The Flower Girl

by Maggie Ford

  She came to hate Theo’s rages, brief though they were. In defiance she would revert to her old way of speaking, which made him all the more angry, accusing her of speaking like a guttersnipe and saying it would be better to forget all this and send her away. It was the one thing that frightened her into behaving herself, the prospect of her bright future fading, and wealth along with it.

  The accommodation he’d found her was plain but clean. It was warm, too. Fires in the dining room and kitchen always blazing, the heat drifted through the hall and up the stairs, warming the walls so that there was little need to feed pennies into the gas meter in her room. It seemed that the theatre folk whom the landlady, Mrs Tankerton, mainly catered for, lived quite cosily, a far cry from the cold impoverishment where she had lived.

  Meals were simple but wholesome. The lodgers seemed to be a friendly lot. The meal table accommodated around ten, all in exuberant discussion as to who was working, where and what at, rude audiences, unbearable stage managers, dreadful dressing areas, their hopes for their next engagement or downcast complaints of there being nothing on the horizon as yet. All this Emma devoured as eagerly as she devoured her meals.

  Mrs Tankerton was something of a fierce soul, brooking no nonsense from her guests while sympathetic to their problems, except financial ones if room rent was not continuously forthcoming. Here Emma felt safe. Yet for all the comfort, with Christmas two weeks away, she was missing Mum.

  She’d written with her address and describing her lodgings, prudently leaving out any mention of the night she’d spent with Theo for all it had been harmless. Mum did not reply; she was very poor with a pen, Emma recalled, excusing her.

  She missed her friend Lizzie, too, who was probably thinking she no longer had time for her. The first chance she got she’d go and see Lizzie, tell her all that had happened to her. But there never seemed to be a chance.

  Theo had suddenly rented the room that had recently fallen vacant next to hers. ‘Easier to rehearse,’ he said, so there was now even less time to herself with him in and out of her room, pressing her to learn even more, or sometimes merely coming in to sit and relate his plans and the luxuries she would eventually come to enjoy, the luxuries they would both enjoy.

  With him at her elbow all the time, making sure she learned and memorised all the codes necessary for this flamboyant mind-reading act he had in mind, she hardly had space to breathe much less visit her mother or old friends.

  ‘My mind-reading routine was always my pièce de résistance, all else mere prelude,’ he told her with magnificent self-confidence, and she was coming to realise that he did indeed possess enormous self-confidence, the humble days of the hurdy-gurdy put behind him as if they’d never been.

  So now she was being required to become unfailingly familiar with certain voice inflections, special words dropped, hand and body movements, all to convey to her what he required of her in response. Over those two weeks it became a crushing responsibility for her, and there was no time for Lizzie.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘Are you ready?’ Theo had taken her hand and was now smoothing the bare flesh of her forearm.

  ‘I think so.’ It was as much as she could concede.

  She felt far from ready. Standing backstage in the Cambridge Music Hall, Shoreditch, her heart pumping almost up into her throat, great, deep, suffocating thumps, all the complicated information he’d drummed into her head these past two weeks seemed to have fled. Terrifying enough soon to be on stage for the first time in her life, but being jostled by throngs of other entertainers, surrounded by chatter and the smell of sweat and greasepaint, made her feel slightly sick. She’d never imagined this went on backstage and she felt completely confused.

  The corridors, already cluttered with old props, bustled with turns waiting to go on, others coming off to rush away somewhere else to do their turn all over again. It was usual to do three or four different venues in an evening so as to make a decent living, and everyone was in a hurry. No time for a chat or the niceties of recognition other than a passing hello, they mostly ignored each other, and especially the tall man clad in cape and evening suit with a slim, breathless girl hurrying behind him.

  Carrying a case, Theo had threaded his way to a less noisy corner to sort out his props, closely followed by Emma, carrying his other case. He’d wisely suggested that they dress at home ready to go on, knowing the drill of old in many places like this. Most changed at home or en route, coming by brougham, as he had, or if a troupe, in a privately hired omnibus. It was the quickest way to get to the next venue on time.

