Rose Campion and the Christmas Mystery

by Lyn Gardner

  “A couple of them mudlark children are at the door. Says they got summut you might be interested in.”

  Rose took a couple of hot mutton pies from the kitchen and walked briskly to the stage door. Two undersized children were waiting for her there, clutching a soaked leather portmanteau. She took the holdall from them and stuffed the pies into their hands, and the children couldn’t put them in their mouths fast enough. She wondered how long it was since they had last eaten properly.

  “How are you, Jess, Ossy?”

  “We’re fine, Rosie. But me dad’s really worried,” said Jess, a string bean of a ten-year-old. “This woman, a lady, she was hanging around asking him all sorts of questions. Says our dad’s name is on some list in St Olave’s for receiving charity. But he ain’t had a farthing. He applied for alms, but the committee turned ’im down. Always do. They’re as mean as dust. They sit there in their smart clothes and say they can’t ’elp us cos we don’t ’elp ourselves. As if being born poor is our fault.”

  “Well, if this woman gives you any trouble, come and see us, and Thomas will sort it out,” said Rose. She looked at the portmanteau. The mudlark children often brought her items that they had dredged from the Thames or that had been washed up on the riverbank. She had come by the bicycle that she and Rory used in their double act that way, and she was always willing to part with a few shillings for things that might be useful to use as props.

  The portmanteau was empty and ruined by its soaking, and Campion’s had plenty of such items in the prop cupboard, but she couldn’t bear to dash the gleam of hope in the children’s eyes. Someone at Campion’s would find some use for it, even if just for storage, once it had dried out.

  “Have you showed it to the police? It may help them identify someone if a body has been pulled out of the Thames,” said Rose to the two children. Bodies were regularly found in the river, some with their throats cut or gashes to the head. The taller of the two children nodded.

  “Only one poor soul pulled out of the Thames in the last few days. Murdered. A woman. Throat slashed. The police said they didn’t think it belonged to her.”

  “All right. Wait a minute,” said Rose, still clutching the portmanteau, and she went to the bar, got three shillings out of the till and gave them to the children, who whooped with joy and ran off into the night, their shoeless feet and ragged clothes no defence against the falling snow. Rose took the portmanteau to the props cupboard. As she put it down her hand grazed the clasp and she realised something was engraved there. She looked at the letters: NV. She wondered what they stood for, and how the portmanteau had ended up in the river. She guessed it was probably stolen, the contents emptied out and the case then slung in the water. She just hoped that it was only the portmanteau, and not its owner, who had ended up in the Thames.

  Rose could hear Thomas at the end of the corridor, asking if anyone had seen her. She knew he was checking that she was not upset by Aurora’s reluctance to appear in the pantomime. She stepped out of the props room with a bright smile pasted across her face, ready to greet him, and she promptly forgot all about the portmanteau.

  Two days later Aurora was back at Campion’s with her father, Edward, and a group that, besides Grace and her fiancé, Sir Godfrey Caskins, also included several members of the aristocracy. In their fancy clothes the party immediately attracted the good-natured ribbing of the Campion’s crowd. Grace was delighted to see Rose and Thomas and hugged them effusively.

  “It’s so lovely to be back at Campion’s,” she said. “I’d forgotten how full of life it is, and how alive it makes you feel. I have missed it.” She looked wistful.

  “We’ve missed you. You know you’re welcome any time, Grace,” said Thomas. “There would always be a place on the bill for you.”

  Grace blushed. “I’m very tempted, but I’m not sure my future husband would be amused,” she said lightly. Rose was opening her mouth to say that a husband who didn’t approve of a wife with a music-hall act might not be the right husband for Grace when she saw Thomas’s warning look. Grace lowered her voice and said quickly, “Sir Godfrey is not entirely comfortable with my origins in the music hall. Of course, he knows – how could he not? He will have heard the gossip and the rumours, but he acts as if he has never heard a whisper about me. As far as he is concerned I’m the widow of Edward’s cousin and therefore a lady.”

  “Then we will all be the souls of discretion,” said Thomas a little too heartily. “Even Rose.” He winked. “Although discretion goes against Rose’s nature.” He smiled at Grace. “Are you going to introduce us to your fiancé?”

