by Dilly Court
Isobel tugged at the strings of her reticule and pulled out a scrap of lace-trimmed organdie. She dabbed at her eyes. ‘I’m sorry. But it makes me so cross when people who know nothing about him criticise Jared, who has devoted himself to raising funds for the foundling hospital, and the mission to seamen, not to mention the home for fallen women.’
‘So that’s what he does?’ Clemency struggled to equate the saintly patron of good causes that Isobel was describing with the hard-nosed businessman who had threatened to throw perfectly good tenants out on the street if he did not get his own way. She could not. The only explanation seemed to be that there were two Jared Stones, or that he was a better actor than the fabled Henry Irving, whose likeness hung over the desk in Horace Claypole’s office.
‘Of course it is. Jared works so hard fundraising. He is tireless in his efforts to get rich people to make donations. I can’t think why he picked you to help him in his good works, but I trust his judgement implicitly. Won’t you reconsider his offer, Miss Skinner? I appeal to your better nature.’
For a second or two, Isobel’s obvious sincerity had made Clemency doubt her own judgement, but the memory of Stone’s harsh threat to have them all evicted from the lodging house in Flower and Dean Street was still fresh in her mind. No decent man would employ a villain like Hardiman. Clemency shook her head. ‘I said no, and I meant it.’
Isobel was silent for a moment, staring down at the floor. Then she raised her eyes to Clemency’s face and her lips trembled. ‘Won’t you think of those poor babies, abandoned by their mothers? The unfortunate young women who have been driven to a dissolute way of life? The seamen who, having served their country, have fallen on hard times, or suffered shipwreck and loss? I don’t know why Jared picked you, but I do know when he is troubled and frustrated. We are both determined people, Miss Skinner. And I assure you that I don’t give up easily.’
Clemency opened the door and held it open. ‘Nor me neither. I’m well suited here and that’s me last word.’
Isobel tossed her head and swept past her, leaving a trail of expensive perfume in her wake. ‘I shan’t give up, Miss Skinner.’ She paused, opening her reticule. She tucked the hanky away and took out a small deckle-edged calling card, which she handed to Clemency. ‘If you should change your mind, you’ll find me at this address. I won’t say goodbye, just au revoir, La Moineau.’
With a swish of silk petticoats and the clickety-clack of high heels on the bare floorboards, Isobel marched off, leaving Clemency standing in the doorway, staring after her. Either the woman was deranged, or she had been seriously mistaken in her opinion of Jared Stone. If his wife thought so highly of him, she was either a complete fool or desperately in love. Clemency went back into her dressing room and sat down at the make-up table. She opened her clenched fist and studied the elegant italic print on the calling card. Her reading was coming along nicely, thanks to Ronnie’s patient coaching, and she had no difficulty in deciphering the address:
Isobel Stone,
35 Finsbury Circus,
London, E.C.2
What, she wondered, was Stone playing at? She didn’t believe all that nonsense about his good works, but Isobel had obviously been taken in by him. Well, she wasn’t such a gullible fool. She went to tear the card in half and then changed her mind, tucking it into the pocket of her jacket. Hell would have to freeze over before she went crawling to Jared Stone.
Chapter Eleven
The performance that evening went well, despite the fact that Clemency could barely keep her mind on her part. With Ma hovering between life and death it seemed wrong to be prancing about on stage, entertaining people who could afford to lash out two guineas for a box, and wouldn’t recognise poverty if it came up and bit them on the bum. Every now and then she caught sight of Jack in the orchestra pit, but she was not fooled by his encouraging smile; she knew that he too was desperately worried about Ma. After the final curtain, including several encores, Clemency ran to her dressing room, where Florrie was waiting to help her out of her costume. Complaining bitterly about her bunions and corns, Florrie gathered up the discarded garments, tut-tutted when she saw a greasepaint stain on the bodice, and went off grumbling that she would have to stay late to get it clean. Clemency heaved a sigh of relief when the door closed on her.
