by Lyn Gardner
“Please let us go, and please don’t hurt the tiger cub.”
“Oh, we’re going to let you all go. But first I’m going to make you watch what we’re going to do to that tiger. That big moggie is going to be our payday. Tiger skins are worth a pretty penny.”
“But that’s such an ugly thing to do – and the tiger is so beautiful!” said Aurora.
“It’s all right for you,” called a voice at the back of the crowd. “You’ve got pots of money, Lady Muck. But what about us? I’ve got mouths to feed. My share from the skin will buy shoes for my children.”
The tiger had successfully gnawed through several bits of rope. The men seemed oblivious. Their focus was on the girls. Rose needed to play for more time. One man was sharpening his knife against another blade, as if preparing for the moment when he could stick it into the cub. It was a sickening sound.
Something that the man had said about buying shoes for his children gave Rose a stab of hope. Maybe she could get them all out of this situation. But it was a risky strategy.
“So when you sell the tiger skin, are you all getting equal shares?” she asked, hoping against hope that she knew the double-dealing Tanner Street boys as well as she thought she did.
“Of course we are,” said one of the youths. “It’s all agreed. A guinea each for being part of the tiger hunt.”
“Yes,” said another man with a deep scar on his cheek. “Equal shares all round.”
“Oh,” said Rose innocently, “so if you are only getting a guinea each, who’s getting the rest?”
Some of the men looked at her with interest, and one muttered, “What do you mean, the rest?”
She could see Len looked shifty, and John, who was holding on to her, shifted uncomfortably and loosened his grip, which made her think she was on the right track.
“Here, hop it, all of you,” he said to the girls. “Run before I change my mind. We’ve got men’s work to do.” He turned to his chums. “Let’s get to work on the beast.”
“Wait, I want to hear what Rose Campion has to say,” said the scarred man. “I want to know how much a tiger skin is actually worth. And if we’re being cheated by those Tanner Street scum…”
John took a swing at the man, who hit him back. A brawl broke out, and as it did, the tiger tried to scramble out of the hole it had gnawed in the net. One of its hind legs got caught, but Rose bent to untangle it, whispered “Run!” and watched as it streaked across the graveyard and over the wall, unnoticed by the fighting men.
Rose, Effie and Aurora took flight too, eager to be away before the men realised that they had lost their prize. They were halfway down the lane and beyond reach before the men realised that not just the girls, but also the tiger, had got clean away.
The Tanner Street boy’s threatening voice carried across the frozen air.
“I’ll get you back for this, Rose Campion. You see if I don’t.”
The girls ran all the way to Lant Street, only stopping when they got to Pru’s door, where they fell into a breathless, trembling huddle that was laced with terror and relief.
“Rosie,” asked Aurora after a moment. “How much is a tiger skin worth?”
Rose shrugged. “I have absolutely no idea. I was just certain that the Tanner Street boys wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to swindle the others if they could, so I took the chance.”
She saw their horrified faces. Aurora shook her head incredulously.
“One day you are going to come a cropper, Rosie Campion. But I don’t mind admitting that if it wasn’t for your quick thinking, that poor tiger would be dead.”
It was a sad party that made its way back to Campion’s in the early hours of the morning, where Grace and Perdita put poor Pru to bed and made her take the sleeping draught that Dr Neagle had prepared for her. Pru had been distraught when Rose told her that Madame de Valentina refused to come. Thomas had soothed the situation, saying that he would try to persuade Madame de Valentina to give Pru a private reading very soon, but Rose wasn’t convinced he was doing the right thing. Surely by encouraging Pru he was suggesting there was some truth in Madame’s claim to be conversing with the spirit world. He couldn’t possibly believe it, could he? He must know it was all just an act, and Madame de Valentina was faking it. But she recalled Thomas’s face when Elenora claimed to be bringing him a message from Maud and the twins. His features had been wreathed with love and pain – but also with hope too. People wanted to believe that death wasn’t final, and that one day they would be reunited with their loved ones.
