Maddy walked quickly up and down Fenchester Station, partly because it was cold, but mainly to stop herself from dancing with excitement. “Life just couldn’t be more thrilling!” she reflected. Here she was, a film star overnight, through the success of Forsaken Crown. She had left Fenchester High School two days previously, at the end of the autumn term, and after Christmas she would accompany the Blue Doors to the Academy, where a junior department was being opened. And today all the Blue Doors were returning in force for Christmas, after a year’s absence. She had last seen her sister Sandra on her runaway escapade to London, but she looked upon the other five as practically brothers and sisters. She opened her handbag, a newly acquired and very grown-up affair, peered in the mirror and removed a few smuts from her face, wondering why they always seemed so attracted to her. She tightened the ribbons on her fair plaits, and as she did so the train whistled round the bend.
The Blue Doors were hanging out of the windows, one dark head, two fair, and two carroty ones. They cheered as they saw her, and she hopped from one leg to the other, pink in the face, grinning from ear to ear. They descended from the train in a body, and there was a pandemonium of kissing and back-slapping.
“At last, at last!” cried Bulldog melodramatically. “Gosh, you’ve grown, Maddy.”
“We’ve seen your film. It’s heavenly!”
“How’s London?”
“Where’s a porter?”
“Don’t say you’ve started a handbag at last!”
No-one could talk properly for excitement.
“Daddy’s calling for you all in the car,” said Maddy. “But he said he’d probably be late, so we’re to go into the refreshment room and wait for him.”
They sat on their luggage in the crowded refreshment room and drank cups of tasteless tea and could not stop talking.
“Oh, tell me all about the Academy!” begged Maddy. “Do you know what age most of the Junior Class will be?”
“Between twelve and fifteen,” Vicky informed her. “They’ve been having auditions for it these last few days.”
“Why didn’t I have an audition?”
“They’d seen the film and were willing to take you on that, I suppose.”
“Oh, how exciting! For the first time in my life I’m longing for Christmas to be over.”
“I’m not,” sighed Bulldog. “I want just to eat and sleep and eat for weeks.”
“Lazy as ever!” teased Maddy.
“I’ve been working very hard, excuse me, madam!” objected Bulldog. “But of course—she doesn’t know about our jobs, does she?”
“Better tell her, I suppose. But keep it dark, Maddy.”
Maddy’s eyes grew round as saucers as she scented a secret.
“What’s this?”
“Well, we’ve been doing some jobs during the term to make some extra pocket-money. Vicky’s been in the chorus at the Abbey, we’ve been walking on in Gloriana, and Bulldog has been doing a cabaret act in a night club.”
“A cabaret act? I thought that was something to do with the can-can?”
“No, stupid! I’ve been doing sketches and impersonations.”
“In a night club! Oh, Bulldog, was it very wicked?”
“Wicked? About as respectable as the Fenchester Ladies’ Institute.”
“That reminds me, how is our dear friend Mrs. Potter-Smith?” Jeremy wanted to know.
“Don’t mention that woman to me!” Maddy made an awful grimace meant to resemble Mrs. Potter-Smith. “She nearly ruined the film, and my chances of seeing the première. And I don’t think she’s finished with us yet.”
Bulldog giggled reminiscently.
“D’you remember the time when she took the part of the Greek goddess in that awful play the Ladies’ Institute did?”
They were in the middle of a flood of “D’you remember”s when Mr. Fayne arrived, kissed Sandra, and shook hands with all the others.
“It’s good to see you back,” he said. “The Avenue has been too quiet this last year.”
After strapping a mountain of luggage on the back, they piled into Mr. Fayne’s car and drove through the town which seemed so strange yet familiar after such a long absence. Their mothers were all hovering near their own front doors, and were out on the doorsteps as soon as they heard the car. There was more kissing and hugging and the Avenue was full of laughter and shouting once again. Heads appeared at the windows of the houses opposite, and more than one elderly voice said, with a mixture of interest and disapproval, “So they’re back, are they?”
While they unstrapped some luggage from the back of the car, Vicky took the opportunity to whisper to Jeremy.
