The Cockney Sparrow (22 page)

‘Don’t take on so. You won’t help Edie by getting yourself in a state.’ Nell gave her a handkerchief. ‘She’s sleeping peacefully. Best leave her be.’

Clemency mopped her eyes and blew her nose. ‘She looks so ill.’

‘At least she’s alive. We just got to wait and pray. You’ve got to be strong for her, Clemmie. Come downstairs, ducks. A cup of tea will make you feel better.’

Reluctantly, Clemency left Edith’s side. She followed Nell downstairs into the parlour where a tray of tea had been set out on the table. Nell sat down and cut a large slice of currant cake, which
she put on a plate and handed to Clemency.

‘Sit down and have a nice cup of tea and a slice of cake. I made it myself, though I don’t get much time for baking these days. I’d hoped to train that silly girl to cook, but she’s as thick as a suet pudding, and next to useless.’

Clemency slid onto a chair, drained of emotion. The room was warm and the hot tea warmed her stomach. She nibbled a slice of cake and smiled. ‘Ma used to make cake like this in the old days.’

‘When was that, ducks?’

‘We lived in a pub down Wapping way. Me dad run off when I was just a nipper and then Ma met Hardiman and we moved to Stew Lane.’

‘I thought you told me that your dad was dead.’

‘Dead to us, I meant. I don’t like to talk about it.’

Nell heaved a deep sigh. ‘I know what you mean, dear. When my old man cleared off, I was left to run this place all on me own.’

‘But you did it.’

‘Oh, yes. I managed somehow. I hired a barman and I took in gentlemen lodgers until Ned was old enough to help out. He’s a good boy, Clemmie. And he’s very fond of you.’

‘I know,’ Clemency said, toying with the crumbs on her plate. ‘But I’m steering clear of all men. They’re nothing but trouble, in my opinion.’

‘Some of them are, dear. And some of them aren’t. You just got to pick a good ’un, if you can. Although, I have to say it, us women always seems to fall for the bad boys. Me and your mum have got a lot in common. I’ll do me very best to look after her, and you must try not to worry. If she takes a turn for the worse, I’ll send Ned to fetch you, night or day.’

There was nothing more that Clemency could do, and she left the pub feeling even more despondent than she had when she first arrived. Despite encouraging remarks from Ned, and Nell’s steadfast promise to do everything in her power to make Edith better, she could not quite believe that Ma would pull through. She might once have been a strong and healthy woman, but her constitution had been weakened by years of near starvation and terrible living conditions. Hardiman had abused her physically, and her refuge in strong drink had only served to make matters worse.

Clemency couldn’t face going back to the church. She couldn’t bear to see Jack’s face when she told him that Ma was hovering between life and death. She set off to walk to the theatre, where she could escape into the life of another character. She felt safe amongst the theatrical folk who had quickly become her friends. Her heart always lifted as she entered through the stage door. She left Clemency Skinner outside on
the street and lost herself in a magical world of colour, light and music. She became La Moineau, which might be French for sparrow, but sounded so much more exotic.

The sky above was a peerless blue and small white clouds floated about like puffy meringues. By the time Clemency arrived at the theatre the hint of spring in the air had lifted her spirits, and she was feeling a little more optimistic. At least they had escaped from Hardiman; he would never find them in Upper Thames Street. If only Ma would make a speedy recovery, then perhaps things weren’t so bad after all. She entered the foyer and was met by Horace, who leapt out of the box office, making her jump.

‘Ah! Clem, you’re early. That’s what I like to see in my performers – enthusiasm.’

Clemency smiled and nodded. She was about to walk on when he caught her by the arm.

‘You have a visitor, my dear. A young lady who was most insistent that she wait for you, even though I told her you were not expected in the theatre until later.’

‘A young lady?’

‘A very well-dressed young person. If I didn’t know better I would have assumed she was a young lady of quality, but she assured me that she was a friend of yours. She’s in your dressing room.’

Mystified, Clemency hurried through to the
theatre. The door to her dressing room was ajar and she went inside, filled with curiosity as well as a feeling of apprehension. A tall, slender young woman stood by the make-up table. Clemency tried not to stare, but she could hardly take her eyes off the confection of feathers and ribbons that formed the smartest little hat she had ever seen. She knew, from watching the wealthy patrons of the theatre, that the lavishly trimmed lilac-silk gown was in the very latest fashion: hoops were definitely out and bustles very much in vogue. She would have given her eye teeth for an outfit like that.

