by Joan Smith
Our caravan made poor time, harnessed as it was to teams that had much in common with my old jade, Ginger. Daugherty treated us to luncheon at a very inferior inn, where we occupied the entire common room. We dined on sausages, potatoes, cabbage and ale. O’Reilly told me in a quiet aside that he would “be good for a bottle of wine” if I liked, but I could not like to sink too deep into his debt, knowing by this time how debts were discharged in the group between a female and a male. I drank my ale.
“Ye’ve a touch of class, lassie,” he complimented me. “Aye, and added a gloss of it to your gel, too,” he added, glancing along the board to where Perdita was daintily cutting her sausage, and eating at a more decorous pace than the others, who gobbled up the food as though they were at a trough.
When we returned to the caravan, our large cooking pot was the recipient of three spoons and a fork, pulled out from under O’Reilly’s shirt. I mentioned earlier he had another vice than chasing women. “O’Reilly is on the nab lay,” Angie explained, when my eyes widened at his felonious behavior. “He has nabbed half the snow we own.”
“Snow?” I asked.
“Linens,” he explained, “but I’ve let up on the ken lay since joining Tuck’s.”
“Since you spent a fortnight in the roundhouse, you mean,” Angie laughed. O’Reilly had been caught breaking and entering a gentleman’s house the year before, but had bribed his way out of it.
We arrived at Kingsclere late in the afternoon. I hoped we would be sleeping at an inn, but when I dropped a hint to Daugherty, he said it “would depend on the gate,” which meant on how much money he collected at the evening’s performance. The whole show was run on that short a shoestring. Strictly hand to mouth. If it happened to rain to keep the coves at home, it seemed we would be without peck and booze on the morrow. Everyone watched the sky very closely, becoming irritable if a cloud passed overhead. Daugherty gave me a guinea and told me to buy supper for us all, something I could serve cold, or cook over an open fire. While I took Perdita to go to the shops, the rest of them continued on to the hall, which was pointed out to us on the main street of the town.
O’Reilly was our footman and bodyguard. He was about six feet four inches tall, and very broad. He had crisp black hair and a moustache. I was grateful for his help in selecting the food, for I had really no idea what to get. He picked up a dozen loaves of bread, cheese, coffee, while I sneaked a couple of dozen of eggs and butter into the box. I do not infer I hid my things from the store clerk, but only from O’Reilly. Bacon he decided was too much trouble, but a leg of smoked ham was added to our supplies when we discovered we had some money left over.
“You ladies run on over to the hall, while I see about a tank of ale from the inn. You’d best slip these into your pocket for me, Mol,” he added, sliding half a dozen cigars from under his shirt. “In case they send a search after me. I think the lad saw me lift them.”
“Mr. O’Reilly, you have been at it again!”
“A bonus we call it. They raise their prices for us, as we’re not regular customers.”
“You’ll end up in gaol!”
“Not if you get them into your pocket,” he said impatiently. I took them and ran as fast as I could to the hall.
There was a general circus going forth there. The piano player was trying out the instrument, while Phoebe bellowed out a song, for she wished to test the “acewstics” before the nightly show. The wardrobe mistress was hanging up outfits and looking for nails to hold the curtains that would form temporary dressing rooms.
Seeing Daugherty sitting with his feet up on another chair and his head relaxed against the wall, resting, I accosted him.
“Where are all the girls?” I asked, for there were about half a dozen of them missing.
“Walking the streets, trying to stir up a little excitement to draw customers in tonight. Why don’t you take April for a walk?”
“I am afraid we might be arrested,” I said, with a thought to the stolen cigars.
“She hasn’t been soliciting openly?” he asked sharply.
“What?”
“I don’t want you girls soliciting on the streets. The law takes a dim view of that in these small towns. Let ‘em come to you after the show.”
“Mr. Daugherty!” I gasped, struck rigid at his speech. He thought we were streetwalkers! Here I thought he knew we were truly ladies in distress, but it was no such a thing. Like Phoebe, he thought acting like ladies was our business.
