by Dilly Court
With all this springtime billing and cooing, Clemency felt strangely out of place, even though she tried to convince herself that she had no interest in forming a relationship with any man. As far as she could see, they were trouble. Allowing any bloke to get a grip on your emotions would end up one way only – heart-break and loneliness. Ned had come to call twice, the first time to apologise in person for criticising her costume, and the second time he had brought a fruit cake, baked by Nell, and an invitation to come to the pub for supper. She had accepted the cake and wriggled out of the supper invitation, using working the theatre queues as an excuse. Ned had gone away looking distinctly put out, but Clemency was unrepentant. She liked him well enough, but he was too bossy and if he had any romantic ideas, then he would be sorely disappointed. She hoped that her refusal would not upset Nell, who had shown her nothing but kindness, but she felt that if she allowed herself to be drawn into their tight little family circle, she would be caught like a wasp in honey, unable to escape. And she needed to be free. There was danger lurking in the shadows and it was not just the notorious Ripper. One day Hardiman would almost certainly find them, and Jared Stone was also out there somewhere: a silent menace, hovering in the background. He had not repeated his threat to sell the lodging house, but Clemency had not forgotten the desperate look on the pregnant girl’s face when Stone had sent Meg packing. That man worshipped one thing only, and that was money. She knew he would be as ruthless in throwing them all out on the street as he had been with Meg.
It was a chilly evening at the end of March. The wild winds had whipped straw and loose playbills into a spiralling twister that had left a trail of rubbish strewn over the pavements outside the Strand Theatre. The theatregoers had gone inside leaving Augustus and his troupe to pack up their instruments, ready to move on to the Gaiety, the Lyceum and the Adelphi. Clemency stood beneath the poster advertising the latest comic opera, waiting for Tom to fetch the handcart from Surrey Street. It had to be left a fair distance away, so that the stench of rotting fish did not offend the people they hoped to entertain and to relieve of their hard-earned money. The wind had whipped long strands of hair from beneath her cap, and she took it off, shaking out her long tresses. She stared up at the face of Dorabella Darling, smiling down from the poster with gleaming white teeth, and an immodest expanse of bosom exposed above a tightly corseted waist. One day, Clemency decided, she would sing inside the Strand Theatre instead of out here on the cold pavement. She would be a famous star of the opera bouffe, just like Dorabella.
‘Move along there. You’re blocking the entrance.’ The liveried doorman made wild motions with his hands as a hansom cab drew to a halt at the kerb. He pushed past her to open the cab door and assist a young woman to alight. She laid a gloved hand on his arm and stepped down to the pavement. Clemency had seen many toffs and their ladies, but this girl was an outstanding beauty. Dressed in the height of fashion, with feathers and flowers in her upswept blonde hair, she had the fragile look of a porcelain figurine. She swept past Clemency leaving a trail of perfume in her wake. The doorman ushered her inside, bowing obsequiously. There was something vaguely familiar in the haughty manner of the beautiful young lady.
‘I’d recognise that flaming-red flag anywhere.’
She could never forget that voice. With her cap still clutched in her hand and her hair caught by the playful wind, Clemency spun round, coming face to face with the man she had hoped never to see again.
Chapter Eight
Jared Stone was standing so close to her that Clemency could feel the warmth of his body. The tangy scent of sandalwood and Macassar oil brought back unpleasant memories of their first meeting. A sudden gust of wind caught the corner of his opera cloak – it lifted and flapped like the wings of a huge black bird – the blood-red lining caressed her cheek. His voice was deep and seductive. ‘Busking outside a theatre! You are wasting your talents, my dear.’
‘No one asked for your opinion.’
‘And you are content to go about dressed like a street urchin, earning a few coppers a day?’ Jared’s lip curled in contempt. ‘I had you down for an opportunist, Clemency. A girl with ambition.’
‘Jared.’ The young lady called from the foyer. ‘We’ll miss the first act if you don’t hurry.’
‘Go along, Jared,’ Clemency mocked. ‘Be a good chap and do as she says.’
‘I’ll be with you in a moment, Izzie.’ He waved to his companion, but his eyes held Clemency’s in a hypnotic gaze.
