‘That’s a deal better for the child. She’ll be old before her time with so much care and worry,’ says Issa. ‘She’s a learned little girl. Knows her figures and her letters better than I do.’
‘But then you are a proper fool, Issa.’ Jessica teases him.
‘Oh am I indeed, Lady Jessica? Wise words from she who glides carefree to the Bleak market on her days off. And how long until you have healed all the sick down that way? It must be busy work! Where I grew up people weren’t so concerned about their health. If you woke up in the morning; then you were fine.’
She laughs freely at Issa’s mischief. There is something captivating about Jessica, her confidence and courage. I notice that she keeps looking at me with a smile in her eyes but I cannot tell if she likes me or is mocking me in my seriousness. I wish that my head didn’t hurt so much. ‘It’s not just their bodies that are a mess. It’s their hearts and souls. And it’s a good thing to have Ruth dishing out poultices and remedies. Before she came along most people down the East End turned to alcohol to cure them of their misery and fear.’
‘Another good reason to try them, then!’ Issa grins. ‘My father used to drink a morning glass of wine if he had a cold. And he’d have a morning glass of wine if he didn’t. Big drinker, he was.’ I can’t help chuckling at that and Jessica glances at me with a broad smile; when she does I feel a touch closer to her in mind if not in body. ‘Not me, though! I prefer a hearty breakfast of a morning. Talking of food, I happen to know that young Ruth has a hunk of bread in her pocket. She said she’d let me have it once I brought you lot up here on my little wherry. A payment I intend to collect.’
Issa walks on ahead to join Ruth, leaving Jessica and me to lag behind. She wears a wide flowered skirt like a country girl and her white chemise top is getting wet in the rain. Yet she seems careless of the weather and walks in the grass with a measured grace. I’m growing fond of her but there is such sophistication in the way she carries herself that I must pause. I think of Hannah and even Malina; with them it was so simple to fall into mutual attraction for better or ill. If only it weren’t for my headache I might be able to think of something to say.
‘Are you alright, Weed? You look ever so pale.’
‘I’m fine. I’m always pale.’ I hear the truculence in my own voice and wince at my ineptitude.
‘But you’re so quiet too. That hardly seems right for one I’ve seen fearlessly venturing to the doldrums of the Bleak, searching after a little girl.’ I am unsure if she is making fun of me.
‘It’s not so impressive a feat. After all, you do it every week.’ I listen to myself in horror. ‘I don’t mean that it’s not impressive what you do. I’m sorry. I’m tongue-tied. Do you know what I’m trying to say?’
‘Not at all. Still, many men do speak rather dully.’ She laughs at me and I can’t help but laugh a little too. ‘Ruth told me she’s not your daughter. That she is an orphan.’
‘Yes. I act as a sort of guardian to her. But really she goes as she pleases.’
‘Her heart is good. Whether you are related by blood or not, you are a good father figure to her.’
‘I am an orphan myself. I never had a father of my own.’ Everything I say seems somehow dark and drear. I am envious of her light touch in conversation.
‘How queer for you! I remember my old dad. He had a wicked sense of humour. I come from a big family of ten. We always had enough food to eat and clothes to wear but we hardly ever saw him; Dad worked jobs all hours to keep us. I was very young and didn’t really understand. One day I asked him straight out why he worked so much. He just looked at all of my brothers and sisters, all eight of us, one by one. Then he looked at mum with a tear in his eye.’ She pauses and glances at me with a half turned smile. ‘And he said: “I’m fed up with all of you! I just don’t like being in this house.”’
She wears a face full of mock sternness. For a moment I am unsure what she means but then her smile turns into a giggle and we burst out laughing until we’re bent double. ‘You’re worse than Issa, Jessica!’
‘Ha! A good laugh is better than any medicine. That’s the problem with some of these poor women down in Rotherhithe. It’s been so long since they were free of sadness.’
