Kitty Peck and the Music Hall Murders (9 page)

I stayed with Lucca that night after seeing the painting. By the time we got back to The Wharf I was so cold I couldn’t even talk and I could hardly drag myself up the five flights of stairs to his attic.

I was numb as a corpse from the ends of my toes to the tip of my nose. All I wanted to do was sleep, but Lucca made me stay awake while he tried to build up the little fire. He also made me change out of those stiff wet clothes and dug out some warmer gear of his own for me. Neither of us bothered too much about modesty as we stripped off.

Then, as we huddled up close in front of the fire, the pain in my bones as the feeling crept back through my body brought tears to my eyes. My back felt like it was broken in two and my fingers stung like they’d been scalded in a pan of water.

At first we were quiet, but then Lucca spoke.

‘I’m sorry, Fannella. I shouldn’t have left you like that with those men.’

I shifted, embarrassed. ‘No, you were right. There I was preening like a ninny. And all the while I should have been thinking about that picture and about our girls.’

Lucca shook his head. ‘And I am sorry for that too. All I could see was paint, when I should have been seeing the work of a madman.’

‘I meant what I said on the street earlier, Lucca. I need to tell The Lady about that painting – she’ll know what to do.’

He laughed bitterly. ‘Only a monster can catch a monster,
si
?’

‘Something like that.’ I stared into the flames and thought about little Alice again and about Maggie.

‘So, you stayed at The Wharf last night then?’ Peggy undid the ribbons down my back and helped me to step out of the flimsy bit of stuff. It was my first night at The Comet, but I hadn’t been at my best. Nothing had gone wrong particularly, but I hadn’t slept much the night before in Lucca’s attic and what with that and the thought of that painting running through my head, I hadn’t exactly had my mind on the job.

I would have gone straight to The Palace the moment I woke, but when the cage moved to a new hall there were always rehearsals and checks on the ropes and chains to make sure the balance was right. Danny was in charge of all that.

Peggy bent down to pick up my costume and arranged it on a rail. ‘Put your wrap on, you got goosebumps. Did you go back to Mother Maxwell’s first thing this morning?’

I didn’t say nothing. There was nothing to tell anyway. After we’d got proper warmed up in front of the fire we both climbed into Lucca’s narrow bed under piles of coats and blankets and cuddled up close. Lucca soon fell asleep, but I just lay there looking at the snow through the little window under the eaves and thinking.

Peggy brushed down the net of my skirt and a couple of glass beads fell to the floor. ‘He . . . he’s a nice lad, Kit. I know he looks . . . well, that’s to say it’s a shame about his face and all. But none of us girls notice any more. We don’t. And if you and he are . . . well, we wouldn’t think any the less of you. That’s all I wanted to say.’ She suddenly became very busy with my silver slippers. ‘These are getting a bit worn. We’re going to have to replace the ribbons soon and the soles are running through at the toe.’

I watched her, quiet, for a bit and then I said, ‘There’s nothing going on between us, Peggy. He’s a friend – and that’s all.’

She shrugged. ‘Suit yourself. But some of the hands have been talking. Danny says . . .’

The door swung open.

‘Out!’

Fitzy stared hard at Peggy and jerked his head. She dodged past him and pulled a warning face behind his back. He slammed the door with his foot so we were alone in the dressing room.

I didn’t expect him to come over to The Comet; it was Mr Leonard’s territory and the two of them didn’t get on. Mr Leonard was lean as a courser and neat as a draper’s drawer. He was the opposite to Fitzpatrick in every way you could imagine, and then probably some more. There was no love lost between them, ’specially seeing as how The Comet was the finest of Lady Ginger’s establishments. On a point of technicality, Fitzpatrick was the manager of all three halls, with an office at The Gaudy, but we all knew he’d like to see himself ensconced among the cherubs and the fancy giltwork at The Comet on a more permanent footing.

Fitzy was flushed and his broad nose seemed to have sprouted an angry red lump to one side.

‘And what’s this I hear about you not being up to receiving callers this evening?’ His voice was low, but he was boiling up to a rant and I knew why.

I reached across to the chair at the dressing table and quickly took up the wrap. I turned my back on him as I pushed my arms into the sleeves and pulled it tight round me.