“Look, I don’t suppose there will be much chance for all of us to get together until after Christmas, so shall we say the morning after Boxing Day definitely?”
“O.K.,” said Jeremy. “Tell the others.”
Christmas passed in a whirl of cooking, buying presents, putting up decorations, and, of course, eating. The Blue Doors glimpsed each other in the town as they accompanied their mothers on shopping expeditions, in church on Christmas Day, and when being taken to be shown to relations. But it was not until the day after Boxing Day that they could forgather in the Halfords’ dining-room and take stock of themselves. No-one had actually put into words what they were meeting for, but each felt that there were things to be settled.
“Well,” said Nigel. “Here we are—back in Fenchester.”
“And isn’t it fun?” said Vicky. “Everyone seems so much nicer than when we went away.”
“And next time we come back,” went on Nigel, “it may be for good. So I think we ought to start making plans for the reopening of the Blue Door Theatre.”
“But listen,” said Maddy, in an aggrieved voice. “When are you thinking of opening it?”
“Next Autumn, I should think,” said Jeremy. “Nigel will have had over two years at the Academy, and we shall have had about eighteen months.”
“But what about me?” said Maddy. “I shall only have had two terms.”
“Oh, you’ll have to stay on at the Academy and come to us in the holidays.”
“Anyway,” said Lynette, “once you get to London you’ll probably be filming again soon, won’t you?”
“Don’t know,” said Maddy unenthusiastically. “Oh, why am I always just this little bit behind the rest of you! And I shall never catch up.”
“All right, then,” said Nigel. “That’s settled. Except for Maddy, we leave the Academy after two more terms. Now the thing is—how large a company do we want, who’s going to produce, what about salaries, and a hundred and one other things.”
“I think,” said Lynette, “that the seven of us should form the permanent company, and take it in turns to produce. We should employ permanent stage managers and scenic artists, but get extra actors down for odd weeks as we need them. But the question is—money.”
“If we followed your suggestion, Lyn, how should we work out the salaries?”
“Well, we could pay off our liabilities, salaries to stage management and to the artistes we’d called in, and share out whatever was left, after we’d paid for rent, lighting, scenery, advertising, etcetera.”
“Doesn’t sound as if there would be much left,” said Bulldog glumly. “You know, it’s a jolly big proposition.” They were silent for some seconds, while the financial side of the question assumed gigantic proportions.
“You know,” said Sandra, “there’s an awful lot to be done before we dare to open the theatre professionally. I don’t know what sort of condition it’s in now.”
“Let’s go round and look at it,” said Vicky eagerly. “Who’s got the key, Maddy?”
“I think it’s still under the brick. I haven’t been in for ages. The Bishop has used it once or twice for missionary meetings, otherwise it’s still empty.”
“But who does it belong to technically?” asked Jeremy. “We call it ours, but it isn’t really. We’ve never paid rent for it or anything.”
“I think,” said Nigel, “that in actual fact it belongs to the town council. I believe that is where the Bishop applied in the first place, when he got permission for us to use it.”
“But if we’re going to open it professionally, we shall have to pay rent for it, I suppose. But who to?”
“The town council, of course.”
“Oh, isn’t it complicated! Come on, let’s go and have a look at it.” They set out for the theatre, stopping to have a coffee at Bonner’s on the way. Pleasant Street seemed narrower and grimier than ever, and the theatre, when they reached it, seemed even smaller than they had remembered it. The Seymore Trophy stood on its bracket rather forlornly.
“I must polish it,” said Sandra. They looked round rather dubiously.
“We really ought to have tip-up seats, you know,” observed Nigel.
“Those curtains are still a trifle odd. They’re not heavy enough,” said Bulldog.
“We could extend the stage,” suggested Jeremy, “by putting on an apron in front.”
“And what,” said Lynette, “what about dressing-room space?”
They groaned.
“We need several—if not many—hundred pounds,” said Nigel. They sank down in chairs and pondered the situation grimly.
“Why didn’t we ever think about this before? We’ve been imagining that we could open it up—just like that.”
“We didn’t realize,” said Lynette, “how much this theatre lacks that a real rep. must have.”
