He coughed, as if a memory had caught him off-guard, and nodded. ‘Seven years ago. We made a pact to leave together. We weren’t very happy with the contracts we had been given, so a number of us broke them, ran away, set up shop in London.’ He suddenly looked self-consciously at the fur on the back of his hands and murmured, ‘Most people run away with the circus. We ran from it.’
‘They’re not nice places for people like him.’ Liam sat forward with an accusatory stare, as if Frankie herself might have been a purveyor of freak shows. Jojo caught his eye and he shrank back.
‘No one from that world likes to see someone who looks like me in charge of his own business,’ he said softly. ‘That was why Ebony was different. She could have charged the Storks triple if she’d kept doing that tiger act. Imagine, a woman tiger-tamer, who can double as aerialiste. She was prized. Almost as good an earner as a dog-faced man.’
His hairy brow suddenly turned fully towards Frankie and she found herself flicking her eyes away, embarrassed. The cogs in her brain were starting to turn. She thought back to Ebony’s words yesterday: ‘I want folk to know I’m on the right side’. Could it be that something from her circus past had caught up with her? A big-top impresario, unhappy that an aerialiste and a sideshow exhibit had teamed up to escape? A woman unhappy with a decision she had made seven years ago?
Jojo’s sharp eyes picked up on her expression. ‘If you’re thinking I might have somehow cajoled her into leaving with me, you’re mistaken. Ebony believed in people rather than money. She made herself my star act. She was very happy here.’ He held her gaze coldly. ‘Make no mistake. I will find her.’
‘And then what?’ asked Frankie.
‘And then I’ll know she’s safe.’ His shoulders sagged, he shook his head and his hands fell into his lap.
No one spoke for a couple of minutes. The club’s damp air was making Frankie uncomfortable. She rummaged in her jacket pocket and brought out the newspaper that had lain crumpled there since the day before when Ebony had thrust it at her. ‘Do you know this girl? She was a friend of Ebony’s.’ Frankie leant across and handed him the grey pages.
‘Was?’ Jojo unfolded them and his hand moved to his furry chin.
The illustration was good, the likeness to Ebony Diamond exaggerated by the styling of the girl’s hair. The artist had given her darkened eyes, generally smartened her up, souped up her deathly glamour.
Jojo passed the paper to Millicent.
Frankie went on. ‘She was murdered on Thursday night and because of the clothing, the police and press thought it was Ebony. I saw her that afternoon at the shop with Smythe, so she and Ebony obviously knew each other. Did you know her?’
Millicent and Jojo shook their heads. Liam shrugged. ‘I saw her at Smythe’s. Just from outside, like.’
‘What about Olivier Smythe, know him?’
‘Of course.’ Jojo handed back the paper. ‘He made all her costumes.’
‘Well, he’s dead too.’
There was silence.
‘Don’t you read the papers?’
Jojo bristled, rubbing a furred hand across his brow. ‘My wife won’t let me, in case we’re in the theatre reviews.’
‘I knew,’ Millicent cut in. ‘But I read it was an accident.’
Frankie shook her head. ‘I’m not so sure.’
‘When did you last see Ebony?’ Millicent asked.
‘Yesterday, after they found Smythe. When I saw you the night before, you’d said she failed to turn up here. Any idea where she was that night?’
Jojo rapped one finger at a time across his knee, looking at the floor. ‘That’s why I hired Liam. To keep an eye on her.’
Liam looked repentant for the first time since Frankie had set eyes on him. ‘I’m sorry I lost her. Honest to God I am.’
Jojo hesitated, casting his gaze on Frankie. ‘If she’s run somewhere, it’s because she’s frightened.’
‘She ran away once before. With you,’ Frankie countered.
‘Entirely different.’ He shook his head. ‘She had no reason to run from me. I didn’t have her on a tight contract or a forced routine. If she’d wanted out I would have been crushed, but I would have let her, wholeheartedly.’ He paused. ‘I’ll pay Liam to help you find her.’
‘I’m doing this for my paper.’
‘Nevertheless . . .’ He turned his palms up.
Liam perked up in his chair, pulled the cuffs of his jacket down and gave Frankie a good sweeping look up and down. The prospect of work had seemed to sharpen his interest.
