‘I am glad to hear it. Unlike the maiden ladies who run these societies, I do not believe for a moment that the majority of the tarts in London are woebegone Magdalens, forever preparing to throw themselves off Waterloo Bridge.’ Jardine now noticed the red paint, which was continuing to drip from the brush. He moved towards the trestle, picked up a rag from the floor and wound it around the head of the brush. ‘Most of them are quite happy to practise their trade, and find it advantageous to do so. They may well be better off than they would be working as maidservants or factory girls.’
‘Perhaps you are right, Cosmo. Although many must be wretched enough. But we are digressing from the subject of Dolly Delaney.’
‘I’m still in pursuit of the reason for your sudden interest in her.’
‘It is a long story, Cosmo, and not one with which I can entertain you at present.’
‘Have you no better means of employing your time, old chap?’ Jardine hoisted the brush, its head now covered with the rag, and carried it across the room. He propped it against the wall, where a dozen similar brushes stood like soldiers on parade. ‘Nothing better to do than run around town after a missing girl? She will turn up again shortly, I am sure.’
‘I am told her disappearance may be of more significance than we can imagine,’ Adam said.
‘I have often wondered why you do not take another excursion to Thessaly,’ Jardine said, ignoring his friend’s remark entirely. ‘Did you not once say that the manuscript you found in the monastery there held clues to the location of some treasure? Macedonian gold, was it not? Why not go in search of that, rather than touring London in pursuit of Dolly who, however decorative, is no more than a dancing girl. Dancing girls are ten a penny, whereas gold is a thing of beauty and a joy for ever. I would join you in looking for it myself but the climate in Greece would not suit me.’
‘The manuscript is useless, Cosmo. I thought I had said as much to you long ago. Fields had it strapped to his body. When the gun went off and shot him, it was shredded. The little that remained legible told us nothing of gold or treasure.’
‘Perhaps there is another manuscript. Gathering dust in the library of a Greek monastery.’
Adam had no chance to respond to his friend’s suggestion. From the bowels of the theatre a penetrating soprano voice suddenly erupted into life, singing an aria from Meyerbeer’s Robert le Diable as if her life depended on it. ‘Who in the devil’s name is that?’ he asked, looking at Jardine in astonishment as the singer’s high notes continued to echo around the props room.
The painter had moved away from the row of giant brushes, wandering over to his backdrop and dropping to his haunches. He was staring intently at the bottom left corner. ‘That will be Letitia von Trunckel,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘Tizzi to her friends – of whom there are few. She entertains audiences here on Wednesday nights and Saturday matinees with her renditions of the classical repertoire.’
‘A powerful voice,’ Adam said.
‘Not so much bel canto as “can belto”, you might say.’
‘If you were a Punch hack in desperate search of a pun, you might.’
‘There are worse occupations than writing for Punch.’ Jardine rose to his feet. ‘I have even thought of trying my own hand at comic verse sometime.’
‘Perhaps you could set them to music and persuade Fräulein von Trunckel to sing them in the music halls. I am sure they would be a great success.’
‘Oh, never in the halls,’ Jardine said in mock disgust. ‘What do you find in most of them? Dull songs. Jokes so old they have grey whiskers. Stale sentiment. The only pleasure is to be found in admiring the ladies on promenade.’
‘Is that not the case at most places of entertainment? Is it not true of this theatre?’
‘You are correct, of course, my dear chap. Half of our evening’s entertainment here is nothing more than a leg drama. The audience, or certainly the male portion of it, comes to see the girls in the chorus dancing, not to hear the thespians prating. And Tizzi’s charms lie as much in her embonpoint as in her vocal cords.’ Jardine sighed ostentatiously. ‘No one, but no one, comes to admire the splendour of the painted backdrops. My talents are wasted here. And I an artist whose works have graced the Academy walls.’
‘Oh, what Philistines people are,’ Adam said, smiling. In truth, he knew, his friend was a sociable creature and happier here amidst the hustle and bustle of the theatre than he had ever been in his isolated Chelsea studio. ‘But I ask you again about Miss Dolly Delaney.’
