Lady Lightfingers (7 page)

‘I'm afraid I can't. Perhaps because the poet was a man, and perhaps because women are the beauty he perceives in his lustful spring and the honeyed cud of his summer.'

James gently coughed and Thomas looked a bit flustered.

‘Perhaps my daughter is too young to be expected to understand such poems yet,' Alice told him.

‘Of course she is, but she recited the lines she remembered quite beautifully, I thought.'

When Celia beamed with pride and said, ‘It's easier to perform to a bigger audience of strangers than to a small group,' they exchanged smiles.

‘That's because it's more intimate with friends present.' Thomas asked, ‘How are you getting on with
Robinson Crusoe
, Celia?'

‘I haven't had time to read any of it yet. I've been writing my stories . . . five in all, and I'm just about to finish the sixth. And I've been . . . working.'

‘Doing what?' James asked her innocently.

Celia saw no reason not to say out loud what they all knew. ‘Begging, amongst other things.'

‘Really . . . what are the other things?'

Into the sudden silence the door opened and Mrs Packer came in with a tray of tea things. She placed it on the sideboard out of Lottie's reach, then left, coming back again with a tiered cake stand holding delicious-looking sandwiches, steaming muffins soaked with melted butter, and slices of cakes. She didn't look at anyone, but followed her nose back out of the room.

‘Oh dear, I seem to have upset my housekeeper.' Thomas turned, his eyes laced with amusement. ‘Perhaps you wouldn't mind pouring the tea for us, Mrs Laws.'

Alice barely heard him. Her gaze was on Celia, who was looking at James with a frown on her face.

He merely smiled at her. ‘What other occupation did you say?'

Celia gave her a quick glance of reassurance and quietly informed him, ‘I didn't say, but I act in plays.'

His smile teased her. ‘Ah, you're an actress. Are you famous?'

‘I used to perform for the Wentworth Players.'

‘I imagine you did perform, though I can't say I've ever heard of the theatre company.'

‘I don't suppose they've heard of you, either. Are you going to prod at me all day, Mr Kent?'

He gave a bit of an abashed chuckle. ‘I'd heard you had various talents. Being rude seems to be one of them.'

Calmly Celia informed him, ‘It's you who is being rude. You are being inquisitive, and I was merely reacting to it.'

When James said, ‘I must humbly beg your pardon, Miss Laws,' Celia's face flamed and she looked vexed.

‘Enough James,' Thomas said mildly and turned to Celia. ‘I do wish you'd brought your stories for me to read. Perhaps you'd drop them off sometime so I can offer my advice in editing them.'

‘Perhaps I will, after I've got them exactly as I want them.'

‘Which defeats the whole object of editing,' James said with a faint smile.

Colour rose high in Celia's face as she realized her mistake and she took him back to their spat, obviously unwilling to abandon it. ‘I suppose it must do. What had you heard about my
various
talents, Mr Kent?'

‘Oh, nothing that should alarm you.'

When Celia's eyes narrowed Alice thought it was time to intervene. Patience wasn't one of her daughter's virtues. ‘Celia . . . see to your sister if you would. Take her on your lap and give her some cake to eat. Make sure she doesn't drop crumbs.' Alice crossed to the sideboard and began to pour out the tea, conscious of her ragged state and being totally out of place in this elegant drawing room. She handed a cup first to Thomas, and then to James. Inclining her head she said quietly into James Kent's ear, ‘My daughter is hardly more than a child and unused to drawing-room talk. Please bear that in mind, Mr Kent.'

When he nodded she poured tea for herself and Celia, then handed round the refreshments.

Lottie's eyes rounded with delight when she tasted the cake and she opened her mouth wider for the next bite.

‘No,' Celia said, withdrawing it as Lottie made a grab for the rest.

For a moment Alice thought Lottie might kick up a fuss, but James Kent leaned forward and suggested, ‘You hold her and I'll feed it to her.'

Alice placed her cup down. ‘Perhaps I'd better take over. She might drop bits and pieces on you.'

