Daisy Belle

by Caitlin Davies

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The next day when I arrived at the Aq the tank had been transformed. The floor was painted black and a wooden ceiling had been fitted on the top. To begin with the room would be very well lit, while I walked waist deep in water gathering flowers as if in a meadow. Then once I had been bitten by a viper the tank would be covered with a silk curtain and I’d get out through a trap door while the scene was changed into the underworld. Water would be piped in from either side, filling the tank to the top, and I would dive back in, with Billy dressed as Orpheus.

  At ten o’clock, with the room full to overflowing and the tank covered from view, I opened the hatch door and climbed in. I was tired but I knew what I needed to do and soon it would be over. The curtain was removed to show me swimming prettily around, then an eel was sent down through the hatch door and I pretended to be bitten. I lay on the bottom, put my arms by my side and died. I felt the water move as Charlie slid into the tank, allowed him to put a coin into my mouth, and then the lights went off. Under the cover of darkness and with the curtain back in place, I rose up to climb out through the hatch.

  I held my hands palms up and gave a strong push at the ceiling. But the hatch door didn’t move. Perhaps I hadn’t found the right place; maybe it was further to my left. I peered up, but it was too dark to see and so I began to feel my way around the ceiling. But everywhere was solid wood; where had the hatch door gone? I told myself not to worry, if Charlie had just climbed through the hatch then I could too. And after all, any moment someone would open it; they would need to change the scene, to add the black rocks and white fish to inhabit the underworld.

  Then I felt the water on either side of me begin to roll and swell, bubbles popping against my skin. They had started to fill up the tank. A light came on in the room and I could see the indistinct figures of people moving on the other side of the curtain, like characters in a shadow puppet show: a man puffing on a cigar, another taking off his hat. It was interval time and the audience were milling around, chatting and stretching their legs. Then I saw a gap in the curtain and pushed myself up against the glass, waving my hand to attract attention. They were filling the tank with water and I was still in it! But no one took any notice; Father was urging them to take refreshments and a band was about to play.

  The water swelled still higher and I grew worried now. It was gushing up to my chest and soon it would reach my neck. I hit my fist against the glass and saw one figure move away from the others. I was sure it was the man with the booming voice who had thrown a sovereign into the water the morning I had started my swim in the whale tank. He knew what was happening, I was certain he did, he was peering right at me through the gap in the curtain. Then he smiled and turned away.

  Why did no one realise I hadn’t come out of the hatch door? Surely they would alert Father? He must have thought I had come out, no one had told him that I hadn’t and the attendants were waiting for his instructions.

  Then I saw him, a familiar silhouette walking towards me. He had something in his hand, a sandwich perhaps, and he was in the process of taking a bite. And next to him, holding his arm, was the lady with ringlet hair. They stopped with their backs to me just by the gap in the curtain and she laid her head gently on his shoulder. Still he ate his sandwich, gesturing with his other hand to a man in front, pointing to something else. He was making a joke! My father was making a joke and entertaining a lady while I was trapped in a tank.

  ‘Help!’ I shouted as loud as I could and desperately now I banged on the glass. But no one heard, such was the noise of the band. I was forced to take a large gulp of air as the water rose above my mouth; soon it would cover my head. Had Father forgotten me, or was he trying to teach me a lesson? I had stayed down too long in the scallop shell and now he was showing me what could happen if I truly ran out of air. I remembered the day at the Lambeth Baths when he’d pushed me under the water and forced me to hold my breath. Just weeks ago when I’d felt pain in my stomach he had made me continue swimming, and when I’d been so exhausted in the whale tank he’d ordered me to get back in. Was he setting me some sort of test? How dare he play with me like this? It was my life that was in his hands; was I nothing to him? Angrily I rose up to the ceiling, searching again for the hatch door. Then the water passed over my head and there was nothing to do but to close my eyes and count. A minute went by and then, so slowly, another. Three minutes had passed and all I could hear was the sound of my own blood rushing in my ears. Just like the fish, I had no way out.

  Then boom! My ears were deafened with a noise like the echo of a firing cannon. I felt myself enveloped in a whirlpool; rocks hurtled past, slamming against me, as I was sucked into a mass of water. I tucked my head to my chest, it was like the strongest tide in the world and I had no choice but to go with it. I felt a crack on my head, needles piercing my skin. The glass had burst and I was being sucked through a hole in the tank.

  There were screams as the water threw me onto the floor; spectators began to flee in panic, crashing into each other as they made for the door, showered with falling glass. And there I lay like a dead fish on the shore, the floor turning red with my blood.

  The glass had been too thin, there had been too much water, something had not been properly secured. The water pipes had been turned on too early, the hatch door had been stuck and the handle had fallen off. I never found out what exactly was the cause.

  I was put on a stretcher, taken home in a cab. Billy carried me up the stairs and laid me on the bed while a doctor was called. Little Minnie cried and asked, ‘Why is Daisy all cut up?’ and I closed my eyes, squeezed them as tight as I could, as the doctor took his tweezers and began to pull out the fragments of glass. ‘She will have a scar,’ he said as he bandaged up my forehead.

