Part 2

_Our_ POLICEMAN, _as he has told us under the arches, was watching her through the keyhole, but his first impressions have been so coloured by subsequent events that it is questionable whether they would be accepted in any court of law. Is prepared to depose that to the best of his recollection, they were unfavourable. Does not imply by unfavourable any aspersion on her personal appearance. Would accept the phrase ‘far from striking’ as summing up her first appearance. Would no longer accept the phrase. Had put her down as being a grown woman, but not sufficiently grown. Thought her hair looked to be run up her finger. Did not like this way of doing the hair. Could not honestly say that she seemed even then to be an ordinary slavey of the areas. She was dressed as one, but was suspiciously clean. On the other hand, she had the genuine hungry look. Among more disquieting features noticed a sort of refinement in her voice and manner, which was characteristic of the criminal classes. Knew now that this was caused by the reading of fairy tales and the thinking of noble thoughts. Noted speedily that she was a domineering character who talked sixteen to the dozen, and at such times reminded him of funny old ladies. Was much struck by her eyes, which seemed to suggest that she was all burning inside. This impression was strengthened later when he touched her hands. Felt at once the curious ‘homeliness’ of her, as commented on by_ MR. BODIE, _but could swear on oath that this had not at once made him think of Badgery. Could recall not the slightest symptoms of love at first sight. On the contrary, listened carefully to the conversation between her and_ MR. BODIE _and formed a stern conclusion about her. Believed that this was all he could say about his first impression._

CINDERELLA (_breathlessly_). Did you rang, sir?

BODIE (_ashamed_). Did I? I did—but—I—I don’t know why. If you’re a good servant, you ought to know why.

(_The cigarette, disgusted with him, falls from his mouth; and his little servant flings up her hands to heaven._)

CINDERELLA (_taking possession of him_). There you go again! Fifty years have you been at it, and you can’t hold a seegarette in your mouth _yet_! (_She sternly produces the turpentine_.)

BODIE (_in sudden alarm_). I won’t be brushed. I will not be scraped.

CINDERELLA (_twisting him round_). Just look at that tobaccy ash! And I cleaned you up so pretty before luncheon.

BODIE. I will _not_ be cleaned again.

CINDERELLA (_in her element_). Keep still.

(_She brushes, scrapes, and turpentines him. In the glory of this she tosses her head at the Venus._)

I gave Mrs. Bodie a good wipe down this morning with soap and water.

BODIE (_indignant_). That is a little too much. You know quite well I allow no one to touch her.

(CINDERELLA _leaves him and gazes in irritation at the statue_.)

CINDERELLA. What is it about the woman?

BODIE (_in his heat forgetting the policeman_). She is the glory of glories.

CINDERELLA (_who would be willowy if she were long enough_). She’s thick.

BODIE. Her measurements are perfection. All women long to be like her, but none ever can be.

CINDERELLA (_insisting_). I suppose that’s the reason she has that snigger on her face.

BODIE. That is perhaps the smile of motherhood. Some people think there was once a baby in her arms.

CINDERELLA (_with a new interest in Venus_). Her own?

BODIE. I suppose so.

CINDERELLA. A married woman then?

BODIE (_nonplussed_). Don’t ask trivial questions.

CINDERELLA (_generously_). It was clever of you to make her.

BODIE. I didn’t make her. I was—forestalled. Some other artist chappie did it. (_He likes his little maid again._) She was dug up, Cinderella, after lying hidden in the ground for more than a thousand years.

CINDERELLA. And the baby gone?

BODIE (_snapping_). Yes.

CINDERELLA. If I had lost my baby I wouldn’t have been found with that pleased look on my face, not in a thousand years.

BODIE. Her arms were broken, you see, so she had to drop the baby—

CINDERELLA. She could have up with her knee and catched it—

BODIE (_excitedly_). By heavens, that may just be what she is doing. (_He contemplates a letter to the ‘Times.’_)

CINDERELLA (_little aware that she may have solved the question of the ages_). Beauty’s a grand thing.

BODIE. It is.

CINDERELLA. I warrant _she_ led them a pretty dance in her day.

BODIE. Men?

CINDERELLA. Umpha! (_wistfully_). It must be fine to have men so mad about you that they go off their feed and roar. (_She turns with a sigh to the dusting of the penguin._) What did you say this is?

BODIE (_ignorant of what he is letting himself in for_). A bishop.

CINDERELLA (_nearly choking_). The sort that marries swell couples?

BODIE. Yes.

CINDERELLA (_huskily, as if it made all the difference to her_). I never thought of that.

BODIE (_kindly_). Why should you, you queer little waif. Do you know why I call you Cinderella?

