by Penny Dolan
Their hair, still twisted in tight rags, was hidden under their bonnets, to make sure it would fall in beautiful curls for the show. Kitty’s own hair was tied plainly out of the way in a tidy plait. Hearing their excitement, her dull, angry mood returned.
‘Kit, can I come with you?’ I asked. The sooner I learned my way around this city, the sooner I could start looking for Ma.
‘Yes, yes, he can. Can’t he, Kitty?’ cried Flora and Dora.
Kitty hesitated, looking at me uncertainly.
‘Double load of washing to return,’ hinted Aunt Indigo.
‘All right. But don’t you go expecting any omnibus ride back, Mouse.’ Kitty sniffed. ‘We walk there and we walk back.’ She glared at the little girls. ‘And you two had better not give me any trouble tonight. Understand?’
Off we went, me hurrying after Kitty as she steered Dora and Flora through the crowds. So many people, so many streets, so many buildings! How could I ever find my Ma in this place? Was I right to be searching here?
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CHAPTER 31
FOLLOWING ON
The two men reached the overgrown walls of Roseberry Farm.
‘How do we know the wretched child came here?’ Bulloughby grumbled.
‘Make a change if you knew anything,’ said Button rather coldly. Travelling with Bulloughby was a distasteful experience. Why was he, Button, surrounded by people who complained all the time?
Button viewed what was left of the site. Scrope had asked him to punish Hanny, and his hired thugs had obviously been rather enthusiastic, but Button had no time for guilt. Besides, if the boy had seen this burnt-out shell, he’d not hang around. He’d be off again, fast.
Button patted his hands lightly against his stomach and smiled. The city, of course! Searching for people was very rewarding. Hadn’t that stupid nursemaid believed she was safe in this quiet place? He’d proved her wrong.
‘Mouse will be trying to find his old nurse now,’ commented Button, ‘so we will travel on to the city too.’
Bulloughby huffed and groaned his way into the carriage and spread himself across one side. Button climbed in, exhaling displeasure, and sat as far away as he could on the opposite seat. Bulloughby’s own particular aroma, a mix of long-worn clothes, snuff and a strange vegetable scent, spread through the carriage.
Pressing a handkerchief precisely to his nostrils, Button tapped a signal to the driver. Off trotted the horses, following the very route Ma and Isaac had taken to the city.
As the miles passed, and the coach swayed, Bulloughby beamed inanely, happy to be away from the burden of his dreadful school.
Button’s lips were curved, but because of the oaf he was travelling with, this man so easily led by his emotions. What fools some people were! Rather like Scrope, thought Button. That one had a clever mind, but it was twisted out of shape by his jealousy. Which was, all things considered, rather beneficial for Button.
‘Good, this is!’ Bulloughby grinned, and belched.
Button’s eyes glittered, like a spider content to wait in the darkest corner of his web.
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CHAPTER 32
BEHIND THE SCENES
‘What do you think then, Mouse?’ Kitty said. I could not speak. So this was the Albion Theatre, with its green copper dome!
It was like an ancient temple I’d seen in one of Jarvey’s illustrated books. Eight pillars guarded the entrance, holding up a triangle of stone within which carved gods and goddesses lounged about lazily, as if they too were waiting to see Adnam’s next show. Below them, on the wide stone steps, flower sellers and apple-women gathered and gossiped.
‘No, Mouse! Not that way. That’s for the audience.’
We went to the back of the theatre, which was dressed only in plain, everyday brick, and up to the stage door. It had no handle, so Kitty rapped three times and an eye appeared in a spyhole. The door opened, revealing an ugly, crop-headed man.
‘Hello, Smudgie!’ Flora and Dora said sweetly, patting his hand as they passed.
‘Hello, Smudge,’ Kitty said. ‘Meet Mouse. The Aunts have sent him to help me.’
Smudge had the thickened ears and knuckles of an old boxer. ‘I’ll be watching you, boy,’ he growled.
Inside were bare echoing corridors and steps that led up or down to hidden places, not beautiful at all.
‘What’s down there, Kit?’