She wondered vaguely what the relationship was between Stone and the beautiful young lady. Not that she cared. He could have as many mistresses as he liked – it was no skin off her nose!
‘My offer still stands,’ Jared said. ‘Come and work with me, and there’ll be no more of this degrading existence. You’re worth more than this.’
‘I told you afore; I don’t want to go back to being a dipper.’
‘I’m not talking about stealing hankies and breast pins. I could open the doors to a different world, if you’ve got the courage to take a chance.’
‘And if I haven’t?’
‘Then I can close doors just as easily. You need saving from yourself, Clemency. But I’m not a patient man and I always get what I want. Think very carefully before you refuse my offer a second time.’
‘And what if I says no?’
‘I have a buyer who is very keen to purchase a certain establishment in Flower and Dean Street.’
Augustus came over to them. He stared hard at Jared. ‘I know you. You’re the fellow that threatened to throw us all out on the street.’
Jared bent his head so that his lips were close to Clemency’s ear. ‘I’ll give you twenty-four hours and then I want an answer.’ He turned on his heel and strode into the theatre foyer. The doors closed behind him.
‘What did he want, Clem?’ Augustus put his arm around her shoulders. ‘Don’t let him scare you. We theatre folk look after our own. Just say the word and I’ll set Tom and Ronnie on him.’
Clemency smiled in spite of herself. The picture of gentle Ronnie and toothless Tom taking on Jared Stone, and the ruffians she had seen in Hog Yard, made her want to laugh and cry at the same time. She shook her head. ‘It weren’t nothing. Look, here comes Tom with the cart. We’d better move Jack afore he catches a chill in this cold wind.’
As Tom and Ronnie hoisted Jack onto the cart, he leaned over and touched her shoulder. ‘What did that bloke want with you, Clemmie?’
‘Nothing, Jack. Honest. He was just passing the time of day.’
‘Don’t lie to me. I may be crippled but I ain’t stupid.’
‘We’ll talk about it later,’ Augustus said, taking the cart handles in a firm grasp. ‘If we don’t move on quickly we’ll miss the theatre queues and there’ll be no supper for anyone.’
They were about to move on when a man in evening dress rushed out of the foyer. ‘Stop, stop. Sir, may I have a moment of your time?’
Augustus hesitated. ‘We have to get to our next pitch. Can’t it wait?’
‘No, I must speak to you now.’ He held out his hand. ‘Horace Claypole, theatre manager, in a very difficult situation.’
‘Augustus Throop, man of business. How may I help you, sir?’
‘Please step inside for a moment.’ Horace hurried back into the foyer. He held the door open, tapping the floor with the toe of his patent-leather shoe, and drumming his fingers on the glass.
‘Best do as he asks,’ Augustus said, after a moment’s consideration. ‘Something tells me it might be to our advantage.’
Lucilla grabbed his arm. ‘Daddy! Maybe he’s heard me sing and is going to offer me a part in the opera.’
‘Only one way to find out, poppet-pie.’ Augustus tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. He turned to Clemency. ‘Best come in too, Clem. If we lose our little nightingale to the legitimate theatre, we don’t want our little sparrow to be taken off by inflammation of the lungs. Follow me.’
They followed Horace through
a maze of narrow passages that led eventually to his office behind the stage. Clemency could hardly believe that she was inside a real theatre with a performance in progress. She inhaled the fuggy smell, a mixture of tobacco smoke, expensive perfumes and disinfectant. The full-bodied sound of the orchestra accompanying the singers filtered out through the closed doors to the auditorium. She could only imagine what it was like to be in there, transported by the music, sound and colour to a fairy-tale world where there was no poverty, want or disease: a world of beauty and imagination – the stuff of dreams. She dragged her thoughts back to the present, glancing round to make sure that Ronnie and Tom had brought Jack in out of the cold. Sure enough, they had him suspended between them, with his arms around their shoulders, dangling like a puppet. Jack grinned and winked at her. ‘Maybe it’s you he wants, Clemmie.’
‘All my eye and Betty Martin,’ Clemency retorted, chuckling.
They all crowded into the tiny room. Most of its floor space was taken up by a large desk, piled high with papers, and its walls were lined with playbills. Horace seemed even more agitated, and he paced up and down, wringing his hands. The leather soles of his shoes made tip-tapping sounds on the bare boards, and there was silence as everyone waited for him to speak.
