VIII
Your last letter only arrived here two days ago. I am so glad you are finding things so much better and that Gerald has got the extra land he wanted. You sound so happy. Isn‚Äôt it fantastic‚ÅÝ‚Äîyou out there, and me here? No, I have not been back to Hitherton at all. If we had been nearer these holidays I should have gone, just to see your dear father and mother, the Purtons, and everybody, but it could not be done‚ÅÝ‚Äîso I sent letters and little presents instead. It‚Äôs been the most absurd Christmas I ever had‚ÅÝ‚Äîhere in this dark and bleak little Yorkshire manufacturing town, where everybody talks like our delicious little Yorkshire property man, Oakroyd, whom I described to you before. Of course everybody seems dreadfully rude at first. You go into a shop and they say: ‚ÄúWell, what do you want, young woman?‚Äù‚ÅÝ‚Äîthough the ‚Äúyoung‚Äù is rather comforting. But I am used to it now, and really nobody could have been kinder and nicer than these people and we were lucky‚ÅÝ‚Äîfor once!‚ÅÝ‚Äîcoming here during the holidays because they are Christmassy sort of people. As you insist on having what you call ‚Äútheatrical intelligence,‚Äù I may say that I am actually at last making a Profit!‚ÅÝ‚Äîthat is, on each week, though of course I have not yet made up what I have lost so far. But it‚Äôs so exciting to have really crowded and enthusiastic audiences, enjoying everything, and it‚Äôs made the most wonderful difference to the members of the party, who are working splendidly now.
It‚Äôs ridiculous, of course, but I am becoming the complete theatrical manager. The other day I actually had an offer for the whole troupe‚ÅÝ‚Äîand refused it! After the show one night last week, a card was handed in with a request for an interview, and in came a large fat shabby man, rather beery and pimply but very amiable (too amiable!), and he was Mr.¬ÝErnie Codd, from Leeds. He insisted on shaking my hand and breathing on me for about five minutes, and in a very wheezy voice kept saying ‚ÄúPretty little show! Taking little show! Congrats on the show, Miss Bant! I‚Äôm Ernie Codd! They all know Ernie! Now listen here, just listen!‚Äù When at last I succeeded in getting back my hand and assuring him I was listening, he said something about having the scenery and props and script of a revue (I think it‚Äôs name was ‚ÄúAnd You‚Äôre Another!‚Äù‚ÅÝ‚ÄîI know he said it was ‚Äúa Winner and a sure-fire Screamer!‚Äù) and one of the neatest little troupes of dancing girls I had ever set eyes on outside the West End radius, and he would take over my Good Companions, lock, stock, and barrel at Fifty Per, or sign them on separately with myself, Miss Bant, as assistant manager on a profit-sharing basis. I am trying, my dear, to give you an impression of the way he rattled all this off, with any amount of gesticulation and heavy breathing. It took me twenty minutes‚ÅÝ‚Äîand even then I had to bring in Mr.¬ÝNunn‚ÅÝ‚Äîto make him believe that I had no intention of accepting his offer. I never saw a man so surprised‚ÅÝ‚Äîor at least appear to be so surprised‚ÅÝ‚Äîas he was when he finally understood that we did not want to be taken over by Mr.¬ÝCodd and his friends. I was very amused (and would have been more amused if Mr.¬ÝCodd had been rather cleaner and not so much given to shaking hands) but I was also rather thrilled. Mr.¬ÝNunn, who knows all about these things and is my chief adviser, was delighted, and said that though he would not trust Ernie Codd as far as he could see him, the offer was a feather in our caps. It must all sound very silly to you, miles and miles away, but you must allow me my little triumphs. Things really are looking up.
Some local Commercial Travellers‚Äô Association gave a children‚Äôs party here the other afternoon and somehow the secretary got hold of my name and insisted on Susie‚ÅÝ‚Äîthe very charming and clever girl I told you about‚ÅÝ‚Äîand I giving the prizes. We loved it. And talking of children, I must tell you about Mr.¬Ýand Mrs.¬ÝJoe Brundit, my baritone and soprano. I hope you remember my description of them because the story rather hangs on that. But, as I told you before, they have a little boy called George, whom they both worship. He lives with an aunt at Denmark Hill, but they were able to have him with them this Christmas here. For days they thought and talked about nothing else. Every penny they had went on toys for his stocking and for treats for him. When the time came, they were nearly delirious with excitement. I remember hoping then that he was a nice little boy who would appreciate what they were doing for him. And of course‚ÅÝ‚Äîthat sounds pessimistic, but you know how wretchedly things so often turn out‚ÅÝ‚Äîhe wasn‚Äôt a nice little boy, but a horrid sulky stupid little wretch. He didn‚Äôt like any of the toys they gave him, and told them so very plainly. He didn‚Äôt like Luddenstall, and kept saying he wanted to go back to Denmark Hill. He broke some things at their lodgings and was very rude to the landlady, who promptly slapped him (a thing I have been tempted to do myself), with the result that Mrs.¬ÝJoe quarrelled with her at once and finally had to find new lodgings for them all. They brought him to the theatre and he was such a nuisance that everybody said he must not be allowed to come again. He went to the children‚Äôs party, got into mischief at once, then was sulky and cross, and ended by being sick. Never was there such a disastrous visit! And all the time the poor things have been pretending they were not disappointed or anything, until we did not know whether to laugh or cry. On the whole, I felt more like weeping. Poor simple Joe!‚ÅÝ‚Äîand poor simple Mrs.¬ÝJoe!‚ÅÝ‚Äîshe is tremendously dignified and superior, as I told you, but really, if anything, she‚Äôs the simpler of the two. They have decided now that George isn‚Äôt strong‚ÅÝ‚Äîput it all down to ill health‚ÅÝ‚Äîthough the little wretch is really as strong as an ox and only wants a good slapping from time to time to keep him in order. My dear, if you are going to be so absurd, I shall begin to wish I had never told you about that episode‚ÅÝ‚Äîfor that‚Äôs all it was. Of course I haven‚Äôt seen ‚ÄúDr.¬ÝHugh McFarlane on my travels.‚Äù Why should I have? I don‚Äôt even know if he lives in this country, though I must confess I feel confident he does live somewhere, still exists. I don‚Äôt suppose he would even recognize me now. Yes, I know ‚Äúthere is such a thing as a Medical Register,‚Äù as you put it‚ÅÝ‚ÄîI‚Äôm sure you‚Äôre becoming quite Colonial and brusque these days‚ÅÝ‚Äîbut I have never had a peep at it, no, not the tiniest peep. If you could see me these days, you would understand why I am not worrying about any episode from ancient history. In less than a week, we move on again. Did I tell you I had made Hilda cooperate with me?‚ÅÝ‚Äîshe helped me with some dresses for a sort of mid-Victorian song-scena we are giving now‚ÅÝ‚Äîand one that I planned myself!
For the last few days, the hilltops to the West have been white, and I had a glimpse the other morning of the moors there, all silent and almost covered with snow, quite lonely and terrifying, and now it is beginning to snow properly down here and all the black roofs and hard lines are disappearing so that even Luddenstall looks rather like a place in an old fairytale! And very soon the bells will ring in the New Year. I hope it will be a happy one for you, my dear. I’m sure it will, though. And somehow I like the sound of it too. Love to you both.