by Maggie Ford
She couldn’t help it. ‘That being the girl I saw wrapped about your neck earlier,’ she burst out. A man standing nearby looked sharply round at her then turned back to his companion. Emma lowered her voice to a hiss.
‘I saw her. Who is she?’ At least it had taken Theo off the scent. He was looking angry.
‘Women are foolish,’ he said, his eyes roaming the room, his height enabling him to see over most men’s heads. ‘I am well known and admired, you know that, Amelia. Women are apt to be carried away a little.’
He brought his eyes back to her, a smile causing his moustache to twitch upwards a little. ‘If you need to know, my dear, I have been discussing business with Mr Charles Shirley of the Alhambra.’
The smiled broadened, making his short beard move too. ‘My dear, did you think … Are you jealous, Amelia?’
She remained silent. She didn’t believe his story. All she could think of was Theo and that girl up there together, though it could never be proved.
She seethed silently, yet the image of him and the girl, true or not, had begun to arouse her, unnaturally so. She wanted him. More than anything else she wanted him – this sensual man at this very moment was overwhelming her as he stood looking down at her.
All thought of Martin Page was swept from her mind, as later that night proved to be the loveliest one she had ever known.
Chapter Twenty-Three
All the loving in the world, no matter how wonderful, couldn’t erase the sight of Theo with that person draped around his neck, and Theo lapping it up.
Last night when he’d displayed his undying love in such a physical way, she had let it slip from her mind, but as she got up this morning, leaving him still asleep, she was more than sure he wasn’t being honest. That reference to a business discussion, she didn’t believe a word of it. She wasn’t the assistant to a cunning magician for nothing. He might fool others but he didn’t fool her. Yet how could she accuse him without proof other than merely seeing him with the girl? It could have been innocent. He could have been telling the truth.
In a show of defiance she scribbled him a note and went off early to spend an hour or two with her mother, glad of any diversion to smiling at Theo’s lies and pretending she believed them.
Mum was in an unusually amiable mood when she got there, saying she’d had a very enjoyable Christmas.
‘They’re nice people ’ere,’ she said. ‘Made me feel very welcome and I ’ad a nice time with the Sullivans, what’s got the basement flat. Very nice it was. I got ter bed about eleven-thirty. No sign of Ben. He was out until Gawd knows what time and I weren’t sorry.’
Unusually chatty, she spoke of her evening with her neighbours, and of what Ben was up to these days, always with plenty of money that got Emma assuming it probably came from dubious sources rather than any she sent. Her mother seemed to be thinking likewise, saying darkly, ‘Seems to ’ave made a lot of very unsavoury friends in Brick Lane. Not nice people.’
Her mother was no longer as alienated as once she’d been, though it was probably a temporary thing, this present congeniality brought on by her having had such a pleasant Christmas evening. She even asked how Emma’s evening had gone, and listened with interest as she spoke of the fine dresses and rich food, the glittering venue, saying, ‘Well I never’ every so often.
Emma refrained from mentioning her suspicions of Theo, but at one time her mother looked quizzically at her. ‘You are ’appy, aren’t yer?’ she said.
‘Of course I’m happy,’ she retorted, and no more was said, Mum going on to talk of her neighbours and the area. ‘Some parts even ’ere ain’t all that savoury,’ she related. ‘Still gangs of ruffians, y’know, just as bad as it was down our old place. Whitechapel Market’s all right, decent enough people shopping after dark, though yer still ’ave ter keep an eye out fer tealeafs and pickpockets, but it’s like that everywhere yer go. But them living in ’ouses like Mrs Blacker’s is mostly decent people, certainly better than where we used ter live before the fire.’
It was astonishing – the hours couldn’t have passed more pleasantly, leaving Emma to wonder if perhaps her mother had thought things out at last, except that the moment she spoke of the theatre, she closed up like a clam. When Emma was leaving, her mother took her confidentially by the arm, and said, ‘He ain’t been touchin’ yer, ’as he, this bloke of yours?’
