Diary of a Painted Lady

by Maggi Andersen

  “They tickle.”

  “Do you?” Gina gazed at Mr. Fenton’s bristly moustache.

  Mabel winked. “But it’s where it tickles, that counts.” She gave a peal of laughter and winked at the men who joined in.

  Uncomfortable, Gina pushed Mr. Fenton’s hand away from where it had settled on her knee beneath the table.

  He frowned. Picking up the bottle he poured more wine into her glass. “Have another drink. You need to loosen up.”

  Several courses followed the first. Gina had never seen such food, lobster, chicken and asparagus in aspic, followed by delectable desserts she couldn’t eat. Her corset already drastically constricted her ribs.

  When the meal was reduced to crumbs, Mabel and Mr. Battersby took their champagne over to a chaise longue on the other side of the curtain, and Gina sat with Mr. Fenton. He pulled his cravat askew and unbuttoned his collar, gazing at her owlishly. “You are a very beautiful girl.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I might give you a nice present. If you do something to please me.”

  Afraid of what that might be, she said nothing. Fearing the evening had taken a definite turn for the worst, she looked around hoping to persuade Mabel to come home with her. But Mabel and Mr. Battersby were kissing, and he was squeezing her breasts. Seeing her watching he rose to pull the curtain across.

  Heart pounding, Gina spun round. Mr. Fenton’s cravat had come off and joined his coat on the floor. “Come here.” He grabbed her by the waist. Her wine glass flew from her hand splashing wine over the cherry-red carpet.

  Gina pushed him away and jumped to her feet. Behind the curtain, Mabel and Mr.

  Battersby moaned and thrashed about. Not daring to look, she ran to the door and whipped it open. She shut it behind her and walked regally down the stairs. “Please call me a carriage,” she said to the doorman. It would cost far more than she could afford, but worth every penny.

  The next day, Mabel was angry. “What did you need to go off like that for?” She put a hand to her head and moaned. “I have the worst headache. And Mr. Fenton was that angry.”

  “You told me there’d be none of that,” Gina said. “Just dinner you said.”

  “I don’t know what Dave will say if Mr. Fenton complains. I don’t think he will though, I’ve promised to make it up to him.”

  “Oh, no! Don’t Mabel, that’s awful.”

  “Don’t be silly, dearie. I want to.”

  “Oh,” Gina said with relief. She couldn’t feel sorry for Mabel. No one could. She made the most of her life with good spirits. She only wished she could be like her.

  Mabel gave Gina a pat on her shoulder. “Trouble is you don’t know how to have a good time. They was a nice pair of toffs, now weren’t they?”

  “I didn’t like Mr. Fenton’s behavior.”

  “You know, ladies of the theatre can marry well,” Mabel said, looking hopeful. “Even marry society gentlemen, some of them.”

  “Really?” Gina couldn’t see that happening to anyone from here.

  “May Gates wed some foreign baron. She was a chorus girl in The Beauty of Bath.”

  “But she was a member of the Gaiety girls.”

  “So what’s different?”

  Gina shook her head; the Gaiety girls were well brought up young ladies. Either Mabel didn’t understand or refused to acknowledge the truth of things.

  In the afternoon, the manager, Dave singled her out. “I’ve had a complaint from Mr.

  Fenton,” he said. “He accuses you of skipping out on him leaving him to pay for a very expensive meal.”

  “I’ll be glad to pay him back.” Gina wondered how on earth she could afford to.

  “Not in the way he wants.” Dave shook his head. “You’re a fish out of water, here Gina.

  I should get rid of you.”

  “Oh, no, Dave, please don’t. I’ve nowhere else to go.”

  He eyed her. “If you weren’t so damned pretty you’d be gone, girl.”

  Gina returned to the dressing room where Mabel held a cloth to her head. When she related what Dave had said, Mabel’s mouth turned down and she shook her head. She brightened. “I know! I’ll put it about that you have a royal patron,” she said. “That’ll stop them.”

  The rumor that Gina had a royal patron worked a treat, and spread like fire. Although no one was sure it was true, no man would risk upsetting royalty.

