Never Look Back (75 page)

‘Poor Henry,’ she said in sympathy. She had grown very fond of this man in the past couple of months. His enthusiasm for
their project and his belief in her had helped her through many bad patches.

His smile came back. I’ll doubtless have more fun without her,’ he said. ‘And when she sees how much money we’ll make she’ll be left with egg on her face.’

A roll of the drums signalled the show was ready to start. Two of the barmen rushed forward to move the people around the dressing-room door back, and to hang up a piece of rope on either side, making a clear passageway for the dancers. Immediately all faces turned expectantly towards the dressing-room door.

The music began, the changing-room door opened and out came six dancers, bright satin dresses held up to reveal frilly petticoats, black stockings and button boots. With wide, provocative smiles they ran up the steps on to the stage, formed a circle, and began the dance.

This was Zandra’s pet project. Although she had left Paris a great many years ago, she corresponded with old friends there, and through them she had heard of this dance the cancan, which had started there in the 1830s and symbolized all the naughtiness of Paris. Zandra had left no stone unturned to get it right, she’d had sheet music, theatre billboards, sketches of the costumes sent to her, and details of how the dance was choreographed. She had herself found a little troupe of dancing girls and schooled them here every afternoon. Until now, none of the partners, not even Matilda, had been allowed to see it.

The crowd roared their approval, clapped their hands and stamped their feet, almost drowning the music from the band. Matilda was as enthralled as any of her customers, leaning forward on to the balustrade and watching as the girls whirled around swirling their skirts, giving tantalizing glimpses of shapely legs as they did their high kicks. It was not a highly polished performance, they were not in step, often their movements were clumsy, but the girls were enjoying themselves, and as Zandra was probably the only person in the whole place who had ever been to Paris, it didn’t matter one bit.

Zandra’s words at their first meeting about the miners’ need for something feminine in their hard lives came back to her. They were looking up at these girls as if they were goddesses, their smiles warm and their eyes sparkling. For a short time they could forget that they had to go up into those mountains again,
that some of their number would die of disease and accidents, and that even those who survived might not go home with riches. Maybe a glimpse of soft, white flesh above stocking tops would remind them of their wives at home, and even hasten their efforts to make their fortune and go back. At least this place wasn’t robbing the men, neither were the girls for sale. Maybe it wasn’t exactly proper, not in the black and white way Lily saw things, but it wasn’t, and it never would, become an evil place, that much Matilda promised herself.

After the cancan girls came jugglers, then a contortionist who was billed as ‘The Man With No Bones’. Grown men squealed with disbelief as he went through a series of amazing feats, placing his feet behind his head and bending over backwards until his hands touched the floor, then walking crab-like across the stage.

After the show, the band struck up again. This was the point when Matilda had been afraid people would leave for the saloons where the drinks were cheaper. But they didn’t go. Maybe they wanted to see the second show later, and were afraid they wouldn’t get in again, but they stayed, bought more drinks, and people began to dance.

It was three in the morning when the doors were finally shut, the night’s takings locked in the safe, and the oil lamps extinguished. The varnished wood floor was awash with beer, spittoons overflowing, and the smell of cigars and human sweat overpowering. But it had been the most glorious evening, and Matilda knew in her heart that from now on it would be packed every night.

Zandra was still sitting up at a table on the balcony, she was staying here tonight because it was so late. As Matilda turned from locking and bolting the door, the old lady looked down at her and smiled.

‘You, my dear, have made history tonight,’ she said.

‘Why’s that?’ Matilda asked, hobbling up the stairs because her new boots were pinching.

‘The first woman to open a place of entertainment. A young and pretty woman at that. You sent those men back to their tents dancing. I bet you’ll be the name on everyone’s lips tomorrow and for weeks to come.’

‘I just hope we can keep on getting good performers,’ Matilda
said wearily. ‘Those poor dancing girls must have been exhausted by the time they did the last show.’

‘They’ll soon be queuing up at your door to appear here,’ Zandra laughed. ‘Why, in a few months they’ll have heard of you in cities like New York and New Orleans. Musicians, dancers, singers and tumblers will be taking the next boat, wagon train or mule to get here. Soon you’ll have to charge admission, the acts will be so good.’

