by Dilly Court
His freckled features creased in a worried frown. ‘But I was told to see you home, miss. This ain’t the vicarage.’
‘It’s my aunt’s house, so you need not worry.’
‘I got to see you home,’ he said with a stubborn set to his jaw. ‘That was me instructions from Mr Scully, and I don’t get paid unless I tell him I done so.’
Rose knocked on the door. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a while.’
He leaned nonchalantly against the railings. ‘That’s all right, miss. I got nothing else to do, and I need the money for me night’s lodgings.’
‘Haven’t you got a home to go to?’
‘I doss down wherever I can.’
Rose was about to question him further when Maisie opened the door. ‘Good afternoon, miss.’ She grinned and threw herself at Rose, almost knocking her off the step as she wrapped her in a warm embrace. ‘I ain’t half pleased to see you. I was afraid you might not come again.’
‘Here, you be careful, like.’ Bobby leaped onto the step and steadied Rose, who had staggered backwards and was in danger of toppling over. ‘Watch your manners, nipper.’
Maisie stepped away, glaring at him with narrowed eyes. ‘And who might you be?’
He snatched his cap off his head with a flourish and bowed from the waist. ‘I’m this lady’s protector, just for today, you understand. Anyway, who’s asking, if I might be so bold?’
Rose suppressed a chuckle. ‘Behave yourselves, both of you. Let me in, Maisie, I want to see my aunt.’ She turned to Bobby. ‘Thank you, but you’re free to go. I might be a little while.’
‘I was told to see you home,’ he insisted. ‘And see you home I shall.’
‘Then you’d better step inside because it’s starting to rain.’ Rose glanced up at the darkening sky. Large spots of rain had begun to fall and the gathering clouds promised a sharp downpour. ‘Maisie will take you to the kitchen where I’m sure Cook will find you something to eat and drink.’
Bobby bounded into the hall and closed the door. ‘Ta, miss. I wouldn’t say no to a bite to eat. Come to think of it, nothing has touched me lips since last evening when I bought a baked tater from a cart. Very good it were, too.’
Maisie gave him a cursory glance. ‘You could do with a wash, boy. You’re very dirty.’
Rose could see that this might turn into a squabble but she left them to sort themselves out and went in search of her aunt. At this time of day Polly was usually to be found in the small cubbyhole she called her study, where she pored over the accounts. As Rose had expected, Polly was seated at her desk with a pair of steel-rimmed spectacles balanced on the bridge of her nose.
She looked up. ‘Is anything wrong, Rose?’
‘I’ve just been speaking to a private detective, a Mr Scully. Billy’s lawyer hired him to find out what he could about Gawain Tressidick.’ Rose perched on the edge of the desk. ‘I couldn’t tell him much.’
‘Did he think you and Tressidick were close?’
Rose stared at her in horror. ‘Good heavens, no. Why would he think like that?’
‘If true, it could have been the reason for the fight between William and Tressidick.’
‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ Rose said slowly. ‘But I barely knew Gawain, and what I did know I didn’t like. I told Scully that much, and now he’s gone to Oxford to see if he can find out anything there.’
‘So what is the problem, Rose?’
‘It’s money, or rather the lack of it.’ Rose took the bill from her reticule and laid it on the desk. ‘We have to find that much in order to pay Mr Scully, in addition to the lawyer’s fee and expenses. I doubt if we have that much saved.’
Polly studied the figures. ‘No, indeed. That’s a hefty bill. I hope he’s a good detective.’
‘Billy’s life depends upon it, Aunt Polly. We have to raise the money quickly.’
‘I’d help you if I could, but we barely manage day by day and we rely entirely on charity.’
‘You’ve done more than enough. It’s up to Cora and me. Perhaps we can squeeze a few more performances in, if the pay is right. There has to be a way.’
Signor Fancello listened with his head on one side and a calculating gleam in his dark eyes. ‘Two shows a night,’ he said, twirling the waxed end of his moustache round his index finger. ‘And that means every night of the week, shall we say for a month?’