I want this strange, intriguing woman to like me. I compose myself and try to talk seriously. ‘That’s why Ruth gives out doses of St John’s Wort. That’s good for depression.’ Jessica is looking at me with a twinkle in her dark eyes. I wonder if I am impressing her. ‘A good mug of St John’s Wort and everybody’s got a smile on their face.’
‘Of course, everybody except St John.’ She quips and we burst out laughing again. This time she falls into me, draping her wet arm around my shoulder. In Jessica’s company my headache seems to retreat to the back of my mind.
Still giggling to herself she removes her arm from my shoulder but when I take her hand in mine, she doesn’t pull away. We walk together for a little way hand-in-hand. There is more to this canny, clever woman than her figure and face; I want to know her mind in a way that is novel to me. ‘Where you born in the East End yourself?’
‘Oh no! My family are Cornish. If you think my Cockney accent’s funny, you should hear my mum and dad chattering together. It’s the end of the bloody world, Cornwall. I came to London the minute I could find a reason to.’
‘And you enjoy your work as an actress?’
‘Oh yes.’ She blows her damp hair out of her eyes. ‘Some say that it isn’t a dainty profession but it is a fair way for a woman to earn a living since I never cared much for cooking and cleaning.’ Her dark curls fall into her eyes and I brush them away from her face with my fingers. Her high cheekbones look regal and her deep red lips smile beneath them. Jessica has such a bold manner and I want to be bold myself. I move my arm around her waist and try to lay my lips on hers but she steps back, laughing. ‘I shouldn’t think so, Sir Weed! Good lord I do not know what kinds of women you are used to consort with but you cannot catch me so easily as a butterfly in these hop fields.’
‘My apologies, Lady. I meant no offence.’ I am ashamed and let her go. As she walks ahead I hang back, unsure as to what I should do. My headache returns.
She looks at me quizzically over her shoulder. ‘Weed. Do not seem so bashful. You may come to see me another time if you like.’
I catch up to her. ‘Name the place and I will be there.’
‘Well then you may come and see me act at the Covent Garden Theatre. See if you like to look up to a woman on the stage. Bring a friend if you like.’
‘I’ll bring my friend Cao then.’
‘That old crazy from Pennyfield? I know him. He does those slow motion dances in the street every morning. He looks ever so funny. Swears it’ll keeps him healthy till he’s a hundred.’ Jessica stops and does an impression that’s part T’ai Chi but mostly drunken fool. ‘If that’s the case then the addle-heads in Rotherhithe will live forever. Ha!’
We have almost caught up to Issa by now. He is munching on half a loaf and talking animatedly with Ruth, who stands caked in mud, panting and red faced in the afternoon rain. In her two hands she cradles a half dozen bright butterflies and I remember her strange affinity with wild animals. She looks so happy out here in the marshes that it reminds me of my own one-time contentment in the fields of nature.
When she sees us she allows the butterflies to float free and runs to Jessica’s knee, shouting. ‘We’ll do the rest of the song now! I have taught it to Issa.’
‘Oh alright then. Follow my lead!’ replies Jessica and she stamps her foot in time. ‘On three. A-one, two, three:
“Oh! It really is a wery pretty garden
And Ching-ford to the East-ward could be seeeen!
Wiv a ladder and some glasses
You could see to ’Ackney Marshes
If it wasn’t for the ’ouses in betweeeen!”’
I watch Jessica, Ruth and Issa. They’re all singing at the top of their lungs and skipping about each other under
the rain clouds. It is such a charming sight and it gladdens my heart so much that I can’t help but join them in their dance for the last refrain.
‘“Wiv a ladder and some glasses
You could see to ’Ackney Marshes
If it wasn’t for the ’ouses in betweeeeeen!”’
Chapter 30
June, Waxing Gibbous Moon
Tomorrow night Ruth and I host a ball at South Molton Street. A masquerade for those of the Beau Monde whom we favour, and of course our closest friends. Ruth has gone to see Nessa and Issa in the East to procure provisions and decorations for the event. Yet I do not tarry at home alone. Tonight I have arranged to attend the theatre and see Jessica play in Romeo and Juliet. I must confess that I do not relish the prospect of spending an hour or two in a crush of people listening to mannered gibberish. However I find myself unable to put Jessica from my mind. She excites me like none other.