‘Cellars full of old scenery and props,’ Kitty replied. ‘And spiders, of course – thousands of enormous spiders,’ she added mischievously. ‘Maybe a few ghosts. Not many people go down there.’
Flora and Dora squeaked and shuddered with delight, but I couldn’t tell whether Kitty was teasing or not.
We went up, not down, climbing five flights of stairs lit only by occasional hissing gas lamps to get to a large chilly studio, lit by a large skylight.
‘The fairies!’ cried Flora and Dora ecstatically, though whether this joy was because they had missed their lessons I could not quite tell.
The fairies were wiping chalked proverbs from their slates and giving them to an older girl to stack, happy their schooling was done for the day. Now it was the time for proper lessons.
Fussing and chattering, the young dancers rushed around a graceful young woman with a stern face. Her frothy hair was tied up in a black velvet ribbon.
‘Get ready for your practice, girls,’ the woman called. ‘Smallest at the front. You big lasses at the back!’
This teacher wore a high-buttoned blouse, but her embroidered skirt was so astonishingly short that I could see her ankles.
‘Stop staring, Mouse.’ Kitty nudged me quickly.
I should add that the woman was also wearing a big knitted muffler and fingerless mittens, and that the dancers, when not actually dancing, clutched thick shawls around them.
Flora and Dora hurried across to their dance teacher too and pushed forward. ‘Miss Tildy! We’re here at last.’
‘Are you now, my little ones? Good. And have you remembered those new steps, young lasses?’
‘Yes, Miss Tildy.’ The twins showed off the pattern of their steps with glee.
‘My, haven’t you done well, bairns? But did you also remember that you must dance a wee bit further over towards the wings? We don’t want to upset the fine Miss Bellina Lander once she joins us onstage, do we? She’ll want some space so the grand gentlemen can admire her, won’t she?’
‘Yes, Miss Tildy,’ the two girls chorused, dropping rapid curtsies, and ran off to join the gaggle of tiny dancers.
Kitty growled under her breath.
‘So how are you then, Kitty?’ Miss Tildy asked gently.
Kitty tossed her head and sparked back, ‘Fine as ever, thank you, Miss Tildy.’ Tilting her head in my direction, she added, ‘I must go. I have to show Mouse what work needs doing.’
‘Nice to hear that, Kitty. You will take care your young friend is no trouble to anyone, won’t you, dear?’
‘Certainly I will, Miss Tildy,’ Kitty said. She stormed off, muttering, ‘Stupid, stupid, stupid,’ and I followed on her heels.
As we left, Miss Tildy called out the name of a tune to the elderly woman poised at the piano, and announced, ‘First position, girls!’
Quite soon, the Albion’s cast of actors would arrive, Kitty said, so we needed to deliver everything to the correct place.
It was too early for anyone to be in the green room, waiting to go onstage, so Kitty thumped fresh linen napkins and towels down on the table.
‘Hate it when an actor spills food down their costume just before they go onstage! Some get so occupied looking at their lines that they forget the pie-gravy slipping down their shirt.’ She added, ‘Though most poor souls get too nervous to swallow a thing.’
We went up the men’s sta
ircase first, starting with the dressing rooms of the important actors. The names were inserted into the polished brass holders on every door. Hugo Adnam’s name came first, though he had a suite of rooms. Charles Knightley was next. The next flight up was more dressing rooms, including Arthur Boddy’s cosy corner.
‘Poor Arthur’s puffing like a steam train by the time he gets up here,’ Kitty said. ‘Arthur does comic parts. And here’s Ned and Fred Horsely’s.’
These names were tacked to the door with drawing pins. In each room Kitty left a stack of clean shirts and towels.
‘Done,’ she said briskly, as we hurried downstairs again and picked up more piles of linen. ‘Now for the ladies’ staircase.’
First we came to the large dressing suite kept ready for Miss Bellina Lander. Kitty kicked the door roughly ajar.
‘I just know that woman will arrive for the very last rehearsals, ready to make problems for everyone,’ Kitty said, dark eyes flashing angrily.