‘I’m tired. I can’t see anyone tonight. I’ll be all right tomorrow.’

‘
I’m tired
.’ Fitzy’s voice came from behind. I was surprised at how well he mimicked me.

‘Oh, I bet you’re tired all right. From what I hear you’ve been up half the night giving it away for free to that I-tie bastard. Didn’t I make it very clear to you that you were to
entertain
in your dressing room after every performance from now on? Jesus knows you’ve done nothing else for us so far. And what about your sainted brother, eh? The clock’s ticking for him, Kitty, but you’ve forgotten that. Think you’ve found a new man to protect you, do you?’

I swung round, eyes blazing as he let those words hang there for a bit. I could hear the breath rattling in his chest. Then he started up again.

‘Did you not mark the words in the letter? The Lady made it plain as the nose on your face, so she did, that you are to act as a lure to whoever is responsible for what’s going on in Paradise. You are bait, Kitty Peck, and it’s time to let them bite.’

I suppose I wasn’t really thinking, what with being so tired, but it was what he said about Joey that did it. The dangerous words just came in a rush.

‘Well, it’s a good thing she made it clear as the nose on my face then, seeing as how yours looks like a plate of chopped liver.’

Fitzy made a noise like a steam hammer down at Grand Surrey. He lunged forward and I dodged the blow, but I couldn’t stop myself.

‘And even if I was giving it away, which I’m not, it wouldn’t be to the stinking old carcasses rubbing themselves off under my cage every evening, or to them drooling cod-faced Johnnies waiting outside the halls. Or to you, you great lump of pig gristle. Oh yes – I know all about Peggy and what you do to her when the drink’s got the better of your senses.’

Fitzy’s eyes looked like they was about to squeeze out of his face as he lumbered towards me, knocking over a small table where my half-finished tumbler of gin – a regular little pick-me-up after a night in the cage – sat. The glass smashed on the floor.

He pushed my left shoulder against the wall with one big hand and placed the other around my neck.

‘You don’t need to give anything away to me. Not when I can just take it.’

He kept his hand around my neck and dropped the other to fumble with the buttons on his breeches. I could smell his sour breath and the meat stench of his great dirty body.

‘N . . . no. Stop!’ I wanted to gag. ‘I . . . I have seen something. I know what’s happening to the girls.’

Fitzy stopped grunting and fiddling and took his hand away. He was breathing fast and shallow, but his little eyes were calculating. ‘If this is a trick, my girl, I’ll—’

‘No trick. I promise. I
have
seen something The Lady needs to know about. I want you to arrange a meeting between us. I can’t just go to The Palace and knock on the door, can I?’

I knew he’d believe me. No one ever
asked
to see Lady Ginger, though I only said it to stop him. Fact is I was planning on going straight to The Palace the next morning. He stared down at me, that muscle working double time under his eye again, then he nodded and pulled at his breeches.

‘If you’re wasting The Lady’s time or mine you’ll regret it.’

I swallowed the urge to rile him. ‘Don’t you think I know that better than most? I’ve got something – something important for her – and only for her.’

Fitzy lowered his head, breathed deep and rolled his shoulders. For a moment he reminded me of one of them old bulls dragged live into Smithfield – Joey always said they could smell the blood. He nodded once and stepped away from me. When he reached the door he turned back, his broad face crumpled up like an unmade bed. He didn’t look at me direct.

‘Peggy – you won’t be mentioning her to Lally, to Mrs Conway now? Only . . .’

I shook my head and pulled up the wrap to cover my neck. Fitzy chewed his lip and reached for the handle. ‘Don’t flatter yourself, girl, you’re not my type.’ As he went out into the passage I thought I heard him mutter to himself, ‘I wouldn’t have been able to go through with it, anyway.’

‘Deal with it.’

Lady Ginger flicked a heavily ringed hand at one of her big lascar boys. He nodded once, turned and walked back down the length of the warehouse, disappearing behind a pile of wooden crates. I heard his boots on the creaking boards, then a rumbling, scraping noise as one of the wide flat doors was slid back and slammed up shut again.

It was early morning and I’d been summoned to a warehouse down by West India Dock. The old cow was sitting in front of me on a high-backed chair. I say chair but it looked more like a throne. All dark and carved over it was – the wood around her alive with birds and snakes and dragons. She stared at me and scratched her cheek with one of them long-curled black fingernails.

