The Petticoat Men Read Free

attacked by guests (including the blessing bishop) with much enjoyment, and in one corner of the dining room a party of inebriated gentlemen used the ever-growing piles of empty champagne bottles as skittles, with goose eggs as balls.
Champagne Charlie is my name, sang the skittlers,
Champagne Charlie is my name,
Good for any game at night, my boys,
Good for any game at night, my boys,
Champagne Charlie is my name!
    Then when most people had drifted back into the ballroom an announcement was made by Mr Gibbings.
    ‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ He could now hardly be heard above the noise and the laughter. He looked to the orchestra and twirled his pearls impatiently at which there was immediately a very loud drum roll. ‘Ladies and gentlemen! Ladies and gentlemen, please!’ and Mr Gibbings raised his braceleted arms for silence. ‘A special guest has kindly agreed to provide a little more entertainment! If you have not heard her voice, you have not yet lived for she has what I can only describe as a seraphic gift for song! Ladies and gentlemen, I present’ – and Mr Gibbings lowered his voice dramatically as if imparting a secret, and people called sssshhhh as there was still much laughter in corners – ‘ladies and gentlemen, I present: STELLA, STAR OF THE STRAND!’
    The figure in pink and white was so very lovely, there beside the orchestra with pink roses in her hair. As she began to sing, the echoing, excited room became oddly quiet; a few last stragglers emerged from supper for the voice was lilting and pretty, and rather sad in an enjoyable kind of way, and people sighed a little as they listened. Violin strings chorused (with perhaps just a touch too much sentiment) around the pretty voice.
Rose of the garden
Blushing and gay
E’en as we pluck thee
Fading away!
Beams of the morning
Promise of day
While we are gazing
Fading away!
    A tear or two fell, tumultuous applause ensued and Stella, Star of the Strand, gave a genteel wave with her white-gloved hand to her appreciative audience. Regrettably in the crowded ballroom just at this moment, a woman – perhaps it was a woman – fainted (or, to put it more prosaically, passed out); she was quickly handed through the crowd to one of the side rooms while voices called to the stage.
    ‘More!’ came the cry. ‘More! Encore!’ and finally Stella was persuaded to embark upon another number and again there was relative quiet on the first floor of Mr Porterbury’s Hotel and the lovely old Irish song began.
When, like the early rose
Eileen Aroon
Beauty in childhood blows
Eileen Aroon
When like a diadem
Buds blush around the stem
Which is the fairest gem?
Eileen Aroon.
    Stella, Star of the Strand, would then have sung another verse, but in chorus with the very last lovely line (slightly spoiling the ending), there was an exceedingly loud scream from one of the discreet side rooms: not so much a scream of terror, more a screech of outrage. (Unfortunately, however, whatever its origins, it was so very loud it was certainly heard right down to the Strand.) There was also the very clear sound of a slap, several slaps; they echoed slightly and at once voices rose. Doors banged, champagne spilled, enquiring footsteps hurried upwards from below. Mr Porterbury looked deeply alarmed; there were respectable guests staying at his hotel; he searched at once for Mr Gibbings in his mauve gown. A man with his braces showing for all to see emerged into the ballroom, hair ruffled; he was so angry he punched a wall, somehow ripping the elegant wallpaper, deeply offending Mr Porterbury who deplored violence, especially violence done to his hotel. Somewhere (it could be clearly heard) a woman was being shushed and placated.
    ‘I have never been so insulted in my life! He – he—’ But the voice obviously simply could not bring itself to elaborate further.
    ‘Sssshhh, Nancibelle dear, sssshhh! The whole of London will hear you! It was a misunderstanding.’
    ‘I want to go home! Idid