‘I am waiting for Miss Skinner, boy.’

She knew that voice; she had heard it once before. It was the young woman who had accompanied Jared Stone to the theatre. Clemency tugged off her cap, shaking her head to allow her hair to fall about her shoulders. ‘I am Clemency Skinner. Who are you?’

‘Oh!’ Her eyes widened in surprise. ‘I’m sorry. I mistook you for a boy. I am Isobel Stone.’

So she was his wife. Clemency stared back into the cool blue gaze of the self-assured young woman. ‘What do you want with me?’

Isobel’s confidence appeared to waver for a moment. She looked away, apparently studying a spider hanging from the ceiling by a silken thread. ‘I believe Jared made you an offer.’

Clemency shut the door, leaning against it,
studying Isobel’s delicate profile. ‘What’s it to you?’

‘You turned him down. Why?’

‘Like I said, what has it got to do with you? I don’t want nothing to do with a crook like him, nor his dirty dealings.’

‘How dare you speak of Jared like that? If I were a man I’d knock you down.’

Clemency folded her arms across her chest, angling her head. ‘If I was a bloke, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Get off your high horse, lady. I ain’t impressed, and the answer is still no.’

‘You would rather stay here?’ Isobel’s gesture took in the spiders’ webs, the dingy paintwork, the fly-spotted mirror and the dressing table littered with half used sticks of greasepaint. ‘You would choose the life of a cheap chanteuse rather than help a noble man to further his charitable cause?’

Now she knew that the woman was completely mad. Clemency blinked hard, wondering if she had heard correctly. But Isobel was obviously working herself up into a state of distress. Her china-doll complexion had paled alarmingly, her breathing was quick and shallow and, to Clemency’s amazement, tears sparkled on the tips of her eyelashes. She bit back a caustic comment as to Jared Stone’s integrity; the poor girl was obviously besotted with him, and labouring
under the illusion that he was a decent man. It would be best to humour her, or she might turn hysterical. ‘Look, lady, I mean, Isobel. We got off on the wrong foot. I don’t think you quite understand the job that Mr Stone offered me.’

Isobel tugged at the strings of her reticule and pulled out a scrap of lace-trimmed organdie. She dabbed at her eyes. ‘I’m sorry. But it makes me so cross when people who know nothing about him criticise Jared, who has devoted himself to raising funds for the foundling hospital, and the mission to seamen, not to mention the home for fallen women.’

‘So that’s what he does?’ Clemency struggled to equate the saintly patron of good causes that Isobel was describing with the hard-nosed businessman who had threatened to throw perfectly good tenants out on the street if he did not get his own way. She could not. The only explanation seemed to be that there were two Jared Stones, or that he was a better actor than the fabled Henry Irving, whose likeness hung over the desk in Horace Claypole’s office.

‘Of course it is. Jared works so hard fundraising. He is tireless in his efforts to get rich people to make donations. I can’t think why he picked you to help him in his good works, but I trust his judgement implicitly. Won’t you reconsider his offer, Miss Skinner? I appeal to your better nature.’

For a second or two, Isobel’s obvious sincerity had made Clemency doubt her own judgement, but the memory of Stone’s harsh threat to have them all evicted from the lodging house in Flower and Dean Street was still fresh in her mind. No decent man would employ a villain like Hardiman. Clemency shook her head. ‘I said no, and I meant it.’

Isobel was silent for a moment, staring down at the floor. Then she raised her eyes to Clemency’s face and her lips trembled. ‘Won’t you think of those poor babies, abandoned by their mothers? The unfortunate young women who have been driven to a dissolute way of life? The seamen who, having served their country, have fallen on hard times, or suffered shipwreck and loss? I don’t know why Jared picked you, but I do know when he is troubled and frustrated. We are both determined people, Miss Skinner. And I assure you that I don’t give up easily.’

Clemency opened the door and held it open. ‘Nor me neither. I’m well suited here and that’s me last word.’

Isobel tossed her head and swept past her, leaving a trail of expensive perfume in her wake. ‘I shan’t give up, Miss Skinner.’ She paused, opening her reticule. She tucked the hanky away and took out a small deckle-edged calling card, which she handed to Clemency. ‘If you should change your mind, you’ll find me at this address.
I won’t say goodbye, just au revoir, La Moineau.’

