Part 3

CINDERELLA (_candidly_). I don’t want for to pretend, Mrs. Maloney, that the 99 is any guidance to me. I can _not_ find out what it’s for. I would make so bold as to call your complaint muscular rheumatics if the pain came when you coughed. But you have no cough.

MRS. M. (_coming to close quarters_). No, but he has—my old man. It’s him that has the pains, not me.

CINDERELLA (_hurt_). What for did you pretend it was you?

MRS. M. That was his idea. He was feared you might stop his smoking.

CINDERELLA. And so I will.

MRS. M. What’s the treatment?

CINDERELLA (_writing after consideration on a piece of paper_). One of them mustard leaves.

MRS. M. (_taking the paper_). Is there no medicine?

CINDERELLA (_faltering_). I’m a little feared about medicine, Mrs. Maloney.

MRS. M. He’ll be a kind of low-spirited if there’s not a lick of medicine.

CINDERELLA. Have you any in the house?

MRS. M. There’s what was left over of the powders my lodger had when the kettle fell on his foot.

CINDERELLA. You could give him one of them when the cough is troublesome. Good night, Mrs. Maloney.

MRS. M. Thank you kindly. (_She puts a penny on the table._)

CINDERELLA (_with polite surprise_). What’s that?

MRS. M. It’s the penny.

CINDERELLA. So it is! Good night, Mrs. Maloney.

MRS. M. Good night, Cinders.

(_She departs. The penny falls into_ CINDERELLA’S _box with a pleasant clink_.)

CINDERELLA. Next.

(_A woman of 35 comes forward. She is dejected, thin-lipped, and unlovable._)

MARION (_tossing her head_). You’re surprised to see _me_, I daresay.

CINDERELLA (_guardedly_). I haven’t the pleasure of knowing you.

MARION (_glancing at the remaining occupant of the bench_). Is that man sleeping? Who is he? I don’t know him.

CINDERELLA. He’s sleeping. What can I do for you?

MARION (_harshly_). Nothing, I daresay. I’m at Catullo’s Buildings. Now they’re turning me out. They say I’m not respectable.

CINDERELLA (_enlightened_). You’re—that woman?

MARION (_defiantly_). That’s me.

CINDERELLA (_shrinking_). I don’t think there’s nothing I could do for you.

MARION (_rather appealing_). Maybe there is. I see you’ve heard my story. They say there’s a man comes to see me at times though he has a wife in Hoxton.

CINDERELLA. I’ve heard.

MARION. So I’m being turned out.

CINDERELLA. I don’t think it’s a case for me.

MARION. Yes, it is.

CINDERELLA. Are you terrible fond of him?

MARION. Fond of him! Damn him!

(CINDERELLA _shrinks_. MARION _makes sure that the man is asleep_.)

Cinders, they’ve got the story wrong; it’s me as is his wife; I was married to him in a church. He met that woman long after and took up with her.

CINDERELLA. What! Then why do you not tell the truth?

MARION. It’s my pride keeps me from telling. I would rather be thought to be the wrong ’un he likes than the wife the law makes him help.

CINDERELLA. Is that pride?

MARION. It’s all the pride that’s left to me.

CINDERELLA. I’m awful sorry for you, but I can’t think of no advice to give you.

MARION. It’s not advice I want.

CINDERELLA. What is it then?

MARION. It’s pity. I fling back all the gutter words they fling at me, but my heart, Cinders, is wet at times. It’s wet for one to pity me.

CINDERELLA. I pity you.

MARION. You’ll tell nobody?

CINDERELLA. No.

MARION. Can I come in now and again at a time?

CINDERELLA. I’ll be glad to see you—if I’m here.

MARION. I’ll be slipping away now; he’s waking up. (_She puts down her penny._)

CINDERELLA. I’m not doing it for no penny.

MARION. You’ve got to take it. That’s my pride. But—I wish you well, Cinders.

CINDERELLA. I like you. I wish you would wish me luck. Say ‘Good luck to you to-night, Cinderella.’

MARION. Why to-night?

(_The little waif, so practical until now, is afire inside again. She needs a confidant almost as much as_ MARION.)

