by Dilly Court
‘That’s it,’ Rose said eagerly. ‘We’re on, Cora. Smile.’
At the end of their performance the manager clapped enthusiastically. ‘Very nice, ladies. The juggler will be on first and then you two. You’ll follow him in the second half after the interval in the same manner. Any questions?’
The limelight was dazzling and even when she shielded her eyes Rose could not see him clearly, but she nodded. ‘I understand.’
‘Next.’ He sat down again, leaving Rose and Cora no option other than to leave the stage.
‘Well done, girls.’ Jim Slattery met them with a broad grin, exposing a row of pointed yellow teeth.
‘Thank you, sir.’ Rose kept her tone neutral and was about to walk on, but Slattery moved a step closer, transferring his attention to Cora.
‘I have a soft spot for golden-haired girls, Miss Sunshine.’ He laid his hand on her arm. ‘I can be very helpful or I can be extremely difficult.’
Rose stepped in between them. ‘My sister is spoken for, Mr Slattery.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘I’m not interested in that way, Miss Sunshine. I suggest if you want to keep your job you mind your manners and curb your tongue.’
‘My manners are perfect, Mr Slattery. I can’t say the same for yours.’ Rose knew she was making an enemy but she was not prepared to let him get away with such behaviour.
Cora’s worried expression melted into a welcoming smile. She pushed past Slattery. ‘Gerard, you came.’
He held her hand and raised it to his lips. ‘Cora, how enchanting you look.’ He smiled and acknowledged Rose with a bow. ‘I saw the whole thing. The manager is an old friend and he allowed me to watch.’
Slattery’s belligerent jaw slackened visibly. He twisted his features into an ingratiating smile. ‘I am sure that the Sunshine Sisters will grace our stage for many weeks to come, sir.’
‘I’m sure you have work to do, Slattery,’ Gerard said with an urbane smile. ‘You mustn’t allow us to detain you.’
Slattery’s mouth worked silently as he seemed to struggle for words. ‘I’ll be seeing you ladies.’ He walked off, gesticulating angrily at a stage hand who happened to be in his way.
‘I don’t trust that fellow.’ Gerard turned to Rose with a persuasive smile. ‘I would like to take Cora out for tea. You would be very welcome to join us, Rose.’
She shook her head. ‘That’s very kind of you, but I have things to do. Maybe another time.’
‘I’ll hold you to that. Perhaps I could take you both to supper after your first show. I’ve booked tickets for the front row of the stalls so I shan’t miss a thing.’
Rose had mixed feelings as she left the theatre. Gerard seemed to be genuinely fond of her sister, but although she tried to be happy for Cora she could not convince herself that the romance would turn out well. She was so deep in thought that she almost bumped into Vere, who was standing outside the stage door.
‘Are you waiting for me?’
He doffed his hat. ‘Of course. Surely you don’t think I make a practice of loitering outside theatres.’
‘I don’t know you well enough to know,’ Rose said carefully.
‘That’s what I intend to alter.’ He proffered his arm. ‘May I escort you home, Miss Perkins? After which I would like to invite you to dinner.’
Rose hesitated. ‘I must be honest with you, Mr Tressidick. I don’t move in your circles, and I have nothing suitable to wear to a smart restaurant. Besides which, I don’t want to give you false hope.’
His smile did not waver as he took her hand and laid it on his arm. ‘Your honesty is both refreshing and charming. You intrigue me, Rose, and I don’t care if you wear sackcloth or silk. You are a beautiful woman and you have no need for fine gowns and jewels, although I would like to be in a position to buy them for you.’
She snatched her hand away. ‘Please don’t. I’m still of the same mind as when we spoke yesterday. You and I have nothing in common.’
‘And that makes it all the more exciting.’ His smile faded and he held her gaze with an intent look. ‘Forget what I said before, and allow me to take you to dinner this evening. We can go to a chop house, if you would prefer such a place. I simply want to enjoy your company and get to know you a little better.’
‘You make it very hard to refuse.’
‘That’s exactly what I intended. Now, may I see you safely to your door? And I would deem it an honour to meet your aunt.’
