Lutch pushed the snuffboxes aside to make room and lifted the first bundle onto the table. He untied the flannel blanket and drew his blotched hands across the contents to spread them out, then stood back so Jay could take a look.
It was the usual assortment of small wares: gold and silver cutlery, watches, candle snuffers, card cases, sugar sifters. Jay leaned forward and, with a practised eye, picked out a garnet and diamond pendant winking from underneath a quill tray.
‘This is the one I was after. Any more like this?’
‘No. No more, the lady must have taken her twinkles with her to Richmond. Daft if you ask me, can’t see why she’d need them in the country . . . but the pendant was hid at the back of a drawer, under these.’ Foxy drew out a string of silk stockings from his pockets.
Jay frowned. ‘I told you before not to take clothing. It’s hard to shift, especially undergarments. They’re no blinding use to me, they don’t fetch enough. Not worth keeping, and my pa can’t sell those back to the lady’s husband, now can he? I’ve told you – don’t waste your time with rags and scratchings.’
‘They’re not for you. They’re mine. A little perk – my missus has always had a powerful craving for silk hose.’
Jay whipped the stockings out of Foxy’s hand and wound them into a ball.
‘No. What the deuce are you playing at? It is a dangerous enough game. I need to know exactly where the goods come from and go to.’ He stuffed the stockings into his pocket. ‘As long as everything comes here, and goes through me, I can keep my eye on it. There’s no profit in nonsense like hose or kerchiefs. You get a decent cut that way for your trouble. If there starts to be a racket where every Tomfool and Harry are stealing for themselves, then I can’t promise I’ll be paying wages in the future. One mistake and it could be traced back to me. Any scent of that and our business is done. We don’t want to end up in the Whit for the sake of a silk stocking now, do we?’
Foxy pouted. ‘We deserve it. After all, it’s us as does the houses, and us as takes the risks.’
‘You’d still be on ha’pennies if it wasn’t for me.’
Lutch was standing impassively near the door, flexing his veiny hands. Jay eyed him nervously.
Jay had a wide range of wily diversionary tactics to use when things got tense, for as a child he had learnt to his chagrin that he was not heavy enough to win in a proper fist-fight, nor for that matter brave enough. He wrangled his way out of difficulty by a combination of swagger and wit. He tried a different tack. ‘Who gossips the most? Women, that’s who,’ he said. ‘And when do they chatter? When they are all together, discussing the latest face powders, the modes and so on.’
‘What’s that got to do with it?’ Foxy said.
‘I’ve invented the perfect prattle shop. Of course I haven’t called it that, it’s to be the Ladies’ Chambers. We can find out what jewels the ladies have. Choice little knick-knacks, or sentimental stuff they’ll be sobbing to get back. You want information, this is where we’ll get it. Come and have a look.’
Jay was itching to show somebody. He led the two men downstairs and across the yard, their heavy boots echoing behind him on the cobbles, and he opened the door into the new chambers with a flourish. He went round the walls lighting up the sconces.
‘God almighty,’ Foxy said.
Lutch stared blankly with his lower lip hanging.
In front of them was a bright red Turkey rug embroidered with paradise birds and peonies, curly-edged clouds and trees with fan-shaped leaves. Two walls were in the process of being lacquered entirely black, the other two were hung with frames of embossed leather wall-coverings in gold and mother-of-pearl. These showed willow trees and bridges and bald-headed men in robes walking in groves of bamboo or reclining in summerhouses. A long side table ran down one wall, on which was a row of looking glasses on stands. There was a powerful smell of varnish and rabbitskin glue.
‘Enchanting, isn’t it?’
‘It’s enough to make your eyes ache,’ Foxy said. He pointed to a table laden with small glass bottles. ‘What’s all this?’
‘Rose water.’ Jay moved round the other side of the table and lifted one of the fragile stoppers, wafting it before them.
Foxy sniffed and made a face. ‘Phaw. There’s enough here to put out a house fire. What’s it all for?’
‘It’s a boudoir. The ladies will sit here and wag their tongues. I’ve got a girl I’m going to train, she will report all the gossip to me.’
‘What? A trull? Or a straight?’ Foxy said.
‘A straight. From the country by the looks of it, full of fresh country charm.’
