‘Manage the dive?’ demanded Professor Poisson. ‘Haul up my platform!’ he shouted to Mr Sinclair. ‘Haul it up right now to seventy feet and I’ll do it from there.’
Mr Sinclair looked exasperated. ‘That would take far too long; the platforms are of equal height. Do your dive or the trial is over, we’re not here for a dispute.’
So at last Professor Poisson did his dive, the same way as I, a straightforward headfirst plunge. The crowd applauded him of course, but not as much as they had for me. A girl had done what a man had done; the feat no longer had the wonder it once had.
The Professor left the tank, I climbed up his ladder, smiling and waving to the crowd. When I reached the platform I gave a bow and blew down a kiss, then I held my hand to my forehead as if I were so afraid of the height that any moment I might swoon. The audience laughed and cheered, the band struck up, and with a final wave I hurtled through the air to complete my second dive.
‘Marvellous,’ said Mr Sinclair as I got out of the tank after a perfect landing. ‘Absolutely marvellous.’
‘I told you she could do it,’ said Father.
‘Indeed you did,’ said Mr Sinclair, wiping sweat from his face. ‘She has broken the record without breaking her neck. You have an engagement. If she can dive from the platform into the tank twice a day then the pay is ten pounds a week.’
Ten pounds a week! Our debts would be repaid; we wouldn’t have to leave our home after all and I couldn’t wait to tell my mother and brothers the news. Then Mr Sinclair took Father to his office to discuss the terms and I was about to return to my dressing room when a reporter called my name from the side of the stage.
‘Miss Belle. Please! Some questions…’
I looked down at the pool of water forming round my feet. ‘Would you mind waiting until I’ve changed?’
‘I shall not keep you more than five minutes,’ begged the reporter. ‘Please, tell me, if Professor Poisson was to increase the height of his dive, would you do the same?’
‘Certainly I would.’
‘But surely that jump would be too perilous for a girl?’
‘It is a headfirst plunge,’ I corrected him, ‘not a jump.’
‘But do you not consider it a dangerous feat for a girl?’
I looked at him with irritation now. This was the same question I had been asked after my first swim in the Thames, and he seemed to have forgotten that I had just demonstrated not one perilous dive but two. ‘It is a dangerous feat for anyone,’ I told him, ‘and for those who are untrained it is certain death.’ And with that I turned on my heels and went to change, feeling very pleased with myself. I would rather swim than dive but still, I would be a rich young woman now. But what I should have remembered from Captain Matthew Webb is that what goes up will always come down, and that included me.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I stayed at the Aq performing my daily dives until one morning I came to work to hear that the beluga whale had died. It was Mr Sinclair who told us as we stood backstage, shaking his head gloomily, more at the loss of money than from sadness at the fate of the whale.
‘Terrible,’ said Father. ‘Now what will you do?’
‘Bring another I suppose.’
‘Or,’ said Father, stroking his chin, ‘how about trying something else?’
‘Like what?’
‘Well, what you need, sir, is to manufacture a new sensation.’
Mr Sinclair nodded.
‘So, instead of bringing another whale…’ Father looked at me as if he’d just had a novel idea, ‘why not have a mermaid?’
‘A mermaid?’ laughed Mr Sinclair. ‘Whatever do you mean?’
Father pointed to where I stood and I smiled and tried to look agreeable, although he had not mentioned anything of this to me.
‘But,’ said Mr Sinclair, ‘what would she do?’
‘Well, swim of course, she can stay in the whale tank all day.’
‘All day?’
‘Two days,’ said Father, growing excited now, ‘three if you like! Have you ever seen anyone perform submerged in a tank? No. And she can hold her breath for minutes at a time. You, sir, will have your very own mermaid.’
‘Aside from holding her breath what will she do?’
‘All manner of things,’ said Father, ‘just you wait.’