CINDERELLA (_hastily_). You see—

(_The man sits up._)

MAN. Good evening, Missis.

MARION. Good luck to you to-night, Cinderella.

(_She goes._)

(_The man slips forward and lifts the penny._)

CINDERELLA (_returning to earth sharply_). Put that down.

MAN. I was only looking at the newness of it. I was just admiring the design.

(_The newness and the design both disappear into the box. A bearded person wearing the overalls of a sea-faring man lurches down the street and enters the emporium. Have we seen him before? Who can this hairy monster be?_)

POLICEMAN (_in an incredibly gruff voice_). I want a pennyworth.

CINDERELLA (_unsuspecting_). Sit down. (_She surveys the coster._) It’s you that belongs to the shirt, isn’t it?

MAN. Yes; is’t ready?

CINDERELLA. It’s ready.

(_It proves to be not a shirt, but a ‘front’ of linen, very stiff and starched. The laundress cautiously retains possession of it._)

The charge is a penny.

MAN. On delivery.

CINDERELLA. Before delivery.

MAN. Surely you can trust me.

CINDERELLA. You’ve tried that on before, my man. Never again! All in this street knows my rule,—Trust in the Lord—every other person, cash.

(_A penny and a ‘shirt’ pass between them and he departs._)

(CINDERELLA _turns her attention to the newcomer_.)

What’s your pleasure?

POLICEMAN. Shave, please.

CINDERELLA (_quivering before his beard_). Shave! I shaves in an ordinary way, but I don’t know as I could tackle that.

POLICEMAN. I thought you was a barber.

CINDERELLA (_stung_). I’ll get the lather.

(_She goes doubtfully into what she calls her bedroom._

_He seizes this opportunity to survey the room. A remarkable man this, his attention is at once riveted on the boxes, but before he can step on a chair and take a peep the barber returns with the implements of her calling. He reaches his chair in time not to be caught by her. She brings in a bowl of soap and water and a towel, which she puts round him in the correct manner._)

CINDERELLA. You’re thin on the top.

POLICEMAN (_in his winding sheet_). I’ve all run to beard.

CINDERELLA (_the ever ready_). I have a ointment for the hair; it is my own invention. The price is a penny.

POLICEMAN (_gruffly_). Beard, please.

CINDERELLA. I’ve got some voice drops.

POLICEMAN. Beard, please.

CINDERELLA (_as she prepares the lather_). Is the streets quiet?

POLICEMAN (_cunningly_). Hereabouts they are; but there’s great doings in the fashionable quarters. A ball, I’m told.

CINDERELLA (_gasping_). You didn’t see no peculiar person about in this street?

POLICEMAN. How peculiar?

CINDERELLA. Like a—a flunkey?

POLICEMAN. Did I now—or did I not?

CINDERELLA (_eagerly_). He would be carrying an invite maybe; it’s a big card.

POLICEMAN. I can’t say I saw him.

(_Here an astonishing thing happens. The head of a child rises from one of the boxes. She is unseen by either of the mortals._)

CINDERELLA (_considering the beard_). How do I start with the like of this?

POLICEMAN. First you saws....

(_She attempts to saw. The beard comes off in her hand._)

CINDERELLA (_recognising his face_). You!

POLICEMAN (_stepping triumphantly out of his disguise_). Me!

(_As sometimes happens, however, the one who means to give the surprise gets a greater. At sight of his dreaded uniform the child screams, whereat two other children in other boxes bob up and scream also. It is some time before the policeman can speak._)

So that’s what the boxes was for!

CINDERELLA (_feebly_). Yes.

POLICEMAN (_portentously_). Who and what are these phenomenons?

CINDERELLA (_protectingly_). Don’t be frightened, children. Down!

(_They disappear obediently._)

There’s no wrong in it. They’re just me trying to do my bit. It’s said all should do their bit in war-time. It was into a hospital I wanted to go to nurse the wounded soldiers. I offered myself at every hospital door, but none would have me, so this was all I could do.

POLICEMAN. You’re taking care of them?

(_She nods._)

Sounds all right. Neighbours’ children?

CINDERELLA. The brown box is. She’s half of an orphan, her father’s a bluejacket, so, of course, I said I would.

