On Friday, the chairman put a pound in her hand.
‘I’ll move you up the programme. You can go on third, but work in front of the tabs like you’ve done up ’til now. It’ll keep the audience entertained while they do a bit of scene shifting before the next act. You’ve got the pound you asked for; so don’t forget to come tomorrow, just because you’ve been paid today.’
Her own earned money. It was worth braving catcalls and rotten eggs and vegetables for, but she grieved at the thought of handing the lion’s share over to the landlady the following day. She chattered to Daisy about her promotion as they walked back to the digs. As they approached a street lamp, Ginny caught a melancholy expression on Daisy’s face.
‘You’re a quick learner, Ginny. You’re on the way up as long as you don’t let anything distract you, and I’m coming down. I’m the fifth turn in a dive like the Trades after being in the business for thirty-odd years, and you’re third after being in it for a week. I can’t last much longer. I’ll have to get used to a different style of living before long.’
‘The audience like you, Daisy, but—’ Ginny searched for the most tactful words and failed to find them.
‘But what?’
‘The chairman says you need some new songs.’
‘Easier said than done, girl, if you haven’t the money to pay for them.’
‘Pay for them? What do you mean?’
Daisy laughed. ‘I know you got one of yours off Charlie, and the other one out of the piano stool, but those songs don’t belong to you, and some artistes will have your liver if they catch you pinching their stuff If you tell them you didn’t know, you might get away with it, for a while. That wouldn’t wash for me, though.’
‘How can a song belong to anybody?’
‘How? How does anything belong to anybody? Because they’ve bought and paid for it, that’s how. They’ve paid the songwriter what they thought the song was worth, and so no one else is entitled to sing it but them. It’s their property.’
Ginny could barely grasp the notion of anyone owning a song, but when she did her face fell. She knew now that ‘Johnnie Seddon’ didn’t fit the bill and most of the songs she’d learned at home wouldn’t even be understood in London, but how could she sing songs that had been bought and paid for by somebody else?
‘You’ll get away with it at places like the Trades,’ said Daisy, ‘but if you get any further you’ll have to go back to your “Johnnie Seddon”s or sing what they call free songs if you can’t get your own stuff. Or,’ she hesitated, ‘I suppose you could try some of my old numbers until you get your own.’
The following night Daisy showed her a new way of putting her hair up, and helped her to apply greasepaint. As soon as the chairman announced her Ginny wasted no time and gave herself no airs. She hopped up on to the stage and put over her songs with punch and energy, determined to get the audience with her before they started throwing things. She succeeded, and after a couple of bows and some banter with them she was down again. She was pushing through the throng to get back to Daisy and the chairman when someone caught her by the wrist. Wrenching herself free, she spun round to come face to face with Charlie.
Chapter 13
‘You’ve made a good start, hinny. Hit ’em hard and hold ’em every time and you might go far with me to help you. Get that stuff off your face and grab your coat. I mean to show you a real music hall.’
‘Where’ve you been, Charlie? Mr Vine sent you a telegram I was coming. He said you’d come and see me as soon as I got here.’
‘I went to spend a week with Helen as soon as I heard you were on your way. Good strategy, you know; throws suspicious people off the scent. You wouldn’t want anyone in Annsdale to put two and two together and come up with the right answer, would you? After that scene with your father, it might be the first conclusion they come to. Some of the baser characters might assume you’ve run away to join me in a life of wickedness.’
‘I don’t know who’d do that. I’ve come away to get a job. I’ve written to them all umpteen times.’
‘You didn’t tell them you’d be meeting me, did you?’
‘No.’
‘So you see, your own instinct warns you against telling people you’re renewing your acquaintance with naughty Charlie Parkinson, and it steers you aright, my little hinny. You needn’t worry. Robert won’t say anything. So as we are in the wicked metropolis together, you must let me take you out of this pothouse to a music hall worthy of the name. You can see Daisy at your digs later.’
She hesitated, remembering Mr Vine’s warning against going anywhere alone with his brother-in-law.
‘I don’t think I’d better, Charlie.’
