‘Don’t know as I can—’
‘I work here in the Lily. Jay Whitgift says I can have it cut-price.’
‘I know. Miss Johnson, ain’t it? I’ve seen you about.’
There was not enough in her purse to pay for it, but she flashed her eyes and talked sweetly to the warehouse lad and finally he let her have it on the slate. He wrapped it for her, staring all the while as if she were a sideshow. She pandered to him just for the fun of it until the poor lad was quite red in the face. If only she could have that effect on Jay Whitgift.
Chapter 30
Sadie leaned her elbows on the windowsill. Outside the window the river was silent and shiny, the surface still as a mirror, reflecting the grey sky and the buildings and cathedral of Southwark on the other side. For a few days now there had been no traffic up and down, and it was unnaturally still. The river frozen was a different creature altogether.
The frost had papered the wooden sill with white fingers of ferns, and when she hitched back the curtain to look out that afternoon she saw that the glassy water was dotted with little black coals. At least that was what she thought they were, until she saw one fall from the sky. It landed with hardly a sound. And then she realized. They were starlings, the blood frozen in their hearts even in flight.
Their chambers were quiet without Ma’s cough from beneath. It was surprising just how much comfort was to be had from knowing there was another person downstairs.
She picked up her knitting and wound the silk slowly round the needles. She was knitting slowly, partly because her fingers were cold and stiff, but mostly because she wanted to make the activity last a long time. The bone needles clacked and she pulled the silk taut, feeling it slide through her fingers. They were smooth now she was no longer working at the wig shop. She sighed, wondering how Corey and Betsy and the others were, and whether Mercy Fletcher still ruled the roost.
One pair of stockings lay folded on the kitchen table; they were the pair for Ella, long in the leg with tiny feet. Now she knitted her own – her feet were larger and her legs shorter. She did not know if she would ever have chance to wear them, or even finish them, because there was only one skein of the silk left and each pair took three skeins.
When Ella arrived this time with the provisions, Sadie did not look up but smelt the perfume that hung on her clothes, saw her lace-gloved hands place a small bag on the table.
She carried on knitting, ignored the parcel.
‘Oh, are those my stockings – let’s have a deek.’ Ella picked up the finished pair and hung them over her palm. ‘Oh, Sadie, they’re right fine, did they take you long to do?’
‘There’s nothing else to do in here but knit.’
‘I’ll think of you every time I wear them,’ Ella said, wafting the filmy stockings back and forth.
Sadie gritted her teeth; she doubted it. She squashed her ill-temper by stabbing with the needles more intently.
‘Today it’s sausage and some apples, and a few other bits and bobs.’ Ella unloaded her basket piece by piece. She did this without bending; the stiff blue material of her dress rustled. As usual Sadie could not resist standing up to take a look in the basket. She was slightly pacified to see more skeins of silk as well as some string and a block of beeswax to make candles. Ella lined everything up on the table and Sadie knew she was expecting her to admire it and compliment her on her choices, but she just nodded.
‘Are them notices still up?’ she asked.
‘Stop asking me that. I’d tell you, wouldn’t I, if they weren’t. But I’ve brought you something.’ Ella pointed to the brown packet on the table. ‘Hair dye. It’s black. I thought ’twould suit your colouring better than the yellow. And it will look fine, with your complexion made-up—’
Sadie began to speak but Ella spoke over her. ‘And there’s something else. I don’t want you to say no until you’ve seen it.’
She lifted a big flat box tied with string onto the table.
‘What is it?’
‘It’s a gown.’
‘You’re jesting.’
‘It is. Told you I’d save for one.’
Sadie did not move.
‘Aren’t you going to open it?’
‘You do it.’
‘Here then, bring us a knife for the string.’
Sadie went to the shelf and brought back a knife, passed it to Ella handle first. Ella sawed through the string and pulled open the lid. A mass of heavy gold-coloured damask was revealed.
‘Go on, bring it out.’