In the distance, the very loud sounds of Letitia von Trunckel rehearsing had ceased and been replaced by the quieter ones of a pianist, slowly picking out the tune of a Chopin valse.
‘You are persistent, Adam, if nothing else. The person to whom you need to speak is McIlwraith.’
‘The manager of the theatre?’
‘He has a more enviable responsibility – he is the man in charge of the dancers.’ Jardine paused as the Chesterfield sofa, last seen exiting the door, came back into view and, borne by the two sweating mechanics, made its way across the props room again. ‘Although, taking his cue from his dour and doubtless puritanical Scottish ancestors, he shows little signs of admiring the female form divine. Doubtless that is why he was selected for the job.’
‘This man McIlwraith is here now? Perhaps I could speak to him?’
‘There is no show tonight. I doubt he will be in the theatre. But he will be here tomorrow.’ Jardine examined his watch, which he was carrying loose in a pocket of his paint-bespattered white coat. ‘It is approaching five,’ he said. ‘I have laboured long enough for one day. It is time to divest myself of this coat of many colours and lay down my brushes. I shall be dining at Verrey’s tonight, Adam. Perhaps you would care to join me?’
‘I cannot this evening, Cosmo. Another time.’
‘You are becoming a recluse, my friend. Skulking in your Doughty Street garret, eating bread and cheese and drinking cheap ale.’
Adam laughed. ‘Nonsense,’ he said. ‘I dine at the Marco Polo at least twice in the week. Not all of us can afford the extravagance of Verrey’s.’
‘Of course, a man can dine at his club more cheaply than elsewhere,’ Jardine conceded. ‘In truth, I cannot afford Verrey’s myself, but I allow my creditors to worry about the expense.’
‘I promise you that we shall both dine there before too long. I shall begin to put aside monies for the occasion immediately.’
‘I shall hold you to your promise. Meanwhile, I shall speak to McIlwraith and tell him to expect a visit from you soon. Tomorrow?’ Adam nodded. ‘I am sure he will be able to shed some light on the mystery surrounding the lovely Dolly’s whereabouts.’
* * * * *
The following morning found Adam once more at the theatre where Dolly had been working. Quint had again been despatched to the pubs of the neighbourhood to find out what he could. He had not seemed reluctant to go.
As Adam climbed the few stone steps to the Prince Albert’s entrance, he could not help but notice, hanging on either side of the main doors, immense placards, which advertised in glowing colours the thrills and delights to be experienced inside. One depicted Letitia von Trunckel in the famous mad scene from Donizetti’s Lucia di Lammermoor – dishevelled and enormous, the soprano was shown wandering through a baronial hall in her wedding dress. Adam wondered briefly if Cosmo had created the poster but decided it looked too crude to be his friend’s work.
Adam pushed open the door of the theatre and looked about him. There was no one in sight. The foyer was large and marble-floored. A wood-panelled box office stood to the right. It had not yet opened. The theatre, Adam thought, had the strange, slightly eerie atmosphere that all such establishments have when they are not in use. He moved forward, his shoes clicking on the hard floor.
A f
igure emerged from behind a green velvet curtain and hurried towards him. Adam was about to speak to him but the man, raising his hat briefly, was past and out into the street before he could question him. Adam approached the curtain and pulled it aside. A dark corridor led into the bowels of the theatre and he followed it. About twenty yards along the corridor, a gas light attached to the wall was giving off a dim light. A small boy in a crumpled red jacket and black trousers was standing beneath the light. He had a mouth organ pressed to his lips and he tootled a half-tune on it before staring malevolently at Adam.
‘You lookin’ for someone, mister?’
‘Mr McIlwraith.’
‘We ain’t open, you know. ’E’ll be rehearsing the tarts.’
Adam peered further along the gloomy corridor. Was there nobody here apart from this oddly menacing urchin? ‘I appreciate that the theatre does not open for some hours, but Mr McIlwraith is expecting me.’
The boy sniffed noisily as if to suggest that he doubted the truth of what he was being told and continued to gaze unblinkingly at Adam. A good ten seconds passed and Adam was about to speak again when the child jerked his thumb over his shoulder. ‘Big room down there,’ he said. ‘Second door on the right.’
