They passed a group of dancers in mermaid costumes, chattering and practising fancy steps. Stella glanced behind and saw the boy with the cap threading his way through the crowd.
‘Look!’ she gasped.
‘This way,’ said Mr Capelli decisively. He squeezed quickly between the dancers and led the way out across the stage. The curtains were closed. Stella could hear the orchestra playing and the rumble of many voices. On the stage, people were milling around, pulling on ropes and shouting instructions. A backdrop was being lowered, with a picture of a romantic-looking ruined castle, a stormy sky, a shipwreck and a lighthouse.
The enormous mechanical sea monster waited at the side of the stage. A man on a ladder adjusted something inside its open mouth, called out, ‘All right, Ned,’ and pulled his head out of the way. There was a click and a hiss and the sea monster belched out a flickering tongue of orange flame.
Stella jumped.
On the far side of the stage was another group of dancers, dressed as sailors with jaunty little blue and white caps.
‘Mr Capelli!’ The boy was pushing his way through the people. ‘Mr Capelli, sir. The Professor wants you.’
The Professor was making his way quickly towards them. Mr Capelli stepped in front of Stella, shielding her from view. ‘Hide!’ he whispered.
She ducked behind the dancers, her heart thumping.
Mr Capelli said in a low voice, his eyes on the Professor, ‘I will keep him busy. The stage door is just along there.’ He flapped a hand. ‘Goodbye and good luck, Stella Montgomery.’
‘Goodbye, Mr Capelli. Thank you,’ she whispered to his back. She crept along behind the dancers in the direction he had indicated.
She looked back for a moment. The Professor had reached Mr Capelli and was bending towards him. Alfredo arched his back angrily, his tail like a bottle brush.
Stella saw the sign STAGE DOOR. She hurried towards it. A doorman in uniform stood talking to a woman who held a number of hoops and three puffy white poodles.
The door opened suddenly and four or five girls, not much bigger than Stella, tumbled in, panting and laughing.
The daylight was bright after the gloom of the theatre. Stella blinked. Outside, on the pier, flags fluttered, the merry-go-round turned and the steam organ played a cheerful wheezing tune.
Families milled around, wrapped in coats and shawls. Boys shouted, their boots thumping on the boards of the pier. In the distance, Stella could see the Hotel Majestic, perched like a fancy hat on the cliff above Withering-by-Sea.
She had almost reached the door when it was pushed wide again and a man with pale whiskers, a furtive expression and an amaranth waistcoat with a pattern of gardenias elbowed his way in.
It was the kidnapper Scuttler and he was dragging Ben behind him.
Stella gasped. Scuttler pushed his way into the theatre through the stage door, gripping Ben by the arm and pulling him roughly along. Poor Ben was pale and his eyes were red from crying.
Before Scuttler could see her, Stella turned and darted back towards the stage. Behind, she heard him call out, ‘Professor. Professor. I found the boy.’
She searched for Mr Capelli in the groups of performers clustered in the wings, but she could not see him. Then she glimpsed the Professor. Limelight glinted on the lenses of his spectacles as he threaded his way through the crowd towards Scuttler and Ben. He would pass right by her. She looked around desperately for somewhere to hide.
A bell rang and a man said, ‘Silence. Silence there.’ The trumpets played a fanfare and the audience applauded.
The show was starting.
The mermaids and sailors danced out onto the stage. Bright limelight sparkled on their costumes.
Oh! ’twas on the deep Atlantic in the equinoctial gales,
That a sailor lad fell overboard among the sharks and whales,
He fell right down so quickly, so headlong down fell he,
That he went out of sight like a streak of light,
To the bottom of the deep blue sea.
Stella clutched the Atlas to her chest, shrank back against the wall into shadow and held her breath. The Professor had not seen her yet, but he would, any moment.
The girls who had dashed in through the stage door had been seized by a large woman. She scolded them in a whisper and hurried them through the crowd. As they passed Stella, the woman hissed, ‘I’ll learn you to be late again,’ and slapped at their heads.
Stella took a breath and ducked in amongst the girls, just as the Professor stalked past. He didn’t look in her direction. She was swept away from him.
The Professor reached Scuttler and Ben and spoke in a low, angry voice. ‘Where did you find him?’