“Now don’t fly into the boughs, Molly. I haven’t said a word, but you and I know the score. Your girl is worth a pretty penny. Don’t sell her here. Take her up to London, where she’ll be appreciated, and fetch a good price.”
“You despicable . . ."
He hunched his shoulders, as though to indicate I was acting still, and none too convincingly either. Then he lifted his curled beaver from his knees, put it over his eyes, and ignored me. I stormed off, to see Perdita practicing a few dance steps in the corner with Angie. She had her skirt hiked up to her knees, and was laughing, looking not very different from the real lightskirts, only much prettier. Dangerously pretty.
When O’Reilly arrived, I had him take the food to a little room behind the main auditorium. I gave him his cigars, without a word, but with a darkly accusing look. While I sliced the bread and buttered it, he ate half the ham, and drank a glass of ale, then put his two arms around me and tried to kiss me. Luckily, I still held the bread knife.
The Queen deigned to come amongst us commoners for dinner, but sat a little apart, glaring at Perdita and myself and whispering sweet words into Daugherty’s ears. I believe she was the source of his opinion about us, but really his opinion did not matter, as long as he meant to help me protect my valuable charge and get her to London in a chaste condition. We were no sooner finished eating than it was time for the actors to begin their preparations. I did not leave, as I meant to oversee Perdita’s dressing, and ensure she did not go on the stage again in a flimsy red rag. It was rather exciting, watching them put on their makeup and costumes, and strut to and fro, practicing their lines.
"I want a different outfit for April,” I told Daugherty.
Of course he knew our real names, but was always careful to use our new ones, and so was I.
“The red suited her. It was beautiful.”
“No, it was cheap and vulgar. She need not look like a trollop."
“Maybe you’re right,” he said, looking to where she stood, across the room, with some other girls. “She could lend us a touch of class. Let’s see what Min can do.”
We sought out Miss Cork. She was a thin, aging, wizened little bit of a thing, resembling a ferret. She led us to the trunks of unused materials and gowns. We rifled together happily enough, finally settling on a blue silk gown with a spangled skirt.
“Dorothy Nolan wore this in Tempest—Mick called it something else,” she told me. “We did a musical version of it. She was Miranda. She looked fine, got taken up by a Member of Parliament. She was my girl, you know. He very nearly married her.”
“You daughter, Min?” I asked, for she was called, you remember, Miss Cork.
“Oh no, my girl, like April and you. She could have had him legal if she’d listened to me, and held out a little longer. Used to send her flowers and jewels, followed the show halfway around England, but in the end she gave in and became his mistress. Your girl will do well too, Molly. I don’t doubt she’ll get herself set up with a noble patron. What will you do? Stay with her, or get a new girl?”
“Stay with her,” I said, as some answer must be made, and there was no point in voicing our worthiness forever.
“You’re wise. Don’t let her toss you over. You ought to get her to sign a contract for you. Daugherty always does. You’re the one guiding her, and you deserve something for it. Dorothy didn’t give me a cent, but she came running back to me fast enough when her M.P. was through with her. The fellows will always try to be rid of the bawd, though. They�
��re wicked about it. Selfish brutes. I'll heat up the iron and give this blue a press. It should look well on April.”
I took Perdita to a private room to change, and arranged her coiffure myself to a tidier do than she had worn the night before. When all was done, I went to the back of the hall to watch the show again. It was still amusing, perhaps more so now that I was a little acquainted with the performers. Things that had gone unnoticed the night before were obvious, after listening to the girls’ complaints. Phoebe’s hogging of the stage, the manner in which she contrived to upstage Angie when they were together, her trick of delaying her entrance to heighten interest, all were noticed and enjoyed. Even when she was in the background, she held attention by some trick or other. She had a million of them. Movement was the main one. When Daugherty and Angie were speaking, she ought to have faded into the background, but she would fiddle with her hair, run her hands down the sides of her waist, or move about to pick up some object. It was amusing, too, to realize the "jewelry" the fence handled was of the very cheapest variety, while they spoke of diamonds and gold. The colonel’s uniform too was threadbare and falling apart under the arms. Min patched it as often as Phoebe’s seams, but it looked well on the stage.
