Читать книгу Ragged Rose - Dilly Court - Страница 8

Rose hurried through the scullery, wondering why a messenger would choose the back door over the front entrance. It seemed unusual for one of her father’s flock to make a mystery of what would probably turn out to be a request to visit the dying or a plea for help. She opened the door and came face to face with a scruffy youth whose ragged clothes might have fitted him once, but were now too short in the arms, and his trouser legs ended an inch or so above his shabby boots where the uppers had come away from the soles, exposing muddy toes.

‘Can I help you?’ she asked warily.

‘I got a message for you, miss.’ The boy glanced over his shoulder, as if expecting to see spies lurking in the shrubbery.

‘Well, what is it?’

‘A certain gent what’s been doing work for a professional person in Cornwall has asked to see you, miss. It’s urgent.’

‘I’m not sure I understand,’ Rose said carefully. ‘You’ll need to explain further.’

The boy snatched off his battered cap exposing a mass of wildly curling red hair. ‘The gent what I speak of will be in The Eagle at noon. He begs you to attend, miss. He says it’s of the utmost importance.’

‘Has this man a name?’

‘He give me tuppence to keep mum. Will you come, miss? I’ll wait for you on the corner and take you there safe. You won’t come to no harm when you’re in the company of Bobby Lee.’

Rose thought quickly. If she managed to persuade Cora to hurry they might be able to do the rounds before midday, or at least they could visit the most pressing cases, although what Pa would say if he knew she was about to venture into a public house was something she did not choose to dwell upon. She had probably damned her eternal soul for ever by exhibiting herself on stage, so one more transgression was unlikely to make any difference. She nodded. ‘All right, Bobby. I’ll meet you on the corner just before noon.’ She closed the door hastily and returned to the kitchen.

‘It was nothing,’ she said airily. ‘Just a youth desperate to find work. I sent him on his way.’

‘That’s right,’ Mrs Blunt said with a nod of approval. ‘He was probably hoping to cadge food, but these people shouldn’t be encouraged. There’s plenty of work out there for those who are willing to look hard enough for gainful employment.’ She sniffed and resumed kneading the bread dough as if she were beating it into submission.

‘I’m off then. Will you tell Mama that I’ll see her this afternoon? I didn’t want to disturb her this early in the morning.’ Rose picked up the heavy baskets and went to find her sister.

She discovered Cora preening herself in the hall mirror. ‘You look very pretty as always, Corrie, but I doubt if we’ll meet the Honourable Gerard Barclay where we’re going this morning.’

‘You are such a tease, Rose. Just wait until you meet the man of your dreams, although I can’t imagine who could live up to your ideals. He would have to be a cross between Richard the Lionheart and Lord Byron.’

‘What an imagination you have, to be sure,’ Rose said, laughing at the vision Cora’s words had conjured up in her mind. ‘But I have to admit that it would be an interesting combination. Anyway, we’d best hurry or we’ll never get done.’

All that morning, while handing out sympathy and nourishment to poor parishioners, Rose found it hard to concentrate on the task in hand. She let Cora do the talking, but that was not unusual as Cora had a way with people, especially those who were sick or aged. Rose was content to offer help, when required to do so, and give practical advice, should it be requested, otherwise she stood back and allowed her sister to shine. Everyone said that Miss Cora Perkins was a saint; Mrs Blunt had told Rose so with a smug smile, which confirmed Rose’s long-held suspicion that their housekeeper was also one of Cora’s many admirers. But jealousy had never been one of Rose’s failings, and she could quite see why her sister won hearts and minds. Cora was an angel whose only failing was vanity, although Rose considered this to be perfectly justified in someone who had the delicate beauty of a snowdrop, and a smile that would melt the hardest of hearts. Rose was well aware of her own worth, and if she were not quite as lovely as her sister, she knew that she had a quick mind and a ready wit. Her looks, as she had often been told, were striking and she had inherited the dark auburn hair and green eyes from her father’s side of the family. It was her brother, however, to whom she was especially close. When they were children she and Billy had often been mistaken for twins, and Rose felt his disgrace now as deeply as if it were her own. She missed him more than she could say, and she would do anything to bring her brother home, absolutely anything.