POLICEMAN. You need say no more. I pass little bluejacket.

CINDERELLA. Those other two is allies. She’s French—and her’s a Belgy—(_calls_). Marie-Therese.

(_The French child sits up._)

Speak your language to the gentleman, Marie-Therese.

MARIE. Bon soir, monsieur—comment portez-vous? Je t’aime. (_She curtseys charmingly to him from the box._)

POLICEMAN. Well, I’m ——d!

CINDERELLA. Delphine.

(_The Belgian looks up._)

Make votre bow.

Gladys!

(_The English child bobs up._)

A friend, Gladys.

(GLADYS _and the policeman grin to each other_.)

GLADYS. What cheer!

CINDERELLA. Monsieur is a Britain’s defender.

MARIE. Oh, la, la! Parlez-vous français, monsieur? Non! I blow you two kisses, monsieur—the one is to you (_kisses hand_) to keep, the other you will give—(_kisses hand_) to Kitch.

POLICEMAN (_writing_). Sends kiss to Lord Kitchener.

CINDERELLA. She’s the one that does most of the talking.

POLICEMAN (_who is getting friendly_). I suppose that other box is an empty.

(CINDERELLA’S _mouth closes_.)

Is that box empty?

CINDERELLA. It’s not exactly empty.

POLICEMAN. What’s inside?

CINDERELLA. She’s the littlest.

(_The children exchange glances and she is severe._)

Couchy.

(_They disappear._)

POLICEMAN. An ally?

CINDERELLA. She’s—she’s—Swiss.

POLICEMAN (_lowering_). Now then!

CINDERELLA. She’s not exactly Swiss. You can guess now what she is.

POLICEMAN (_grave_). This puts me in a very difficult position.

CINDERELLA (_beginning to cry_). Nobody would take her. She was left over. I tried not to take her. I’m a patriot, I am. But there she was—left over—and her so terrible little—I couldn’t help taking her.

POLICEMAN. I dunno. (_Quite unfairly._) If her folk had been in your place and you in hers, they would have shown neither mercy nor pity for you.

CINDERELLA (_stoutly_). That makes no difference.

POLICEMAN (_Was this the great moment?_). I think there’s something uncommon about you.

CINDERELLA (_pleased_). About _me_?

POLICEMAN. I suppose she’s sleeping.

CINDERELLA. Not her!

POLICEMAN. What’s she doing?

CINDERELLA. She’s strafing!

POLICEMAN. Who’s she strafing?

CINDERELLA. Very likely you. She misses nobody. You see I’ve put some barb-wire round her box.

POLICEMAN. I see now.

CINDERELLA. It’s not really barb-wire. It’s worsted. I was feared the wire would hurt her. But it just makes a difference.

POLICEMAN. How do the others get on with her?

CINDERELLA. I makes them get on with her. Of course there’s tongues out, and little things like that.

POLICEMAN. Were the foreign children shy of you at first?

CINDERELLA. Not as soon as they heard my name. ‘Oh, are you Cinderella?’ they said, in their various languages—and ‘when’s the ball?’ they said.

POLICEMAN. Somebody must have telled them about you.

CINDERELLA (_happy_). Not here. They had heard about me in their foreign lands. Everybody knows Cinderella, it’s fine. Even her—(_indicating German_) the moment I mentioned my name—‘Where’s your ugly sisters?’ says she, looking round.

POLICEMAN. Sisters? It’s new to me, your having sisters. (_He produces his note book._)

CINDERELLA (_uneasily_). It’s kind of staggering to me, too. I haven’t been able to manage them yet, but they’ll be at the ball.

POLICEMAN. It’s queer.

CINDERELLA. It _is_ queer.

POLICEMAN. (_sitting down with her_). How do you know this ball’s to-night?

CINDERELLA. It had to be some night. You see, after I closes my business I have chats with the children about things, and naturally it’s mostly about the ball. I put it off as long as I could, but it had to be some night—and this is the night.

POLICEMAN. You mean it’s make-believe?

CINDERELLA (_almost fiercely_). None of that!

POLICEMAN (_shaking his head_). I don’t like it.

