Daughter of Deceit by Victoria Holt Page B

anything?”
    “Amateur dramatics,” I said.
    “God preserve us!” murmured Martha. “And she thinks because of that she’s another Desiree.”
    “Not exactly … she thinks Desiree is wonderful. She just wants a chance to do something like it.”
    I told them what she had told me.
    “The best thing she can do,” said Martha, “is pack her bags and go back, find some farmer to marry her and set about milking the cows.”
    “How do you know?” demanded my mother. “She might have talent. At least she had the determination to come to London.”
    “Determination is not talent, as you should know.”
    “It’s one of the necessary ingredients to success.”
    “It’s bread without yeast. You never get it to rise.”
    “Since when have you been the culinary expert?”
    “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