James spread a napkin over his knees. ‘That takes care of that problem. You enjoy your tea, Mrs Laws. We can put Lottie down when the edge is off her appetite.'

‘It sounds as though you know something about children. Do you have a family, Mr Kent?'

‘Lord no! I've never met a women brave enough to embark on the matrimonial journey with me. I do have a niece and a nephew though . . . my sister's children. The girl is about Lottie's age, the boy is still a baby.'

‘They've named the girl after me,' Mr Hambert said with pride.

Alice said cautiously, ‘Thomas is rather an
odd
name for a girl.'

James huffed with laughter. ‘It's Thomasina. The boy is called James, after his favourite uncle.'

The look Thomas gave him was crushing. ‘As you can see I'm obliged to put up with my nephew's eternal conceit.'

Celia giggled, her good temper restored when James whispered an apology to her. Alice was relieved that the tension had relaxed.

A little while later the cat came in to investigate the visitors. Lottie clapped her hands. James tied a piece of paper on the end of a length of string and showed her how to tease Frederick with it. Soon, Lottie was running around giggling, with Frederick after her, his initial dignity abandoned.

Alice closed her eyes and felt sadness inside her that such a moment of innocent happiness in a child's life was a rare event instead of everyday normality. James connected well with children; he'd make a good father if he ever married. The cats in the area where they lived were lean, ferocious hunters, and were as numerous as the rodents they lived off. They were not fat pets to be tamed, pampered and entertaining, but flea-bitten, diseased scavengers who'd been known to devour a newborn baby abandoned to the squalor of the gutter, and they sometimes ended up in the cooking pot themselves.

Was that what she'd become as well? A predator? What would become of her girls if the damp cough on her chest worsened. She'd turned a blind eye to Celia's activities so far, but she'd had very little choice, and had no resources to fall back on. As a mother, had she allowed the girl to sink too low for her to be redeemed?

No, she told herself. Celia had simply learned to survive within her environment. She was still young enough to adapt to another one . . . a better one.

Come spring, Celia would be sixteen. If she could earn enough money she would take her children to the country, Alice thought. To start with she could sell that emerald and diamond ring Celia had hidden away. It must have been stolen, but it couldn't be returned, and the girl was unable to wear it in case it was recognized. There were other trinkets hidden behind a loose half-brick where the girl laid her mattress – a silver locket and a brooch in the shape of a butterfly, a pretty thing shimmering with different-coloured stones.

‘Another muffin, Mrs Laws?'

Her hunger had already been satisfied by the cake, but she rarely had a good appetite these days. Celia took one, eating it in small quick bites, like a hungry dog scared it might lose its meal to another. When she placed a hand on her arm Celia remembered her manners and slowed down.

James asked, ‘Can you play the piano and sing, as well as recite, Celia?'

‘I can sing a little, but I don't feel like it at the moment. My mother can play the piano. She learned to when she was a child.'

‘That was years ago, Celia. I haven't been able to practise,' Alice protested.

‘You can practise today. I've never heard you play the piano, and I'd really like to. Are you sure you can?'

It was typical of Celia to direct the attention away from herself and on to another. Alice softened. ‘I'll just play some short pieces then. Some fugues perhaps, and a minuet or two' She gazed at the two men and shrugged. ‘I warn you. It's been fifteen years since I touched a keyboard so don't expect too much.'

‘We'll take that into account, Mrs Laws. Besides, I don't think the instrument has been tuned in that time, so we'll blame any mistakes that emerge on that.'

He had lied about the piano not being tuned, she realized, as, after a couple of false starts, she warmed up her fingers with the short fugues, enjoying most the slightly plaintive G minor.

The music was sweet and Lottie scrambled down from James' lap and came to where she sat. She clung to her skirt, gazed at her with wide eyes and jiggled about, trying to dance on her skinny legs. Then Alice became absorbed in what she was doing, and although the couple of wrong notes made her wince, she didn't let them bother her too much as she launched into a more lively prelude in C major.