She’d tried hard not to colour up as she reassured her with the lie that it was no more than a working relationship. Whether or not Mum saw her cheeks colour up, she only nodded as if satisfied,
‘So long as ’e ain’t,’ she said, adding, ‘Only Ben’s been asking. Keeps saying that if this bloke takes advantage of yer, he’ll ’ave ’im. Ben is yer brother, Em, an’ for all ’is faults, he do care for yer. Don’t want ter see yer come to ’arm.’
‘Tell him not to worry,’ was all Emma could say, forcing a small, careless laugh as she presented her cheek for a peck from her mother.
‘I know I can’t make yer change yer mind, Em, about what yer do,’ was her mother’s departing shot. ‘Yer grown up now and got yer own mind, but if ever yer in trouble, remember, I’m ’ere.’
‘Of course I’ll remember,’ Emma said, feeling more comfortable with her mother than ever she’d been since leaving home. Yes, she was her own woman, and no one, not Mum, not Ben or Theo would alter that.
In a better frame of mind, she returned to the hotel to be informed by a hotel desk clerk that Mr Barrington was waiting for her in his room.
‘I was worried by the wording of your note,’ Theo said when she got there. ‘It was so abrupt. Have I done something to upset you?’
‘No,’ she lied, taking off her outdoor things.
‘If I have, please tell me.’ He seemed almost entreating, and when she didn’t reply, he continued, ‘If you’re still upset by that earlier incident, I apologise. If you wish to see your mother, I’ve no objection and shall never stop you or expect you to ask my permission.’ He was being far too kind to be true and she assumed it stemmed from penitence at allowing his eye to alight on someone else. But his next remark swept that all away, rubbing at her already raw suspicions. ‘In fact I intend to change many things.’
Change things? Did he have this other person in mind to take her place? Was that why the leech had clung to him, thrilled by his proposition? But what about last night – had he been trying to let her down lightly?
She turned on him. ‘Are you trying to say you can do without me?’
Theo stared. ‘Whatever made you think such a thing?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said dismally. Seconds later she was in his arms.
‘My sweet, you’re tired,’ he exclaimed. ‘And probably hungry. That is why you are so tetchy. No more rehearsing for a day or two. We will have lunch and you will relax.’ With a benevolent smile, he added, ‘You’ll feel much better once you have eaten and rested.’
And she did feel much better, but still uncertain. Over lunch she had to challenge him again, he and that girl disappearing after she’d seen her kissing him.
She was taken aback by his surprised smile. ‘I have explained. The young lady having become over-amorous, I decided it best not to make a scene by pushing her from me but simply gave her no encouragement. She departed in a huff when Mr Shirley came up to say that he wished to speak to me in private.’
His grin widened. ‘Mr Shirley’s conversation with me proved very good news, my dear. I would have told you last night but that we had other things on our minds.’ He chuckled then grew serious again. ‘And this morning you were gone before I could speak to you. He has offered me top billing at the Metropolitan. From now on we will be performing alongside many other fine, well-known performers.’
He began reeling off a list of names. ‘My salary will be two hundred and fifty pounds a week, the contract running for several weeks. And I shall command far more as we go on tour, five, six, seven hundred even. I intend to find us fine apartments here in London as ou
r base. We shall live in style.’
Where moments ago there had been torment and dejection, a wave of elation swept over her. With that sort of money she wouldn’t mind touring. And he said they would live in style. ‘What about that house of yours?’ she asked innocently, and seeing his confusion, made to elucidate. ‘The house Martin Page said you own. I’ve never seen it. Is it nice?’
Rushing on in her enthusiasm, she forgot to eat, and even dismissed his frown. ‘We could live in style there. Why don’t you ever talk about it?’
It as then she saw that his earlier good humour had deserted him entirely. ‘That’s my business, my dear,’ he said slowly, and now it was her turn to frown, her own joy diminishing.
‘I think it should be my business too when you’re sleeping with me,’ she snapped waspishly across the table. ‘As someone you sleep with, I think I ought to know everything about you.’