On the journey back to Campion’s, Rose, Aurora and Effie had told the others what had happened to them with the Tanner Street boys in the graveyard. Thomas was furious.
“They’re banned,” he said. “I won’t have them in the place with their threats and violence.”
Rose frowned. She was worried banning them would only rile them more. But Thomas had made up his mind and wouldn’t budge.
Lottie had been waiting up for them when they got back to Campion’s. She collared Rose.
“That woman you employed for the evening, Ella, is still in the kitchen. I offered to pay her off so she could go, but she was quite insistent about waiting for you, Rosie. I thought you might want to keep her on. Cook said she’s a grafter. Hope I did the right thing.”
“Of course you did, Lottie.”
Rose pushed open the door of the kitchen, expecting to find Ella asleep in a chair by the range, but she was sweeping the floor. Rose’s eyes opened wider. Every surface in the kitchen was gleaming. Even the wall above the range, which had been covered in soot for months, had been scrubbed. Ella had her back to Rose and as she swept she hummed a tune that Rose recognised as an old music-hall ballad. She turned when she heard Rose, and Rose saw that her eyes were moist.
Rose took the broom out of her hand and said gently, “Sit down and rest. You must be exhausted. I paid you to clean the pots, not scrub the entire kitchen. You’ve quite transformed the place. I hardly recognise it.”
“I always knew my talent for housework would be useful one day,” said Ella with a wry smile.
“Would you like to stay on?” asked Rose. “We could do with another pair of hands in the kitchen. If you’re going to work as hard as you have tonight, we can pay you more too.”
Ella hesitated. “I don’t want more money, but I do need somewhere to stay. At least temporarily, until I can get back on my feet. I had some bad luck. I have nothing to my name but the clothes I’m wearing.”
Rose nodded, and could see from Ella’s face that she shouldn’t question the woman further.
“Of course you can stay. We don’t have a spare room, but you can use one of the mattresses from the props cupboard in here for as long as you need.”
Ella smiled, and despite her matted hair, grey skin and the dark circles under her eyes, she suddenly looked radiant, and at least fifteen years younger.
“Would you mind if I boiled up water in the copper for a wash? I would love to have clean hair again.”
“You’d be very welcome,” said Rose.
Ella followed Rose to the prop’s cupboard to get the mattress.
“I hear Madame de Valentina made quite a stir tonight,” said Ella as they carried the mattress back to the kitchen.
“You could say that,” said Rose. “She’s staying on, top of the bill for weeks, I imagine. We’ll add the pantomime to the bill when we’ve rehearsed it, and that will bring in the crowds. Madame will perform alternate late and early shows. You should pop out one evening during her act to watch.”
“I’d like that,” said Ella lightly. “I’m very curious to see her.”
“You won’t be the only one. We’re going to be packed out with people wanting her to contact the dead for them.”
“Do you think she really is talking to the dead?” asked Ella.
Rose shook her head vigorously.
“No, not for a moment. It’s an act – a clever act, but still an act. People believe wh
at they want to believe. Perhaps whatever they need to make life bearable. I think she’s a charlatan, preying on people’s misery. What about you? Do you think it’s possible that she really is speaking with the dead?”
“No,” said Ella. “I haven’t glimpsed her yet, but I am completely confident that Madame de Valentina is a fraud in every way.”
The following afternoon, Rose, Effie, Aurora, Grace and Perdita gathered in Thomas’s study. Thomas, thought Rose tenderly, looked tired and a little fragile, as if he was recovering from an illness or a shock. They were waiting for Edward when Effie picked up the folded morning newspaper on Thomas’s desk, untouched even though it was almost three o’ clock.
“Look at this!” said Effie, pointing to the headline. “Lord and Lady Fitzcillian lose priceless heirloom in mystery robbery.” She turned to Aurora and Grace. “You know these people, don’t you, Rory?”
Aurora picked up the paper and scanned it. “I do. Look,” she said to Grace and Perdita, pointing to the story. “We were only at their house for tea a few days ago.” She skimmed through the report. “It says the stolen item was a diamond brooch, presented to the family by Charles II. But there was no sign of a break-in and all of the outer doors were locked, so the police are treating it as an inside job.”
