It snowed the day of the dress rehearsal. A blizzard blew in and the city of C— froze. Icicles hung from the buildings and it felt to everyone as if they were in a pocket of time that was lost from the history books.
Hildegard was so nervous that morning that she hadn’t eaten breakfast and her face had come out in red blotches. Nothing Anna said could calm her.
‘I know I won’t be able to remember my lines. What if I open my mouth and nothing comes out?’
Anna had assured her that it wouldn’t happen.
Hildegard cheered up only slightly at the sight of Quigley’s red and gold sleigh waiting to take them to the opera house. The clown wasn’t driving them today as he had been called for an early rehearsal and had taken his carriage.
Hildegard sighed as Celeste climbed into the sleigh.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.
‘I have a delicate throat and I’m sure this cold air is not good for it.’
‘When did it start, your delicate throat?’ said Celeste, trying not to laugh.
‘This morning, about the same time I knew I would forget my words. I want to go home. I feel sick.’
‘It’s nerves,’ said Celeste. ‘You have to overcome them.’
‘And how do I do that?’
Celeste didn’t really know but suggested, ‘By being brave.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Hildegard, pulling her muffler tight about her delicate throat. ‘I don’t know if I’m good at that.’
Mr Gautier, on the other hand, was in an excellent mood as he walked to the opera house. Yes, it was snowing badly but surely that only added to the charm of the city. Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve performance was sold out. For the first time in a long while he was certain that he had on his hands a show to be proud of. He wasn’t alone. The company felt the same and there was a genuine excitement about the pantomime. The scenery worked and looked enchanting, the costumes were beautiful, and everything was in place.
Or was it? Hildegard’s costume for Act One was missing.
‘What do you mean – missing?’ asked Miss Olsen.
‘It’s not there,’ said Hildegard’s dresser. ‘I’ve looked everywhere for it. I know it was there last night. I left late after making sure everything was as it should be. And the wig is missing too.’
Half an hour before the curtain was due to rise on the dress rehearsal, the costume was found by the stage door keeper. It had been left outside by the bins in the snow. He also found the wig. It had been dipped in purple dye.
‘All that work ruined,’ said Miss Olsen. She sniffed and sniffed again. ‘I smell a rat.’
At such short notice nothing could be done. Hildegard would have to wear the costume for Act Two. The dresser discovered that it had been torn but not so badly that it couldn’t be mended in time.
As for the wig, it was decided that Hildegard would wear her own hair, which was thick. And as Hildegard said, a lot less itchy.
‘You don’t think,’ she said, ‘that someone is trying to jinx my performance?’
Anna looked at Celeste. The look said, ‘Don’t say a word,’ for both had a nasty feeling they knew who was responsible.
‘I’m sure it’s nothing like that,’ said Celeste.
Hildegard wasn’t sure. She felt it was a sign. Perhaps her voice was too weak to fill the theatre.
‘Celeste,’ she said, ‘will you go up into the gods and see if I can be heard from that high up?’
Celeste was pleased to leave the panic of the dressing-room and grateful to have something to do. It was a long way to the upper circle. She could almost touch the ceiling once she was there. She stopped once to watch Quigley make his first entrance. She had seen him do it many times in rehearsal and it always got a laugh. From the wings he threw one of his legs out, wriggled his foot around, and then threw the other leg so it looked as if he was floating, only to march on to the set. Except this time he stumbled, nearly fell and saved himself by somersaulting. There was a gasp from those watching. He stood up and put out his hand to stop the orchestra.
‘There was a wire across my entrance in the wings,’ he said. Then walking to the front of the stage he stared into the dark auditorium and called, ‘Mr Gautier?’
‘Yes,’ said Mr Gautier from a seat in the stalls.
‘I think we would like some assurance that Madame Sabina Petrova isn’t in the theatre,’ said Quigley. ‘If she is, kindly make sure she leaves now before she causes any more trouble. Being funny is a serious business.’
‘I’m sure she isn’t here,’ said Mr Gautier. ‘I had a firm word with her.’
Celeste was now seated high up in the auditorium looking down at the tiny figure of the clown who seemed miles and miles away. She was thinking how disappointing it would be for anyone to have to see the pantomime at this distance, when she heard the all-too-familiar voice of Madame Sabina. She was talking in hushed tones to Albert Ross.
‘I can see what you’re doing,’ said Albert Ross. ‘I don’t need two eyes, the eye in the middle of my forehead sees it all.’
‘You always talk such nonsense,’ said Madame Sabina. ‘Doesn’t it exhaust you, those stupid words you use that mean nothing? I am up here only to see if my daughter’s voice carries. I fear it is a little too low and weak.’
‘How dare you speak of our child in such an empty-headed manner. Aren’t you proud of her?’
I was right, thought Celeste. It wasn’t a ridiculous notion. But poor Hildegard to have a living nightmare for a father as well as a witch of a mother.
‘Proud – why should I be proud?’ said Madame Sabina. ‘She is a child. This is just a passing talent that will disappear by the time she grows up. Unfortunately, she doesn’t even have the looks to save her – her nose is far too big for her face. And she is clumsy. This cheap show is filling her head with false hope. As for her voice, it’s far too deep for the role of Columbine.’
‘Do you not have one kind thing to say?’
‘I am doing this in her best interest. What is the point of her thinking she could be an actress or a singer when it’s obvious she hasn’t the talent?’
At that moment Hildegard began to sing Columbine’s Lament. Her voice filled the auditorium and what Celeste could see on stage was a charismatic young lady who had a genuine innocence.
‘Pitch perfect,’ said Albert Ross as the music swelled.
It was while Hildegard was singing that Albert Ross said something to Madame Sabina that Celeste didn’t quite catch.
What she thought she heard was, ‘When you next try to sing your voice will sound like the screaming of seagulls.’ Whether he had said that or not she wasn’t sure, but whatever it was made Madame Sabina very angry indeed for she slapped him round the face.
‘Leave me alone,’ she hissed.
Now Celeste heard every word that Albert Ross said. ‘The emerald ring was meant for Hildegard, not you. Perhaps you should have let her read the card.’
‘That ring nearly choked her. Were you trying to kill her?’
‘I hope she has it with her. It has the power to protect her from her jealous mother. A power she might need.’ He turned away from Madame Sabina and walked down the aisle, tapping his stick. ‘Tiggerly-tum, tiggerly-tum,’ he hummed. He stopped at the front row and called down to the stalls.
‘She’s up here. Up here is Madame Sabina Petrova. Up here.’
Celeste heard the diva curse Albert Ross and make a quick exit through the door at the rear of the gods.
‘I can see you, little dancer,’ called Albert Ross. ‘Don’t think I can’t. Did you hear all that, little dancer, did you hear it?’