CINDERELLA. Fine, I know.

BODIE. Why is it?

CINDERELLA (_with shy happiness_). It’s because I have such pretty feet.

BODIE. You dear little innocent. (_He thinks shame of his suspicions. He is planning how to get rid of the man in the pantry when she brings him back to hard facts with a bump._)

CINDERELLA (_in a whisper_). Mr. Bodie, if you wanted to get into Buckingham Palace on the dodge, how would you slip by the policeman? (_she wrings her hands_). The police is everywhere in war-time.

BODIE (_conscious how near one of them is_). They are—be careful, Cinderella.

CINDERELLA. I am—oh, I am! If you knew the precautions I’m taking—

BODIE (_miserable_). Sh!

CINDERELLA (_now in a quiver_). Mr. Bodie, you haven’t by any chance got an invite for to-night, have you?

BODIE. What for?

CINDERELLA (_as still as the Venus_). For—for a ball.

BODIE. There are no balls in war-time.

CINDERELLA (_dogged_). Just the one. Mr. Bodie, did you ever see the King?

BODIE. The King? Several times.

CINDERELLA (_as white as the Venus_). Was the Prince of Wales with him?

BODIE. Once.

CINDERELLA. What’s he like?

BODIE. Splendid! Quite young, you know. He’s not married.

CINDERELLA (_with awful intensity_). No, not yet.

BODIE. I suppose he is very difficult to satisfy.

CINDERELLA (_knitting her lips_). He has never seen the feet that pleased him.

BODIE. Cinderella, your pulse is galloping. You frighten me. What possesses you?

CINDERELLA (_after hesitating_). There is something I want to tell you. Maybe I’ll not be coming back after to-night. She has paid me up to to-night.

BODIE. Is she sending you away?

CINDERELLA. No. I’ve sort of given notice.

BODIE (_disappointed_). You’ve got another place?

(_She shuts her mouth like a box._)

Has it anything to do with the Godmother business?

(_Her mouth remains closed. He barks at her._)

Don’t then. (_He reconsiders her._) I like you, you know.

CINDERELLA (_gleaming_). It’s fine to be liked.

BODIE. Have you a lonely life?

CINDERELLA. It’s kind of lonely.

BODIE. You won’t tell me about your home?

(_She shakes her head._)

Is there any nice person to look after you in the sort of way in which you look after me?

CINDERELLA. I’m all alone. There’s just me and my feet.

BODIE. If you go I’ll miss you. We’ve had some good times here, Cinderella, haven’t we?

CINDERELLA (_rapturously_). We have! You mind that chop you gave me? Hey, hey, hey! (_considering it judicially_). That was the most charming chop I ever saw. And many is the lick of soup you’ve given me when you thought I looked down-like. Do you mind the chicken that was too high for you? You give me the whole chicken. That was a day.

BODIE. I never meant you to eat it.

CINDERELLA. I didn’t eat it all myself. I shared it with them.

BODIE (_inquisitively_). With them? With whom?

(_Her mouth shuts promptly, and he sulks. She picks up the visiting cards that litter the floor._)

CINDERELLA. What a spill! If you’re not messing you’re spilling. Where’s the bowl?

(_She lifts the bowl and discovers the helmet. She is appalled._)

BODIE (_in an agony of remorse pointing to the door_). Cinderella, quick!

(_But our_ POLICEMAN _has emerged and barred the way_.)

POLICEMAN (_indicating that it is_ MR. BODIE _who must go_). If _you_ please, sir.

BODIE. I won’t! Don’t you dare to frighten her.

POLICEMAN (_settling the matter with the palm of his hand_). That will do. If I need you I’ll call you.

BODIE (_flinching_). Cinderella, it’s—it’s just a form. I won’t be far away.

(_He departs reluctantly._)

POLICEMAN (_sternly_). Stand up.

CINDERELLA (_a quaking figure, who has never sat down_). I’m standing up.

POLICEMAN. Now, no sauce.

(_He produces his note book. He is about to make a powerful beginning when he finds her eyes regarding the middle of his person._)

Now then, what are you staring at?

CINDERELLA. (_hotly_). That’s a poor way to polish a belt. If I was a officer I would think shame of having my belt in that condition.

POLICEMAN. (_undoubtedly affected by her homeliness though unconscious of it_). It’s easy to speak; it’s a miserable polish I admit, but mind you, I’m pretty done when my job’s over; and I have the polishing to do myself.

CINDERELLA. You have no woman person?

POLICEMAN. Not me.

CINDERELLA (_with passionate arms_). If I had that belt for half an hour!

POLICEMAN. What would you use?

