I should have beat him, or kicked him, or at least expressed a decent Christian outrage. Perhaps it was my relief at his having got rid of Brown for us that mitigated my wrath. “I don’t think so, Mick,” was all I said. I tried to hold in my giggles till I got inside our own carriage, without quite succeeding. He hunched his shoulders philosophically, and reentered the Green Room to try his luck elsewhere, while Perdita and I finally undressed for the night. We curled up, one on each banquette of the carriage, with pillows behind us and a blanket on top. It was not so uncomfortable as you might imagine, though I
was
longing for a long soak in a tub, and some clean clothing.
Chapter Six
The remainder of our stay with Tuck’s Traveling Theater was relatively uneventful, but only relatively so. Prior to leaving home, cooking over an open fire, singing on the stage, helping O’Reilly rob stores and being propositioned by provincial squires would have been something of an event in our quiet, respectable lives. It was the relief of having at last lost Mr. Brown that made our other activities seem tame in comparison. He was not on hand at Farnbrough nor at Woking, which deal Daugherty closed successfully.
I began to see there was something in O’Reilly’s claim that the shopkeepers raised their prices for us. When we went to buy our food at Farnbrough, we had a female serve us, a rather handsome lady with an eye for O’Reilly. The two of them bantered and flirted while the purchases were made, but when she weighed our ham, her thumb came down heavy on the scales, while her flashing eyes diverted his attention. When I saw her tallying up seven and a half pounds for a piece of meat that weighed five without her help, I was not slow to scoop a handful of cigars up for my friend, and conceal them in my skirt pocket. He was too besotted with her eyes to do it for himself.
“A handsome woman,” he said as we walked back to the hall.
"As handsome a hussy as ever pushed her thumb on the scales,” I told him.
“Did she now? Ah well, a body has to live, Mol,” he said leniently. “We all need to look out for ourselves—you and me and the shopkeepers. A man needs food, and love. The
food’s
been grand since you joined us.”
“Have the girls not been treating you well?”
“Ye know I don’t care for none of them fireships. Who else would I be giving this to but you?” he asked, pulling a very ugly little statuette out of his pocket. It was of Cupid, holding a bow in one hand, and a heart in the other. I had seen it before, about five minutes ago, on the shelf of the shop. It had not been amongst our purchases. He nabbed it from the shelf, while rolling his eyes at the clerk.
“I didn’t forget you either, O’Reilly,” I told him, taking the gimcrack thing, and giving him his cigars. "I believe we broke even on that deal. I didn’t know how many cigars to nab, but as I was ciphering in my mind, I don’t believe I took enough.”
“You’re coming on grand,” he praised.
“Thank you. I daresay I have been cheated in the shops all my life, without realizing it.”
O’Reilly stole other things, too. Eggs never purchased appeared for breakfast, and once a lovely green goose, certainly removed from a neighborhood wall, where it had been hanging, but he never got caught at it. I chided him for stealing when the victim had no chance to retaliate, like the shopkeepers.
“Don’t half the village sneak in after we stop guarding the door?” he pointed out. “We sold a hundred and twenty-three tickets last night, and everyone of the two hundred seats was full before the show was over. Fair’s fair.”
His original bookkeeping in the field of ethics was difficult to refute, though I do not mean to say I think it was
right.
Business was good enough that we could sleep in a cheap inn that night, which also allowed us the luxury of washing our linens and taking a bath, and sleeping in a bed, but unfortunately we had to share our room with Angie and another actress, who snored.
In the morning, we were off on the last lap to London. The crew spoke of “Mother Gaines's" as being the place we would put up there. “Where is this place, O’Reilly?” I asked my faithful companion, as we sat over breakfast at the inn before leaving. “In fact,
what
is it?”
“A rough and tumbling boardinghouse in the east end of the city. You’ll find many traveling troupes meeting in that neighborhood this time of the year, readying their show for the summer circuit. There’ll be bargaining for work, deciding on shows and costumes. Will you stay on?”
“No, we only stay till London. I have to take April there.”
“Aye, so I’ve heard. And what will you do with yourself then, when the gel is gone?”
“I will go with her.”
“Nay, her man won’t want that.”
