The Flower Girl

by Maggie Ford

  Emma’s eyes blazed. She came forwards a fraction. ‘Is that what you think? Me and him is having an affair?’ For a second good diction was forgotten. ‘I think you ought ter leave. He’s living in the same lodging house as me, not the same room! He’s here because it’s more convenient for his work, nothing more than that!’

  Mollified by Page nodding in agreement, she calmed down. ‘You said you followed him. Where to?’

  ‘I’ll leave him to tell you that. But it seems he’s regained his self-confidence enough to tread the boards again and to get back to his former glory, no doubt ruling someone else’s life.’ It was an odd statement, a bitter one. ‘If he does intend to climb back to the top,’ he went on, ‘I need to be there too.’

  His eyes were taking her in to such an extent that she drew her wrap even tighter about her neck, feeling suddenly very aware of her body beneath the lightweight material.

  ‘Why?’ she asked, squirming beneath his far too candid scrutiny. ‘You and he have parted company. He doesn’t want you back.’

  ‘I need to be around, that’s all,’ he said. He shook his head. ‘My God, you’re a beauty. I don’t wonder he chose you.’ The brown eyes became suddenly serious and intense. ‘Be wary of him, Emily.’

  It startled her to hear her own name spoken after being constantly referred to as Amelia. But she wasn’t happy with such open admiration.

  ‘What d’you mean, be wary of him?’ she asked sharply. Page levelled a warning finger at her.

  ‘All I’m saying is, Theo’s an odd sort of chap. He can become insanely jealous, even dangerously jealous. When he confronted me over Eleanor, his wife, he said he’d kill me, and he meant it. I have to admit that the look he gave was quite frightening. But with her sidling up to me at odd times, the imprudent way she would lay an arm over my shoulders, it was getting dangerous. I told him I was thinking of leaving, although I hadn’t wanted to. It was the only way I could convince him of my loyalty to him as Eleanor’s husband. It was to remind him that I had no intentions towards his wife. After that, with no proof, he accused her of having an affair with me – trying it on, and … well, you know what happened.’

  As she stared at him in bewildered silence he seemed to pull himself up sharply. ‘All I’m saying is that while he can be very jolly, very sociable, enjoyable company, he can suddenly turn. He is very possessive, you know. You need to be strong. Be careful of him. Once, by accident, he let slip that he’d practised hypnotism as a young man. I asked why he no longer practised it. He got angry and said it could have strange, even fatal results. The way he said it sent shivers down my spine. I think something must have gone terribly wrong at one time. It may be foolish, but I think it would be wise never to let him hypnotise you or cause you to do anything you don’t feel is right. Just be careful.’

  She was still vaguely annoyed, feeling herself being dictated to. ‘Why should my safety be of any concern to you?’ she challenged. ‘I hardly know you. Are you just trying to frighten me off so you can take my place?’

  ‘I am concerned for you,’ he said solemnly. ‘If I were around I could be there to prevent you coming to harm. That’s why I want you to suggest he takes on a second assistant once he’s on his way up. Some magicians have more than one, and he once had me and Eleanor. He would be able to use me because I’ve worked with him. I know him and he knows what I can do. All I want to do is to keep an eye on you, see you come to no harm.’

  ‘Why should that concern you?’

  Emma took another step forward. How dare he presume her innocent of danger? Brought up in the East End, she’d seen too many disreputables to be worried by Theo. She’d seen fights, even women against women, wives being knocked about in the street, giving the husband as good as he got, and woe betide a bystander stepping in to take her part, finding himself treated to a free wallop from the abused woman herself for his interference. She’d seen more than this gently brought-up young man could imagine. So why fear Theo?

  ‘I think I can look after myself,’ she said firmly. ‘Now, it’s late. So if you don’t mind …’

  ‘Just so that you might give a thought to suggesting me to him,’ he persisted. ‘Not right away, but at some time.’

  ‘Yes, all right,’ she said, needing him to leave.

  She was glad to see him give her a nod of the head as though he had accomplished something, and opening the door wider, let himself out. He had made no apology for disturbing her, which she thought was very rude. Yet he seemed genuinely to have had her wellbeing at heart, though why she had no idea.

