India Dark

by Kirsty Murray

  I watched Tilly and Ruby transform themselves into different people when they spoke to the Commissioner. That’s when I knew they were real actresses and that perhaps I’d never be very good at performing. When the Commissioner asked them if they were happy with the way they were treated they simply crooned with satisfaction. You would have thought they’d never had a troubled moment in their lives.

  But when he turned to me, I fumbled for words.

  ‘I’m not sure why you wanted to see me, sir,’ I said, my voice no more than a whisper. ‘Mr Arthur has shown me nothing but kindness.’

  ‘Miss Swift,’ said the Police Commissioner. ‘This letter, accusing your manager of mistreatment, is from Mrs Agnes Niall. She is extremely concerned for your welfare.’

  For a split second, I couldn’t think who he was talking about. And then it hit me, as if I’d been slapped. Yada. How could she!

  I saw the look of shock on Tilly’s face. Her mother hadn’t bothered to write at all but she must have told Yada what Tilly had written. Ruby was staring so hard at me I could feel her fear. I didn’t want her to think I had told Yada about her troubles. I took a deep breath, as if I was relieved, and then I laughed.

  ‘Oh my granny,’ I said breathlessly. ‘She’s such a silly old thing! She has fits, you see, where she’s not quite right in the head. She gets ideas about things and won’t let them go. Oh, and she can have such an evil temper. She is a trial to my mother, I assure you, sir. Mother knew coming away with the Lilliputians was a great opportunity for me but Yada got in a fuddle about it all. She’s simply not right in the head.’

  The Police Commissioner looked taken aback by how quickly the words tumbled out of me. He glanced down at the letter before him again.

  ‘Your grandmother writes with great clarity,’ he said, ‘saying she has heard from a most reliable informant that the children in the troupe have been subjected to cruel and unnecessary punishments. She particularly mentions Miss Sweeney and Miss Kelly.’

  ‘I don’t know what she’s talking about,’ I said. ‘It’s typical of her to take a perfectly innocent remark from one of the other girls’ mothers and grow completely muddled. She is not to be relied upon. My mother knows what a fine thing it is for all of us to be travelling the world and learning a trade.’

  I could feel my cheeks grow flushed as my mock outrage grew.

  ‘Why, this is a terrible thing my granny has done, to trouble responsible people like yourselves. I shall go upstairs and write to Mumma immediately and tell her exactly how meddlesome my granny has been!’

  ‘And may I suggest, Miss Sweeney and Miss Kelly,’ said the Police Commissioner, obviously annoyed that his time had been wasted, ‘that you also write to your mothers and reassure them that you are being well treated by your employer.’

  ‘I’m not sure . . .’ began Tilly, but I interrupted her. I could see her having second thoughts.

  ‘What she means is that she’s sure that Mrs Sweeney isn’t worried. If she was, she would have written to you herself, wouldn’t she?’

  As we farewelled the Police Commissioner in the foyer of the hotel and turned to walk up the stairs, Mr Arthur pinched my cheek playfully.

  ‘You were wonderful, little Poesy,’ he said. ‘You have saved the day.’

  Tilly and Ruby walked ahead of us and I slowed my pace so that Mr Arthur and I fell further behind them.

  ‘I think you deserve a reward for your loyalty, young lady. What say you to coming out on a little shopping expedition with Miss Eliza and myself this afternoon? I believe a new hat to cover your fair hair from this south Indian sun is just the ticket.’

  At the landing, Tilly and Ruby turned to stare at me and I felt the heat of all the lies I’d told rush to my head. I felt the shame of speaking badly of Yada and all the loving concern that must have gone into her letter, but I held my head up high and turned to Mr Arthur. ‘That would be lovely, Mr Arthur, thank you.’

  Back in our room, Tilly slammed the door and made Daisy and Flora jump with fright.

  ‘We just made a terrible mistake,’ she said.

  ‘You had to help me,’ said Ruby.

  ‘The truth would have helped all of us. Can’t you see? The Butcher will blackmail you forever if you let him.’

  Ruby burst into tears and flung herself onto her bed.

  ‘He wasn’t blackmailing Ruby,’ I said, ‘he was trying to protect her.’