Sadie put her hand into the box and drew out a handful of the stuff. It was a full skirt, cold to the touch and there was a slight rancid smell to the cloth. ‘Where did you get it?’
‘Whitgift’s of course. Had to save my wages for it.’
Sadie hefted it up and put the skirt aside on a chair before pulling out the bodice, holding it out at arm’s length. It was a little creased, but finer than anything she had ever worn before. She flicked her hair forward over her face, the gesture she always made when she was uncomfortable. She could not imagine herself dressed in this gown. Even with her hair dyed black and her face hidden beneath a plaster of white. She was not Ella. She dropped the bodice onto the table.
‘I can’t wear that. You’ll have to take it back.’
‘Why? It will fit, look, there’s plenty of room in that bodice.’ Ella stretched the seams between her hands.
‘I’m not wearing it, I wouldn’t look right.’
There were two patches of bright red on Ella’s cheeks now. ‘But you’d be free, you could go out, you’d be able to look out for yourself, get a position, you wouldn’t need me any more to help you.’
‘So that’s it. Sick of looking after me are you? I never asked you to. I never asked you to lock me up in here.’
‘I had to. To save your skin. Oh come on, Sadie, it was for your own good. Just say you’ll think on it. Dressed in this and with the face powder you could go anywhere. Honestly, the face powder’s gentle enough for a baby’s behind, you could just try it—’
‘Who’d take me on? I wouldn’t dare smile in case the paint cracked. I’d be found out in no time. Madame would know me straight away.’
‘You wouldn’t go back to Madame Lefevre’s, fool – they know you there. No, you’d have to go someplace else – another big city. Bristol perhaps, or Plymouth, get a job in service. We could both go. Make up some tale.’
‘In service? With a painted face? How many places do you know of where they want painted servants?’ Sadie stuffed the mound of fabric back into the box. ‘No, Ella. I’m sick of doing your bidding. It seems wherever you go, trouble follows. I don’t want to make up a tale and be forever thinking I’ll be caught short.’
‘Just try it on. There’s no harm in trying it, is there?’
‘I’ll not wear it, I’ve told you – I’d rather die.’
‘Then you probably will. Those notices are still up, and I can’t take care of you for ever.’
‘Then stop. What do I care? You’re not like my sister any more. I don’t want a sister like you ’cos the crows on the windowsill pay me more mind than you do, with your fancy airs and graces. Look at you. You’re not respectable no more. I don’t want to look like you, like some trumped-up whore.’
Ella opened her mouth to speak, but Sadie shouted her down. ‘I’m ashamed you’re my sister. What would our ma have thought if she could see you now, painted up like a jilt?’
Ella stood stock-still. ‘Leave her out of it.’ Then she snatched up the empty basket and went out, shutting the door with a slam. Sadie heard the key turn. ‘Stay there forever and rot, then,’ hissed a voice from outside. On the table the box lay open, where Ella had left it.
‘Don’t you dare speak to me like that,’ Sadie said to the shut door, ‘your face might crack,’ but even as she said it the sound of Ella’s feet died away.
It took nearly the whole day for Ella’s anger to subside. She served the customers with a scowl and
was glad when the last one left. It was only the thought of Jay that cheered her. That night she dressed with more than usual care for the evening shift as he usually called in at the end of the evening to harry out the last customers and check the takings. She had bought clay hair curlers to heat on the fire, and now her yellow hair was dressed fashionably in stiff side curls strengthened with sugar water, her topknot pinned with lace and ribbon. Her earlobes had hardly stopped bleeding, but she was determined to wear her new purchase straight away, and the new glass-stone earrings twinkled in the light. The stays of her bodice were laced extra tight, thanks to Meg.
During the evening opening hours she was complimented many times, and two different women asked for the address of her dressmaker. She did not tell them, for she did not want to see copies of her dress all over town, nor, if truth be told, did she want them to know it was altered in a tiny backstreet cottage, and not at a fashionable tailor’s. She made light of it, said she had several and could not remember, and watched the expressions of envy flicker in their eyes.
