The Cockney Sparrow (18 page)

Horace came up to her and kissed her on both cheeks. ‘The flowers are a small token of my appreciation, Clem. Well done, my dear. We’ll make a star of you yet.’

Augustus was waiting in her tiny dressing room. Clemency stifled a giggle as he waddled towards her, looking like an overfed penguin in his second-hand evening suit. His smile was so broad that his eyes almost disappeared behind
his puffed-out cheeks. ‘Well done, my little sugarplum. I knew you could do it.’

‘But I made a terrible mess of some of it, Augustus. I couldn’t remember all the words.’

‘No matter. That will come, poppet. You touched the hearts of the audience and they loved you. My only talent is that I can spot it in other people. My little Lucilla has a beautiful voice and a pretty face, but she could not have done what you did tonight. With my help, Clem, you will be a shining star in the theatrical firmament.’

Clemency soon discovered that becoming a shining star was not as easy as Augustus had made it sound. Her days were filled with rehearsals, lessons in singing, drama and deportment from a fierce old lady who had apparently once been a star of the Opéra Comique in Paris. Clemency left the lodging house early each morning and caught the green Bow omnibus to the Strand. Augustus and Jack followed later in a hansom cab, leaving Tom, Ronnie and Lucilla to work the streets on their own.

By the end of the first week, Clemency was word perfect. Jack had mastered the music almost from the first, and he was now learning to read the musical score. He seemed so happy and excited with his new career that Clemency was delighted for him. Her own life was so
completely occupied with the theatre and her new friends that she had no time to worry about Jared, or even to think about Ned. For the first time in her life she was earning a real wage. She had no need now to beg for a few coppers from Augustus, or to bargain over stolen items in Minski’s dingy shop. She felt rich, in spite of having to give fifteen per cent to Augustus, which he said was for managing her business affairs, although as far as she could see there were none to manage. Then she had to pay rent to Mrs Blunt for their board and lodging, which left her a shilling a week to spend on herself, but those twelve pennies meant more to Clemency than if they had been twelve golden guineas. With her first week’s wages, she bought some green-glass bead earrings for Ma, which matched her eyes and made her smile. Ma had continued to be poorly in spite of a dose of Dr Collis Browne’s Chlorodyne medicine. She had been quieter than usual, although Clemency saw very little of her during the first heady weeks of rehearsals and performances. And now, with the run of the current production coming to an end, the cast had begun rehearsals of
Mother-in-Law, a frivolous comedy
, followed by
Vulcan, or the (h)ammer-ous Blacksmith, a burlesque
, as they were styled on the posters and handbills. Clemency had only a small speaking part in the first play, and the lead in
Vulcan
, but each day she became
more confident. She was so happy that she had to keep pinching herself to make certain that she was not dreaming.

On the morning of the last performance, she woke up to find Ma retching into the chamber pot. Clemency wriggled to the end of the mattress and sat up. ‘Ma, you ought to see a doctor. You’ve been sick every morning for weeks. It can’t be right.’

Edith raised a haggard face and her mouth twisted into a wry smile. ‘I’m not ill, ducks. I was like this both times with Jack and then with you.’

Clemency stared at her, hardly able to believe her ears. ‘You mean – no, you can’t be, Ma.’

‘Why not? I’m only thirty-seven, That ain’t too old to fall pregnant, but I never thought it would happen again. Not after all this time.’

‘I dunno what to say. Have you told Mickey?’

Edith shook her head. ‘He’ll run a mile.’

‘Maybe not, Ma. He might be pleased.’

‘Fat lot you know about men, Clemmie. Blokes like Mickey don’t want to be tied down with a family.’

‘He might surprise you. You got to tell him, Ma.’

‘I’ll never see him again if I do.’

‘It ain’t something you can hide forever. You must tell him. You might be surprised at how he takes the news.’

All morning Clemency worried about Ma. She
had not told Jack. Boys were funny about their mums; she knew that for a fact. Jack would be mad as fire if Mickey didn’t do the right thing by Ma. With her mind occupied, Clemency forgot the dance steps and was shouted at by the ballet mistress. With a bit of a struggle, she put Ma’s problem out of her mind and concentrated on her work.

At the final curtain, Clemency was presented with a bouquet of flowers. As she danced off the stage, she saw a dark stain spreading down the front of her costume. The flowers were dripping water and their stems were muddy. ‘Oy, you. Charlie.’