Having scrubbed her face with cold cream soap, and washed it off in the warm water provided by Florrie, Clemency dragged the calico shirt over her head and stepped into the coarse fustian breeches. She pushed the vision of Isobel Stone, with her breathtaking gown and pretty little hat, to the back of her mind as she pulled on her thick woollen socks and, finally, the clodhopping boots. She might dress like a woman on the stage, but now she had to revert to her boyish disguise, and she was getting heartily sick of the whole charade. Seeing Isobel looking so elegant in her fine silks and satins, and smelling fragrant as a rose, had touched a chord in Clemency that was now vibrating like the plucked strings of a harp. A small, treacherous voice in the back of her mind was telling her that she could have all those things if she were to comply with Stone’s wishes. Hadn’t he promised her comfort and security if she worked for him?
‘You’re a fool, Clemency Skinner.’ She glared at her reflection in the mirror as she twisted her hair into a knot on top of her head, and rammed the cloth cap in place. As she tucked the telltale strands of hair out of sight beneath the crown, she saw a pale-faced boy staring back at her. Why, she wondered, would a man like Jared Stone be interested in someone like herself? He had a young and beautiful wife who so obviously adored him. She straightened her cap, shrugged her shoulders and turned off the gaslight. She had more important things to think about than Stone, and the main one was Ma. She hurried through the corridors to find Jack.
The air in the musicians’ dressing room was thick with cigarette smoke. It was like walking into a London particular, and breathing in the fumes made her cough. Most of the musicians had already left for home, but Jack was seated in his chair, smoking a cigarette. Standing beside him she saw Ned and her heart gave an uncomfortable jerk inside her chest. It could only be bad news.
Jack looked up and beckoned to her. ‘Clemmie. Come here.’
She hurried over to them. ‘What is it? Is she worse? Is that why you’ve come, Ned?’
‘She’s a bit better. The doctor came this evening and he’s more hopeful. He said she’s over the worst.’
Clemency swayed on her feet, dizzy with relief. ‘Oh, thank God.’
Ned steadied her with his arm around her shoulders. ‘He said she’s got to rest. She needs warmth and good food, so there’s no question of her coming to live with you at present.’
‘We can pay for her keep,’ Jack said, flicking ash off his cigarette. ‘We don’t want to impose on you and your mum.’
‘There’s no need to fret on that score. Ma said Edith can stay with us until she’s well again. Tell you the truth, I think she’ll enjoy a bit of female company.’
Clemency’s knees buckled, and she sank down onto the nearest chair. ‘You’ve both been so kind to her. We can’t thank you enough.’
‘It was me who introduced her to Connor.’ Ned stared down at his boots, and his cheeks reddened. ‘I feel to blame in part.’
‘You wasn’t to know, old chap.’ Jack stubbed out his cigarette in an overflowing ashtray. ‘I should have sorted the bugger out when I saw what he was up to.’
‘Neither of you were to blame,’ Clemency said, shaking her head. ‘Ma is a grown woman. She made her choice, and she made a mistake picking a chancer like Mickey Connor.’
‘I had words with him this afternoon.’ Ned flexed his fingers. ‘I told him what had happened.’
Clemency gave him a searching look. ‘Did he want to see Ma and make things right with her?’
He shook his head. ‘Connor didn’t want to know, but I give him something he’ll remember for a long time to come.’
‘I’ll shake your hand, mate,’ Jack said, with a rueful smile twist
ing his lips. ‘You’re a good chap, Ned. If things had been different I’d have done the same.’
Ned grinned and the dull flush spread to the tips of his ears. He took his curly-brimmed bowler hat from the table, and put it on at a rakish angle. ‘Let’s just say that Connor ain’t such a handsome fellow with his two front teeth missing. Maybe he’ll think twice before he ruins another good woman’s reputation. Anyway, I got to get back to the pub.’
‘Tell Ma I’ll come and see her in the morning,’ Clemency said, walking with him to the door. ‘And thanks again, Ned.’ She reached up and kissed his cheek.
If she had slapped him, he could not have looked more startled. He stared down at her for a moment, and then he tipped his hat and hurried out of the dressing room. She could hear his booted footsteps echoing along the narrow passageway. She felt suddenly drained. ‘Let’s get you home, Jack. At least we know that Ma is out of danger now.’ She took Nell’s old cloak from the peg behind the door and went to wrap it around his shoulders.