Next flight up, there was Marianne Day’s dressing room, and then Sophie de Salle’s room. Minnie Flowers and Tilly Tibbs shared a room up on the third floor. No brass name holders here, but they had two saucy lace-trimmed postcards pinned to their door.
Kitty took me to other rooms, far from the stage, where the lesser actors had to squash and share. The linen she delivered to these unnamed rooms was full of darns and patchings.
‘Doesn’t look very exciting while it’s empty, does it, the theatre?’ said Kitty.
But to me it did. Some dressing rooms held swords and armour and heroic banners. I saw embroidered robes draped over tall screens, and velvet fur-trimmed cloaks rather like the one the Aunts had used last night as my bed-cover, hung on hooks along the wall.
There were shelves filled with hats and crowns, and baskets containing wigs and coils of coloured hair. Trunks and hampers were stacked in corners, overflowing with bright garments and belts and scarves. Some trunks were named and very securely locked.
‘They worry that their most precious treasures might get nicked,’ Katie informed me, amused. ‘Careers have been made with the help of a few good personal props, especially someone else’s.’
Mirrors shone on all sides, making the poky rooms seem larger. Each dressing table had a small face-mirror, surrounded by pots, brushes and powders and glue, and taller mirrors stood here and there, so that whole costumes could be seen.
In the mirrors I suddenly I saw myself again: Mouse in the city. Such a strange sight it was. No longer was I the grimy kitchen mouse, or Punchman’s boy in a battered hat. My brown hair stood in soft tufts, and my ears and face and clothes were clean. So this was me: an almost respectable Mouse, apart from the wary look in my eyes.
Kitty paused and stood beside me, our heads level. ‘You’re not taller than me yet, Mouse,’ she said wryly.
Was this city Mouse someone that Ma might recognise, or not? I had not forgotten my quest, not at all, but I needed to feel my feet on firm ground first. I leaned over and grimaced at the mirror.
‘Don’t touch!’ Kitty warned. ‘If anything’s out of place, I’ll be in more trouble.’
More trouble? Whatever had happened before? But by now everything was done. We hurried down stairs and around stairs to a tiny uncomfortable room filled with boxes and a slight smell of cheese.
‘The boot room,’ said Kitty.
Kitty lit a small oil lamp, dragged down a sack of satin dancing slippers, opened a sewing box and began darning.
‘That lot will need polishing, Mouse,’ she told me, nodding at a tub stacked high with dusty shoes.
What a strange collection! I had never seen anyone wearing shoes like these on the street.
‘The actors need the right shoes for the right roles,’ Kitty explained. ‘Neat shoes with metal buckles are for lawyers and vicars. If you’re acting a hero or a villain, you wear knee-high boots, but if you’re a bishop or an ancient king you’ll wear those paddling fat-toed leather slippers. The top actors have their shoes specially made.’
‘And these?’ I held a pair of fancy high-heeled shoes made of stiff patterned brocade. They looked quite large.
‘Old-fashioned court gentlemen and pantomime dames,’ Kitty commented briskly. ‘No polishing. Just brush off the dirt as best you can.’ She paused and added, ‘Thank you, Mouse.’
Crouched over the tub of shoes, I thought about Shankbone’s vats of broth and boxes of vegetables, and how good he had been to me, in his way. Then I thought about Ma, and how she was even better, even though I did not know what to believe about her any more.
‘Kit, where’s your mother?’ I asked.
She replied simply, as if she’d explained it too many times, ‘Haven’t got one. She died when the girls were born. Now we have the Aunts, and they look after us, and that’s enough.’
Then she added, so quietly I could hardly hear, ‘When I was a little girl, we used to have Hugo Adnam too. I remember him visiting our house, playing with me, and talking to my Ma and the Aunts about costumes and scenery and all sorts of theatre things. Then, once the twins were born and my mother died, Adnam stopped visiting. He left us alone. Don’t know why exactly.’ Kitty frowned. ‘Sometimes things just happen, don’t they?’
Slowly the whole theatre began to come to life. The sounds within the building grew louder, so we heard footsteps and shouts on the stairs, and greetings above, and the banging of doors. The cast was arriving and going to their rooms.
