by Dilly Court
‘All right, just hear me out.’ Jared began to pace the floor, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. ‘This house doesn’t belong to me, I just rent it. I’m not a wealthy man. It was my grandfather who made money, out of slaves and sugar in the West Indies. When he returned to London, he bought a fine house in Islington and he became a benefactor to the poor. He built the foundling hospital and the home for fallen women, as well as the mission for seamen. Perhaps he did all that to assuage his guilty conscience for making a fortune from slavery, I don’t know. But what I do know is that my father was brought up to a lifestyle he could not support. He gambled away most of the family fortune, and was cheated out of his home by a man who is my worst enemy, but that is another story. The truth is that I inherited nothing but a few run-down properties in poverty-stricken areas, and the burden of raising funds for charitable institutions that I cannot sell, but of which I own the leasehold. I’m neither a gentleman nor a businessman. I live by my wits.’
‘But I heard you talking to that old cove outside. He said he was giving you money, didn’t he?’
‘That’s true, and it’s how I manage to live a lifestyle quite beyond my means. Living in this mansion, and keeping up the appearance of having money, attracts wealthy men who want to put back a little into the society that they robbed in order to become rich in the first place. Getting them to donate funds is laughably easy. They want to buy their place in heaven, to be revered as patrons and benefactors, and to see their names etched in stone above the portals.’
‘So you get the money off them and spend it on yourself?’
‘Not exactly. Well, not entirely. But you’ve grasped the basic idea. I cream off money for expenses and donate the rest to charity.’
‘And you’re the charity?’
‘No. I do see that they get the major portion of the money I raise, but I have to live, and I have had to look after Izzie since our parents were killed in an accident many years ago.’ Jared stopped pacing and turned to face her. ‘I do collect rents from my properties in Spitalfields, but they don’t pay for all this.’ He encompassed the elegantly furnished room with an expansive gesture and a wry smile. ‘I supplement my income and that of the charities, by relieving the disgustingly wealthy of trinkets that they would barely miss.’
Clemency put her head on one side, staring at him with renewed interest. ‘Let me get this straight. Are you telling me that you’re a cheap chancer, and all this is paid for by petty crime?’
‘In a nutshell, yes.’
‘And that’s why you wanted me? You want me to be your trained monkey to dip the pockets of your rich cronies, in spite of the fact that you’ve already swindled them out of their hard-earned cash?’
‘I spotted your talent that day outside the jeweller’s shop. I recognised something in you, Clemency, that hit a chord in me. With a little coaching I could turn you into a woman who could go anywhere, mix with the right people and fleece them into the bargain. Forget singing, forget acting in second-rate theatres. Come and work with me and I promise that you’ll never be hungry again. You’ll have fine clothes to wear and a carriage to ride in. Together we could make a fortune. What do you say?’
‘Where would I live? I ain’t going to live in that doss house in Hog Yard.’
‘No, of course not. You would live here with Isobel and me. This house is huge. Less than half the rooms are furnished, but it fools the rich merchants into thinking I have money and position.’
‘And what about me family and me friends? I can’t leave them in the lurch.’
Jared’s smile faded. ‘I wasn’t thinking of taking on the lot of you.’
‘It’s all or nothing. Take it or leave it.’
For a moment, she thought he was going to refuse, then a reluctant smile lit his eyes and he held out his hand. ‘You drive a hard bargain, Miss Skinner.’
Clemency spat on her hand and placed it in his, giving it a determined shake, but when she attempted to pull away he tightened his grip. She tried to break free and failed. ‘Let go of me.’
‘I will, but there’s one thing I want you to promise me, on your honour.’
‘How d’you know I got any honour?’
‘If we’re to get along then we have to trust one another.’ Jared released her hand. ‘My sister, Isobel, knows nothing about my business dealings, and I intend it to stay that way. She has been brought up to be a lady, well educated and refined. She thinks that our money was inherited and that I am a reputable businessman. I want her to remain ignorant of the truth. Do you understand me, Clemency?’
Rubbing her hand, she stared up into his face, taken aback by the intensity of feeling in his voice. So Jared Stone had a heart after all. She nodded. ‘I understand.’
‘You can bring your friends and family here, but they must abide by the same rules.’
