Kitty Peck and the Music Hall Murders (10 page)

‘What do the dice tell you, Kitty Peck? Look and listen.’

I stared, more to keep the old bitch happy than anything else. The dice showed a different pattern to last time – stripes and dots. At first I couldn’t make anything out, then I began to see a shape, no . . . a number. I say see, but here’s a thing, it was like I could hear it too, although it must have been the shift bell ringing out at the docks.

‘Four,’ I said. ‘It’s a four.’ The Chinaman behind her chair took another step back.

Lady Ginger nodded. Her face was a sallow blank. ‘Four is a powerful number in the Orient, Miss Peck. It is the number of misfortune – the number of death. You may leave now and perhaps you will reflect on the message you have just received. You might, for example, wish to reflect on the death – or
deaths
– that will surely follow as a consequence if you fail me.’

She raised the pipe to her black lips again and took a deep pull before blowing a single smoke ring into my face. I began to cough.

‘You will not speak about the painting. Rumour can be a very a dangerous thing. I would not wish Paradise to be . . . unsettled by tittle-tattle. Do you hear me?’ I caught the way her black eyes shifted towards the Chinaman. He bowed his head.

So, that last order hadn’t just been for me? I remembered what Fitzy said about the Barons. Lady Ginger’s rivals were circling, waiting for her to show a sign of weakness. I nodded and turned in what I thought was the right direction. My head was so full of the opium smoke now that I couldn’t even remember the way to the door. Then her voice came again.

‘Before you go, I have a gift for you. Call it a lucky charm, if you will. Come here.’

She held out a small ribbon-bound box.

‘Open it.’ She grinned and I saw a sticky black wetness stretching like a slug trail between her parted lips.

I took the box, freed the ribbon and tipped something bound in cloth into the palm of my hand. As I unfurled Lady Ginger’s gift I noticed that the cloth was patterned red.

First I didn’t know what I was looking at. Then I screamed.

It was a finger hacked off at the lowest knuckle. The poor bloody thing still had a ring on it. Joey’s ring.

Of a sudden the colour drained from everything around me, leaving a fog of grey. It was as if a layer of paint had peeled from the warehouse walls revealing nothingness. I looked down at the finger and it seemed to shrivel and fade in my palm. As I stared, my own hand began to disappear too. I took a step towards The Lady – all I could see was her black mouth, the lips moving and forming words I couldn’t catch because my ears were full of clanging like a Sunday morning at St Anne’s. Then somewhere beyond the churning inside my head I heard her voice.

‘You told me that your brother had a lovely hand, Kitty Peck. You said you would know it anywhere. And so I think we have an understanding – if you fail me in this, you will also fail him. You may go now.’

I sat on the swing and held Joey’s Christopher and his signet ring tight in my hand.. I shuddered when the thoughts came again of what she’d done to him, of what he must have felt when her men came to him with a knife. I pushed the images out of my head, but they were replaced by a sense of hopelessness. I thought I’d brought good information to Lady Ginger, but it wasn’t enough. I held the chain forward and looked down at the golden ring. I’d added it to the Christopher to keep him close.

I wondered where he was – somewhere in Paradise, that was my guess. Outside the halls, The Lady’s interests stretched across the docks and into the streets beyond like the silky threads of a spider’s web. She only had to twitch one of them black-nailed fingers to trap a soul. Joey was caught out there somewhere and he was relying on me to free him.

I closed my eyes and tried to picture him, but instead of his face I kept seeing that ragged stump of a finger. The Lady had cut him, like she said she would, and it was my fault, I hadn’t done as she wanted.

But what did she want? I’d told her about the painting and she called it scraps.

Bring me more and bring it soon or your brother will regret it.

When I stumbled out of the warehouse the sharp air wiped the opium from my head, but nothing became any clearer. My first thought was to throw that bloody little package into the river and I went to Limehouse Pier. But as I stood there looking into the muddied water, turning the box over and over in my hands, I couldn’t do it. Instead, I stuffed it into my pocket and took it back to Mother Maxwell’s, where I hid it under a floorboard until I could think straight.