After a while, faintly and far away, instruments shrieked and shrilled as the musicians started to warm up, and the building began to hum.
‘Audience,’ commented Kitty, taking another slipper from the basket.
Then the orchestra burst out, and this time voices joined in, each one a different rhythm. We heard a run of laughs and shouts, and the audience bursting into applause.
‘Arthur Boddy,’ said Kitty. ‘Same act, same jokes, but they love him.’ Then there was a gallop of lively music, dotted with cymbal clashes. ‘Acrobats,’ she said. So it went on, one act after another. Kitty grew quieter and quieter.
Eventually the orchestra swelled in a new melody. We heard small feet pattering above us, as the fairies got ready for their act.
Kitty stabbed her needle into the satin slipper, flung it into the basket and closed the wicker lid. ‘Untangle old ribbons, sew on new ribbons, darn the wretched toes and heels. Not even a glass slipper among them. Oh, Mouse, life is rotten sometimes.’
‘What is it? Tell me, Kit.’
But she didn’t. She sniffed and wiped an arm across her eyes. ‘Want to see the girls onstage, Mouse?’ she asked almost cheerfully.
Now, with the place all darkness and brightness, and me blinded and blinking, I had to take care where I stepped. The audience could only see the stage. I saw how vast the Albion really was. Punchman’s little booth would have fitted in a thousand times.
On either side of the stage itself were spaces almost as huge, where the scenery and props waited their turn. As Kitty led me past painted backcloths, she showed me to watch out for the weighty sandbags that kept the scenery ropes taut. We stood a little way back in the wings, and now my eyes, used to the dimness, saw the stage crew moving silently among the canvases and padding along the high walkways above us.
Above the stage was a space as huge as the inside of a tower, with backdrops and other scenery suspended on long poles, ready to be flown down between the acts.
Kitty tugged my arm. ‘Watch how they change the stage, Mouse!’ she whispered.
The orchestra, hidden below our sight, proclaimed another tune, and the young woman onstage began to sing. A beam of lantern light shone directly on her white arms and tumbling golden curls, as she bewitched the audience with her melancholy tale.
‘Sophie de Salle!’ Kitty breathed admiringly. ‘Such a voice!’
Midway across the stage hung a vast gauze curtain, but the bright lights did not reach the dark space behind the gauze. Here, as the music pulsated louder and louder, the stagehands worked, sliding more painted flats into place and lowering fresh scenery from the fly floor overhead. The ropes slid within their runners with a faint rasping sound.
Just as Sophie’s voice soared to its most piercing pitch, one of the crew gave a thumbs-up. Bushes of artificial roses were speedily wheeled on to the boards and sandbagged into position.
A soft rustling told us that the tiny girls were waiting elsewhere in the wings, listening for their cue.
‘Go, darlings!’ whispered Miss Tildy as the music’s mood altered.
Each little dancer tiptoed rapidly on to the stage and into her pose, just as a new set of lanterns blazed down behind the gauze, revealing the new scene. The audience gasped.
Sophie’s lonely setting had been transformed into a painted garden, where Flora and Dora and the other small girls sprang around in sparkling sequins, fluttering their wings.
Smoke streamed from machines either side of the stage, both before and behind the gauze, billowing beautifully. In truth, the smoke was cold, uncomfortable stuff, damp as the dormitories at Murkstone Hall.
A pair of stagehands pumped energetically at a tin canister, casting a small cloud of dense dusty powder into the centre of the stage, concealing the figure rising from the trap in the stage floor.
As blue light picked her out, she moved her transparent wings slowly back and forth, gesturing to the applauding audience as if she was floating in the air just for their delight. They gave one huge gasp of happiness and clapped harder. This girl was the most important fairy on the stage. I felt my hands wanting to applaud too, although I knew I’d seen her tidying up Miss Tildy’s schoolroom slates less than three hours ago.
Kitty tugged at my arm. ‘Let’s go, Mouse,’ she said.
Back in the boot room, Kitty dragged out a sackload of peasants’ clogs and insisted we clean them at once.
‘Never know when they’ll be needed,’ she said, scrubbing furiously at the wood.