‘My dear little hinny, you can trust me. I’m a perfect gentleman. I merely want to show you a different side of life to pits and scullery work and all that other drudgery which seems to have been your lot. You won’t be much later at your lodgings than if you’d stayed here waiting for Daisy, I promise you.’
They took a cab to the Tivoli and Charlie gave the man instructions to call back in a couple of hours. Her feet sank into the thick red carpet in the foyer, and she gaped at the papered walls, the enormous marble staircase, the magnificent chandeliers, and what seemed acres of mirror and mahogany, all grand beyond belief. She caught sight of a striking black-haired girl and it was a second or two before she recognized her own reflection in a massive plate mirror, looking as handsome as anyone. The earrings Charlie’d given her after that day at the races looked exactly right, drops of jet, large and lustrous, swinging about every time she moved her head, adding to her air of vivacity and drawing the eye away from her cheap, shabby black coat. The faint blush on her cheeks deepened a shade as she saw him at the back of her, felt his breath on her neck.
‘They’re almost as black as your eyes,’ he murmured, ‘that’s why they took my fancy. I entertain great hopes for you.’ He held her reflected gaze for a second longer, then put an arm round her waist and turned her in the direction of the bar. They walked towards the open doors of a saloon thick with people and cigar smoke. A well-dressed young man pressed through the crowds towards them.
‘Charlie, old friend! Who’s your latest?’
‘Mind your own business,’ laughed Charlie, ‘if you’ve got any to mind. Your life must be damned dreary if you take such an interest in mine.’
‘Not at all. I spice it up constantly. And it’s not your life I’m interested in; it’s your lady-friend. Introduce us,’ he demanded, shamelessly ogling Ginny.
‘No fear, I’ll keep her to myself. Haven’t you heard the song “Never Introduce your Sweetheart to a Pal”? It’s good advice.’
Ginny looked at the pair of them, well fed and well dressed, with easy confident manners and soft manicured hands. Smooth, sleek, pampered, strangers to hard work. Her father would have described them as a pair of idlers, and so would Martin. Seeing Charlie’s acquaintance stare at her rather as the Cock Inn’s mastiff might stare at the Sunday joint, she gave him a contemptuous glance and looked pointedly away. Undeterred, he laughed and addressed himself to Charlie.
‘She’s a spirited one – looks at me as if I’m something she’s trodden in. Still, I like the proud ones. When you get tired of her, send her to me. I’ve no doubt she’ll be properly housetrained by then.’ His fat, jowly face twisted into a leering wink and he left them to elbow his way to the bar.
Ginny shuddered. ‘Have you got many friends like him?’
‘Sandy? He’s no particular friend of mine. I see him at the races from time to time; he owns a good horse. It’s funny, I’m so popular that all sorts of people like to think of themselves as my friends and I don’t disillusion them. The strangest people can prove useful at times. He improves upon acquaintance.’
‘He won’t get the chance, as far as I’m concerned.’
‘Then don’t give him another thought. Have a drink before we go in. What would you like, champagne?’
She felt a twin
ge of apprehension. ‘No, thank you, I’ve signed the pledge. Let’s get in and see the show. That’s what we’ve come for, isn’t it?’
‘You disappoint me, Ginny. I never took you for a Miss Prim. Wait here. I’m going to have one anyway. I’ll bring you something suitable for a teetotaller.’
She thought she glimpsed an expression of mild annoyance on his face as he turned to follow his ‘no particular friend’ to the bar and wondered what she would do if they fell out. She was not physically afraid of Charlie; his cowardice during the confrontation with her father had made her despise rather than fear him, but perhaps she’d been a bloody fool to come all this way, relying on a man of his reputation, especially following her ride home with him after the races. But then, she’d enjoyed the day at the races; it had been as thrilling as he’d promised. There was a dash of adventure about Charlie that appealed to a streak of recklessness in her, and he was lucky, lucky, lucky. She’d believed his promises to be on his best behaviour because she’d needed to believe them, still needed to believe them. She crossed her fingers and held them tight. Everything would be all right. Apprehension turned again to excitement and anticipation.
He was back beside her before many minutes had passed, smiling and light-hearted, all suspicion of ill humour gone. He handed her a drink, and after a moment’s hesitation she took it without protest.
