THE PERFORMERS
1. GOWER STREET (1973)
2. THE HAYMARKET (1974)
3. PADDINGTON GREEN (1975)
4. SOHO SQUARE (1976)
5. BEDFORD ROW (1977)
6. LONG ACRE (1978)
7. CHARING CROSS (1979)
8. THE STRAND (1980)
9. CHELSEA REACH (1982)
10. SHAFTESBURY AVENUE (1983)
11. PICCADILLY (1985)
12. SEVEN DIALS (1986)
CLAIRE RAYNER
LONG ACRE
Book 6
THE PERFORMERS
ebook ISBN: 978-1-84982-061-5
M P Publishing Limited
12 Strathallan Crescent
Douglas
Isle of Man
IM2 4NR
United Kingdom
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email: [email protected]
Copyright © 1978 Claire Rayner
e-published in 2010 by M P Publishing
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.
For Joan Chapman
with gratitude for her
ever-patient rusty shoulder
FAMILY TREE I
FAMILY TREE II
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The author is grateful for the assistance given with research by the Library of the Royal Society of Medicine, London; The London Library; Burroughs Wellcome Medical History Museum and Library, London; Westminster City Library; Macarthy’s Ltd., Surgical Instrument Manufacturers; The London Museum; The Victoria and Albert Museum; Leichner Stage Make-Up Ltd., Raymond Mander and Jo Mitchenson, theatrical historians; Miss Geraldine Stephenson, choreographer and dance historian; Wyndham’s Theatre, London; The Port of London Authority; and other sources too numerous to mention.
CHAPTER ONE
The mist lay low on the river, melting the hulls of the tangled shipping that cluttered the banks on both sides to a gentle shifting greyness. Above it rose the masts, aloof and slender and festooned with rigging, some of them with a badly furled sail or two flapping mournfully in the occasional breath of wind that moved across from the northern bank to the southern. From away down river came the distant bleat of foghorns, and in the intervals of their melancholy cries could be heard the shrieking of the gulls, swooping low over the fish market at Billingsgate, searching for fish guts and scrapings. The air smelled of rotting wood, dead fish, mud and oil and smoke.
‘Altogether,’ thought Amy, shivering and pulling her cloak more tightly about her, ‘it looks very dismal. I ought to feel dismal too —’
But she did not. She was cold, she was more than a little hungry, and she was very tired, for all night there had been noise and scrapings and swayings as the steam tugs had been made fast to the Daniel Boone at Gravesend, and brought her slowly chugging up the river to St Katherine’s Dock. So, there had been little sleep for the steerage passengers. But despite all that and despite the gloom of the morning, Amy Lucas did not feel dismal. She was filled with an excitement so vast, was consumed with an anticipation so huge that she could almost forget the emptiness of her belly. After four weeks of bucketing across the Atlantic in a tiny creaking cargo ship smelling powerfully of cocoa butter and pepper, a particularly sickening combination, even St Katherine’s Dock in a mist seemed like Elysium.
She felt rather than heard Fenton behind her, and turned her head to peer up at him, and said breathlessly, ‘Oh, Fenton, is it not incredible? We are here — we are actually here. I almost cannot believe it!’
‘Keep your voice down,’ Fenton said in a soft growl and came to stand beside her, and set down at her feet the two valises with which they had crept out of Boston all those weeks ago. ‘Look here, Amy, you must do exactly as I say, do you hear me? When I give you the sign, pick up the two bags, and hide them under your cloak. Then I will follow you down the gangplank and keep curious eyes off you from behind. And when we reach the bottom, you must take a sharp turn to the left — there, can you see? Between those piles of sacks there seems to be a way through. I will take the valises from you as soon as we are out of sight of the ship, I promise you —’
She frowned at that. ‘But, Fenton — my breakfast! I am very hungry —’
‘Then you must stay hungry. Until we are ashore, that is. Come on, girl — don’t be so stupid! We have little enough money, God knows. I see no sense in handing seventy dollars over to that captain to drink himself pie-eyed with when I have much better use to make of ‘em!’