She was waiting on the corner of City Road and Oakley Crescent when Bobby Lee came swaggering along the pavement, hands in pockets. He greeted her with a cheery smile and she followed him at a discreet distance to The Eagle. It was the first time she had stepped inside a public house and she wrapped her shawl around her head, hoping that no one would recognise her. Bobby weaved his way between tables in the crowded taproom, and Rose was acutely conscious of the curious stares aimed her way. He led her to a settle by the fire where a man sat on his own with a pint tankard on the table in front of him. Through a haze of tobacco smoke that stung her eyes and made her want to cough, Rose took a good look at the person who had requested her presence in such a dramatic manner.

‘This here is the gent.’ Bobby indicated the man with a sweep of his hand.

‘You must be Miss Rose. I’m Todd Scully.’ He half stood and then sank back on the settle. His dark eyes scanned Rose’s face as if he were memorising each feature in turn, but his expression gave nothing away. ‘Take a seat, miss.’

Rose pulled up a stool and sat with her back to the rest of the drinkers. ‘Please say what you have to say, Mr Scully. I’m not comfortable in a place like this.’

A tight little smile played around Scully’s thin lips. ‘That’s not what I heard, Miss Perkins, or should I say Miss Sunshine?’

Rose glanced nervously over her shoulder, but the other customers were too involved in their own business to appear to be listening. ‘I don’t know where you got that piece of information, sir.’

‘Come on, miss. Don’t play games with me. I was hired by a certain someone in the county of Cornwall to find out all I could about the case in question, and, as you and your sister are related to the person at present incarcerated at Her Majesty’s pleasure, it seems logical to start with you.’

‘There’s not much I can tell you, Mr Scully. I don’t know the exact circumstances of the event.’

Scully leaned forward, fixing her with bright, beady eyes, oddly reminiscent of a blackbird about to snatch a worm from the soil. ‘What do you know about the deceased? He was, I’ve been informed, your brother’s friend. They knew each other at Oxford.’

Rose nodded dully. ‘Yes, that’s correct.’ She had met the young man in question on a couple of occasions when Billy had brought him to the vicarage for supper, but she had not been favourably impressed. Gawain Tressidick had struck her as being too full of his own importance, and although Billy had assured her that his friend came from an old and respected Cornish landowning family, she had not considered this to be an excuse for bad manners. Gawain had monopolised the conversation at dinner, and his patronising attitude to her parents had annoyed her to the extent that she had been tempted to get up and leave the room, but good manners had prevailed. It was tragic that he had lost his life in what appeared to have been a barroom brawl, but Rose could not believe that Billy had been involved. She knew that her brother had gone through a wild stage at university, but after the initial excitement of being away from home and free from the strict upbringing they had all endured, Billy had finally settled down and applied himself to his studies.

Scully was regarding her steadily. ‘Was there any bad feeling between them?’

‘No. Not that I know of.’ Rose felt a wave of resentment building up in her breast. What right had this man to call her brother’s good character in question? She met his bold stare with a frown. ‘My brother is the most good-natured, easy-going person you could wish to meet, and he was that person’s friend. No matter what the provocation he wouldn’t have stooped to violence.’

‘But what about the victim? What do you know of his temperament?’

‘Absolutely nothing.’ Rose lowered her voice. ‘I didn’t like him, but then I hardly knew him.’

Scully leaned back against the wooden settle and sipped his ale. ‘I need to ask these questions, you must understand that.’

Rose made as if to stand but he motioned her to remain seated. ‘There is one other thing.’

‘What is it?’ She was growing impatient now. They were attracting unwanted attention and she was desperate to leave before someone recognised her.

‘Money, Miss Rose.’ He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, which he spread out on the table in front of her. ‘My services were engaged by the lawyer defending the case. He wanted you to be aware of the costs that you will incur, and he needs your permission to proceed on that basis.’

Rose scanned the figures and her heart sank. She and Cora had saved every penny of their earnings at Fancello’s, but it would take months to raise such a large sum, if ever. She gulped and swallowed. ‘I understand perfectly.’

‘And you still wish to proceed?’

‘Of course I do. My brother’s life is at stake. If found guilty he will suffer the ultimate penalty, and I know he is innocent. I’d stake my own life on it.’

A slow smile spread across Scully’s craggy features. ‘That’s all I need to know, miss. Rest assured that I will do my best.’