What was I supposed to do with his finger? Bury it, burn it or keep it? The first seemed a bit premature, seeing as how the rest of him was clearly alive somewhere. The second seemed to be lacking in proper respect, and the third was plain unnatural. Like one of them relickys Lucca told me about.

By all accounts, there was a church in his village back home where once a year you could kiss the dried-up foot of an old nun. The rest of the time it was kept behind the altar in a golden case with a garter of little pearly flowers around the ankle.

I brought Joey’s Christopher up to my lips and kissed it.

‘Did you hear me, Kit? We need to have a good look at these chains.’ Danny was attaching four metal hooks to loops at the base of the cage and adjusting the big central chain that dragged me out from the stage, up and over the hall every evening. It was ten minutes to doors open and we were running late.

I tucked the Christopher and the ring back into my bodice. ‘Why, it’s not dangerous, is it?’ I pulled at my costume on the right side where bits of glass sewn into the fabric were digging into my armpit. ‘It was making a grating noise when I did the song yesterday, but that’s to be expected, right?’

Danny scratched his chin and peered at the chain. ‘Needs oiling, I think – that’s all. But it’s best to be careful. We’ve already replaced the guide ropes twice.’

‘I know – and it’s thanks to you and all your fussing that I always feel quite safe.’ I grinned, and added, ‘Safe as any girl dangling seventy foot up without a net to catch her.’

He shook his head. ‘You got guts, Kitty. There’s not many girls – or hands, for that matter – who’d do what you do up there. Peggy says she can’t watch.’

I liked having Danny about. Like Peggy, he followed me and my cage from hall to hall and worked on the fixings and placings for every night. Mind you, I suspected it was Peggy he was really looking out for, not me.

‘Kitty, can I ask you something?’

Here it comes, I thought, he’s going to ask me about Lucca too. I leaned back on the swing, braced my feet against the boards of the stage and looked at him askance. ‘Asking’s for free, but that don’t mean you’ll get an answer, Danny Tewson.’

Tell truth, I was a bit uncomfortable with all the speculation going on about me and Lucca. I shouldn’t have stayed at The Wharf that night two days ago, that was clear. But what was worse was that since then I hadn’t seen him at all. He’d gone to ground like an injured fox, and for some reason I felt responsible.

Danny bent down and started tying a thick rope to one of the hooks. He didn’t look up as he spoke.

‘Word is that you’ve been made to do this, Kit; that Fitzy’s got something over you. Peggy says—’

‘Peggy says what?’ That came out sharper than I intended. I hadn’t breathed a word of what was really going on to anyone except Lucca.

Danny looked up. He must have caught the tone of my voice and regretted mentioning his girl. ‘Nothing. She hasn’t said anything. It’s just she thinks you’ve been . . . that you . . . you’re scared of something. And we know it’s not the height or stage fright, so what is it?’

When I didn’t answer he carried on. ‘And it’s not just you. Peggy says Fitzy’s terrified – like he’s got Ol’ Nick himself breathing down his neck. She says he’s lashed out at Mrs C – hurt her bad, you know? Makes him feel better to take it out on someone. I caught her yesterday with a pot of Holloway’s.’

I didn’t think Peggy was actually using it on Mrs Conway.

Danny spat on the boards and muttered something. ‘And all them girls going missing too. I’d get her away from this life if I could, but where could we go? We’re all trapped in Paradise like them rats in the workshop – ain’t we?’ He looked direct at me, scanning my face like he was trying to read something there.

I was grateful for the sudden rush of light from the flares along the front of The Comet’s curved stage.

‘In five now, fast as you like! Shouldn’t that cage be up now? Put some back into it, lads. Chop chop!’