  Grace called to a well-dressed man who was talking animatedly to Edward. He turned and beamed at Thomas, bowed and held out his hand. Catching a glimpse of his ruddy face, Rose felt quite certain she had seen him at Campion’s before on several occasions. But what he said suggested otherwise.

  “Mr Campion,” said Sir Godfrey. “I’m delighted to visit the legendary Campion’s music hall at last. Edward has told me all about its charms. I’m glad to get the chance to see it for myself.”

  He waved an arm around vaguely as if trying to think how to describe it. “It’s very quaint.”

  Rose caught Rory’s eye, and both girls tried not to laugh. If there was anything that Thomas detested, it was hearing Campion’s called “quaint” by patronising members of the aristocracy. The group took their seats, their silk dresses and glossy black tailcoats a stark contrast with the rest of audience, many of whom were decidedly shabby, if not downright ragged. Champagne arrived, and plates piled high with food.

  On stage Dolores was doing her slack wire act, and Sir Godfrey was clapping as enthusiastically as anyone. Rose saw Grace watching him, and thought she detected a fleeting look of sadness in her eyes.

  “Rory,” she whispered. “Do you think Grace is genuinely happy about marrying Sir Godfrey?”

  Aurora shrugged.

  “I suppose she must be. Otherwise why would she be marrying him? There’s no reason except love. Edward has made it perfectly clear that Grace is welcome to stay at Easingford Hall as long as she wants. After all, Grace’s son is his heir just as long as he has no son of his own. But it’s more than that – Edward really likes Grace. They get on so well together. In fact, I always wondered whether they might marry one day. But clearly that’s not to be. She has decided on Sir Godfrey. But as a measure of his esteem, Edward is going to give her the Easingford Emeralds as a wedding gift.”

  “Of course he is,” said Rose with a wicked smile. “Just like Thomas and I are going to give Grace the Campion’s tin plate tiara if we can bear to part with it. What exactly are the Easingford Emeralds when they’re at home?”

  Aurora blushed and continued quite huffily.

  “They’re quite famous actually. It’s a necklace. Very simple but rather beautiful. I tried it on. I must say I rather liked how they looked, but Grace has always admired them too. They are worth a small fortune, but I don’t think Grace realises that, which is just as well, or she would never accept the gift.”

  “That’s incredibly generous of Edward,” said Rose. “Wouldn’t he want to keep them in the family? Maybe for you one day?” Aurora blushed.

  “Well, they are very lovely. But Edward explained that he wants Grace to be going into the marriage with her own financial security. He has brought the emeralds with him – they’re currently safe in the bank. He’s going to present them to Grace at a dinner in her honour at Silver Square a couple of days before the wedding.”

  “A dinner? Will we be invited?” asked Rose, a little too sharply. There was a tiny beat, and Aurora’s eyes filled with tears. “We’re not snobs, Rose. Thomas is Edward’s most trusted friend. Grace adores you all. Of course you’ll be invited.”

  Yet again Rose felt guilty. Why couldn’t she keep her tongue under control?

  “Oh, Rory, I didn’t mean to needle you. It’s just – you must realise that there’s a world of difference between toffs like Sir Godfrey and
his friends coming to Campion’s, and Campion’s invading the drawing room of Silver Square.”

  “Of course I understand that, Rose. All too well. But if they don’t like it, they will have to be the ones to stay away. The people we want there are our real friends. The ones who will stick by us through thick and thin. Edward and my connection with Campion’s is no secret.”

  Rose frowned. “It’s odd though, isn’t it, that all those lords and ladies are just fine about Edward acting in plays in the West End, or appearing on the stage here at Campion’s, but poor Grace doesn’t want to publicly acknowledge she was once a music-hall performer. It’s as if there is one rule for him, and quite another for her.”

  Aurora smiled sadly. “It’s because we are women. It’s all right for a lord to appear on the music-hall stage if he chooses – in fact, it’s seen as delightfully eccentric. But my doing the same is viewed as scandalous. I’ll never understand all these unwritten rules these fancy people seem to have.” She put her arm through Rose’s. “At least with you and Effie I know you’ll always be on my side, whatever I do.”

  Rose grinned, delighted to have made her peace with her friend.

