by Lyn Gardner
“Let’s free it,” said Rose. “I bet it can hardly breathe with these tiny air holes. I don’t care if Ivy screams blue murder. It’s cruel to keep it confined any longer. If Ivy doesn’t want it, it can stay here at Campion’s.”
Rose had found a claw hammer and was already removing the nails in the top of the box. The growling was getting louder.
“This little puss has got a splendid pair of lungs,” said Rose as she started to pull the lid up.
“I don’t know why they put it in such a big—” Effie didn’t finish the sentence, because at that moment the lid came away and there was a streak of black stripes on reddish fur, as the animal jumped out of the box, caught sight of Ophelia on the other side of the stage and gave what sounded like a delighted purr.
“That’s not a cat, that’s a tiger cub!” said Rose, as the tiger launched itself across the stage, scattering the startled ballet girls like skittles in an arcade. Ophelia took one look at this giant cat, gave a mew of surprise and leapt off the stage and into the auditorium, with the excited tiger cub in hot pursuit. A roar of elation tinged with fear went up from the audience as the two cats streaked through the theatre, tripping up one of the bar staff carrying a tray loaded with full glasses and plates of sprats and beef and kidney pies, and tore back towards the stage, leaving chairs and tables overturned in their wake as the crowd jostled for room and tried to stay out of their path.
The animals circled around the stage again, while Rose tried to grab the tiger cub, but its beautiful soft fur slipped through her fingers. She shouted to Effie and the ballet girls to block the tiger’s path, but nobody was prepared to stand firm when faced with the surprisingly solid bulk of the cub hurtling towards them.
Still hotly pursued, Ophelia shot off the stage and out of the stage door, leaping on to the roof of the workshop. She would have jumped the gate if Thomas, on his way in, had not flung it wide open. For a moment he looked astonished as both Ophelia and the tiger cub flew by him, followed by Rose and Effie. The girls came to a halt and watched as the two cats raced down Hangman’s Alley, causing a horse to rear and upsetting a cart full of potatoes in the lane beyond, before streaking away in the direction of the Thames.
Thomas picked up his hat and raised an eyebrow at Rose.
“Another quiet, uneventful night in my absence then,” he said quizzically. “But you know I don’t really hold with wild-animal acts, Rose.” Rose could see that Thomas’s eyes were crinkled and he looked tickled. She hoped that when he saw the devastation inside he would still be amused.
“Me neither,” said Rose. “This one made an unscheduled appearance on the bill. It was in a box delivered to Ivy. A present, I imagine, from one of her more foolish admirers.”
“Ah,” said Thomas, as if that explained everything. One of the things Rose loved about Thomas was his ability to remain unruffled, even when complete chaos had broken out around him. “I do hope that Ophelia will be all right.”
“I think the tiger cub just wanted to play,” said Rose. It had begun to snow again, the flakes hitting the frosty yard, which shimmered in the moonlight. Rose shivered. “Ophelia has still got at least seven of her nine lives. I’m more worried about the cub. Will it survive outside in this weather?”
Thomas nodded.
“If I’m not mistaken, I believe it was a Siberian tiger. They don’t mind the cold. Although it may give some of Southwark’s residents a bit of a fright. I’ll contact the Zoological Gardens first thing in the morning – I’m sure they’ll be able to find and house it. A tiger cub roaming the streets can do little harm, but in a month or so when it’s bigger it could be a different matter.”
They went inside, and, to Rose’s relief, the damage amounted to little more than a few upturned tables and chairs. The entertainment was already back in full swing – Dolores was doing her hair-hanging act, in which she suspended herself from the roof with a wire that passed through her top-knot.
Rose, Effie and Thomas stood together at the side of the stage, watching and trying not to wince. They all knew that hair-hanging hurt like mad.
“How were Pru and Mrs Smith?” asked Effie.
“Mrs Smith is much better – Pru thinks her mother is going to pull through again. With any luck we might have Belle Canterbury back on the bill next week. If we settle on Cinderella for the pantomime, she can play Prince Charming.”