“She is not going to a man. That is a nasty rumor I cannot seem to squash.”
“She’ll find one soon enough,” he told me, with a doubting look, still believing I whitewashed our true characters.
I just smiled and shook my head, not wanting to be too informative. “I’ve a plan to put to, you,” he said tentatively.
“What is that?”
He drummed his hairy fingers on the table, then suddenly reached out and grabbed my hands in a numbing grip. “Marry me,” he said. I blinked a couple of times, while considering what refusal to make to this unexpected proposal. I did not want to hurt O’Reilly’s feelings. Of the whole crew, he was my favorite. Warts and all, I appreciated him.
“You’re not like the others, lass. You’ve got spunk, and are dashed pretty, too, beneath your nice as a nun’s hens manners. This voyaging life isn’t for the likes of you. I’ll get a regular job and set you up a cottage. How would you like that, eh?”
“That—that sounds very cosy, O’Reilly,” I said, in a high, unnatural voice. I was overcome with emotion. “Actually, I have got a job lined up,” I said, to soften the blow.
“Doing what?”
“Nursemaid,” I answered, grabbing at the first thought that offered.
He laughed. "That's a new word for what you do. Who is your new girl?”
He clearly thought I meant to set up, or continue, as an abbess. I believe both he and Mick thought I was delivering Perdita to some rich patron in the city. Various remarks they made suggested it.
"Now you wouldn’t want me to give away trade secrets,” I said, bantering my way out of a real answer.
“Be sure to get her under contract next time.”
"What do you mean?”
"Just do what O’Reilly tells you. Sure you won’t change your mind, Mol? I meant to do it up right, with a priest and all.”
“I’m sure, but I am flattered you asked me.” He did not remain long after that.
We arrived at Mother Gaines’s boardinghouse in mid-afternoon. My first move upon arrival was to write a note to Alton’s, asking John to come and fetch us. I sent it off with the houseboy, giving him the last shilling I had to my name. That accomplished, there was nothing to do but wait for his arrival.
There was a large parlor in the house which was used as a common room for the various people putting up
chez
Mother Gaines. One fails to try to imagine what life had produced such a character as Mother Gaines, who took infinite delight in opening her portals to such tag rag and bobtail as were assembled there. She asked no question but the important one; did you have any money? That ascertained, she welcomed you with small ale and small talk, all of it related to the theater. She looked like a gargoyle from some ancient building come to life and painted up with rouge. Some of our group were there, exchanging anecdotes with another traveling show. Others of us had gone shopping, or out for a walk.
Queen Phoebe descended the stairs in her finest raiments, the plate bonnet and ostrich plumes. “Are you going to take your constitewtional now, Phoebe?” Perdita asked. I am not sure whether she poked fun at the girl’s pronunciation, or had picked up this vulgar mannerism unconsciously. I think that, in spite of my scorn, she rather admired Phoebe.
I expected some fireworks, as Phoebe still disliked my charge very cordially. But she was in a tolerant mood today. “I’ve an appointment at the Garden, dear,” she said.
“Good luck. I hope you get the job. What role is it?”
“Nothing
you
would be interested in."
“Covent Garden nun,” Angie whispered, not quite softly enough.
Phoebe’s fine dark eyes sparkled in anger. "We're not
all
in that trade, Angie.” Her eyes also stared rather hard at Perdita. “Some of us are able to act, but I think
you
are wise to close with Mr. Brown, April.” She swept from the room, her ostrich plumes dancing behind her.
I had hoped I had heard the name of Brown for the last time. I looked uneasily at my charge, wondering if it were possible she had set up some meeting with him behind my back. She only looked amused. “What have you in mind, Angie?” she asked her friend.
"If Queen Phoebe really gets an offer from the Garden, Mick says I’ll be his new leading lady. If she don’t, I’ll just go on playing second fiddle.”
Mick came over to us. Before we had been chatting for long about the subject that consumed them all—what was to be done next—John Alton was announced.
What a blessed relief it was to see a respectable old friend after our sorry escapade. “What in the deuce are you girls doing in this hole?” he demanded bluntly, with no regard for the others’ feelings. “I made sure it was a mistake when I read the address. You ought to know better than to bring Perdie here, Moira.”
