‘Such things count for little in the eyes of a Cuthbert,’ said Ellie.
They looked blankly at her.
‘The servants here are all called Cuthbert,’ she said with a grin. ‘I’d have thought you’d all know that by now. Score one for the Yank.’
‘We knew,’ said Skins.
‘Oh,’ said Ellie, somewhat deflated.
‘But we only learned it this afternoon. Danny told us.’
‘But why are they all called Cuthbert?’ said Puddle.
‘Tradition,’ said Dunn. ‘Got to respect the traditions.’
‘They’re all completely barmy if you ask me,’ said Puddle. ‘But never mind that. How’s the snooping coming along?’
Ellie shrugged. ‘I’ve only really spoken to Danny so far, and he was no more forthcoming than when I spoke to him at the dance the other week. There’s definitely something odd about him, though. The boys might have had more luck with the others.’
‘No,’ said Skins. ‘He’s the only one we’ve spoken to as well. Nice bloke. Runs an art gallery.’
‘There was something about the way . . . Oh, never mind, I’ll tell you later.’
Charlie and Millie had come into the ballroom, closely followed by a few Alphabets and the remaining Dizzies. Discussion of Danny’s oddness would have to wait.
The lesson began with something similar to the usual uncoordinated chaos, but things were slowly improving. They were still some way from perfecting the old steps, but they were getting closer, and the new steps Millie was trying to teach them were coming more easily. For three of them, at least. Alfie and Ernie were still struggling.
Ellie watched from her seat on the stage with an uncomfortable mix of amusement, bafflement and pity. She didn’t count herself one of Nature’s most gifted dancers, but she was confident enough on a dance floor. More than that, she enjoyed it. It brought her genuine pleasure, and the only thing about Skins that had ever truly disappointed her was that he had absolutely no interest in dancing. He would get up and join in when pressed, but it was clear that he wasn’t really enjoying himself so she never made him stay away from his seat for too long.
She decided to try to help one of the strugglers. She wondered if perhaps they might be able to get closer to something a little more like dancing if they had a partner. They were watching Millie, they were watching each other, they were watching their own stumbling feet. But it wasn’t helping. Perhaps if they had someone to dance with, just one person to concentrate on, it might be less confusing. It couldn’t hurt.
But which one should she choose? Ernie was most in need of someone’s help – but was he, in fact, beyond help? He had no sense of timing, no feel for the music, no memory for the steps, and no real control over his limbs. It might be best for the gang if they tried to conceal him at the back during the contest and hope nobody noticed him. If he didn’t actually fall over or injure someone, they might get away with it.
Alfie was a shambling mess, but at least his formless flailings were in time with the music. There was something to work with there. Ellie got up from her chair and jumped nimbly on to the floor. When Millie next called a halt, she made her way over to the dance students. She approached Millie and drew her to one side.
‘Hi, honey,’ she said quietly. ‘We met at the dance a couple of weeks ago – the night you gashed your arm. How is it?’
Millie held up her arm, which was healing nicely. There was going to be a scar but, as Blanche had promised, it looked as though it would be a subtle one.
‘It’s not at all bad, thank you,’ she said, just as quietly. ‘I took the stitches out a couple of days ago and it all seems to be fine. But what can I do for you? Do please tell me you’re a dance teacher and you’re the relief column come to rescue me.’
Ellie laughed. ‘Not quite. But I was wondering if I might be able to help a little anyway. I was wondering if one of them might benefit from having a partner. I was thinking—’
‘Alfie,’ interrupted Millie. ‘Oh, yes please.’ She lowered her voice still further. ‘He’s not . . . well, he’s not terribly bright, is he? My aunt had a Jack Russell who could do all sorts of tricks, but I’m not sure I could train poor Alfie to sit on command. If you could give him something to focus on, stop his mind wandering, perhaps he might start to get it.’
‘That’s exactly what I was thinking. Will the others mind?’
Millie sighed. ‘They’ll rag him silly, of course, but as long as you don’t mind, I think it’ll help. And as long as your husband doesn’t mind, of course – dancing with another man and all that. He’s the little drummer, yes?’
‘I think he knows he’s got nothing to worry about.’
‘Then have at it, as they say. Do you know the dance?’
‘Well enough. Better than Alfie does.’
They broke from their huddle.
‘Alfie,’ said Millie in her best colour-sergeant voice. ‘We have a plan to help you out. Mrs Maloney has kindly agreed to play the role of your dance partner. I don’t envy the poor woman, but she seems to think you’re worth the effort.’
The Alphabets laughed.
‘Jolly kind of you, Mrs M,’ said Alfie.
‘Please, call me Ellie.’
‘Right you are, Elsie.’
The gang laughed again.
He looked baffled. ‘What? What did I say?’
‘Don’t worry about those guys,’ said Ellie, kindly. ‘Just concentrate on me. You know these steps – you just have to stop thinking about them and start doing them.’
‘It’s always thinking that’s the problem for me, old thing,’ said Alfie. ‘Never was much good at that. But we’ll get there. I place myself in your capable hands.’
To everyone’s astonishment, it worked. Sort of. Without the distraction of his fellow dance pupils, without worrying about what Millie might be thinking, and with only the beguilingly confident American woman to concentrate on, Alfie found himself remembering most of the steps. Or, rather, not so much remembering them as simply knowing what they were. He got a tiny bit lost in the middle eight, but Ellie steered him through it and they reached the end without major incident. This being only the second time since they’d started playing for the lessons that the Dizzies had made it all the way to the end of a number without being stopped, his achievement earned him a round of applause from the band.
‘I say,’ said Alfie, now slightly out of breath. ‘You’re a bally miracle-worker. Can we have you with us on the night?’ He looked over at Millie. ‘Can we, Miss Mitchell? I mean, it might make all the difference.’
‘It’s not up to me, darling,’ said Millie. ‘What are the rules of your silly contest, Bobby – Charlie, sorry.’
‘Alphabet Gang versus five of the Wags. No partners. Sorry, old bean. They wanted to avoid the possibility of ringers.’
‘She ain’t a ringer,’ said Alfie. ‘She’s my . . . She can be my nurse. Dodgy knee after the war and all that. Need to have her on hand in case it fails me. You don’t mind pretendin’ to be a nurse, do you, Mrs M?’