She should have known better. He continued eating and his tone hadn’t risen, but it became dangerous. ‘That’s enough,’ he said evenly.
‘No, it’s not,’ she said, lowering her voice so as not to be overheard by others in the dining room. ‘You think you can pop into my bed as if we was married, yet tell me hardly anything about yourself. I won’t have you using me like I’m just your mistress and not worth being allowed into your private life. Even a mistress would get better treatment than me.’
‘I!’ he corrected, his gaze fixed on his half-empty plate.
She had heard herself falling into her old ways, but didn’t care. ‘How can you sleep with me, then virtually tell me to mind my own business?’
‘You appear to welcome my presence in your bed readily enough.’ His tone had grown savage. He still hadn’t looked up at her. ‘You take all that I offer,’ he added, ‘money, fine clothes, the best …’
‘I think I deserve it!’ she returned equally furious.
‘Payment for services rendered, is that it?’ He looked up so suddenly that it startled her. ‘As a prostitute might demand. Is it that your fee has gone up?’
Emma interrupted him with an enraged hiss, and before she could control herself, reached across the small, round dining table to slap his face for him, but before she could do so, he let the knife he was holding fall and skilfully caught her wrist in a vice-like grip, his reaction so amazingly swift and natural to one of his profession that she hardly saw it happening.
‘Don’t!’ he warned under his breath. ‘Don’t make a fool of me here.’ Her hand was released. ‘Sit back,’ he commanded, still in a whisper.
Chastened, she slumped back, looking about her to see if anyone had witnessed her show of temper. There were few people here. If any had seen the moment, they remained intent on their lunches, engaged in their own conversations.
‘What is it that you want, my dear?’ he was asking quietly, his voice steady as a rock. ‘Marriage?’
Emma stared at him, his earlier exciting news now quite forgotten.
‘Marriage?’ she echoed, then, aware of what she took as a note of sarcasm, she drew herself up with dignity.
‘Not until you tell me about yourself, I shan’t ever marry you. I don’t want you in my bed either. I won’t have dealings with someone I don’t know nothing about. I don’t want you to touch me. I don’t let strangers I don’t know nothing about touch me.’
She was aware of slipping back into the old grammatical errors, her refined manners no more than a veneer, but although he made no effort to correct her, she knew she was letting herself down. For a moment he sat regarding her then slowly got up from the table. ‘I am going up to my room,’ he said. He came to stand over her, bending a little towards her. No one seemed to notice the move.
‘To my room,’ he emphasised. ‘I shall make a point of not entering your room unless you request it.’ He moved off, leaving her staring at her own half-eaten meal, her wine hardly touched, the bottle he had ordered still half full.
Guilt had begun to crawl over her like some foul insect – guilt and fear. Moments later she was up from the table and following him. He must have moved fast, must have taken the two flights of stairs to their rooms two at a time because he was already gone and the hotel’s cage-like lift was still on its way down from the fifth floor. Nor did she wait for it, arriving at the second floor breathless from running upstairs in impeding skirts.
Gathering her breath, she tapped tentatively on the door to his room. She heard his voice saying, ‘Come in,’ as though having anticipated her, but she didn’t pause to compare herself to some dog on a lead, as, unsure what to expect, she entered.
Before she could open her mouth, he said in a measured, almost resigned voice, ‘I realise you have the right to know more about me. What do you wish to know? I shall try to answer as honestly as I know how.’
Now it came to it, what did she actually want to know? She found herself asking the only question that seemed appropriate to the start of any life.
‘What you were like as a child?’ Gathering momentum, she hurried on. ‘What were your parents were like? Your education – anyone can see you were well educated – but what you were like as a young man, did you have many friends? And when did you decide to take up magic? What prompted you and what did your parents think about that?’
Emma tailed off, running out of ideas, and for a while he didn’t speak. When he did it was with abrupt sentences, spoken in monotone.