  Yet what he’d said about Theo affected her as she lay in her bed trying to seek sleep. What did she really know of Theodore Barrington? Awed and excited by the change in her life, preoccupied with all he had been teaching her, she hadn’t delved all that much into his past life since those first speculations she’d had about him. He had spoken about his wife’s death and a bit about what had led up to it but of nothing of his life before that. Now, after what Martin Page had said about hypnotism, she found herself lying awake wondering what it was about Theo’s past that prompted him to issue such veiled warnings.

  Chapter Fifteen

  It seemed to Emma that she lay awake for hours thinking of hypnotism. Mesmerism, as it was more commonly known among those with money for this sort of treatment to alleviate high-strung nerves, was lately attracting a great deal of interest. It was even said to be practised by surgeons for some operations. Though how anyone would willingly brave the surgeon’s knife fully conscious, relying only on mesmerism to kill the pain, didn’t bear thinking about. But why Theo would wish to do her harm with it was beyond her.

  Taking ages to get to sleep, being so upset by Martin Page’s stupid cautions, she was annoyed to be awakened by excitable knocking on her door. She snapped awake with daylight just emerging at eight o’clock, to realise it was Sunday morning.

  For a moment she thought Page had returned. With angry words ready on her lips, she rose, fumbling for her wrap, and staggered to the door. Yanking it open, she found Theo standing there, washed and dressed in a good suit of clothes, his beard trimmed, his hair neat. He was looking utterly pleased, his expression of triumph evoking enough curiosity to sweep away all thought of Martin Page.

  ‘Get dressed!’ he burst out. ‘I’ve wonderful news!’

  Barging unceremoniously past her into her room, he turned to look at her as she half closed the door. ‘I have done it, my dear! We are on our way, you and I. Goodbye to flea-bitten music halls.’

  She stared uncomprehendingly at him. They’d played just one night of the two-week booking. She’d seen him gaze about in disdain as they went in, speaking slightingly of those rushing from one place to another to make their money. ‘I will not demean myself by haring around looking for ten minutes here, ten minutes there,’ he’d remarked haughtily. ‘I am above that.’

  She’d thought, he might think himself above that, but this was virtually a hand-out for the Christmas season where otherwise he’d have been still entertaining theatre queues for pennies. Beggars could never be choosers and he should have been appreciative of what the theatrical agent had found for him, at least for the time being. That was her opinion anyway, but she hadn’t made any comment. ‘On our way?’ she echoed now.

  ‘Get yourself dressed and ready. We are going out.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘I will tell you as we go. Hurry now. Put on your Sunday best.’

  He was looking every inch a successful man. He looked swell enough in his stage clothes, but here he appeared a real gent in homburg and good overcoat.

  As she came downstairs, dressed in a dark blue walking costume and a matching toque that he’d bought for her only last week, aware that he’d be working in the legitimate theatre from now on, he had already hailed a brougham. It was still early, the streets quiet. The clip-clop of the horse’s hooves echoed on the cobbles, its rump steaming in the cold morning air.

  ‘Where are we off to?’ she as
ked

  ‘To my theatrical agent,’ he answered. Saying no more, he lit a cigarette, taking short, tense lungfuls of smoke.

  ‘It’s Sunday,’ Emma persisted. ‘Does he work on Sundays, then?’

  He did not reply, and made uneasy by his silence, she mentioned Martin Page’s visit last night. She should have known better. Theo turned to her abruptly, his face fierce and dark.

  ‘You say that wretch had the audacity to harass you?’

  ‘He didn’t harass me. He meant no harm.’

  ‘Why did you open the door to him?’

  ‘I thought it was you.’

  ‘Why should you have thought that? We’d already said goodnight.’

  ‘I thought you was coming back for something you forgot to say.’

  He did not correct her grammar. ‘So the man now knows where we are living. He has to have been watching us, following us, the scoundrel, spying on me.’

  ‘I thought it was my brother spying on me,’ she said. ‘I had no idea it was Martin Page.’

