Murder Isn't Cricket, page 27
“Well, I think she’s horrid,” the Fairy announced; and the tone of Miss Low’s voice suggested that there was more magic in the fairy’s wand than would appear on the surface, since its dulcet nuances each night had wished the Boy good fortune. “I’ve only one song to sing,” she continued, “and she had a verse cut out of that, because she said it was too long for her to lie on the Highgate Hill while I was singing it. The Principal Boy last year didn’t complain. Mean, I call it. No voice herself, of course. Jealous, I suppose.”
“Gor blimey, what a nark!” burst out the Captain. “A ’ambone, that’s what she is. Throwin’ her weight abaht. Why, my missus could run rings round her even now, though she do weigh sixteen stone. Ask Henri. He’ll tell you. One of the finest Principal Boys as ever worked Merthyr Tydfil.”
“Nanty polari—the mozzie’s just comin’ cross the greengage.” The Cat gave a whispered warning. “Good morning, Miss Grey. Nice day,” he said, as the subject of the conversation walked past them. “There, see what I mean?” he added. “The perisher didn’t even answer. Thinks she’s the blooming queen of blooming Sheba. I’d like to dot her one, ripe and juicy. Allus on to me: ‘Don’t rub against my legs in the hill scene; you’ll ladder me tights.’ ‘Don’t scratch me legs.’ Blimey, if you scratched her lousy legs sawdust’d come out.”
He waxed more loquacious. “Wot a ‘boy’. Complained about me to Henri, she did. Me, wot’s worked circus and panto for Henri fifteen year. Miss de Grey. Wot a moniker for a louse.” He spat in disgust. “Look at the way she talks to Bill here.”
The stage-manager, thus dragged into the conversation, spread his hands deprecatingly. “As a matter of fact, old man, I usually keep my opinions to myself,” he said. “It’s safer in my position. But I must say Miss de Grey certainly causes difficulties. You usually get that kind of thing with newcomers. They don’t understand the team spirit like the old troupers do. They get kind of selfish, I’m afraid. The guv’nor steers clear of Miss de Grey, so I have to use the kid gloves and sort things out for myself. There’s always one line you can get away with with this type—just tell ’em they’re wonderful.”
“I should sum up the position this way.” The understudy put in her oar. “The management engaged a special walking understudy just in case, which shows the lady’s temperament. And Bill here keeps telling her how good I am, and so she keeps playing. Get me? I sit round, waiting to make my name in dead men’s shoes, and I’d cut her throat for the chance. Four years I’ve understudied Dick Whittington now, with never a sound of Bow Bells for me. If it goes on much longer, I’ll be so old when my chance comes they’ll have to wheel me up Highgate Hill in a bath-chair.”
It was left to a lady of the chorus to have the woman’s last word. “I think you’re all horrid,” she announced. “I think Miss de Grey is wonderful. She wears such lovely diamond rings.”
A ripple of laughter restored the company’s good humour. One by one they wandered away for lunch, a drink and a rest before beginning the exertions of the evening.
Buy Who Killed Dick Whittington? now from Amazon.com
Buy Who Killed Dick Whittington? now from Amazon.co.uk
Published by Dean Street Press 2019
Copyright © 1946 E & M.A. Radford
Introduction copyright © 2019 Nigel Moss
All Rights Reserved
First published in 1946 by Andrew Melrose
Cover by DSP
ISBN 978 1 912574 74 2
www.deanstreetpress.co.uk
E., Murder Isn't Cricket