*
I was sad about the whale; it had come such a long way and I remembered how mournful it had looked as it lunged and lurched around the tank, how I’d been sure it wanted to tell me something. But I had also not forgotten when I’d first looked at the fish on the promenade, and realised a tank could serve as a stage, and wondered if I could join them. Father said with a mermaid show I would be paid even more; my nest egg was growing by the day and wasn’t I happy about that? ‘For now you can have a new outfit,’ he said. ‘We’ll make you a mermaid tail.’
But I didn’t want a mermaid tail. How would I swim in a tail?
‘You can have two bikes when this is done,’ he added. ‘How about roller-skates too, a different pair for every day of the week? You can have anything you like.’
‘Anything I like?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can I go to America?’
Father looked surprised. ‘Well you certainly can, if you wish.’
*
That very evening after we’d left the Aq he beckoned me into his and Mother’s room. ‘See Daisy?’ he asked, crouching down and pulling a large trunk from under the bed. ‘There you go.’ He lifted the lid and I stared at the trunk, full to the brim with coins. ‘There’s your money. I’m keeping it safely for you.’
‘Can I have some now?’ I asked but when I reached forward he clasped my arm to stop me.
‘You have no need of it now,’ he said, closing the trunk. ‘I’m your father, I provide everything.’
*
My mermaid practice started the following week. The annex was closed to the public and only Father and I were allowed in the room. It wasn’t as brightly lit as when the whale had been here; instead it was a little spooky. I climbed up and sat myself on the edge of the tank, dipping in my feet. Then I leaned down and felt the water with my hands, splashed it on my face. The tank had been cleaned of course, and it was not as deep for Father had lifted the height of the floor, but it seemed to have a very fishy smell and for a moment I wondered if the whale had truly gone.
‘In you get,’ said Father. ‘Jump in for now, later we’ll rig up a plank so you can dive.’
I had never been in a tank before and it was a strange feeling being so contained, aware of the glass walls all around me, knowing I could never strike out or cover any distance.
‘Have a swim, get used to the thing,’ Father called, ‘but stay near the sides so people can see you. We’ll add some salt later to give you more buoyancy.’
So I set off in imitation of the whale, resting my head against the glass, flapping my hands, pretending to lunge, moving up and down, across and back. After an hour or so I had a break and the oddest thing was, once I was out of that tank I wanted to get back in again: it was already feeling like home.
Things went well until the afternoon; I had even started to learn a new routine, when all of a sudden I felt a cramping in my stomach.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Father when I stopped swimming and hung onto the side.
‘Nothing,’ I mumbled, aghast at the idea I had my monthlies. We’d have to wait a week or more, and if we weren’t seen to be rehearsing then Mr Sinclair might have second thoughts. He might even cancel the show.
‘If nothing’s wrong,’ said Father, annoyed, ‘then keep swimming.’
‘Let me get out for a minute to rest.’
‘No. You’ve only been in there a few hours! Whatever it is will pass. Don’t let me down, Daisy.’ Father leaned over the side, his expression stern. ‘My reputation’s riding on this.’
Your reputation? I thought. It was I who was in the tank! But I did as he said, let go of the side and swam
around for a while and eventually the pain did go away; it had been a false alarm and I continued until it was night. The next day I was back in the tank and for the next two weeks instead of diving I practised my mermaid routine.
*
Just before Christmas Father announced the news: his daughter Daisy Belle would stay afloat at the Royal Aquarium for sixty hours. New Year’s Day dawned dull and showery, and even if the weather hadn’t driven people inside, there would still have been a large number of visitors wanting to greet the New Year at the Aq. We arrived before dawn to make sure everything was in place and to meet the referee, the same grey-haired man who had first accompanied me on the River Thames. Then members of the press were invited into the annex, including Robert Winkle, and given tea and buns. Just before eight, Father called three ladies into my dressing room to confirm I had no concealed floating supports. Once that was done I came out in a long floor-length cape, my hair tightly plaited, wearing a new costume of navy blue; for it was best I wore as dark a colour as possible in case it faded after so long in the water. What the spectators could not see was my mermaid tail, woven of silver and blue, in which I had to shuffle along with my feet held together.