‘Perhaps you would discover more about the person in question if you visited his college in Oxford.’

‘That is next on my list, Miss Rose.’ Scully beckoned to Bobby, who was warming himself by the fire. ‘See the young lady home, boy.’

Rose folded the sheet of paper and tucked it into her reticule. ‘I’ll keep this, if I may, and then I can refer to it if need be.’ She stood up. ‘I know you will do your best, Mr Scully, but I beg you to double your efforts. You will be saving an innocent man from the gallows.’

Scully raised his tankard. ‘I’ll drink to that. Rest assured that everything that can be done will be done.’

Rose made her way out of the taproom, half blinded by smoke and fumes as well as the hot tears that burned the backs of her eyes. Scully’s visit had made the threat to Billy’s life a reality instead of a vague possibility, and now more than ever she knew she must raise the money to pay for his defence. She did not feel like going home to face a barrage of questions from Cora, and she needed to find out exactly how much they had managed to save. Aunt Polly had been entrusted with keeping the money safe as it was not possible for the sisters to open a bank account, and hiding the money in the vicarage was not an option. Rose set off for the house in Old Street, having forgotten that Bobby had been charged with her safety, and it was not until she was on the doorstep that she realised he had followed her. She hesitated with her hand on the doorknocker. ‘Thank you, Bobby. You can go now.’

His freckled features creased in a worried frown. ‘But I was told to see you home, miss. This ain’t the vicarage.’

‘It’s my aunt’s house, so you need not worry.’

‘I got to see you home,’ he said with a stubborn set to his jaw. ‘That was me instructions from Mr Scully, and I don’t get paid unless I tell him I done so.’

Rose knocked on the door. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a while.’

He leaned nonchalantly against the railings. ‘That’s all right, miss. I got nothing else to do, and I need the money for me night’s lodgings.’

‘Haven’t you got a home to go to?’

‘I doss down wherever I can.’

Rose was about to question him further when Maisie opened the door. ‘Good afternoon, miss.’ She grinned and threw herself at Rose, almost knocking her off the step as she wrapped her in a warm embrace. ‘I ain’t half pleased to see you. I was afraid you might not come again.’

‘Here, you be careful, like.’ Bobby leaped onto the step and steadied Rose, who had staggered backwards and was in danger of toppling over. ‘Watch your manners, nipper.’

Maisie stepped away, glaring at him with narrowed eyes. ‘And who might you be?’

He snatched his cap off his head with a flourish and bowed from the waist. ‘I’m this lady’s protector, just for today, you understand. Anyway, who’s asking, if I might be so bold?’

Rose suppressed a chuckle. ‘Behave yourselves, both of you. Let me in, Maisie, I want to see my aunt.’ She turned to Bobby. ‘Thank you, but you’re free to go. I might be a little while.’

‘I was told to see you home,’ he insisted. ‘And see you home I shall.’

‘Then you’d better step inside because it’s starting to rain.’ Rose glanced up at the darkening sky. Large spots of rain had begun to fall and the gathering clouds promised a sharp downpour. ‘Maisie will take you to the kitchen where I’m sure Cook will find you something to eat and drink.’

Bobby bounded into the hall and closed the door. ‘Ta, miss. I wouldn’t say no to a bite to eat. Come to think of it, nothing has touched me lips since last evening when I bought a baked tater from a cart. Very good it were, too.’

Maisie gave him a cursory glance. ‘You could do with a wash, boy. You’re very dirty.’

Rose could see that this might turn into a squabble but she left them to sort themselves out and went in search of her aunt. At this time of day Polly was usually to be found in the small cubbyhole she called her study, where she pored over the accounts. As Rose had expected, Polly was seated at her desk with a pair of steel-rimmed spectacles balanced on the bridge of her nose.

She looked up. ‘Is anything wrong, Rose?’

‘I’ve just been speaking to a private detective, a Mr Scully. Billy’s lawyer hired him to find out what he could about Gawain Tressidick.’ Rose perched on the edge of the desk. ‘I couldn’t tell him much.’

‘Did he think you and Tressidick were close?’

Rose stared at her in horror. ‘Good heavens, no. Why would he think like that?’

‘If true, it could have been the reason for the fight between William and Tressidick.’

‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ Rose said slowly. ‘But I barely knew Gawain, and what I did know I didn’t like. I told Scully that much, and now he’s gone to Oxford to see if he can find out anything there.’

‘So what is the problem, Rose?’

‘It’s money, or rather the lack of it.’ Rose took the bill from her reticule and laid it on the desk. ‘We have to find that much in order to pay Mr Scully, in addition to the lawyer’s fee and expenses. I doubt if we have that much saved.’

Polly studied the figures. ‘No, indeed. That’s a hefty bill. I hope he’s a good detective.’

‘Billy’s life depends upon it, Aunt Polly. We have to raise the money quickly.’

‘I’d help you if I could, but we barely manage day by day and we rely entirely on charity.’

‘You’ve done more than enough. It’s up to Cora and me. Perhaps we can squeeze a few more performances in, if the pay is right. There has to be a way.’

Signor Fancello listened with his head on one side and a calculating gleam in his dark eyes. ‘Two shows a night,’ he said, twirling the waxed end of his moustache round his index finger. ‘And that means every night of the week, shall we say for a month?’

Rose swallowed convulsively. ‘We cannot work on Sunday, signor. It is impossible.’

‘You ask me to give you more employment and then you try to bargain with me.’ He threw up his hands. ‘You English, you do not know what hard work is. How do you think I built up my business when I arrived in London?’

‘We have to attend church on Sundays, signor. We cannot work on the Sabbath day.’

Fancello’s beetle brows drew together in a frown. ‘You want the money, you do the late show. It is not for you to dictate terms to me.’

Rose thought quickly. It would make life difficult, but she had no choice. There had never been any question of family members missing Sunday services, unless they were too ill to attend. Both she and Cora took Sunday school classes, and after evensong, at half-past seven on the dot, everyone gathered in the dining room to enjoy a cold collation as it was Mrs Blunt’s evening off. Her preferred way of spending her leisure time was to sit in the rocking chair by the range, knitting shapeless garments for the poor, while Rose and Cora tackled the washing-up in the scullery.

Rose shook hands with Fancello. ‘Very well, I accept. When do we start?’

‘Two performances a night, every day of the week except tomorrow, which is Sunday, but I expect you here in time for the nine o’clock performance.’ He gave her a wolfish smile. ‘And you will need to broaden your repertoire. Alphonso will guide you; he knows all the popular songs. And you had better speak to my wife about new costumes. That is her department.’ He wandered off, berating one of the waiters for breaking a glass.

Rose hurried to the tiny dressing room where Cora was struggling with her stays. She grabbed the laces and tugged on them until her sister gasped and begged for mercy.

‘Stop. I can’t breathe, let alone sing and dance.’

Rose loosened them a little before tying a bow. ‘There you are, now you can help me with mine.’ She slipped off her plain grey gown. ‘Undo me, please.’

‘What were you saying to old Fancello?’

‘We were haggling over the amount of extra performances.’ Rose breathed out with a sigh as Cora undid the laces. She reached for her wrap and flung it around her shoulders. ‘We’re going to do the late show tomorrow, as well as two performances a night.’

‘On Sunday? That’s not possible.’

‘Fancello won’t budge, and I’ve worked it out in my head, Corrie. We’ll slip away after supper.’

‘But it’s Mrs Blunt’s night off.’

‘I’m going to ask Maisie to come and do the washing-up. After all, we used to have a scullery maid and a housemaid before Mama became ill, and I’m sure that Maisie could do with the money.’

‘How will you explain it to Pa?’

‘I don’t know yet, but leave it to me. I’ll think of something. We have to do it for Billy.’

Rose began to apply her stage make-up, which was laid out on the narrow shelf that had to suffice as a dressing table. Each time she went through this routine she could see her mother’s face gazing reproachfully at her from the fly-spotted mirror.

Cora, however, did not seem to have such reservations. She was humming a tune and smiling as she rouged her cheeks and lips. ‘I do hope he’s here tonight.’ She made a moue at her reflection. ‘We’ll have more time to make friends with the patrons; that’s the good thing about doing two performances a night.’

‘Yes,’ Rose said doubtfully. ‘But don’t get too involved, Corrie. It’s all part of the entertainment, as far as the audience are concerned, so you mustn’t take it too seriously.’

