a walking stick towards the doors of the theatre. ‘I shan't stay to hear the tenor,' she called back. ‘His voice is too thin, and I don't care for the comic. He's not in the least funny. Goodbye, my dear. I wish you luck in your career. You will go far.' She looked over her shoulder. ‘But set your sights higher than Bradshaw's,' she added. ‘Much higher.'