Rose swallowed convulsively. ‘We cannot work on Sunday, signor. It is impossible.’
‘You ask me to give you more employment and then you try to bargain with me.’ He threw up his hands. ‘You English, you do not know what hard work is. How do you think I built up my business when I arrived in London?’
‘We have to attend church on Sundays, signor. We cannot work on the Sabbath day.’
Fancello’s beetle brows drew together in a frown. ‘You want the money, you do the late show. It is not for you to dictate terms to me.’
Rose thought quickly. It would make life difficult, but she had no choice. There had never been any question of family members missing Sunday services, unless they were too ill to attend. Both she and Cora took Sunday school classes, and after evensong, at half-past seven on the dot, everyone gathered in the dining room to enjoy a cold collation as it was Mrs Blunt’s evening off. Her preferred way of spending her leisure time was to sit in the rocking chair by the range, knitting shapeless garments for the poor, while Rose and Cora tackled the washing-up in the scullery.
Rose shook hands with Fancello. ‘Very well, I accept. When do we start?’
‘Two performances a night, every day of the week except tomorrow, which is Sunday, but I expect you here in time for the nine o’clock performance.’ He gave her a wolfish smile. ‘And you will need to broaden your repertoire. Alphonso will guide you; he knows all the popular songs. And you had better speak to my wife about new costumes. That is her department.’ He wandered off, berating one of the waiters for breaking a glass.
Rose hurried to the tiny dressing room where Cora was struggling with her stays. She grabbed the laces and tugged on them until her sister gasped and begged for mercy.
‘Stop. I can’t breathe, let alone sing and dance.’
Rose loosened them a little before tying a bow. ‘There you are, now you can help me with mine.’ She slipped off her plain grey gown. ‘Undo me, please.’
‘What were you saying to old Fancello?’
‘We were haggling over the amount of extra performances.’ Rose breathed out with a sigh as Cora undid the laces. She reached for her wrap and flung it around her shoulders. ‘We’re going to do the late show tomorrow, as well as two performances a night.’
‘On Sunday? That’s not possible.’
‘Fancello won’t budge, and I’ve worked it out in my head, Corrie. We’ll slip away after supper.’
‘But it’s Mrs Blunt’s night off.’
‘I’m going to ask Maisie to come and do the washing-up. After all, we used to have a scullery maid and a housemaid before Mama became ill, and I’m sure that Maisie could do with the money.’
‘How will you explain it to Pa?’
‘I don’t know yet, but leave it to me. I’ll think of something. We have to do it for Billy.’
Rose began to apply her stage make-up, which was laid out on the narrow shelf that had to suffice as a dressing table. Each time she went through this routine she could see her mother’s face gazing reproachfully at her from the fly-spotted mirror.
Cora, however, did not seem to have such reservations. She was humming a tune and smiling as she rouged her cheeks and lips. ‘I do hope he’s here tonight.’ She made a moue at her reflection. ‘We’ll have more time to make friends with the patrons; that’s the good thing about doing two performances a night.’
‘Yes,’ Rose said doubtfully. ‘But don’t get too involved, Corrie. It’s all part of the entertainment, as far as the audience are concerned, so you mustn’t take it too seriously.’
‘Ten minutes,
ladies,’ Tommy Tinker bellowed through the keyhole. ‘We’ve got a full house tonight.’
‘Thank you, Tommy.’ Rose and Cora spoke as one, exchanged amused glances and giggled. Tommy Tinker might pretend to be a man of the world, but he had burst into the dressing room on one occasion to find them both in a state of undress. He had blushed to the roots of his hair, turned and fled. He had always assumed a cocky air since then, but he never looked them in the eye.
Rose pinned a silk gardenia in her hair. ‘That will have to do. I’ve only got to put on my dancing shoes and I’m ready.’
