by Dilly Court
‘I can’t really talk to the dead, Phoebe.’
‘I know that, Ma. But it never stopped you in the past. We’ve got to pay our way, and then you’ll need someone to look after the child when it’s born. That will cost money too.’
This made Annie sit bolt upright. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You won’t be able to take the baby back to London, Ma.’
‘I hadn’t thought that far, Phoebe.’ Annie rose slowly from the bed. ‘I can’t give Ned’s child away.’
‘And do you think he would want to marry you? Think hard before you answer.’
Annie shook her head. ‘I’m not stupid, Phoebe. I know he was just having a good time and using me. It’s not an easy thing for a woman to admit.’
Phoebe took her mother’s hand and held it in a firm grasp. ‘We’ve got several months yet, Ma. We’ll think of something, but in the meantime you’ve got to look after yourself, and that means coming downstairs now and having something to eat. Judy’s not the best cook in the world, but it’s food and I’m starving.’
Phoebe had the satisfaction of seeing her mother eat some of the boiled salt cod that Judy put on the table and she toyed with the cabbage, but managed to eat a slice of bread and dripping. Both Herbert and Fred seemed kindly disposed towards Annie, but then as Phoebe had observed on numerous occasions men always had a soft spot for her mother. The women, apart from Rose and Dolly, were less welcoming, but no one said anything that was likely to upset or offend Annie. Altogether the meal was a great success and Judy forbore to make any cutting remarks, which was a relief to Phoebe. Herbert showed a keen interest in Annie’s psychic powers and invited her to visit the theatre where she might meet Caspar, the illusionist. But it was not until almost a week later that Annie felt strong enough to undertake the walk to New Road.
The first thing Phoebe knew of her mother’s arrival was when Rose brought her into the auditorium. ‘There, Annie,’ Rose said, waving to attract Phoebe’s attention. ‘You can see how hard your daughter works. We’ve never had such a good cleaner.’
‘Cleaning?’ Annie’s voice rose to a crescendo. ‘My Phoebe is working as a cleaner?’
Phoebe put down her broom and hurried to join them. ‘Yes, Ma. I told you that I worked here.’
‘But you didn’t say you were mopping floors and sweeping up the debris left by the audience. I thought you had a nice clean job in the box office or you were assisting the magician.’
Phoebe glanced nervously at Caspar Collins who was on stage rehearsing a new act with the support of the lovely Hyacinth, who looked distinctly bored. ‘No, Ma,’ she whispered. ‘As you can see, Mr Collins has an assistant.’
Annie stared at Hyacinth, who was studying her fingernails as if they were the most interesting things in the world, while her partner frowned over an illusion that he was trying to perfect. ‘She’s nothing but a dollymop,’ Annie said, picking up her skirts and heading for the stage.
‘What’s she doing?’ Rose said anxiously. ‘She mustn’t upset Caspar. He’s world class, Phoebe. We’re lucky to have him in the show. He’s had offers from every theatre in the south of England and he’s ever so handsome and clever.’
‘Ma, come back.’ Phoebe started after her, but she was too late. Annie mounted the stage.
‘Oy, you, Mr conjuror chappie. I want a word in your shell-like.’
‘Oh, no.’ Phoebe clamped her hand to her mouth as Caspar Collins stopped what he was doing to stare at the person who had had the temerity to interrupt his work. ‘Ma, come down off the stage, please.’
Annie shot her a sideways glance, which was enough to convince Phoebe that she was wasting her time. Ma might act soft and gentle when it suited her, but she was a regular virago when her temper was roused. Phoebe could tell by Caspar’s withdrawn expression that he was not amused. Then out of the corner of her eye she saw Herbert advancing on them. She sighed. Ma had done it again. Just when things were beginning to work out Annie Giamatti had done her worst. She held her breath, waiting for Caspar to speak. She studied his classic profile which could have been copied from an ancient Greek coin, and she had to agree with Rose. Caspar Collins was a handsome man. Even in her anxious state, she could not help but admire the set of his broad shoulders and his undoubted air of distinction. His dark hair was sleeked back from a widow’s peak but his winged eyebrows were knotted together in an ominous frown. His well-moulded mouth was drawn into a tight line of disapproval as he looked down at Annie, who was berating both him and his assistant.