Lutch did not look up from picking dirt from his fingernails with a penknife, but shook his head.
Foxy caught his meaning. ‘Don’t want to presume, boss, but it’s common knowledge – the prettier the mott, the more trouble. That last one, fr’instance. I know Blanshard likes them wild, but we had a deal of trouble once she found out we’d duped her. Scratched like a weasel.’ Foxy sucked on his protruding teeth, wiped his hands on the thighs of his moleskin breeches.
‘This girl’s not going to one of our gentlemen, and I’ve never had any trouble from any girl at Whitgift’s.’
‘What about—’
Jay flashed Foxy a warning look, and Foxy cleared his throat. At the sound, Lutch looked up from his nails.
Jay moved over to the table and ran his finger over it, holding the finger up to inspect it for dust. After a moment he said, ‘I’ve said. There’ll be no bother with this one. She’s bright, and she’ll tell us who’s out of town, so we can be in easy. She’ll see what jewels they wear and listen for talk of new purchases. If we’re lucky we might even hear about the hidey-holes. She’ll listen hard and ask the right questions and feed the answers back to me. We’ll get a few bonuses as well as the business. Clever, eh?’ Jay gestured round the room. ‘And look at it. You can’t tell me women won’t flock here. It’s pretty, isn’t it?’
‘It’s a sight to behold, all right. No disrespect, boss, but I’d not trust aught with some chit.’
‘She’s new to London, sticks out a mile. Hasn’t had chance yet to get caught up in any monkey business. You’ll see. You’ll be eating your words yet.’
‘What does your pa make of it?’
‘He doesn’t hold with the idea. I asked him a while back about making a place for ladies to meet. Told him the better class of lady would likely browse in his warehouses, take a shine to some of the jewellery, trinkets and so forth. And then the gentlemen would open their purses. Didn’t tell him she’d be a feed though. Anyway, he couldn’t see the point. Women don’t hold the pursestrings, see, and I couldn’t make him see how it could turn a profit.’
‘Has your pa been in here?’ Foxy reached out a calloused hand to touch the wall-papering.
‘Thought I’d make a few sales first, let him see the gents put their paws in their pockets, before he sees what I’ve done.’
Foxy looked around. ‘Too right. I can’t picture your pa in here. Be like seeing a muck cart in St James’s Palace. And I’ll bet it cost a ton, this fiddle-faddle. He won’t like that, your pa.’
Lutch shook his head morosely. ‘Nope,’ he said.
‘For heaven’s sake, forget what my pa thinks, will you.’
Foxy shrugged.
‘Anyway, you’ll soon see how well it works. Few days’ time it’ll be the talk of London.’ Jay started to snuff out the sconces. ‘Come on, I’ve an errand for you. Rumour has it from my night-watchman there’s a man called Jenks who has a little notebook I’ve been after. An ostler. He was in the Three Tuns trying to decipher what was in it. Make Jenks part with it and bring it to me. Don’t care how you do it – bit of heavy if it’s needed, the usual.’
‘Is it valuable?’ Foxy asked.
‘Could be. It’s Allsop’s journal.’
Jay saw Lutch and Foxy exchange glances.
‘What’s in it?’ Foxy said.
‘How shou
ld I know? I’ve not seen it yet. Happen it could have our names in it, so I don’t need to tell you how quick we need it back.’
Foxy said, ‘Hang on, are you saying—’
Jay continued. ‘Bloody fool Allsop – tried to put the screws on me. He’s got a loan out already so go have a snoop round his house as well, see what pickings might be had there, find out anything else you can about him. I need to catch him wrong-footed in case he tries it on again. But more important – make sure there’s nothing else in his house to link him to me. His sign’s got a hawk and gauntlet on it. Trinity Lane, past St Paul’s.’
‘We’re not to put the freeze on him, or take anything?’ Foxy said.
‘No, not yet. I’m holding off till I know how the land lies. It could mean a regular handout. And go easy, don’t leave signs, he’s not to get wind of it, do you hear?’
‘If you say so.’ Foxy raised his eyebrows at Lutch, who grunted his agreement.
‘Everything else is set aside until I get ahold of that notebook. And here’s a token in advance.’
