The Newgate Jig (34 page)

My corner had
been swept and dusted and in place of my few things stood a case of stuffed
owls, and a very large wooden cabinet, black and inlaid with mother-of-pearl
and painted with strange signs and symbols - the Magical Cabinet of Dr Dee.
Pinned to the wall where my picture of the Queen had been was one of Mr
Abrahams' neatly written signs which read 'Temporary Exhibition'. And that
reminded me -1 could not remember putting my picture of Her Majesty in the tea
chest with the other things from the stand, so I ducked behind the case of owls
to see if it had been dropped or left. There it was, wedged between the Magical
Cabinet and the wall. It was a tight squeeze, but I was determined to have it
and was crawling behind the owls - a large glass-fronted case showing the cream
of the taxidermist's art - when I heard a footfall on the creaking step and the
door to the salon opened and someone came in. Thinking it was probably Trim or
Will come to find me - they were planning a late supper at the Cheese - I
smiled to myself, planning how I might jump out and surprise them!

But I wanted
first to get the picture and, though I strained and stretched, it was just out
of my reach. And I could see something else there as well: one of Nero's china
eggs, gathering dust and spiders. I would have them both. I put my shoulder to
it, and tried to move the cabinet, but it was solid and very heavy, though it
would shift with another pair of hands. I was about to summon my friends when I
stopped; I realized that the footsteps slowly pacing around the salon were
those of someone looking at the exhibits and pausing in front of the cabinets.
A customer, in fact, unfamiliar with the Aquarium. Not one of us. I peered
around the cabinet. Whoever it was, kept to the other side of the room, in the
shadow, though I could see his feet under the table with its little display of
ceremonial swords and daggers and the new centre-piece of the Eternal Flame.
Black leather boots, a cane with a silver tip, a long, black Benjamin,
beautifully tailored and wet around the bottom, but not sodden, where it had
dragged in the snow. Not the Benjamin of someone who had walked the streets,
even a short distance. More the Benjamin of someone who had arrived in a
carriage and just stepped out.

But if it was a
visitor, I reasoned, they must have come in through the back door, for I had
thrown the bolt behind me. I held my breath. There was danger in the air and I
was unable to escape unheard or unseen.

Then there were
more footsteps, light and quick - and unmistakable. Under the table appeared a
pair of miniature pink shoes tied with pink ribbons.

T can't stay
here long,' said the Princess in a strange dry voice. 'My friends will miss
me.'

'I'm hoping our
business won't take long,' said the other. A deep voice, refined. Not at all
familiar.

'It's very
simple,' she said. 'I want my money. The Nasty Man said - well, that I should
apply to you.'

There was a
silence. The toe of the black boot tapped on the floor.

'George Kevill
must have left a tidy amount and I want my share.'

Again there was
silence, until the Princess sighed with irritation.

'There must be.
Ever since we started the business. I bought the machines and George made the
photographs.'

'Of
course. An investment, then. A partnership.'

'Yes,'
said the Princess.

Where was her
foreign way of speaking? Her Italian words?

'And
you trusted Kevill completely, no doubt?'

'George Kevill
was a good man. We had an agreement. We would share.'

'Of course you
would. Georgie makes pictures of sweet kiddies, playing find the mouse and—'

'No,' she said,
quickly. 'He made cabinet photographs for gentlemen and portraits in the
studio. He worked the fairs with his travelling machine and in his studio in
the off-season. I paid the rent.'

Black
boots laughed.

'Such a surprise,
this, Princess. I had no idea. Cabinet photographs, you say. For respectable
gentlemen. A genteel sitting, I expect, among the ferns?'

'Yes, of course.
They weren't cheap. Good quality and artistic, we agreed that from the
beginning. Sometimes they came here to the Aquarium to collect them.'

'Yes, I know.
And these respectable gentlemen. They paid Georgie did they?'