‘Shouldn’t we go in? I don’t want to miss anything.’
‘Down with your drink, then. Better leave your glass here.’
Ginny lifted her glass and examined the same wonderful golden liquid she had tasted on Christmas Eve. At least it wasn’t gin. Charlie smiled as she drank it down, good temper restored. They made their way up the grand staircase and through to the front row of the balcony to sit on red plush seats. She put a hand on the brass rail which topped the marble balustrade and looked around, taking in the size of the place, the hundreds of people in it, the height of the arched ceiling with its lovely gilded plasterwork, the huge pendant lamps with opaque glass bowls the size of cartwheels, the sheer opulence of it all, and the stage seeming a mile below.
‘It’s like being on the side of a mountain.’
‘You like it?’
She nodded.
‘Say “thank you for bringing me, Charlie”,’ he demanded.
The orchestra struck up, saving her from making any reply. One act followed another, each one better than the last. At the intermission they went down to the bar where he presented her with another large glass of champagne. He kissed her and she laughed. He laughed with her and kissed her again.
‘Say “thank you, Charlie”,’ he insisted.
‘Thank you Charlie,’ she smiled. He kissed her a third time and put a hand on her breast as he led her back to her seat.
‘Pour remplir la main d’un homme honnete,’ he murmured.
‘What?’
‘Something the French say,’ said Charlie. ‘Women’s breasts are most beautiful when they just fill the hand of an honest man.’
‘Too big for yours then, Charlie,’ quipped Ginny, not knowing quite why she said it, but laughing at her own wit. He laughed with her, the unfeigned, approving laugh of a fellow conspirator.
When the curtain came down for the last time, she was in transports at the magic of it all and her hands were sore with clapping. She sighed as Charlie ushered her out of the theatre and into the waiting cab. She felt relaxed and happy, and more elated than she could ever remember.
‘Here we are,’ said Charlie, as the coachman slowed to a halt. ‘You enjoyed yourself tonight, Ginny?’
‘Aye, I did,’ she nodded, turning a flushed face towards him, eyes fired by champagne and the sights she’d seen, lips parted in a smile. The smile died when he handed her out on to the unfamiliar pavement of a Georgian terrace.
‘This isn’t where my lodgings are, Charlie.’
‘No. This is where I live. I kept your winnings for you. From the races. I wanted to give them to you.’
‘Well, I’ll wait in the cab until you get them.’
He made no reply but paid the cabman, who ignored Ginny’s protests and drove off. Charlie opened his front door and bowed her inside. The light from the gas mantles revealed an elegant staircase covered in a sumptuous carpet of royal blue, as thick as that at the theatre, with gilt-framed portraits hanging on the richly papered walls. Squeezing her shoulders, he bent to kiss her neck before helping her out of her coat and hanging it on the hallstand.
‘Don’t look so concerned. I’ll give you supper, then send for a cab to take you back to your lodgings – with your money, of course.’
He ushered her into the dining room and pulled out a heavy upholstered chair. She sat down to a table beautifully set for two, awed by the sight of the finest china, silver and cut glass. He removed the silver lids from the platters.
‘Mmm, game pie, a variety of meats and accompaniments and a bottle of good claret. She’s opened it for us. Thinks of everything.’ He gave her an encouraging smile as he filled their glasses.
‘I’d rather have gone back to my lodgings.’
‘You’ll get a much better supper here, I assure you. Enjoy it,’ he said, helping her to a slice of pie.
She was hungry and would undoubtedly get a better supper with Charlie. The food did look very appetizing. She ate for a short while in silence.
‘You have very good manners for a miner’s daughter, Ginny. I suppose that comes from your waiting at table at Helen’s.’
She did not disguise her resentment. ‘Well, you suppose wrong. I had good table manners before I started school. That comes from having a good mother. And it’s just as likely in a pitman’s family as anybody else’s.’
‘Oh, certainly, if you say so,’ smiled Charlie. ‘Try the claret. It’s very good, especially with game pie. Breathe in the bouquet, then take a good mouthful and tell me what you think of it.’