Perdita frowned.
“Lady Fitzcillian showed us that brooch,” said Grace excitedly. “She was very proud of it.”
“I remember,” said Rory. “And very ugly it was too. Not like the Easingford Emeralds. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to steal it.”
Perdita gave a sharp laugh. “I very much doubt that whoever took it was planning to wear it. They will sell it, no doubt for a pretty penny, once the hue and cry dies down.”
Edward arrived and they showed him the paper, before Thomas called them all to order.
“I wanted to get your advice, all of you. I’m not happy at the prospect, but I want you all to know that I’m seriously thinking about cancelling the pantomime this year.”
There were cries of protest from the girls, and even Edward shook his head and said, “Oh, Thomas!”
Thomas gave a rueful shrug.
“In my heart I knew that would be your reaction. But I’m not sure how we will manage. We’ve already announced it’s Cinderella, so we can’t change the title. But the casting is impossible. We lost our Cinderella when Ivy died, and I still haven’t found a replacement. And now we’ve lost our Prince Charming, at least until Pru feels ready to return. The last thing she said before she went off with her aunt and uncle is that she wouldn’t be back until after Christmas. With all the difficulties, I wonder whether it’s better to cancel the pantomime altogether, and just run the normal programme with Madame de Valentina top of the bill until Christmas and beyond, if she’s still pulling the crowds.”
“But the panto is a Campion’s tradition,” said Rose. “We’re one of the few small halls to do one. If we don’t do it, the people of Southwark and Bermondsey will be so disappointed. They look forward to it.”
”I’m well aware of that,” sighed Thomas. “But there are so many obstacles this year. I’ve only got one Ugly Sister, although I could get Lottie to fill in, but I never quite trust what the chorus will do when she isn’t there to keep them in check. Last time she was off, all the ballet girls stuck out their tongues at the audience at the end of the dying swan routine. Oh, and I thought I had Bullingdon Bertie lined up for the dame – but he’s been arrested for larceny and is going to be in prison this Christmas, not pantoland.”
“Well,” said Edward, “if you really don’t want to do the panto this year, Thomas, we will all respect your decision. But if it helps, I could play the dame for you.”
There was a scream of delight from Effie. Thomas looked taken aback. So did Perdita. Aurora’s eyes widened, and she glanced at Grace from under her eyelashes.
“Edward, dear boy, there is a world of difference between playing Hamlet in the West End and playing the pantomime dame on the Campion’s stage,” said Thomas. “You may find that your high-society friends are shocked. I can guarantee that there will be gossip. Some will say that your reputation is ruined.”
“I’ve no doubt you’re right, Thomas,” said Edward. “But a person’s reputation is quite different from his character.” Then he added with a wicked smile, “And just think what fun it would be. I’ve always wanted to play the dame. And if it means I’m invited to a dozen less soirées, I can’t say I’ll be sorry.”
Aurora stood up, walked over to Rose, who was standing by the door, linked arms with her and said, “If you are playing the dame, Edward, then I’m going to be an Ugly Sister with Rose.”
For a moment Edward looked troubled. “Look here, Rory,” he said. “I’m a grown-up and I can decide that I don’t give a jot for my reputation. But it’s different for you. Some people would think it scandalous, and if your reputation is ruined it will affect your entire future. Every drawing-room door in the country will be closed to you. You may say that you don’t care now, but you might feel differently in the future.”
“Oh, Edward,” said Aurora. “Just a few months ago I had never seen the inside of a drawing room, and honestly from what I’ve seen of them so far I wouldn’t mind if I never stepped inside another one.”
Rose gave a little inward cheer.
“But,” said Aurora, “although I don’t mind for myself, what about you, Grace? Would it make you too uncomfortable if your niece and chief bridesmaid were performing in the Campion’s pantomime? Would Sir Godfrey be so scandalised that he would break off your engagement?”