Lutch moved over to lean on the lacquerwork table. Its spindly legs creaked under his weight.
Jay placed two coins on the table.
Lutch picked one up. He turned it over in his hand then gave Foxy a meaningful look.
Foxy swallowed. ‘Sorry, boss, but we ain’t best pleased with this.’ Lutch held out the coin between his finger and thumb and looked sideways to Foxy, who nodded. ‘Seems like we do all the work, but don’t get much pickings.’
Lutch moved up to stand behind Foxy, who continued, ‘Like last week we saw the Harper’s gilt mantel clock with a ticket on it for eight pound. Dennis says it’s already been sold – back to Harper. We nearly got caught for that, good job we’re fast runners or we’d have been in the stone jug by now. Yet all we got for it was twelve shilling apiece. That ain’t fair, and we’re looking for better deals from now on.’
‘Come on, Foxy, it’s been a lean year. You and Lutch, well, you’re the tightest rooks I know, but I can’t give you more, I’d be squeezing myself dry.’
‘Your pa would have something to say if he were to get to hear of it – that his business ain’t quite what he thinks it is. It would be worth your while to give us a bit extra, if you see what I’m saying.’
Lutch looked up briefly then dropped his gaze.
‘I saw him on the way through the gates, your father,’ Foxy said, ‘talking with a greasy-looking fellow in a long coat, he was. They went into his office.’
‘What fellow?’
‘Tall, stooping. Bit down-at-heel . . . I could go see your pa now.’ Foxy beckoned to Lutch.
‘Now then,’ Jay said, ‘don’t go upsetting my old man, we can work this out. Tell you what, I’ll cut you in on a percentage. How about five per cent?’
‘Ten.’
‘Seven, and there’s my final offer.’
‘Come on, boss. Be nice, now. I’ve got a family to keep.’
‘Eight,’ Lutch said quietly. Although Lutch was still looking down, something in his demeanour made Jay’s stomach turn to water. He thought of all the necks those veiny hands had cracked.
‘Done,’ Jay said. ‘Spit on it then.’ He spat on his palm and Lutch did the same. When they shook hands Lutch’s was a surprisingly gentle grasp, though his hand was rough as stone. Jay wiped his hand on his breeches. ‘Now go after that notebook.’
When they’d gone he held the garnet and diamond necklace up to the candle. The light shone inside the gems like beads of blood. He swung it back and forth before the light. About seventeen pounds, eighteen if he was lucky. He opened one of the drawers with two other necklaces already pegged out on velvet. He laid the new one out with precision and pinned it down. From his window he could see his father’s office and a candle still burnt within. It must be that snooper Tindall with his father. Nobody else matched that description. Damn. Now he would have to watch his step.
Chapter 12
The heat of the room enveloped Ella, after the bitter chill of the outside air. A smell of tallow assailed her nostrils, mixed with the sweetness of lavender and rose water. The light wavered and danced round the gold leaf on the walls. The small windows let in hardly any light, swagged as they were with thick gold-coloured drapery.
When Ella arrived, a little apprehensive as to what might be required of her, she could not believe the transformation from the dark square box. She could only stand and gape. She had never seen the like. So this was the ‘oriental’ style. She raised a finger to trail it over the embossed gold pictures on the walls; the raised texture of the leather clicked under her nails. She was hard pressed to believe it could be the same place at all – the dusty dairy had gone and now she was in an enchanted palace. She inhaled deeply as if to breathe it in. If the Netherbarrow lads could only see her now!
Earlier she had collected her gown and now one of the warehouse lads opened up and told her Mr Whitgift said she could change upstairs in the new ladies’ chambers. She stopped short on the landing and saw that one door was ajar into some sort of storeroom, crates and punnets and baskets giving off the pungent aroma of lemon and herbs. She poked her head further round the door to see bags of French chalk and a crate of oil in jars. A quick glance over her shoulder to check no one was looking and she bent to pull out a cork. She inhaled the heavy sweetness of almond oil.
She was astonished to see that the other room seemed to be a bedroom. It had a small wooden bed, made of solid oak, with bolsters and ticking pillows. She stood a moment, looking at it, as if suddenly finding herself in the wrong place. She had not seen a proper wooden bed since leaving Thomas’s house in Westmorland, and it made her feel uncomfortable. She remembered his inert figure humped under the white linen, the total stillness of his face. With it came the familiar suffocating impression of being trapped, of being locked into the wrong life by mistake.