‘Call yourselves performers,’ she cried angrily. ‘Look at her, Mr Caspar. She’s more interested in how she looks than learning her job. Why don’t you get yourself a girl who knows what she’s doing? Someone with brains and a bit of class.’
‘Who are you?’ Hyacinth demanded. ‘You can’t talk about me like that, you interfering old hag.’
‘Old hag?’ Annie’s pale skin flushed crimson. ‘You’ve got a nerve, lady. I’m well known in London’s psychic circles.’ She held up her hand, giving Herbert a warning look as he hurried to her side. Phoebe’s heart sank as she realised that he was accompanied by the theatre manager, who was wearing a black swallow-tail coat which, she thought, gave him the appearance of a butler in one of the toffs’ houses she had seen in London. She bit her lip, hoping that Herbert would stop Ma from making things even worse, but Annie shook off his restraining hand. ‘I will say my piece, gentlemen,’ she continued unabashed.
Caspar angled his head and Phoebe was surprised to note that his dark eyes were now alive with amusement. ‘Let her speak. I don’t often meet my critics face to face on stage.’
‘That’s right, you don’t.’ Annie adopted a more moderate tone. ‘And I ain’t criticising you, mister. As far as I can see you’ve got a good act, but she’s letting you down.’ She jerked her head in Hyacinth’s direction. ‘D’you want the men in the audience to ogle that silly little moll? And d’you want their wives to walk out because they’ve taken offence at their men’s behaviour?’
Hyacinth bridled. ‘Are you going to let her say things like that about me, Caspar?’
‘Leave this to me, Hyacinth. Take some time in your dressing room to compose yourself. I’ll call you when I need you.’
‘Well, I never did!’ She flounced off the stage, muttering beneath her breath.
Seemingly unmoved, Caspar turned his attention to Annie. ‘I’m interested in your comments, Mrs …’
‘Giamatti,’ Annie said graciously. ‘You might have heard of me in psychic circles.’
Before Caspar had a chance to respond, the theatre manager stepped in between Annie and Herbert. He bowed from the waist. ‘Madam, I am Marcus White, manager of this theatre. I must ask you to leave the stage and allow Mr Collins to continue with the rehearsal.’
‘Yes, Annie, love. You should do as Mr White says.’ Herbert proffered his arm. ‘Allow me to escort you.’
Annie laid her hand on his sleeve with a seraphic smile. ‘I’ve said what I had to say.’ She allowed him to lead her to the top of the steps but she paused, turning to give Caspar a long look. ‘You should have my daughter as your assistant. She’s helped me with more séances than you’ve had hot dinners, young man. Get rid of the trollop and hire a true professional.’ She pointed to Phoebe, who was clutching her broom handle and wishing that the floor would open up and swallow her. ‘That’s my little Phoebe.’
‘Come, my dear. I think it’s time for our morning tea,’ Herbert said tactfully as he helped Annie down the steps. ‘I have a particularly tasty seed cake in my office. Rose, put the kettle on.’
Phoebe shot an apologetic smile in Caspar’s direction. ‘Sorry,’ she murmured. ‘Ma is very outspoken. She meant no offence.’ She backed away but he beckoned to her and she hesitated. ‘Yes?’
‘Come onto the stage, Miss Giamatti. Let me take a closer look at you.’
‘You’ve got top billing, Caspar.’ Marcus lowered his voice. ‘We’re booked solid all week.
Don’t do anything rash.’
‘I know what I’m doing,’ Caspar said calmly. ‘Come closer, Miss Giamatti. I won’t bite.’
With a flick of his coat tails Marcus descended the steps, shooting a warning glance at Phoebe as he walked past her. ‘You’re not paid to stand around. Get on with your work, girl.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Phoebe went back to sweeping the floor but Caspar seemed unwilling to allow the matter to rest there. He vaulted off the stage to bar her way.
‘I want to talk to you, Miss Giamatti. Put the brush down, please, and take a seat.’
She glanced nervously at the wings in case Marcus White was spying on them but he was nowhere in sight. She perched on the edge of a seat in the front row. ‘You mustn’t take any notice of Ma,’ she said anxiously. ‘She means well but she shouldn’t have spoken out against your Miss Hyacinth. She’s very pretty.’