‘I was born in Surrey. The house I have was once my family home. My parents are dead, drowned at sea when I was twenty-two. I did not grieve. I hardly knew them, being at boarding school from a young age, then Eton, then Oxford. My father was in the diplomatic corps, India. My mother went with him. The house knew little but emptiness. It stands empty now. I have no love for it, no fond memories. At university I made some friends, but no lasting friendships. I enjoyed sleight of hand and entertained them by it. At one time I practised hypnotism but did not pursue it after one …’ He paused as if searching for a word. ‘Unpalatable incident,’ he continued. ‘I preferred the conjuring and it went well. I married, as you know, but my wife hated the house – too out of town for her. When she died I did not go back there. It is now run down but worth a good sum with the grounds. The rest you know.’
Listening to him was like looking at bones, a skeleton bare of flesh – solid but with no life to it. She had expected so much more. What sort of man was it that had gone through nearly half his life yet felt nothing for it, felt he had nothing to show for it, so much so that it wasn’t worth enlarging upon. No reference to small moments of excitement, anticipation, passion, just bare statements. But she had asked her questions, had received his answers, and must be satisfied with that. He was no more known to her than before.
Suddenly he brightened and rallied, as though shaking himself out of a dream he would prefer not to have had.
‘Now, we must discuss my good news. I have great plans, my dear.’ It was as though he had never spoken at all of other things. ‘I have in mind several new ideas that will much improve my act and stun my audience, but I will require two assistants.’
Emma’s mind flew instantly to the girl she’d seen with him, as it had done too many times since the incident, accompanied by the expected pang of foreboding. His act did not call for two assistants. It was a ruse to have that girl near him. ‘You’ve got someone in mind?’ she asked as innocently as she could.
He shook his head. ‘I have given some thought to it. My mind has been full of the many ideas I am considering. They’ll be quite unique.’ She could see he was not going to be drawn out.
‘I shall tell you once it is clearer in my head,’ he said, leaving her to squirm with uncertainty. She felt undecided too about his passing reference to marriage. Had it been a genuine proposal or just a taunt? Somehow she veered towards it being a taunt.
At the party on Boxing Day, he hardly left her side, almost as if to prove to her that he had eyes for no other. This was a more sedate party than the one for Christmas Day, the rich
and famous gathered in yet another of those grand houses whose glittering chandeliers reflected off diamonds and emeralds as the light glowed down upon fine furnishings and rich gowns.
With Indian and Turkish carpet underfoot, liveried footmen bearing silver trays of alcoholic refreshments moved silently and effortlessly between groups, people moving off at intervals to pick at tiny delicacies from a table with a silver centrerpiece of fruit and flowers. Emma joined in the polite conversation, had her hand kissed by those gentleman introduced to her and gracefully inclined her head in reply on being acknowledged by ladies more noticeably her betters on the social scale, and even curtseyed to a minor royal, recalling that the last time she had done so had been to the King himself.
Clutching a small, cream-coloured fan that set off a mint-green gown with flounced lace at her bare shoulders, her waist nipped in to measure a mere eighteen inches, leaving the skirt to fall smoothly over her hips into a generous flare of lace about her feet, it was not hard to feel quite special, and although the sparkle of her necklace and modest little tiara set on the piled auburn hair came from paste diamonds, they glittered and blazed in the light of the chandeliers as much as any genuine stones she saw around her.
For once Theo displayed no jealousy at the admiring glances of the men, rather he possessed a certain pride that made her wonder what he was was thinking. Nor did he show any jealousy at the New Year celebrations.
That was a far wilder affair, this time calling for fancy dress, she as a Southern belle – she’d have liked to wear something more daring, but Theo had other ideas – he more soberly as a Mississippi gambler, which did suit him.
Despite the gaiety, he seemed eager to be away when the first chimes of 1905 had hardly sounded. When Theo wanted something, it was hard to argue, though she made up her mind to display her displeasure in no uncertain manner at being dragged away from that glittering celebration, and was cold and distant as she was handed her wrap and he his cloak.