CINDERELLA (_shining_). You wouldn’t say that if you heard the blasts on the trumpet and loud roars of ‘Make way for the Lady Cinderella!’

(_Three heads pop up again._)

POLICEMAN. Lady?

CINDERELLA (_in a tremble of exultation_). That’s me. That’s what you’re called at royal balls. Then loud huzzas is heard outside from the excited popu-lace, for by this time the fame of my beauty has spread like wild-fire through the streets, and folks is hanging out at windows and climbing lamp-posts to catch a sight of me.

(_Delight of the children._)

POLICEMAN. My sakes, you see the whole thing clear!

CINDERELLA. I see it from beginning to end—like as if I could touch it—the gold walls and the throne, and the lamp-posts and the horses.

POLICEMAN. The horses?

CINDERELLA. ... Well, the competitors. The speeches—everything. If only I had my invite! That wasn’t a knock at the door, was it?

POLICEMAN (_so carried away that he goes to see_). No.

CINDERELLA (_vindictively_). I daresay that flunkey’s sitting drinking in some public-house.

(_Here_ MARIE-THERESE _and_ GLADYS, _who have been communicating across their boxes, politely invite the_ POLICEMAN _to go away_.)

MARIE. Bonne nuit, Monsieur.

GLADYS. Did you say you was going, Mister?

POLICEMAN. They’re wonderful polite.

CINDERELLA. I doubt that’s not politeness. The naughties—they’re asking you to go away.

POLICEMAN. Oh! (_He rises with hauteur._)

CINDERELLA. You see we’re to have a bite of supper before I start—to celebrate the night.

POLICEMAN. Supper with the kids! When I was a kid in the country at Badgery—you’ve done it again!

CINDERELLA. Done what?

POLICEMAN (_with that strange feeling of being at home_). I suppose I would be in the way?

CINDERELLA. There’s not very much to eat. There’s just one for each.

POLICEMAN. I’ve had my supper.

CINDERELLA (_seeing her way_). Have you? Then I would be very pleased if you would stay.

POLICEMAN. Thank you kindly.

(_She prepares the table for the feast. Eyes sparkle from the boxes._)

CINDERELLA (_shining_). This is the first party we’ve ever had. Please keep an eye on the door in case there’s a knock.

(_She darts into her bedroom, and her charges are more at their ease._)

MARIE (_sitting up, the better to display her nightgown_). Monsieur, Monsieur, Voilà!

GLADYS. Cinderella made it out of watching a shop window.

POLICEMAN (_like one who has known his hostess from infancy_). Just like her.

MARIE (_holding up a finger that is adorned with a ring_). Monsieur!

GLADYS (_more practical_). The fire’s going out.

POLICEMAN (_recklessly_). In with another penny. (_He feeds the fire with that noble coin._) Fellow allies, I’m just going to take a peep into the German trench! Hah!

(_He stealthily mounts a chair and puts his hand into Gretchen’s box. We must presume that it is bitten by the invisible occupant, for he withdraws it hurriedly to the hearty delight of the spectators. This mirth changes to rapture as_ CINDERELLA _makes a conceited entrance carrying a jug of milk and five hot potatoes in their jackets. Handsomely laden as she is, it is her attire that calls forth the applause. She is now wearing the traditional short brown dress of_ CINDERELLA, _and her hair hangs loose. She tries to look modest._)

CINDERELLA (_displaying herself_). What do you think?

POLICEMAN (_again in Badgery_). Great! Turn round. And I suppose you made it yourself out of a shop window?

CINDERELLA. No, we didn’t need no shop window; we all knew exactly what I was wearing when the knock came.

GLADYS. Of course we did.

(_A potato is passed up to each and a cup of milk between two. There is also a delicious saucerful of melted lard into which they dip._ GRETCHEN _is now as much in evidence as the others, and quite as attractive—the fun becomes fast and furious_.)

CINDERELLA (_to_ POLICEMAN). A potato?

POLICEMAN. No, I thank you.

CINDERELLA. Just a snack?

POLICEMAN. Thank you.

(_She shares with him._)

CINDERELLA. A little dip?

POLICEMAN. No, I thank you.