CINDERELLA. Spit.

POLICEMAN. Spit? That’s like what my mother would have said. That was in Badgery, where I was born. When I was a boy at Badgery—(_He stops short. She has reminded him of Badgery!_)

CINDERELLA. What’s wrong?

POLICEMAN (_heavily_). How did you manage that about Badgery?

CINDERELLA. What?

POLICEMAN. Take care, prisoner.

(_The word makes her shudder. He sits, prepared to take notes._)

Name?

CINDERELLA. Cinderella.

POLICEMAN. Take care, Thing. Occupation, if any?

CINDERELLA (_with some pride_). Tempary help.

POLICEMAN. Last place?

CINDERELLA. 3 Robert Street.

POLICEMAN. Scotch?

(_Her mouth shuts._)

Ah, they’ll never admit that. Reason for leaving?

CINDERELLA. I had to go when the war broke out.

POLICEMAN. Why dismissed?

CINDERELLA (_forlorn_). They said I was a luxury.

POLICEMAN (_getting ready to pounce_). Now be cautious. How do you spend your evenings after you leave this building?

(_Her mouth shuts._)

Have you another and secret occupation?

(_She blanches._)

Has it to do with boxes? What do you keep in those boxes? Where is it that these goings-on is going on? If you won’t tell me, I’m willing to tell you. It’s at A. C. Celeste’s.... In Bond Street, W.

(_He has levelled his finger at her, but it is a pistol that does not go off. To his chagrin she looks relieved. He tries hammer blows._)

Are you living in guilty splendour? How do you come to know German words? How many German words do you think _I_ know? Just one, _espionage_. What’s the German for ‘six months hard’?

(_She is now crumpled, and here he would do well to pause and stride up and down the room. But he cannot leave well alone._)

What’s this nonsense about your feet?

CINDERELLA (_plucking up courage_). It’s not nonsense.

POLICEMAN. I see nothing particular about your feet.

CINDERELLA. Then I’m sorry for you.

POLICEMAN. What is it?

CINDERELLA (_softly as if it were a line from the Bible_). Their exquisite smallness and perfect shape.

POLICEMAN (_with a friendly glance at the Venus_). For my part I’m partial to big women with their noses in the air.

CINDERELLA (_stung_). So is everybody (_pathetically_). I’ve tried. But it’s none so easy, with never no butcher’s meat in the house. You’ll see where the su-perb shoulders and the haughty manners come from if you look in shop windows and see the whole of a cow turned inside out and ‘Delicious’ printed on it.

POLICEMAN (_always just_). There’s something in that.

CINDERELLA (_swelling_). But it doesn’t matter how fine the rest of you is if you doesn’t have small feet.

POLICEMAN. I never gave feet a thought.

CINDERELLA. The swells think of nothing else. (_Exploding._) Wait till you are at the Ball. Many a haughty beauty with superb uppers will come sailing in—as sure of the prize as if ‘Delicious’ was pinned on her—and then forward steps the Lord Mayor, and, _utterly disregarding her uppers_, he points to the bottom of her skirt, and he says ‘Lift!’ and she _has_ to lift, and there’s a dead silence, and nothing to be heard except the Prince crying ‘Throw her out!’

POLICEMAN (_somewhat staggered by her knowledge of the high life_). What’s all this about a ball?

(CINDERELLA _sees she has said too much and her mouth shuts_.)

Was you ever at a ball?

CINDERELLA (_with dignity_). At any rate I’ve been at the Horse Show.

POLICEMAN. A ball’s not like a Horse Show.

CINDERELLA. You’ll see.

POLICEMAN (_reverting to business_). It all comes to this, are you genteel, or common clay?

CINDERELLA (_pertly_). I leaves that to you.

POLICEMAN. You couldn’t leave it in safer hands. I want a witness to this.

CINDERELLA (_startled_). A witness! What are you to do?

(_With terrible self-confidence he has already opened the door and beckoned._ MR. BODIE _comes in anxiously_.)

POLICEMAN. Take note, sir. (_With the affable manner of a conjuror._) We are now about to try a little experiment, the object being to discover whether this party is genteel or common clay.

CINDERELLA. Oh, Mr. Bodie, what is it?

BODIE (_remembering what he has been told of the Scotland Yard test_). I don’t like.... I won’t have it.

POLICEMAN. It gives her the chance of proving once and for all whether she’s of gentle blood.

CINDERELLA (_eagerly_). Does it?

BODIE. I must forbid....

CINDERELLA (_with dreadful resolution_). I’m ready. I wants to know myself.

POLICEMAN. _Ve_—ry well. Now then, I heard you say that the old party downstairs had paid you your wages to-day.