Millicent cut in. ‘I knew some of her habits; I might be able to help.’
Jojo and Liam turned to stare at her. Frankie couldn’t work out if Jojo was appraising her capabilities or her trust.
She shrugged sharply. ‘And I’m a woman.’
‘What’s that got to do with it?’ Liam spat. She glared at him and he immediately looked penitent.
‘Woman’s instinct,’ she replied.
Frankie held up a palm. ‘Hold on, who says I want any help? This is my story.’ She turned and saw the desperation in Jojo’s eyes then shook her head. ‘Fine.’
The monkey hopped back onto Jojo’s lap, withdrew a clay pipe from his pocket and began to chew on it. Jojo looked down with fondness, stroked its tail and swallowed. ‘If it makes any difference, there were cabinet ministers came down here. They knew her. They knew where to find her.’
An image flashed through Frankie’s head; top hats in the mist. ‘Would the government have the nerve to try and murder a high-profile suffragette?’
‘Depends what she had in store for them,’ Millicent said quietly.
‘Or what she had on them,’ Frankie mused.
The silence returned. The air hung thick.
Nineteen
Frankie pulled her jacket in close as the wind whipped up a cluster of leaves round the bench. Soho Square was dark, poorly lit by four streetlamps, one in each corner, casting a murky glow on the figures huddled in the shadows conducting deals, muttering close to the bushes. From somewhere behind the buildings came the cry of squabbling cats.
She passed the penny cigar to Millicent and watched as she drew hungrily on it, letting the smoke out through her nostrils in two long stripes, the way Frankie’s father used to. Liam’s eyes followed the trail. Millicent noticed and lowered the cigar.
‘You’re not old enough to smoke.’
He shrugged and kicked the dirt. After a few seconds’ foraging he picked up a discarded cigarette butt and struck a match off his shoe.
Millicent coughed and handed the cigar to Frankie, her gown flapping at the sleeve; she had hardy skin and didn’t seem to feel the cold. ‘When it’s a toss-up between food and smoke, the latter always staves off hunger longer.’
Frankie scowled. She had wanted to spend the penny they’d cobbled together on half a meat pie or one of the curled pretzels from the Jewish bread stall.
‘Well,’ Millicent went on, arranging her elaborate folds of silk, ‘Jojo seems to think she’s run away out of fear. It wouldn’t really have been like Ebony to just vanish without something spooking her first.’ She looked at Frankie.
‘It wasn’t my fault,’ Frankie started to protest. ‘I tried to do her a favour . . .’
‘You might have made a lucky escape yourself. If that article you wrote had actually been printed . . .’
Frankie tossed the locks of her fringe out of her eyes dismissively. ‘Don’t see why they would come after me.’
‘Murder, Miss George.’ Millicent suddenly turned on her. ‘When people commit murder they don’t appreciate being tracked down, do they?’ The contrast of her wispy blonde hair and those hard kohl-edged eyes made Frankie sit up straighter. Shrouded in silver smoke she was like Lewis Carroll’s wise caterpillar. Frankie desperately hoped there was no snake in her pocket tonight.
They sat in silence for a few minutes. Eventually Frankie said, ‘Anyone ever come into Jojo’s that took against Ebony? Anyon
e from that circus lot whose goats she and Jojo got when the pair of them ran off? What were they called, the Stork Brothers? Did she have any trapeze rivals?’
‘The Storks are long gone. They moved to Germany,’ said Millicent.
‘And she didn’t have rivals,’ Liam said, flicking the cigarette butt back onto the ground where it sparked the dirt.
‘She must have done.’
He shrugged. ‘She wasn’t famous enough to compete with the ones on at the big halls and anyone else would be too scared of Jojo. And me.’
Frankie made the mistake of smiling, more at the audacity of his boasting than the notion of his strength, but his eyes flashed angrily.
‘You think that’s funny?’ he growled. ‘I knew it as soon as I saw you. Italian, aren’t you? You’re all the same. Greased up with your own opinions of yourselves. You think I’m stupid, don’t you, just because I’m wee?’
Frankie began to shake her head.