Minutes later they were waiting in the wings, and Fancello was going through his usual patter as he introduced them to enthusiastic cheers and clapping from the largely male audience. Rose peeped through the curtains, noting that there were only a few women present, and without exception they were gaudily dressed persons who would not warrant an invitation to tea at the vicarage. Mama would consider them past redemption, and Papa would try to save their souls, but Rose had become acquainted with some of them and she was no longer judgemental. Each of them had her own story, and virtually all had suffered abuse and hardships that Rose could never have imagined. It was ironic that she and Cora were now teetering on the brink of respectability, and one little nudge was all it might take to send them tumbling into the abyss of ruined reputation and disgrace.
‘Stop daydreaming, Rosie,’ Cora said urgently. ‘We’re on.’
They pirouetted onto the stage, came to a halt with their hands clasped demurely in front of them, and launched into ‘The Daring Young Man on the Flying Trapeze’, followed swiftly by their dance routine, with ‘Come into the Garden, Maud’ as an encore. They swept off into the wings, returning gracefully to loud applause, but Fancello was waiting for them this time. He had his arm around little Clementia, who was scowling ominously.
‘Don’t try to upstage my little girl,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘Remember who pays your wages.’ He gave his daughter a hug. ‘You are on next, cara mia.’
Clementia curled her lip as she glared at Rose. ‘I’m the star,’ she muttered. ‘You’re just the chorus.’ She stomped off, leaving Rose wondering what could have upset Fancello’s pampered child prodigy.
‘Go out into the audience and do your bit, girls,’ Fancello said, jerking his head in the direction of the saloon. ‘I don’t pay you to laze around back stage.’
‘Yes, signor,’ Cora said meekly as she made her way down the steps. She paused. ‘I’ve seen him, Rosie. He’s all alone and he waved to me.’
‘Be careful.’ Rose followed her more slowly as Cora sashayed between the closely packed tables, acknowledging compliments with a sunny smile. Rose looked for the colonel but there was no sign of him and she was suddenly at a loss. A sea of expectant faces greeted her and she felt a moment of near panic. Physical contact with the patrons had never previously been part of the bargain and she almost envied Cora, who Rose guessed by the delighted look on her pretty face was being showered with compliments. Gerard Barclay was undeniably handsome and urbane, and, although Rose was suspicious of his motives, he seemed to be behaving like a perfect gentleman. She turned with a start as someone tugged at her skirt and found herself looking down at a person who was leering at her in a drunken manner, which was quite unnerving.
She managed a tight little smile. ‘Excuse me, sir. Would you be kind enough to unhand me?’
His answer was a loud guffaw as he pulled her onto his lap. ‘Now, now, darling. That’s no way to treat a paying customer.’ He slid his hands around her waist, holding her in a surprisingly strong grip. ‘You’re here to entertain me, so what about a kiss?’ His breath reeked of cigar smoke and brandy, and she noted in disgust that his white evening shirt was stained with wine and what looked suspiciously like gravy.
‘This is no way to behave,’ she said, forcing herself to remain calm.
‘Don’t be a spoilsport, young lady. Give him a kiss.’ One of his companions at the table leaned over and poked her in the ribs. ‘I know Carter of old. He won’t give up until you do.’
Rose was close to panicking. Clementia was warbling like a skylark, with Alphonso hammering out the tune, and all around her the cacophony of sound grew louder, filling her head with noise, while her attempts to get free from Carter’s clutching hands only seemed to excite him more. The tinkle of glassware and popping of champagne corks together with raised male voices and raucous laughter echoed in her head until she thought she could stand it no longer. She felt sick and suddenly everything went dark and she was falling …
Chapter Four
‘Are you all right?’ A voice from far away brought Rose back to consciousness, and she opened her eyes, focusing with difficulty on the stranger’s face.
‘You fainted,’ he said calmly, ‘but you’re all right now.’ He held a glass of water to her lips. ‘Take small sips. You’ll soon feel better.’
‘I never swoon,’ she said shakily. ‘It must have been the heat.’
‘It was just a bit of fun.’ Carter shifted uncomfortably on his chair. ‘If the girl can’t take a joke she shouldn’t be working in an establishment like this. I’ll call Fancello over and tell him so.’ He raised his hand but the stranger caught him by the wrist and forced his arm to his side.
