Rose Campion and the Stolen Secret

by Lyn Gardner

  She glanced at the faces of the audience, who were all on their feet and demanding a encore so that they could sing along. Men, women and even some children were gazing at the boyish Belle longingly as if she was the most romantic thing they had ever seen.

  Rose grinned to herself. Little did they know that away from the haze of the limelight, and without her rouged lips and cheeks, smoky eyes and the sailor suit that gave her such boyish appeal, Belle was a plain, shy young woman who lived quietly with her invalid mother in Lant Street. Her real name was Prudence Smith. But Prudence had the voice of a nightingale and when she stepped on to the stage she was transformed into something wistful and unworldly. On stage she was endlessly fascinating, but in her everyday skirts nobody looked at her twice. The young men who hung around the stage door after her act, hoping to thrust flowers into her hand or take her to supper, never realised that the homely young woman with glasses and a long plait slipping quietly by them was none other than the glamorously crop-haired and alluring Belle Canterbury. She had had plenty of offers to work in other halls, including far grander ones across the river, but Belle refused them all. Campion’s suited her. It was near her mum, to whom she was devoted, and Thomas was always understanding when the old lady took a turn for the worse and Belle needed time away from the hall.

  The crowd fell silent as Belle began to sing again, and Gus, the stage manager, nodded at Rose, who slipped along the corridor to warn the ballet girls that their number was imminent. She met Thomas along the way. He was looking more cheerful than he had for ages, and once again she felt guilty that she’d thrown a strop over the Infant Phenomenon act. She knew he had to do anything necessary to save the music hall they both loved.

  “Ah, Rosie,” he said. “I’ve been looking for you. I’ve had a note from Grace Dorset. She’s worried about Ned. Apparently he set off this way a week ago and never returned. She’s beside herself with worry, and little Freddie is in the fever hospital so she can’t come looking herself. You haven’t by any chance seen him at all since the day of our little tea party last month?”

  “Yes,” said Rose, looking puzzled. “I did see him. He was up in the gallery, watching me and O’Leary doing the scene from King John. I assumed he’d come to see you about the job and slipped in to see the first show. But then with all the mayhem surrounding Aurora and Lizzie’s arrival I quite forgot about seeing him.”

  “So you’re sure it was the same day that Lizzie and Aurora arrived?”

  Rose nodded.

  “And you didn’t speak to him?”

  “I didn’t get the chance,” said Rose. “One minute he was in the gallery watching me, and the next he had just completely disappeared. Like a ghost.” She paused and frowned. “But I got the impression he was trying to tell me something. He was miming holding a baby and pointing at me. But I haven’t a clue what he was trying to say.”

  Thomas looked anxious. “I’d better let Grace know he’s been here. But it won’t set her mind at rest.” He sighed. “It doesn’t set mine at rest either. Ned’s a reliable boy, and he’d never stay away from Grace and Freddie for long without very good reason. I hope nothing bad has happened.”

  From the auditorium came the sound of the crowd shouting and laughing.

  “Just listen to them roar,” said Thomas.

  “Almost a full house,” replied Rose. “Lots of big-spending swells in too.”

  “Lots of clearing up after,” said Thomas, “but plenty of money in everyone’s pockets.”

  Then they both smiled and said in unison: “Every crowd has a silver lining.”

  Rose had to admit Aurora was bringing in the crowds. She hated the way Lizzie Gawkin lorded it over everyone, and the way Campion’s now resounded to the sound of her high, thin voice bleating in perpetual complaint. She particularly hated the way that Lizzie kept looking at her, as if the woman knew something about her that Rose didn’t know herself.

  “It’s rude to stare,” Rose told her one day.

  Lizzie had squawked with laughter. “Well, you would know all about being rude, because you’re such a la-di-da lady, aren’t you?”

  It was only for Thomas’s sake that Rose had bitten her tongue. Still, she had to admit that though Aurora was hardly an infant and nowhere close to being a phenomenon, she really was a very good actress. She had a good line in satirical songs. The crowd loved it when she dressed up as a shy debutante being taken to the zoo by her fiancé and fainting at the sight of every wild animal. They enjoyed it when she danced, and did duologues snitched from popular melodramas, the bloodier and more murderous the better.