  No man except another highborn member of society.

  * * *

  After the final show of the evening, Gina went in search of the hackney cab she’d hired.

  The carriage usually waited right outside the theatre, but tonight, there was no sign of it. She walked up and down in the cold air, clutching her coat tightly around her. Most of the girls had gone off for the evening with their husbands or the stage door Johnny they chose.

  A man stepped out of the shadows. The glow from a gas lamp fell on his face, highlighting his bony forehead and cheeks, his eyes sunken, dark hollows.

  “Miss Russo, I believe.”

  Gina searched the street for anyone she knew, but it had quickly emptied and she found herself alone.

  “Where is your Royal lover now when you need him, I wonder?” Lord Ogilvie, asked, his smile more like a sneer. “Or is he a fabrication?”

  “He isn’t here this evening. But if he gets to hear about it, you’ll be in trouble. Please leave me alone.”

  “And who is it? I know them all.”

  “I’m not at liberty to say.”

  Gina’s heart started to thump and her breath quickened. She walked to the edge of the road peering into the darkness. Where was that cabbie?

  Ogilvie followed, and grabbed her arm, his fingers bruising her flesh. “I have come often to watch you on that stage. Artemis remained a virgin all her life. Surely you don’t want that for yourself. Or am I too late?”

  She pulled her arm from his grasp. “Go away.”

  “Everyone has a price, Miss Russo. What is yours?”

  Hands on hips, she turned to face him. “Are you simple-minded? I’ve said I don’t want anything to do with you. If you don’t leave me alone, I’ll call the Watch.”

  I don’t see any bobbies about, do you? Nor your cabbie. He was happy to receive double fare and go home for his tea. Let me escort you, we’ll discuss your future.”

  “How dare you! We have nothing to discuss.”

  “If my proposition sounded a little heavy-handed, I’m willing to change it. Since your father died, you are rather short of options, are you not?”

  Gina rounded on him, “How do you know he died?”

  He shrugged. “Word gets around.”

  “As you can clearly see, I’m neither destitute nor in need of your services.”

  He raised one eyebrow. “You may well be in the future.”

  “Then I’d rather die.”

  He nodded. “That’s an option certainly.”

  Why did she attempt to reason with a mad man? Her pulse pounded in her ears as she fought to remain calm. She backed away toward the side door of the theatre, hoping it hadn’t been locked. But the earl anticipated her intention and grabbed her, pulling her into the shadows.

  He shoved her up against a brick wall. Gina felt the cold bricks dig into her back. She tried to scream, but his mouth came down hard on hers as he wrenched at her skirt, his hands tangled in the cloth in his haste.

  She smelt alcohol and her stomach heaved. She bit his lip, and he shook her until her teeth rattled. “Vixen!”

  “Bill, Bill!” She struggled to free herself from his iron grip.

  “What’s goin’ on out there?” Bill came lumbering out onto the street. He was a big man, but getting on in years.

  Ogilvie turned and ran, yelling an order at his coachman. With the crack of the whip, the black coach took off, tilting over onto two wheels as it turned the corner. Gina sank into a crouch against the wall as Bill hurried up to her.

  “Who was that blighter? Did he hurt y
ou?”

  “Never mind, Bill.” Gina stood and took several deep breaths. “I’m all right now.”

  “What’re yer still doing out here, this time o’night then?

  “I want to get home, but my hackney didn’t wait for me.”

  “Really? First time for that, you can set your grandfather’s by one o’ those. Now you come into my room and wait. I’ll go round the corner and hail another for you in a trice.”

  Arriving home, Gina bolted the door, shaking with exhaustion. The rooms were silent, the air frigid. She was too tired to get a fire going now. Every dark corner seemed menacing. Teeth chattering, she threw off her clothes and climbed into bed. The bedclothes felt cold and damp. She wrapped herself in her shawl and gradually began to feel warmer. The shaking eased, but she couldn’t sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the earl’s sneering face. He wasn’t done with her yet. For some reason the madman had become obsessed with her. She would not let that man ruin her life. She would show up for work tomorrow. But the grim and frightening life she was now forced to lead made her quake. She had never felt so alone.