Dapper Mr Leonard looked at his golden pocket watch and then squinted at me in the cage. ‘Good house waiting outside to see you, Kitty. Put a bit more oomph into it than last night, eh? There’s a good girl.’

I gripped the ropes of the swing and hooked my slippered feet around the bars as the cage jerked from the stage and began to swing up and out. As it moved higher the big chain that connected the cage to The Comet’s plaster ceiling began to grind and scrape, setting my teeth on edge.

Danny’s right, I thought, that does need oiling. Actually, thinking on it, Danny had been right about quite a lot of things. Fitzpatrick was scared and if a man like him was worried, then God alone knew how the rest of us should feel.

The chain overhead grated and creaked as the cage locked into position. It juddered about a bit, but I was used to that by now. The Comet was wider than The Gaudy and The Carnival and I had a very clear view here. I unhooked my feet from the bars, swayed back and settled onto the swing. From the stage Mr Leonard nodded towards the double doors at the back and punters began streaming into the hall. As usual there was quite a crush to get to the seats right under me. I noticed that Leonard had been packing more tables in – the gin girls could hardly get round with their trays. It reminded me of the last time I saw Maggie and I shuddered even though it wasn’t cold up there.

And all them girls going missing, too.
Danny’s words came into my head. Was he here this evening, the man who was doing this?

I watched as one of the side boxes filled up with a party of gents. They’re well off their normal beat, I thought, as a tomato thrown up from somewhere in the middle of the hall splattered a sleek fur collar. There was laughter and a huge cheer as a toff poked his head over the rail and got another direct hit. I could see he was about to get right narky, but then he caught sight of me in my cage and his face went all soft and moony.

I was reminded of the men at the exhibition, washed and starched on the outside, they was, and filthy on the inside. After all, anyone who could enjoy that picture was as bad as the man who painted it – whoever he was.

I badly needed to know the answer to that question.

‘
Unknown genius
’, that’s what
The London Pictorial
had called him. Right there and then I had a sudden thought about that, but at the same moment my music started up.

Off we go, Kitty, I thought, as I hooked my knees over the swing, leaned back, stretched out my arms and began to twirl and sing.

‘You were good tonight, but now you look done in.’

Peggy peered at my face and offered me a grease pot and a bit of rag. ‘I can usually do wonders with a paint box, but there’s not much you can do when someone’s tired as a dog.’

I shook my head. ‘I’ve got to stay on. Fitzy says I’ve got to entertain the Johnnies.’ I didn’t tell her why. Just the thought of it made my mouth go dry.

Peggy made a face. ‘You need to rest up, Kitty. I was saying to Danny . . .’

‘Yes – just what have you been saying to Danny?’ I was sharp. ‘From what I hear, you two have been having quite a chat about me when I’m not around. I don’t discuss your affairs with anyone so I’d appreciate it if you returned the compliment.’

Peggy pursed her pretty lips. ‘I . . .
we’re
just worried about you, that’s all. It’s not normal all this – you up there every night, the moving from hall to hall each week and as for Fitzy, well, he . . .’

She stopped herself and bustled about picking up bits of stuff from the floor.

I was sorry.

‘I . . . I heard about that, Peg. It wasn’t Mrs Conway, it was you, wasn’t it? Is it bad?’

‘So, I’m not the only one with a big mouth then, am I?’ She undid the buttons on the high collar at her neck and pulled the fabric open. ‘Don’t say anything to Dan. I can’t let him see this.’ The bruise that circled her throat and reached even deeper, I supposed, was patched with purple, black and green.

‘Looks worse than it is,’ she said, buttoning up again.

‘Is it?’

Peggy sighed. ‘No, actually it hurts like hell. But if I stand up to him he gets angry. It’s not as if he can even . . . that’s when . . .’ She fell silent.

I thought of that time in my dressing room a couple of days ago and reached for her hand. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I’ll cope with Fitzy. I have to. Do you want me to wipe that stuff off your face or will you do it?’