But whether I would be as popular as the whale remained to be seen and at nine o’clock the room was half-empty, except for the press and Aq employees arriving for work. I heard the clock chime and the birds in their cages on the promenade waking up, then at ten o’clock the audience began to arrive. There still weren’t as many as Father had expected and I could see him glancing worriedly at the door, but when I removed my cape there was a round of applause as the people saw my tail.
‘Behold!’ said Father, ‘this marvellous sight. Half-woman, half-fish.’ Then he picked me up and put me on the small plank that served as a diving board.
‘Are you doing this for money?’ a man with a booming voice called out as I stood there preparing myself. ‘Because if you are, then there’s a sovereign for you, girl,’ and he flipped a coin into the water.
I was so annoyed at this. I was not a beggar in the street to whom he could toss a coin, I was going to swim in a whale tank not a wishing well. So I dived in a little off centre, deliberately plunging to my left, and when I came up I was delighted to see I’d made the man soaking wet. Off he went muttering oaths and that, I thought, was the last I’d see of him.
Then the bell sounded and I began swimming, keeping my mouth closed as salt had been added to the water and it wouldn’t do to swallow. I had practised repeatedly with the mermaid tail and while at first it had felt as if a child were holding on to my legs now I found it quite easy. It gave a wonderful speed as I moved round the tank and when I wanted to come to the surface it propelled me as fast as if I were indeed half-fish. But still few people came to watch and it was a lonely swim; perhaps we had started too early. Then at 11 o’clock the annex finally began to fill and Father decided it was time to perform.
‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ he announced, taking his place on the plank. ‘I introduce to you Miss Daisy Belle, heroine of the Thames, companion of Captain Webb, and the world’s most daring diver. Walk up! Walk up to see how the London mermaid lives below the water!’
I turned a somersault, sank to the bottom and laid down flat, just as the whale had done. I stayed there, perfectly still, my eyes closed, counting in my head. One minute went by and then two. I opened my eyes and looked up. All around the tank people had gathered, men, women and children, craning forward with open mouths. I knew they were wondering why I hadn’t come up. Had I run out of oxygen, was I dead? I felt a sway above me where someone was splashing the water with a hand or a stick. I didn’t have much time left; I needed to come up. So I kicked down with my tail and shot to the surface.
A lady screamed, the children shouted, ‘Look at the mermaid!’ and began running around the tank, pointing.
I put my head fully out of the water and piped up ‘Good morning!’ and the children were so shocked that I could speak that one began to cry.
‘Ladies!’ cried Father, ‘gentlemen, this amazing mermaid can breathe under the water just as you have seen. Now watch while she eats a banana.’
‘A banana?’ laughed a gentleman standing by the ladder. ‘How can she eat under water? She will suffocate. It’s not possible!’
But of course it was, and I had practised long and hard to make it seem as effortless as I could. Father tossed me the fruit and I caught it in one hand, then sank the rest of my body down with one knee resting on the bottom. I lifted my other arm out of the water, peeled back the banana skin, broke off a piece and quickly carried it under. The trick was to fill my lungs just before I descended, and then to give a gentle exhalation as I placed it in on my tongue. The audience was captivated; I could see them pressed up against the tank, several tapping on the glass. All I had to do now was to repeat the process until the banana was eaten, then I rose out of the water, whereupon Father came down from the plank to relieve me of the skin.
‘Now,’ he told the spectators, ‘a sponge cake!’
Again I submerged myself and lifted out my hand, took the cake and ate that piece by piece, and finally up I shot, to hearty applause.
‘Daisy,’ called Father, ‘are you thirsty?’
I nodded my head vigorously.
So he handed me a small lemonade bottle, half-filled with milk and sealed with a cork. I took the bottle down, pulled the cork out sideways with my teeth, then blew a little air through my nostrils and began to drink. Again this was well suited to a tank because in a bath it would be difficult to see what the swimmer was doing, but I had to manage my breathing perfectly and keep myself on the bottom all the while. Then finally I rose up, with the empty bottle securely corked, again to loud applause.
