Daisy Belle

by Caitlin Davies

  *

  By the second day there were several hundred people waiting to be let into the annex of the Royal Aquarium. News of the mermaid had spread and Mr Sinclair put two men on the door to keep the crowds moving. I enjoyed myself that morning, chatting with the spectators and answering questions, and there was quite a fuss when Lord Aylesford arrived with his friends just in time for my first performance of the day. He was an impressive-looking man but for his fishlike, bulbous eyes. He crouched down on the walkway by the side of the tank so he was looking up at me and he seemed to enjoy the view from there.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ announced Father, ‘I present to you the world’s most famous mermaid, Miss Daisy Belle, who has been in this tank for over twenty-four hours! She will now write her name.’

  ‘Write her name?’ laughed the Lord. ‘How does he think she’s going to do that?’

  Father didn’t reply, only slid a piece of slate and a stick of chalk on a tray across the water. I ducked down and quickly wrote my name in letters as large as possible, before pressing the slate against the sides of the tank to show what I had done. The children laughed as I blew them bubbles of kisses and the ladies clapped. As I came up for air Lord Aylesford doffed his hat and leaned over the tank. ‘You must introduce me to your father,’ he said. ‘I want to congratulate him on his floating capital.’

  ‘There he is,’ came a reply, ‘over there, chuckling over the gate money. There’s been five thousand people in to see his daughter since yesterday.’

  Five thousand! Father must be very pleased, I thought, and I was just about to ask if it were true when Mr Sinclair came into the annex and fixed two large signs on the wall, which read, ‘Do not speak to the mermaid.’

  I swam in silence for the next few hours, sometimes floating on my back, and after dinner I dozed again. The annex was hot and the water very warm and I began to lose my sense of direction as I floated face up on the surface for minutes at a time. When this alarmed some of the spectators, Father said I would be examined by a doctor and he took me to the dressing room and laid me down on the bed. My mouth was burned dry from the salt and my stomach and legs were badly chafed, but despite this I fell asleep at once.

  When I woke the doctor was there, rummaging in his bag, and I winced as he applied some lint.

  ‘How’s her temperature?’ asked Father.

  The doctor felt my forehead and declared that it was fine.

  ‘And her pulse?’

  The doctor put a finger to my wrist and nodded; that was fine as well.

  But I didn’t feel fine; I could barely sit up. ‘Let me sleep a little longer,’ I begged.

  ‘No,’ said Father, ‘two cups of strong coffee and back to the tank.’

  ‘I’m tired,’ I said.

  ‘Of course you are, not long to go now.’

  ‘Please let me sleep a little longer.’

  ‘No.’ He handed me a cup of coffee, pouring in some tonic. ‘There’s no time. Drink that and get back in the tank.’

  *

  The second night went much like the first, only with a great deal of gaiety among the press when Father handed out the champagne. Tomorrow would be my final day and they would have a good story to write. In the morning there was great excitement when the Princess of Wales arrived with the little princesses, and the band struck up the National Anthem and the bells rang out as the royal party made their way to the annex. In came the Princess, holding a large bouquet in her hands, and the people jostled to see her. So I put a big smile on my face and I swam and dived and promenaded the bottom of the tank with my hands. Then Father slid the tray towards me containing the next and final part of my act. I trod water, picked up a piece of cloth and sank to the bottom, took the already threaded needle and began to sew. At last what Mother had taught me was being put to good use and the Princess was so amused that she threw her bouquet right into the tank.

  ‘Excellent,’ I heard Father say, ‘patronised by the Royal Family, we’ll put that on the next poster.’

  At rest time he gave me more tonic, and when I returned to the tank the anticipation began to mount. The bell was sounding every five minutes now, people whistled and cheered and with a last burst of energy I began to turn somersaults as fast as I could. Then the clock chimed and a great roar went up. I had managed 60 hours in the tank.