‘Er, how may we be of service, Mr Claypole?’ Augustus asked at length. ‘Time is of the essence, if you don’t mind my saying so.’
Horace came to a halt. ‘Yes, quite. Well, I’ll come straight to the point. You’ve no doubt heard of my leading lady, Dorabella Darling?’
A murmur of assent rippled round the room.
Horace clapped his hand to his bald pate, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling. ‘She announced, just before going on stage, that she has accepted a better offer. She leaves tonight on the boat train for Paris, where she will star in the Opéra Garnier. My poor little theatre can’t compete with an offer like that. The understudy has laryngitis, and I am desperate for a replacement, at very short notice.’
Augustus puffed out his chest and pushed Lucilla forward. ‘I knew that someone would spot my little nightingale sooner or later.’
Horace stared at him as if he had gone mad. ‘No, no, sir. You’re mistaken. The role requires the actress to play the part of a pageboy who disguises himself as a maid. I need someone who can be convincing in both parts.’ He eyed Lucilla’s plump form, with a dull red flush rising from above his starched white collar. ‘I mean, the replacement for Dorabella needs to be …’ He coughed delicately and looked past Lucilla to where Clemency was standing. ‘You, young lady – I’ve heard you singing outside my theatre, and I was convinced that you were a young boy. Then tonight, when I saw you without your cap, I realised that you are exactly what I have been looking for. What is your name, my dear?’
‘Daddy!’ Lucilla shrieked. ‘He can’t mean it. I’m the one with the golden voice, not her.’
‘Hush, petal.’ Augustus lifted Lucilla off the ground and thrust her into Tom’s arms: a sudden move that would have left Jack hanging helplessly from Ronnie’s shoulder if Clemency had not rushed over to support him.
‘What is wrong with the young man?’ Horace demanded, staring at Jack. ‘Is he drunk?’
‘No, mister,’ Clemency said fiercely. ‘Any fool can see that he ain’t got the use of his legs. I’ll have you know, what’s more, that my brother Jack is a fine musician. He’s probably better than all of them players in your orchestra put together.’
Horace clasped his hands together, his round eyes made huge by the thick lenses of his spectacles. ‘Such fire! Such spirit! What is your name, my dear?’
‘Aaarrgh!’ screeched Lucilla, beating her fists against Tom’s chest.
Augustus turned on her, scowling. ‘Be silent, Lucilla.’
With a low moan, she hid her face against Tom’s shoulder. He patted her on the head as if he was petting a dog. ‘There, there, me love. Your turn will come.’
Lucilla kicked him on the shin.
Augustus thrust Clemency forward. ‘This is my protégée, Miss Clemency Skinner. I am her manager. Shall we talk business?’
Horace pulled a large cotton hanky from his pocket and mopped his brow. ‘Certainly, but first I need to know if the young lady thinks she could learn the libretto in a very short space of time – by tomorrow evening to be precise.’
‘Absolutely no problem,’ Augustus said airily. ‘Clemency only has to hear a song once and she has it committed to memory. Isn’t that so, petal?’
She nodded, unable to speak. It must be a mistake. This could not be happening to a girl from Stew Lane. She dare not open her mouth for fear that she would wake up suddenly and find that it was all a dream.
‘I’ll help you, Clem,’ Ronnie whispered in her ear.
‘We’ll all help,’ Jack said. ‘You can do it, Clemmie. I’m so proud of you.’
‘I feel faint,’ Lucilla announced, flinging her arms around Tom’s neck.
‘Take her outside. The night air will bring her round.’ Augustus dismissed them with a wave of his hand. He perched on the edge of the desk, leaning towards Horace. ‘Shall we talk pounds, shillings and pence, Mr Claypole?’
‘Certainly, Mr – er – I’m sorry, but I’ve forgotten your name. It’s all this worry. It’s making me quite bilious.’
‘Augustus Throop, but you may call me Augustus. I’d give you my card, but I seem to have left them all at home – in my study, on my mahogany desk with the tooled leather top and solid brass handles.’
Lucilla uttered a loud moan and slid to the floor.