‘Well, I wouldn’t push it too far. Va bene?’ She wanted to laugh again, this time at his terrible accent but she didn’t dare. ‘Look, I’m only doing this because Jojo . . .’
‘Asked you to, I know. I’m only letting you because I thought you might be useful, so watch your tongue.’
Millicent’s voice came quietly out of the night. ‘Aren’t we trying to make sure Ebony’s not come to any harm?’
Frankie sat back on the bench, feeling Liam’s little pinprick eyes on her. She turned to Millicent. ‘How d’you get to know that lot anyway?’
Millicent laughed a high tinkle. ‘Oh, it’s a long story.’
Frankie waited for her to elaborate but instead she glanced down at Frankie’s arms, jittering on her lap, making the cigar between her fingers dance. ‘Are you cold?’
With a stubbornness that felt comfortingly familiar, Frankie shook her head and continued to look expectant.
Millicent sighed. ‘I don’t see what difference it makes.’
‘I need to know whether I can trust you.’
She reached for the cigar again and Frankie relinquished it after a last pull of her own. ‘All right. When I came back from Cairo, I didn’t know anyone, except for an art student who had a room near Barons Court. And my family, of course, but they had cut me off.’ She laughed a little nervously and waved her hand again.
‘I guessed you weren’t born Salome.’
‘Neither was Maud Allen and she danced the seven veils for the Prince of Wales. Three shillings. Her costume, not her fee.’ She scrutinised Frankie’s face as she said it and Frankie recognised the look. Scouting for signs of Sapphism. Tell a titillating tale and wait for the blush to come. Well, she wasn’t going to give her that.
‘What were you doing in Cairo?’
‘Now that really is too long a story.’ Millicent’s lips straightened into a brittle smile. ‘Anyway, Maud was doing this seven veils dance at the time I got back, stripped down to her oyster shells. And we decided, my friend and I, that with some careful plastering we could come up with something just as shocking. John the Baptist, a head on a plate. A tableau vivant. I touted it to the Cyder Cellar but they weren’t interested, then a couple of other gaffs round the Strand, and finally Jojo. I can dance better than Maud anyway, I learned how to copy the ghawazee girls in Cairo. I don’t think she’s ever set foot beyond Canada or England. And I have a pet snake.’ Her smile turned lopsided and sad. ‘Mind you, I can’t be that great because she’s performing at the Royal Opera House and I’m here.’ She gestured behind her, then her gaze dropped. ‘It was Ebony who told him to take me. She might have had a tongue like a whip, but she knew hunger when she saw it. So long as you were down on your luck, Ebony Diamond would be the best friend you ever had. Don’t mistake me, her suffragetting wasn’t for everyone, but she did a lot of good. She thought she was doing a lot of good, anyway.’
‘When did all this happen?’
‘About six months ago. Just before she went into prison the first time.’
‘And when did you meet him?’ Frankie nodded towards Liam.
‘Last week.’
Liam met her eye. ‘No one’s supposed to know I exist.’
Frankie just about managed to hold her tongue. ‘What about your family?’
Millicent’s mouth tightened. ‘I don’t like to talk about them.’
Frankie noticed she had puffed the cigar down to an inch and a half. From the look of her she was wasting away, but she didn’t have the same hunger in her eyes that people who were genuinely starving had, no matter what she said. Frankie wondered if she was one of those girls striving after the new figure, whose cupboards were full, but only ate when they fancied.
‘Well, my old man’s a costermonger up Tottenham and my mother takes in laundry.’ She raised her eyebrows. Millicent looked away as if the very idea of modest living embarrassed her, and busied herself picking at a spot on her gown. Up close in patches it was stained a faint yellow, like tinges of tobacco or rust. Some threads were missing from the flower pattern. It wasn’t as fine as it had first looked. Her slight hands reminded Frankie of white asparagus, firm skinned but limp.
‘And you’re sure Jojo’s not got her hiding in there? Stashed?’
‘Why would he?’
Frankie shrugged.
‘Jojo adored Ebony. But he was telling the truth. If she’d wanted to go, I mean really wanted to, he’d have let her.’ Millicent tossed the cigar butt into the dirt.
‘But that night I saw you. You said she hadn’t been turning up.’
