wings Clover could not tell!—up onto the ribbon of light descending from the moon. She saw the stagehand hauling on his harness from the other side, but Victor moved so naturally as he strode up the sky that it was hard to connect the two. He leaped over the tall trees and forward and at last he put out a hand and touched the moon’s strange face, leaned in and kissed it, and exhorted the moon to explain to him: life, gravity, the persistent eternal pull of the tide, and of course, Love.
Receiving no answer but the hoot of a lonely owl, he brought out a silk kerchief and philosophically polished up that pallid face. ‘Until we meet again,’ he told the moon, with a lover’s caressing promise. Then he turned away from the moon and leaped—so far forward that Clover was in terror—and landed again on the forestage, precisely in one, and stood triumphant.
The people went wild and Saborsky bowed a gigantic bow, wheeling his arms in a wild sunburst-rolling jump and bowing again, shouting ‘Encore!’ for himself. He took fourteen bows, tossing and picking up (with enormously vulnerable gratitude and some elastic-string mechanism) the same two bouquets of red silk roses over and over, terribly reminiscent of Sunderland and Pettibone applauding each other, and almost the funniest bit of all.
Clover’s whole heart and self was won.
Standing at the back of the hall beside Sybil, who had made them come up for a rare treat, her sisters watched too, and each in her own way saw how Saborsky’s true skill outshone every little thing they might do themselves.
A Chance Not to Be Missed
Mrs. Seward’s boarding hotel was a large, noisy place full of vaudeville people visiting with acquaintances from other theatres in town; a general movement through the house seemed to go on almost all night.
At 3 a.m. Mrs. Seward emerged in awful dudgeon and rang a little bell, and everyone went back to their own rooms, as East and Verrall had promised Aurora would happen. Finally something close to silence fell over the house and the girls could sleep, though Aurora was kept awake a little longer with the sick knowledge that they’d have to be up in four hours to make the band call for the next day’s performances.
The next night, Friday night, a proposal floated through the dressing rooms, to go after the show to hear members of the Hippodrome orchestra moonlighting at a roadhouse in the nearby countryside. Most of the company were going. An important visiting impresario was to put in an appearance.
‘A chance not to be missed,’ Julius confided, leaning in to their dressing room. His eyes popped at Aurora earnestly: a surprising pale green, like peeled grapes floating in custard. ‘We work, we strive, art is all—but at a certain juncture, management is a necessity. Mr. Fitzjohn Mayhew is a rising man and was last winter at the Follies. I think it worth the excursion.’
Aurora considered the proposal as she creamed off her makeup, listening to Sybil’s rippling account of how such a party would be perfectly permissible and even educational. The hotel would be in a din till three again, anyway. She and Clover had been to country dances at home in Paddockwood, some quite rambunctious, and could certainly take care of themselves; besides, they’d be with all their friends from the Parthenon company. She did briefly wonder whether she ought to leave Bella behind at Mrs. Seward’s, but Bella heard her saying as much to Clover and scotched that plan.
‘Cat piss! I am just as fit as you to go out in the country without Mama,’ Bella cried. ‘You can’t leave me here while you two go gallivanting!’
‘I’m thinking of your good,’ Aurora told her sharply. ‘You’re still a child.’
‘Ha, no, I’m not any more, and you know it! Don’t you treat me like a baby.’
‘Only our own dear Baby,’ Clover said, using Bella’s old pet-name. ‘We must look out for you.’
‘If I’m old enough to be in the show, I’m old enough to go out with you.’
Aurora would have fought her down, but the boarding hotel with its wandering artistes was no safer a place for a girl alone. Instead she did a quick job on Bella’s eyes, then Clover’s and her own, as if looking older would better fortify them to cope with any questionable doings they might encounter. In any case, they had done nothing but work and strive for many months—it was delightful to think of