Whilst she was here at the Gilded Lily she could forget all about the flight from Westmorland, the notices, the freezing room at Blackraven Alley, the fratch with Sadie. She was another person here. Every now and then, though, a shiver ran down her spine, as if her body was ahead of her thoughts and was afraid. At such moments she could do nothing but take a deep breath, smooth down her new gown and fix a smile on her face, being careful not to wrinkle her forehead or cheeks lest her ceruse should crack.
‘I hear old Tindall’s been bothering you,’ said Jay, when the door had shut that day for the final time. They were alone in the shop now, except for Meg who was silently sweeping the floor.
‘That’s right. He was asking where I used to work and that. I told him same as I told you. Why?’ she said, warily.
His eyes flicked to her new earrings, but then back to her face. ‘He told my father you’re bad for business. I don’t see that you can be, not wearing that dress anyway. It looks very well on you. Though I think you may need a little more rouge – the colour is a little . . . icy.’
‘Oh.’ She was crestfallen. ‘Does it not suit me?’
‘I’m not saying it doesn’t become you. It’s just that the shade is somewhat cold, and in this weather it has the effect of making you appear older and harder.’
‘I thought you liked blue. You said it would suit me – to match my eyes.’
His mouth turned down at the corners. ‘I do like blue. But there are blues, and blues. This blue is a little harsh.’
‘I see.’ Deflated, she sat down on one of the salon chairs. Blasted Tindall. That cozener had set him against her.
‘But I suppose it is quite a fetching style,’ he said grudgingly, ‘and it does show off the whiteness of your skin.’
Ella pouted as she mulled over his words, knowing she had spent money she had not yet earned on a dress he did not even find becoming. She watched him, with the familiar ache just below her ribcage.
‘I take it you have a warm cloak? There’s talk of a frost fair. There are already stalls on the river upstream, and Mrs Horsefeather has gone to see if she might arrange a booth for the Gilded Lily. All the ladies will be out to parade in style. You will serve there in the afternoons, and perhaps in the evenings if we can supply enough light.’
‘Thank you, Mr Whitgift.’ Ella hoped the linsey riding cloak would be warm enough for a whole afternoon outdoors in the bitter wind. He continued to pace a while, seeming distracted. He did not dismiss her, so she sat tight.
‘We’ve had a turn of luck,’ he said. ‘A gentleman friend of mine, Wycliffe, has expressed a desire to meet you. He heard of you through Lord Allsop, one of my clients, and Sir Sedley, whose cousin you served here. Wycliffe is a member of the Wits club. The Duke of Buckingham is a member, and Buckhurst and a few other thespians. I would like you to impress some of these other gentlemen; they have connections at court. Charles Sedley is a personal friend of the king, so it is a great honour for you to meet his acquaintance Wycliffe.’
Ella could not believe her ears. Her mood changed in an instant, but she tried not to let her delight show. She could not take in all the names, so she simply said, ‘Beg pardon, sir, but what do they want to meet me for?’
‘Wycliffe has a fancy to get involved with the new theatre on Vere Street. Women on the stage are the latest fad. The new playhouse is bursting at the seams with people wanting to see a woman tread the boards. I thought a short spell in a play might bring us in even more business, so I have persuaded him and his actor friends to take a look at you.’
‘You mean me? In a play?’
‘If you suit. It will be up to Sedley and his friends to decide if they have a role that befits you.’
He sat down opposite her. ‘I’ll take you over to Sedley’s tomorrow night. I expect you to be nice to him and show him every favour. He has very wealthy and influential friends. I want him to recommend me to his fashionable set, tell them they can send their rich wives and daughters to the Lily.’
She was cock-a-hoop.
‘And wear the red.’ He reached over and touched her arm. ‘It’ll make you stand out, give you the dramatic look for the stage.’
‘I will.’ She smiled at him, looking up through her eyelashes, a seductive smile of encouragement. His nearness to her was almost a torture, so much did she want him.
He patted her arm and stood again. Her heart contracted with disappointment.