Rose could hear voices on the other side of the stage door and she recognised Dolly’s shrill voice followed by Florrie’s deeper tones. She could only imagine what they would say if they emerged from the theatre to find her in conversation with a toff. She took Vere’s arm. ‘I’ll have dinner with you, Mr Tressidick.’
‘Vere,’ he said, smiling. ‘It would make me much more comfortable if you would call me Vere.’
‘I think it’s going to rain, Vere,’ she said hastily. ‘Shall we walk a little faster?’
He quickened his pace. ‘Of course, but I think it’s just clouded over. This is turning out to be a very nice day.’
Sukey opened the door to let them in, and Rose stepped inside, hoping that there would be no fights or shouting matches while Vere was in the house, and that the woman who had refused to go into hospital to have her baby would now have been safely delivered. To her relief all seemed quiet, but as she opened the parlour door a wave of sound hit her forcibly. The sight that met her eyes made her wish that she had refused Vere’s request to meet her aunt.
Fancello was playing the piano, hitting more wrong notes than right ones, and Polly was leaning against him singing one of the songs that had made her a success many years ago. Fancello joined in the chorus, belting out the words in a deep baritone that made the ornaments on the top of the instrument jump up and down. A strong smell of brandy pervaded the room and an empty bottle bore witness to the fact that the pair had consumed almost the entire contents. Rose was certain that it had been almost full that morning.
She turned to Vere with an apologetic smile. ‘Perhaps this isn’t the best of times …’
He ran his finger round the inside of his stiff collar. ‘It does seem a trifle inconvenient.’
Polly did a twirl, ending in an artistic pose. ‘I didn’t know we had a visitor, Rose. Where are your manners?’ She staggered towards Vere, holding out her hand. ‘Charmed to meet you, sir. What is your name, dear?’
‘Aunt Polly, may I introduce Mr Vere Tressidick from Portmorna? He was Billy’s host in Cornwall.’ Rose sent a warning look to Fancello, who stopped playing but kept his hands raised as if waiting to strike another chord. She turned to Vere. ‘May I introduce you to Miss Day, my aunt?’
‘How do you do, Miss Day? It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,’ Vere said gallantly.
Fancello stood up and moved towards him, swaying lightly on the tips of his toes. ‘I am Alessandro Fancello,’ he said grandly. ‘I am an old friend of the family and I look after the business affairs of the Sunshine Sisters.’ He grabbed Vere’s hand and pumped his arm up and down.
‘How do you do, signor?’
‘Ah, you speak Italian. Splendid.’ Fancello beamed at him. ‘Alas, I have forgotten most of my native tongue during my many years of living and working in London.’
Rose shifted from one foot to the other. Despite his outward appearance of calm she could only imagine how Vere Tressidick must be feeling in what must seem like a madhouse, and to make things worse someone in the room above uttered a loud scream followed by a string of swear words that made Rose blush. The sound of pounding feet and slamming doors was followed by another voice raised in anger and yet more screams and groans.
Polly teetered to the door. ‘It’s nothing to worry about, Mr Tressidick,’ she said with a sickly smile. ‘It’s just one of my women going into labour. It happens all the time.’ She staggered out of the room, leaving the door to swing shut behind her.
Fancello cleared his throat and reached for hi
s glass. ‘That woman is a saint, sir. I tell you again, she’s a saint. Who but my Paloma would take these poor souls into her home and look after them in their hour of need?’ He held the glass up to the light. ‘It’s empty. Must have spilled my drink.’ He held it out to Rose. ‘Another tot would be most welcome, cara mia.’
Rose snatched it from him. ‘I think you’ve had quite enough, signor. It’s time you went home.’
‘That’s just the problem,’ he said thickly. ‘I have nowhere to go. Lost what remained of my money at the gaming tables last night.’ He sank down on the piano stool, which creaked ominously beneath his weight. ‘Broke. Bankrupt. Penniless.’ He buried his head in his hands.
‘I should go.’ Vere made a move towards the doorway. ‘I’ll call for you at seven o’clock, Rose. Don’t worry, I’ll see myself out.’ He shot a wary look at Fancello as he opened the door and stepped out into the hall.
Rose placed the glass out of reach. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself.’
He peered at her between his fingers. ‘Don’t shout at me. I had enough of that from Graziella when we were together.’