With a swish of silk petticoats and the clickety-clack of high heels on the bare floorboards, Isobel marched off, leaving Clemency standing in the doorway, staring after her. Either the woman was deranged, or she had been seriously mistaken in her opinion of Jared Stone. If his wife thought so highly of him, she was either a complete fool or desperately in love. Clemency went back into her dressing room and sat down at the make-up table. She opened her clenched fist and studied the elegant italic print on the calling card. Her reading was coming along nicely, thanks to Ronnie’s patient coaching, and she had no difficulty in deciphering the address:

Isobel Stone
,

35 Finsbury Circus
,

London, E.C.2

What, she wondered, was Stone playing at? She didn’t believe all that nonsense about his good works, but Isobel had obviously been taken in by him. Well, she wasn’t such a gullible fool. She went to tear the card in half and then changed her mind, tucking it into the pocket of her jacket. Hell would have to freeze over before she went crawling to Jared Stone.

The performance that evening went well, despite the fact that Clemency could barely keep her mind on her part. With Ma hovering between life and death it seemed wrong to be prancing about on stage, entertaining people who could afford to lash out two guineas for a box, and wouldn’t recognise poverty if it came up and bit them on the bum. Every now and then she caught sight of Jack in the orchestra pit, but she was not fooled by his encouraging smile; she knew that he too was desperately worried about Ma. After the final curtain, including several encores, Clemency ran to her dressing room, where Florrie was waiting to help her out of her costume. Complaining bitterly about her bunions and corns, Florrie gathered up the discarded garments, tut-tutted when she saw a greasepaint stain on the bodice, and went off grumbling that she would have to stay late to get it clean. Clemency heaved a sigh of relief when the door closed on her.

Having scrubbed her face with cold cream soap, and washed it off in the warm water provided by Florrie, Clemency dragged the
calico shirt over her head and stepped into the coarse fustian breeches. She pushed the vision of Isobel Stone, with her breathtaking gown and pretty little hat, to the back of her mind as she pulled on her thick woollen socks and, finally, the clodhopping boots. She might dress like a woman on the stage, but now she had to revert to her boyish disguise, and she was getting heartily sick of the whole charade. Seeing Isobel looking so elegant in her fine silks and satins, and smelling fragrant as a rose, had touched a chord in Clemency that was now vibrating like the plucked strings of a harp. A small, treacherous voice in the back of her mind was telling her that she could have all those things if she were to comply with Stone’s wishes. Hadn’t he promised her comfort and security if she worked for him?

‘You’re a fool, Clemency Skinner.’ She glared at her reflection in the mirror as she twisted her hair into a knot on top of her head, and rammed the cloth cap in place. As she tucked the telltale strands of hair out of sight beneath the crown, she saw a pale-faced boy staring back at her. Why, she wondered, would a man like Jared Stone be interested in someone like herself? He had a young and beautiful wife who so obviously adored him. She straightened her cap, shrugged her shoulders and turned off the gaslight. She had more important things to think about than Stone, and the main one was Ma. She
hurried through the corridors to find Jack.

The air in the musicians’ dressing room was thick with cigarette smoke. It was like walking into a London particular, and breathing in the fumes made her cough. Most of the musicians had already left for home, but Jack was seated in his chair, smoking a cigarette. Standing beside him she saw Ned and her heart gave an uncomfortable jerk inside her chest. It could only be bad news.

Jack looked up and beckoned to her. ‘Clemmie. Come here.’

She hurried over to them. ‘What is it? Is she worse? Is that why you’ve come, Ned?’

‘She’s a bit better. The doctor came this evening and he’s more hopeful. He said she’s over the worst.’

Clemency swayed on her feet, dizzy with relief. ‘Oh, thank God.’

Ned steadied her with his arm around her shoulders. ‘He said she’s got to rest. She needs warmth and good food, so there’s no question of her coming to live with you at present.’

‘We can pay for her keep,’ Jack said, flicking ash off his cigarette. ‘We don’t want to impose on you and your mum.’

‘There’s no need to fret on that score. Ma said Edith can stay with us until she’s well again. Tell you the truth, I think she’ll enjoy a bit of female company.’