  Theodore dropped the half-smoked cigarette on to the floor, stubbing it out with an angry foot. ‘Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?’

  He was making her nervous and angry. ‘Because you was out and I didn’t hear you come back and this morning you didn’t give me no chance to tell you. That’s why I’m telling you now.’

  Theo rounded on her, his voice sharp. ‘For God’s sake, girl, speak properly! I will not have you letting me down at this crucial time. This is important to me, do you understand?’

  ‘Yes!’ she shot at him, sharp and tight-lipped. No more was said.

  After fifteen minutes the brougham entered a mews, not too clean, with bits of waste paper blowing about the cobbles and narrow pavement before a wind that had sprung up that morning. The door they pulled up at was in need of a coat of paint, the green faded by sunlight. Helped down from the brougham, she waited as Theo paid the driver, then, taking her arm, he led her up the three shallow steps between the railings to the front door.

  His anger had melted slightly. ‘I should have told you where I was last night. I tapped on your door but you were asleep and I didn’t want to wake you.’ Theo rapped on the brass doorknocker. ‘I was here last night. I telephoned on a mere whim and was told there had occurred a splendid opening if I wanted it. Just for the one evening but for as much money as the two whole weeks in that place we are currently appearing, and infinitely more prestige. Late though it was, I was invited here last night for a chat about it. But he wants to see you, my dear.’

  He said no more as a maid opened the door to them. Theo stated his errand, and she gave a small curtsey for them to enter. Emma found herself in a wide hall that belied the scruffy front door. It was like walking into a palace.

  ‘If you’d wait here, please,’ said the girl, ‘I’ll tell Mr Simmons you’re here.’

  Seconds after she had knocked on one of the three doors leading off the hall, and was bidden to enter, Simmons appeared, hand extended to Theodore as he approached, his welcome loud and bluff.

  ‘And how are you this morning, Barrington, old chap, after all my whisky you put away last night, hey?’

  Theo’s hand was pumped vigorously; Simmons’s smile was as broad and plump as his face and body. Short in height, in a check suit that caused him to appear even shorter and broader, he beamed up at Emma.

  ‘So this is the young lady. You’re right, old chap – she is pretty, lovely, in fact. You made a damned fine choice, Barrington. Well, come in. I don’t suppose you’ve breakfasted – here so early after a late night mulling over old times?’ He led them into the room he’d come from. Now he turned to the hovering maid. ‘Tilly, tea and crumpets for my visitors, quick as you can.’

  The girl bobbed and hurried off and Simmons indicated for them to find somewhere to sit; the brown leather sofa and armchairs, as with many of the matching upright chairs, were all littered with stacks of paper.

  ‘Push something aside, old chap. I know where everything is.’

  He rubbed his podgy hands together as they found room to sit, he himself sinking into a brown leather swivel chair beside a heavy oak desk similarly littered.

  ‘Right, now.’ He leaned forward, the chair creaking. ‘Let’s get down to brass tacks while we’re waiting for breakfast. Barrington, if you really are serious about getting back into the theatre, it’ll cause quite a bit of a stir, I can tell you. It’ll be different, I can say that!’

  He relaxed, lounging back in his chair. ‘Not much has changed since you did your disappearing act. Plenty of talk, of course. Some said you were doing a Charlier, as they say. No one ever knew where that mysterious old codger went to. Some said you were trying the same sort of thing, just for effect, but while old Charlier completely vanished off the face of the earth like one of his crafty card tricks and not a word heard of him from that day to this, you’ve returned to the scene, as it were.’

  He paused as the door opened and the maid came in with a trolley bearing cups, saucers, teapot, milk jug and sugar bowl, plates, knives and a large dish of hot crumpets, a butter dish beside it.

  Left to it, Simmons began doing the honours and Emma, sitting quietly by, on the edge of the sofa, self-conscious for once, was glad not to be asked to do them as the only female in the room. In fact, after his initial appraisal of her, Simmons had behaved as though she wasn’t here. Now he got up and handed her the cup of tea he’d poured for her.

  ‘Milk?’ She nodded and he poured it for her. ‘Sugar?’ Again she nodded. ‘One lump or two?’

