The Gilded Lily (39 page)

‘You wouldn’t go back to Madame Lefevre’s, fool – they know you there. No, you’d have to go someplace else – another big city. Bristol perhaps, or Plymouth,
get a job in service. We could both go. Make up some tale.’

‘In service? With a painted face? How many places do you know of where they want painted servants?’ Sadie stuffed the mound of fabric back into the box. ‘No, Ella. I’m
sick of doing your bidding. It seems wherever you go, trouble follows. I don’t want to make up a tale and be forever thinking I’ll be caught short.’

‘Just try it on. There’s no harm in trying it, is there?’

‘I’ll not wear it, I’ve told you – I’d rather die.’

‘Then you probably will. Those notices are still up, and I can’t take care of you for ever.’

‘Then stop. What do I care? You’re not like my sister any more. I don’t want a sister like you ’cos the crows on the windowsill pay me more mind than you do, with your
fancy airs and graces. Look at you. You’re not respectable no more. I don’t want to look like you, like some trumped-up whore.’

Ella opened her mouth to speak, but Sadie shouted her down. ‘I’m ashamed you’re my sister. What would our ma have thought if she could see you now, painted up like a
jilt?’

Ella stood stock-still. ‘Leave her out of it.’ Then she snatched up the empty basket and went out, shutting the door with a slam. Sadie heard the key turn. ‘Stay there forever
and rot, then,’ hissed a voice from outside. On the table the box lay open, where Ella had left it.

‘Don’t you dare speak to me like that,’ Sadie said to the shut door, ‘your face might crack,’ but even as she said it the sound of Ella’s feet died away.

It took nearly the whole day for Ella’s anger to subside. She served the customers with a scowl and was glad when the last one left. It was only the thought of Jay that
cheered her. That night she dressed with more than usual care for the evening shift as he usually called in at the end of the evening to harry out the last customers and check the takings. She had
bought clay hair curlers to heat on the fire, and now her yellow hair was dressed fashionably in stiff side curls strengthened with sugar water, her topknot pinned with lace and ribbon. Her
earlobes had hardly stopped bleeding, but she was determined to wear her new purchase straight away, and the new glass-stone earrings twinkled in the light. The stays of her bodice were laced extra
tight, thanks to Meg.

During the evening opening hours she was complimented many times, and two different women asked for the address of her dressmaker. She did not tell them, for she did not want to see copies of
her dress all over town, nor, if truth be told, did she want them to know it was altered in a tiny backstreet cottage, and not at a fashionable tailor’s. She made light of it, said she had
several and could not remember, and watched the expressions of envy flicker in their eyes.

Whilst she was here at the Gilded Lily she could forget all about the flight from Westmorland, the notices, the freezing room at Blackraven Alley, the fratch with Sadie. She was another person
here. Every now and then, though, a shiver ran down her spine, as if her body was ahead of her thoughts and was afraid. At such moments she could do nothing but take a deep breath, smooth down her
new gown and fix a smile on her face, being careful not to wrinkle her forehead or cheeks lest her ceruse should crack.

‘I hear old Tindall’s been bothering you,’ said Jay, when the door had shut that day for the final time. They were alone in the shop now, except for Meg who
was silently sweeping the floor.

‘That’s right. He was asking where I used to work and that. I told him same as I told you. Why?’ she said, warily.

His eyes flicked to her new earrings, but then back to her face. ‘He told my father you’re bad for business. I don’t see that you can be, not wearing that dress anyway. It
looks very well on you. Though I think you may need a little more rouge – the colour is a little . . . icy.’

‘Oh.’ She was crestfallen. ‘Does it not suit me?’

‘I’m not saying it doesn’t become you. It’s just that the shade is somewhat cold, and in this weather it has the effect of making you appear older and harder.’

‘I thought you liked blue. You said it would suit me – to match my eyes.’

His mouth turned down at the corners. ‘I do like blue. But there are blues, and blues. This blue is a little harsh.’

‘I see.’ Deflated, she sat down on one of the salon chairs. Blasted Tindall. That cozener had set him against her.

‘But I suppose it is quite a fetching style,’ he said grudgingly, ‘and it does show off the whiteness of your skin.’

Ella pouted as she mulled over his words, knowing she had spent money she had not yet earned on a dress he did not even find becoming. She watched him, with the familiar ache just below her
ribcage.