  Jem Dorries was often roped in to perform opposite her. With his good looks, Jem was a favourite with the ladies. None of them realised that the multi-talented Jem was also the turbaned sword-swallower and juggler, Ali the Great Wizard of the Orient. At Campion’s, everyone was a master of disguise.

  Rose knocked on the door of the ballet girls’ dressing room. Since the arrival of Aurora and her aunt, the ballet girls had been forced to share with all the other female artistes, and though there had been mutterings of discontent at the star treatment for the newcomers, they had all cheerfully mucked in together with much laughter. Even the shy Belle had gone in with the other girls and enjoyed their gentle teasing, ribald jokes and singalongs.

  Much to Lizzie’s fury, who demanded it must be located immediately, the key to the small dressing room couldn’t be found anywhere. Her rage increased when the ballet girls kept drifting back into their former dressing room, on endless quests to find lost stockings, garters and hatpins, forgotten love letters from admirers and, in the case of Lottie, the two white mice that she kept in a cage under a table behind a heap of discarded costumes.

  Lizzie had screeched loudly when Lottie emerged from under the table, triumphantly holding the cage aloft. But everyone else agreed with Rose when she said that it was the white mice who should be outraged at having to share a dressing room with Lizzie. She blurted the words out backstage before realising Aurora was standing nearby. Rose blushed, but for a second she thought she saw a gleam of amusement in Aurora’s green eyes.

  Rose poked her head into the dressing room where the ballet girls were getting ready to let them know their cue would be soon. It smelled of rose water, sweat, powder, rouge and the burned cork many of the girls used to darken their lashes and outline their eyes. Some of the girls were trying to run through the routine in the cramped space.

  “Hello, Rosie. How are you?” asked Lottie, and several of the girls immediately broke into a chorus of “Rosie, Rosie, give me your answer, do, I’m half crazy…”

  Rose grinned. “Five minutes and you’re on. You need to come now or there’ll be trouble.”

  “Lor, I’m nowhere near ready. Be a duck, Rosie,” said Lottie, “an’ pop into their royal highnesses’ dressing room next door and get me headdress. I know I left it there. It’ll be on the window ledge.”

  Rose nodded, and walked back down the corridor. The door to the dressing room was ajar so she peeped through the crack. The room appeared to be empty so she pushed the open door and walked in, then immediately realised her mistake. Lizzie was sitting on the floor half hidden behind the open lid of a large trunk. In her shock at Rose’s intrusion, the woman leapt to her feet, holding a lacquered box in her hand. Rose spied a flash of silver, a blue ribbon and some papers before Lizzie snapped the box lid shut. She staggered heavily towards Rose, her face contorted in fury. Rose could smell gin fumes.

  “You little spy!” she screeched. “Who sent you to pry into my affairs?”

  “Nobody,” stuttered Rose. “I wasn’t snooping. I just came for Lottie’s headdress.” She pointed towards the window ledge where it sat, rather crumpled, exactly where Lottie said it would be. “She needs it for the cancan. I’m sorry, I thought the dressing room was empty or I’d have knocked.”

  Lizzie narrowed her eyes, but seemed a little mollified.

  “Take it,” she said with a nod towards the win
dow ledge. Rose picked the headdress up and went to leave.

  “What did you see?” demanded Lizzie sharply.

  “I didn’t see anything, honest,” said Rose, opening her eyes very wide like the most innocent of cherubs. Then, although she knew she really shouldn’t, she just couldn’t resist adding, “Apart from the dead body, of course.”

  Lizzie turned white with shock and then ugly red blotches of fury bloomed on her cheeks.

  “Only joking,” said Rose hastily, backing towards the door and bumping into Aurora. The girl was taking her jacket off as she came into the room and Rose couldn’t help notice that her arms were covered in bruises, as if somebody had been pinching her hard. Aurora saw Rose looking and pulled her jacket back on quickly, but at that moment Lottie put her head around the door.