“Maybe Ivy can play the wicked stepmother. She wouldn’t have to act much,” joked Rose, and blushed when she saw Thomas frown, although he couldn’t quite disguise the twinkle in his eye.
“How did the new act go, Rosie?”
“Brilliantly,” said Effie, seeing Rose’s hesitation. “It’s a proper cracker. The crowd loved it.”
“Does that mean that you’ll let me watch it tomorrow night?” asked Thomas. Rose nodded shyly.
“Good,” said Thomas with a smile. “It’s a bit rum when I’m not allowed to watch an act in my own music hall performed by my own daughter.” Rose gave him a covert look. It was rare for Thomas to ever lay claim to her as his daughter. Once she would have resented it, but not now. Thomas had always been completely honest with her about her origins – abandoned on the steps of Campion’s as a tiny baby. She was almost thirteen – perhaps it was time to acknowledge that after all these years she was never going to find her real parents. Rory may have found her long-lost father, but that was a miracle. It wasn’t going to happen twice.
It was late morning and Rose and Effie were on their way to Euston Station to collect a parcel for Thomas that was arriving on the boat train from Liverpool.
They had spent the early morning searching for the tiger cub. Ophelia had turned up back at Campion’s at dawn, waking Rose by jumping on to the bed and digging her claws into the bedclothes. It was rare for the cat to be absent all night, and she had a look on her face of deep satisfaction.
Rose had roused Effie and they had set out on their search at first light. The freezing fog slid in from the river like a cold, clammy hand clawing at their faces. In a narrow alleyway behind St Olave’s churchyard, where Effie’s poor mother, who had died in Holloway prison, was buried, they had found two sets of cat prints – one big and one small – on an otherwise unmarked carpet of snow. They met people whose stories made them suspect the cub must be close by. A milk woman, her pails swinging from a wooden yoke over her shoulders, expressed anger at finding knocked-over pails of milk in the cow stall and telltale feline footprints. A butcher, who had been at work since three a.m., told them of “the monster cat” snaffling meat from his shop when he had briefly left the back door open. Down by the river the ragged mudlarks were full of the wondrous sight they had witnessed: a tiger and a tabby cat sitting together on the Devil’s Steps in Bermondsey, licking each other’s fur. But the girls didn’t catch the tiniest glimpse of the tiger cub. On their return to Campion’s they had told Thomas of their discoveries. He had contacted the Zoological Gardens’ director, Mr Burns, who was getting together a search party with a net.
“The cub won’t be able to hide undetected for too long in this part of the city,” said Thomas. “There are far too many people for it to go unspotted. I just hope the zoo gets to it before anyone more unscrupulous. That beautiful fur would be worth a bob or two. Or a travelling circus would be keen to find it if they get wind that it’s on the loose.”
Rose hoped that the Zoological Gardens found the tiger cub before anyone else hunted it down in the narrow streets of Bermondsey. It would be sad to see the animal behind bars in the zoo, but exploitation or death would be worse – and the Tanner Street boys would be after the animal if they realised they could make some money from its skin.
She and Effie arrived at the station just a few minutes after the boat train had arrived. Porters were scurrying around as trunks and carpetbags were unloaded. Rose thought it exciting to watch people walk down the platform – people who, just ten days before, would have been standing on a different continent. She gazed around at the crowds wa
iting by the barrier, a mixture of family members and servants and hansom cab drivers, some holding signs proclaiming the names of the people they had come to meet, others simply scanning faces.
She and Effie nodded at a man with a shock of red hair, who they recognised as Pony Snatchwitch, one of the stagehands from the Alhambra Music Hall in Leicester Square. He was standing a little way away from the crowds gathered around the platform entrance, and he had a small sign on which was scrawled the name “Miss Elenora de Valentina” in spidery writing. But he wasn’t holding it aloft like others waiting for passengers – he was too busy smoking and talking animatedly to a young woman who, to his evident delight, was flirting with him.