‘I don’t wonder that she shouted at you if you behaved like this. I’ve never seen Aunt Polly in such a drunken state. She likes a drop of brandy at the end of a hard day, but she never drinks to excess. It’s your fault, Signor Fancello.’
‘Paloma is my friend,’ he said feebly. ‘We were close many years ago and she said I can stay here until I sort out my problems.’
‘You are the problem, signor. If you cannot handle your own affairs how can you expect to act as our manager?’
‘I am a good businessman.’
‘You are a failed businessman, and now you admit that you’re a gambler. You’ve wheedled your way into my aunt’s good books and you’ve got her drunk. I don’t want you for a manager, signor.’
‘I found you work.’
‘You earned your money this once, but I’m not giving you a chance to ruin us. I’ll honour our agreement and give your ten per cent when Cora and I get paid. I’m sorry, but that’s an end to it. We’ll manage on our own from now on.’
She was about to leave the room when the door opened and Maisie rushed in.
‘Come quick, miss. There’s ructions going on upstairs. That big woman has got a knife and she’s holding it to Miss Polly’s throat.’
Chapter Thirteen
Rose hurried after Maisie, who took the stairs two at a time. Agonised screams from one of the rooms almost drowned the sound of Polly’s slurred speech, as she tried to reason with the woman who held her captive. Rose recognised her assailant as Big Bertha, a tall, rangy woman who had given birth several days previously.
‘Let her go,’ she said shakily. ‘What has Miss Polly done to deserve such treatment, Bertha?’
‘She took my baby from me,’ Bertha snarled. ‘She give him away, the bitch.’
Polly rolled her eyes nervously. ‘I found him a good home. You agreed that he should be adopted, Bertha. You wanted it that way.’
‘I weren’t in me right mind. You took advantage of a sick woman and sold my boy.’
‘No money changed hands. Your child will be brought up by loving parents. He’ll have a proper education and a secure future.’
Bertha tightened her grip, holding the knife dangerously close to Polly’s throat. ‘He needs his ma, and I want him back. You’ll get him for me right now or I’ll have your guts for garters.’
‘Be reasonable, Bertha.’ Polly was suddenly sober. ‘It isn’t as easy as that.’
‘You got no choice. I wants him back now, or you die.’
Rose took a tentative step forward, holding out her hand. ‘Bertha, please. You know you don’t mean that. If you harm Miss Polly you’ll go to gaol, and you’ll never see your son again.’
‘What’s it got to do with you?’ Bertha narrowed her eyes. ‘Leave me to sort this out my way.’
‘You’ll get nowhere,’ Rose insisted. ‘If it were possible to get your boy back, how would you look after him? What sort of life could you offer a child?’
‘I’m his ma. He belongs to me. I weren’t in me right mind when I agreed to give him up.’
‘But you did agree to it. You just admitted it, Bertha. I can’t begin to imagine how you must be feeling, but you must see that it’s the best thing for your son.’
‘I lost my baby,’ Maisie muttered. ‘I knows how it feels.’
‘You know nothing.’ Bertha spat the words at her.
‘Just because I’m young it don’t mean I ain’t got no feelings.’ Maisie sniffed and wiped her eyes on her sleeve.
‘Shut up,’ Bertha snarled. ‘Who asked you to put your oar in?’
‘Let me go,’ Polly gasped. ‘You’re choking me.’
‘Please do as she says and we can talk this over like sensible people.’ Rose slipped her arm around Maisie’s shoulder, giving her a comforting hug while keeping a wary eye on Bertha. ‘Harming Miss Polly isn’t going to help. Let her go and—’ She broke off at the sound of an agonised screech from one of the bedrooms.
‘It’s Lizzie. She’s having her baby and she’s going to die.’ Maisie covered her head with her apron and began to sob.
‘Go and check on her, Rose,’ Polly said urgently. ‘I can’t do anything unless Bertha sees sense.’
Ignoring Bertha’s stream of expletives, Rose left them and hurried into the darkened room. The stench of sweat was almost overpowering and one of the pregnant women was sitting by the bed, smoking a pipe. She glanced up, shaking her head. ‘It ain’t coming like it should.’
Rose pulled back the curtains and opened the window to ventilate the room, and waft away the thick pall of tobacco smoke. One look at the woman lying on the bed was enough to convince Rose that she was in dire need of help. ‘She needs a doctor, Sal. I’ll send Tommy to fetch him.’