  ‘One,’ she said softly. He looked at her.

  ‘Nice attractive voice. Should go down well. Help yourself to crumpets. The butter is there. Have as many as you like. Enjoy yourself while me and Barrington have a little chat.’

  Tea served, crumpets being scoffed, he began to explain what he had on offer.

  ‘There’s a rather splendid, rather special Christmas party to be held at a rather good address in Chelsea. Some rather important guests, I’ve been informed. I’ll tell you about that later. Don’t want to frighten the young lady here. They’re looking for top-quality entertainers. I told them you were back in business …’

  He had drawn his swivel chair close to Theodore, leaning towards him, halfway through the information, his voice having sunk low, leaving Emma unable to catch what he was saying. Now his voice rose again.

  ‘So, it’s a deal?’ he concluded, sitting upright.

  ‘Most definitely,’ said Theodore, but then leaned towards him. ‘Has Martin Page been in touch with you?’ he asked.

  ‘Not that I know of,’ came the reply.

  ‘He’s been following me around, you know.’

  ‘Has he indeed?’

  ‘How did he discover where I was living?’

  Simmons gave a small laugh. ‘Well, when I said, not that I know of, I meant not lately that I know of. He did come here … when was it? Must be a year ago. I had an address of sorts and he seemed very keen to find you.’

  ‘You didn’t have my address,’ Theo barked. Simmons smiled.

  ‘Not exactly. I didn’t know where you were. But someone, I don’t know who, said he thought he’d seen you around the East End, somewhere in the West India Dock Road area. That’s all I knew. That’s all I told Page. It must have been how he traced you. He seemed pretty well keen to find you. God knows why! You can be a bit of a bastard!’

  Simmons chuckled at his own joke. Theo didn’t even smile.

  ‘So what did he imagine was in it for him?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. He must have some motive. Don’t ask me.’

  ‘Well, he found me, visited me, but I wanted nothing to do with him.’

  ‘I heard something about that,’ Simmons said quietly, more or less to himself. The remark was ignored.

  ‘And he has been lurking around watching me ever since. I’ve noticed him on several occasions, and he has now made himself known to Amelia, harassing her, I might add. All I can say is
that he must be desperate.’

  ‘He was a damned good magician’s assistant, despite … well …’ Simmons gave a dismissive shrug. ‘Had one of the best retentive memories in the business.’

  Listening to them, Emma was shocked. Theo had known all along that it was Martin Page sneaking about after them. Why hadn’t he mentioned it to her, leaving her to believe it was her brother?

  ‘Maybe he hopes you’ll take him back on to the payroll,’ Simmons was saying, between mouthfuls of crumpet, devouring it without once taking it from his lips, entire thing disappearing the way a small creature would into a snake’s mouth. She’d once seen it happen at Regent’s Park Zoological Gardens when she’d been there as a child with her father. The sight had made her feel ill.

  ‘After all,’ Simmons was saying, munching on the last of the crumpet, ‘the lad plainly feels done down. He told me he was innocent of … Well, no matter, I know he could find something in the theatre business himself, but he sounded quite embittered. Maybe you had reason but you must beware of riding roughshod over people, old chap. It can come back at you, y’know. I think he was more hoping you’d let bygones be bygones and take him on again. This is only from someone who knows the business, you understand.’

  ‘What would I want with two assistants?’ asked Barrington, who seemed completely unruffled by all this information.

  Simmons reached for another crumpet, began buttering it, his actions casual. ‘I dunno. You might work up an act that needed two. There are some doing it these days – usually a couple of young ladies, but male and female, both young, good-looking, attractive to an audience, you know. Could work up a fine act that way.’

  ‘I already have a fine act.’ Theo smiled and glanced across at Emma.

  ‘Well,’ said Simmons, ‘think about it for some time in the future.’

  Far from being irritated, Theo was nodding thoughtfully. ‘We will see,’ he said, then leaned forward. ‘Now this opening you have.’

  Emma, staring at the heavily laced curtained window through which weak, wintry sunlight was filtering, having finally broken through the heavy layer of morning cloud, listened to details of this one evening’s engagement.