‘Don’t worry. You get off. By the way, your Dan says he’s going to oil my chain for me next week.’ I arched an eyebrow.

‘Does he now? We’ll have to have a chat about that an’ all.’ Peggy grinned and threw the bit of rag at my head. At the same moment the door opened and Mr Leonard appeared.

‘Callers for you, Kitty. Make them welcome – Fitzpatrick is very keen that you should receive. I’ll send them along in a minute.’

He scanned my costume with a professional eye.

‘You might want to adjust the neck on that – give them a show, there’s a good girl. And you, Peggy, she needs a dab of rouge, don’t you think? And maybe a touch more lamp black round the eyes? Remember, sit straight, talk nicely and smile. This is business.’

Not the sort of business you mean, I thought, as Peggy fussed over me with the paint box.

‘Do you want me to stay with you, Kitty? I don’t mind. You’ve never done this before, have you?’

I looked down as she painted my eyes and I clasped my hands so tightly together that the knuckles showed white through the skin.

Fitzy’s words swam in my head.
You are bait, Kitty Peck, and it’s time to let them bite.

The door swung open.

‘The Limehouse Linnet in her bower. How charming.’

James Verdin stepped into the dressing room. He had to dip a little to get through the door and then he swept off his hat and bowed. ‘Edward, John – our bird is on the nest.’

His two companions from The Artisans Gallery followed him into the room, which, of a sudden, seemed to be extraordinarily warm, and crowded with it.

Edward Chaston immediately removed his hat. ‘A delight to meet you once again, Miss Peck.’

John Woodruff just stared at Peggy. He looked like a puppy when a particularly juicy bone is placed just out of reach.

‘Manners!’ James poked his friend with the silver-topped cane I’d seen before. John dragged his eyes away from Peggy.

‘Forgive me, Miss Peck. Delighted to renew our acquaintance, as Edward has already said. And, if I might add, that was a most inspiring performance this evening. My congratulations.’

‘Bravo indeed.’ James grinned broadly showing even, white teeth. Now he’d removed his hat I could see his lean, angular features very clearly. He looked like a superior type of sighthound and his gaze was fixed on me.

‘It was the first time for you, wasn’t it, Woody? Edward and I have already seen Mistress Kitty in her cage on at least three previous occasions, haven’t we?’

Edward nodded and smiled. Even though the room was dim I thought again how blue his eyes were as he spoke.

‘You perform with grace and poise, Miss Peck. James did not have to work very hard to persuade me to accompany him—’

‘Although we’ve never been to this particular venue, what do you say to it, Eddie?’ I noticed that as he interrupted his friend, James took in the dressing room and found it severely wanting. I wondered what he’d make of the rooms backstage at the other halls; after all, The Comet was the finest of the three.

‘I say that beauty can be found in the most unlikely places.’ Edward turned to John Woodruff and said, ‘So, what did you think, Woody?’

John Woodruff shrugged and laughed. It was a thin, high sound – more like a schoolboy than a grown man. ‘Well, as I have often observed, our friend Verdin has a knack for finding the most extraordinary people and places for us to enjoy. And tonight has been no exception.’ His gaze returned to Peggy, whose eyes were almost as large as saucers. ‘I trust that you will introduce us to your lovely companion, Miss Peck?’

I could feel my cheeks burn as I stood up, hunching my shoulders forward to try to pull the neck of my costume higher and reduce the amount of my flesh on show. Of a sudden I felt cheap. I would rather have been dressed as a boy again.

‘G . . . good evening, Mr Verdin, gents.’ I stumbled over the words. ‘This is my friend, Miss Peggy Worrow . . .’

Now, Peggy and I had seen our share of Johnnies queuing out back after a performance, but none of them had ever been quite as fine and quite as bold as this bunch. The fact they all seemed to know me already wasn’t lost on Peggy, who started rolling her eyes the moment John’s back was turned. I couldn’t blame her, but I didn’t want her to know what Lucca and me had been up to neither.