  “Come on, Rosie! Move yourself. I need that headdress now or I’m going to miss my cue.”

  Rose followed Lottie down the corridor, all the while wondering what it was that Lizzie was so keen to hide from prying eyes.

  Effie stood shivering outside Campion’s and watched as the crowds pushed their way into the music hall. There was a hint of snow in the air. She could hear music and laughter coming from inside, and the frosted windows gave off an enticing golden glow.

  Effie blew on her hands. She longed to go in and be enveloped by the warmth and see the wonders inside for herself. But she didn’t have the money. For the past ten days she had just about kept body and soul together. But every second had felt like a struggle. She’d had some luck, mind. Running errands for one of the coffee-stall keepers had kept her in hot drinks and bread; she got two days’ work at one of the laundries amid the steaming coppers. But the last couple of days it had turned colder and her luck had run out too. There had been no work at the laundry and the coffee-stall keeper had been replaced by his less-friendly brother.

  That morning she had stood in a crowd next to a well-dressed woman whose purse was poking out of her open bag. The temptation to dip her hand in and prig it was almost overwhelming. But the image of her mother looking at her sorrowfully from the dock of the Old Bailey popped into her head and she hesitated. At that moment the woman looked down, realised her bag was open and pulled the strings tight shut. Then she’d glanced at Effie suspiciously and moved away. It made Effie feel guilty even though she’d done nothing.

  Now as she loitered outside Campion’s in a mean drizzle of rain she wished she had taken the purse. She wondered about going into the yard and asking for Rose. But Rose had probably forgotten all about her by now. The door to Campion’s opened and there was a gust of warmth as a group came out, their eyes shining and their cheeks glowing. They were muffled against the cold and they didn’t even notice Effie as they walked down the road. She was just one of thousands of ragged children who thronged the London streets.

  Two carriages loomed out of the swirling fog and pulled up outside the music hall. A group of toffs got out, laughing loudly. They had some young women with them. Their clothes were bright in the glimmer of the street lamps and Effie thought they looked like beautiful butterflies against the inky darkness of the street. The group thronged towards the entrance that was giving out a light like molten honey.

  “I say!” said one of the men loudly. “This is slumming it a bit, what!”

  “Champagne tastes the same wherever you are,” brayed another. “We’ve come to see the Infant Phenomenon. Let’s hope the Infant Phenomenon is ready to see us.”

  There were cackles.

  “I’ve been before. It’s a quaint little down-at-heel place,” said another man. “Feels authentic. They’re got a good singer too, Belle Canterbury. Wonderful voice. Let’s give it a chance. We can always move on to the Alhambra or the Britannia later.”

  They brushed by Effie without seeing her, even though one of them managed to step heavily on her foot. They flung the door open and swaggered in. Effie peered yearningly into the melting light. She took a step towards it. The music and laughter clawed at her heart as she remembered being at the Fortune with her mum. She took another step forward.

  The group were by the table where the box office was set up, jostling impatiently. Unseen, Effie wormed her way into the centre of the crowd, and as the toffs were waved through after paying she slipped in with them. The swells made straight for the mahogany bar. Effie heard them calling loudly for champagne as they were shown towards a table.

  Effie looked around quickly and then quietly headed for the gallery. She filled her lungs with the warm mustiness of the place. She picked her way along a bench near the front of the gallery where there was a space next to a large, bad-tempered woman wearing an ugly tartan dress with a lorgnette held to her eyes. She slid into the empty spot. The woman glared at Effie and shuffled slightly to her left. Effie blushed. She was certain the woman thought she was riddled with fleas.

  She glanced around her and froze. Sitting right behind the woman was the scar-faced Tanner Street boy who had tricked her out of her money. He hadn’t noticed her because he was laughing and joking with his friends. Sitting next to him were three girls who looked as if they could be his sisters. The one right behind Effie was bouncing a gurgling infant on her knee. The child was wearing a grimy bonnet and a handkerchief around her neck.