‘But Fenton, we have travelled quite comfortable, you know. And it is always possible we may wish to go home again, and if we have mulcted this captain, will he not tell all the other shipping people here? It has happened to us before, that sort of thing —’
‘I am not going home again. Not ever!’ Fenton said shortly, and leaned on the rail beside her, his narrow green eyes never leaving the dock side below them. ‘And I have no intention of paying him, whatever you say. So you may as well bite your tongue.’
And with the practice born of a lifetime as Fenton’s sister, Amy bit her tongue. On that theme at least. Had she been asked to speak the total truth, she would have had to admit that she saw no real sin in attempting to deprive the captain of the remainder of the passage money due to him; her honesty as regarding material things was as hazy as her brother’s. How could it be otherwise, when she adored him so, and looked up to him so, and admired his acumen so? If Fenton regarded such behaviour as right then she supposed she must too. But she was worried, a little, about the possibility of being apprehended in the act of so depriving the captain, for he had shown himself a formidable man in many ways during the long crossing, and, she shrewdly suspected, would not think twice about throwing not only their luggage but Fenton and herself head first into the greasy water now slapping the sides of the Daniel Boone far below them. But, with her usual sunny optimism she pushed her doubts away, and leaned on the rail beside Fenton, happily watching the bustle below them, and edging up close to him to feel the warmth of his body.
There was more to see now, as the late October sunshine at last struggled through the morning clouds of the eastern sky and began to shred the mist to nothingness. Now Amy could see upriver a good deal further, to the spread of chimneys and roofs and spires lifting above the river’s traffic, and she clutched Fenton’s arm suddenly and cried excitedly, ‘Fenton! Look over there! Is that not St Paul’s Cathedral of which Papa used to speak? There — that dome there? It looks for all the world like a bubble that will float away —’
He looked and grimaced. ‘Oh, Amy, there is no need to be so boring! You sound like all those dumb old cats that Mamma used to sit and talk with who prosed on and on about their travels in Europe and seemed to have done nothing but visit cathedrals and ruins. We have not come to London for that! As for what Papa used to say —’ he grinned suddenly, ‘it was what he used to say about the theatres that I recall, not what he used to say about cathedrals.’
‘Do you really think we shall find anyone who knew Papa?’ Amy said, and now her face was suddenly sad and a little pinched and her eyes wide and imploring as she stared up at Fenton, and he laughed at her.
‘Oh, don’t look so woebegone, you silly creature!’ he said. ‘Papa has been dead these ten years, and still you come the tragedy queen when you speak of him! Save your acting for the stage, when you have a job, my girl — don’t waste it on me.’
She pouted then and laughed, her face at once lighting up. ‘I cannot help it!’ she protested. ‘I have always had a very speaking countenance. My speech teacher Miss Farraday always said
that I —’
‘Oh, to the devil with Miss Farraday, and to the devil with everyone we ever knew in dreary old Boston and to the devil with dreary old Boston!’ He picked her up in one muscular arm and swung her round, so that her feet left the deck and her head swirled, and she squealed with laughter, and looked up at him with the usual adoring expression now investing her wide grey eyes and pointed face. And he grinned back, so that his own face creased, and his narrow green eyes glittered, showing he was as filled with excitement and anticipation as she was. ‘He’s so handsome,’ Amy thought, filling with pride, ‘so handsome everyone in London must surely be crazy about him!’ And she threw her arms about him and kissed his cheek, and he, as he so often did, changed his mood abruptly and put her down and pushed her away and told her not to be so mawkish.
The noise from the docks below began to build up as more and more men came to lounge about and stare at the new arrival, and Fenton glanced back over his shoulder at the hatch openings that led down to the bowels of the ship.