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea. I saw what occurred, and if I make a complaint you will find yourself barred from this saloon.’
Rose glanced over her shoulder, but Cora had eyes only for Gerard and he had the appearance of a man who was spellbound by a pretty face and winning ways. The other patrons were intent on their own pleasure and none of them was paying any attention to the drama being enacted at Carter’s table. His friends were trying to placate him, but Carter himself was too drunk to see sense. He staggered to his feet. ‘I should call you out, sir. You can’t talk to me in that insolent tone. Who are you, anyway?’
The stranger had been kneeling at Rose’s side, but when he stood up he was a good head taller than Carter, and although not heavily built he had the look of a man who knew how to handle himself. His winged eyebrows drew together in an ominous frown. ‘My name is Bennett Sharpe, barrister-at-law.’
Carter’s florid features paled visibly and he puffed out his cheeks. ‘What do I care what profession you follow, sir? You insulted me.’
‘You took advantage of this young lady.’ Bennett’s deep voice held a note of authority that did not seem to have been lost on the people seated around them, and they shifted uncomfortably in their seats, exchanging wary glances.
Rose clutched his arm. ‘It’s all right, sir. I’m truly grateful for your intervention, but I’m perfectly fine now. It must have been the heat. I beg you not to trouble yourself any further.’
Bennett silenced her with a single glance. ‘I know what I saw, and I dislike bullies.’ He turned to Carter. ‘You are in the wrong, sir. An apology to this young lady is required and then we’ll consider the matter closed.’
‘For God’s sake, say you’re sorry, old man.’ Carter’s vociferous friend slapped him on the back.
Out of the corner of her eye Rose had seen Fancello making his way towards them, and she held her breath. If Carter made a complaint against her it would not bode well. She tugged at Bennett’s sleeve. ‘Please say no more.’
He followed her gaze. ‘Is that the proprietor of this establishment?’
‘Yes, it is,’ Carter said angrily. ‘And I intend to complain about your behaviour, Mister Lawyer. Let’s see whose side Fancello takes. I am a regular and valued patron.’
Rose was about to release her hold on his arm, but Bennett forestalled her by laying his hand on hers. A smile transformed his stern features as he greeted Fancello. ‘A bottle of your best champagne, please, mine host. This pretty lady has agreed to share it with me.’
Fancello’s frown was wiped away in an instant. ‘Of course, sir. At once.’ He signalled to one of the waiters.
‘I say,’ Carter protested as Fancello chose to ig
nore him. ‘Deuced cheek.’
Bennett led Rose to a table on the far side of the room. ‘You will be more comfortable here,’ he said, pulling out a chair. ‘Take a seat, Miss Perkins.’
Rose stared at him aghast. ‘How do you know my name? Who are you, sir?’
‘Please sit down and try to look as though you’re enjoying yourself. Signor Fancello is staring at us even as he decides how much to overcharge me for a bottle of inferior quality champagne.’
Rose sank down on the spindly gilt chair. Her mouth was dry and her heart was racing. ‘You told me your name, Mr Sharpe, but you have the advantage over me.’
‘I have accepted the brief to defend your brother.’ Bennett took the seat opposite her. ‘I wanted to find out as much as I could of his background, and it was William himself who advised me to seek you out.’
‘Of course I’ll do everything I can to help my brother, but how did you find this place? No one knows that Cora and I work here.’
‘Todd Scully is one of the best private detectives in London. I believe you are acquainted with him.’
‘I’ve met him only once, and that was today.’ Rose lowered her voice. ‘Are you telling me that he has been spying on us?’
‘That’s a bit harsh. I prefer to call it gathering information in order to make a good case for your brother.’
‘If you’re defending Billy you must believe that he is innocent.’
‘What I believe or don’t believe is immaterial. My job is to convince a judge and jury of his innocence.’ Bennett leaned back in his chair, his dark eyes intent on her face, as if he were capable of reading her innermost thoughts. ‘This case interests me. I would normally leave it to a solicitor to provide me with the facts, but this is no ordinary brief. I find it hard to believe that a young man like William would kill a dear friend.’