‘I agree.’ Caspar sat down beside her, resting his hands on his knees. ‘But your mother’s right in one way and wrong in another.’
Intrigued, and also fascinated by his deep velvety voice, Phoebe found herself staring into his eyes. ‘I don’t follow, sir.’
He smiled. ‘Hyacinth’s beauty is her only asset, and it is sometimes a distraction, but she uses it to her own advantage and not mine. She has would-be suitors queuing up at the stage door in the hope of catching a glimpse of her. She has dreams of finding a rich husband amongst her admirers, and I’m afraid her attention often wanders.’
‘That’s all very well, sir, but it’s got nothing to do with me.’ Phoebe rose to her feet. ‘I must get on or I’ll lose my job.’
‘I was going to offer you another one, more rewarding and much less unpleasant than cleaning the auditorium.’
‘I know you were.’ Phoebe moved aside as he stood up. His presence was oddly disturbing and she had an inexplicable sense of foreboding. ‘I couldn’t take Miss Hyacinth’s place. It wouldn’t be fair on her. She can’t help being beautiful.’
‘Which is true, but I don’t think she will be with me for long.’
‘That’s her choice, sir.’
‘I see you’re a woman who knows her own mind, Miss Giamatti. We will have this conversation again very soon, I’m sure.’
Phoebe picked up the broom, and moved away from the stage. She worked quickly, trying to make herself inconspicuous as Caspar’s assistant returned to continue the rehearsal. Phoebe could tell by the looks Hyacinth was giving her that, through no fault of her own, she had made an enemy that morning. She could feel the waves of resentment emanating from the stage, and she felt almost sorry for Hyacinth.
At midday Phoebe went to the green room, where Rose was waiting for her with their midday meal of tea and pork pie. ‘Your ma certainly knows how to put the cat amongst the pigeons,’ Rose said, chuckling as she filled Phoebe’s cup. ‘Mr White was furious with her and Hyacinth was incandescent with rage. She’s used to being the main attraction as far as the gentlemen are concerned.’
Phoebe swallowed a mouthful of hot tea which made her eyes water. ‘I know that, and I’m truly sorry. I don’t want Hyacinth’s job, and I couldn’t work with Caspar. He seems to see right through me. It’s as if he can read my thoughts.’
‘Does he now?’ Rose pulled a face. ‘He doesn’t do that to me, although I wish he did. Caspar doesn’t give me a second glance. Maybe you two are meant to get together.’
Phoebe shook her head vehemently. ‘Not likely. I expect he’s a big fraud just like all the rest of us. Ma can’t see further than the end of her nose, let alone into the future.’
‘Well, love, I don’t want to worry you, but earlier on I overheard a conversation between Annie and Poppa. They were talking about setting up a fortune-telling stall in the foyer. I thought you ought to know.’
Phoebe’s appetite deserted her and she pushed the plate of pork pie aside. ‘She mustn’t even think of working, not in her condition.’
‘Plenty of women do, Phoebe. They work until they drop the baby and get up next day to carry on. Not everyone can afford the luxury of a lying-in period.’
‘Ma’s not in the best of health. She’s delicate.’
‘She got herself in this mess. I’m sorry, but Dolly let the cat out of the bag. Gussie got the truth out of her and now everyone knows.’
Phoebe shrugged her shoulders. She should have seen this coming. ‘She doesn’t know the half of it. If my family find out who the father is there’ll be terrible trouble.’
‘It’s her problem, not yours. You seem to spend all your time looking after your ma, when it should be the other way round.’
‘I’ll talk to her tonight,’ Phoebe said, stirring her tea vigorously. ‘I’ll make her see sense.’
‘Hmm,’ Rose said doubtfully. ‘Better you than me. I mean,’ she added hastily, ‘I could lecture Poppa all day and all night and he wouldn’t take any notice of what I said. I have to be very tactful when I handle him, if you know what I mean.’
Phoebe knew only too well. She had had twenty years’ experience of living with her mother and for the last decade she had helped create the illusion that Ma could contact the spirits of those who had passed on. She did not hold out much hope that her mother would listen to good advice, and when she took the opportunity that evening to broach the subject she was proved correct. As usual, Ma would go her own sweet way.