I kept a close eye on the audience as well, my main interest to discover the two city bucks. I was vastly relieved they did not come. They had forgotten the pocket Venus. Without them to incite the audience to a frenzy, her three songs passed with no more than a thunderous ovation.
* * *
Chapter 5
“Did you make enough money to afford rooms at the inn, Mick?” I asked when I went behind stage to gather up my charge. It seemed pretentious to go on calling him Mr. Daugherty when the lowliest prompter used his first name.
“We’ve decided it’s best to sleep in the carriages while the fine weather holds up,” he answered. "The deal with Woking is not firm, and if it falls through, we’ll need the few pounds taken tonight for food.”
It was hard to press for the luxury of a room and bed when the very food to sustain us was at question. “We’ll go to the carriage now, then,” I answered, trying not to show my disappointment.
“Why do you not stick around for the party?” he asked. “There’ll be a few fellows come round to the Green Room. O’Reilly has some ale standing by. The celebration will be good for you and the girl, Molly.”
I knew the girl would like it well enough—too well. I refused, gently but firmly. O’Reilly, billowing clouds of foul-smelling smoke from the stolen cigars, came to add his entreaties to the manager’s. Already the party was assembling, no haut ton affair, to judge from the provincials in ill-cut jackets, their heads reeking of lavender water and their breath of intoxicating liquor.
I went to break the sad news to Perdita that we were leaving. “We cannot go yet, Molly,” she said, peering all around the hall. I felt in my bones she was looking for the gentlemen who had paid her such attention the night before.
“They are not here,” I told her.
“I know. I couldn’t find out who they are, either. Angie did not know them, and if Phoebe does, she won’t tell us. Min thinks they are lords.”
"They were as drunk as the proverbial lord, at least. Come along.”
“I told you we cannot go yet.”
“Why not?”
She reached up and whispered her reason in my ear. Even to this shameless hussy, it was a matter to be kept close. How do I tell you without causing you to close the book and throw it into the flames as a pernicious document? Hold on to your chair. The reason is that Angie was entertaining a male in our bedroom. It was strictly a business transaction; she wanted money, needed it for some necessity or other, and was plying her old trade to acquire it. This being the case, the Green Room seemed suddenly less undesirable. Even Mr. Croft was coming to appear in a better light.
“I have a good mind to send a note off to your father to come and take us home,” I said, pink to the ears.
“Oh no, Molly. This is only for a few more days. Mr. Croft would be forever.”
“Let us find a quiet, dark corner, then, and wait till Angie is finished with her—her business.”
Perdita accepted the command in theory, but in fact, she cast such bold and inviting smiles over her naked shoulder that we were not long alone in our private corner. Half a dozen under-bred males came trotting over to ply her with stares, ale, compliments, and propositions. I did not escape entirely myself. A person in a snuff-colored jacket and green waistcoat, the oldest and seediest of the lot, actually, asked me frankly, “How much?” For what, you may imagine. He was quite insistent, too. In desperation, I beckoned to O’Reilly, who made short shrift of him.
“Better take the hint, Mister, ‘fore you get the kick,” was his polite manner of explaining the situation.
This disgusting interlude caused me to divert my attention from Perdita for a moment. The man who fancied myself his type was not small. Half full of liquor, he was ready to invite O’Reilly to step outside. My hope was to prevent outright violence, which would bring the constable down on our heads. Mick paced the hall, alert for just such difficulty as I was causing. He paced towards us, and when he learned the nature of the wrangle, said softly aside to me, “Why do you not oblige him, Mol? You wanted a room for the night. Here is your chance. You can keep your fee. We have no contract signed.”