‘Don’t fuss, Clemmie. You’re as bad as Fancy.’ He snatched the garment from her and laid it across his knees. ‘I ain’t a gouty old colonel, ducks.’
She clipped him playfully round the ear. ‘No, you’re a pain in the neck, Jack Skinner.’ She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. ‘But I love you, just the same.’ She took the handle of the bath chair, and was pushing him towards the door when it opened and Augustus strode in, followed by Ronnie. She could tell by the expressions on their faces that all was not well. Her heart sank to her boots. ‘Augustus? What’s wrong?’
‘I’ve just come from Claypole’s office. It seems that the rumour was correct, Clem. He’s engaged the French opera singer, Louise la Croix, to appear in the next production. He wants Jack to stay on in the orchestra, but I’m afraid there is no part for you, my little sparrow.’
‘But he can’t do that. We have a contract.’
Augustus struck his forehead with the palm of his hand. ‘I thought so too, my bird. But there was small print – I confess I did not see the clause that said he could terminate the contract at short notice, should the need arise.’
‘But, Augustus. I’m the star, you said so yourself.’
Ronnie gave her a hug. ‘You are a star, Clem. But it seems that someone has put pressure on Claypole to hire the French woman. Who knows what goes on behind the scenes?’
‘It’s not right.’ Jack thumped his hand down on the arm of the bath chair. ‘Take me to him, Ronnie. I’ll tell him what I think of the bugger. And he knows what he can do with my part in the orchestra. If Clemmie ain’t wanted here, then I’m not staying on.’
‘This is terrible,’ Clemency said, biting back tears. ‘But don’t be hasty, Jack. We can’t both be out of work. I’ve proved myself here, and I’m sure Augustus can find me a part in another production. There are plenty more theatres, and more trustworthy managers than Claypole. Isn’t that right, Augustus?’
He mopped his brow with a grubby cotton hanky. ‘Of course there are, poppet. Let’s go home to our palace by the river. We’ll treat ourselves to jellied eels, washed down with a bottle of port. Nils desperation, that’s what I always say.’
Diverted, Clemency stared up into his florid face. ‘What does that mean?’
‘It’s Latin, my dear. It means never give up, or words to that effect. We will triumph over adversity.’
Next morning, Clemency awakened stiff and cold after a disturbed night. Despite the fact that it was late spring, hailstones had pelted the roof and windows of the church, echoing round the vaulted ceilings like a fusillade of grapeshot. Every time she dozed into a fitful sleep, she slipped into nightmares where she was being chased by a shadowy figure. Sometimes it was Hardiman, then it was Stone and lastly it was the man they nicknamed the Leather Apron or the Ripper. She never saw their faces, but she could hear their footsteps coming up behind her, and she could feel hot breath on her neck. She woke up with a start, as the noise of the hailstones grew louder. She realised then that the hot breath on her neck was Fancy’s, who had rolled over in her sleep, cuddling up to her to keep warm. It was bitterly cold in the vestry and the hammering sound was growing louder. It was not hailstones, but some unseen person or persons pounding on the iron-studded door of the church. She shook Fancy awake and then crawled over to where Ronnie and Augustus lay sleeping.
‘Ronnie, wake up. Augustus, there’s someone banging on the door and shouting.’
Slowly, everyone dragged themselves back to consciousness. Ronnie was first to scramble to his feet. Shivering, he reached for his jacket. ‘I’ll go and see who it is.’
He crept out of the vestry in his stockinged feet and Clemency followed him.
‘Open up in the name of the law.’
She clutched his arm. ‘What d’you think they want?’
He shrugged, holding his finger to his lips.
‘Open up, I say, or we’ll break the door down.’
The solid oak timbers shook as if someone had kicked them from outside.
‘Here, sergeant. I don’t think as how we should do that to the house of God.’
‘Mind your own business, constable.’
Another kick on the door was followed by the sound of someone hitting the timbers with a stick.
‘Open up.’
She glanced anxiously at Ronnie. ‘It’s the police. Maybe we should let them in.’
‘I think you’re right.’ He tugged at the heavy iron bolts.