The fear caught her unawares. She had the sensation of choking, as if a cold lap of water was rising up to her throat. She turned her back on the bed with a shudder and took a few deep breaths to calm herself. After a moment she felt able to lay out the red silk dress on the chair. Just the sight of it, the heap of scarlet silk, was enough to cheer her. The colour was the colour of life. She let her eyes drink it in. Then quickly, in case anyone should come, she wriggled out of her blue dress and eased herself into the red skirt.
She discarded her old dress with distaste. In Westmorland this dress had seemed the height of luxury. But now, next to the red silk, it looked like what it was – a servant’s dress. She donned the red bodice and pulled at the strings of the back lacing, cursing under her breath, for she had to twist and contort herself like a cat to get it tight enough. She would have to get Sadie to lace it in the mornings – a girl could not get the right pull on her own.
When she had tied the laces in the best bow she could manage and tucked them inside the skirts, she stared out of the window at the activity in the yard. The queue at Dennis’s window never seemed to get any smaller. From up here, it was a row of shuffling hats. Ella paid it no heed and instead treated the window as a mirror, checking her face for soot smuts and admiring her new hairstyle before going down into the shop.
‘Ah, Miss Johnson.’ His voice made her start. Jay Whitgift leaned back against the sideboard, raising his eyebrows. Then he laughed, showing his white teeth. ‘Well, I suppose I did give you the choice.’
Ella looked down, confused, at her gown, smoothing it with her hands. ‘It’s a fine fit, sir. I made sure of that. Is it all right, sir?’
His mouth twitched. ‘It will certainly attract attention. And your hair – it is most unusual.’
Ella was uncomfortable. She had a suspicion she was being laughed at but she did not understand why.
‘You are not cold?’
‘No, sir.’
He smirked again, but then his mouth tightened and he led her towards a stout woman dressed in a stiff coral-coloured gown.
‘This is Mrs Horsef
eather,’ he said. Ella dipped her head as was expected of her.
She tried hard not to gape. There was so much lace on Mrs Horsefeather’s cap and mantle that it gave the impression there was a wave breaking round her neck.
Mrs Horsefeather said, ‘Come on, girl,’ as if she was ten years old, and Jay Whitgift smiled and left them. Ella nodded, half an eye on his retreating back. He was easy enough on the eye and no mistake, she thought. Mrs Horsefeather coughed drily to gain her attention and proceeded to instruct her about the different items on display, keeping up a running commentary as she guided her through laying out the different stock ready for the opening. She showed her how to dab the perfume on the ladies’ wrists and temples with the conical tip of the glass stopper, how to mix alabaster powder with egg white to make skin-whitener, how to use the belladonna dropper and, not least, how to stand respectfully to one side so that her breath should not fall on anyone’s countenance.
Ella took it all in, in a state of excitement, as if she was drinking great draughts of the elixir of eternal life. She kept glancing at the glittering walls, the dancing candle flames, the displays of powder puffs and pomanders. She was dreaming, she must be. Miss Corey Johnson, of Whitgift’s Chambers. She said the name to herself over and over, quashing the images of the other Corey bent over her stinking bench at Madame Lefevre’s wig shop.
She learnt how to tally the coinage and put it in the drawer with the wooden compartments. She swirled her hand around the smooth wooden bowls and felt the coins trickling through her fingers. She could have stood there all day just feeling the weight and coolness of those coins.
The room soon grew hot, there were so many candles lit. She’d never seen so many. What an extravagance. Perhaps it was because ladies were careful of their complexions – not to get them in the sun, lest they turn brown, like any common labourer.
Ella licked the perspiration from her top lip. ‘Beg pardon, is it always going to be this bright?’ she asked.
‘Mr Whitgift thinks candlelight more flattering to a lady’s complexion,’ Mrs Horsefeather said, patting her own cheek. Ella saw that Mrs Horsefeather’s face was parched as a dried-up riverbed, her papery cheeks unnaturally rosy. She hoped she would never look as old as her.
The Gilded Lily Page 12