‘They are opening up, Amy,’ he said softly. ‘And that means they are nearly ready to unload cargo. I cannot see easily from here — is there a clear way to the head of the gangplank? Walk along and look — but be careful, for Pete’s sake. We don’t want anyone smelling a rat.’
Obediently she turned, and pulling her cloak warmly about her strolled with great nonchalance up the deck towards the waist of the ship. One or two of the crewmen she passed leered at her, but she ignored that; they had been behaving so ever since they had left Boston Harbour, though it had gained them nothing. At the far side of the deck she could see the Captain, talking animatedly to one of the tugboat crewmen, and after a moment they both turned, still talking and waving their arms about, and went down the companionway that led to the captain’s quarters.
Amy hurried back to the rail where Fenton was waiting. ‘It’s clear,’ she said dropping her voice conspiratorially. ‘I just saw the captain go down with one of those tugboat people to his cabin. They’ll be drinking and shouting there for long enough, I reckon, if you’re really sure you want to welch on him — though I do wish you would not. It could be —’
‘Shut your trap, and come and take these —’ He picked up the two heavy valises. ‘Now, hold each one, so, and I’ll tie your cloak across the front, so — there! Your cloak hides all — I knew it would. Now, you go ahead, and walk quietly down the gangplank, and remember — turn to the left at the bottom. I shall be close behind you.’
Once again she put on her insouciant expression, and once again turned to walk across the deck past the sweating deckhands, now beginning to manhandle malodorous barrels of cocoa butter up from the bowels of the ship. The valises were heavy, and slowed her down, and made it difficult to give an air of being just a casual stroller, and she turned her head to look appealingly at Fenton strolling along behind with his hat on the back of his head and his hands thrust deep in his trouser pockets so that his topcoat bunched out behind him, but he scowled at her and jerked his head in the direction of the gangplank, and with a tiny sigh she went on.
But now, she used the trick she always used when faced with a disagreeable task: she pretended she was acting. In her mind’s eye she set a proscenium arch around the ship, and a huge adoring audience in front of it, and conjured up within her the tension and excitement and the fear and the faint nausea that a performance always created in her. And then she could do it. She strolled across the deck, the valises feeling almost weightless, so unimportant were they now, swaying a little to give an impression of lightness and ease, and smiled bewitchingly at the deckhands and went smoothly on to the top of the gangplank.
Here her imagination strengthened, and it was as though she were treading a catwalk down, down, down, into the heart of her worshipping audience, and she looked from side to side with gentle inclinations of her head, almost as though she were bowing to them, and her smile widened and her eyes became even more lustrous, so that several of the stevedores waiting on the dock below stared at her with their mouths open. She was something very much worth staring at.
She remembered to turn left at the bottom — had she ever forgotten a stage move? Not Amy Lucas, not she! — and then she was between the towering piles of sacks, surrounding by the heavy reek of coffee, and Fenton was behind her and taking the valises from her hands.
‘Good girl — you carried that off famously! Now come on — we’d best move fast —’
She blinked up at him, still lost in her fantasy, and he said impatiently, ‘Come on, I said! Are you asleep? We may be ashore, but they could still catch up with us!’ and he pushed her to one side far from gently, and led the way past the sacks of coffee, and another great stack of barrels, this time smelling of malt, and she went after him as fast as she could, stumbling and slipping occasionally on the wet wooden slats.
It was as though he had been living and working in these smelly shadowy docks for all his life. On all sides were heaps of barrels and bales and sacks and between them only the narrowest of passageways; yet he moved forwards unerringly, seeming to know precisely where he was going, and, breathless at his speed, she followed as best she might. Not once did he look back to see if she was there but then, she did not expect he would.
At last the heaps of cargo began to diminish, and the wood underfoot became cobblestones as he turned sharply right and began to climb a narrow roadway that ran up between tall dark warehouses. By now too breathless to pay much attention to anything but her own feelings, Amy toiled after him, her head down and her cloak and gown held high in each hand in an attempt to keep the hems out of the mud that plentifully streaked the cobbles. And at last arrived at the top to find they were in a fairly wide thoroughfare, teeming with people and traffic and noise.