  But when I grasped the side, about to pull myself up, my arms were so weak that my fingers slipped. My sight went dark as if the lights had been dimmed and I felt a tightness around my tail. Something was pulling me under. Perhaps it was the whale. It hadn’t gone at all, it was still here. All this time it had been in the water with me and now it had me by its teeth. I let out a shout, my mouth filled with water, and then Billy’s arms were around me and pulling me out.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  It was several weeks before I recovered from my tank performance and I lay listlessly in bed, waiting for my skin to heal and my strength to return. Mother said it was no wonder that I was weak if I chose to spend three days in a whale tank, but she was happy enough with the money I’d received. I had that odd sensation that sometimes comes after success, when you’ve done a thing you set out to do and now there’s no more to be done. So I didn’t mind when Father said he was planning a new show and he wanted Billy and me to swim together again. It would be a leisurely interlude, he said. I wasn’t to worry. It would be nothing too taxing and not longer than an hour at a time. The important thing was to build on my success. ‘Don’t let people forget you, Daisy,’ he said. ‘Whatever you do now, they will come.’

  Father’s timing was excellent, because Billy was only too keen to perform again, thanks to Miss Violet Mitchell. Mr Sinclair had had a change of heart – Father said he feared a court case – and she had been rehired as a gymnast in the main hall. My brother couldn’t keep his eyes off her, as she swung twice a day from the trapeze in her white satin costume, shouting ‘Coo-ee!’ before somersaulting through the air. When she had her breaks Billy did everything he could to get Violet’s attention. At last he had someone he wanted to appear before and he couldn’t wait to get into a tank and show her what he could do. I was glad, for it was thanks to Violet that my brother’s love for swimming had returned.

  But this was not the only reason for his new enthusiasm. Father wanted us to enact a series of aquatic myths and now Billy had the chance not just to swim but to tell a story. My brother was full of ideas: I could be a nymph helping boats through rough storms, Charlie and Tom-tom being the sailors. I could be a siren drawing men to the rocks with my enchanted singing, or a hideous sea monster with live eels attached to my hair. He wanted to tell the story of Oceanus who ruled the oceans and his sister Thetys who ruled the rivers, and when they married and had three thousand children buckets of small fish would be added to the tank. But Father ruled this out, and so did Mr Sinclair. It was one thing for a Greek god to marry his sister, they said, but it wasn’t the done thing now. Billy was also keen that little Minnie had a part, for she had begun to ask if she could come to the baths. Father liked the idea too; he said my brothers were getting too old to attract much attention and a young girl would be just the thing. But Mother wasn’t having any of it and wouldn’t let Minnie out of her sight. In some ways I began to feel sorry for my sister, when she complained and cried, ‘Why can Daisy go out and not me?’ My sympathy didn’t last long, however, for she gave me sly pinches when Mother wasn’t looking and I was relieved to leave her at home and go to the Aq. I had been replaced in my mother’s affections and no success of mine would ever bring back the bond we had once shared. But I had my swimming, I was working with Father and I told myself I didn’t care at all.

  *

  It was agreed that the show would begin with Neptune, then Venus, and as the days went by the story would darken and the tank would be turned into the underworld to tell the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice. I wasn’t happy about this; I didn’t mind dressing up and swimming with Billy and my other brothers again, but I di
dn’t like the idea of the underworld. I couldn’t quite explain my fear, but I hadn’t forgotten the feeling in the whale tank that the sad white monster was pulling me under. I didn’t want to be in the mythical realm of the dead, yet every time I made an objection no one listened to me. Didn’t I know, asked Father, that by the end of this I could have whatever I desired? Didn’t I trust him and hadn’t I seen the trunk full of money? Hadn’t I said I wanted to go to America? So now, I just needed to perform.

