of us having to earn our bread. But that’s the way of the world, for dear Arthur had no kind of head for business and all we had was books and our lovely piano. Which the girls put to good use—’
Clover put quiet fingers on Mama’s elbow; Mama ended on a false-trilling laugh.
‘Repertoire?’
‘Very sweet and tender lyrics and melodies—we’ve no aspiration to be confused with Tanguay, or that kind of display or licentious behaviour …’
Mr. Cleveland was not a conversationalist and Mama was irking him, Aurora could see that. ‘We do Daddy Wouldn’t Buy Me A Bow-Wow,’ she put in, feeling the hypocrisy in the cold air on her white-tighted legs—and then regretted it. In Prince Albert, Mrs. Sadler had refused to let her daughters sing that song because Mr. Sadler had laughed his barking head off at some saucy meaning. But Cleveland waved his hand and Mama began the intro vamp.
Bella took the story part, lisping with all her might, while the others danced and pranced in on the horrible chorus.
‘Daddy wouldn’t buy me a bow-wow! bow wow!
I’ve got a little cat,
And I’m very fond of that!’
(At this line, the girls grimaced in kittenish suggestion.)
‘But I’d rather have a bow-wow, wow, wow, wow.’
‘See what you can do with this little ditty.’ Mr. Cleveland handed a sheet of music across the shell-backed footlights. Clover, used to being helpful, bent down to take the music, but he snatched it back. ‘The older gal, the blonde.’
Already bending, Clover was confused and nearly fell, but Bella was beside her with a small strong hand, and Aurora came forward to take the music. Clover and Bella retreated to the piano. A man had appeared there, the one called Mendel. He slid his sheet onto the piano’s music rest and himself onto the bench beside Mama, who twitched her skirts and then herself away just in time. She and the younger girls stood in a clumsy group too close to the piano, till Clover backed them away.
‘We heard little Willie cry in his sleep:
I’ll give it to Mary!
Mary’ll give it to John,
And John will give it to the cook,
She’ll pass it right along.
The cook will give it to Father,
Pa’ll give it to Ma, you bet …’
Singing along as pert as was suitable to the jaunty tune, Aurora’s brain caught up with the lyrics—how could Cleveland be known as a prude and offer her such a song to sing? Hardly even double entendre, it was pretty well single entendre: whatever the traffic would bear, she thought. Or, glancing down, whatever Mrs. Cleveland didn’t squash.
She looked away from that tight-latched, crosspatch woman quickly, not wanting to spoil the buoyant mood of the piece—and there in the wings was the tail-coated young man from downstairs, smiling while he danced along to the tune, showing her how to do the step: a simple soft-shoe shuffle turned into a jumpy waltz. He waltzed alone over there, so she waltzed alone onstage, turning from one partner to another.
Once she’d got it, he saluted, hopped over the railing and left, walking straight out of the theatre so she could see him go, his nice straight back and springing step keeping time with her dancing. Infectious, like the song.
‘And Ma’ll give it to the ice-man,
That’s the feller I want to get.’
A lighthearted finish and a flowery bow, and Mendel stretched out his arm with another sheet for Aurora to take, motioning the other girls to take sheets too.
He struck into the intro instantly, not waiting for Cleveland’s say-so, and they were off. Grateful that it was familiar, Aurora could abandon the sheet and add a soaring embellishment, knowing the other two would hold the line. Mendel smiled at her; his face was altered by it, made bright and kind.
‘My true love hath my heart, And I, and I have his,
By just exchange, the one to the other given
He loves my heart, for once it was his own,
I cherish his because in me, in me it bides.’
Clover loved singing this, one of Papa’s favourites, and loved singing the bottom line while Bella and Aurora ran up above her. She loved being the true heart. Her heart was full of loving them both, and Mama; she had expected to be frightened but found herself lifted on the music to a serene pleasure in beauty and order.
But Mr. Cleveland hummed when they were done, and hawed his loveless tombstone face towards Mrs. Cleveland for confirmation, and Mendel, sober-eyed, took the sheets of music back and made