  Billy never left my side; he held my hand and wouldn’t let go. ‘I should have known,’ he said, ‘I should have realised something was wrong.’

  When Father came into the room I refused to speak to him and turned my head to the wall.

  The doctor gave me medicine, and for a few hours I slept. But when I woke my heart was racing. I was sure it was morning but the room was dark and there in the shadows was a turtle sitting on the end of my bed. I fell asleep again, dreaming of fish that looked like leopards, and heard the soft voice of my brother whispering, ‘Full fathom five thy father lies.’

  *

  I woke for the last time just before dawn and lay in bed, thinking clearly now. I had just one thought on my mind: I’d had enough. My performing life was over. I was not going back to the Aq. I would never get in a tank again.

  I began to shiver, pulling the blankets around me. Swimming was the only thing I knew. If I left the Aq then what would I do? Could I train other girls to swim, would Billy help me? All I knew for certain was that I needed that money in the trunk before Father spent the rest of it on his mistress.

  *

  Two days later, left alone to recover from my injuries, I crept into my parents’ room. I kneeled down, pulled the trunk towards me and opened it. There was the remaining money, and the gleaming guineas were mine. I picked up handfuls, each one enough to get me away from London, to start a new life, and I poured them into a purse. I tried not to think about the future, whether I would see my brothers again, if Billy would be able to join me. I would miss this house and this city, the place where I’d lived for so many years and learned to swim and found fame. But whatever happened, I would be in charge now. I didn’t need my father. Instead I was taking the money that was rightfully mine and there was only one place I could go: I was running back to Margate.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The moment I had the money in my purse, I hurriedly packed my clothes and costumes, aware that at any minute someone might return. A door slammed downstairs, I heard the sound of laughter, and I dashed out into the street, hailing a cab just turning into the road. But I didn’t even know which station I needed; I had to ask the driver. I had done nothing on my own before; everythi
ng had been arranged for me. All I’d had to do was obey. I’d wanted the crowd’s applause and Father’s approval and so I had done what I’d been told, even when I’d been afraid. But I’d been nothing but his puppet and he’d spent my money on his ladies. He had betrayed Mother and he had betrayed me. I was the one who swam the Thames and dived at the Aq, yet what good was any of that now? The money I had made had gone into his pockets, not mine. This was my nest egg and I was leaving. I was 20 years old and determined to be free.

  *

  The cab dropped me at Charing Cross, the station full of wealthy families moving out of London for the summer, nannies herding children along the platform, servants struggling with trunks. I was hungry but the refreshment room was closed and I hadn’t thought to bring even an apple with me. I limped a little as I walked, my legs still bruised from my escape from the tank, and it was difficult carrying the bag with my arms so sore. I kept my face down; someone might know me and ask where I was going, but I doubted Father would come after me today. He would never forgive me for running out on him and ruining the next show.

  At last I was settled in the carriage; the engine started with a heavy throb and with a blast of the whistle the train pulled off. Two little girls sitting opposite began asking their mother questions, wanting to know how long the journey would be, while beside me an elderly lady fell asleep with her mouth open. I tried to rest as well but it was impossible and as we entered a tunnel I clutched my bag tightly. It was all I had and I was afraid that in the darkness someone would steal it.

  *

  When the train arrived at Margate it was early evening and as I left the station and came into the open air I felt like a four-year-old child again. How could I have forgotten the smell of the place, the salty lingering seaweed smell that lifted my heart and told me the sea was near? And the sounds, the clang of the fishing-boat masts and the noise of the seagulls as they shrieked and cackled and laughed? I sped up my pace, no longer limping as I reached the King’s Stairs, and there were the sands ahead of me, the very same bathing machines lined up on the shore. It was nearing the end of a long warm day, the tide was out and the sky was periwinkle blue. I came down to the beach and saw a group of children crabbing with buckets under the pier and a solitary man standing in a rock pool, his trousers tucked up to his knees. The sand was pitted with footmarks from the people who had spent their day here, half-collapsed sandcastles decorated with seaweed and shells, fragments of crabs, a forgotten umbrella and a left-behind spade.

  Then at last there I was with my first love, the sea. It stretched out as flat as glass and if I could have reached the horizon in a boat then surely I would fall off the lip of the world. I could see so far ahead and all around; there were no fixed landmarks to distract my eyes, no factories or church spires or chimneys, just the sea and the sky and the sails of a distant hoy heading for London. I had that feeling that comes when a person faces the ocean; I was an insignificant nothing and it filled me not with fear but with joy.

  The water was calm and strangely green but for a sprinkling of silver from the sinking sun. I sat down on the sand to take off my boots, then held them in my hand as I walked towards the waves, rippling and folding in on themselves. ‘Come in,’ said the sea, ‘how can you resist?’ But I did, for I couldn’t get in and leave my bag and money on the sand. And how long could I stay here until Father found out, and what would he do when he did?

  I stood there until the sun had set, while the seaweed on the beach turned as black as rock and the sea became the truest, deepest blue. Soon the rats would come scattering onto the beach and later still a smuggler might emerge from a cave; it was not a safe place to be at night. So I left the beach, the boats in the harbour lighting my way back across the sand to town.

