Applause (The Dudley Sisters Saga Book 2) by Madalyn Morgan (best authors to read txt) 📕

Climbing onto the pillion seat, Margot put her arms around her husband and held him tight. ‘I love you, Mr Burrell.’

‘I love you too, Mrs Burrell,’ Bill shouted over his shoulder as he drove the motorbike away from the curb and into the traffic.

Dear Bill,

I’ve never been so cold in my life. We’re billeted at the local lord’s place – Compton Marsh Hall. It’s nothing like Foxden Hall. It’s more like a derelict, but big, estate worker’s cottage without heating. It’s unbelievably cold and the old skinflint who owns the pile – and it really is an old pile – won’t let us build a fire. Last night we slept in our clothes, but still couldn’t get warm. Betsy’s recovering from a cold, which has left her with a husky voice. Last night she sang George’s melodies and George sang hers. It was so funny. It didn’t work, but the lads didn’t notice. George is fit and as uncomplaining as ever, but I’m worried about Artie. He’s had a chesty cough. The poor chap had a serious bronchial illness when he was a child, which is the real reason he isn’t in the forces. Please God our billet next week is warmer, or he’ll be ill again.

My ankle nips now and again, but I’m taking care of it. I’m putting it up whenever I’m not on stage. I’m eating properly and sleeping well, so stop worrying about me. I don’t have much more to report, so I’ll get on with ironing the costumes.

Look after yourself, my darling. I miss you too.

Your loving wife, Margot. xxx

PS We’re going to Leominster tomorrow. So my next letter will be from somewhere in Herefordshire. x

Margot flexed her ankle. She couldn’t feel any pain. The pills she’d been given the week before by a medic at Blackmore Park in Worcester seemed to be working. Sighing with relief, she put the top on the small brown bottle. It was half empty. She wasn’t sure how she’d cope when they’d gone. But she didn’t have time to worry about that now. Her priority was to get to the tent which had been erected at the end of a rutted track a hundred yards away in the middle of a waterlogged field.

‘Ready when you are,’ Margot called, knocking on Betsy’s bedroom door.

‘Coming! And I have a voice.’ Betsy trilled to prove it. ‘Not bad, eh? I’ve been gargling with the old man’s port. He might be stingy with his coal, but he’s generous with his booze. The lonely old love is more than happy to share a tipple with anyone who’ll listen,’ she said, following Margot downstairs.

‘I have the shoes and Artie has the frocks,’ George said when Margot and Betsy arrived. ‘Put your wellingtons on and let’s get going.’

‘Look sharp, ladies or we’ll be late,’ Artie said, opening the back door of Compton Marsh Hall. ‘Thank God it’s our last night here,’ he said, trudging out into the muddy lane. ‘I don’t think my chest could take any more of this damp old place.’

‘Tomorrow night,’ George said, ‘if our billet is anything like this one, my father will foot the bill for a hotel.’

‘That’s lovely,’ Betsy said. ‘When did he tell you that?’

‘He didn’t. It’s a surprise,’ George said, and they all laughed.

‘Doing our bit is one thing, but this is ridiculous,’ Betsy said, mud squelching almost to the tops of her wellingtons.

They were met at the main gate by the entertainments officer. ‘Tonight you’re starting with Tommy Trinder,’ he told Artie. ‘His warm-up man’s gone down with the flu – all right?’

‘Yes!’ Artie said eagerly. He winked at the girls. It was better than all right, it was a great opportunity. The more people he worked with and the more experience he could get the better the chance of him finding work in a theatre when the ENSA tour ended.

Artie was fantastic and Tommy Trinder took to him straight away. The Alberts also went down a storm. ‘All the way from the Prince Albert Theatre in London’s West End… Please give a great big welcome to the Albert Sisters,’ Artie shouted into the microphone. As the girls entered the stage in their short uniforms, the boys whistled and threw their caps in the air.

At the end of the concert, Tommy invited them back to his hotel.

‘Does your hotel have a fire?’ Betsy asked.

‘Yes? Doesn’t yours?’

‘Come on!’ Betsy shouted, and The Alberts piled into the back of Tommy Trinder’s car.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The train from Durham was a troop train, which Margot had been given special permission to travel on because of her ankle. Packed in like sardines, the servicemen – Royal Engineers in full kit – were on their way to Kitchener Barracks in Chatham for their final three months’ training. They looked very young.

In pain because the pills she’d been taking were wearing off, and tearful because she’d had to leave George, Betsy and Artie to finish the tour without her, Margot limped across the platform at Kings Cross. ‘Oxford Mews, please,’ she said, falling onto the back seat of the cab.

‘It’s Miss Dudley, isn’t it?’ the cabbie asked, looking at Margot through the reversing mirror.

Usually excited that she had been recognised, she forced a smile. ‘Yes. I’m surprised you recognised me looking like this.’

‘The papers have been full of the ENSA shows, the flicks too. You was on last night, Miss, singing “We’re In The Army” with two other ladies.’

Margot hadn’t thought about the cine cameras actually putting the footage on at the pictures. Suddenly feeling happier, she began to wonder if she might one day have a career in films.

‘We’re here Miss. Miss Dudley?’

‘Sorry, I was miles away.