CINDERELLA. Just to look friendly.

POLICEMAN. I thank you. (_Dipping._) To you, Cinderella.

CINDERELLA. I thank you.

POLICEMAN (_proposing a toast_). The King!

CINDERELLA (_rather consciously_). And the Prince of Wales.

GLADYS. And father.

POLICEMAN. The King, the Prince of Wales, and father.

(_The toast is drunk, dipped and eaten with acclamation._ GLADYS, _uninvited, recites ‘The Mariners of England.’_ MARIE-THERESE _follows (without waiting for the end) with the Marseillaise, and_ GRETCHEN _puts out her tongue at both. Our_ POLICEMAN _having intimated that he desires to propose another toast of a more lengthy character, the children are lifted down and placed in their nightgowns at the table_.)

POLICEMAN (_suddenly becoming nervous_). I have now the honour to propose absent friends.

GLADYS (_with an inspiration to which_ MARIE-THERESE _bows elegantly_). Vive la France!

POLICEMAN. I mean our friends at the Front. And they have their children, too. Your boxes we know about, but I daresay there’s many similar and even queerer places, where the children, the smallest of our allies, are sleeping this night within the sound of shells.

MARIE. La petite Belgique. La pauvre enfant!

DELPHINE (_proudly_). Me!

POLICEMAN. So here’s to absent friends—

GLADYS (_with another inspiration_). Absent boxes!

POLICEMAN. Absent boxes! And there’s a party we know about who would like uncommon to have the charge of the lot of them—(_looking at Cinderella_). And I couples the toast with the name of the said party.

CINDERELLA (_giving a pennyworth for nothing_). Kind friends, it would be pretending of me not to let on that I know I am the party referred to by the last speaker—in far too flattersome words. When I look about me and see just four boxes I am a kind of shamed, but it wasn’t very convenient to me to have more. I will now conclude by saying I wish I was the old woman that lived in a shoe, and it doesn’t matter how many I had I would have known fine what to do. The end.

(_After further diversion._) It’s a fine party. I hope your potato is mealy?

POLICEMAN. I never had a better tatie.

CINDERELLA. Don’t spare the skins.

POLICEMAN. But you’re eating nothing yourself.

CINDERELLA. I’m not hungry. And, of course, I’ll be expected to take a bite at the ball.

(_This reminder of the ball spoils the_ POLICEMAN’S _enjoyment_.)

POLICEMAN. I wish—you wasn’t so sure of the ball.

GLADYS (_in defence_). Why shouldn’t she not be sure of it?

DELPHINE. Pourquoi, Monsieur?

CINDERELLA (_rather hotly_). Don’t say things like that here.

MARIE. Has Monsieur by chance seen God-mamma coming?

POLICEMAN. God-mamma?

CINDERELLA. That’s my Godmother; she brings my ball dress and a carriage with four ponies.

GLADYS. Then away she goes to the ball—hooray—hooray!

CINDERELLA. It’s all perfectly simple once Godmother comes.

POLICEMAN (_with unconscious sarcasm_). I can see she’s important.

CINDERELLA (_with the dreadful sinking that comes to her at times_). You think she’ll come, don’t you?

POLICEMAN. Cinderella, your hand’s burning—and in this cold room.

CINDERELLA. Say you think she’ll come.

POLICEMAN. I—well, I.... I....

GLADYS (_imploringly_). Say it, Mister!

DELPHINE (_begging_). Monsieur! Monsieur!

MARIE. If it is that you love me, Monsieur!

POLICEMAN (_in distress_). I question of there was ever before a member of the Force in such a position. (_Yielding._) I expect she’ll come.

(_This settles it in the opinion of the children, but their eyes are too bright for such a late hour, and they are ordered to bed. Our_ POLICEMAN _replaces them in their boxes_.)

CINDERELLA. One—two—three . . . couchy!

(_They disappear._)

POLICEMAN (_awkwardly and trying to hedge_). Of course this is an out-of-the-way little street for a Godmother to find.

CINDERELLA. Yes, I’ve thought of that. I’d best go and hang about outside; she would know me by my dress.

POLICEMAN (_hastily_). I wouldn’t do that. It’s a cold night. (_He wanders about the room eyeing her sideways._) Balls is always late things.