She took a sip of the almost purple liquid. It felt astringent on her teeth, and reminded her of vinegar. ‘It’s not as nice as champagne.’
‘It’s different to champagne. Don’t sip it, take a good mouthful, it tastes much better like that, and it aids digestion. Finish your glass and I’ll pour you another. It’s an acquired taste. The more you drink, the better you’ll like it.’
‘I’ve had enough, thank you, Charlie.’
‘Nonsense, you’re a woman now, not a child. Besides, this is excellent wine and we must finish it between us tonight. It won’t keep.’
After the bottle was finished, he took her into the spacious drawing room. A fire burned brightly in the large fireplace, its glow reflected in the polished furniture. She began to feel quite weak and sat down suddenly on a buttoned chaise longue.
‘On second thoughts, come upstairs with me and help me find your money.’
‘How do I know where you’ve got it? Anyway, I’m tired. You fetch it, and then take me back to my lodgings.’
‘Oh, no,’ said Charlie. ‘I’ve entertained you to supper and you mustn’t run off directly it’s eaten. Your mother would surely disapprove of such bad manners. You owe me the pleasure of your company for at least an hour or two.’ He sat down beside her.
Ginny’s brow creased in puzzlement as she tried to imagine what her mother would think, and couldn’t believe her mother would think she should be there at all. ‘I wish I had my mother here this minute,’ she said, her speech a little slurred.
‘God forbid. Three’s a crowd on these occasions. We are going to enjoy each other’s company, Ginny.’
The lascivious expression on his face struck her as inexpressibly funny. Hearing peals of laughter, she realized that they were her own. He gave her an encouraging grin, stooped to kiss her, then knelt beside the couch. She felt his hand between her legs, and sat up, thrusting him away, shocked into near sobriety.
‘Get off. You promised to be a gentleman.’
‘None of that now. The most perfect gentlemen love the ladies, you know. Come on, I don’t want to h
urt you,’ he said, determinedly grasping her by the knees and pulling her towards the edge of the seat. With equal determination she wrenched herself free, enraged at his threat.
‘If it comes to that, I might hurt you an’ all. Let’s see who can do the most damage. I might smash a lot of the stuff in your fancy house an’ all. Maybe break a few windows,’ she warned, glowering at him.
Much taken aback, he became conciliatory. ‘Come on, Ginny. You knew when you came here what the game was. You knew after the races, so stop playing the Puritan. With my help and guidance you might go far on the halls. I’m willing to open a lot of doors for you. Quite a few of the sort of people who could help you make your name owe me favours. You know what I want in return, and it’s a fair bargain. Your alternative is to be a housemaid for the rest of your life, and stay in service to people like Helen, without a friend, in London. That’s if you can get a position without a reference.’
‘I can get a reference. I’m not dependent on you for that.’
‘Where will you get your reference? Helen won’t give you one.’
‘Her husband will, and a good one an’ all. He told me so before I came.’
‘An employer might wonder at your having a reference from the master of a house and being unable to produce one from the mistress, you know. She might jump to quite the wrong conclusion about you and fear for her own husband,’ he said. ‘Unjust, I know, but that’s how women’s minds work. Helen might even confirm their fear. She’s seen Robert eyeing you often enough and she’s borne you a lot of malice since that visit from your father. She says you’re an impudent young hussy determined to step out of your class. She’d probably enjoy destroying your character with every respectable employer, and where would that leave you?’
Ginny was silent, wondering where it would leave her. It was hard to think, with her head fuddled with wine, and Charlie’s arguments sounded so convincing. Where was she now but in his house, without knowledge or means to get back to her lodgings? Even if she found her way, there was not one soul there to help her, and Daisy would be gone tomorrow. She probably had just enough money left for the train fare home, but what then? Back to a hiding from her father, probably the first of many, no independence, and no money. Martin would help her, but he was still full of grief for Maria and she would be the cause of no more trouble to him. There was nothing in Annsdale for her now. She had to stay in London, a tiny voice prompted, so she might as well make the very best of it. The life of the music halls was exciting. And Charlie was lucky. If she kept him on her side, a bit of that luck might rub off on her. She had no other friend.
A Sovereign for a Song Page 13