‘She hadn’t. Ever since the last time she came out of prison, she started missing odd nights. Tuesday was traditionally her night off for suffragette meetings. Jojo was all right with her missing one night a week. He believes in the women’s cause. Or his wife does anyway; Eloise, that’s the two-headed chanteuse. But after a while it got more erratic. A Thursday here, a Sunday there. Fridays, Saturdays. Jojo started putting pressure on me to fill the gaps. At first I didn’t mind, to be honest. I liked having the chance to close the show. In fact, half of me thought in my vanity that Ebony might be bunking off nights to give me a chance. It’s the sort of thing she might do. But it got more frequent. I couldn’t plan anything in case I was called in on my night off.’
‘And then he brought me in to keep watch on her,’ Liam chipped in.
‘And what did you notice?’
Liam shrugged. ‘I didn’t make it inside her bedchamber.’
‘I wasn’t asking that. Where did she go? On these nights off?’
He chewed his lip, and looked like he was aware that for just a fraction of a second he had some wonderful power he could wield over them. ‘She spent a lot of time at that corset shop. I didn’t go in. But there’s only two doors. I kept watch on both of them.’
‘Smythe’s,’ Frankie said softly. She couldn’t get the image of those men in their top hats out of her head. It kept returning.
Millicent leant forward on the bench. ‘You know you get a feeling? Mentalists would call it a sixth sense. The past couple of weeks, there was something going on. She wasn’t right in the head. She was becoming fatalistic, wouldn’t tell anyone where she was going. She was always looking over her shoulder and if you came up behind her, woe betide you. I saw her scream at Lizzy – the woman who does the door – about the ears, because she told her what the suffragettes were doing was wrong. It would never help a woman like Lizzy, women who were never going to own property, or settle, or lead a normal life.’ She looked Frankie square in the face, her eyes blunt. Her frame was slender, but there was a confrontational edge stacked in her. She was an odd woman who would have looked as out of place at a society dinner as she did just now, perched in Soho Square just beyond St Barnabas’s house for troubled women, with her stained expensive gown waving in the breeze.
‘What about the government?’ Liam spoke up. ‘They’d have good reason to want her out of the way.’
Frankie clocked his face again, the watery gold pallor. He had stories in there h
e wasn’t telling either. ‘That’s something we have to consider.’
‘You know how dangerous that could be?’ Millicent asked.
Frankie couldn’t work out if the question was a challenge or a warning. She suddenly became aware that their eyes were fixed on her, and felt a cold vulnerability along with a sharp surge of nerves at finding herself in charge of something.
‘You say Ebony’d been missing nights at Jojo’s,’ she said briskly. ‘Well I know she wasn’t at the suffragette smash last night because she wasn’t arrested. I also know she was scared – both times I saw her. Two of her friends are dead, from the same place.’ She suddenly stood up and folded her lapels in towards her throat, against the breeze. She had made up her mind. ‘Come on, I know someone who might be able to help us.’ The bells from St Patrick’s began to chime hollow and deep.
‘Who?’ asked Millicent.
‘You’ll find out. On the way I’ll teach you how to hop a tube fare.’
Liam met her eye with a scornful twinkle.
‘I meant her.’ She nodded at Millicent.
‘I already know how to do that,’ Millicent said curtly, raising the silk hem of her gown above the mud.
As the pavement narrowed towards Tottenham Court Road underground station, Liam fell behind and Frankie found herself walking abreast with Millicent. She caught sight of them both in a blackened shop window and was startled for a moment by the odd burlesque of a respectable couple they made. Her suit and Millicent’s dress, watery in the reflection. Millicent was rambling on. ‘I suppose I’d better call you Frankie. It suits you better than Francesca and far better than Miss George.’
Frankie sniffed briskly, ‘Fine by me.’
‘And you can call me Milly by the way. Millicent sounds like an old cobwebbed aunt you keep in a drawer. And no one ever called me that. Except Jojo. And my mother.’
Twenty
Frankie was not surprised to see a new parlourmaid at the door to Twinkle’s flat. Her worried face peeped out from under a white bonnet, framed by dark curls. From down the hall came a wailing sound, a rising and falling, like a dog singing opera.
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