  We would not use the whale tank for these shows, for a new whale was on its way from the coast of Labrador; instead we would perform in a specially built square tank. This would be set against the wall in a large room near the annex, with the audience seated in front and unable to walk around the sides. Father would have a canvas passageway built to allow Aq employees to carry in the props, while pipes at either end could let more water in. Billy was excited about the upcoming shows and every day he brought Violet in to see how the set was progressing. They were inseparable now, and I had never seen my brother happier.

  *

  After months of preparation, it was opening day. A silk curtain was draped over the front of the tank and it was only when people had taken their seats that this was thrown off to reveal me lying on the bottom like a river sprite. Billy stood on a rock behind me dressed as Neptune, his head and shoulders out of the water, with a flowing white beard and a three-pronged spear. He had wanted to dress Charlie and Tom-tom as bulls and have them sacrificed, but Father had said no, he had seen a mosaic somewhere and he had an idea of how the tableau would look. All we needed was to dress up and look pretty.

  Then Billy recited lines from Shakespeare as I stayed there lying on the bottom. He spoke whatever came to mind, as long as it was aquatic and suitably dramatic. ‘My bounty is as boundless as the sea,’ he cried, and then he lifted the spear. ‘Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood clean from my hand?’ My favourite was from The Tempest; I loved the sound of the words as they rolled from my brother’s lips: ‘Full fathom five thy father lies; Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes; Nothing of him that doth fade.’ There was no knocking on the glass this time; everyone sat still on their seats and when I rose up and we swam a few strokes together it was met with polite applause.

  Midway through the first performance Violet arrived to watch. I had just come up for air when I noticed her standing in the shadows near the door to the room. She had her back to me and was standing with Father, wearing the blue cloak she wore in between shows. I thought this was a little strange for she had been unwell and I had been told she had taken a break from performing. I could see Father’s face, inclined to one side, listening to whatever it was Violet said. She laid her hand on his arm, dipping her head as he planted a kiss on her forehead, and I was pleased that Violet was already becoming part of our family.

  But the next time I came up for air I realised it wasn’t her at all. Instead it was a stranger who turned towards me, with a pale white face and ringlet hair, wearing a much prettier cloak than Violet would ever wear.

  I was so shocked that I forgot what I was supposed to be doing, until my brother issued instructions and we continued the scene. But I didn’t want to sink under the water now; I wanted to keep my eyes and ears on the lady. How did Father know her and where had she come from? I thought of other ladies too, the one with red lips who had come looking for him the day he’d slapped me at the Lambeth Baths, the lady who had linked her arm with his when I arrived at Greenwich Pier, and our first visit to the Aq when I’d thought he was giving a stranger directions down the promenade. Was this the same one or not? The gestures I’d just seen were intimate: a hand on an arm, a kiss on the face. What was she to him and why didn’t I know who she was?

  *

  That evening she was there as well; I saw her right at the end of our performance, standing between Father and Robert Winkle. She was dressed this time in a fur-collared coat, throwing back her head to drink champagne. She wasn’t even watching the show in the tank.

  That night when I came home Mother was very anxious. She asked me, as she always did, where Father was and this time I had no idea. For the first time in my life I was as curious and worried as my mother. It stabbed away at me, wondering who the lady was and if I had seen her before. If only he hadn’t kissed her. Did he not think I would see, did he not care that everyone else would? Now it was my turn to question why Father had always been so eager to offer swimming lessons to ladies and why he’d hired Miss Mane from Brighton. Was this why Mother hated the baths? It wasn’t me she didn’t trust, it was Father.

  I couldn’t bring myself to ask him. I didn’t want to admit my fears even to myself. I just wanted the lady to go away and not come back. Perhaps she was a relative, perhaps any day now Father would bring her home and introduce her. Or maybe she was Robert Winkle’s friend and not his at all.

  I couldn’t sleep at all that night; I tossed and turned, unable to rest. Early the next morning, while Mother was giving Minnie breakfast and Father had gone out, I sneaked into my parents’ room. I had been thinking about it all night long, who it was that paid for the champagne and the lady’s fine clothes. When I pulled the trunk from under the bed and opened the lid I knew what I would find before I saw it: half the money was gone.