‘I take it you have a warm cloak? There’s talk of a frost fair. There are already stalls on the river upstream, and Mrs Horsefeather has gone to see if she might arrange a booth for
the Gilded Lily. All the ladies will be out to parade in style. You will serve there in the afternoons, and perhaps in the evenings if we can supply enough light.’

‘Thank you, Mr Whitgift.’ Ella hoped the linsey riding cloak would be warm enough for a whole afternoon outdoors in the bitter wind. He continued to pace a while, seeming distracted.
He did not dismiss her, so she sat tight.

‘We’ve had a turn of luck,’ he said. ‘A gentleman friend of mine, Wycliffe, has expressed a desire to meet you. He heard of you through Lord Allsop, one of my clients,
and Sir Sedley, whose cousin you served here. Wycliffe is a member of the Wits club. The Duke of Buckingham is a member, and Buckhurst and a few other thespians. I would like you to impress some of
these other gentlemen; they have connections at court. Charles Sedley is a personal friend of the king, so it is a great honour for you to meet his acquaintance Wycliffe.’

Ella could not believe her ears. Her mood changed in an instant, but she tried not to let her delight show. She could not take in all the names, so she simply said, ‘Beg pardon, sir, but
what do they want to meet me for?’

‘Wycliffe has a fancy to get involved with the new theatre on Vere Street. Women on the stage are the latest fad. The new playhouse is bursting at the seams with people wanting to see a
woman tread the boards. I thought a short spell in a play might bring us in even more business, so I have persuaded him and his actor friends to take a look at you.’

‘You mean me? In a play?’

‘If you suit. It will be up to Sedley and his friends to decide if they have a role that befits you.’

He sat down opposite her. ‘I’ll take you over to Sedley’s tomorrow night. I expect you to be nice to him and show him every favour. He has very wealthy and influential friends.
I want him to recommend me to his fashionable set, tell them they can send their rich wives and daughters to the Lily.’

She was cock-a-hoop.

‘And wear the red.’ He reached over and touched her arm. ‘It’ll make you stand out, give you the dramatic look for the stage.’

‘I will.’ She smiled at him, looking up through her eyelashes, a seductive smile of encouragement. His nearness to her was almost a torture, so much did she want him.

He patted her arm and stood again. Her heart contracted with disappointment.

‘The new looking glasses are on their way,’ he said. ‘The shipment from Venice has docked, but there’s trouble getting carriers. Everyone wants them now the river’s
frozen. I’ve paid extra to guarantee delivery tomorrow. The glasses are the best money could buy. I commissioned an Italian woodcarver – such a feeling for wood, he has – to
fashion the frames. You will be able to take more care over your appearance. After all, you are rapidly becoming the face of London.’

Ella basked. She was somebody now – the face of London.

Jay went upstairs to his eyrie. The cabinets were gradually taking over the floor space. He liked things to be tidy, so they were all labelled and piled up in size order, but
he had to squeeze sideways down a narrow gap to get to his desk. Visitors used to come up here to do business with him, but not any longer; he did not want anyone else to view his collections. And
besides, there was simply no room.

Partly this expansion gave him great pleasure, for his collections were visibly growing under his feet, but partly it caused him consternation, for he knew he would need more space soon. The
house in Whitehall could not come quickly enough. He unwrapped the latest parcel from Allsop; it had been sitting on his desk a few days. It was the small pair of silver goblets and the
sugar-shaker he had asked for. Foxy had brought them over. Foxy had been griping about the weather again, and he was right – it was damned difficult to keep to his appointments and
obligations in these icy conditions.

One of Allsop’s friends, the pox-ridden Wolfenden, had demanded another whore, and Foxy said it had been hard to find someone young enough, the weather was keeping the doxies indoors. In
the end, though, Foxy had found one who’d pass for a maid, and she’d been no trouble, Lutch had despatched her as usual.

He picked up one of the goblets and stroked its stem. They were charming, he thought, but given the lack of space, perhaps he had others in storage that were prettier and he should sell these
on. He took down the top three crates from a pile near the door, cursing as he tried to find somewhere else to put them. Finally he had the crate labelled ‘drinking vessels’ on his
desk.

