Far To Go. Noel Streatfeild

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СКАЧАТЬ audience. It was the proudest moment in Mr Fortescue’s life when in 1895 he had bought the big tent and had had ‘Fortescue Comedy Company’ painted on it.

      Margaret could not go to the theatre until the afternoons for she had to attend the local school. She did not mind, for she loved school, not just for the lessons but because she was special there. Not that she needed to be told she was special, for she had always known that she was. Who else had been found in a basket when they were a baby with three of everything, all of the very best quality? Who else had a card sent with her which said, ‘This is Margaret Thursday whom I entrust to your care’? Who else had received fifty-two golden sovereigns each year for her keep? Margaret knew it was not because of this romantic start to her life that the children admired her, it was because they had seen her act Little Lord Fauntleroy and they thought she was wonderful.

      Oddly enough, that part of Margaret who was proud of herself did not care if she was admired as an actress or not. Acting was a different thing altogether. It was something that came to you when you stepped on the stage that made you forget everything except the part you were acting, that made you believe what you were saying and turned all the other actors into the people they were meant to be so she never, when on the stage, saw them as the tawdry, seedy, bad actors, atrociously dressed, that they really were.

      At the back of the theatre in a small tent Mrs Sarah Beamish spent her days. She was a wonderfully good needlewoman and so was in charge of the wardrobe, though she played character parts or walked on when needed. Sarah had taken Margaret under her wing when she had joined the company four months before and, in innumerable ways, had not only seen after her but, when necessary, fought for her welfare. It was Sarah Beamish who saw she attended school. Her fat little figure had waddled into Ida Fortescue’s – the leading lady and manageress – dressing-tent a few nights after Little Lord Fauntleroy had become part of the repertory. Ida was taking off her make-up and did not want to be interrupted.

      ‘Well?’

      ‘Young Margaret should go to school starting Monday,’ said Sarah.

      The question of sending Margaret to school had been discussed by the Fortescues and they had decided against it. In the company there was an actress so short she was almost a dwarf who had played children when they were needed. She had no talent so the Fortescues had decided, as soon as the summer was over, to dismiss her and give the parts to Margaret, which would mean she would be needed for morning rehearsals. Now what was Sarah Beamish sticking her nose in for? However, Sarah was too valuable in the wardrobe to be treated rudely. Ida spoke as though her tongue had been covered with cream.

      ‘Do you not think that a long role every night is enough for her? She is only just eleven.’

      Sarah was not fooled by a creamy voice. ‘No, I do not. I think she should have proper schooling like any ordinary child. Besides it’s the law. Very strict they say they are now about children’s schooling.’

      This was a brave statement from Sarah, who had not the faintest idea about school and the law. When she had grown up some children were still working in the cotton mills. She had herself for a year when her father had been out of work through an injury, but times were changing fast and now, with the coming of a new century, life was much easier for children. Even girls going into service in private houses seldom went until they were twelve.

      As a result of what Sarah had said, Margaret had been sent to the village school. Ida Fortescue had settled the argument.

      ‘What does it matter, Mr Fortescue?’ she had said to her husband. ‘It’s just coming to the autumn. If we can get an audience in our tent for Fauntleroy until October we’ve done grand. Come mid-October we have to move under a roof anyway, and what school there may be there we can wait and see.’

      As she said this she winked to show her husband there would be no schooling for Margaret if she was needed for theatre work.

      Now it was late September, the last week when they could use a tent. It was pleasant weather with just a nip in the air to remind everyone summer was coming to an end and, in Margaret’s case, to put a skip into her walk and make her hum a tuneless song to the words, ‘I do like being me.’

      Sarah heard her coming. ‘Is that you, Margaret?’ she called.

      Margaret ran the last few steps and flung her arms round Sarah’s neck. ‘Of course it’s me, who else would it be? You know everybody is having a nap. Were you wanting me? What can I do?’

      Sarah had a small kettle which was heated by a spirit lamp. Now she lit it.

      ‘We’ll have a cup of tea first, and then I’ve something I want to talk to you about.’

      Margaret groaned. ‘How mean! Why not talk first and then tea? You know how I hate waiting to hear things. Hannah, the one who brought me up …’

      Sarah stopped her. ‘Now don’t start on about how the rector found you and Hannah brought you up. I know that.’ Her voice softened. ‘Though very nicely that Hannah managed, I will say, but now we’ve other things to talk of. Open my cotton box and you’ll find a bag of sweet biscuits.’

      It seemed to Margaret an intolerable time before the kettle boiled, but really it was only a matter of minutes before she and Sarah were drinking tea and eating the fancy biscuits. Margaret had grown to know Mrs Beamish, as she respectfully called her, too well in the past four months to hope to hurry her but she watched her, quivering like an eager puppy, and at last she had her reward. Sarah felt in her apron pocket and brought out a piece cut from a newspaper.

      ‘I haven’t talked about your future, Margaret, because there has not been any cause.’

      ‘There isn’t now,’ said Margaret.

      Sarah went on as if she had not been interrupted. ‘That’s as may be, but some thinks different.’

      ‘But I know we’re leaving this tent next week and it’s being stored in a barn until next spring. Mr Fortescue has booked a hall where we move to and we play repertory until Christmas when we put on pantomime, and I shall be a little white cat and …’

      Sarah stopped her with an upraised hand. ‘I am aware of what is planned, but maybe others have plans too.’ Her tone changed. ‘Listen, dear, I’m not the only one who has been watching you. I know you are not one to let compliments go to your head, but since you took on playing Little Lord Fauntleroy you’ve shown yourself an actress. Mind you, talent in a child does not mean talent when you’ve grown up, but I am not the only one in the company who has real hope for you.’ Sarah paused and unfolded the piece of paper. ‘So when I saw this I said to myself: “Sarah Beamish, it’s meant.”’

      Margaret held out her hand. ‘What is it, Mrs Beamish? Show me.’

      Sarah passed her a cutting from a theatrical paper called The Era. Margaret unfolded it and read: ‘Wanted: A clever girl to appear eleven. Appointment, write to Thomas Smith, The Dolphin Theatre.’

      ‘Where is The Dolphin Theatre?’

      Sarah smiled at such ignorance. ‘In London, of course. It belongs to Sir John Teaser. He’s what they call a theatrical manager, which means he owns his own company and acts as well. Very important man, Sir John is. Why, when he went to Buckingham Palace for Queen Victoria to make him a knight, hundreds turned out to see him in his carriage drive through the palace gates.’

      Margaret reread the cutting from the paper. ‘I shouldn’t think he would see me. I mean, London СКАЧАТЬ