‘Railway station.’ Scuttler gave Ben a vicious shake. ‘Trying to sneak on a train.’
Ben cringed away from the Professor, his face white. He struggled to escape from Scuttler’s grip.
Stella tried to look over her shoulder, to see what the Professor was doing to Ben, but the large woman slapped her on the back of her head. ‘Move.’
She was pushed along with the other girls. None of them noticed her. The large woman hurried them upstairs, along a passage, around a corner and into a small, extremely cluttered dressing room. She snapped, ‘Quick as you can, girls,’ and shut the door.
Clotheslines were strung from wall to wall, hung with stockings and underwear. The girls ducked underneath, flinging off their hats and coats and unwrapping their scarves. The room was already crowded with girls, chattering and giggling. Some were changing into dancing shoes and short, sequinned dresses of pink and yellow and white. Some were brushing out their hair and curling ringlets around their fingers.
Stella tucked herself into a dark corner, behind the door, half-hidden by coats hanging on pegs. It was dusty and her throat tickled. She held her breath and hoped she would have a chance to sneak away, unnoticed.
She needed to escape from the theatre, but the Professor’s men were everywhere. She was too conspicuous, wearing her dressing gown and slippers. A page from the Atlas came into her mind: a map of Mexico and California. In the margin, the tiny figure of a man wearing antlers on his head crept through a herd of deer in a thick forest. The native hunter dons a cunning disguise and arms himself with arrows tipped with rattlesnake venom.
She needed a cunning disguise. The theatre was full of costumes and clothes of all kinds. It should be easy to find something.
‘You’re late, Gert,’ said one of the girls.
‘Mrs MacTaggerty caught us coming in. She’s in a right tizz,’ said a tallish girl with a cheerful face covered in freckles. She turned her back to a ginger-haired girl. ‘Unbutton me, Annie.’
‘Did you get them?’ someone asked. ‘Mrs Mac didn’t cop ’em?’
The freckled girl rummaged in the coat she had flung aside. She took a bulging paper bag of sweets from the pocket. ‘Bulls Eyes and Gibraltar Rock and Curly Andrews and Apple Gundy,’ she announced.
The girls whooped and squealed and scrambled forward. Gert held the bag out to a small, dark-haired girl who had already changed into her costume. ‘Pass ’em round, Ettie,’ she said, and took her dress off over her head. She pulled off her stockings and felt along the clothesline for a dry pair. She pushed some aside, and her gaze slid across Stella without noticing her. Stella shut her eyes and tried to sink into the shadow. But the dust caught in her nose and she suddenly sneezed.
Gert gave a start. ‘Nobble me granny!’
The other girls turned to look.
‘Who’s that?’ someone asked.
‘Why’s she skrivin’ there?’
‘Who’re you?’ asked Gert.
She didn’t look unfriendly. Stella gave her a nervous smile.
‘I’m —’ she started to say.
‘I reckon she’s that kid the Professor’s after,’ said Annie indistinctly, her mouth full of toffee. ‘Professor says she stole something.’
‘That right?’ Gert asked Stella.
/> Stella shook her head. ‘No, I never stole anything. I’m not a thief. Please don’t tell him I’m here.’
Gert grinned. ‘We won’t tell him. Will we, girls?’
The other girls made agreeing noises.
‘We don’t like him.’
‘He’s horrible. He’s right mean to that boy he’s got.’
‘He gives me the frights.’
‘Me too.’
‘He don’t frighten me,’ said Gert.
‘Nobody frightens Gert,’ said Annie, giggling.
‘She put a dirty great oyster in his coat pocket.’
‘And cockles in his slippers.’
‘And that dead jellyfish in his top hat.’ They all laughed.
‘Have one.’ Ettie offered Stella the bag. She looked inside. The sweets were vivid colours: green, red, yellow and black. Some looked like tiny striped satin cushions, some like shards of broken glass and some like round, gleaming jewels. Stella hesitated. Aunt Deliverance said sweets were both vulgar and unwholesome.
‘Go on,’ said Ettie with a grin.
Stella took one. It was a glossy red with a swirl of white, like the pattern of a snail shell. It tasted of treacle and peppermint. It was delicious.