'Yes, you know
that was the agreement. The coin first. George said that you can't trust
anyone. Not even gentlemen.'

'Oh,
indeed. How true, Princess.'

I
think Black boots was laughing.

'Sometimes I saw
the gentlemen myself. When Pikemartin or Gifford were busy. They were very kind
and attentive. They often gave me a small consideration - for my time, for the
audience.'

Black boots
turned and walked about the salon. There was dangerous laughter again in his
voice.

'You saw the
gentlemen? And the pictures? George's artistic work?'

'No. They were
in packets, labelled, sealed. You know that George brought them here to save
the gentlemen having to go all that distance to the studio to collect them.'

'Of course, of
course. You weren't curious? Didn't have a peek?'

'No.
Why should I? Cabinet photographs. And some trade.'

'Trade,
of course,' Black boots said.

'No matter. I
simply want my share of the money now that George has - gone - and the Nasty
Man - Gifford says he has gone too. Left. The rest of the coin can go to
Barney. He is his father's son, but I am his business partner.'

'Certainly.
But I have an interest too.'

'Oh?
Well, you can keep the machinery. Or sell it.'

'Gone
in the fire, Princess. Hadn't you heard?'

I was crouched
upon the floor, with my legs screaming for relief, and unable to move or make a
noise. But I had to listen.

'There
is no fortune.'

'I think you're
wrong. I'm not a fool. George was making a good profit. He told me so.'

'But he didn't
tell you that he spent the money as fast as he made it?'

'No.
He was saving it.'

'He made a lot
of coin, Princess. He was trapping your respectable and wealthy clients, and he
was cheeking you. And me.'

'You're wrong.'
She whispered so quietly I could hardly hear her.

'We've both been
deceived, my dear. You must be terribly shocked.'

'I
don't believe you. I think - I think you want it all for yourself.'

'Only what I was
due, and that, I'm afraid, took most of the coin we could find. There is no
fortune, Princess. Naughty Georgie punted excessively at the races and got
skinned at the tables. He enjoyed ratting and dog fights. He lost everything
and borrowed more. From me.'

I
saw her little pink shoes. The ribbons had come undone.

'Then
he tried to skin me.'

'George and I,'
she said, and her thin voice wavered,'- we had an agreement. He knew I wanted
to see my home again. In Italy.'

'Oh dear!' said Black
boots. 'How disappointed you must be.'

'You see, I am
dying,' she said, weakly. 'In this cold, in this city. It kills me. I need the
sunshine and warmth. George promised me we would have enough money for me to go
home. I think you have cheated me!' the Princess cried, suddenly. '
You
tell lies!' She stamped her foot. 'You have stolen my money!'

He advanced upon
her - he took two strides to put himself in front of her. The tips of his black
boots touched her tiny pink shoes. Then he squatted down, and the skirts of his
Benjamin spread about him.

'Listen to me
and hear the truth. George Kevill was a cheat. He cheated you. He took your
money and pretended to keep it. And you pretend, too. Italy is no more your
home than you are a princess. You are Aily O'Dwyer. Your father was Tommy
O'Dwyer from the Green Isle. Your mother was an ignorant gypsy woman from
nowhere.'

'Not
true,' breathed the Princess.

'Your father
sold you to a showman in Dublin when you were a baby. He wanted rid of you. He
might have left you on the steps of the church. Or thrown you into a bog. But
he found he could make a few pennies, so he sold you to a showman, and that
showman sold you to another when he could get a good price. You were sold again
and again. A German showman bought you, and an Italian. You had a good ear,
Princess. You acquired snatches of their language.'

'Not true, not
true,' said the Princess, faintly. 'My father loved me.'

'You were sold
to George Kevill and because he didn't ill- treat you, you had some regard for
him. He was kind, for a showman, and brought you to London and found you a shop
at the Aquarium. How much did your sainted Abrahams pay for you? Enough to keep
Kevill's punting tastes satisfied for a week? But he fell on hard times again
and he came to you and you helped him. He told you that a good living could be
made out of photographs.'

