Delia didn’t comment further, but Macbeth was no more than nineteen or twenty and she guessed that his skills with cards, magic boxes and swishing tablecloths had been honed before friends and family and in amateur concerts. Although he was quick and clever with a lively patter, she conjectured that this might be his first professional engagement. She herself was now a seasoned performer; she knew what an almost empty auditorium was like, when you had to imagine that there was a full house below you and not just a few people in the front row.
That night’s audience had been warm and appreciative and although she realized that many seats would have been complimentary and some reduced for regular attendees, there would have been an assessment of how the various performances were received and she had seen a genuine smile on Dennis Rogers’ face as he had said goodbye and thank you to the entertainers as they left the theatre.
There had been a winter theme throughout the show; the stage had been decorated with sparkling stars and silver trees, and painted reindeer amidst snowy hills on the backdrop, and after seeing it during rehearsal, and knowing how much better it would seem from the darkened auditorium with the spotlights highlighting the artistes, Delia had altered the order of her gowns, wearing a red crinoline with a white shawl for her opening number and second song; then, as the orchestra played, swiftly changing in the wings to reappear in a pure white floaty muslin threaded with silver over a white satin slip. She wore a small silver coronet on her dark hair for her closing song, and received rapturous applause as she returned to the stage and gave a deep curtsy.
‘I thought it was very clever of you to switch gowns so swiftly,’ Miriam Edgar told her. ‘I haven’t quite worked out how you did it.’
Delia smiled. Miriam was young too, but not as young as she appeared to be, for she had the slim lithe body of a child. ‘Thank you. I’d arranged for a dresser to help me,’ she explained.
She didn’t give away the secret that she had also spoken to the conductor of the orchestra and asked him to choose a cavatina which would give her time to slip off the scarlet gown to reveal the white muslin beneath and have the coronet placed on her head by the dresser before the musicians began the opening bars of her final song. It was Giles Dawson, the violinist, who had been chosen to play the simple air and it had set the scene perfectly.
She thanked him as they walked back to the lodging house, and he returned the compliment by saying, ‘It was a masterly touch. You should be top of the bill instead of the comic; I don’t find him in the least amusing.’
‘Nor I,’ she agreed. ‘But he’s very popular and will draw in the crowds. They need a big name.’
‘Mm,’ he said, and Delia could tell he wasn’t convinced, but she shivered when he went on to say, ‘You know, Miss Delamour, if you’re originally from this area, perhaps you should be promoted as the return of the celebrated local voice of Yorkshire, or something like that?’
She hid her dread of being so exposed and murmured, ‘Oh, I don’t think so. Audiences want to hear London stars and I’d prefer to be described as fresh from London and the south of England, as if I’d made an effort to come for their personal entertainment.’
He looked quizzically at her as he opened the door to their lodgings and she felt that he was curious about her, but polite enough not to ask.
On Tuesday evening there was a buzz amongst the performers. They had been told a queue was forming outside the theatre and the news lifted their spirits considerably. As the time drew near for the opening, Miriam Edgar slid on her stomach across the stage and lifted the bottom of the curtain to look out. She came back dusting her hands together and announced in a stage whisper, ‘It’s a full house!’ Then, seeing that Delia had not yet emerged from the dressing room they shared with a novelty dancer who performed with shawls and floating scarves, she went to look for her and found her sitting in her dressing robe, in full make-up but not yet changed.
‘You were right, Miss Delamour,’ she said. ‘Last night was almost an extension of the dress rehearsal. Tonight is the real thing.’
Delia smiled and nodded. ‘It will be good,’ she assured her. ‘Enjoy it!’
She had dropped one of her songs in favour of something more lively, but would still make the gown change and end with a romantic number as on the previous night. The audience had appreciated the subtlety and she hoped they would do so again.
She dressed in her gowns, fastened a sparkling paste necklace round her throat and arranged her hair, fixing a few false wisps of curls on her forehead. Picking up the coronet for her final song, she was ready. Don’t ever be late, she told herself, but never be too early. Anticipation is a key word.
She received rapturous applause, took two curtain calls and gave one short encore, but bowed off the stage when another was requested. It didn’t do to upset the final act waiting in the wings; but neither did it do any harm to leave the audience wanting more.
‘You were lovely,’ Miriam said, after they had all taken their final curtain call and Delia had been given a rousing cheer when she appeared. ‘You have the kind of voice that people warm to; not operatic but not saucy either. I don’t know how to describe it.’
‘It’s kind of you to say so,’ Delia said. Praise from a fellow performer was always well received and she always reciprocated in kind. ‘I wish I had some