  Effie longed to confront the boy but she knew she’d be a fool to even try. The entire gallery would laugh at her. Instead, she tried to concentrate on the stage where Ali the Great Wizard of the Orient was delighting the crowd by juggling several swords. The man on Effie’s other side was handed a steaming pie by his wife. Effie sniffed the delicious aroma and tried not to think of her rumbling stomach. Ali finished his act with a daring display of sword-swallowing and left the stage to enthusiastic applause and much whooping.

  A voice came from the wings. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Miss Aurora Scarletti, the Infant Phenomenon…”

  There was a clash of cymbals that sounded like thunder, a cascade of piano keys and the Infant Phenomenon pranced on to the stage. The audience leaned forward as one, with the large woman in the tartan dress leading the applause.

  The girl on the stage began a comic song about a posh girl who goes for a walk across London and repeatedly slips and falls in the mud. The crowd were lapping it up. Effie leaned further forward to watch. The song was reaching its climax where the girl falls in a pile of steaming horse dung. The woman in the tartan dress next to her was screeching encouragement, unaware that the Tanner Street gang were mocking her behind her back.

  Effie glanced around the eggshell-blue interior and marvelled at the gilt mirrors. She hugged herself with pleasure. Campion’s was so lovely. She caught a glimpse of Rose standing at the entrance to the gallery, watching the stage. Suddenly Rose turned and looked at Effie and grinned at her.

  Effie smiled shyly back. Her heart gave a little skip. She had been wrong, Rose did remember her after all! When the Infant Phenomenon had finished, she would try and talk to Rose. Perhaps Rose would repeat her offer to let Effie spend a few days at Campion’s. But of course she wouldn’t! If Rose thought Effie could afford to get into the music hall, she’d assume she didn’t need help any more. Effie felt tears prick her eyes. She could hardly admit that she had crept into Campion’s without paying. It was as good as thieving from Rose. She stole another glance in Rose’s direction, but Rose’s eyes were fixed on the row behind her. She seemed very interested in the Tanner Street crew and the baby.

  The Infant Phenomenon was dancing now. The audience quickly became restive. Effie could see that the girl on the stage had sensed their rowdiness, and she faltered. It only made the crowd noisier. There were some catcalls coming from the gallery and one of the braying toffs from downstairs was baiting her. The woman in tartan was gesturing at the Infant Phenomenon and yelling instructions at her. Effie suddenly felt sorry for her.

  The girl glanced up at the balcony and seemed to recover herself. Her mouth was set in a line of determination as she broke into a new comic song. The boisterous
crowd quickly quietened and the catcalls died away. They wanted to laugh, and Aurora was now giving them what they wanted.

  The woman in the tartan dress lowered herself heavily back on to the bench and as she did so, Effie noticed that her silk handkerchief and her purse were clearly visible, just peeping from inside her pocket. She stared at them both, mesmerised. They were so close. The silk handkerchief alone would be worth at least a shilling. When she and her mum were prigging for Josiah he always said a silk hankie was a better bet than a purse. Easy to steal, easy to sell, and a purse might turn out to be empty.

  Suddenly the baby in the row behind started bawling loudly. Effie turned round, and so did everyone else in the vicinity. The woman in tartan craned her neck and shouted, “Stop that racket! Nobody can hear the poor girl sing.”

  When the woman turned back towards the stage, her purse and handkerchief had vanished, and so had the Tanner Street boys. Effie saw their backs sliding out of the door. She looked around, panicked. Should she raise the alarm? But she couldn’t be sure that they had taken the purse. The girls were still sitting on the bench behind, chatting and laughing with a blasé insolence. They didn’t look in the slightest bit guilty. The restless anxiety in Effie’s manner alerted the woman, who suddenly looked at her sharply. She then looked down at her pocket and patted it frantically.

  “I’ve been robbed!” she screeched, standing up.

  Lizzie’s voice felt like needles stabbing into Effie’s flesh. Effie looked wildly around. She saw Rose move towards her, a troubled look in her eyes.