  “Who’s that?” she asked, nodding towards a woman seated at the table with Edward’s party, who was leaning towards Grace and Edward and speaking quietly. She was more austerely dressed than Grace, and her hair was cut daringly short, chestnut curls coiled around the nape of her neck. Her laughing eyes, crinkled at the corners, lent her face an animated beauty. Edward and Grace’s laughter rose at something she had said. There was something about the woman that attracted Rose to her. As if she knew her – although Rose was quite certain that she had never seen her before.

  “Oh, that’s Perdita Black,” said Aurora. “She was raised in India by an uncle who organised big-game hunts. After he was mauled to death by a tiger, she was sent back to England to train to be a governess. But then she ran away to become an actress. And then for some reason she gave it up and became a governess after all. She was Freddie’s governess for a few months, before he was sent away to school. She only mentioned her theatrical connections once she had the job, after she realised that Edward was an actor too, and that Grace had performed in a music hall. She stayed on as a companion for Grace when Freddie went away to school. I’ll introduce you later. You’ll like her. I do. She came from Lady Squawker with glowing references.”

  “Ah, the Squawkers,” said Rose with a poker face. “I know the Bermondsey branch of the family well. Pie men down Marsh Street.” She was pleased to see Aurora grin.

  “Actually,” said Rory, “the Mayfair Squawkers had terrible luck not long after after Perdita left them. They lost all the family heirlooms in a robbery.”

  “Shame,” said Rose thinking of the mudlark children. “It must have been tough to be down to their last five bob.”

  Rory grinned. “Actually, I think it was their last £10,000.”

  The ballet girls were doing their daisy flower routine on stage, whirling in yellow and white costumes, and Rose could feel the expectation rising in the auditorium in anticipation of Ivy’s imminent appearance.

  Rose left her seat and slipped backstage to find Effie, who was helping out on costumes. Ivy was standing at the side of the stage while Effie painstakingly secured her veils in place. It was a tricky job: if they were not attached sufficiently well, the veils fell prematurely, and if they were pinned too tightly, Ivy couldn’t get them off at the crucial moment. Rose took some pins and started to help Effie.

  “Watch out!” shrieked Ivy. “Are you trying to kill me, jabbing me in the head like that?”

  “Sorry,” said Rose meekly. “I’ll be as gentle as I can.” She secured another veil. “Ivy,” she said, “do you ever think about the future? What you’ll do when your Salome act stops being so popular?” She saw Ivy’s big eyes blinking at her suspiciously from behind the gauzy layers.

  “What you getting at, Rose Campion? Are you saying Thomas is going to let me go?”

  “No, I didn’t mean that at all. Thomas was only saying the other day that he thought you’d be top of the bill for ages yet.” Ivy’s shoulders relaxed, which endeared her to Rose. Clearly, beneath her brash exterior Ivy harboured insecurities about her future at Campion’s. “I meant, what you think you will be doing next year, or when you’re twenty-five or even thirty.”

  “What do you think I am? A crystal-ball gazer?” scoffed Ivy, as Effie secured the last veil in place. “This time last year I thought I would be dancing in the chorus down the Walworth Road until my knees gave out. In July I wished I’d died in the fire, I was in that much pain. In September I thought I’d never work again because of my rotten scars. And look at me now! Heading up the bill at Campion’s. We none of us know what fate has in store for us.”

  The music heralding Ivy’s entrance began. “All I know is that for the next seven minutes I’m going to go out there and slay ’em. I’m top of the tree at Campion’s, and I mean to stay there. Nobody is going to stop me performing at Campion’s, and,” she put her finger to the side of her nose and looked smug, “I’ve had offers. Good ones too. But I like it here. It attracts all those classy types. Nobody, not even you, Rose Campion, with your new act and Thomas Campion in your pocket, is going to knock me off my perch.”

  Rose opened her mouth to protest, but Ivy had flounced away, gliding on to the stage and moving her hips with such sinuous ease that Rose was reminded of a poisonous snake.

  Rose gazed around Campion’s, hugging herself with pleasure. Beneath the orchestra, she could just detect the soft wheeziness of the gas lights, a sound that she thought made it seem as if the very building was alive and breathing. The music hall had never looked more beautiful. The eggshell-blue walls were freshly painted. The gilt mirrors reflected back the delighted faces of the crowd as they watched Ivy – or rather, Desiree – with rapt attention.