‘Yes, I promise they will.’
‘Isobel must think that they have been taken on to work for me. Therefore I’ll expect them to earn their keep.’
‘That’s fair. They ain’t a pack of scroungers.’
Jared’s tense features relaxed into a smile. ‘Then what are you waiting for? Go and fetch them.’
Clemency hesitated, unwilling to ask him for money, but he seemed to understand. He took a handful of silver from his pocket. ‘Here, this will pay for a cab fare.’
She took the money. ‘Ta.’
‘Thank you,’ Jared said, as if he were talking to a small child. ‘Your education starts here. It’s thank you, not ta.’
‘Thank you – sir.’ Clemency bobbed a mock curtsey, stowing the money safely in her pocket. ‘I’ll be off then.’ She was tucking her hair into her cap when she realised that Jared was staring at her. ‘What’s up? Have I grown two heads or something?’
He folded his arms across his chest, looking her up and down. ‘The first thing we’ll do is burn those dreadful clothes. I’m sure Izzie can find something more suitable for you to wear until we’ve had time to buy you a brand new wardrobe.’
Clemency paused in the doorway. ‘Where is she? This innocent young sister of yours?’
‘Out, thankfully. On a shopping trip with our maternal grandmother, Lady Skelton.’
‘Crikey, you never said you was related to the nobs.’
‘And you can stop swearing. Good gracious will do. I can see this is going to be an uphill struggle.’
‘Oh, shut up.’ Clemency opened the door, determined to have the last word. ‘I can learn quick. I’m an actress now – La Moineau. I’m someone, and don’t you forget it.’
She left the room before he had a chance to reply. The coins jingled in her pocket as she crossed the wide landing. She had been semi-conscious when Jared carried her up the sweeping staircase to the drawing room on the first floor, but now she saw the full grandeur of the building with its high ceilings, ornate cornices and richly patterned wall coverings. Her feet sank into the deep pile of the carpet and there was the faint scent of flowers in the air. It was like a palace, she thought, making her way down the staircase. The walls were hung with oil paintings, and there wasn’t a trace of dust or mouse droppings on the carpeted stair treads. She could never have imagined that anyone less than Queen Victoria herself could live in such splendour. Whoever said that crime did not pay had obviously never been inside Jared Stone’s drum. She grinned, imagining Jack’s face when he saw the place where they were going to live. Even Augustus would be stunned into silence.
From somewhere deep in the bowels of the building, she heard the jangle of the doorbell, and then, as she rounded the curve of the stairs, she saw Nancy hurrying along the hallway towards the front door. The bell rang again. Someone was getting impatient. Clemency looked around for a way of escape, but the hall seemed to go on forever, punctuated by doorways leading to goodness knows where. There must be a back entrance, but the quickest way out was definitely through the front door, which Nancy now held open. Two fashionably dressed ladies swept in, followed by a cabby staggering
beneath a pile of bandboxes and parcels. Clemency recognised Isobel, and she could only think that the older woman must be Lady Skelton. She pressed herself against the wall, hoping they would not notice her, but it was too late.
‘What are you doing above stairs, boy?’ Isobel peered at Clemency through the veil on her feathered hat. ‘Nancy, send him about his business.’
‘I’m sorry, Miss Isobel. It’s the cook’s boy. I didn’t know he was stood there.’
Having paid the cab driver and sent him on his way, Lady Skelton pushed past Isobel, brandishing her furled parasol. ‘I don’t like the look of him. He looks shifty. Check his pockets, Mrs Spriggs.’
Nancy caught Clemency by the ear. ‘Don’t say nothing,’ she hissed. ‘Just act dumb.’
‘Ouch!’ Clemency wriggled free, kicking out at Nancy with her booted foot. She dodged past Isobel, and ducking a blow from Lady’s Skelton’s parasol, she fled through the open door, took a flying leap down the steps and kept on running until she reached the safety of London Wall, where she stopped to hail a passing cab.
She had hoped to reach the theatre before the box office opened, but the hansom cab became stuck in traffic that was not moving in either direction. The driver, when questioned, said he could see a costermonger’s barrow had turned over in the street, spilling fruit and vegetables all over the road. What with the horses trying to snatch up apples, and passers-by helping themselves to free fruit and vegetables, he said he couldn’t see them moving for a good while. He settled down to exchange good-natured banter with another cabby, while Clemency sat fuming at the delay.