‘I hope so,’ Matilda said. ‘But right now all I care about is my bed. Are you coming?’

She took the old lady’s arm and helped her up, Zandra had drunk a great many brandies tonight, and even if her brain was still functioning, Matilda wasn’t sure her legs would be.

‘Can you recognize that smell?’ Zandra said, leaning on the younger woman.

‘Yes, beer, cigars and sweat,’ Matilda laughed.

‘No, it’s not just that, my dear,’ she said. ‘It’s the smell of success. Breathe it in good and hard now. And don’t ever forget what it smells like.’

Chapter Nineteen

San Francisco 1852

From the parlour window of her apartment Matilda watched a steady stream of people coming up the hill for an evening’s entertainment at London Lil’s.

‘Do you ever get scared that your luck can’t hold out much longer?’ she asked Zandra who was sitting in an armchair, her feet up on a stool.

‘At my age it hardly matter,’ the older woman chuckled. ‘But you mustn’t allow such thoughts to creep into your mind, Matty. You’ve made a huge success of this place, you have money behind you now. Even if the very worst happened and the building burned down tonight, you could start some other venture.’

London Lil’s had been open for two years now, and it was everything they’d hoped for, and more. Charles Dubrette had gone back to his law practice in New Orleans, Simeon Greenstater was involved in building work in Sacramento, even Henry Slocum’s visits to London Lil’s were only social calls, but all the shareholders were delighted with the continuing excellent returns on their investment.

Most nights it was packed to capacity, many of the staff they’d opened with were still with them, and as Zandra had predicted, the fame of the place had spread so far that entertainers found their way to the door. They had expected that during the spring and summer when the miners returned
en masse
to the mountains, it would grow much quieter, but this hadn’t happened, for every new day brought more gold seekers in on ships, wagon trains and stage-coaches.

In just these two years the town had quadrupled in size, and tents had been replaced by real buildings. The waterfront area was quite different now. What had once been beach was now
filled in with rock and rubble from Telegraph Hill, with buildings erected on the site, and new streets too. Wharves had been built so that goods could be unloaded directly from the ships, instead of the old system of using lighter-boats to ferry them in.

Some of the streets were now planked, and sidewalks built too, and much-needed organization of the town had taken place. The lawyers and bankers had Montgomery Street, clothing and dry goods were in Sacramento Street, and slaughter yards were banned from the centre of town. The French Adelphi Theatre had opened in 1850, along with a Chinese theatre too. The Germans and Jews had started schools recently and there was a new Roman Catholic Church, St Francis.

Most of these refinements had come about as respectable wives and sweethearts arrived in town to join their men. There was an ice-cream parlour now, a milliner’s and a gown shop, one could see a play by Shakespeare, or go to a concert.

London Lil’s was no longer in splendid isolation up on the hill. As Matilda had anticipated, gradually all the land in front of it had been bought, and wealthier people had built houses here away from the hubbub and stink of the harbour. Most people Matilda had met when she first came here had moved away from the centre of the town now. The Slocums had sold their house in Montgomery Street to a lawyer, and moved to a far grander place out by the old Mission.

There was finally some attempt to curb the worst excesses of the town. Gambling houses were banned from opening on Sundays, and prostitutes no longer enjoyed the same deference to their profession as they received in the early years. But the lack of law and order was still a serious problem. Almost every night someone was murdered, shootings and stabbings were so common that people rarely remarked on them. Disease was rife too, cholera, smallpox and yellow fever all took their terrible toll especially in the hideously squalid part they called Sydney Town where the Australians, all rumoured to be ex-convicts, lived along with the rest of the city’s disreputable folk.

The mention of fire made Matilda turn away from the window in alarm. ‘Don’t say that, Zandra,’ she said. Fire was the biggest danger in the town. With buildings of wood and canvas, a knocked-over candle, oil lamp, or just a carelessly thrown cigar
butt could start a fire that would turn into an inferno within minutes. Hardly a week passed without something burning down, often whole streets.