Grace hesitated, but before she could speak, Rose, unable to contain her excitement, cut over her.
“But why would Sir Godfrey ever have to know that Aurora is appearing in the Campion’s panto? She will be completely unrecognisable under her wig and costume. She can play under an assumed name, not as Miss Aurora Easingford. Only the sharpest-eyed regular would ever have the faintest suspicion it was you.”
“That’s true!” said Effie. “It’s so simple and brilliant.”
Aurora looked at her father and he nodded his approval, and then she looked at Grace.
“I’d love to do it. Edward is right – it would be such fun. But if you don’t want me to, Grace, I will completely understand.”
Grace’s face was serious. For a moment, Rose thought she was going to say that she was uncomfortable with the idea. But then a great beam spread across her features.
“Of course you must do it, Rory. And if you can play an Ugly Sister under an assumed name, then I can play Prince Charming under an alias too. At least up until the wedding on Boxing Day. Pru can take over after that.”
“Grace!” said Edward worriedly. “Are you sure? If Sir Godfrey finds his future wife parading across the Campion’s stage he might not be best pleased.” Rose thought that was an understatement: she thought that Grace’s kind but stuffy fiancé would be outraged.
“He need never know. Just as long as nobody at Campion’s tells him, he will be none the wiser. I’ll be performing under an assumed name too, and I’ll be unrecognisable dressed up as a boy.”
Thomas frowned. “Are you quite sure that you want to do this, Grace? It’s risky.”
“It is,” said Grace. “But Edward is right – it will be fun, and it feels like a long time since I had any real fun.” She looked sad. “Why not have one last hurrah.”
Thomas looked around the room. “So are we all agreed?”
“Oh no we’re not,” shouted Effie with a grin.
“Oh yes we are,” shouted everyone else.
“Wonderful,” said Thomas. “Then you shall all go to the ball. All I have to do now is find a Cinderella.”
“What about you, Perdita?” asked Rose.
“What, me? On stage!?”
“Why not?” said Grace. “I’ve seen you acting with Freddie, and you really are very talented. And you clearly love it.”
Perdita shook her head. “I can’t.
I’m sorry. I would love to play Cinderella, but I can’t act on stage.” She bit her lip, and, as if giving herself a little pep talk, she muttered under her breath, “You mustn’t. You made a promise.”
Everyone looked at Perdita curiously. She always seemed so calm and collected.
“No matter,” said Thomas heartily. “There will be someone at Campion’s whose foot fits the glass slipper.”
The parlour at Lant Street was almost in darkness. A small candle guttered in the draught from the ill-fitting windows. A wind had whipped up and the windows were rattling. There was a distant sound of thunder. Everyone was gathered around a table that had been placed in the centre of the room. Rose shivered. She didn’t want to be here, but it would have looked churlish to refuse to come after Madame de Valentina had sent a note to Thomas, saying that although she was always happy to give private hypnosis demonstrations, she didn’t normally give what she called “private readings”. Nonetheless, for Prudence and “a small group of friends from Campion’s” she would make a rare exception because of the tragic circumstances surrounding Pru’s mother’s death. Effie mused that maybe Rose’s outburst at the lodging house had contributed to this decision.
Thomas had suggested that the attempt to contact Pru’s mother took place in Campion’s after that evening’s performance, but Madame de Valentina had insisted it take place in Lant Street, on the grounds that she would “be closer to Mrs Smith’s spirit there”. Pru and her uncle and aunt had been banished from the Lant Street parlour by Madame de Valentina since darkness had fallen, and had taken refuge at Campion’s. Rose raised an eyebrow when Pru told her that Elenora had said she needed time alone in the house to prepare. She suspected it was just a ruse so that she could stage-manage her trickery, but Pru was convinced of Madame de Valentina’s honesty.
“Mama and I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye. I never got a chance to tell her how much I loved her. If I could only speak to her one last time I would be content.”
“We will begin,” said Elenora de Valentina to the assembled company, which included everyone except Perdita, who had cried off, saying she was going to visit a friend in Herne Bay and would be away overnight.