When they eventually reached the Strand Theatre, the doors were open and early theatregoers were already queuing for tickets. Clemency paid the cabby and hurried round to the stage door. The doorman, apparently having sobered up by now, barely looked up from reading the newspaper. She strolled past him as though she had not a care in the world. The minute she was out of his range of vision, she broke into a run. She had to get them all out of the theatre before the rest of the cast arrived and started asking awkward questions. She burst into the musicians’ dressing room, skidding to a halt as she came face to face with Hardiman.
Chapter Thirteen
‘Run, Clemmie.’ The words were torn from Jack’s throat. ‘Run.’
But his warning came too late; Hardiman had her in a grip that made her cry out with pain. ‘I knowed you lot was lying,’ he snarled, twisting Clemency’s arm behind her back. ‘They said as how you wasn’t coming back, but I knowed you wouldn’t leave the cripple boy, not never in a million years.’
Clemency stopped struggling; he would break her arm without a second thought. She made an effort to sound calm. Her heart was pumping wildly but she was determined not to let him see she was afraid. ‘What d’you want, Hardiman?’
‘You know what I want.’ His harsh laugh echoed round the room. ‘You’re coming with me, my girl. I dunno where Edie is, but she was past her best anyway. You and me is going into business.’
‘Let her go, sir.’ Augustus took a step forward. ‘You won’t get away with this. I’ll have the law on you.’
‘That’s right.’ Ronnie’s voice shook, but he rolled up his sleeves as though he meant business. ‘You’ll have to fight Augustus and me first, mister.’
Hardiman held a cudgel in his left hand. He raised his arm, brandishing the weapon. ‘Take one step nearer and I’ll knock your teeth out. She’s coming with me and no one’s going to stop us.’
‘Let her go.’ Jack raised his voice to a shout. ‘We’ll give you money, anything you like, just let her go.’
‘Do as he says.’ Fancy walked boldly up to Hardiman. ‘I ain’t afraid of you.’
‘Look out, Fancy.’ Clemency had felt Hardiman’s muscles tense. She knew all too well what was coming next, but Fancy took no notice of her warning. Either she had not heard or she was too angry to care. She rushed at Hardiman and he brought the weapon down with force, catching her on the shoulder and knocking her to her knees.
‘I’ll kill you, you bastard.’ Jack hurled a glass ashtray at Hardiman’s head, but it missed and shattered against the wall, sending fag ends and ash flying in all directions. Jack bowed his head, and his shoulders shook.
Blind rage filled Clemency’s heart and she kicked out at Hardiman. He gave her arm a vicious twist and she yelped with pain. ‘Stone,’ she gasped, clinging on to consciousness, ‘I’ll tell Stone what you just done.’
‘What?’ Hardiman pushed her away so roughly that she fell to the ground beside Fancy. ‘What did you just say?’ He raised the cudgel above his head.
She was certain that he meant to kill her, but she was not going to die without a fight. She scrambled to her feet. ‘I said I’ll tell Stone what you just done. He’ll sort you out.’
‘Clem.’ Fancy raised herself with difficulty. ‘Don’t make him madder than what he is. He’ll kill us all.’
‘The trollop’s right,’ Hardiman said, grabbing Clemency by the scruff of her neck. ‘I could finish off the lot of you and walk out of here without anyone being the wiser. And I ain’t afraid of Stone. I ain’t afraid of no one.’ He backed towards the doorway, dragging Clemency with him. ‘Don’t none of you try to follow me, or I’ll wring her neck.’ He had to put the cudgel down to open the door, but as Augustus made a move towards him, Hardiman seized the weapon and hurled it. Moving with surprising agility for a large man, Augustus managed to dodge the missile, and it clattered harmlessly to the floor.
‘Hello, what’s all this?’ Horace Claypole appeared in the doorway, and behind him Clemency could see some of the musicians, straining their necks to get a better view. ‘What’s going on? Who are you, mister?’
‘This girl belongs to me,’ Hardiman snarled. ‘She’s my property and I’m taking her with me now.’