  *

  Father was waiting when I arrived at the Aq for the second day of our show and he frowned when he saw me. ‘Why so late?’ he asked.

  I didn’t reply but I was aware that my fingers trembled as I took off my cloak.

  ‘And why so anxious? Are you coming down with something?’

  I shrugged. I had barely slept. All these years I had blamed Mother. I had dismissed her concerns and believed her to be jealous of my success. Now I saw that Father cared for no one but himself. I was his performing seal, and so was Billy.

  ‘Get yourself ready then,’ said Father, ‘and have a drop of this to calm you down.’

  I took the bottle he offered and the drink tasted both bitter and sweet as I tipped it to my mouth.

  ‘Better?’ asked Father.

  And I was. The effect was so soothing, my breath became slower, my heart no longer rushed, and I took another drink and then another until Father said, ‘That’s enough. Now remember, you’re to lower yourself into the tank feet first and slide down into the scallop shell. Swim over it a few times then stand in it, carefully as it’s only made of plaster, and your brothers will lift the shell to the surface.’

  So I put on my costume and after the audience had settled themselves into their seats I lowered myself into the tank, plunging down towards the shell. Plenty of fish had been added to the water, as well as two turtles, but they seemed very shy and had gone straight to the bottom, keeping their heads tucked out of sight. When I saw the pearl gleaming there inside the scallop shell it suddenly came to me that I would simply curl up and put my head on it like a pillow. I don’t know why I thought of this, but as I got into the shell and made myself small I had such a feeling of tranquillity. I didn’t have to think about a thing; I just laid down my head and closed my eyes. I stayed there as a minute passed and then another, savouring that moment before the body and the mind slide into unconsciousness. I thought I heard a shout from outside the tank and I ignored it. Such a relief it was, not to think. I was lying still and yet I felt that I was flying.

  I could sense the fish around me, weaving in and out of the shell, and I began to hear them too. They were chattering to each other like children, and when I opened my eyes they seemed to have grown very big and I had shrunk very small. Then they were very small and it was I who was big. I looked down and saw a turtle put out its head and smile at me, and on its back was a water sprite with skin the colour of the sea.

  Then Billy was in the tank. He had his hands under my arms and was trying to pull me up. I was laughing at this, only soundlessly, and trying to say he should leave me where I was. As he began to pull me up I felt overcome with dizziness and the fish grew
louder, snapping their jaws and rattling their teeth as if to eat me.

  ‘What’s wrong with her?’ a woman cried, as my brother lifted me out of the tank and I fell against him, shivering.

  ‘She stayed under too long,’ said Father. ‘That’s all. Nothing to worry about.’

  *

  Back home that evening he was furious. ‘Why did you do that?’ he demanded as I lay in bed covered with blankets. ‘You know how dangerous it is, if you don’t come up for air.’

  I tried to tell him that it hadn’t seemed dangerous at all, that perhaps I had drunk too much tonic.

  ‘Why did you stay under so long, what were you playing at? Didn’t you hear me telling you to come up? Three minutes is the maximum, after that you’ll hallucinate. Look at the state of you. I had to cancel this afternoon’s show, what do you think of that? And tomorrow you know it’s the underworld scene.’

  I wanted to say I didn’t want to do the underworld scene, but I was too tired to speak.

  ‘Daisy,’ Father leaned over me, grabbed tight on my arm, ‘I want you back in that tank tomorrow and if you ever, ever…’

  He didn’t finish his sentence; he didn’t say what would happen if I did that again.

  ‘Who is the lady?’ I asked.

  ‘What lady?’

  ‘She was there yesterday, standing next to you.’ And I knew, by the way he began searching in his pockets and by the look in his eyes, both furtive and challenging, that I was right. She was my father’s mistress.