Zandra’s old parlour, the two shops beneath and the buildings all around it had gone this way just a few weeks ago. Fortunately Zandra had sold her property a year before and moved into Matilda’s apartment temporarily because her legs had became badly swollen again, so she hadn’t suffered financially, but fifteen people had perished in that fire, two of them girls who once worked for her.

‘You’ve taken every precaution against it,’ Zandra said soothingly. She was always impressed by the vigilant way Matilda checked around the building every night before retiring, and insisted that water and sand buckets were placed around the saloon. ‘Besides, this place is well built, and it’s not too close to anyone else. So what else can go wrong?’

Matilda shrugged. ‘Well, you know how my life has been so far, I’ve had more ups and downs than the well bucket.’

‘Maybe you’ve had your share already then,’ Zandra chuckled. ‘Your children are fine, you are fast becoming a wealthy woman, you are young, beautiful and smart, think on that instead of anticipating trouble.’

Matilda smiled. Zandra had become so very dear to her since she’d moved in. It was intended to be only a short stay, just until she could get a little place built nearby, but they soon found it to be a mutually comfortable, pleasant arrangement which had become permanent. Zandra couldn’t manage stairs very well, so mostly she stayed in the apartment and played mother to Matilda, cooking meals, sewing and reading. Dolores, her maid, had come too, taking one of the rooms at the back of the building downstairs, and she did everything from the cleaning to dressing their hair. This left Matilda free to concentrate solely on her work, but she had Zandra for company when she wanted it.

‘This young, beautiful and smart woman ought to go downstairs now,’ she smiled, hearing the band striking up. ‘Do you need anything before I go?’

‘I’m perfectly capable of getting out of this chair,’ Zandra reproved her. ‘Just go down and have a good evening.’

Matilda’s eyes swept around the parlour before she left the room. As always it gave her a rush of pleasure: cream lace
curtains at the windows, maroon velvet couches, a thick carpet on the floor and an exquisite rosewood French bureau which Zandra had given her – never in her wildest dreams had she imagined having such an elegant home.

When she’d gone back to Cissie’s house last October she had been rather disturbed to find that the bare wooden floors and simple furniture which had always seemed so homely before now looked primitive after the sophistication she had become accustomed to through Zandra’s influence. She wanted to suggest that Cissie varnished the floor, or that some rugs would make it look less austere, but she didn’t dare, for fiery Cissie would no doubt tell her she was getting above herself.

As Matilda walked along the gallery, as always she stopped to look down at the crowd below, and as usual many of the men smiled up at her. This was another source of pleasure to her, for she knew that even if she wasn’t accepted by the likes of Alicia Slocum and the other society women, she was very much admired by their men, and by her customers. Back home her emerald-green, off-the-shoulder silk dress would raise disapproving eyebrows. Even Cissie would be shocked at the amount of exposed flesh. But by becoming ‘London Lil’ she had stopped attempting to sound, and behave like an American ‘lady’. When she stopped to think about it, she had adopted a persona which was an amalgamation of London street girl, hard-bitten business woman and adventuring pioneer, with more than a touch of the glamour and elegance she’d picked up from Zandra.

Beneath her silk petticoats she had a little pistol tucked into her red garter. It might be pretty with its mother-of-pearl stock, but on many an occasion when things had turned rough in here she’d whipped it out, fully prepared to use it. Indeed, just so her customers knew it wasn’t an empty threat and that she could shoot straight, she had once taken part in a shooting contest and won.

In the same way she hid her hands beneath lace gloves, she had learned, too, to hide her feelings. She knew her staff and customers saw her as tough and impervious, a woman who never resorted to feminine tears, but she often wondered what they would make of her if they saw her late at night alone in her room.

She did cry often. For her children she missed so badly. For those blissful short months after she’d arrived at Cissie and John’s, when her days were spent loving and playing with them without any real anxiety for the future. She cried for Giles too, and the happiness which could have been theirs if he hadn’t been shot. Still, after all this time, her heart and her body ached for him. She wondered if that would ever leave her.