  Theo had seen her dismay at the state and confusion of backstage in this music hall. ‘We’ll not have to suffer this for ever,’ he said, having asked her if she was ready. ‘In time I will have my own dressing room.’

  They’d finally made their way to the wings to await their cue to go on stage. He looked at her with that deep, penetrating stare of his. ‘You are sure you are ready?’ It seemed couched in reproof rather than concern.

  ‘I feel nervous,’ she admitted.

  ‘That is how it should be. The day you do not feel nervous is the day you should leave the business.’

  Emma nodded. ‘I can’t remember nothing.’

  ‘You cannot, what?’

  Surely not at a time like this? ‘Sorry,’ was all she could say, terse and huffy, like a chastised schoolgirl. ‘I can’t remember anything.’

  In the midst of all this, this new life she was being thrust into, he could pick up on some triviality? Incredulity gave way to ill will, yet it was that moment of rancour that instantly brought all she’d learned flowing back into her head, every last command of it.

  The previous turn was coming off. A ragged, grudging applause staggered through the wings in the wake of a relieved, sweating comedian who seemed not to have gone down all that well. He gave the next pair a wry grin. ‘Right tough lot ternight.’

  Theo glanced at Emma. ‘You remember all I’ve taught you?’

  She wasn’t going to let him see her fear. ‘Of course I do,’ she said sharply, and he nodded, satisfied.

  ‘Fine!’ he said.

  It was a different Theodore Barrington who stood on that large empty stage. There was a commanding presence about him that hushed the audience the second the curtains were drawn back.

  Emma saw him stand for a second or two that seemed to her to take far too long, minutes, it seemed. Any moment now the audience would lose patience, begin to boo. He seemed not at all perturbed by that possibility as he surveyed the sea of shadowy faces below him, turning his head slowly to take stock of each individual face.

  Peeping from the wings, Emma could see those faces nearest the stage gaping back, instantly mesmerised. Then very slowly, he took off his black, flowing cape and dramatically draped it over the table hurriedly brought in and unfolded by a stagehand before the curtains parted, the man having already run on with the two heavy boxes to place beside the table.

  Once he had gained the audience’s attention, Theo’s sonorous voice resounded around the auditorium, bringing to a sudden halt the usual movements of those traditionally accustomed to coming in or going out as they pleased throughout any of the many palaces of variety’s continuous performances. The atmosphere had become instantly electric, as they sat down as though commanded.

  In the wings, awaiting her cue, Emma felt awe run through her own veins like a chill river. What a man she had teamed up with. At that moment she knew she was going to experience such a life and luxury as she could never have dreamed of. In that instant all else was forgotten but what would be required of her in these next ten minutes, the duration of this debut of Theo’s after so long away. She was not going to let him down.

  It had been exacting. Emma was exhausted. Both the afternoon and the evening performances had gone without a hitch, worth all that hard work.

  ‘But it doesn’t mean taking things easy,’ Theo warned her as he poured champagne for them as a small celebration. ‘
Rehearsing never stops. All must be perfect, perfectly timed, perfectly executed. The smallest lapse of concentration will seek me out unmercifully, as it did once before. But I will not speak of that.’

  He took another sip and grimaced, surveying the liquid in the wide glass. ‘One day we will drink only the best. This is just a beginning, my dear. I promise you, Amelia, that you will drink only the best champagne and nibble the finest caviar.’

  At this moment she couldn’t have cared less. Animated and beside himself with his triumph, he’d done nothing but talk since coming back to her room. She didn’t think she’d ever heard him talk so much, telling her about all the wonders she’d one day experience, reminiscing excitedly on past triumphs and the great names he’d rubbed shoulders with, the magnificent parties he’d attended. ‘And it will all be the same for you, my dear. I shall make sure of that. Together we will hit the height of fame.’

