Chapter Four
Do not stir up nor awaken love
Until it pleases
Song of Songs 1:7
The other girls scampered off-stage looking bewildered and stood in the tiny wings.
"Where are your pointe shoes?" he asked.
"I don't have any," Sarah admitted.
"Carlo, get this young woman some shoes!" he thundered.
Carlo must have been in charge of wardrobe, Sarah figured, because he guessed her size straight away.
Sarah took a deep breath and went to stand in the middle of the stage. She was not warmed up but she knew she could dance a short piece tolerably well without it. Sarah decided to do Kitri's solo from Don Quixote as it was a technically difficult virtuoso piece. She wanted to show the Director what she could do from the outset and to secure the best place she could.
The Director recognised parts of it, but the choreography had changed with the advances in ballet technique.
"Dance a romantic piece now!" the Director bawled from the front row.
Sarah decided on a solo from Act 2 of Giselle. It didn't get more romantic than that, she thought.
He was silent a long time after Sarah finished and sat in the front row with his chin sunk upon his chest. Sarah could hear the girls whispering excitedly in the wings. "It's a pity about your hair," was all he said finally. "Come down here and talk to me. The rest of you, get back on stage and keep rehearsing," he ordered.
"I have no idea where you learned to dance like that. However, we need another principal dancer. One of our principals ran off with some French army colonel last week," he explained with great disgust. "She was not dedicated to her art although a good enough dancer," he muttered.
"Your hair is a problem but we can hide that," he continued, staring at her bob with great disfavour. "I can't put you in the corps de ballet, your dancing would stick out too much. If I offer you a place as a principal, it will be demanding. I need you here from 9am every day to learn Clara's old parts for the first few months. What do you think?" he asked bluntly.
"I would love to dance in your company. I'm very honoured to be asked to take on principal roles," Sarah said calmly, trying not to squeal with joy.
"Good! I will need to pay you well otherwise another company will want you, I can see. I will offer you £100 per year to begin with. If you prove successful at drawing audiences, and that is certain, it can go up very rapidly," he said nonchalantly.
Sarah knew from reading Victorian novels that governesses earned roughly £40 per year, so it was a good offer. It was not a fortune, however and she knew she would need to be careful with her money. She would need to speak to someone about appropriate lodgings close to the theatre district but that was a problem for tomorrow.
"Be here tomorrow at 9am for class. We will organise shoes and costumes for you but your practice outfit is your own responsibility. What you are wearing is fine," he said, glancing over the white, full skirted dress Mrs Laidley had so kindly given her.
Sarah nodded. "Thank you for the opportunity," she said, getting up.
He bobbed up to standing position rapidly, in that startling way men did in these times. "I have great expectations for you Miss Sarah," he said gravely. "I can see from your technique that you take your art seriously. I sincerely hope that you do not run off with an army colonel, French or otherwise."
Sarah could feel an involuntary smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "I think that is highly unlikely," she replied gravely and thought, they would hate my hair anyway.
As rehearsals packed up, Sarah had one last thing she wanted to do before she left the theatre. Ducking backstage, she looked for the steep spiral staircase that would take her to the top of building. There was usually a door to the roof. She wanted to see if the whole of London looked different from above.
It was not yet twilight, so Sarah could see Victorian London spread around her. It was a deep shock. She felt dizzy and quite sick. Gone were the tall skyscrapers she had expected to see, glinting sunlight off their glass and steel structures. All the buildings were low and made of stone or brick. It seemed very dark. Everything looked dirty and fog was creeping in from the Thames. The gaslight had not been turned on yet, but Sarah knew the buildings would not be lit up from within and pouring out light into the night the way they were in the twenty-first centuary. No wonder crime had been so easy in these times, Sarah thought with a shudder.
From where Sarah stood, it looked exactly like the scene from Mary Poppins with all the chimney sweeps dancing on the rooftops. Myriad chimneys poured smoke into the already dirty air for miles around. Even the air smelled different to the twenty-first centuary. It was denser, oilier, dirtier. There were smells that Sarah couldn't hope to identify.
Without her being aware of it, tears slowly leaked down her face. "It's gone", she thought and then realised she had said it aloud, "Everything is gone". Everything familiar, everything she knew – like it had never existed. Of course, in the nineteenth centuary, everything she had ever known had never existed.
She felt cold and realised she was shivering but she wasn't sure whether it was from shock or the weather.
"Ere miss, you need to come inside. The roof ain't safe," a gruff voice said.
Sarah turned around and saw one of the older stage hands had followed her up to the roof.
"Now, what's wrong? Did you say something had gone? What's gone, then?" he asked kindly.
Sarah turned back and looked over the strange, dirty, dark landscape. "Everything; everything is gone," she said, her delicate features contorted in a frown.
"Well, I don't know what you mean but there is no need to take on so, no need for tears. You're all right, ain't ye? I saw you audition. You have a bright future ahead of you, young lady. A very bright future indeed. I've seen a lot of dancers over the years, so I know what I'm talking about. So, no need for tears then, with all that to look forward to," he said with gruff kindness, gesturing with one thin, wizened hand for Sarah to follow him back down to the theatre.
Sarah knew he was right, but the shock had been profound. Her world had vanished, but how did she explain that to him?
"You're very kind," she said and patted the old man gently on one arm. With a sigh, she followed him down the stairs and he slipped into the shadows once they were both inside the theatre.
It was less than twenty minutes later that Sarah was back at Mrs Laidley's house in Paddington. Baker Street, Dr Watson's house and the theatre were all within walking distance of each other. If Sarah found lodgings close to the theatre, she would still be within walking distance of both Holmes and Watson. She wondered how long Holmes would be on the scent of the mystery of how she came to be in London. He would never believe the truth anyway, Sarah knew.