‘The new looking glasses are on their way,’ he said. ‘The shipment from Venice has docked, but there’s trouble getting carriers. Everyone wants them now the river’s frozen. I’ve paid extra to guarantee delivery tomorrow. The glasses are the best money could buy. I commissioned an Italian woodcarver – such a feeling for wood, he has – to fashion the frames. You will be able to take more care over your appearance. After all, you are rapidly becoming the face of London.’
Ella basked. She was somebody now – the face of London.
Jay went upstairs to his eyrie. The cabinets were gradually taking over the floor space. He liked things to be tidy, so they were all labelled and piled up in size order, but he had to squeeze sideways down a narrow gap to get to his desk. Visitors used to come up here to do business with him, but not any longer; he did not want anyone else to view his collections. And besides, there was simply no room.
Partly this expansion gave him great pleasure, for his collections were visibly growing under his feet, but partly it caused him consternation, for he knew he would need more space soon. The house in Whitehall could not come quickly enough. He unwrapped the latest parcel from Allsop; it had been sitting on his desk a few days. It was the small pair of silver goblets and the sugar-shaker he had asked for. Foxy had brought them over. Foxy had been griping about the weather again, and he was right – it was damned difficult to keep to his appointments and obligations in these icy conditions.
One of Allsop’s friends, the pox-ridden Wolfenden, had demanded another whore, and Foxy said it had been hard to find someone young enough, the weather was keeping the doxies indoors. In the end, though, Foxy had found one who’d pass for a maid, and she’d been no trouble, Lutch had despatched her as usual.
He picked up one of the goblets and stroked its stem. They were charming, he thought, but given the lack of space, perhaps he had others in storage that were prettier and he should sell these on. He took down the top three crates from a pile near the door, cursing as he tried to find somewhere else to put them. Finally he had the crate labelled ‘drinking vessels’ on his desk.
He unpacked the items from the straw one by one, and stood them side by side. Astonished, when he had done standing them, he saw that there were nearly forty. And he knew there was another box full beneath that one. He looked at them with a critical eye and picked the likely goblets up one at a time, feeling their cool metallic weight in his hand. By the time he had examined half of them, and found a good reason to keep every single one, he knew that he simp
ly could not let any of them go.
He sighed. Bags of coinage were not the same as having the actual objects there before him, to see the workmanship, the texture, the sheer weight of it all. He hoped his father would not last too much longer. He needed that house in Whitehall. Just think how many rooms he could fill then! He would not need to stint, he could keep thousands of goblets. He would have his baronetcy and the world’s finest collection of silver.
The river was now the widest street in the city. For the past week Ella had not had time to go down to the riverside, though she had been told by Polly that the freeze extended as far down as the abbey on Thorney Island. The sight that met her eyes that afternoon was extraordinary. The water had set solid into a grey glacial surface, in parts smooth, in parts jagged where the tide had upturned thick plates of ice. Downstream from the bridge a huge sailing ship was embedded in the surface, its mast listing at an angle, its rigging stiff with icicles. The ice had expanded to crush it, and the hull was staved in where it joined the water. By the banks, white boulders of ice burst from the smooth surface and a set of wooden steps had been set there, guarded by a dour waterman determined to eke a living somehow from the unrecognizable water.
‘Where do you think the Lily’s booth is?’ asked Polly.
‘Over there I expect.’ Ella pointed to a snaking row of covered stalls, colourfully arrayed with flags and signs and bunting. Ella was reluctant to set foot on the ice. She knew that the water was still underneath, making its slow surly journey to the sea. But she did not want Polly to see her fear, so she pretended nonchalance, despite her fluttering stomach.
After paying their pennies to the waterman, she and Polly picked their way down the makeshift wooden steps and onto the river. Ella hung tight to the stair rail as she stepped out onto the frozen surface. Her throat was tight, she felt her breath come shallow and fast. And it felt like blasphemy, that any highway felon might walk on the water just like Jesus had.
‘By, this feels strange,’ Ella said shakily, watching her feet as she walked.
The Gilded Lily Page 29
