morning as it had been last night, but girls
and young women kept trailing in one and two at a time. As soon as she and Suzie were
done, they took their dishes back to the kitchen, where a different, slightly older,
but equally cheerful girl was washing away mightily.
After that, they went out into the streets, and in a few moments were at the theater.
Katie could see she would have no difficulty remembering the way back; it really was
supernaturally convenient. Her head was spinning as she contemplated her luck. How
easy it would have been to get into a place where the landlady was abusive, or worse,
a pander! It was almost as if some good spirit had been guiding her from the time
she arrived in Brighton. The doorman was already on duty, and smiled at them both,
touching the brim of his hat to them.
He looked as if he had been a very handsome man before pain and grief had etched lines
in his face, making him look older than he was.
I wonder how he lost his leg?
Katie took care to smile back at him. From his bearing, she guessed that he must have
been a soldier. She knew, vaguely, that there was a war going on . . . in Africa?
Had that been where he’d been hurt?
The theater felt emptier this morning, probably because the acts that knew their parts
in their sleep didn’t feel the need to turn up to rehearse this early. The corridor
was
still
quite dark, and a bit claustrophobic for someone who was used to the vast expanses
underneath circus canvas.
“Let’s go to wardrobe and see if we can’t find something in the Aladdin panto costumes
that you can use for now,” Suzie said, as they threaded their way past the dressing
room. “Here—”
She paused, and there was a set of stairs, just off the corridor, that Katie hadn’t
realized was there. They weren’t regular stairs, not wooden stairs with landings;
they were made of iron and wound in a tight spiral, taking up very little space. Down
they went, ending in a corridor that was a good bit wider than the one above it, and
then left, and into a room filled with costumes on racks, and lit by a long line of
somewhat dirty windows up near the ceiling, where a sewing machine was clattering
away, vigorously pumped by a middle-aged woman in a neat little bonnet.
“Mrs. Littleton!” Suzie called, and the clattering stopped as the woman looked up.
“This is the new girl that’s taking my place. Lionel wants to order a costume for
the Turk number for her from you, but until you finish it, is there something in the
panto costumes she can use? She fits my sister’s old things a treat.”
The costume mistress looked Katie up and down. “I should think so,” she said. “Wait
here.”
She vanished into the forest of racked costumes and returned with something bundled
in her arms. All that Katie could tell was that it came with a pair of voluminous
pantaloons. “This is one of the Sultan’s page boy outfits. It will do,” Mrs. Littleton
said, thrusting the outfit at Suzie. “Make sure it comes back without any damage.
Watch them swords and other nasty things. Now, hold still.” Before Katie could move,
the woman had whisked the tape measure from around her neck and was measuring her
at all points, writing the measurements down in a little leather-bound book she pulled
out of a pocket of her apron. “What’s your name, gel?”
“Katie?” Katie replied hesitantly.
“Right then. It’ll be a week, them Eye-talian acrobats paid me to do them all new
suits, and they come first. Tell Lionel I’ll finish this new slave-girl frock in a
week, and he’s to pay me right away, and after that if nothing urgent comes up, I’ll
do up all the others he’ll need for her before he’s done with the Turk season.”
And with that, she sat back down at her machine and went back to sewing. Clearly,
they had been dismissed.
They both went out of the wardrobe room, pausing to let a stagehand go
and young women kept trailing in one and two at a time. As soon as she and Suzie were
done, they took their dishes back to the kitchen, where a different, slightly older,
but equally cheerful girl was washing away mightily.
After that, they went out into the streets, and in a few moments were at the theater.
Katie could see she would have no difficulty remembering the way back; it really was
supernaturally convenient. Her head was spinning as she contemplated her luck. How
easy it would have been to get into a place where the landlady was abusive, or worse,
a pander! It was almost as if some good spirit had been guiding her from the time
she arrived in Brighton. The doorman was already on duty, and smiled at them both,
touching the brim of his hat to them.
He looked as if he had been a very handsome man before pain and grief had etched lines
in his face, making him look older than he was.
I wonder how he lost his leg?
Katie took care to smile back at him. From his bearing, she guessed that he must have
been a soldier. She knew, vaguely, that there was a war going on . . . in Africa?
Had that been where he’d been hurt?
The theater felt emptier this morning, probably because the acts that knew their parts
in their sleep didn’t feel the need to turn up to rehearse this early. The corridor
was
still
quite dark, and a bit claustrophobic for someone who was used to the vast expanses
underneath circus canvas.
“Let’s go to wardrobe and see if we can’t find something in the Aladdin panto costumes
that you can use for now,” Suzie said, as they threaded their way past the dressing
room. “Here—”
She paused, and there was a set of stairs, just off the corridor, that Katie hadn’t
realized was there. They weren’t regular stairs, not wooden stairs with landings;
they were made of iron and wound in a tight spiral, taking up very little space. Down
they went, ending in a corridor that was a good bit wider than the one above it, and
then left, and into a room filled with costumes on racks, and lit by a long line of
somewhat dirty windows up near the ceiling, where a sewing machine was clattering
away, vigorously pumped by a middle-aged woman in a neat little bonnet.
“Mrs. Littleton!” Suzie called, and the clattering stopped as the woman looked up.
“This is the new girl that’s taking my place. Lionel wants to order a costume for
the Turk number for her from you, but until you finish it, is there something in the
panto costumes she can use? She fits my sister’s old things a treat.”
The costume mistress looked Katie up and down. “I should think so,” she said. “Wait
here.”
She vanished into the forest of racked costumes and returned with something bundled
in her arms. All that Katie could tell was that it came with a pair of voluminous
pantaloons. “This is one of the Sultan’s page boy outfits. It will do,” Mrs. Littleton
said, thrusting the outfit at Suzie. “Make sure it comes back without any damage.
Watch them swords and other nasty things. Now, hold still.” Before Katie could move,
the woman had whisked the tape measure from around her neck and was measuring her
at all points, writing the measurements down in a little leather-bound book she pulled
out of a pocket of her apron. “What’s your name, gel?”
“Katie?” Katie replied hesitantly.
“Right then. It’ll be a week, them Eye-talian acrobats paid me to do them all new
suits, and they come first. Tell Lionel I’ll finish this new slave-girl frock in a
week, and he’s to pay me right away, and after that if nothing urgent comes up, I’ll
do up all the others he’ll need for her before he’s done with the Turk season.”
And with that, she sat back down at her machine and went back to sewing. Clearly,
they had been dismissed.
They both went out of the wardrobe room, pausing to let a stagehand go
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