The
Eternal Flame spluttered.

'You're
wrong,' she said.

I
think she was crying.

'Enough!' said
Black boots, standing again. 'Old ground, my dear. Now, if our business is
concluded, I have another enterprise in hand.'

'Ha,'
said the Princess bitterly, 'more pictures.'

'Not at all. I
am contemplating a philanthropic venture to assist young women who are unlucky
to find themselves in pup. I have taken a house on Holywell-street for the duration.
Your Mrs Gifford has offered her services as a lady's companion. Has even
discovered a likely subject for my - charity.'

I
shifted so that I could get a better view and glimpsed his face.

I stared as hard
as I could, so the image of his face was impressed on my eyes like a
photograph.

This was the man
I had seen in the pictures, the ones in Pilgrim's bower. Five photographs
wrapped up in George Kevill's letter.

Black boots was
preparing to leave. I couldn't see, but I think he was pulling on his gloves
and picking up his stick. He murmured, 'Princess,' in farewell and walked
easily down the salon. He only turned when she cried out, and I stood up,
rocking the cabinet of owls, to see her tiny figure, her face crumpled in rage,
her teeth bared, and a thin knife in her hand, flying at him like a wild cat.
She held the knife above her head and brought it down smartly into his leg,
just above the knee. He roared in pain and with one swipe of his hand, knocked
her to the ground. He was still clutching his leg and staggering when I sent
the cabinet crashing to the floor and leaped upon the table and grabbed the
largest sword.

It should have
worked. In Trim's dramas, on the Pavilion stage, the dumb man, weak and
oppressed, would have righted wrongs in fire and blood. The sword would have
flown to my hand and, as if it were my nature, I would know how to use it. But
I could not move it, for each sword and dagger was secured by chain and bolt to
the table, and my effort succeeded only in stirring the dust underneath them
and rattling the Eternal Flame in its iron pot!

When he had
recovered from his surprise and, still clutching his leg on which a pool of
scarlet blood was spreading, Black boots laughed.

'Who
is this, Princess? Dr Dee? Has he been holed up in that dark cupboard for three
hundred years?! No wonder he's speechless!'

He struck the
back of my legs with his stick and I slipped off the table and landed heavily
upon the floor. When I looked up, he was standing over me. I backed away, looking
about for something with which to defend myself. Will's hero, Redland
Strongarm, would not have backed away. He would have drawn his sword and fought
until he ran the villain through! Then he would cry 'Justice!' or 'Victory!'
and clasp Susan Goodchild to his breast and the audience would cheer!

But it is a
put-together world, as Will said, and not ever what it seems to be. There are
no heroes on the stage, only ones made of costume and burnt-cork and fine
words. They are what we would like them to be. I was no Redland Strongarm.
Black boots was taller and stronger, and I was no match for him. I cast about
once again and vainly wrenched at a display of decorative swords. One came
loose just as he lunged at me. I staggered out of his reach and he, clumsily,
caught with his arm the lamp containing the Eternal Flame. It toppled and fell
to the floor with a great crash, spilling oil everywhere. The flame flickered
and danced in the draught and then sprang back to life and, as though it
suddenly had purpose, spread across the sea of oil in a wave of blue and gold.
Black boots retreated, limped to the door and stood on the threshold to watch
as the Princess, on her feet and still grasping the knife, stumbled towards
him. The hem of her dress trailed though the burning oil and the fine material
caught the flames. When she realized, the Princess tried to put it out, shaking
it to and fro, but all the time fanning the flames and making them stronger. In
moments, not only her dress but her hair was alight and she panicked, running
wildly about the room and crying out as the wicked yellow flame wrapped about
her. Her screams were terrible as she tore at her hair and the flaming dress
and when I finally snatched her up and covered her in my coat, hugging her to
me to douse the flames, I knew she was beyond my aid.