‘Ten minutes, ladies,’ Tommy Tinker bellowed through the keyhole. ‘We’ve got a full house tonight.’

‘Thank you, Tommy.’ Rose and Cora spoke as one, exchanged amused glances and giggled. Tommy Tinker might pretend to be a man of the world, but he had burst into the dressing room on one occasion to find them both in a state of undress. He had blushed to the roots of his hair, turned and fled. He had always assumed a cocky air since then, but he never looked them in the eye.

Rose pinned a silk gardenia in her hair. ‘That will have to do. I’ve only got to put on my dancing shoes and I’m ready.’

Minutes later they were waiting in the wings, and Fancello was going through his usual patter as he introduced them to enthusiastic cheers and clapping from the largely male audience. Rose peeped through the curtains, noting that there were only a few women present, and without exception they were gaudily dressed persons who would not warrant an invitation to tea at the vicarage. Mama would consider them past redemption, and Papa would try to save their souls, but Rose had become acquainted with some of them and she was no longer judgemental. Each of them had her own story, and virtually all had suffered abuse and hardships that Rose could never have imagined. It was ironic that she and Cora were now teetering on the brink of respectability, and one little nudge was all it might take to send them tumbling into the abyss of ruined reputation and disgrace.

‘Stop daydreaming, Rosie,’ Cora said urgently. ‘We’re on.’

They pirouetted onto the stage, came to a halt with their hands clasped demurely in front of them, and launched into ‘The Daring Young Man on the Flying Trapeze’, followed swiftly by their dance routine, with ‘Come into the Garden, Maud’ as an encore. They swept off into the wings, returning gracefully to loud applause, but Fancello was waiting for them this time. He had his arm around little Clementia, who was scowling ominously.

‘Don’t try to upstage my little girl,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘Remember who pays your wages.’ He gave his daughter a hug. ‘You are on next, cara mia.’

Clementia curled her lip as she glared at Rose. ‘I’m the star,’ she muttered. ‘You’re just the chorus.’ She stomped off, leaving Rose wondering what could have upset Fancello’s pampered child prodigy.

‘Go out into the audience and do your bit, girls,’ Fancello said, jerking his head in the direction of the saloon. ‘I don’t pay you to laze around back stage.’

‘Yes, signor,’ Cora said meekly as she made her way down the steps. She paused. ‘I’ve seen him, Rosie. He’s all alone and he waved to me.’

‘Be careful.’ Rose followed her more slowly as Cora sashayed between the closely packed tables, acknowledging compliments with a sunny smile. Rose looked for the colonel but there was no sign of him and she was suddenly at a loss. A sea of expectant faces greeted her and she felt a moment of near panic. Physical contact with the patrons had never previously been part of the bargain and she almost envied Cora, who Rose guessed by the delighted look on her pretty face was being showered with compliments. Gerard Barclay was undeniably handsome and urbane, and, although Rose was suspicious of his motives, he seemed to be behaving like a perfect gentleman. She turned with a start as someone tugged at her skirt and found herself looking down at a person who was leering at her in a drunken manner, which was quite unnerving.

She managed a tight little smile. ‘Excuse me, sir. Would you be kind enough to unhand me?’

His answer was a loud guffaw as he pulled her onto his lap. ‘Now, now, darling. That’s no way to treat a paying customer.’ He slid his hands around her waist, holding her in a surprisingly strong grip. ‘You’re here to entertain me, so what about a kiss?’ His breath reeked of cigar smoke and brandy, and she noted in disgust that his white evening shirt was stained with wine and what looked suspiciously like gravy.

‘This is no way to behave,’ she said, forcing herself to remain calm.

‘Don’t be a spoilsport, young lady. Give him a kiss.’ One of his companions at the table leaned over and poked her in the ribs. ‘I know Carter of old. He won’t give up until you do.’

Rose was close to panicking. Clementia was warbling like a skylark, with Alphonso hammering out the tune, and all around her the cacophony of sound grew louder, filling her head with noise, while her attempts to get free from Carter’s clutching hands only seemed to excite him more. The tinkle of glassware and popping of champagne corks together with raised male voices and raucous laughter echoed in her head until she thought she could stand it no longer. She felt sick and suddenly everything went dark and she was falling …