  Chapter Twelve

  The fire was terrifying. Flames licked the curtain, and climbed the walls as dense, stifling smoke filled the theatre. The last of the audience, coughing and screaming, rushed to the side door, followed by actors and stagehands. They turned away when they found it had been barred from the outside, and hurried to join those escaping through the front entrance.

  Gina found herself at the end of a long line of people all attempting to squeeze through the narrow entrance at once. Someone fell over, others tried to climb over the top of them as the panic and screaming reached fever pitch. Gina hauled young Alice, the goddess Persephone, to her feet and they waited, gasping for air as those ahead of them escaped out into the street.

  The station manager, Dave was the last to leave, he had gone back for the dog. Gina turned and saw he was behind her. As she and Alice stumbled out into daylight, their eyes burning, they were knocked flat with the whoosh of the roof crashing down in a shower of sparks. Gina picked herself up and turned to see Dave disappear under a tangle of burned beams and roofing. The dog whined and ran in circles until its owner rushed up to claim it and lead it away.

  Gina stood among the shocked crowd, watching the fireman trying to douse the flames.

  A flash came from a black box on a tripod as the photographer from a newspaper took their picture.

  The Watch questioned them, but Gina had noticed nothing untoward before the smoke and flames obscured everything.

  The Salvation Army people moved among the crowd with offers of assistance, and a woman threw a coat over Gina’s shoulders. Despite Gina assuring her she felt fine, the woman insisted on escorting her home. Gina was glad of the coat and felt so numb she allowed the woman to lead her away.

  In Gina’s flat, the woman sat her in a chair and made her a cup of tea.

  As Gina sipped it, the woman said, “You must repent from your life of sin, my dear. Sodom and Gomorrah were destroyed as your theatre was destroyed. This has been God’s warning.”

  Gina put the cup down and it rattled in its saucer. She would never forget poor Dave disappearing under the pile of burning timber. “Are you from the Salvation Army?” She hardly managed to get the words out, her throat felt so raw.

  The woman’s eyes burned almost as brightly as the fire had. “No. I am a messenger from God.”

  Gina stood with her head swimming. Her legs threatened to collapse under her. “Thank you for your help. I’m very grateful. I’d like you to leave now.”

  “Don’t forget my message. Save your soul while you can.”

  Relieved, Gina closed the door on the woman. She crawled into her bed and huddled under the covers. Minutes later, there was a loud knock on the door. Worried that the woman had come back, and too exhausted to deal with anyone, she called through it. “Who is it?”

  “What will you do now, Gina?” At the sound of Ogilvie’s voice, her heart began to pound and a sob escaped from her lips. “Your options have certainly narrowed, have they not? You have my card.”

  Gina heard him laugh as she moaned and slid to the floor. Might he have started the fire?

  Could anyone be that evil? Her first instinct was to go to the police. But if she told the police of her suspicions they would dismiss it. She had no proof and they would not take her word against an earl’s. She sobbed. Why did he hate her so?

  She stayed sitting on the floor until she became stiff with cold, and then wearily rose to peer from behind the curtain. There was no sign of him, but it didn’t make her feel any better.

  She had no fight left in her. The rent was due on Monday. The landlord would no doubt demand she pays the rent by offering him her body.

  Blair. She had kept his calling card tucked in her purse. Was he in London? It went against everything she’d been taught. She could see her mother and Milo turning in their graves, but if he still wanted her, she would go to him.

  * * *

  In the breakfast room of his London town house, Blair tucked into his breakfast kippers as the butler brought in a copy of The Illustrated London News. He sipped his tea and ran his eye idly over the first few pages. On the third page, a small article caught his eye. The Folly Theatre in William IV Street had burned down. He knew the owner, so he read on. A Mr. David Waterman, the theatre manager, had died in the fire. A photograph accompanied the article, and Blair almost turned the page before he studied the bedraggled, assembled cast standing forlornly on the pavement outside the smoking black hulk of fallen timber. He would swear one of the girls was Gina.