The call boy came towards her grinning sheepishly. ‘What’s up, miss?’

‘Where did you pinch these flowers? They never come from a shop, now did they?’

Charlie pulled a face. ‘Don’t you know nothing about the theatre, miss? On the closing night, the leading lady gets a bunch of flowers pinched from a graveyard. I had to risk life and limb to get them for you. It’s tradition. So there!’ He stalked off with an offended twitch of his narrow shoulders.

‘Tradition! They’re all blooming barmy,’ Clemency muttered, as she went to her dressing room to change out of her costume. She dropped the bouquet into the waste bin with a
shudder. ‘Who’d want funeral flowers? Not me.’

She wiped off the thick greasepaint and washed her face in a bowl of warm water provided by Nan, the dresser who took care of her. She was fully dressed, and was buttoning her boots, when Charlie stuck his head round the door.

‘You’re wanted on stage, miss.’

Thinking that it must be Jack who had sent for her, she hurried through the dimly lit corridors to the wings. The auditorium was in darkness with just the ghost light left burning on the stage, yet another old theatrical superstition, to keep the spirits of dead actors from taking up residence after the theatre had emptied. A shiver ran down her spine as a tall shadow emerged from the far side of the stage.

‘Who is it?’ Her voice shook and her heart had begun to pump wildly; her palms were damp with sweat. ‘Who are you?’

‘I’ve been most patient, waiting for your decision.’ Jared stepped from the shadows into the flickering candlelight. ‘The waiting time is over. I want your answer, and I want it now.’

‘You must be mad.’ The words came tumbling out before Clemency could stop herself. She bit her lip. ‘I mean, why would I want to turn back to crime when I’m doing so well in the theatre? I’m a star, in case you hadn’t noticed.’

Jared strolled across the apron of the stage. With the light behind him, his shadow crept across the boards to engulf her, and when he stopped just a few steps away from Clemency it was too dark for her to make out the expression on his face. She felt, rather than saw, his anger. ‘You’re a street singer who had a lucky break, my dear. You have a good voice but you are untrained and undisciplined. You’re an amateur.’

‘That ain’t fair! I’ve had good reviews in the newspapers.’

‘And today those same newspapers will have been wrapped around fish and chips or used to light fires.’

‘I don’t care what you say. I am a star.’

‘And who said so? The idiot Augustus? He’s making money out of you, just the same as old Claypole. You may have the leading role this
week, but I hear he’s going to sign up a star from the Opéra Comique in Paris for the next production. You’ll be lucky if they choose you to be her understudy.’

‘That’s not true. You’re lying.’

His laugh echoed round the empty auditorium. ‘Ask Claypole if you don’t believe me.’

‘Go away and leave me alone. I don’t want nothing to do with you, Jared Stone.’ Clemency stamped her foot, biting back tears of anger and frustration. He was lying, of course he was. Everything he said was aimed at hurting her and to achieve his own selfish ends. ‘Go away.’

He took her by the hand. ‘Come and work with me. I’m offering you a life of excitement and luxury, the like of which you’ll never get in the theatre. Stay here and you’ll end up singing on street corners again, or worse.’

‘I’d rather sing on street corners than be your creature. I don’t envy that poor girl what lives with you now. I suppose you’ll throw her out on the street when you’ve had enough of her, just like you done with Meg.’

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. And don’t you ever mention Izzie’s name in the same breath as Meg Jones.’ He dropped her hand as if her flesh had burnt him. ‘You’ll live to regret your decision, but I won’t ask you again.’

He walked off, but Clemency could not allow him to have the last word. ‘So what will you do
then, Mr Stone? Sell the lodging house like you threatened and turn us all out on the street? That ain’t what I’d call the action of a gent.’

He paused, turning his head to stare coldly at her. ‘I’m not so much of a villain that I would make innocent people homeless. But you won’t find my new agent so lenient as the last man. If the rent is overdue then Hardiman will have no alternative but to evict the lot of you, including the landlady.’

‘H-Hardiman!’ The word almost choked her. ‘Did you say Hardiman?’

‘I see his reputation goes before him. That is exactly what I wanted. Todd Hardiman won’t stand for feeble excuses when it comes to collecting rents. I won’t throw you out on the street, Clemency. But I’d advise you not to fall foul of my agent. I gather he’s a bad man to cross. Goodbye, my dear. You won’t be seeing me again.’

