Mermaids Singing (25 page)

‘Drink that,’ he said, handing her the glass together with a large, white cotton hankie. ‘Blow you nose, and then you can tell me what this is all about, although I think I can guess.’

When she could speak, Bella told him briefly what had happened. Rackham nodded, his expression serious. ‘You took a terrible risk, Bella.’

‘I know it, but I had to see Leonie on her birthday. I can’t let her forget me, Giles. You’re not a mother; you don’t know the torture I’ve been enduring.’

‘No, nor likely to become a mother, although I suppose I might, unknowingly, have fathered a few brats in my time,’ Rackham said, grinning.

Bella lifted her head and glared at him. ‘I wouldn’t expect anything from you other than a coarse joke. Have you no feelings at all?’

‘None that you would notice, my love. There are do-gooders in this world and no-gooders and I’m afraid I fall into the latter category.’

Draining the last of the brandy Bella set the glass down on the sofa table and jumped to her feet. ‘I might have known I wouldn’t get any sympathy from you, Giles. I’m sorry I bothered you.’

Rackham caught her by the shoulders, giving her a gentle shake. ‘At least I managed to stop you crying.’

‘Congratulations,’ Bella said, pushing him away. ‘You must be very proud of yourself.’ She started towards the door, but he caught her by the wrist.

‘Do you want to hear where I was this morning?’

‘Let me go.’

‘I was visiting your old home in Dover Street, paying my respects to the lovely Iris, and begging her forgiveness for my caddish treatment.’

‘You want Iris?’ Staring at him, Bella thought for a moment she must have misheard.

‘Unfortunately, no! A rich wife would be very handy but I’m not that desperate. I decided that the best way to punish your husband, and to get you close to your daughter, was by playing up to Iris and insinuating myself back into the household.’

‘Iris would have more pride than to take you back and Desmond would never let you into his house.’

‘That’s where you’re wrong, my love. Iris is a desperate woman, scared stiff of being on the shelf and ready to defy her dear papa in order to catch a husband. We meet in secret and she thinks it’s
Romeo and Juliet
all over again.’

‘My God, she must be desperate.’

Rackham grinned, exposing perfect white teeth. ‘I think you underestimate the Rackham charm.’

‘You are the most unprincipled, devious rogue that I have ever met,’ Bella cried, stamping her foot. ‘Make up to Iris and get yourself a rich wife, but don’t pretend that you’re doing it for me or my child. I can manage perfectly well without you.’

‘Could it be that you are just a tiny bit jealous?’

With a snort of disgust Bella ran to the door, wrenched it open, and left, slamming it behind her.

When Bella arrived at the theatre that evening, Bert was waiting for her in her dressing room. Still furious with Rackham, and unable to erase the sound of Leonie’s parting sobs from her memory, Bella wasn’t in the mood for being nice. When he came at her, with his intentions written clearly in his lustful expression, she shoved him away with a contemptuous curl of her lips.

‘Now then, girlie,’ Bert said, scowling. ‘That’s no way to treat a man who was about to offer you top billing next week.’

‘Top billing?’

‘And the raise in wages that goes along with it. But if you’re not interested …’

The thought of the extra money was almost too tempting to turn down, but the look in his eyes and the sour smell of his breath as he moved closer, pressing her against the dressing table, made her feel physically sick. Bella held him off with her hands pressed flat against his chest, her thoughts racing. She was painfully aware that refusal would mean losing her job, and acceptance would inevitably result in having to take him as a lover. She was going to be sick; she could taste the bile in her throat and her stomach heaved. Playing for time, she closed her eyes and pretended to swoon, leaning her cheek against his greasy lapels. ‘I – I’m sorry, I feel a little ffaint.’

Bert pushed her down on the stool. ‘Sit quiet for a moment. I’ll send the call boy for some water.’

‘I’ll be all right. Give me a few minutes, Bert.’

He backed towards the door, his face crumpled in anxious lines. ‘You’re on in half an hour. Don’t get yourself worked up, girlie. We’ll talk about it after the final curtain.’

The familiar smell of the greasepaint, as she applied her stage make-up, helped to transform Bella into her
alter ego
. The red dots at the inner corner of her eyes, the blue eye shadow and the layers of spit-black on her eyelashes went some way to disguising her reddened and swollen eyelids. When she slipped her costume over her head, lacing it in as best she could without the aid of a dresser, and pinned the large flowery hat on top of her head, she was ready to go out onto the stage. She would think about what to say to Bert after the show.