‘We got a tip from an old gent,’ said Gert, popping a lurid green sweet into her mouth and lacing up her dancing shoes. ‘A florin. And so we sneaked out and got ’em. While Mrs Mac’s back was turned.’ She stood, pointed her toes and kicked high with one leg and then the other. ‘I’m Gert,’ she said, and held out her hand to Stella.
Stella pushed the sweet into her cheek with her tongue and said, ‘I’m Stella.’ They shook hands.
Gert pointed to the girls, one by one. ‘This is Ettie, Annie, Lizzie, Mary, another Mary, Maggie, Edna, another Mary, Bess, Hattie and that’s little Elsie.’
‘Are you dancers?’ asked Stella.
The girls giggled.
‘We’re the Fairy Bells,’ said Gert, grinning again. ‘We do fancy dancing, kicks, flip flaps and that.’ She took a yellow dress off a peg, shook it out and pulled it over her head. ‘Button me up.’
Stella put the Atlas under her arm and did the best she could with the long row of tiny buttons. It was difficult, because Gert kept jiggling and doing complicated, clever dance steps. ‘There,’ she said at last.
‘Ta.’ Gert spun on her toes.
Stella said, ‘Do you earn money as dancers?’
‘Of course. But only half a crown and keep in the winter. And Mrs Mac makes us put a penny in the plate on Sundays. And with stockings a tanner a pair, I can only send one and six to my granny each week. There are five little ones at home with her, and only me earning. It ain’t so tough in the summer, then we go all along the coast, and there’s four or five shows a day.’
‘Don’t you do lessons?’ asked Stella enviously.
‘Course not. We’re all finished school. Even little Elsie’s ten, and some of us are thirteen.’ Gert fluffed out her ringlets and grinned. ‘Why’s the Professor after you, girl?’
‘He thinks I stole something from him, but I didn’t. I need to get out of the theatre. I think I need a disguise,’ said Stella. ‘A cunning disguise. So he won’t recognise me.’
Gert assessed Stella with her head on the side. ‘She’s about the size of them imps, ain’t she, Annie? We could dress her up like a boy and sneak her out the stage door.’
Annie pushed her way through the girls and looked Stella up and down. ‘I reckon.’
‘We could shove her hair up in a cap,’ said Ettie with a giggle.
‘Nip along, Annie,’ said Gert. ‘Get some old clothes from them boys.’ She turned to Stella as Annie left. ‘Her little brother’s one of the imps in the big musical number. There’s ten of them what pull the fairy queen’s carriage.’
The girls surrounded Stella and pulled off her dressing gown.
‘Put that book down for a jiffy,’ said Gert.
‘This is a good dressing gown,’ said Ettie. ‘Good quality.’
‘And cop this lace.’ One of the girls ran her fingers along the hem of Stella’s nightgown.
Stella was in her vest and drawers by the time Annie hurried back into the room with an armful of clothes.
‘What’s that?’ asked Ettie, pointing at Mr Filbert’s package.
‘Nothing,’ said Stella quickly. She pushed the little pocket down under her vest.
Gert rummaged through the clothes and held out a shirt and a pair of trousers. Stella pulled them on. The shirt was enormous; it hung down to her knees and flapped beyond her hands. The girls tucked it in and rolled up the sleeves.
‘You should have braces,’ said Gert with a grin. ‘Here.’ She tied a piece of string around the waist of the trousers.
There was a short blue felt coat with buttoned pockets and many darns and patches. The sleeves were too long, so Gert folded over the cuffs several times. The girls coiled Stella’s hair up on top of her head, thrust in several pins, and then crammed a felt cap over it. They all giggled.
‘Try these old boots,’ said Annie. Stella pushed her bare feet into them and someone laced them up. They were thick leather with nails in the soles.
‘Look!’ Many hands pushed her across the room to the washstand, where a broken mirror leaned against the wall.
She looked into the mirror and a strange boy looked back at her. He had a pale face and round eyes. She gave him a smile and he smiled back nervously. She did not recognise herself at all. Stella said awkwardly, ‘I’m sorry, I haven’t money for the clothes.’
Gert giggled. ‘That’s all right,’ she said. ‘Those boys won’t miss ’em.’