Adam nodded his thanks and walked past the boy, who scowled at him as he did so. When the young man reached the door that had been indicated, he turned and looked back. The urchin was still there, leaning against the wall. He saw Adam watching him and stuck out his tongue.
Adam pushed open the door and went into the rehearsal room. It was flooded with light from a row of high windows. After the gloom of the corridor, the contrast was blinding and he was forced to shield his eyes briefly with his hand. When he was able to focus properly, he could see that this room, in contrast to the rest of the Prince Albert, was a hive of activity. A dozen young women stood in a row, holding a bar that ran along one wall, and swinging their left legs in the air. A man was watching them intently.
As Adam walked towards the centre of the room, several of the dancers noticed him and ceased their exercises. The man with them looked over his shoulder and saw that they had a visitor. ‘Carry on, girls,’ he shouted, and crossed to where Adam was standing, trying not to stare too closely at the legs on display.
‘You must be Mr Carver,’ the man said.
Adam acknowledged that he was.
‘McIlwraith, sir. Hamish McIlwraith. Delighted to meet you, Mr Carver.’ He shook Adam’s hand energetically. ‘Any friend of Mr Jardine’s is a friend of mine. Surprised you could find us, tucked away as we are.’
Adam explained about the small boy who had directed him.
‘Ah, Billy Bantam. He ain’t no child, sir. Older than the devil he is, I sometimes think, and twice as wicked. He’s a dwarf, Mr Carver, a performing dwarf. Been on the stage since Macready’s day. Don’t you go getting the wrong side of Billy, Mr Carver. He’s a bad’un when he wants to be.’
Adam said he would be wary of the little man if he saw him again and Mr McIlwraith beamed with delight, as if Adam had promised him a rare and costly present. The dancing master bore little resemblance to the caricature of the dour Scotsman Cosmo had painted. He was, in fact, short and plump and markedly jolly. He was also perspiring freely. He smiled amiably at Adam from a brick-red face and reached out to pump his hand again with great energy. He did not sound any more Scottish than he looked. To judge from his voice, he hailed from the city in which he worked. ‘Mr Jardine tells me as ’ow you might be interested in our Dolly.’
‘I would welcome the opportunity to speak with the young woman, certainly.’
‘Ah, there’s plenty of men interested in Dolly.’ McIlwraith winked ostentatiously. ‘There’s a gentleman by the name of Mr Wyndham, for instance. He was round the stage door for weeks asking after ’er.’
‘Wyndham?’
‘He’s what the Frenchies call a bow idle, Mr Wyndham is,’ McIlwraith went on. ‘Very handsome man. All the girls was most impressed. But it was Dolly as began to walk out with him.’
‘Might Miss Delaney be with this gentleman now?’
‘She might be.’ McIlwraith took a white handkerchief from his waistcoast pocket and mopped his brow. ‘She might not be.’ He tucked the handkerchief back into his waistcoast and continued to grin broadly at Adam.
‘But I am correct in thinking that she has not been here at work for some days—?’ the young man said.
The dancing master’s face became suddenly serious. ‘She’s a delicate flower, Dolly is,’ he said. ‘She come to me last week. “Mac,” she sez – they all call me “Mac”, the girls – “Mac”, she sez, “I’m feeling all of a flutter. I ain’t at all well.” “Dolly,” I sez, “you’re as thin as a rasher of wind, and as pale as a candle. You don’t look the ticket at all. You’d best get yourself off home.” So, no, she ain’t been at work of late.’
‘But you have no reason to be concerned for her? Beyond the fact that she was unwell?’
McIlwraith looked puzzled.
‘She has not been seen at her lodgings in the last week,’ Adam explained.
The dancing master puckered his lips and blew out a breath of air. He stared at the floor as if the answer to the question of Dolly’s whereabouts might be written on its wooden boards. ‘Maybe she has been with young Wyndham,’ he said eventually.