His grip on her had slackened just a little, and Clemency twisted free from him. ‘It ain’t true, Mr Claypole. He’s trying to kidnap me.’
‘She’s me common-law wife.’ Hardiman’s dark eyebrows met over the bridge of his nose in a ferocious scowl. ‘I got me rights.’
‘He’s lying.’ Clemency slipped her hand through Horace’s arm. ‘Don’t believe a word of it, Mr Claypole.’
Horace patted her hand. ‘Save your voice, Clem. You’ll need it for tonight’s performance.’ A trickle of sweat ran down his brow, but he squared up to Hardiman. ‘You’ll sort out your private problems elsewhere, mister. Miss Skinner is under contract to perform in this theatre, and that’s just what she’s going to do. If you continue to create a disturbance I shall have to send for a constable.’
Clemency held her breath. Would Hardiman back down? She had never seen him back away from a fight. He fisted his hands, glowering at the men as if he would like to take them all on, but he was outnumbered, and he obviously knew it. ‘Don’t think you’re getting away so easy, me girl. I’ll be back for you later.’ He pushed past Claypole. ‘I’ve got your card marked, guv.’
No one tried to stop him as he barged his way through the small crowd that had gathered outside the door. Claypole took a spotted silk handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow. ‘Nice company you keep, Miss Skinner. I’d advise you to steer clear of men like him if you want to continue your singing career.’ He turned to leave, clapping his hands. ‘All of you get back to your positions. Curtain up in half an hour.’
‘Damn that vicious bugger Hardiman. I’d kill him, if I had half a chance.’ Jack buried his face in his hands and his shoulders shook with uncontrollable sobs.
Clemency leaned against the door for support, as her legs threatened to give way beneath her. ‘He’s gone, Jack. Don’t take on so.’
He raised a tearstained face, and his dark eyes were filled with anguish. ‘I couldn’t stop him, Clemmie. I couldn’t protect you or me girl. What use is half a man?’
Fancy put her arms around him, cradling his head against her breast as if he were a baby and whispering words of comfort.
Ronnie
patted him on the shoulder. ‘We was all bloody useless, Jack. I’d like to see the bloke that could stand up to a mad bull of a fellow like him.’
‘That was a nasty moment,’ Augustus said, straightening his collar. ‘Are you all right, girls?’
Clemency nodded. She was shaking from head to foot but she couldn’t make out if it was from fear or sheer relief. ‘I am. What about you, Fancy?’
‘I’m fine.’ Fancy grasped Jack’s hand, raising it to her cheek. ‘But I’d like to do for that brute. He deserves to end up at the bottom of the river with lead weights tied to his plates of meat.’
‘What are we going to do?’ Ronnie lowered his voice as the musicians filed into the dressing room. ‘You heard him, Clem. He said he’ll be back, and I believe him.’
‘Excuse us, girls,’ the leader of the orchestra said, grinning. ‘Thanks for the show just now, but hadn’t you better get back to your dressing rooms?’
‘Are you going to be all right, Clemmie?’ Jack’s eyes searched her face. ‘Will you be able to go on stage after all that?’
She managed a smile. ‘I’ll have to, won’t I?’ She went to him, and leaned over so that her lips were close to his ear. ‘Tell the others that I’ve found us a safe place to live. We’ve just got to dodge Hardiman.’ She squeezed his fingers. ‘You’re the best of brothers, Jack. You’re more of a man than the whole bloody lot of them put together.’ She turned away quickly, so that he wouldn’t see the tears that had sprung to her eyes. ‘Fancy, will you come with me? I got something to tell you.’
For once, Fancy did not argue and she followed Clemency to her dressing room. ‘Close the door, Fancy. I don’t want anyone to hear what I got to say.’
Fancy did as she was asked, staring curiously at Clemency. ‘What’s going on? And where did you disappear to? Jack was worried out of his mind.’
Clemency sat down to take off her boots. ‘Never mind that now.’ She put her hand in her pocket and took out Isobel’s calling card. ‘Don’t ask questions, just go to this address and ask to see Mr Stone. Don’t speak to no one else but him. Tell him that Hardiman has found us, and there’s no way we can leave the theatre tonight if he don’t call off his bloodhound. He’ll understand.’