‘Are you sure? I mean, why don’t you take the dressing gown and the nightgown and the slippers?’ suggested Stella tentatively. The Aunts would be angry, but she had nothing else to offer.
‘Well, that’s bang-up,’ said Gert with a grin. She held out her hand and Stella shook it. ‘Come on then, I’ll show you the way.’ She opened the door, peeped out and beckoned Stella to follow.
Stella picked up the Atlas and waved at the girls. ‘Goodbye,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’
The girls giggled and called, ‘Goodbye. Good luck!’
Stella waved again and followed Gert from the room.
Gert led Stella along a passage. Stella’s feet felt clumsy in the clomping, nailed boots and the trousers made her legs feel as if they belonged to someone else.
One of the Professor’s men came out of a doorway. Stella ducked her head, heart thumping, but he hardly glanced at them as they passed. Her cunning disguise was working.
‘Stage door’s this way.’ Gert led her down a narrow flight of stairs.
Halfway down, Stella gasped and clutched Gert’s arm. They froze.
Just below, at the bottom of the stairs, the Professor, Scuttler and Ben stood in shadow. Scuttler gripped Ben by the shoulder. The Professor felt in his pocket with his long, pale fingers and pulled out the bottle of ink. He reached a hand out towards Ben. The ring on his finger glinted red.
Ben was crying. He struggled and said, ‘No, no. I won’t do it. I won’t say nothing.’
‘Quick. This way,’ whispered Gert. She grabbed Stella’s hand and pulled her away, back up the stairs. ‘Come on.’ She led the way back along the passageway, around a corner and down another flight of stairs, ducking under hanging ropes and pulleys, and then crept along a short, dark passage beside the stage.
They came to a narrow door. Beyond, the orchestra was playing and Stella could hear the audience laughing and applauding. Gert put her finger to her lips and whispered, ‘This is the pass door.’ She pulled the bolt, opened the door a crack and beckoned. ‘Here you go,’ she said.
Stella peeped through the crack. Gaslight glittered on marble columns and mirrors and gilt cherubs. The door was to the side of the stage, in a dark corner, close to the front rows of the audience. Hundreds of faces were watching the stage. The music was loud and close. People were calling out, hooting and applau
ding.
‘There’s the main door,’ said Gert, pointing. ‘Straight out the back there. You can get out that way.’
Stella hesitated. Gert gave her a little push. ‘Go on then, girl,’ she said. ‘I’ve got to get back. We’re on any minute.’
Stella swallowed and slipped through the door. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
‘Good luck,’ said Gert with a grin, and closed the door.
The air was thick with tobacco smoke and smelled of oranges and burnt toffee. Lights glittered and sparkled. Nobody seemed to notice her. Everyone was watching the stage, where limelight shone on a lady dressed in pink feathers, circling on a high-wheeled bicycle. The orchestra was playing a waltz and the bicycling lady was singing in a trilling voice.
Wheeling along with the greatest of speed,
That dashing young girl on her velocipede.
Stella crept up the aisle at the side of the audience. Nut shells crunched under her feet. A man with a tray of kidney pies pushed past. ‘Watch it, lad,’ he said.
At the back of the theatre was a row of glass doors, and beyond them Stella could see the marble foyer and daylight. The way out.
On stage, the lady on the bicycle twirled two flags above her head. The audience clapped and whistled. Somebody bumped Stella’s arm and she jumped, but it was only a boy with a tray of oysters. ‘Four a penny,’ he called as he made his way down the aisle.
Stella had almost reached the glass doors when they swung open, and several large men shouldered their way into the theatre. She gasped. She was trapped. There was no way out. At any moment, they would see her. She darted back down the aisle, spied an empty seat and slipped into it.
It was at the end of a row, beside a large family. There were two plump boys in Norfolk suits, eating toffee. Beside them sat the mother with a fat baby on her lap. Beyond her was the father, wearing a purple waistcoat, and several little girls in frilled dresses. Orange peel and toffee papers were scattered all around them. None of them paid Stella any attention.
She swallowed.
On the stage, the bicycling lady dismounted, curtsied several times, blew a kiss and ran from the stage. A man stepped out and announced, ‘And now, for your pleasure, Ladies and Gentlemen. The renowned Mr Portendo, Basso Profundo.’
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