She did not wait for him to leave the stage. Clemency turned and ran back through the corridors to the musicians’ dressing room, where she knew Jack would be waiting for her. She found him on his own, smoking a cigarette. He looked up as she burst into the room and he exhaled a plume of smoke. ‘Where’s the fire?’ His smile froze. ‘What’s up, Clemmie?’

‘Jack, we got to leave Flower and Dean Street. We got to get away tonight, or at least first thing
in the morning.’ She ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck.

‘Hey, hey! What’s the panic? Who’s scared you like this?’

‘I just saw Stone. He’s hired Hardiman as his agent. I don’t think he knows our connection with him, but we got to get away before he finds us.’

Jack stubbed his cigarette in an ashtray with vicious jabs. ‘My God, I thought we’d got away from that bastard. Are you sure it’s him, Clemmie?’

‘There can’t be two Todd Hardimans in this part of London, Jack. If he finds Ma now …’ Clemency shuddered; she couldn’t bring herself to tell Jack that Ma was in the family way. Weren’t things bad enough already? She paced the floor, wringing her hands. ‘We’ll leave first thing in the morning. We’ll run away.’

Jack looked down at his twisted limbs with a rueful smile. ‘I won’t be doing much running, ducks.’

‘How can you joke at a time like this? I’ll think of a way, I will. Even if I have to carry you on me back. We won’t tell no one, not even Augustus.’

‘Hold on a moment, love. We can’t just up and leave without telling him, not unless you means to give up your part in the show.’

‘Never.’

‘Then listen to sense, Clemmie. We’ll talk to
Ma and Augustus when we get back to our lodgings. This ain’t something we can decide on our own.’

Reluctantly, Clemency agreed, but all the way home in the hansom cab she could think of nothing but Hardiman and Jared Stone. Somehow their faces seemed to merge into one and she hated them equally.

It was late in the evening when the cab dropped them outside the door in Flower and Dean Street. They usually found the house in darkness with most of the lodgers having retired to bed, but tonight lights blazed from first-floor windows. As soon as she entered the hall, Clemency knew there was something wrong. She paused at the foot of the stairs, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling with some primitive instinct for danger. She was about to go up to investigate when Fancy came running along the passage carrying a steaming jug wrapped in a cloth.

‘What’s going on, Fancy?’

‘It’s your ma. She’s been took sick.’ Fancy hitched up her long skirt, and hurried up the stairs.

Clemency’s breath caught in her throat. ‘Oh no, she wouldn’t have.’ She threw off her cape and hurried after Fancy. Ma had been terrified of telling Mickey that she was in the family way, but surely she wouldn’t have done anything
stupid? But as she followed Fancy into Mrs Blunt’s bedroom, her worst fears were realised. Edith was half naked, prostrate on the bed, lying on a pile of blood-soaked towels and rags. Mrs Blunt stood over her attempting to staunch the haemorrhage. She turned to look at them and frowned. ‘Take her away, Fancy. She can’t do nothing here.’

‘Ma!’ Clemency ran to the bed and threw herself down on her knees beside Edith. Her eyes were closed and her face was whiter than the cotton pillowcase under her head. Her breathing was rapid and shallow, and Clemency was certain that she was dying. She seized her mother’s cold hands and chafed them.

‘Mrs B’s right,’ Fancy said. ‘You should leave it to her. She’s doing everything she can.’

Clemency barely heard her. All her attention was focused on Ma. She had seen dead bodies before: bloated corpses washed up on the water’s edge and stiffs frozen to death in dark alleyways. Ma’s face had the all too familiar, corpse-like waxen tinge. ‘Oh, my Gawd! What has she done to herself? Is she going to die?’

‘Not if I’ve got anything to do with it, she ain’t.’ Mrs Blunt dropped a bundle of blood-soaked rags into a bucket. ‘Your mum went to one of them old back-street hags what sorts out women’s problems. Only she got more than she bargained for.’

‘How could you be so blooming stupid?’ Clemency clasped Ma’s cold hand to her cheek. ‘Why did you do such a bloody silly thing?’

Mrs Blunt took the jug from Fancy, and poured hot water into the willow-pattern china wash-bowl. ‘Take her downstairs, Fancy, and make her a cup of tea. Put some brandy in it.’

Clemency shook her head. ‘No, I won’t leave her. Speak to me, Ma. Please don’t die. I’ll do anything you say, but don’t give up.’