I meet old Cao at the junction of Seven Dials. Although nestled in the smartest corner of London, this curious corner feels more like a slice of the lascivious East; a rotten fulcrum upon which hang seven laneways jammed with overflowing public houses and prostitutes. No better place to meet with my friend, who greets me with a pipe of Opium. I thank him kindly and inhale on the pipe of jade. The pleasant flavour of the drug is strong in my mouth and I am pleased for the soothing effect on my ever-jangled head and nerves.
‘It is heavy.’ I refer to the pipe, not the concoction fizzing and popping within.
‘Only the best when Cao walks abroad.’ The gentleman comes clothed in the best of his native dress. He wears a long gown of azure blue with a straight collar and deep slits at the side, font and back. Baggy black trousers issue loosely from beneath the hem to meet black canvas shoes on his feet. Over the blue garment sits a long-sleeved mandarin jacket of red silk inlaid with green motifs of the dragon dance. It looks almost shrunken against his shoulders. In contrast I look every part the English gentleman in tailored trousers, a white buttoned shirt and waistcoat.
Cao takes the offered pipe back from me. It disappears along with his hands into the outsized sleeves of his jacket and we walk together towards the playhouse. A figure of some strangeness we must cut as we march under the burning oil lights from the Dials, down James’ Street towards Covent Garden. The theatre can be seen from several streets away but even without the landmark to guide us, we could follow our noses to the rotten fruits and vegetables left over from the day market.
Rounding a final corner, the great structure of the Royal Theatre looms above us. It shelters its attendees from the ever-present rain beneath arched walkways that line its skirt. There are great lords and ladies in the crowd and I see several of my customers in the melee. Cao, in his quaint attire, draws nothing but admiring glances in my company and several grandees nod our way. We enter the theatre and immediately I see Tunde, the African guardswomen from the Bleak who stabbed me. She stands half a foot taller than the crowd and her slender body is tightly wrapped in a gown of pale pink brocade. She resembles an Egyptian statue brought to life as she strides over to Cao and me. ‘Sir Weed. Well met. You are to follow me, Lords. Welcome to the Royal Theatre.’ She smiles brilliantly at us.
Jessica has arranged for us to sit in the stalls away from the wild throng that observe from the pigeonholes and tiers above. I hear peals of laughter echoing through the auditorium and both the stage and audience are brilliantly lit under candles, torches and oil lamps. I ask Cao ‘Have you been to the theatre before?’
‘Of course I have been, Weed.’ The stalls are filling up and Cao and I are jostled from all sides. ‘But in my own country we observe proper decorum. The theatres of Beijing smell of plum blossom but this place stinks. And you say that only high society attend such plays? Ha! Look above us. They’re drinking like animals.’
‘This is the first play that I have attended. At least the first one I can remember attending. Romeo and Juliet. I believe Jessica is Juliet.’
‘Our operas are a testament to form and style. Singing, there is! And dance. Combat and poetry. All in harmony.’ Cao glares at his neighbour, who sways, drunkenly falling into his chair.
‘Jessica tells me that Shakespeare has a lot of intensity but there are no songs and dances.’
‘Dreadful. A lot of prattling on, I don’t doubt.’ Cao pull his jacket tightly around him. ‘Oh look, they’re finally shutting up above us; it must be about to start. If we get through this without my neighbour farting or passing out then I will count this a good night.’
A bell is rung and two men enter the stage. They immediately set to banter. ‘Where are the costumes?’ Cao whispers. ‘Where is the orchestra?’
‘Shush. I’m trying to follow this. I think they’re going to fight.’
Cao nudges me in the ribs. ‘What’s to follow? “My naked weapon is out!” he says. I think he’s talking about screwing. If they insist on all this talk they could at least be clearer about it.’
The next hour and a half passes slowly and there are very few points during which I understand what is going on. Though I am constantly distracted by Cao who laughs and giggles throughout. I recognise Ajani playing the nurse and of course when Jessica enters I am enchanted to watch her deliver her lines. However, when the curtain falls for an intermission I am pleased for the opportunity to take some air.