As she took her final bow, the thunderous applause, whistles, cheers and cries of ‘Encore!’ rang in Bella’s ears. She blew kisses to the gallery, curtseying and smiling until her face ached.

‘Wait for me in your dressing room,’ Bert said, as she left the stage. ‘I’ll be there in two ticks.’

Reality slicing through the euphoria, Bella ran to her dressing room. Tossing her hat and parasol into a corner and ripping off her gown, she struggled into her day clothes. She perched on the dressing table stool, pinning her hair back and slapping on cold cream. Her hands trembled as she jabbed at her face, streaking the greasepaint in her efforts to clean it off before Bert arrived. If she was quick she might be able to escape from the theatre and catch the last omnibus home. What she would do tomorrow was another matter.

A rap on the door made her drop the piece of flannel that she had used to wipe the last vestige of cream and make-up off her face. ‘C-come in.’

A short, stockily built man, smartly clad in evening dress, stood in the doorway. ‘Miss Lane?’

‘Yes, I’m Bella Lane.’

‘I’m Humphrey Chester.’ He produced a card from his breast pocket with a flourish, like a conjurer pulling a rabbit out of a hat. ‘Impresario and owner of the Vaudeville Theatre, Haymarket. I’ve seen your act, Miss Lane, and I’m impressed. I think we might be able to do business together.’

Bella’s mind went hazy with shock. She opened her mouth and closed it again but, before she could make sense of his words, Bert came thundering along the passage and tried to push past Humphrey Chester.

‘Excuse me, Sir,’ Humphrey said, fixing a pince-nez on his nose and glaring at Bert. ‘You are interrupting a private conversation.’

‘I’m the manager here, I’ll have you know.’

‘And is Miss Lane contracted to you in any way?’

Bert choked and went red in the face. ‘Not exactly, but we were about to arrange something more permanent, weren’t we, Bella?’

Suddenly the mist cleared and Bella spotted a way of escape. She jumped to her feet. ‘Actually, no! I have no contract with this theatre, Mr Chester. I’d be most interested to hear what you have to say.’

‘Splendid.’ Humphrey held out his arm. ‘Then allow me to take you somewhere for a little light supper and we’ll discuss terms.’

Bella slipped her hand through his arm and, as he led her past Bert, she gave him a half-smile. ‘Sorry, Bert, but I think this is goodbye.’

As they emerged from the theatre, Humphrey’s chauffeur leapt out of his seat to open the door of the shiny, black motor car.

Bella paused, her curiosity getting the better of her. ‘Tell me, Mr Chester, do you often visit East End music halls?’

‘No, my dear, only when I’m given the tip that someone of unusual talent is performing.’

‘And may I ask who gave you this information?’

‘My good friend Giles Rackham; I believe you know him?’

Setting off for home, Kitty was swept out through the iron gates by the mass exodus of workers from the blacking factory. Men, women and children, barely recognisable as human beings beneath a thick layer of black dust, stumbled out onto the road, exhausted after a twelve-hour shift. To Kitty, each day was hell on earth, but without references, and with so many hungry mouths to feed at home, there had been no alternative but to take the job, even though the pay was poor and the conditions appalling. Her dream of working in a fashionable dress shop, surrounded by silks, satins, sequins and lace, was growing ever more distant. In her worst moments, it seemed to Kitty that she was stuck in the bottom of a black pit, gazing up into the sunshine, but with no way of getting there.

Numbed by weariness, she endured being hustled along with the crowd, but when it began to thin out and the workers went their separate ways, Kitty’s nerves jangled with alarm bells, as they did every time she had to walk alone through the streets around Billingsgate Although she couldn’t believe that Sid had survived that fall into the Thames, there was still the possibility that by some cruel miracle he might have been saved. As far as she knew, there had been no body washed up on the foreshore and no one, apart from Mr Harman, had even seemed to notice or to care that Sid was missing.

