The Mourning Emporium (42 page)

The noise made by these street performers enraged many Londoners, particularly the inhabitants of the prosperous inner-city suburbs. Campaigns against them were launched, and even legislation. In fact, by the end of the century, more and more Italian musicians were returning to their traditional trades: as glassblowers, pictureframers, and makers of mirrors, musical instruments, barometers and thermometers. Immigrants from Tuscany were especially known for making and selling religious figurines. Others entertained with puppets called fantoccini.

Italians were also famous for their ice cream: in 1860 around two hundred were working in the trade, selling ice cream in small glasses (in portions called penny-licks) or in paper wraps, known as hokey-pokeys. This expression comes from the Italian ecco un poco—“here, [try] a bit.” Unfortunately, the confections were sometimes made with unsanitary water and could cause serious sickness.

The Italian Benevolent Society was set up in 1860, to help the gangs of children brought over to London. There were instances of the padroni starving and beating their young charges. If found guilty of begging and vagrancy, Italian children were repatriated to Italy. There were also Italian social clubs, an Italian Free School and even an Italian newspaper, La Gazzetta Italiana di Londra.

Venice was never a big exporter of people to London. But, interestingly, research by Venetian historian Lucio Sponza shows that between 1900 and 1902, the number suddenly jumped from fourteen to 129. I’m happy to claim some of those extras as my Venetian pumpkin-sellers, the Incogniti.

London Ghosts

As described in this book, some Victorian spiritualists hosted profitable séances around tables at which ghosts allegedly spoke or “rapped.”

When Lussa refers to the rebirth of London magic, she is, of course, alluding to J. M. Barrie’s Peter Pan, who first appeared shortly after the time when this book is set. The stage play, Peter Pan, or The Boy Who Wouldn’t Grow Up, had its debut on December 27, 1904, at the Duke of York’s Theatre. The character had earlier appeared in an adult novel, The Little White Bird, in 1902.

London Transport

At the beginning of the twentieth century, London buses, trams and cabs were all still horse-drawn. The two-story London omnibuses were introduced in 1897. By 1901, there were over 3,700 horse-drawn omnibuses in London, each needing eleven horses a day to keep it running. The roads were crowded with all kinds of vehicles, such as hansom cabs and growlers, sometimes slowing traffic to a standstill.

An earlier Prime Minister, Benjamin Disraeli, once referred to hansom cabs as the gondolas of London.

Provisions from Harrods

All the Harrods products mentioned in this book are to be found in the Harrods Catalogue for 1895, a book as stout as the Bible, and which includes pictures.

Mendicity Officers

The London Society for the Suppression of Mendicity was formed in 1818 to combat begging in the streets. The sad stories of the London street children were all taken from research into social conditions of that time. That awful statistic of one child dying of hunger in Victorian London every hour is, very unfortunately, true.

Newgate and Executions

The French writer Flora Tristan, who visited in the 1830s, described it thus: “Newgate has a singularly repulsive appearance: it is how one would imagine a prison of the Dark Ages.”

The punishments that awaited convicted pirates in London were just as described in this book. In earlier times, notorious buccaneers like Captain Kidd were hanged at Execution Dock on the Thames. Three tides were allowed to flow over their corpses before they were removed to unmarked graves, or sent off for dissection by the anatomists.

Public executions at Newgate ended in 1868, and the condemned were thereafter hanged in an enclosure. James Billington and his son William were the last Newgate executioners. Naturally, they never tried to prolong the death of a prisoner. In any case, for this story, the hooded executioner is a minion of Bajamonte Tiepolo who has taken over the role temporarily. I imagine the poor Billingtons bound and gagged in a cellar that day.…

In fact, children had not been hanged at Newgate for many years. Indeed, after 1899, British children were no longer sent to adult prisons.

The last execution of an adult prisoner took place in May 1902. The prison was demolished later that year. The current Old Bailey law courts were built on the site, reusing some of the prison’s stones.

Backbent Castle in Scotland is an invention.