  He had kissed her cheek more than once, refilling her glass until she felt quite tipsy. ‘You are quite, quite beautiful,’ he said time and time again, ‘quite stunning,’ and she knew that he also had enjoyed too much to drink. She was glad when he finally returned to his own room leaving her to lie in her bed, stare up at the ceiling and go over this marvellous day.

  To think she’d been so afraid, had felt so unsure of her abilities as she came on stage to have him take her by the hand in an elaborate gesture for the audience to see. Applause broke out at the sight of her in the green gown he’d found for her, which she suspected might have belonged to his late wife but which showed off her own auburn hair, piled up and puffed out in bouffant style, making her look at least eighteen. Her throat bereft of jewellery had caused the heady, dangling earrings to look far more expensive than they really were.

  The gown, boned breathlessly tight at the waist, flowing over her rounded hips to fall softly to the ground in a small flare, had a low square neckline that revealed her throat as Theo theatrically removed the flimsy decency frill from her shoulders, as if she’d been a manikin on display.

  ‘May I introduce to you,’ he had boomed, ‘my assistant, Amelia Beech. During my mind-reading act, she will come among you, but do not be afraid – she will be gentle with you!’

  This had led to a gale of laughter and more clapping, Theo triumphing hardly before he had begun. The angel sleeves falling away as he lifted her hand to his lips in response to the clapping had revealed how slim and shapely was that arm, bringing even louder applause. It had indeed made her feel beautiful.

  Moving smoothly and daintily, she had brought him whatever he asked for, faultlessly responding to every command as he went through a flawless routine and finally making not one mistake as he enthralled his audience with a mind-reading act that had them all gasping. As he came off stage, he had taken her in his arms and had kissed her on both her cheeks and her forehead. That evening in her room he’d been like an excited schoolboy. The Theodore who’d been on stage, and the perfectionist who’d rehearsed her quite savagely at times, seemed left behind. He’d kissed her cheek once more before bidding her goodnight.

  Reminiscing, she washed, combing her hair down, and she gazed at her reflection in the mirror. The face gazing back at her was radiant. ‘I can’t believe you’re me,’ she said to it, and it smiled back at her. Dreamily she got out of her theatrical clothes and donned her nightdress.

  Turning off the light – electric light, even in a mediocre boarding house, such luxury – she slipped into bed, sighing with happiness. A million lovely thoughts of the future parading through her head, she closed her eyes to savour them in the most blissful contentment she had ever known.

  In this mood, she thought quite suddenly of her mother and for a moment the euphoria fled. What sort of Christmas would Mum have? She would have to go and see her. She might risk Mum shutting the door in her face, but she’d have to face that. By the end of the week Theo would have money, far more than when they’d played to the theatre queues. Some of what he’d give her could be sent to Mum to make possible for her a better Christmas than she expected. Mum could hardly say no to that.

  This resolved, Emma returned to happier thoughts. This time next Christmas she and Theo would be in the money. It seemed unbelievable. If he was right about them going places, then …

  She broke off as she heard a light tapping on her door. She sat upright. What did he want now? It was late and she was exhausted, and in her nightdress too. Giving a mighty sigh, Emma got up, reached for her wrap and hurried over to switch on the light. It was cold, the fires downstairs extinguished for the night. She hadn’t fed a coin into the meter for the gas fire, thinking it not worth it, as it was so late. She was going to remind Theo in no uncertain terms just how late it was. Going to the door, she opened it a fraction. The face she saw made her gasp.

  ‘You! What d’you want?’

  Already she was peering beyond Martin Page to see where Theo was, but there was no sign of him. Sounds came from other rooms opposite and above her own: someone rehearsing lines, the muffled sound of a violin being tentatively tuned at this late hour, someone talking.

  As he continued to regard her she became aware of being in her night attire, no petticoat, no corset, no drawers. Clutching her wrap securely to her throat, she made to close the door on him, but he put the flat of his hand against the wood, preventing it, firmly though not aggressively.