  I was sure that Auntie Jessie would take me in. She wouldn’t turn me away at this time of night. She had never got on with Father – they had quarrelled about everything, and I felt certain I could trust her not to say where I was, at least for now. Then perhaps I could rent my own room, although I didn’t know where or how. What would people think of me, a lady all alone? But I didn’t care. I had money in my bag and that was enough.

  I asked a gentleman the way to Love Lane, where Auntie Jessie rented out her rooms above an eating-house, and when she opened the door for a second she didn’t know who I was. Then she gave a cry of surprise and as she held her arms out towards me I gladly returned her embrace.

  ‘Have you come alone, Daisy Mae?’ She leaned back, looking over my shoulder.

  I nodded, feeling a knot in my throat for no one had called me by that name for a very long time.

  ‘All this way?’ she asked. ‘Where’s your father?’

  I didn’t answer and Auntie Jessie sighed and beckoned me in.

  She didn’t ask me any more questions that night; she seemed to understand what might have happened. It was almost as if she’d been expecting me. She gave me a supper of fish and bread and then made up a bed with one of her daughters and bade me good night. But oh, the wind! How could I have not remembered the wind in Margate? It was like sleeping at the bottom of a chimney as it whirled and howled outside. I should have been happy; I had made it this far. I’d no longer be anyone’s performing seal. Yet all that night I lay awake next to my sleeping cousin and listened to the wind and thought of my family.

  I remembered happy times with Father, all the hours in which he had trained me, how I’d learned to float and swim and dive. He’d been so delighted that day he’d lifted me out of the water when I swam the River Thames. I’d wanted him to be proud of me – surely he had been and maybe he still was. It wasn’t his fault the glass had broken; he hadn’t known I was trapped in the tank. Perhaps the lady I had seen meant nothing to him and he’d spent my money on something else. Maybe right now he was looking for me. Perhaps when I woke in the morning I should go back. I had been too impulsive, I would have to return.

  *

  Early the next day I felt myself drawn out of the house, my costume on under my dress, heading to the ocean. I was pleased to see that the sea was rough, and I took off my clothes, not minding if anyone saw me, and ran towards the water. The sand was sticky beneath my feet as I waded in and then, when I was deep enough, I leaped in.

  I swam breaststroke at first, heading out towards the horizon, smiling to myself when a wave approached and I had to sink my head to go through. And that’s when I knew this was where I was meant to be, not in a bath or a tank, because the sea is alive and I’d forgotten that. And what a noise it made, a hiss and a spit, a splash and a tinkle, as it held me and caressed me, pushed and slapped, and all the time there I was, secure in the midst of such power.

  I was not performing now. I was not in a show; there was no one to watch me. I could do what I wanted. So I swam on, laughing now, riding up the crests before they crashed. The tide was on the turn; the waves were pushing me towards the shore while the ocean was intent on carrying me out. When I felt myself growing tired I turned on my back to rest, watching a cauldron of clouds rushing towards the cliffs. Then at last I returned to shore, aware with every stroke I took that the current that was trying to steal me back. I laughed again, invigorated. I would stay in Margate; I would never go back to Father.

  *

  But after I returned to my auntie’s house I was spiritless and it was a feeling that didn’t lift for many days. I sent a telegram to Billy at the Aq to tell him where I was, but warning him not to breathe a word to anyone at home. The next day he replied that he would join me in Margate, he would do anything I wanted, he would help me organise a show at the Marine Palace Baths. But Violet was pregnant, he said, I would need to wait until she had the baby. I was so happy at this news, to think that my brother would become a father, but as I paced the streets of Margate there was still one question always on my mind: did our father now know I was here?

  I was sure Auntie Jessie hadn’t told him, but someone else might have spread the news. I needed to take more care. I thoug
ht I saw him everywhere, a solitary figure strolling along the pier just after dawn, or standing in the shadows by a street lamp on the corner of Love Lane come nightfall. And when Violet did have her baby and Billy came to join me, then Father could ruin our plans if he chose. He could make sure that no one in Margate would hire us.

  The town was even busier than it had been when I was a child: everywhere were lodging houses, inns and hotels, and at bathing time in the morning the foreshore swelled with life as children shrieked and splashed. The streets of Margate, the pier and the promenade, were full of colour and bustle and I knew it was a perfect place to organise a show.

  *

  That summer Billy’s son was born and they called him Percy. Soon my brother would be on his way to Margate and I began to grow excited by what we could do when he arrived. It would be a new start for us; for the first time Billy and I would decide how to perform and keep the takings for ourselves. But still I could not shake off my constant worry, for whatever we did and however successful our new seaside show, how long would it be before Father appeared to stop us?

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  I stayed in Margate throughout the summer, helping Auntie Jessie with her rooms. I tried to be as useful as I could, waiting on a succession of single ladies, who plotted excursions over tea, and cleaning up after families who placed their children’s salty sandy boots on the windowsills to dry. But I was restless and my money was running out.