CINDERELLA. I see nothing you can prove by that. It was a half-week’s wages—1s. 7d. Of course I could see my way clearer if it had been 1s. 9d.

POLICEMAN. That’s neither here nor there. We’ll proceed. Now, very likely you wrapped the money up in a screw of paper. Did you?

(_She is afraid of giving herself away._)

Thinking won’t help you.

CINDERELLA. It’s _my_ money.

BODIE. Nobody wants your money, Cinderella.

POLICEMAN. Answer me. Did you?

CINDERELLA. Yes.

POLICEMAN. Say ‘I did.’

CINDERELLA. I did.

POLICEMAN. And possibly for the sake of greater security you tied a string round it—did you?

CINDERELLA. I did.

POLICEMAN (_after a glance at_ MR. BODIE _to indicate that the supreme moment has come_). You then deposited the little parcel—where?

BODIE (_in an agony_). Cinderella, be careful!

(_She is so dreading to do the wrong thing that she can only stare. Finally, alas, she produces the fatal packet from her pocket. Quiet triumph of our policeman._)

BODIE. My poor child!

CINDERELLA (_not realising yet that she has given herself away_). What is it? Go on.

POLICEMAN. That’ll do. You can stand down.

CINDERELLA. You’ve found out?

POLICEMAN. I have.

CINDERELLA (_breathless_). And what am I?

POLICEMAN (_kindly_). I’m sorry.

CINDERELLA. Am I—common clay?

(_They look considerately at the floor; she bursts into tears and runs into the pantry, shutting the door._)

POLICEMAN (_with melancholy satisfaction_). It’s infall_ay_ble.

BODIE. At any rate it shows that there’s nothing against her.

POLICEMAN (_taking him further from the pantry door, in a low voice_). I dunno. There’s some queer things. Where does she go when she leaves this house? What about that ball?—and her German connection?—and them boards she makes into boxes—and A. C. Celeste? Well, I’ll find out.

BODIE (_miserably_). What are you going to do?

POLICEMAN. To track her when she leaves here. I may have to adopt a disguise. I’m a masterpiece at that.

BODIE. Yes, but—

POLICEMAN (_stamping about the floor with the exaggerated tread of the Law_). I’ll tell you the rest outside. I must make her think that my suspicions are—allayed. (_He goes cunningly to the pantry door and speaks in a loud voice._) Well, sir, that satisfies me that she’s not the party I was in search of, and so, with your permission, I’ll bid you good evening. What, you’re going out yourself? Then I’ll be very happy to walk part of the way with you.

(_Nodding and winking, he goes off with heavy steps, taking with him the reluctant_ MR. BODIE, _who like one mesmerised also departs stamping_.

MISS THING _peeps out to make sure that they are gone. She is wearing her hat and jacket, which have restored her self-respect. The tears have been disposed of with a lick of the palm. She is again a valiant soul who has had too many brushes with the police not to be able to face another with a tight lip. She is going, but she is not going without her wooden board; law or no law she cannot do without wooden boards. She gets it from a corner where it has been artfully concealed. An imprudent glance at the Venus again dispirits her. With a tape she takes the Beauty’s measurements and then her own, with depressing results. The Gods at last pity her, and advise an examination of her rival’s foot. Excursions, alarms, transport. She compares feet and is glorified. She slips off her shoe and challenges Venus to put it on. Then, with a derisive waggle of her foot at the shamed goddess, the little enigma departs on her suspicious business, little witting that a masterpiece of a constable is on her track._)

II

_It is later in the evening of the same day, and this is such a street as harbours London’s poor. The windows are so close to us that we could tap on the only one which shows a light. It is on the ground floor, and makes a gallant attempt to shroud this light with articles of apparel suspended within. Seen as shadows through the blind, these are somehow very like Miss Thing, and almost suggest that she has been hanging herself in several places in one of her bouts of energy. The street is in darkness, save for the meagre glow from a street lamp, whose glass is painted red in obedience to war regulations. It is winter time, and there is a sprinkling of snow on the ground._

_Our_ POLICEMAN _appears in the street, not perhaps for the first time this evening, and flashes his lantern on the suspect’s window, whose signboard (boards again!) we now see bears this odd device_,