  ‘I just need to have a word with you,’ he said. ‘Please?’

  She held on to the door. ‘You can speak to Theo. His room’s there.’ She pointed quickly to the one next to hers.’

  ‘No, he isn’t.’

  Had he already knocked on that door? ‘He’s probably fast asleep,’ she said.

  ‘No, he isn’t. He’s not there. Anyway, it’s you I need to see. I’ll get nothing out of him. But you might be able to tell me what’s going on.’

  Emma let the door go. ‘What d’you mean, what’s going on?’

  Page gave an apologetic smile and glanced along the empty passage. ‘Look, it doesn’t seem right, me standing at a young lady’s door at this time of night. Would you mind if I came inside? I mean you no disrespect.’

  ‘No, you can’t!’

  ‘It is important. You can keep the door open if you wish. I just need a minute of your time.’

  He was right. She couldn’t have him stand here. And she had become far too intrigued to tell him to go away.

  Wondering why she should do so, Emma stood back for him. ‘It’s late,’ she said inadequately.

  She was glad to see that he merely closed the door a fraction so that anyone passing would not see in. Even so, feeling it prudent to keep distance between them, she went over to the washbasin, there to turn to look at him, feeling safer there. He hadn’t moved from the spot.

  His dark eyes were trained on her, his narrow, handsome face deeply serious.

  ‘I do apologise for the intrusion at this late hour, but when I saw Theo leaving, I thought I ought to seize the opportunity while it presented itself. Theo would only fob me off with lies and show that anger he feels for me.’

  ‘Leaving?’ she echoed. ‘When?’

  ‘Some time ago,’ came the reply.

  ‘Where was he going? Why should he want to go out at this time of night?’ She glanced at the tiny clock on the shelf over the gas fire. It was registering almost midnight. He’d said nothing to her about going out again.

  ‘I didn’t ask him.’ A wry grin played around his lips. ‘He wouldn’t have thanked me. He was in a devil of a hurry so I thought I’d ask you if you knew what he was up to.’

  He was gazing about the small room with its flowered wallpaper, flowered central lampshade, flowered bedspread and curtains, all of which made it seem even smaller, yet cosy.

  ‘It looks as if the pair of you are beginning to do well for yourselves. I take it he’s paying the rent. He must have forked out his own money on this. First night on stage, even if in some second-rate music hall, he couldn’t have made much from it yet.’ />
  How did he know what they were doing unless he’d been spying on them? He could have seen Theo’s name on the billboard, of course. It was still well down the list of turns but even so, worded ‘Return of the famous Great Theodore, magician extraordinaire!’ was there for all to see. Perhaps he’d even been in the audience, but why so furtive? What was Martin Page up to?

  ‘Is it you who’s been watching us?’ she hazarded a guess. ‘When we were playing to the queues outside the theatres?’

  Page nodded. ‘I’m sorry. I had to know.’

  ‘Why?’ So it hadn’t been Ben after all.

  ‘I needed to know what he was up to,’ Page said. ‘I kept thinking, is he content just to go on entertaining in the gutter or does he have higher aims? If so, I need to have things out with him. I can’t have him continuing to think I was carrying on with his wife. I wasn’t. Yes, she was flirtatious and she did try it on with me, but she was so much older than I was and I had no feelings for her beyond friendship. I wanted to be loyal to Theo. But for all my efforts, he rewarded me with suspicion. Ridiculous, I know, but it still plagues me.’

  He looked down at the bowler he held in his hands. He was turning the brim round and round between his fingers, and watching him, Emma felt suddenly sad.

  ‘Tonight,’ he said, ‘I followed you two back here. I wondered if you and he had struck up something more than a mere business relationship.’

  He didn’t look up to meet her gaze, so she couldn’t see his expression. ‘I hung about outside for a while,’ he went on. ‘Then I saw him come out. I followed. I don’t know why. All I could think was he’s had what he wants from her, now he’s going back to that hovel of his.’