Casanova’s Escape from Prison

Giacomo Casanova—alchemist, writer, gambler, lover, violinist—was one of Venice’s most famous sons. His life spanned three-quarters of the eighteenth century and the whole of Europe. Naturally, Renzo, as a Venetian, would know all about Casanova and his exploits. In the 1750s, Casanova was confined in the “Leads”—a prison above the Doges’ Palace. It was so named because the roofs above the cells were made of lead, so they were sweltering in the summer and freezing in the winter. But the resourceful Casanova found that the ceiling was the cell’s weak point and escaped, just as Renzo does in this book. Sadly for him, Casanova was thereafter forced to spend most of the rest of his life in exile from his beloved Venice. Renzo will be more fortunate.

English Bulldogs

No one could call the classic English bulldog beautiful. It has a strikingly massive head and heavy shoulders, ears set high up on the skull and eyes very widely spaced on either side of a deep jaw.

Despite their formidable appearance, English bulldogs are believed to be very gentle with children. They appear to enjoy human affection and attention. They are also very good swimmers.

At the time when this story is set, the bulldog was a popular breed, with nearly two thousand registered in Great Britain. They had come to be seen as an embodiment of the indomitable and steadfast nature of the British.

Their name comes from an old practice of using them to attack tethered bulls for sport. Bulldogs were trained to jump up and attack the sensitive muzzles of the bulls. Incredibly, it was believed by some people that beef was neither soft enough nor healthy to eat unless it had been “tenderized” like this. The cruel sport was outlawed in 1835.

When I was researching a completely different book, I was charmed by the memoirs of Agnes Hunt, published in 1935. She had a bulldog called Turtledove, and since this name expresses well the unexpected gentleness of the breed, I decided to use it too.

Teddy Bears

Of course Mr. Tristesse is absolutely wrong about toy bears. From their introduction in 1903, teddy bears were to prove extremely popular. There’s even a black mourning bear at the Museum of Childhood at Bethnal Green in London.

Leechcraft and Spreading Pestilence

When deciding what Sibella would do with her leeches, I found useful a book edited by Thomas Oswald Cockayne, called Leechdoms, Wortcunning, and Starcraft of Early England. It was published in 1866. “Leechcraft” does not necessarily refer to the slimy little creatures. The alternative meaning of the word is simply doctoring or healing. For centuries, what we call the ring finger was known as the “leech finger”—possibly because of a vein in it that was supposed to communicate directly with the heart. But, for obvious reasons, I decided to take my leeches literally in this book.

The idea of spreading pestilence by smearing ointment on houses is not new. In The Betrothed, one of Italy’s most famous historical novels, Alessandro Manzoni refers to the case of the “anointers” of Milan, who were horribly tortured and killed for such a crime. And in fact a Column of Infamy, like Bajamonte Tiepolo’s, was erected next to the house of one of the accused, where it stayed until the late eighteenth century. Teo remembers another case, cited in James Grant’s book.

Latin

Two of the Roman soldiers’ comments were appropriated from Latin literature:

Nocte una quivis vel deus esse potest.

“One night like that can make any man a god.”

— Propertius 2.15.40

Dabis, improbe, poenas!

“Cur, you will pay the wages of sin!”

— Virgil, Aeneid IV

The Boys and Girls in this Story

There are so many of them in this book that it would be impossible to tell you everything about all of them. But now that the story is finished, I thought you might be interested to know more. You can read their biographies and see some photographs on the website: michellelovric.com/children/mournemphome.htm

Acknowledgments

The first people to thank are the two who nurtured this book into a publishable form: my wonderful editors Fiona Kennedy and Jon Appleton at Orion, and my fantastic agent, Sarah Molloy of A. M. Heath.

If Fiona and Jon parented it, then this book is also well endowed with aunts and uncles, starting with its favorite aunties at the Clink Street Writers’ Group: Annabel Chown, Mavis Gregson, Cheryl Moskowitz, Mary Hamer, Ann Vaughan-Williams, Carole DeVaughn, Paola de Carolis, Sarah Salway, Jane Kirwan and Sue Ehrhardt. A special round of applause must go to the poet and wicked mermaid-impersonating aunt Geraldine Paine, and a heartfelt thanks to my madrina, Pam Johnson.

More vital advice was offered by Louise Berridge, Jill Foulston and Jeff Cotton, whose website fictionalcities.com is the most inspiring one I know on all things to do with Venice, London and Florence.

