Kitty Peck and the Child of Ill-Fortune (23 page)

‘Christ! How could I be so stupid? He knows it all. I told him because I . . . trusted him.’

I went to stand next to him. ‘You told him because you loved him, Joey. We all make bad choices.’

He began to laugh, but it was a bitter sound. ‘Not you, Kitty, you never make a bad choice. That’s why she chose you.’

I put my hand on his arm. ‘You and David chose me too. Robbie’s safe here and David’s coming for him. We can still make it right, make it stop.’

Joey didn’t answer. I stared at the broken bits of china at my feet, a single red rose was the only part of the posy that was complete. I bent down to pick it up and turned it over in my palm, wincing when a jagged edge nicked a finger drawing blood.

‘Do you have Robbie’s toy, Kitty, the poppet?’ I looked up, surprised at the oddness of Joey’s question.

‘Fetch it, please. It’s time.’

Bella Cundle was a big girl with thick blonde hair and prominent talents, two of them. I knew if she went on first the punters would sit up. I watched them shift about for a clear view as she came to the front of The Gaudy’s stage, dipping low into a curtsey at the end of the verse.

‘Bring it over here, girl. You could balance a jug on that!’

I stifled a laugh at the catcall, but standing next to me at the back of the hall, Lucca clicked his tongue.

Jessie Rintoul went next. She was more delicate than Bella, a fine-boned redhead with neat ankles and wrists. Jessie was a dancer rather than a singer, I noted.

The chorus that followed featured a good deal of flouncing skirts and plenty of leg. All the girls performed that together. They were good. I watched them whirl around in front of Lucca’s painted tavern and then I turned to scan the hall.

It was going down like free beef and dripping. The punters were craning their heads for a glimpse of flesh, thumping the tables and swaying in time to the music.

I glanced back at the empty seat in the orchestra in front of the curved stage. Lucca said Old Peter was already in the ground according to the ways of his people. Professor Ruben and the boys had insisted on playing tonight and I was grateful to them. The girls too – they all had a soft spot for him and I reckoned it was hard for them.

After the chorus Marnie Trinder stepped forward through the cigarette and cigar smoke that was beginning to thicken the air. The Gaudy reeked of hot tar, cheap gin and stale bodies – it was a ripe night.

Marnie was a bit older than the others, but her looks were holding up. She gave the lines just the right amount of twist to make the meaning clear.

Little Cissie Watkins looked like a golden angel. When she moved down to the front of the stage they all hushed up like they were sitting in rows at a Sunday school.

Now, she didn’t only look like a celestial, she sang and acted like one too, which made the punters roar even louder when her dainty gestures indicated exactly where that tattoo was.

And finally, Netta Swift twirled to the centre of the curved stage. I saw her pause to work out where the best light would catch her. Danny was right – she was a star in the making. Not only was she darkly handsome, but her voice carried right to the back of The Gaudy’s upper gallery without any visible effort on her part.

Netta was a good comic actress too. I reckoned I could do trade with her. In fact, I knew I could make a packet with this routine. Word had gone round and tonight The Gaudy was almost as full as it was on the occasions when I was up in the cage. We’d already taken another two barrels up from the cellar.

I watched the tray girls moving round the tables deftly avoiding slops spilt across the floor and the hands of the punters. I thought then of Jenny Pierce and Alice Halpern, those two little scraps. I wouldn’t allow anything like that to happen again, not to my girls, not in my halls and not anywhere in Paradise – never.

As they sang the chorus a third time, Dismal Jimmy dressed as a sailor staggered from the right. The punters jeered good-natured warnings as he clutched at a twisted column supporting one of the boxes nearest the stage, drunkenly rolling his eyes at the girls and working his wide-lipped mouth in a theatrical manner. He made a most convincing arfarfan’arf. But then Lucca said he’d had enough practice.

Netta swung round, pointed at him and shrilled ‘Roger!’ And then they all called out a name and thundered across the stage. Dismal threw up his hands in surrender, windmilled and fell backwards into the wings.

The shouts, whistles, stamping and cheering made my ears ring. Lucca nudged me. ‘Well, what do you think?’

‘I think it’s done The Gaudy no harm.’

A hundred grinning faces glowed in the flickering gaslight down here and as many more were packed like herrings in the tiers above. The booths were full tonight too.

‘I want Fitzpatrick to see this tomorrow and I want to hear what he has to say about it. Jesmond’s keen.’ I nodded across the hall.

Aubrey Jesmond from The Carnival was leaning against the wall opposite. He was observing the punters with his little mole eyes in the way that a cat might watch over a particularly well-stocked mouse hole. He must have sensed me looking because he straightened up, lifted his bowler and tipped it at me.

‘Tell the girls there’ll be something more for them all in their packets at the end of the week, Lucca. The orchestra boys too.’

‘Why don’t you tell them yourself? You could go out back now, or go to The Lamb later. It’s where they’ll be.’

‘I . . . I think they’ll enjoy it all the more without me. I don’t want them to think I’m spying on them.’ I pushed my hand into my pocket and closed my fingers round the small, tight-wrapped package nestled under The Gaudy’s keys. If the half of them out there knew what I was carrying around tonight, they’d climb over their dead mothers to take it from me. I scanned the doors at the back for the hundredth time that evening.

Lucca’s eye narrowed. ‘Surely you’re not scared of them still?’

I shook my head. ‘This is their moment. I’m not going to queen it over them. Besides, Amit doesn’t take drink. It wouldn’t be right.’

I looked over to the curtained door leading from the hall to the office. Amit Das was standing there in the shadows. He was so still you might have taken him for a plaster decoration.

Lucca followed my gaze. ‘He is still with you?’