  Tilly stomped across the room and kicked the French doors to the balcony wide open. ‘We should have dobbed him in,’ she said. She scowled at the busy street below. ‘He’s been a beast and we sat there and lied through our teeth to protect him. We should have told the truth and been done with all this.’

  ‘I was protecting Ruby,’ I said softly. ‘And besides, Mr Arthur hasn’t been that beastly. Only when we misbehave.’

  ‘Now that’s rich. You’ve become such a fine liar you can lie to yourself as well. Or perhaps you knew your lies would buy you a new hat?’

  Her words flew into me like sharp little darts.

  ‘You should have told him about the trains,’ said Daisy, adding her bit. ‘It wasn’t very nice that Mr Arthur made me hide under the seats on the way to Allahabad. The policeman should have punished him for that.’

  ‘And it wasn’t nice that he wouldn’t buy us new clothes,’ said Flora. ‘Poesy’s getting a new hat but we haven’t had any pretty new dresses, only everyone’s old hand-me-downs.’

  Suddenly, Tilly turned around and her face grew very sly and cat-like. ‘It’s too hot for clothes anyway. You don’t want to nap in those old shifts, do you, little darlings?’

  That’s the last thing I heard her say before I left the room to meet up with Lizzie and Mr Arthur. So although I don’t blame Tilly for the Police Commissioner coming to see us, I don’t doubt for an instant that Tilly was behind Flora and Daisy’s shamelessness.

  Mr Arthur, Lizzie and I were crossing the Esplanade after a lovely afternoon of shopping and icecream treats when we heard a faint childish song drifting on the air. There they were, Flora and Daisy, on the third floor above the street, dancing as naked as two little birds. They’d not a stitch on their plump white bodies. The balcony was their own tiny stage and everyone in the street below was frozen in surprise, faces turned upwards to watch the spectacle. Even the coolies stopped their jennyrickshaws and the dhobis put down their loads of laundry. Motorcars, carriages, gharries, bullock carts and every person perambulating along the Esplanade stopped in their tracks. Everyone watched.

  Suddenly the breeze brought the song down to the ears of the audience. Daisy and Flora sang at the top of their voices, ‘Old man Percival lived in a shoe, he had so many children he didn’t know what to do, he gave them all broth without any bread, then whipped them all soundly and sent them to bed.’ They wiggled their chubby bottoms at the crowd below and hooted with laughter.

  Mr Arthur turned bright red and shoved the hatbox he was carrying into Lizzie’s hands. Then he ran. Lizzie turned to me and covered her mouth with her hand. We knew we should both be scandalised but we had to fight the urge to giggle. Later that evening, I realised there was nothing to laugh about.

  41

  BETWEEN THE CRACKS

  Poesy Swift

  The little ones were hysterical when Mr Arthur threatened to cut off all their hair, and Daisy wet her bloomers. When he threatened the same to Tilly, she kept that cat-like smirk on her face the whole time.

  ‘Even if he shaved my head, it would be worth it,’ she said, as we headed out to the theatre that night. ‘Of course, he’s only bluffing. We’d look so wretched bald it would ruin the show and he knows it.’

  ‘Oh Tilly,’ said Ruby, laughing. ‘You are such a devil.’

  Tilly grew even more cheerful when she spotted the Bartons in the audience that night. They had brought a party of friends and they sat in a booth to the right of the stage. We performed The Belle of New York and Tilly played the lead, Violet Gray. It was a lovely role beca
use you had the chance to be nice, naughty and noble, changing from one moment to the next.

  In the first act, we dressed as Salvation Army girls while Tilly led us in ‘They All Follow Me’. And it was true. We did follow her. She was especially good when she sang ‘At Ze Naughty Folies Bergère’. She could be so wickedly grown-up when she flashed her ankles. When we came to the finale, Tilly turned towards the Bartons’ booth and curtseyed for them, as if they were royalty.

  Mr Arthur was incensed. He came into our change rooms before we had time to take off our costumes and shouted at Tilly. I was alarmed to smell a faint whiff of whiskey on his breath. In Malaya he used to take a nip after supper, but now it seemed that he’d started drinking early in the evening.

  ‘What do you think you were doing, making a fuss over those people in the booth? It was disgusting, unprofessional behaviour for an actress. You behaved like a common prostitute.’ He spluttered a spray of spit onto Tilly’s costume as he leaned close and wagged his finger. ‘You had better not be starting up another flirtation, Matilda Sweeney, because I will not stand for any more of your scurrilous behaviour.’