Mick looked positively alarmed. “Who is this?” he asked.
Meanwhile Perdita had jumped up to greet her neighbor. In her excitement, and with an unsavory use of her new manners, she threw her arms around him.
“Mr. Alton is taking us to stay with friends,” I told Daugherty.
“You can’t leave yet!”
“That’s what you think!” I told him, and went to get our bonnets and pelisses.
He came trotting out to the hallway after me. “You’re making a big mistake, Molly,” he began, grabbing onto my elbow to detain me. “Alton is nobody. Don’t you know who Mr. Brown is?”
“No, but I know what he is, and we are not interested.”
“It is all arranged! He’ll have my neck in a sling if she’s gone.”
“Do you mean to stand there and tell me you have cooked up some deal for Brown to come here?” I demanded. “Mick Daugherty, whoever said there were no snakes in Ireland was mistaken! It was done the night you took him into the blue carriage, wasn’t it?
Wasn’t
it?”
"I meant to share the blunt with you. I knew she’d give in to him, sooner or later. No point antagonizing him, and you don’t have her under contract. She told me so. He was generous—gave me a hundred pounds. I
have
to produce her.”
My first violent burst of anger gave way to mirth. How capital it was, that Mr. Brown had been hoodwinked. So insistent, so overbearing, underhanded, every vile thing you can name, and we were outwitting him. When he came, his April would be gone without a trace, for we would naturally not leave any forwarding address. His staying away from the Green Room for those few nights had been a ruse to calm my nerves, to get the Incomparable safely delivered to London, with no bother or fuss. "You are not going to produce her, Daugherty. Better produce his hundred pounds, instead.”
“I’ve spent half of it. I’ll give you the rest.”
“No, thanks. Maybe he’ll be satisfied with a pound of flesh instead. I know you are familiar with the works of Shakespeare, but I have a variation to suggest. Let him cut out your tongue; it will save you a deal of future trouble.”
“Where are you going? Give me the address.”
“Send him to Carleton House. If April is not there, he is bound to find some plump bird to his taste.”
Alton and Perdita came into the hall. I went to the doorway of the parlor to bid all my old friends a last farewell. My anger with Daugherty robbed me of any feeling of regret at leaving, not that there would be much, but shared adventures had forged a bond between some of us. I felt a pang in particular for Angie, to know she was mired forever in this sort of existence, at such a young age. I must say she looked perfectly content with her lot, though. She was playing with Cathleen, already forgetful of us when we left.
We squeezed into John’s stylish sporting curricle and were off, free of all the ignominies of the theatrical world at last. Looking back over my shoulder, I saw Daugherty in the middle of the road, checking to see what route we took. I was sorry John had given his real name, but in the commotion it might have escaped Daugherty’s notice. He would not know where in the city to find him in any case. I did not think we would hear of Mr. Brown again.
"Moira, I wish you will tell me what is going on,” John said, shouting over the noise of the carriage, the horses, and the busy streets. “I can’t make heads or tails of Perdie’s story. What were you doing with that pack of pimps and trollops?”
His youthful face was red with annoyance, while his brown eyes bulged with shock. “It is a long story, John. Let us wait till we reach the quiet of your saloon. How is your mama?” How quickly the trite, polite phrases returned to mind.
“Sick as a dog,” he answered frankly. “Got a dose of this wicked flu that is going round. Hope I don’t pick it up from her, for I am due to attend a house party on the weekend. Leave very soon to go to Grifford’s place, in Kent. They are trying to find a
parti
for that ugly patch of a daughter that has been hanging on the family tree till she’s wilted. Half the men in London are going to look her over.”
“You can’t go,” Perdita said calmly. “You will have to take us to Brighton instead, to visit my Aunt Maude.”
“The devil I will! Millie Grifford may look like a dog, but she is the richest squinter in the country. I’ll try my hand with her, like all the others. Favors me, to say the truth. Can’t imagine how it came about, for I never paid the least heed to her. Didn’t realize she was so rich, till Tony tipped me the clue.”
“We can borrow a carriage and team from John, and go to Brighton by ourselves,” I said to placate my charge. “John can lend us a footman for safety’s sake. The trip can be made in less than a day.”