  Rose slipped back to her seat as soon as Ivy had begun her act, weaving her way through the crowd and the final straggling latecomers. She nodded to several regulars she knew, checked that the Tanner Street boys weren’t trying to steal anyone’s purse, and told a well-dressed gentleman, who had a stooped, half-veiled lady on his arm, her face turned down to the ground, where they could find a seat at the front of the gallery. A whoop went up from the auditorium as Ivy removed her fourth veil with a dramatic flourish. The girl had a genuine sense of style, thought Rose. Maybe Thomas was wrong about her future prospects.

  Ivy sashayed across the stage, removing the sixth veil as she moved. The crowd hollered with pleasure. Rose glanced across at the table where Edward and his party were seated. Grace was clapping with unalloyed pleasure. She saw that Sir Godfrey was no longer in his seat but had moved to the side of the auditorium. His eyes were gleaming, as if he was drinking Ivy in. Perdita Black was absent too, standing a little further forward amid a gaggle of people as if she wanted a closer view. The music swelled, and Ivy began to rotate like a dervish, spinning across the stage as if her life depended on it. Many of the crowd were up on their feet, shouting, “Desiree! Desiree!” over and over as Ivy suddenly spun to a stop. She pulled away the final veil with a swagger to reveal herself demurely dressed in Eastern-style pantaloons, and a glittery blouse that daringly showed a glimpse of midriff. Her beautiful eyes, visible over the small veil that covered the bottom half of her face, were huge and shone seductively.

  The audience went mad, yelling their approval and stamping their feet. There was a drum roll and the music began again, and Ivy began to pirouette on the spot. She whirled and twirled, spinning like a dizzying human top as the crowd clapped along as they always did, the sound of five hundred pairs of hands coming together and creating a crack as loud as any pistol shot. Ivy turned 360 degrees, the audience’s hands came together again, and just as they did, Ivy suddenly jerked and stumbled unexpectedly, reminding Rose of a juddering wind-up music-box ballerina.

  Ivy staggered and lurched towards the side of the stage as if overcome by d
izziness. Rose leaned forward. What was wrong with the girl?

  Suddenly Rose noticed a small splash of red on the aquamarine material near Ivy’s neck. Perhaps Ivy wasn’t dizzy from twirling, but because she was hurt? Somehow – Rose couldn’t imagine how – she must have injured herself during the dance. Thomas had also realised that something was seriously amiss, and he and Rose raced up on to the stage, just as Ivy’s legs buckled beneath her and she toppled into the arms of one of the quick-thinking stagehands, Luke Mumbles, who had stepped out on to the stage just in time to catch her. A great buzz and hum of astonishment rose from the auditorium as, very gently, Luke dragged Ivy out of sight of the audience to the side of the stage. Rose and Thomas knelt down beside her, and Luke put a rolled-up blanket behind her head.

  “Some rotter’s only gone and shot me,” gasped Ivy, sounding quite outraged.

  Rose and Thomas looked at each other in consternation. The poor girl must be mistaken. But she had clearly hurt herself in some fashion, and, judging from the increasing amount of blood on her costume, perhaps badly.

  “Get Edward, and tell him to get on stage and ask if there is a doctor in the house,” ordered Thomas, speaking to Effie, who had flung herself down beside them. “And if there isn’t, get Luke to run for Dr Neagle in Tooley Street and tell him it’s urgent.” Ivy had turned as white as snow.

  “Rose,” said Thomas. “Can you lift up Ivy’s veil a little, please, so we can at least see the wound and try and stem the flow of blood.

  Rose did as he ordered, and the source of the bleeding was immediately apparent – a small, round hole at the base of Ivy’s neck. Thomas frowned, and signalled to one of the stagehands to bring one of the veils, which he wrapped firmly around Ivy’s neck to try and stem the blood loss. Rose held Ivy’s hand and stroked it gently. Edward had made his announcement, but to no response, and the orchestra had started playing quietly to appease the crowd. Thomas signalled to Lottie to get the ballet girls on stage. The show always went on, even when there had been an accident.