  Tilly smiled a secret, knowing smile guaranteed to send Mr Arthur into a rage. ‘They’re a very respectable married couple and they are my friends. Lieutenant Madden was my friend too, nothing more. It was you who poisoned him against me by suggesting there was something improper in our friendship. As to the Bartons, they’ve come down from Malabar Hill especially to see the Lilliputians and they’ve brought paying customers with them. I should think you’d be pleased.’

  Mr Arthur frowned, as if suddenly flummoxed by her coolness.

  ‘Well, you mind yourself, Miss Sweeney. You mind yourself because I am watching every move you make.’

  On the way home in the carriage, all hell broke loose. And Mr Arthur wasn’t even there to trigger the explosion. It was as if Tilly had been bottling up so much poison in her that once the clock struck midnight it would have to explode outwards. There were only three of us in the gharry: me, Tilly and Lizzie. There couldn’t have been a worse combination.

  ‘I don’t know how you put up with him, Lizzie,’ said Tilly, taking out her hatpin and stuffing her worn straw hat in her lap. Maybe it was the comparison with the lovely new linen hats that Mr Arthur had bought us that set her off.

  ‘You know he is doing his best, Tilly,’ said Lizzie softly.

  ‘Do you call stringing you along with all those empty promises his best?’

  ‘Stop it, Tilly. Not in front of Poesy.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, Lizzie. Poesy is your own little shadow. She won’t believe me anyway. She thinks the sun shines out of your bottom.’

  It was the last straw. I’d swallowed my pride and forgiven Tilly too many times that week. ‘Why should I believe you, Tilly!’ I shouted. ‘You lie about everything. You say we’re friends and then you’re horrid to me. You call Mr Arthur a butcher but then you tell the police everything is perfect. You lie and lie and lie.’

  ‘You’re a fine one to talk. You’re just like one of those stupid little trio of monkeys they sell at the bazaars. You keep your eyes and ears covered and yet you open your big mouth and spew lies. How can you not see what’s going on around you?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I said.

  ‘Well, you don’t keep your mouth shut, do you? All those little lies you set about spinning this afternoon – all for the Butcher’s sake.’

  ‘They weren’t lies!’

  ‘No? All that twaddle about your grandmother being potty and meddlesome when in truth she treats you like a princess and everyone in Richmond knows she’s the soul of honesty with her ‘Hold the right thought’ and ‘Love governs’. How you can be her granddaughter when you can’t tell the difference between a lie and a half-truth beggars belief.’

  I started to sob then and Lizzie put her arm around me protectively.

  ‘Leave her alone, Tilly. She’s still only little.’

  ‘Not like you and me, Liz. We’re grown-ups now, aren’t we? But how grown-up will you be when Percival goes back to his wife and leaves you high and dry at the end of this tour?’

  ‘He’s not going back to her. I told you that,’ Lizzie said between gritted teeth.

  ‘Why are you tormenting us?’ I sobbed. ‘I was only trying to protect us all.’

  ‘If you want to protect anyone, you should be protecting your precious Lizzie. Because Percival will chew her up and spit her out before this tour is over.’

  ‘Stop it, Tilly. Stop speaking like that!’ cried Lizzie.

  ‘Yes, stop it,’ I wept. ‘Mr Arthur would never hurt Lizzie.’

  ‘She’s his mistress, Poesy. How can you not know that? What do you think she does in his room while the rest of us are sleeping in the afternoons? Why do you think they have supper together with only Lionel for company?’

  ‘But I’ve had supper with them too,’ I stammered through my tears. ‘It’s all perfectly proper. They’re only friendly. He is a friend to Lizzie and to Lionel.’

  ‘But not to you, Poesy. He is not a true friend to you. He only wants to use you to cover his tracks because he knows you’re so innocent you don’t see what’s right in front of you. And he hates me because I know and I understand. He hates us all except Lionel, his little Butcher’s boy, and Lizzie, his little whore.’

  I’d been sitting between them until that moment, but with a great cry of rage Lizzie pushed me aside and wedged herself next to Tilly. She tore at Tilly’s hair and snatched at her hatpin, as if she would stab her through the heart.