One of the dancers, a tall girl with dark curls and a willowy figure, had detached herself from the group practising their steps and moved across the room. She was now standing behind McIlwraith and listening to the conversation. ‘You ain’t goin’ to find Dolly with that time-waster Wyndham,’ she said. ‘Whatever ’e sez.’ She jerked her thumb contemptuously at the dancing master.
‘Get off with you, Hetty,’ McIlwraith said, turning around and seeing her for the first time. He now seemed much less jolly. In fact, he looked close to furious. ‘The gentleman don’t want to be bothered with your nonsense.’
‘Dolly wasn’t interested in a little mama’s boy.’
‘As I said before, Mr Carver, Mr Wyndham is a very ’andsome man.’ McIlwraith, doing his very best to ignore the girl, returned his attention to Adam. ‘Much like your good self, if I may be so bold.’ The dancing master aimed an ingratiating smile in Adam’s direction.
‘’Andsome is as ’andsome does,’ Hetty said. ‘And what Wyndham does is try to get his fingers in your frills. The girls knows all about ’im and the likes of ’im. No money, but all over you like an octerpus. And ’e ain’t that much of a looker, anyways. Dolly wouldn’t go with him.’
‘You’d do best to keep your mouth shut, my girl,’ McIlwraith snapped, rounding on her again.
‘Do you know where Miss Delaney is now?’ Adam addressed his remark to the girl. She shook her head. ‘So, for all you know, she might be with this gentleman named Wyndham?’
‘I tell you, she ain’t with ’im.’ The girl looked Adam in the eye, ignoring the dancing master, who was fussing and fretting at her side.
Adam would have welcomed the chance to speak further with Hetty but he felt constrained by McIlwraith’s presence. He said no more.
‘Well, if you ain’t interested, you ain’t interested,’ the girl said after a pause, and flounced off to join the other dancers.
Adam watched her go. He would have to talk to her again when she was alone. He turned once more to resume his conversation with McIlwraith, who seemed to have recovered his good humour.
‘Hetty’s a lively one,’ the dancing master said, with what looked very much like a wink. ‘Always jumping around like a pea on a griddle. I wouldn’t take too much notice of what she says, if I was you.’
‘Well, perhaps I could speak to this gentleman named Wyndham. Do you have an address for him?’
McIlwraith waved his arm vaguely in the direction of the door leading
to the outer corridor, as if he suspected that Wyndham might be lurking there. ‘He lodges somewhere north of the Park, I believe. Tyburnia. A coming area, I’ve heard.’
‘But you do not know exactly where.’
The dancing master shook his head.
‘Well, perhaps I could write Miss Delaney a note and leave it here with you,’ Adam said. ‘I would like very much to speak to her and know that she is safe and well.’
‘Lord, Mr Carver, you might just as well send a letter to a milestone on the Dover road.’ The man could scarcely contain his amusement, wheezing with the effort of attempting to do so. ‘Dolly can’t read letters, sir. Not even what the Frenchies call billy deuces. She can’t read anything at all.’
* * * * *
Adam stood in the marble-floored foyer of the Prince Albert and wondered where he should go next. The theatre was no longer eerily deserted. The box office was open, and people were coming and going through the heavy swing doors that led out to Drury Lane. The young man watched them for a while as he considered whether he had learned anything of interest. McIlwraith had seemed eager to point his finger at the man Wyndham as a possible beau for Dolly; the dancer Hetty had been equally adamant that her friend would have had nothing to do with him. He would have to speak to Hetty again when McIlwraith was not present. As he pondered the matter, he noticed a familiar figure enter the theatre. It was Cosmo Jardine.
‘Ah, the very man,’ the painter said as he saw his friend. ‘I thought perhaps you would be here. How was our Caledonian dancing master? Was he able to enlighten you as to the whereabouts of the fair Delaney?’
Adam shook his head. ‘All he knows is that he sent her home last week because she was feeling unwell. He has not seen her since. But I have also been told that Dolly has not been at her lodgings these last few days.’
The painter took his friend by the arm and guided him to the street. ‘Let us take a stroll towards Long Acre,’ he said, pointing down Drury Lane with a flourish. ‘I have news for you myself.’
Carver's Truth Page 3