Tom rubbed his shin, staring down at her with his eyebrows knotted into a frown. ‘What shall I do with her, guv?’
Horace put his hand in his pocket and pulled out some coins. ‘Allow me to pay for a cab to take the young lady home.’
‘That’s uncommon good of you, Horace,’ Augustus said, hefting Lucilla in his arms and passing her to Tom. ‘Take her home and tell the housekeeper to put her to bed.’
‘You should go with them, Jack.’ Clemency cast an anxious glance over her shoulder.
Jack smiled cheerfully. ‘Don’t worry about me, Clemmie. Ronnie and me will stay here with you.’
‘I tell you what,’ Horace said, beaming. ‘I’ll have the doorman escort you all to a box at the side of the stage. Miss Clemency, you’ll be able to watch the performance. You can listen to the great Dorabella and, if what Mr Throop says is true, it will help you to memorise the libretto.’
‘Wait!’ Clemency said, as Horace headed towards the door. ‘I ain’t said I’ll do it yet.’
Stunned silence.
Horace made a gobbling sound from somewhere beneath his starched collar. ‘But – but …’
‘As it happens, I will have a go at it, but on one condition.’
Augustus hooked his arm around her shoulders and his fingers dug into her flesh. ‘Leave the business side of things to me, Clem.’
‘No, Augustus.’ She pushed him aside. ‘I’ll do whatever you want, Mr Claypole, but only if you gives me brother Jack a place in the orchestra.’
Horace peered at her over the top of his specs. ‘A place in the orchestra? But my dear young lady …’
‘Jack’s a brilliant musician. It’s both of us or neither of us. I ain’t budging.’
‘It’s really up to the musical director and the conductor, but I’ll try to arrange for Jack to have an audition. I can’t say fairer than that.’
‘Done.’ Clemency spat on her hand and held it out.
Horace’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down above his collar, and then he smiled, and shook her hand.
In the heady excitement of the next twenty-four hours, Clemency forgot all about Jared Stone and his ultimatum. She had sat enthralled during the performance of the opera, committing the music to memory. Once she had a melody in her head, she had always found it easy to learn the words of a song, but whether she could memorise a whole libretto, together with the actions, and in such a short time, was another matter.
&nb
sp; When the performance ended and the theatregoers spilled out onto the street, Clemency’s ears were still ringing with the strains of the orchestra and the beautiful singing that had touched a chord deep inside her, making her want to laugh and weep at the same time. She felt as though she was floating on a cloud of make-believe. The cold night air slapped her in the face, bringing her sharply back to earth. Ronnie and Augustus were arguing. Ronnie said they should get a cab back to Flower and Dean Street, but Augustus pointed out that they had to return Mickey’s cart, and they set off on foot. Settling down on a pile of old sacks, Jack picked up the flute and began to play snatches of the opera score, and Clemency began to sing. To her surprise, she had already committed some part of the libretto to memory. She barely noticed the chill of the night air, the smell of overflowing drains, stale fish, horse manure and the stench of the river at high tide. Her feet hardly seemed to touch the ground as she walked by the side of the cart, and when they finally arrived back in Flower and Dean Street, she was much too excited to go to bed.
Fancy was roused, groggy with sleep and grumpy, until she heard that Jack might have a place in the orchestra. Suddenly she was wide awake and smiling as she riddled the dying embers of the fire, and put the kettle on the hob. At midnight they were sitting round the table with mugs of hot cocoa laced with sugar. With Ronnie’s help, Clemency studied the libretto while Jack played the melodies. In the early hours of the morning, too exhausted to continue any longer, Clemency climbed the stairs to bed. She lay down without bothering to undress and immediately fell into a deep sleep.
When she awakened a few hours later, the memories of last night’s events came flooding back: she jerked upright and banged her head on the sloping ceiling. Giggling, she rubbed her head. Ma was still asleep, lying on her back and snoring softly. Clemency crawled out of bed. As she took off the boy’s clothing and dressed in her old blouse and skirt, she felt as though she were floating several inches above the floor. Her head was buzzing with words and music and she had a fluttery, excited feeling in her stomach. It was still dark but she just had to tell Ma the good news. She went down on her knees and shook Edith by the shoulder.