I nodded. ‘Never far off. Telferman collected the letters yesterday and Amit went with him, but I asked him to come back to The Palace. It’s safer having him near. And you should be careful too, Lucca. Ilya knows you’re my friend. After what happened at Pearmans . . .’ I trailed off.

‘You shouldn’t worry about me, Fannella. I am always . . . resourceful.’ Lucca buried his chin into his collar and leaned back against the wall. He folded his arms and stared out over the punters. I was standing on his good side. I sidled a look and saw his expression harden as a couple of sleek young toffs, half cut on cheap brandy, tried to make free with two of the tray girls. They yapped and pawed like puppies, but the girls were sharp with them – just like I’d told them.

Lucca swore under his breath. I knew what he was thinking – I thought it too every time I saw a group of tot-hunting swells. Christ, there was a time when I was flattered by that sort of attention, but now I wanted to smack their hands away, spit into their slack ham faces and tell them to sling their hooks.

But I couldn’t turn them out because of what happened in the past, could I? It wouldn’t be good for trade. And it wasn’t just the girls – poor boys were rich pickings for a certain type. We never spoke about revenge, but it occurred to me then that what he’d just said about being resourceful was true.

If it came to it, Lucca Fratelli could kill a man.

I craned my neck to take in the hall again. I wasn’t only standing out here to see how the new act played, but Lucca didn’t know that. I hadn’t told him about Joey’s visit. I wanted to, but Joey reckoned the safest and simplest thing was to keep everything close between us. He couldn’t forgive himself for trusting Ilya and now he couldn’t sift gold from dross or tell light from dark. I suspected Joey Peck wouldn’t be able to trust anyone for a long time.

Betrayal is a terrible thing.

There was only one person who knew what was happening tonight – some of it – and she was sitting in The Gaudy’s office looking after Robbie.

‘Here.’ I released the package and delved deeper into my pocket. ‘Give Professor Ruben this.’ I handed Lucca a sovereign. ‘Tell him to buy some good stuff when they’re at The Lamb tonight – not the usual turps. They’re all to drink to Old Peter. Tell him to say “
zda-róv-ye!
” And then they can use the rest to celebrate.’

Lucca stared at the coin in amazement. ‘They’ll be there all night on this and most of tomorrow. Are you sure, Fannella?’

I smiled. ‘Tell them to make the most of it. They’ll be wearing the skin off the soles of their feet when we start moving the act between The Gaudy and The Carnival every night.’

I watched the tasselled red curtains close over Lucca’s tavern on the stage. ‘You’ll have to paint another scene for The Carnival – we can’t move this one, it’s too much of a risk. Your Misha seen it yet?’

Lucca nodded and stared at his feet.

‘Didn’t he like it?’

He rolled a sticky discarded cork under the sole of his shoe and didn’t answer. I was angry for him.

‘Listen, your friend might come from the grandest company in Europe, but if he can’t see that what you do here is as fine as anything The Moika prances around in front of, then he’s a fool, for all his languages.’

Lucca picked at his nails as I warmed up.

‘I’ll tell him that myself next time I see him. You’re an artist, Lucca. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, you’re wasted here.’

‘That’s what Misha says.’ His voice was so low that even though he was standing right next to me I hardly heard it.

‘What?’

‘He . . . he has asked me to go back to Paris with him to paint for The Moika.’

‘And what did you say?’

Lucca was silent.

‘Well?’

‘I . . . I haven’t given him an answer yet.’

He was thinking about it! A shoal of fish flipped about in my belly. The thought of not having Lucca around was impossible. I stared at the stage. Mrs Conway was leaning down between the flares talking to Professor Ruben. Tonight the wig on her head put me in mind of a badger. She pointed at the sheet of music propped up on his piano and clapped her hands together rapidly to give him the time.

I’d planned the order so that Mrs C went on after the girls, thinking that the punters might be in a more amenable state of mind, but now I wasn’t so sure. I didn’t want to see this. And I didn’t want to think about what Lucca had just said. I turned to speak to him again, but he’d gone.

Professor Ruben started to play. The jaunty tune made the punters turn expectantly towards the stage. Mrs Conway billowed in the limelight flares. The spots of rouge on her cheeks looked like an infection. She brought a fluttering hand to her breast and stepped forward.

I fled down the side to the office, slamming the door behind me just as the catcalls started up – not appreciative ones.

Peggy stood up abrupt.

‘Shhhh! He’s been sleeping like a lamb this evening. Even through the sailor act and the racket afterwards.’

I walked over to the desk and peered down at the open trunk behind it. Robbie Lennox was curled up inside, contentedly sucking on the corner of a blanket.

‘Back in Paris he was likely used to being backstage when his father performed. Perhaps it’s like a lullaby? Is the arm still bad?’

Peggy smiled and knelt beside the trunk. She moved the knitted blanket aside. Robbie stirred, but didn’t wake.

‘It’s much better, see? The ice made the swelling go down and the bite is healing nicely. It’s still bruised, though.’

I didn’t want David Lennox to think I hadn’t looked after his child. That was important. Any time now he and Joey would come through the door to take him away and I wanted to show him . . .

Well, I wasn’t entirely sure what I wanted to show him, but I knew it was more than the fact I could look after his kid.

Joey reckoned on there being safety in a full house. The more happening around the hall, the less anyone would notice them, he said. The new act helped. It was the busiest The Gaudy had been since my last performance up in the cage.

It was getting on now, mind. If they didn’t turn up within the next hour the crowd would be gone. I adjusted the neck of my blue satin, pulling it just a bit lower at the front where the lace met the dip of the collar. When I tricked out earlier that evening I told myself I was dressing to put on a good show for the punters, but that wasn’t true.