‘Well, what a fuss to make!’ Fenton said coolly, as she leaned against the wall and gasped, and rubbed her damp red face with both hands. ‘You’re as much use as a baby, you are, making such heavy weather! It’s small thanks to you we’re seventy dollars richer than we would have been!’
She fired up at that. ‘And who carried the luggage off the ship? Who got us off with never a whimper? Don’t you speak to me so, or I’ll — I’ll — anyway — I am very tired, and very very hungry! Last night, when we ate dinner, you did not leave much for me, and —’
‘Oh, let’s not start that again! You should have come to your dinner sooner! Anyway, that is all done now. We’ve arrived!’
He lifted his head and looked around him, his chin up, and his hat set rakishly on the side of his head so that it showed his crisp dark curling hair to great advantage. ‘No more of that miserable scrimping we’ve had to put up with for so long! We must settle ourselves in an hotel as soon as we can, and then we shall go and have a great blowout, and you will feel splendid! Trust me! First we must find ourselves a growler — that is what they call a four-wheeled cab in London, you know, and the drivers always know the best places to go —’
Amy, who had heard as many of their father’s stories of London life as had Fenton, and had remembered just as much as he had, shook her head and grinned to herself, her good temper quite restored. She was never one to sulk, and she was amused by Fenton’s little lecture on London ways. So she merely smiled at him, and pushed the hood of her cloak back on to her shoulders and followed him along the street, looking from side to side with great interest. And enjoyed not only what she saw but the reactions of passers-by who looked at them.
Used as they had both been all their lives at home in Boston to obvious admiration being paid to their good looks, she had not been quite sure that here in London, which was a bigger metropolis, they would be at all remarkable, and it gratified her a good deal to note that they were. Passing women looked with sudden interest at her brother’s elegant profile — and Amy was the first to agree it was one of quite stunning male beauty — while the men tipped up their chins and narrowed their eyes in obvious approval of her own pert face and bobbing curls. ‘It’s going to be all rig
ht,’ she told herself. ‘It’s going to be all right.’ They would surely have big parts in a good production in no time, and be all set upon their new career. And she tucked her hand under Fenton’s arm, despite the fact that he was still burdened with the two valises, and smiled up at him with pure delight.
He, concentrating on the matter in hand, ignored her in favour of a cab plying for hire across the crowded way and he shouted at the top of his voice, ‘Hi! You there — c’mon over here!’
People within earshot turned and stared, and grinned, and now Amy was not pleased at all with the effect they were having. ‘Be quiet, Fenton,’ she hissed and pulled his sleeve. ‘You are making a cake of yourself — perhaps they do not behave so in London —’
But he shook her off and waved, and now the cabman whipped up his horse and brought it wheeling across the traffic, to the accompaniment of much cursing from other drivers, to pull up beside them.
He looked down at them, and then sniffed and hawked and spat luxuriously over the side of his perch.
‘An’ where does you two fine Yankee birds want to go then?’ he said and leered at Amy, who stared up at him in amazement.
‘How did you know we come from Massachusetts?’ she said wonderingly and the cabman stared at her and laughed. ‘I ain’t never ‘eard o’ no ‘Chusetts, lady, but I knows a Yankee when I ‘ears one. Especially when I ‘ears one yellin’ like that! Where’re yer goin’?’
‘The Albion Hotel in Great Russell Street!’ Fenton said grandly. ‘And put our luggage aloft, my man, at once!’ And he dropped the two valises on the kerb and opened the door of the cab and handed Amy in with great style.
‘How did you know where to ask for?’ she whispered, as they sat side by side and listened to the grunts and snorts of the jarvey as he climbed down from his perch and loaded their bags on to the roof, and Fenton laughed and leaned back against the dusty squabs.
Long Acre Page 1