  Blair moved the paper into the light from the window and studied it carefully. Gina was so unusual; it must be her, standing there in the street with her lovely legs bare as a baby’s for all to see. His lips thinned and he read the article through again. It happened after the matinee the day before yesterday. The fire had started at the rear of the theatre, just as the curtain closed after the final act. It was fortunate that most of the patrons had left the building. The fire had not been an accident. Foul play, the police said. Someone had seen a man running away just as the fire had started.

  He threw the paper down. What was Gina doing on that stage? Anger and disappointment made him rise to stalk the room. She was a musical hall girl–a Cyprian. Her outraged innocence had been a lie. He wasn’t sure what made him angrier, that she had rejected him or that she had deliberately mislead him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Blair had just finished dressing for the trip back to Ireland, when his butler entered his bedchamber. “Someone wishes to see you, sir.”

  Blair tucked his hairbrushes into their case. “Who is it, Jarvis?”

  Javis’ face grew even longer with disapproval. “A young woman, sir, said her name was Miss Russo. Said you’d know who she is, sir.”

  Blair quickly covered his shock with a wave of his hand. “I’ll see her. Ask her to wait, please, Jarvis.”

  He didn’t immediately leave his room. He went to the window and stared at the clouds, grey and woolly threatening rain. Gina would be here for only one thing. Circumstances had reduced her to ask his help. He couldn’t blame her for that. What he wanted to do about it was the question. If he took her on, could he handle such a woman? Would she be loyal? Would she steal from him, and leave first chance she got for a better offer? He should send her away, but as he descended the stairs, he knew that he wouldn’t. He would take what she offered and keep his heart intact.

  The butler had placed Gina out of the way in Blair’s study. A somber room filled with dark oak furniture, wine colored draperies and tea colored walls. The woebegone figure, perched on the edge of the chocolate leather sofa, dressed in a ghastly, black gown, almost made him forget his purpose. For a moment, he wanted to run to her and take her in his arms. He gathered his wits together and walked into the room as she rose to greet him. Was it his imagination or did she lift her chin a little.

 
“Good day to you, Mr. Dunleavy,” Gina said. Her beautiful face still caused his breath to catch in his throat, even though her eyes looked red and the gown no match for her superb, statuesque figure. Her hat looked to be a hurried, hand-made concoction of black net. He was no authority on women’s attire, but it seemed a disaster.

  “You are too young to wear black,” he said, not wanting to risk his heart.

  When he saw how cast down she looked, he instantly wished to retract it. “Although you’d look beautiful in a potato sack, Gina,” he added honestly.

  “These are my mourning clothes,” she said. “Milo died.”

  “Milo, dead?” he led her to a chair and sat down beside her. “I didn’t know. I’m so sorry. What happened?”

  “He was stabbed outside the Red Lion. A robbery,” she said a throb in her voice. “We were about to move to Holland Park. We’d be there now. He was doing well with his paintings.”

  “Do you have any other relatives?”

  She shook her head.

  “So that’s why you took the job at the theatre?”

  She looked up at him, surprised that he knew. “Yes.”

  “Why are you here, Gina? You shouldn’t be, you know.”

  She looked down at her gloved hands. When she looked up again a rosy flush had spread across her cheeks. “I wondered if … if you might still want me,” she said a flicker of apprehension in her topaz eyes.

  Good lord. She was magnificent. Blair had the uncomfortable conviction that as his mistress, his life would never be orderly or peaceful. But he realized in that moment that he’d never wanted it to be predicable, that he’d fought against the very notion. “Yes. I do.”

  She placed her hands in her lap. “Then you shall have me.”

  Blair glanced toward the closed paneled wooden door, wondering if the servants were listening on the other side. This would spread to below stairs in no time. “Let’s go for a walk,” he said. “There’s a park around the corner.”

  Blair opened the door and caught sight of a black sleeve disappearing around the corner of the hall. “Jarvis?”