CINDERELLA. I’m none so sure. In war-time, you see, with the streets so dark and the King so kind, it would be just like him to begin early and close at ten instead of twelve. I must leave before twelve. If I don’t, there’s terrible disasters happens.

POLICEMAN (_unable to follow this_). The ball might be put off owing to the Prince of Wales being in France.

CINDERELLA. He catched the last boat. I’ll go out and watch.

POLICEMAN (_desperate_). Stay where you are, and—and I’ll have a look for her.

CINDERELLA. You’re too kind.

POLICEMAN. Not at all. I must be stepping at any rate. If I can lay hands on her I’ll march her here, though I have to put the handcuffs on her.

GLADYS (_looking up_). I think I heard a knock!

(_The_ POLICEMAN _looks out, shakes his head, and finally departs after a queer sort of handshake with_ MISS THING.)

CINDERELLA. He’s a nice man.

GLADYS. Have you known him long?

CINDERELLA (_thinking it out_). A longish time. He’s head of the secret police; him and me used to play together as children down in Badgery. His folks live in a magnificent castle, with two doors. (_She becomes a little bewildered._) I’m all mixed up.

(_The children are soon asleep. She wanders aimlessly to the door. The wall closes on the little room, and we now see her standing in the street. Our_ POLICEMAN _returns and flashes his lantern on her_.)

CINDERELLA. It’s you!

POLICEMAN. It’s me. But there’s no Godmother! There’s not a soul.... No.... Good night, Cinderella. Go inside.

CINDERELLA (_doggedly_). Not me! I don’t feel the cold—not much. And one has to take risks to get a Prince. The only thing I’m feared about is my feet. If they was to swell I mightn’t be able to get the slippers on, and he would have naught to do with me.

POLICEMAN. What slippers? If you won’t go back, I’ll stop here with you.

CINDERELLA. No, I think there’s more chance of her coming if I’m alone.

POLICEMAN. I’m very troubled about you.

CINDERELLA (_wistfully_). Do you think I’m just a liar? Maybe I am. You see I’m all mixed up. I’m sore in need of somebody to help me out.

POLICEMAN. I would do it if I could.

CINDERELLA. I’m sure. (_Anxiously_.) Are you good at riddles?

(_He shakes his head._)

There’s always a riddle before you can marry into a royal family.

POLICEMAN (_with increased gloom_). The whole thing seems to be most terrible difficult.

CINDERELLA. Yes.... Good night.

POLICEMAN. You won’t let me stay with you?

CINDERELLA. No.

(_He puts his lantern on the ground beside her._)

What’s that for?

POLICEMAN (_humbly_). It’s just a sort of guard for you. (_He takes off his muffler and puts it several times round her neck._)

CINDERELLA. Nice!

POLICEMAN. Good luck!

(_She finds it easiest just to nod in reply._)

I wish I was a Prince.

CINDERELLA (_suddenly struck by the idea_). You’re kind of like him.

(_He goes away. She sits down on the step to wait. She shivers. She takes the muffler off her neck and winds it round her more valuable feet. She falls asleep._

_Darkness comes, and snow. From somewhere behind, the shadowy figure of_ CINDERELLA’S _Godmother, beautiful in a Red Cross Nurse’s uniform, is seen looking benignantly on the waif_. CINDERELLA _is just a little vague, huddled form—there is no movement_.)

GODMOTHER. Cinderella, my little godchild!

CINDERELLA (_with eyes unopening_). Is that you, Godmother?

GODMOTHER. It is I; my poor god-daughter is all mixed up, and I have come to help her out.

CINDERELLA. You have been long in coming. I very near gave you up.

GODMOTHER. Sweetheart, I couldn’t come sooner, because in these days, you know, even the fairy godmother is with the Red Cross.

CINDERELLA. Was that the reason? I see now; I thought perhaps you kept away because I wasn’t a good girl.

GODMOTHER. You have been a good brave girl; I am well pleased with my darling godchild.

CINDERELLA. It is fine to be called darling; it heats me up. I’ve been wearying for it, Godmother. Life’s a kind of hard.