There was silence when the last note died away, then the two men clapped. They were being kind, and she thought it somewhat incongruous that she was seated at the piano in the drawing room of this man, dressed in her rags and listening to polite applause for her poor performance. She wanted to die from the embarrassment of it. Another thought struck her. Would he have invited her to tea if he'd suspected what she sometimes had to do to earn money?

Her smile was almost a grimace when she rose, and she felt the need to escape. Poverty had brought her down in more than one way, and she'd taken her children with her. They deserved more. Her glance fell on dear, innocent Lottie and she thought: It could be worse. Lottie could have floated away on the tide before she'd had a chance to live.

There was a drift of rain misting up the window. Outside, the sky was grey, and although the drizzle wasn't heavy yet, it promised more. They'd get soaked through on the way home if they didn't hurry. Already Alice was wishing she hadn't come. Being in such an elegant home and eating off such pretty and delicate china had made her feel like an outsider.

‘We should go before this rain gets worse.'

Thomas nodded. ‘It looks miserable outside, as though it's set in for the evening. I can't allow you to walk home. You must accept my offer of your cab fare. I'll go to the corner and tell a cab driver to pick you up in half an hour.'

James stood. ‘I'll go, Uncle.'

He returned, his hair dampened into ringlets. ‘It's a raw afternoon. Can we not find something warm for them to wear home, Uncle?'

‘There were some blankets, but they were rather thin and Mrs Packer took them home with her.' His forehead wrinkled in a frown. ‘No wait! There are two dark-blue ones folded up on the bed in the guest room, waiting their turn to be replaced. If they're of any use, you're welcome to take them with you, Mrs Laws.'

With as much dignity as she could muster, since she couldn't turn down the offer of warmth for her children, Alice answered, ‘That's kind of you, Mr Hambert.'

James opened his mouth to say something, but shut it again.

‘James, go and hunt them out if you would. They've been washed and aired so are ready to use. They're the last, and the best of the old ones. And ask Mrs Packer to send in a container of some sort, and a basket to carry it in. We'll arrange the remaining food in it so Mrs Laws can take it home for the children. It would be a shame to waste it.'

They'd hardly finished the task when the cab arrived. The driver looked askance at his ragged fares, but when Thomas slid some money into his hand he tipped his cap. A further sum was placed in Alice's own hand. ‘Just in case I haven't given him enough.' He stood back with James, sheltered by a large black umbrella and giving them a brief, but warm smile. ‘You may proceed, driver.' The man flicked his whip over the horse's head and the animal trudged wearily off with its burden.

When they were round the corner the driver opened a little window. ‘Where to, Missus?'

Alice's fingers closed about the coins. She wasn't going to part with them, since it was enough to cover the rent. ‘The tenements.'

‘They're not safe at this time of evening, and it's getting dark. It will cost more than the gentleman paid me to risk going in there.'

‘And it would then cost you even more if someone was of a mind to steal it from you. There isn't any more money to spare, driver. We'll alight at St Paul's and walk the rest of the way. Celia, help roll the blankets up.'

The blankets were stuffed under their ragged capes, and they pulled their hoods up as they left the carriage and headed north. Alice carried the basket over her arm and Lottie was in her usual position, tucked on to Celia's hip.

They hurried through the alleyways and squares, aware of the speculative eyes following them. Celia kept up a good pace and Alice followed, trusting her daughter's sense of direction.

People littered the pavements, where they sat or squatted, dirty, sullen and unsmiling. Dogs sprang at them and the smell of urine, rotting vegetables and a nearby cellar slaughterhouse almost overwhelmed Alice. She began to feel a familiar tightness in her chest, and her breath came heavily as they turned into the lane that gave space to the cellar they called home.

It was nearly dark now. Here and there a candle sent out a sputtering gleam from the depth of a window. The sky was the colour of pewter, the rain a persistent, heavy and sooty drizzle. An occasional penetration of pale misty moonlight through the clouds silvered down through the rooftops and painted a falsely romantic gleam on the cobbles to please the creative eye of some impoverished artist.