Sal shook her head. ‘No time for that. Get Big Bertha. She knows what to do. Although I dare say Lizzie’s close to the end. I seen it all before. Heaven help me when my time comes. It’s a case of taking my chances here or being a charity case over the road.’
Rose could see that there was no time to delay and she hurried from the room. ‘Bertha. You’re needed.’
‘It’s a trick.’
Maisie’s wails were muffled by the apron she had covering her head and face. ‘They’ll both die.’
‘It’s true,’ Rose said firmly. ‘I don’t know a great deal about childbirth, but Lizzie looks close to death, and the baby too.’
Bertha released Polly, who fell to her knees, just as Fancello arrived at the top of the stairs. He leaned against the banisters panting heavily. ‘What’s happened?’
‘She’s had a shock but she’s unharmed.’ Rose turned her attention to Maisie, who was sobbing quietly. She peeled the apron off the girl’s face. ‘It’s all right. Bertha has gone to help Lizzie and Miss Polly isn’t hurt.’
‘I was scared, miss.’
‘So was I, but it’s over now. Go downstairs and ask Ethel to make a pot of strong coffee for Miss Polly and Mr Fancello. I think he’ll be staying with us for a while.’
Having sent Maisie to the relative calm of the kitchen, Rose went back to check on Lizzie. Bertha now seemed like a different woman from the wild creature who had threatened Polly with a knife. She was calm and competent and was attending to Lizzie with the expertise of an experienced midwife. She glanced over her shoulder. ‘The baby’s the wrong way round. I’ll have to turn it.’
Sal heaved herself off the chair. ‘I’m gasping for a cup of tea.’
‘Shall I send for the doctor?’ Rose asked anxiously.
‘I’m better at this than any man living.’ Bertha glared at the woman with the pipe. ‘Put that pipe out, Sal. I can’t hardly breathe for the smoke. If you want to be useful go downstairs and get hot water and some clean rags, and don’t hang about. If you don’t come back straight away I won’t help you when your time comes.’ She shot a sideways glance at Rose. ‘You can
give us a hand.’
‘Is she going to die?’ Rose moved closer to the bed.
‘Not if I can help it. You do as I say and if you’re going to swoon make sure you fall onto the floor and not the bed.’
Two hours later Rose was on her way downstairs to the kitchen with a bowl of blood-stained rags in her hands when Sukey answered the door to Vere. He came to a halt, staring at her in surprise. ‘Rose? What’s happened?’
She had lost track of the time during the drama of helping a new life into the world. It had been a difficult birth, and she could only admire the expert way in which Bertha had dealt with the mother and the newborn baby girl, but a quick glance at the longcase clock in the hall reminded her that she should have been getting ready for her evening out with Vere. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I had to help upstairs. It was an emergency.’
‘You amaze me, Rose. Each time we meet I see you in a new guise. Which one, I wonder, is the real Rose Perkins?’ He put his head on one side, a glimmer of humour in his grey eyes.
She knew that she must present an odd sight. Her hair had escaped from the pins that were supposed to hold it in place and she had splashed water on herself as she helped Bertha clean up after the birth. ‘I’m not nearly ready, Vere. Perhaps we ought to cancel our arrangement for this evening.’
‘Certainly not. I wouldn’t hear of it, Rose. I’m a patient man; I’ll wait while you do what you have to do.’
‘I’m surprised you came back after the performance you witnessed earlier.’
‘It made me realise what a dull life I lead at home. Is it safe to wait in the parlour, or shall I stay here and wait for the next act?’
‘You have no idea of the drama you missed, but you should be quite safe in there. I’ll just get rid of this and then I’ll change. I won’t be long.’
‘I look forward to hearing about it all over dinner, Rose.’
Stone’s Chop House in Panton Street was situated close to Piccadilly Circus. Rose had rarely visited the West End, apart from an occasional shopping expedition to Oxford Street, but she did not wish to appear gauche and she refrained from making any comments that might betray her lack of sophistication. The temptation to remark on the elegant clothes worn by the ladies, and the relative opulence of her surroundings, was almost too great to resist, but she concentrated instead on the menu.