A child ran down the platform into the arms of her mother, and for a moment Rose wondered what it would feel like to be running into her own mother’s arms. At the far end of the platform she could see a woman walking towards the concourse – a lithe, elegant, dark-haired figure dressed in a blue suit, whose head was dipped in a way that made Rose think of a shy swan. She was carrying a small leather portmanteau. She was too far away for Rose and Effie to make out her features clearly, but for a moment Rose imagined what it would be like if this woman was her mother, and the two of them were about to discover each other for the first time and fall into each other’s arms.
Her daydream was broken by Effie tugging at her sleeve. One of the porters from the parcel office indicated that he wanted the girls to accompany him. Rose and Effie followed the porter, and as they got to the office Rose glanced back across the station, just in time to see the woman in the blue suit being greeted by a woman in a large hat with a veil, and two men.
In the parcel office there were forms to be filled in in triplicate, and then the parcel had been mislaid. Almost thirty minutes had elapsed by the time Rose and Effie emerged, clutching the package containing the small piece of machinery that Thomas had ordered. By the time they were back on the station concourse, some luggage was still being unloaded from the boat train, but the passengers had all dispersed.
Only Pony Snatchwitch from the Alhambra was still standing by the platform entrance with his sign, looking uncertain.
Effie smiled at him and said, “What happened to your lady friend, Pony?”
He looked cross. “She was all over me like a rash, and then just as suddenly she lost interest and walked off!”
“Didn’t Miss Elenora de Valentina turn up?”
The man scratched his head. “Must have missed her. Teach me to pay attention. Maybe she thought nobody was here to meet her and got herself a cab. No point hanging around here. Her luggage will be sent on to the Alhambra. I better go back and check she’s there. I’m going to be in the doghouse if I’ve lost the Alhambra’s latest star turn.”
“What’s her act?” asked Effie curiously.
“Some kind of silly hypnotism and mind-reading business,” said Snatchwitch a little grumpily. “Apparently her mind rules the world.”
“Oh well then,” said Rose with a grin. “No need for you to worry. If her mind rules the world she should have no difficulty making it across London to Leicester Square on her own.”
With much laughter, Rose and Effie were regaling Aurora with what had happened at Campion’s the week before with the tiger cub.
“Oh, how I wish I’d been there,” said Rory, and there was such wistfulness in her voice that Rose stopped herself from saying that Rory could have been if she hadn’t run off to Silver Square. She knew she would regret such words as soon as they were out of her mouth. It wasn’t Aurora’s fault that she was so torn between her old life in the music hall and her new life as a lady.
Word had got around about what had happened with the tiger at Campion’s, and the place had been packed ever since. Any out-of-the-ordinary happening or notoriety was always good for business. After a famous diamond, known as the Doomstone, had been stolen during a performance at Campion’s, the hall had been packed for weeks afterwards.
Rose had already done her new act of witty ditties and limericks on the early bill of the night, and Thomas continued to be as delighted by its novelty as the Campion’s crowd.
“You’re a clever girl, Rose Campion,” he said, and Rory, who had come over from Silver Square especially to see it, despite the fact that snow was falling heavily, was in agreement.
“It’ll be such a hit you won’t ever want to do the new bicycle act with me,” she said.
“I’ll always want to do the new bicycle act with you, Rory,” said Rose quietly, and she saw the pleasure and relief in Rory’s features.
“Oh I don’t know,” said Rory lightly. “You’ll be knocking Desiree off the top of the bill soon, won’t she, Thomas?”
Thomas laughed. “There are certainly plenty trying. Yesterday those illusionists, Hopkin and Dent, made another enquiry about top billing, and I had an approach this morning from a woman called Madame de Valentina. Apparently, she’s doing a roaring trade at the Alhambra.”
Rose and Effie starred at each other. It was an odd coincidence. Thomas noticed their looks.
“Have you come across her? I thought she was fresh from New York.”
“We just happened to be at Euston when she was supposed to be arriving on the boat train. But Pony Snatchwitch was otherwise engaged and missed her. Clearly Miss Valentina found her way to the Alhambra. Strange she wants to move on so quickly if she’s doing so well there.”