They had to leap for safety as the door flew open and a police sergeant strode into the building with a constable at his heels. ‘You people are trespassing on church property.’ The sergeant glared at them and began to pace about, brandishing his truncheon and peering beneath pews as if he expected to find an army of squatters lurking beneath them.
Ronnie went after him, at a safe distance. ‘We’re not doing any harm, officer. We’ve done no damage.’
The sergeant came to a halt by the spirit stove and the remains of last night’s supper. ‘I could arrest you for desecrating a holy place.’
Clemency stepped forward. ‘Please, sir. We just needed a place to stay. We ain’t done no harm, honest.’
The sergeant looked past her, beckoning the constable. ‘Search the building, Watkins.’
Augustus and Fancy came hurrying from the crypt. Augustus held up his hands. ‘No need, officer. There’s just us and a poor crippled boy. We weren’t aware that we were breaking the law, sir. We just needed a place to stay.’
The sergeant looked him up and down. Clemency could see that he was impressed by Augustus’s air of authority.
‘Yes,’ Clemency said, buttoning her blouse. ‘You ought to be out chasing villains like Todd Hardiman, not disturbing us innocent folk what was just sheltering from the storm.’
Augustus clamped his hand over her mouth. He cast an ingratiating smile at the sergeant. ‘You’ll have to excuse my daughter, officer. She’s got a mouth on her like the Thames tunnel, but she don’t mean no harm.’
Watkins emerged from the vestry. ‘Looks like they’ve been camping here for some time, sergeant. And there’s a crippled bloke lying on the floor. Give me a mouthful he did when I trod on him by accident. Shall I arrest him?’
‘It ain’t worth the bother of taking them down to the station and filling in the paperwork.’ The sergeant turned to Augustus, pointing his truncheon at him. ‘You seem to be the ringleader, so I’m telling you to clear up your mess and vacate the building by midday. If I come back and find you lot are still here, then I’ll have you up before the beak so quick it’ll make your head spin. Do you understand?’ Without waiting for an answer, he strode out into the street.
The constable followed him, turning to them as he closed the door. ‘He’s a mean bugger to cross. So I’d scarper if I was you.’
The door grated on rusty hinges and it sounded to Clemency like a groan of pain. They stood in silence, staring at each other in dismay.
‘Don’t stand there
like a bunch of waxworks.’ Jack shuffled out of the vestry, dragging his body across the flagstones. ‘Fetch me chair, Fancy, there’s a good girl. It looks like we’re on the move again, don’t it?’
Fancy threw herself down on her knees beside him, flinging her arms around his shoulders and bursting into tears. ‘Oh, Jack. What’ll we do now?’
Ronnie tugged at his moustache. ‘I have to say, things do look bad.’
‘Nils desperation, old fellow.’ Augustus did not sound convinced. He turned to Clemency. ‘I have to admit that I’m at a loss, Clem. We have very little money left, not enough to pay for decent lodgings in a respectable house.’
‘I thought we was saving money by living here.’ Clemency stared at him, puzzled. She had put her trust in Augustus, but now a worm of suspicion crawled into her mind. ‘Jack and me have been earning good money. You was looking after it for us.’
Augustus puffed out his chest and then, meeting her stern gaze, he subsided with a sigh. ‘There have been expenses, Clem. And I agreed a wage for you that was shockingly low, but as you were unknown and untried, I thought it reasonably fair. As to Jack, I had to bargain hard to get Claypole and the musical director to take him on at all. His place in the orchestra was on a trial basis.’
‘Hold on.’ Jack’s voice cracked with suppressed emotion. ‘D’you mean to tell me that I’ve been working for nothing?’
‘It was a temporary arrangement, Jack. You were gaining experience and expertise, old chap.’
Jack slammed his clenched fists on the wooden arms of the chair. ‘No one works for nothing. You’re a crooked bastard, Throop. How do I know you haven’t spent our hard-earned money on yourself?’
Augustus shook his head. ‘I never did that. I’m sorry, old fellow. I know I haven’t been the most efficient of managers, but Claypole is a hard man, and I’ve learnt from the experience. It won’t happen again.’