Herbert had apparently used his influence with Marcus White and Annie was granted permission to open up a fortune-telling booth in the foyer of the theatre one hour before the matinee performances were due to start, and for one hour at the end of each show. A mutually acceptable rent was agreed and Herbert made use of his many contacts in the town to procure a tent-like structure that was just big enough to seat Annie at a table and accommodate one client at a time.
Phoebe had done her best to make her mother see sense, but it seemed that everyone in the lodging house, including Judy, thought that it was an excellent scheme, and after an encouraging start the project proved to be more successful than anyone could have imagined. The theatre was filled to capacity for each show and Annie’s takings increased daily. Phoebe had to be relieved of some of the cleaning work in order to act as cashier and to make sure that the queues were orderly. She was happy to help her mother but she was wary when Marcus suggested that Annie could work some additional sessions before the evening shows. Annie had no such qualms and readily agreed to his proposal. The only person who seemed unhappy with this, apart from Phoebe, was Caspar. Annie, he said was invading his territory with her supposed mystic powers. Now there was ill-feeling simmering beneath the surface between him and Annie as well as Hyacinth’s open antagonism towards Phoebe. This was something that Phoebe had learned to live with. She ignored Hyacinth and she avoided Caspar.
As the weeks went by the town was held in winter’s icy grip. The pavements were filmed with ice and the bare branches of the trees were tipped each morning with hoar frost. Bitter winds blew in from the east and Phoebe’s concerns were for her mother’s fragile health. It was no longer possible to disguise her condition, even under the flowing robes that she wore when she was seated in her small booth at the theatre. She was becoming increasingly exhausted after each session and one evening in the middle of December, when the weather had been particularly harsh, Annie collapsed on her way to the theatre. Luckily Phoebe was with her and Fred had accompanied them as he had a complimentary ticket for the latest production. The variety show had been temporarily superseded by a repertory company performing Maria Marten, or The Murder in the Red Barn, and to Phoebe’s intense relief, Caspar and Hyacinth had a booking in Bournemouth, although they were due to return to Brighton in the New Year when the pantomime season ended. Fred caught Annie as she fell, but his legs buckled beneath her weight and he crumpled to his knees still supporting her in his arms.
‘What is it, Ma?’ Phoebe cried, raising her voice in order to be heard against the wind shrieking in from the sea. ‘Is it the baby?’
Annie’s
eyelids fluttered and she clutched at Fred’s lapels. ‘I dunno. I come over all funny.’
Clutching her cloak around her as the wind attempted to rip it from her slender frame, Phoebe looked round in desperation. It was obvious that her mother could walk no further and Fred was not strong enough to carry her. She waved frantically at a passing hackney carriage but it sped past with its occupants staring curiously from the window. Otherwise the street was deserted and they were halfway between the theatre and home.
‘She’s swooned again, Phoebe,’ Fred said urgently. ‘I can’t get her to her feet like this.’
Cold sleety rain was beating in Phoebe’s face and soon they would all be soaked to the skin. She knelt down beside her mother, slapping her pale cheeks in an attempt to bring her round. After what seemed like an eternity but could not have been more than a minute or two, Annie opened her eyes, staring at her dazedly. ‘What happened?’
‘You fainted, Ma. We’ve got to get you home. D’you think you could walk if Fred and me help you?’
Fred struggled to his feet. ‘If we both take an arm we might be able to lift her, Phoebe.’
‘You’ll have to help us, Ma.’ Phoebe hooked her mother’s arm around her shoulders and Fred supported her on the other side. Together they managed to raise Annie to a standing position. ‘Well done, Ma. Now take small steps and you’ll soon be home in the warm.’
‘But the booth, Phoebe. I can’t let my clients down. They depend on me and we need the money.’
‘Let’s worry about that when we’ve got you home safe.’
Annie stood still, refusing to move. ‘No, Phoebe. If we let Marcus down he’ll find someone else to do my job, especially as I’ve made such a success of it. We’ll need all the money we can get to make a fresh start. I’m not giving up my child for anyone – not the Giamattis nor the Paxmans.’
‘What’s she on about?’ Fred glanced anxiously at Phoebe.
She shook her head. ‘She has fancies. It’s her condition.’
‘Don’t talk about me like I wasn’t here,’ Annie said angrily. ‘I’m not out of my head.’