At dinnertime Father floated a tray of meatballs across the water, but by now I was hardly hungry and had to make a show of eating. There was then a lull as others went to eat their dinner too and I swam around for an hour or so. But by early evening the annex was so full they had to close the doors. Finally I had my first hour’s rest and I was so grateful when I got to my dressing room and could remove my tail and free my legs, wash my salty face, apply some lotion and powder. At last I could use the toilet and lie down on the bed, my skin as soft and pliable as a newborn baby’s after ten hours in the water.
But almost at once I was being woken up. ‘Daisy!’ It was Father, shaking me by the shoulders. ‘Rouse yourself.’
I opened my eyes, unsure where I was, thinking I might still be in the water and if I was then where had the people gone?
‘Put this on,’ he said, handing me a dry costume and a new mermaid tail, ‘and let’s get back to the tank.’
I stared at him; my mind seemed to have slowed to a halt.
‘Now,’ ordered Father. ‘I’ll wait for you outside, you have five minutes.’
So I took off the dress I had been wearing while I slept and put on the costume and the new tail, but it took me a long time to get my legs and arms where they should be. Then I shuffled back to the annex where I heard the people shouting, ‘The mermaid is back!’ before Father picked me up and placed me a little dazed on the board.
By 11 o’clock I had been back in the water for several hours, the audience had left, the lights were all put out except one and it was peaceful but for the clock chiming the hour and the occasional screech of an owl. It was now that Father served champagne to members of the press, to keep up their interest and their spirits, but by midnight even they had gone. So he and Robert Winkle and the referee enjoyed a steak supper, then Father said Billy was on his way to keep an eye on me for a while; they all needed a bit of a rest.
I fell asleep after that, taking short quiet breaths and hooking my heels onto the side as I’d learned to do as a child. When I opened my eyes the men had gone and I was alone. I did a couple of somersaults, just for the chance to use my limbs, and swam around swishing my tail. It was then that I got the fright of my life, for there on the other side of the glass wer
e two blue eyes looking in at me. I thought I was dreaming, that it couldn’t possibly be true, when one of the eyes winked at me and I shot to the surface with a yelp.
‘Aren’t you bored?’ asked the girl standing by the side of the tank, ‘in here all alone?’ She had very short hair, parted on the side like a man’s, and her eyes were large like a child’s. She was wearing a white satin tunic over bright white stockings and in her hand she held a straw hat. ‘Miss Violet Mitchell,’ she gave a bow, ‘gymnast extraordinaire. You’ve probably heard of me. I was in the water show last week. Until fat-face fired me.’
I laughed and nearly swallowed water. How cheeky she was! ‘Why did Mr Sinclair fire you?’ I asked.
‘Because I did this,’ she said, and as bold as anything she put her hands on her hips and stuck out her tongue. ‘And then this,’ she said, and made a rude gesture with her fingers. ‘Oh I’m sick of being a performing seal. They hired me as a gymnast and then fat-face wanted me in a water show in a see-through costume! The things they say to you, well I’d had enough. He says he’s going to sue me, well let him if he thinks my services are no longer required.’
‘What are you doing?’ I asked as Violet hauled herself onto the edge of the tank.
‘I’m getting in with you,’ she replied, spitting on her hand and slicking down the parting in her hair.
‘You can’t!’ I cried. What if the referee should find out, and the press – then the feat would be over and all my hours of swimming wasted. Nothing had been said about anyone joining me in the water, the whole performance would be invalid. But Violet had already landed in the tank with an enormous splash and was laughing like a child. ‘Will you teach me, Daisy, to be as good a swimmer as you?’ she asked and then she caught me round the waist and did a little dance, and despite my fears that someone would come in I realised I was having fun. Then the door opened and Billy ran in. What we were doing? Were we mad? Father was on his way and so was the referee! Violet must get out at once. My brother offered a hand to help, but there was no need for she scrambled out as agile as anything, and I saw the admiring look on Billy’s face as he watched her run out of the room.
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