Sarah didn't tell Mrs Laidley what she had done. She simply showed her the new black boots and returned her pair with many thanks. Sarah had brought flowers from a street vendor on her way back as a small return for all she had done. Mrs Laidley did not ask questions although Sarah could see she was curious. Sarah had also bought dinner from another street vendor on her way back so as not to put Mrs Laidley to any further trouble.
The minute Watson and Sarah had left Holmes quickly pulled on his old man disguise and took himself over to wait in the same street as Mrs Laidley lived to wait for developments.
As he waited outside Mrs Laidley's house, he pondered his interview with Sarah. His first impression had been that she looked like a bedraggled scarecrow. Although dressed more like a street boy than a woman, he had instantly seen from the delicate bone structure and feminine hands that the odd personage before him was female. A second glance told him that despite the truly hideous haircut, she was also quite extraordinarily pretty. Holmes loved beautiful things and his discerning eye could see that with the right clothes and longer hair, she would be a rare beauty.
He had noticed her examining him closely several times during their discussion at Baker Street. It had unnerved him somewhat. He was used to being the one who did the observing, not the one being observed. Not only was it highly unusual for a beautiful (if bedraggled) woman to stare intently and with interest at him, it was unprecedented. Her gaze did not have the keen edge of the self-interested, however. It lacked speculation or judgment. Holmes struggled to define it and then it dawned on him - there had been something of compassion or concern, as well as curiousity. This made Holmes deeply uncomfortable. He was not used to human sympathy. It had not been a feature of his life. He struggled even to accept Watson's simple and straightforward friendship at times, let alone anything else. Where had this strange concern come from and why had she felt he needed or deserved it, Holmes speculated? He was not the type of person who attracted care or concern. He was too solitary and self-involved, too self-possessed and, some would say, too arrogant.
He shook his head, it was of no matter. He did not think he had imagined it. He was not given to imagining things. However, it did not bear on his investigation and he did not want to be distracted.
He spent the entire afternoon following Sarah from Mrs Laidley's premises to the pawnbrokers and then to the theatre district where he then had to hastily adjust his disguise to that of a stage technician in order to watch Sarah's strange audition.
She had flowered into the beauty that Holmes had predicted in the pretty white dress Mrs Laidley had given her, he acknowledged. There was an irresistible femininity in the delicate curves of her profile, her cheek, throat and shoulders. Her fine features were symmetrical and her face was a perfect oval, giving her the look of an angel in a painting by a master. When her slender arms framed her face as she danced, it became art.
Holmes had been to the ballet rarely. He preferred to go to the symphony or other musical performances where there was no distracting action on stage. The acting was bad enough in opera although often the singing was worth attending for. However, the ballet was unbearable. He had only gone if there was a particular conductor and a particular score he wanted to hear. Then he sat with his eyes shut the entire time.
When Sarah was called to the front to audition to do a solo, he watched with some interest. After all, she had stood out like a sore thumb in the corps de ballet, so he was interested to see what else she could do.
Once the piano started, Holmes watched with growing amazement. The difference between her and the other dancers was inexplicable. It wasn't just a matter of having more talent, it was a quantum leap forward in the whole art of dance. She could jump so much higher, travel so much further, her footwork was so much more complex and brilliant, she could balance on her toes for much longer, she could do multiple turns and do steps that clearly had never been performed before. It simply added to the mystery of where she came from. How did such a protégée emerge from nowhere?
The director asked her to do another piece and Holmes could see it was another style entirely. The flashy brilliance of the former technique was entirely gone. In its place was dreamy, light, graceful movement. She seemed to drift weightlessly over the stage and float into the air like a ghost, landing soundlessly. Her limbs made beautiful lines and shapes in space that Holmes wanted to look at far longer than they appeared. The stage lighting, dimmer than for a performance, shimmered and reflected off the old white dress. Momentarily, she became transformed into something unearthly, until Holmes blinked and the flesh and blood girl was back again.
Holmes didn't realise it until the music stopped, but he had been holding his breath. He wanted Sarah to keep dancing. When she stopped, it was like a spell being broken. Like someone waking from a trance, he picked up a paintbrush and pretended to be working on scenery but his hands were trembling finely. He was so disoriented for a few minutes that he forgot to watch what happened next. Finally, he shook himself and made himself edge closer to the front of the wings to overhear the conversation between Sarah and the Director.
Just when he thought it was safe to slip away, he saw Sarah disappear backstage. Curious, he followed her and saw her dart up a narrow staircase to the roof door. Quietly he followed. Fortunately, she had her back to him when reached the roof and he was able to observe. She stood and stared around her for a long time and had muttered something about everything being gone. He decided to risk speaking to her and had been shaken by her white face and the tear tracks. She was obviously in shock. His keen gaze noted that she was shaking slightly as well.
He hadn't been able to find out what the "everything" was she was referring to. He hadn't wanted to agitate her further. Of course, it could refer to the landscape itself. If she came from the future as she claimed then much would be missing, it would look very different. She was not staging the incident, she did not know the old stage hand was really Holmes and she had not expected to be followed. Possibly she was talking about something else altogether, but he doubted it. She had patted him as she went past and he could still feel her small hand on his arm like a brand. He couldn't remember the last time anyone touched him except to punch him in a round of boxing.
By the time he had seen Sarah settle in for the night with Mrs Laidley, he had more than enough data for a three pipe contemplation, if not longer. He did not want company and avoided Watson by retiring early to his bedroom. Sitting cross-legged on his bed, he smoked like a chimney as he contemplated the day.