_Celeste et Cie_. ———— _The Penny Friend._

_Not perhaps for the first time this evening he scratches his head at it. Then he pounds off in pursuit of some client who has just emerged with a pennyworth. We may imagine the two of them in conversation in the next street, the law putting leading questions. Meanwhile the ‘fourth’ wall of the establishment of Celeste dissolves, but otherwise the street is as it was, and we are now in the position of privileged persons looking in at her window. It is a tiny room in which you could just swing a cat, and here_ CINDERELLA _swings cats all and every evening. The chief pieces of furniture are a table and a bench, both of which have a suspicious appearance of having been made out of boards by some handy character. There is a penny in the slot fireplace which has evidently been lately fed, there is a piece of carpet that has been beaten into nothingness, but is still a carpet, there is a hearth rug of brilliant rags that is probably gratified when your toes catch in it and you are hurled against the wall. Two pictures—one of them partly framed—strike a patriotic note, but they may be there purposely to deceive. The room is lit by a lamp, and at first sight presents no sinister aspect unless it comes from four boxes nailed against the walls some five or six feet from the floor. In appearance they are not dissimilar to large grocery boxes, but it is disquieting to note that one of them has been mended with the board we saw lately in_ MR. BODIE’S _studio. When our_ POLICEMAN _comes, as come we may be sure he will, the test of his acumen will be his box action._

_The persons in the room at present have either no acumen or are familiar with the boxes. There are four of them, besides_ CINDERELLA, _whom we catch in the act of adding to her means of livelihood. Celeste et Cie., a name that has caught her delicate fancy while she dashed through fashionable quarters, is the Penny Friend because here everything is dispensed for that romantic coin. It is evident that the fame of the emporium has spread. Three would be customers sit on the bench awaiting their turn listlessly and as genteelly unconscious of each other as society in a dentist’s dining-room, while in the centre is_ CINDERELLA _fitting an elderly gentleman with a new coat. There are pins in her mouth and white threads in the coat, suggesting that this is not her first struggle with it, and one of the difficulties with which she has to contend is that it has already evidently been the coat of a larger man_. CINDERELLA _is far too astute a performer to let it be seen that she has difficulties, however. She twists and twirls her patron with careless aptitude, kneads him if need be, and has him in a condition of pulp while she mutters for her own encouragement and his intimidation the cryptic remarks employed by tailors, as to the exact meaning of which she has already probed_ MR. BODIE.

CINDERELLA (_wandering over her client with a tape_). 35—14. (_She consults a paper on the table._) Yes, it’s 35—14.

(_She pulls him out, contracts him and takes his elbows measure._)

28—7; 41—12; 15—19. (_There is something wrong, and she has to justify her handiwork._) You was longer when you came on Monday.

GENTLEMAN (_very moved by the importance of the occasion_). Don’t be saying that, Missy.

CINDERELLA (_pinning up the tails of his coat_). Keep still.

GENTLEMAN (_with unexpected spirit_). I warns you, Missy, I won’t have it cut.

CINDERELLA (_an artist_). I’ll give you the bits.

GENTLEMAN. I prefers to wear them.

(_She compares the coat with the picture of an elegant dummy._)

Were you going to make me like that picture?

CINDERELLA. I had just set my heart on copying this one. It’s the Volupty.

GENTLEMAN (_faint-hearted_). I’m thinkin’ I couldn’t stand like that man.

CINDERELLA (_eagerly_). Fine you could—with just a little practice. I’ll let you see the effect.

(_She bends one of his knees, extends an arm and curves the other till he looks like a graceful teapot. She puts his stick in one hand and his hat in the other, and he is now coquettishly saluting a lady._)

GENTLEMAN (_carried away as he looks at himself in a glass_). By Gosh! Cut away, Missy!

CINDERELLA. I’ll need one more try-on. (_Suddenly._) That’s to say if I’m here.

GENTLEMAN (_little understanding the poignancy of the remark_). If it would be convenient to you to have the penny now—

CINDERELLA. No, not till I’ve earned it. It’s my rule. Good night to you, Mr. Jennings.

GENTLEMAN. Good night, Missy.

(_We see him go out by the door and disappear up the street._)

CINDERELLA (_sharply_). Next.

(_An old woman comes to the table and_ CINDERELLA _politely pretends not to have seen her sitting there_.)

It’s Mrs. Maloney!

MRS. M. Cinders, I have a pain. It’s like a jag of a needle down my side.

CINDERELLA (_with a sinking, for she is secretly afraid of medical cases_). Wait till I pop the therm-mo-mometer in. It’s a real one. (_She says this with legitimate pride. She removes the instrument from_ MRS. MALONEY’S _mouth after a prudent interval, and is not certain what to do next._)

Take a deep breath.... Again.... Say 99. (_Her ear is against the patient’s chest._)

MRS. M. 99.

CINDERELLA (_at a venture_). Oho!

MRS. M. It ain’t there the pain is—it’s down my side.

CINDERELLA (_firmly_). We never say 99 down there.

MRS. M. What’s wrong wi’ me?