“It’s no good our aiming at something like Covent Garden,” continued Nigel.
“If we can get it as good as the theatre at the Academy it will be all right to start with.”
“But how can we get the several hundred pounds necessary?”
“Oh!” exclaimed Maddy suddenly. “I forgot. I’ve got several hundred pounds. More, I expect, from the film.”
“Don’t be silly!” said Sandra. “You know we wouldn’t touch that. And anyhow, Daddy has put it into an annuity for you, so that you’ll get a certain amount each year for the rest of your life.”
“How dull!” said Maddy. “I wanted to squander it.”
“Perhaps the Bishop—” began Vicky.
“Bishops don’t earn much!” said Maddy. “I know because his housekeeper told me he only has cake one day a week.”
“That’s not because he can’t afford it,” said Nigel. “And anyhow, he’s helped us enough already.”
“I wonder,” Jeremy began slowly, fingering the piano and finding it out of tune, “if the town council would help?”
“Why should it?” objected Lyn.
“Well, if Fenchester wants a theatre oughtn’t the council to be willing to grant us a loan until we have got started and can pay it back? If the hall belongs to the council we shall be paying them rent as well, so it will be quite a good thing from their point of view.”
“But does Fenchester want a theatre?”
“It needs one. Fancy a town of forty thousand inhabitants without a rep. It’s ridiculous.”
“Yes, but who on the town council would see that?”
“I’d vamp the Mayor, if you like,” offered Maddy generously.
“Who’s the Mayor now?”
“Barrington, the grocer. A horrid little man,” Maddy informed them. “But Lord Moulcester, from Fennymead, you know, he’s on the council, and Miss Gaunt. As she was our headmistress, she ought to help, now oughtn’t she?”
“It’s our only hope,” Lynette said finally. “And the only way of doing it independently. Because when we had paid it back we should be entirely self-sufficient.”
“Not quite,” said Sandra, “because as the hall belongs to the council we should always be somewhat in their power.”
“Supposing”—Vicky sat up suddenly in horror—“supposing they won’t let us open it at all?” The thought was too awful to be grasped.
“No, no,” said Lyn. “They couldn’t stop us. Or, could they?”
“Look here,” said Sandra. “We’re getting all het up about nothing. We must find out first if there’s going to be any trouble before we start worrying about it.”
“Let’s go round and see the dear Bish,” urged Maddy. “He’s always a help, and I know he wants to see you.”
As they came out of the theatre who should they bump into but Mrs. Potter-Smith. Her fur coat seemed shaggier, her hair more peroxided, and her hat more atrocious than ever.
“Well,” she cried, widening her cow-like eyes and clicking her false teeth. “The dear things! After all this time! How you’ve grown! I should hardly have known you. And you look—cleaner somehow than you used to,” she laughed tinklingly.
“You look about the same,” responded Maddy.
“Oh, you naughty wee one! Yes, I’ve heard all about your escapades. Being a film star went to our heads a little, didn’t it? I hear you’ve had to leave your school?” The Blue Doors seethed, but Maddy was imperturbable.
“Yes. They drummed me out. Miss Gaunt chopped off my form captain’s badge with a sword while the school percussion band played Land of Hope and Glory.”
“And where are you going to now?” Mrs. Potter-Smith asked inquisitively.
“Oh, Borstal, I expect!” said Maddy airily.
“Really, Maddy!” put in Sandra. “No, Mrs. Potter-Smith, she left her school because a junior department is being opened at the Academy we go to, and she’s coming there to join us.”
“I see,” said Mrs. Potter-Smith. “And what are your plans after that?”
“I really think we should be getting along,” said Nigel firmly, and almost dragged the others away.
“We must keep quiet about our plans,” he insisted. “Old Potter-Smith could spoil everything if she got mixed up in it.”
Ringing the door bell of the Bishop’s house it really seemed like old times again—to be running to the Bishop for help. His poker-faced housekeeper, Mrs. Griffin, answered the door and betrayed no sign of welcome or of recognition.
“May we see the Bishop?”
“Who shall I say?” she inquired.