She shifted to the side and folded one leg underneath her on the seat. I was surprised to see she was wearing breeches like a man. Well, not breeches exactly – these were loose and covered in patterns. Lady Ginger was all got up like one of her Chinamen.

‘Fitzpatrick tells me you wish to see me?’ That voice again – all sugar and flutter. She half closed her eyes, reached out to the side of her chair and clicked her fingers. Immediately the Chinaman standing guard behind produced a thin black pipe from the folds of his tunic. He struck a Lucifer on the back of the chair, lit the pipe, sucked on it for a second or two until the end sparked up and then he handed it to her. The sickly sweet smoke coiled around her. She just held the pipe between her fingers and stared at me.

‘Well, Kitty Peck? I trust you have brought me something of value?’

I swallowed. The smoke was in my nose and in my throat. ‘I . . . I think I know what’s happening to them girls, Lady.’

Something flickered in her eyes. I can’t be sure – mainly because of the smoke – but just for a second I thought I saw something like fear there, or perhaps it was hope? Either way she just kept staring at me and raised the pipe to her mouth. When the end was glowing red again and the smoke was rising around her like steam off a laundry tub she leaned back and closed her eyes.

‘Continue.’

I told her all about that painting and about the girls from Paradise. I described it in some detail, right down to Jenny’s tongue lying there on the stones next to her foot. All the while The Lady sat there, the smoke curling around us from her pipe. After a while the fumes went to my head. I started finding it hard to make my tongue say what I was thinking.

The warehouse started to look a bit odd too. All colourful it became in there and of a sudden, to my mind, the walls looked like they was made from material billowing in and out like some big animal was prowling around outside breathing on them.

I stopped talking and she didn’t move. It was like that first time at The Palace over again, when I thought she was dead. No such bleedin’ luck.

Lady Ginger took a deep, shuddering breath, leaned forward in her chair and snapped open her eyes.

‘It is not enough.’

‘But I thought you could . . . They’re our girls, Lady, all of them were there in the picture, except Maggie Halpern and God knows what’s happening to her.’

‘Precisely. God, if He exists, might well know, but I do not. You have fed me scraps.’

‘That picture, Lady – it’s what you need. The artist was unknown, I give you, but surely you can—’

‘Surely I can what, Miss Peck? Are you telling me what to do?’ That voice might have sounded like it came from a little girl sucking on a violet pastille, but something in her tone made the skin on my back prickle and the hairs on my arms stand guard. The words dried in my mouth as I swallowed and looked down at the wooden boards.

‘Bring me more and bring it soon or your brother will regret it. I want names and I want detail. Lure them in and then I will deal with it. I believe Fitzpatrick has already told you this.’

‘But that’s not fair.’ I couldn’t stop myself, perhaps it was the smoke. ‘I’m doing my best. I’m risking life and limb for you in that cage every night – and it’s not even as if that’s done any good, is it? I mean, I found this out without all that Limehouse Linnet malarkey. And it
is
useful information. You owe me now.’

The warehouse was completely silent. The Chinaman behind Lady Ginger’s chair took a step back. I saw he was looking down at his black velvet slippers. Then she began to laugh – a thin wheezy noise that turned into a cough. She leaned forward and spat something black and sticky onto the boards.

‘Good, very good indeed. You are so like your brother sometimes. It amuses me.’ She settled back into the chair and began to drum the nails of her left hand on the arm. All the time she stared up at me and she didn’t blink.

‘Very well. In the light of what you have told me today I am prepared to grant you a little more time. Scraps are better than nothing, after all. Now, let us see what the I-ching has to say.’ She rested the pipe on the arm of the chair and from her sleeve she produced the small green box. She flicked open the lid and poured the dice into her palm.

Like last time she spat twice more so that three gobbets of black spittle formed a sort of triangle on the boards, then she rattled the dice in her ringed hand and emptied them into the space between the little slicks of saliva.

‘Once again, Miss Peck, tell me what you see.’

I knew better than to touch this time. I knelt down and looked. My head felt thick now, like it was wrapped in a muslin shawl. There was a ringing sound in my ears too.