Harman had turned up on the doorstep of number seven Tanner’s Passage the night after Sid’s disappearance. Kitty had run to answer the door with her knees shaking and her heart beating so fast that it made her dizzy with fright. She had been certain that it would be the police coming to arrest her – or, even worse, Sid, who had managed to clamber to safety and was now coming to get his revenge. Although she was terrified, she had to face the fear head on. On this occasion, she had opened the door just a crack to see Harman’s mongrel terrier face peering back at her. He had demanded to speak with Maggie, and Kitty had had no choice but to show him to the kitchen. At the sight of Harman, Maggie’s face had paled to ashen and she had sat down heavily on the nearest chair, her mouth working soundlessly.

Harman had taken his cap off and had stood there, spinning it round between his stubby fingers, a dull red flush creeping up the back of his neck. He had told them that Sid had not turned up for work that day, nor was he to be found in his usual drinking haunts. He had not been seen in Sugar Yard, or anywhere else for that matter, and Harman had said, clearing his throat, that the missus had insisted that Maggie ought to know. Maggie had thanked him for his trouble but had said that it was no longer any concern of hers. She had left that brutal bastard and hell could freeze over before she would ever want to see Sid Cable again. Harman had left hurriedly, and Maggie had washed her hands in the sink, attacking them with the scrubbing brush until her skin had turned bright red.

‘Good riddance to bad rubbish,’ she had said.

But was it good riddance? Kitty, hurrying homeward behind a group of chattering factory girls, wondered if she would ever be free from the fear that Sid would turn up. Dead or alive – either way it would be bad news, particularly if the police started asking questions. She hadn’t pushed him, it had been an accident, but then neither had she raised the alarm nor made any effort to save him. Would that amount to a charge of manslaughter or even murder? She didn’t know, but the very thought of it kept her awake at night, terrified of going to sleep, in case the nightmare should return. She could still see his evil face, smell the disgusting mix of stale sweat and beer, and relive the agonising rape of her innocent body. She hoped that he was dead; floating bloated and swollen like a dead cow that she had once seen carried out to sea on a flood tide. But she couldn’t shake off the gnawing anxiety, and neither could she confide in anyone.

How could she admit that she was in all probability a murderess and could be hanged for her crime? She couldn’t burden Maggie with the truth, even though it meant she was possibly a widow now and free of Sid forever. She couldn’t tell Betty, who was still struggling to come to terms with Polly’s death. Maria would probably tell her to stop whining and put it behind her, and Bella had enough troubles of her own. No, Kitty thought, wearily as she plodded along the quay wall towards home, she was on her own and would have to live with the guilt and fear. There was only one person whom she might possibly tell and Jem was not due home for at least another fortnight.

As she neared Tanner’s Passage, Kitty was aware of a crowd of people milling around a newsboy. Then someone threw his cap up into the air with a great whoop and everyone began cheering and slapping each other on the back. Forgetting her own problems for a moment, Kitty hurried closer but she couldn’t get near enough to see anything. Recognising one of the older women who worked in the blacking factory, Kitty tapped her on the shoulder. ‘What’s up?’

‘It’s Mafeking,’ the woman said with a gap-toothed grin. ‘Been relieved at last. My boy’s out there somewhere. Thank the Lord, we’re beating the bloody Boers.’

It was truly wonderful news for those with husbands and sons serving in the army, and Kitty couldn’t wait to tell Bella. Quickening her step, she hurried home, but as she let herself into the house, she stopped and stood still for a moment listening. Something was different; something had changed the female-dominated atmosphere of the house. There was the faint scent of tobacco and spice and the sound of excited chatter coming from the kitchen. She could hear Betty’s voice lightened by happiness followed by the deep baritone laugh of a man. Kitty hesitated, her heart throbbing, painful as a boil; it couldn’t be Sid or there would be no laughter. It might be Rackham, but then Bella had sworn he would never enter the house. Kitty curled her fingers around the brass doorknob and opened the kitchen door.

Jem sprang to his feet and came towards her, his arms outstretched. ‘Kitty!’

‘Jem!’ Kitty cried, unable to believe her eyes. ‘It really is you.’

Betty clapped her hands in delight. ‘Isn’t this a grand surprise, Kitty? He just turned up at the front door. Seeing him standing there, large as life, gave me such a turn I thought I was going to drop down dead on the spot.’

Jem grabbed hold of Kitty in a great bear hug and kissed her on the forehead and the tip of her nose, just as he had done when they parted on the quay wall. ‘I’ve waited a long time to do that.’