“The Blue Doors, of course,” said Maddy. “Don’t you remember us? We remember you.” The housekeeper disappeared and returned to say that the Bishop would see them. He rose from his desk as they entered the study. He seemed a little older and a trifle bent.
“Hullo, Blue Doors,” he exclaimed, smiling broadly. “I heard you were back in Fenchester and hoped you would call. How nice it is to see you all again! Sit down, do! I’ll ring for some coffee.”
“We’ve had some,” began Sandra.
“But we could do with some more,” added Maddy.
“Good. Well, let me look at you. Mm! still the same, thank goodness. Well, how is the Academy?”
“Wonderful.”
“Heavenly.”
“Lovely,” they replied.
“And how much longer have you there?”
“A couple of terms.”
“And then?”
“Well, that’s what we’ve come to talk to you about, Bishop,” began Nigel.
“Oh, dear! You must think, Bishop, that we only come to see you when we want help,” apologized Sandra.
“What else is a Bishop for?” he asked simply.
“You see,” said Nigel. “When we leave the Academy to open the Blue Door Theatre, the main difficulty will be money. We need several hundred pounds to buy new seats, alter the stage and equipment, build on new dressing-rooms, and hundreds of other things. Doubtless, when it gets started we should be able to pay back whatever loan was necessary for us to start, but where can we get that loan from?”
“Yes,” mused the Bishop. “I too have been thinking about this question for quite some time. Much as I should like to be able to help you personally, I’m afraid it is not possible. Also, I don’t think that the Blue Door Theatre should be run as a private or commercial affair. It should belong in a sense to the town, so that the town will feel disposed to patronize it.”
“Are we back at the subject of me vamping the Mayor?” Maddy asked, and was hushed up.
“I think that the best thing to be done is for me to approach the Town Council on your behalf to ask for a loan to turn the Blue Door Theatre into a civic theatre, with yourselves as their resident company.”
“But would they?” queried Lyn. “Would they?”
The Bishop paused and thought hard.
“They might,” he stated. “They might. One just cannot tell. There are so many factions on the council at the moment.”
“How awful it will be if they won’t,” said Vicky gravely. “What should we do?”
“Don’t think about it for the moment,” advised the Bishop. “Here comes the coffee, so drown your sorrows, and tell me some more about your studies.”
They told him about the Easter play tour and about Tutworth Wells, but omitted their evening occupations of the last term.
“Well, you’re not sorry, then, that you have pursued theatrical careers?”
“What other careers could we have had?” asked Maddy. “Except, of course,” she added politely, “being a Bishop. That must be rather fun. But they don’t have lady Bishops, do they?”
They left the Bishop’s house in a slightly more cheerful frame of mind, although he had not been over-optimistic. They were wandering along still discussing their prospects when Sandra looked at the new wristwatch she had been given for Christmas.
“Heavens! It’s one o’clock! We must fly!”
“Why are we incapable of being in time for lunch?”
Over the lunch table Maddy said to her mother, “Saw Mrs. Potter-Smith this morning.”
“I hope you weren’t rude to her.”
“I was. I told her she didn’t look any cleaner than usual.”
“Maddy! You know you must not be impolite to her, or to anybody else, for that matter. A great many people think very highly of Mrs. Potter-Smith, and she’s getting to be quite an important person in the town. Why, she’s even on the Town Council now.”
“What!” Maddy and Sandra choked simultaneously over their soup.
“Yes. She was elected last time. What’s the matter? Have I put too much salt in the soup?”
“Oh, Mummy!” Sandra was almost in tears. “That’s done it!”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“We’re applying to the Town Council for permission to open the Blue Door Theatre and asking for a grant to start off with.”
“Are you? Whose idea was it?”
“The Bishop’s.”
“Then it must be all right,” said Mr. Fayne. “But I don’t know if you’ll get it. They’re a funny crew these days.”
“You’re telling me!” said Maddy. “With Mrs. Potter-Smith as chief comedienne.”
“We must do something to get round Mrs. Potter-Smith,” said Sandra urgently. “What can we do?”