“I don’t want a room that badly, sir,” I told him. When O’Reilly finally got rid of the man, I turned back to see Perdita wearing a radiant smile. She was not making sport of my predicament, but smirking at someone across the room. I looked to see what hedgebird she was encouraging, and found myself gazing at the city buck from last night. He was alone this time, having left his friend behind. He was again outfitted in his elegant black evening clothes, jacket and pantaloons. His eyes rested on Perdita, transfixed. He was not so intoxicated on this occasion. He was not flushed, or stumbling, but striding towards her at a rapid gait. I looked about in alarm for some spot to hide her, and found none.
Suddenly he was there, at our side, making a graceful bow, smiling, devouring her with his blue eyes. "Hello, April,” he said, in a besotted voice.
"Good evening, sir. You have the advantage of me. I do not know your name,” she answered, with a bold smile, while lifting the big ostrich fan to bat at him in a playful way.
“Mr. Brown, at your service, ma’am,” he replied, repeating his bow.
“Another Mr. Brown!” I said hastily, inserting myself between the two of them. “What a popular name it is hereabouts. I have not met a thing but Joneses and Browns all night long.” Naturally the men did not dare to give their real names, any more than we did ourselves.
He cast one annoyed flicker of a glance at me, before stepping aside to get at Perdita. “This is my chaperone, Molly,” she told him.
“Delighted, ma’am,” he said, again just barely glancing at me. “May I join you?” he went on, turning back to the Incomparable.
“We don’t charge for the use of a chair,” was her saucy reply, picked up from Queen Phoebe.
“I wager you charge plenty for—other privileges,” he said boldly, occupying the chair beside her.
Phoebe was moving across the hall, playing off her old tricks to attract attention, but without any luck whatsoever. I looked in alarm to see where I should station myself, either on Perdita’s other side, or his. I judged him to be the more dangerous, and darted to get the chair, just beating Phoebe to it by a hair. I fully expected his next comment would be to inquire the price of those “other privileges.” He was more refined than the snuff-coated man. “I am desolate to have missed your performance this evening,” he was saying. “I was obliged to attend a very dull party. I hope you are flattered to learn I have dashed twenty-five miles to be here.”
“Where is your friend tonight?” Perdita asked, while the hovering Phoebe was on the alert for his reply.
"Come now, that is not what I want to hear! Never mind my friend. You a
re wearing a different gown this evening. I preferred you in red. It suited you better.”
“Molly thought it was vulgar,” she told him, with a pouting face to myself.
Phoebe made some ill-natured remark about red suiting the little princess, if it was vulgarity that was in style, and flounced off to Mick, without Mr. Brown’s even being aware she had been near him.
“How can you say so, Molly?” he asked, showing me a surprised quizzical smile.
I opened my lips to reply, but was looking at the back of his head. “Isn’t there somewhere we can go to be alone?” I overheard him say. I had to lean forward to catch the low words.
I was on my feet. “April is not leaving,” I told him sternly.
His lips clenched into a frustrated, thin line. “It seems I must deal with you first, Molly. Excuse us, April. I shall be right back. Don’t go away.”
He arose, took me by the elbow to march a few yards beyond Perdita’s hearing, then stopped. “Save your breath, Mr. Brown. April is not leaving this room,” I told him.
“I do not mean to quibble about terms. I am generous, and I am in a hurry. I want to get her out of here before you reach London.”
“Forget it. Just go away; leave her alone.”
“You won’t make a better deal elsewhere.”
“I am not trying to negotiate a deal.”
“Is she already taken? I cannot believe you would be traveling with this band of gypsies if it were the case. Tell me what arrangement is in the offing, and I shall undo it.”
“You misunderstand the situation entirely.”
“No, ma’am, I don’t. I am not quite a greenhorn in affairs of this sort. You have got yourself a diamond of the first water. Naturally, you want top pound for her. I am willing to come down heavy. Just state your finder’s fee, and I shall do the rest, arrange a generous settlement on the girl. Say, a thousand a year during pleasure, and half that sum upon disagreement, or until she is placed elsewhere. But with a time limit of one year. I don’t want to be tied up with a pension."