“She’s a genuine hit,” said Thomas. “I checked with the gaffer, Sam Collins. He was narked she was looking to move to Campion’s. Of course, she may just be testing her worth and looking to get Sam to raise her wages. It’s of no concern to me – as long as Ivy is top of the bill, there’s no spot for Madame de Valentina here. She does seem very keen to perform here though, although I can’t see why. There’s more money in it for her at the Alhambra – it’s so much bigger.”
“That’s true, but it’s not as classy. The toffs and all their servants don’t go there so often, and everyone knows that Campion’s means quality,” said Rory proudly. “It’s good for any act to be associated with that. Anyway, how is our dear Ivy?”
“Dreadful!” said Rose and Thomas so completely in unison that they both burst out laughing.
“She’s taking the disappearance of her tiger cub badly,” said Rose. “Blames me and Effie and is demanding Thomas compensate her for her loss, even though Lottie and the other ballet girls says she hates cats because they make her eyes stream. Oh, and she was foul to Dolores, and she lost her temper with the stagehands again this afternoon. I heard several of them say they could happily kill her. She is such a cow you could boil her down and turn her into beef tea.”
“Rose!” said Aurora in shocked tones.
“You can’t deny it. Campion’s would be a happier place without her.”
“I know I should terminate her contract,” said Thomas ruefully. “But for all her unpleasantness, I can’t help wanting to give her as long as I can. When she’s in a good mood she has a nice wry sense of humour. I suspect she hasn’t had an easy life, and undoubtedly she will know hardship again. The crowd will eventually tire of her – her moment will be over, and then what will she do? I hear there are already copycat Salome acts all over town. Let her enjoy her little patch of sunlight before she ceases to be a crowd-puller and slips further and further down the bill.”
“Do we know who sent her the tiger cub?” asked Aurora.
“Ivy wouldn’t say when Lottie asked her,” said Effie, who had just joined them, her hands covered in grease after spending hours mending the flying rig.
“But I saw the label. Ivy must have thrown it away in the kitchen rubbish. It said,” Rose put on an exaggerated posh voice, “‘A little tiger for my own little tiger from her favourite tiger hunter.’”
Aurora snorted with derision.
“The rubbish was the right place for it,” said Thomas. He shook his head ruefully. “I fear the future might not be nearly as bright for Ivy as she likes to think it is – or
, at least, pretends it is. She is all bluff and bluster.”
Rose suddenly felt chastened. Few of those working in the music halls had the kind of security that she had at Campion’s – a place she was lucky enough to call home. There would always be a spot for her here, even if she couldn’t work. She resolved to bite her tongue and try and be nicer to Ivy in the future.
“Thomas,” she asked, “are you quite settled on Cinderella for the Campion’s pantomime this year?”
Thomas nodded. “We’ll start rehearsals the Monday after next. Ivy will play Cinders, Pru will be back and can play Prince Charming, I want you, Effie, to do your magic act, which we’ll work in as the centrepiece entertainment at the ball, and,” he turned to Rose and Aurora, “I wondered whether you two might have fun playing the Ugly Sisters. We’ll have them doing a comedy turn on the bicycle at one point.”
“I’d love that,” said Rose, delight making her eyes dance and sparkle, before she caught sight of Aurora’s face.
Rory was biting her lip, and couldn’t – or wouldn’t – meet Rose’s eye. “I’d have loved that too, but I can’t, Thomas – not this year, not with the wedding and everything. I’m going to be a bridesmaid. It wouldn’t be fair on Grace if I was parading all over Campion’s stage just as she’s getting married. People would talk. I hope you understand, Thomas.”
“Of course,” he said a little too heartily. “We all understand.” He gave Rose a searching look, but she was too busy trying not to let the lump in her throat turn to tears to notice. Rose wanted to be generous towards Aurora, but she felt as if her friend was drifting further and further away from her, until a point would come when she was entirely out of reach.
“Excuse me,” she said rather stiffly. “I’d better go and collect some glasses and plates for the bar. Before they’re overwhelmed. If business keeps on as good as this, Thomas, we’re going to need some extra help in the kitchen. They’re barely coping.” She walked away, and had just picked up a pile of plates when Lottie grabbed her by the arm.