Cao and I pile outside with the rest of the crowd and once in the great square he whips out his pipe once more. He lights the embers of the Opium within and hands it to me. ‘What rot! Ha! These dogs are the very opposite of what we see in the East. There is no discipline here. It will end badly for those brash young lovers, I tell you. At least it would in real life.’
I rub my temples, hoping the Opium will go some way towards assuaging my headache.
‘I must confess there are certain points that are fuzzy to me. At first Romeo wanted one girl.’
‘Rosamund.’ Cao takes the pipe back.
‘But then he fell in love with Juliet. Jessica looks dazzling on the stage, don’t you think?’
‘She is beautiful indeed, Weed. Oh stop looking at the moon! You’re acting like a smitten pup.’ He punches me on the arm. ‘What did you think of the description of Mab, ay? I know you have some opinion of that particular spirit. “Galloping night by night, through lovers brains and then they dream of love”?’
‘Mab? You’d not want her galloping anywhere near you and I speak from experience. I like the Friar Lawrence though, he acts well and is a good man for plant lore: “Within the infant rind of this small flower, poison hath residence and medicine power.”’
‘Ho! Ho! I thought you’d like that. Do you see something of yourself in him? He is the only one that speaks sense in this whole damn waste of time. “These violent delights have violent ends.” Isn’t that what I always say?’
A bell is rung out in the dimly lit square and the audience start to amble back inside. ‘Perhaps we should take our seats.’
Cao extinguishes the pipe. ‘Alright then, if we must, we must.’
The next hour and a half proves much better. A poison is concocted that serves to put Juliet to sleep for two days: perhaps Mandrake and Valerian Root. That meets with my approval. Yet in the end most of the cast is rather suddenly killed off and Cao declares loudly: ‘Well they’re all dead! How much fun can one person have in an evening? Give me a night in my Opium den any day.’
Once the curtain falls, a strange lethargy seems to fall across the audience. People wander around in the stalls desultorily, aimlessly, as if unable to decide what to do or where to go. Cao does not share their indecision and bounds for the exit, dragging me behind him. Once we are in the foyer I am still musing on the play. ‘The language was very beautiful. When Jessica gave her final speech she spoke so eloquently of love. I felt sure that she looked at me. Do you think so Cao?’
‘Get a grip, Weed. I cannot praise your Mr Shakespeare. True he can say it all, but imagine him trying to get his leg over: “See how she leans her
cheek upon her hand. O that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek.”’ He intones dramatically, then laughs. ‘Good luck with that.’
We are still talking when Tunde appears at a small side door and waves us over. At our approach she smiles, grabs our hands and pulls us into a dingy, low-ceilinged passageway thick with the smoke of oil lamps. We are led silently through the bowels of the theatre until we come to a coarsely worked door and Tunde pushes us both through it. We stumble into a cacophonous din, a scene of great gaiety with half-naked actors and actresses bounding left and right, embracing each other and laughing.
‘This sight is a deal more lively than that whole play put together.’ Cao says as young faces smeared with makeup fly past us.
Tunde guides us through the bright throng of people to a door and raps upon it hard before throwing it open. Jessica stands inside talking enthusiastically to Ajani. Her face is flushed red and sweaty, her chest heaves exultantly in the afterglow of her performance. She looks over at us in confused indifference and then her face resolves into a broad smile.
She crosses over to me. ‘Weed! What did you think?’
‘It was the best play I have ever seen.’
‘It’s his first time at the theatre.’ Says Cao laughing.
‘And what did you think, Master Cao?’
‘Could have done with a song or two.’ Jessica pokes out her tongue at him.
She looks at me squarely then and says nothing at all. I fumble for words. ‘Jessica, I was going to ask you. If you would like to. Come back to my apartment tomorrow evening.’
She takes my hand in hers. ‘Weed, you really are very artless at this.’
Weed: The Poison Diaries Page 19