He unpacked the items from the straw one by one, and stood them side by side. Astonished, when he had done standing them, he saw that there were nearly forty. And he knew there was another box
full beneath that one. He looked at them with a critical eye and picked the likely goblets up one at a time, feeling their cool metallic weight in his hand. By the time he had examined half of
them, and found a good reason to keep every single one, he knew that he simply could not let any of them go.

He sighed. Bags of coinage were not the same as having the actual objects there before him, to see the workmanship, the texture, the sheer weight of it all. He hoped his father would not last
too much longer. He needed that house in Whitehall. Just think how many rooms he could fill then! He would not need to stint, he could keep thousands of goblets. He would have his baronetcy and the
world’s finest collection of silver.

The river was now the widest street in the city. For the past week Ella had not had time to go down to the riverside, though she had been told by Polly that the freeze extended
as far down as the abbey on Thorney Island. The sight that met her eyes that afternoon was extraordinary. The water had set solid into a grey glacial surface, in parts smooth, in parts jagged where
the tide had upturned thick plates of ice. Downstream from the bridge a huge sailing ship was embedded in the surface, its mast listing at an angle, its rigging stiff with icicles. The ice had
expanded to crush it, and the hull was staved in where it joined the water. By the banks, white boulders of ice burst from the smooth surface and a set of wooden steps had been set there, guarded
by a dour waterman determined to eke a living somehow from the unrecognizable water.

‘Where do you think the Lily’s booth is?’ asked Polly.

‘Over there I expect.’ Ella pointed to a snaking row of covered stalls, colourfully arrayed with flags and signs and bunting. Ella was reluctant to set foot on the ice. She knew that
the water was still underneath, making its slow surly journey to the sea. But she did not want Polly to see her fear, so she pretended nonchalance, despite her fluttering stomach.

After paying their pennies to the waterman, she and Polly picked their way down the makeshift wooden steps and onto the river. Ella hung tight to the stair rail as she stepped out onto the
frozen surface. Her throat was tight, she felt her breath come shallow and fast. And it felt like blasphemy, that any highway felon might walk on the water just like Jesus had.

‘By, this feels strange,’ Ella said shakily, watching her feet as she walked.

‘Look,’ said Polly. There were several horses pulling boats that had been fitted out with wheels and were taking well-to-do families for rides up and down the river. One of them held
a corpulent gentleman and his equally fat wife and children.

‘Suppose if it will hold them up, it must be all right then,’ Ella said and Polly giggled.

Gaining confidence they hurried down the main thoroughfare, nicknamed Freezeland Street, surprised to find that it was not as slippery as they might expect, as somebody had thoughtfully strewn a
layer of straw underfoot. About halfway down the row they spotted the hastily painted sign for the Gilded Lily, a sad-looking thing in comparison with the proper one at Whitgift’s, thought
Ella. But there was Mrs Horsefeather, wrapped up in a foxfur hat and cape, unloading a crate of bottles from a sled. A number of watermen were vying with each other for the work as they dragged
more goods for the Lily across.

‘Thank goodness. I am quite worn out with all this bending,’ Mrs Horsefeather said. ‘You girls can do it now. If you need my assistance I will be at the rum and gingerbread
booth. I need something to warm my old joints.’

‘Come on then,’ said Polly when she had gone.

Ella began to relax. Everyone else was treating the hardened river with calm acceptance, so she began to stack the trestle with the goods and bring out the slate for chalking. Her feet tingled
from the cold. From a distance the Frost Fair had looked charming, with its tented row of stalls and bright bunting, but now the reality of having to stand out in the cold for several hours bit
home.

‘Wish I had her furs,’ Ella said, pointing at a lady in a rabbit-skin muffler.

‘Or a pair of sheepskin gloves,’ Polly said. ‘When Miss Woodward came in last week she had on such a pretty pair. But best keep moving, that’ll keep the cold
away.’

They set to work unloading the crates. Business was brisk and the crowd grew thicker by the hour. All of London seemed to be here. On the ice, lords mingled with labourers; Freezeland Street
belonged to everyone. Nothing could go in or out of London, so many treated it as a holiday. Stiltwalkers and jugglers roamed up and down stopping to create a crowd, who were enjoying a festive
atmosphere fuelled by much medicinal use of hot ale or spirits.