  The driver glanced back at us in alarm and then whipped his poor little pony so he could rid his gharry of its load of banshees. I wanted to leap out right then, to run and hide from them both, but there was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. I covered my ears so I couldn’t hear them scream at each other.

  We tumbled out of the gharry and into the gutter outside Watson’s Hotel. If it hadn’t been for the terrible coincidence of the Bartons appearing before us, perhaps everything would have been all right, but when Tilly saw them stepping through the doors of Watson’s, she almost fell into Mrs Barton’s arms. I don’t know what she said to them. Lizzie and I kept our distance, waiting for their conversation to finish.

  But when Lionel and Mr Arthur climbed out of the next carriage, Lizzie ran to him.

  ‘You have to stop her, Arthur,’ said Lizzie. ‘She’s conspiring with those Barton people. She’s determined to make trouble. It was Tilly who put the little girls up to that spectacle this afternoon. And those people are disgraceful. Why, he’s in the racing industry and that woman he calls his wife, she’s probably no such thing.’

  I’d never seen Lizzie so furious, never seen her beautiful face so distorted with rage.

  ‘Punish her, Arthur. Punish her or there will be no end to her mischief.’

  Mr Arthur stood stock still, waiting for his moment. It was as if half the players in the terrible scene were frozen in time. Another carriage arrived and a load of weary girls disgorged onto the sidewalk. I watched, trembling with anticipation as the Bartons climbed into their car and waved goodbye. If Tilly had known what was good for her, she would have hurried into the hotel with the last of the troupe. But she stood in the street, farewelling the Bartons’ car until it turned the corner.

  The moment the Bartons were out of sight, Mr Arthur seized her by both arms. ‘What have you said! What lies have you been telling those people?’

  Tilly didn’t speak for a long moment while she looked Mr Arthur up and down with disdain. ‘I should have told them that you are a sneaking cad, a dirty ruffian and a bully.’

  He pushed her away from him and then his cane flew so swiftly that none of us saw it cutting the night air until Tilly let out a cry, a long scream of rage and pain, and bent to clasp her calf. I looked at Lizzie and saw a fierce, angry joy in her face. Mr Arthur raised his cane in the air again, to bring it down across Tilly’s back. I couldn’t let it happe
n. I had to stop him. I ran across the road and dived between them, throwing my arms around Tilly’s body to shield her from the blow. Mr Arthur’s arm quivered in midair, hesitating. That moment of hesitancy was all we needed to escape.

  I pushed Tilly towards the entrance. ‘Quick, quick,’ I cried, grabbing her wrist and running with her into the safety of Watson’s Hotel. We ran across the tiled floor, past the quiet shops and the sleepy doormen, as a sharp crescent moon glittered on the black glass above us.

  Later, in our room, Tilly showed me the welt, four inches long and throbbing, where Mr Arthur’s blow had fallen. It was red and angry, destined to make a long bruise.

  ‘I was only thanking the Bartons for coming to the show. And there was no conspiracy. They were only at Watson’s to drop off some friends. I wasn’t telling them to fetch the Police Commissioner, but the Butcher is so guilty he assumes the worst. Now I can’t walk properly,’ she complained.

  I shut my eyes and replayed every horrid moment of the fight in the carriage, every terrible word that Tilly had spoken, each accusation reverberating in my ears.‘Mr Arthur and Lizzie . . .’ I began. But I couldn’t finish the question. I didn’t want to hear Tilly tell me the answer. Perhaps I’d always known but had never wanted to believe. Tilly was right. I had been like the Three Monkeys, not wanting to hear or see or speak of the evil in our midst, but now I would uncover my ears. Now, I would see for myself.

  That night, long after everyone had gone to sleep, I pushed aside the mosquito netting and climbed out of bed. There was a narrow ray of light shining through the crack between the folding doors at the end of the room. Our bedroom had once been part of a suite linked to the room next door. Now the folding doors that opened onto Mr Arthur’s room were held shut with long, looping chains and a thick padlock. If I stood close, I could see straight into it. And I saw that Eliza was stretched out on the bed. Lionel was sitting on a chair in the corner, practising a card trick. But where was Mr Arthur?

  When he finally came into the room, Lionel looked up and nodded. Then he left the room. Lizzie and Mr Arthur were alone, alone while the fans spun above their heads and the French doors stood open onto the cast-iron balcony.