“Well, you know,” said Mrs. Fayne, “I’ve often thought I ought to ask her to tea. She’s always very friendly to me—gushing, in fact. I know you children don’t like her, but if it’ll do any good, I’ll ask her round.”
“But it must be from us,” said Sandra. “May I write the note inviting her?”
“Certainly, dear.”
“Talk about ‘sacrificing all for one’s art’!” said Sandra, as she got out her writing paper and pen.
“I think,” said Maddy, “that I’ll just write a little note to the Bishop telling him that Mrs. P.-S. is on the council now. I’m sure he doesn’t know. And she is one of his deadly foes.” So she too got out some paper and stretched herself on the hearth-rug. They were just finishing their letters when the rest of the Blue Doors came ringing at the bell.
“We hear that the mill-pond over at Fennymead is frozen, and we’re going over to see if there’s any skating. Coming?”
“Rather!” exclaimed Sandra, “but I don’t know if our skates are in very good condition. We won’t be a minute. Here, Maddy, put my letter to Mrs. Potter-Smith into an envelope, while I go and ferret out the skates.”
“I’ll finish my letter to the Bish when I come back,” remarked Maddy, skating having overshadowed all other considerations.
It was a long walk to Fennymead, but when they got there they found a good solid covering of ice on the mill-pond, and people skating airily round or staggering at the edge. The Blue Doors staggered for the first few minutes, but then got used to it, and skimmed round happily. They met a lot of their friends, who greeted them with slight awe, now that they were on the stage. And now that Maddy had acted in a film she was, of course, looked on as something quite out of this world.
“Soppy dates,” said Maddy scornfully, as two little girls stared and giggled at her.
Vicky was in her element on the ice, for all her ballet training came to the fore, and she was soon leaping and pirouetting as easily as if she were on dry land. Maddy got on quite nicely, but was inclined to fall down if she stood still.
After the long tramp home they were ravenously hungry, and the Halfords invited them all into their house for tea.
“I love just after Christmas,” announced Maddy, her mouth full of iced cake, “because there’s always so much food left over which people are glad for you to eat up.”
“Well, whenever we want any eating up done,” teased Nigel, “we shall know just where to come.”
It was quite late in the evening when the Faynes returned to their house.
“Haven’t you posted your letter to Mrs. Potter-Smith yet?” asked their mother.
“Yes. I posted it this afternoon.”
“Excuse me, dear, but it’s still on the table.”
“It’s not. I posted it with those others you gave me.”
But there lying on the table was the envelope addressed to Mrs. Potter-Smith. Sandra picked it up, puzzled.
“Maddy, do you mean to say you posted an empty envelope?”
“No,” said Maddy firmly. “I distinctly remember putting the letter in, addressing it in what I hoped looked like your best writing, and licking the envelope. It tasted rather nice.—Oh, gosh!” she cried, for her letter to the Bishop had disappeared.
“I think,” she gulped, “I think I’ve sent the Bishop’s letter to Mrs. P.-S.”
“You careless girl!” scolded Mrs. Fayne. “If you were not so mad to go skating—”
Maddy turned quite pale. “Oh, dear!” she said. “Oh, dear, oh, dear!”
“Why, what’s the matter?” asked Sandra suspiciously. “What did you put in the Bishop’s letter?”
“It was to warn him that she was on the Town Council, and I said some rather nasty things about her.”
“Oh, Maddy! This is the last straw!”
Sandra ran out of the house, banging the door, and went to tell the Blue Doors of their latest misfortune.
The following morning Mrs. Potter-Smith was rather puzzled to receive a letter which read:
Dearest Bishop,
I must write to warn you that our deadly foe is at hand. In other words, that snake woman, Mrs. Potter-Smith, is on the Town Council, of all things. Isn’t it stinking? She’ll never let us open up the Blue Door Theatre if she has anything to do with it, because she has always had her knife into us, hasn’t she?
We are starting a system of getting round her, and have invited her to tea. It will be awful. Her false teeth click so. But it’s all for the good of the cause. Sandra says it is sacrificing all for our art, so I may even put on my new dress for her, though perhaps that is going a little too far…
As Mrs. Potter-Smith threw the letter on the fire there was a nasty gleam in her eye.