The acclaimed London guide Diana Kelsey checked my local history and geography; Colin de Mowbray and Peter Wilson put their weather eyes to the seaworthiness of the nautical parts; Albert Lovric kept me on the right track with hemophilia and other medical matters; Ornella Tarantola oversaw my Italian; my Latin was checked by my wonderful fellow Orion author Caroline Lawrence (see romanmysteries.com) and James Renshaw from Colet Court Preparatory School. I’m grateful to Giovanna Diana and Valter Paties at the Fondazione Cini in Venice for their aid in researching the Scilla. The staff at the London Library and the Wellcome Library were as helpful as ever. I am indebted to Lucio Sponza for information on Italians in London, delivered both personally and found in his fascinating book Italian Immigrants in Nineteenth-Century Britain: Realities and Images (Leicester University Press, 1988). My pharmaceutical history was kindly checked by William Helfand; also by Heather Maddin and Briony Hudson at the Royal Pharmaceutical Society of Great Britain. Sergio Grandesso and the whole staff of da Gino in San Vio taught me about the Venetian children’s street games.

I’ve also profited from the enthusiasm and knowledge of Phil and Gillian Tabor, Alberto Toso Fei, Elena Romano and Rosato Frassanito, Susie and Bruno Palmarin, John-Henry and Marilyn Bowden, Wendy and Fred Oliver and Elena Nicolai. And from the encouragement and wisdom of Sybille Siegmund-Stiefenhofer and Claire Bloom.

In July 2009, Nina Douglas at Orion twittered for possible names of London mermaids in this book. So thank you to joby14 for Gloriana and mattlibrarian for Nerolia.

Any inaccuracies or exaggerations in this book are mine alone. But a great many that might have blighted it were hunted down and done away with by Kristina Blagojevitch, Pamela Norris and Meli Pinkertow.

And finally a huge hug to Tony Bird, who has twice waded through dreadful acqua alta to bring me succour, eye ointment and throat spray so I could finish the first draft: just one tiny symptom of his chronic rash of kindness.

Michelle Lovric

London

May 2010

Discover how it all began!

Available from Delacorte Press

About the Author

MICHELLE LOVRIC has always lived a waterbound life. She was born by the ocean in Sydney and lived for many years by the sea in Devon, England. Now she divides her time between the palazzo on the Grand Canal in Venice and a Georgian wharf on the Thames in London.

The Mourning Emporium is the companion to Michelle’s debut children’s novel, The Undrowned Child. She is already a successful author of books for adults and has compiled over one hundred anthologies on a wide range of subjects, especially cats. She runs a poetry and fiction workshop and also writes reviews, travel features, and stories … always about Venice, of course. You can visit her at michellelovric.com.

Table of Contents

This is a work of fiction. All incidents and dialogue, and all characters with the exception of some well-known historical and public figures, are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Where real-life historical or public figures appear, the situations, incidents, and dialogues concerning those persons are fictional and are not intended to depict actual events or to change the fictional nature of the work.In all other respects, any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Contents

Title

A little about the past …

A small girl stood on the ice that crusted the edge of the lagoon.

When the news of the disaster was brought to Queen Victoria, she did not lift her dimming eyes from the soft-boiled egg in her golden egg-cup.

On the night before Christmas, the city had been caught by surprise: a brutal, murderous surprise.

Renzo carried the bucket into the dark house and threw its contents over the terra-cotta floor his mother had always polished to a shine. Each pailful loosened a little more of the stinking mud that slimed up to his ankles. Renzo’s mind was blank, but his feet automatically followed the path to and from the well in the courtyard. His numb hands sent the bucket plummeting down through the ice. Then his aching arms lifted the dripping pail and carried it into the ruined kitchen.

The Mayor of Venice wriggled toes clad in silk socks in front of a cozy fire. His sumptuous second-floor office was cheerfully lit by a four-hundred-year-old candy-colored chandelier burning fifty candles at once. He dipped an almond biscuit into a glass of sweet Malvasia wine. You would never have guessed that a city lay broken and suffering outside his sparkling windows.

Teo hadn’t even made it home after she saw the Vampire Eel. The policemen were waiting for her on the shore. Dragging her through the ruined streets to the Mayor’s office, they had not wasted any tact when describing the state of Leonora and Alberto Stampara’s laboratory in the lagoon: the smashed pipettes, the crabs and shrimps left gasping in shattered tanks, the diagrams ripped off the walls. Of her adoptive parents there had been no sign at all, except a fragment of a silk dress and her father’s pipe, still fragrant and faintly warm.