‘If you change your mind just let me know and I’ll speak to Matron. I’m sure she’d be delighted to give you an interview.’
Later that evening, when Mum and Granny Mole had gone to bed, Ruby sat by the glowing embers of the fire, thinking about what Adam had said. Although cold hard common sense kept telling her that it was impossible, a stubborn voice in her head urged her not to give up so easily. Poppa had always said that if you wanted something badly enough you had to fight for it and tomorrow she would begin that fight. Ruby yawned and stretched. She was tired after several disturbed nights tending to Billy and not even Granny Mole’s snoring would keep her awake tonight. She was just about to turn off the gaslight when someone pounded on the doorknocker. No one called at this time of night, not unless there was a death in the family or a dire emergency affecting one of the neighbours. Ruby ran to the door and opened it just a crack.
‘Ruby, let me in.’
‘Joe?’
Unceremoniously, Joe pushed the door open and slipped inside, closing it behind him. ‘Thank God you’re up. I thought you’d all be asleep.’
‘Joe, what’s wrong?’
‘You got to help me, Ruby. I’m in terrible trouble.’
Rosetta stood in the entrance hall of Jonas Crowe’s premises clutching two complimentary tickets for the Falstaff in her gloved hand.
‘What d’you want then?’ The hall boy’s freckled face puckered in a suspicious scowl, like a small bulldog.
Rosetta glared back. ‘What’s your name?’
‘What’s it to you?’
‘You’re rude, you are, and I’m going to tell Mr Crowe on you.’
‘I’m Tucker, so who are you?’
‘Well then, Tucker, tell Mr Crowe that Miss Capretti would like a word.’
‘He’s busy and he don’t have time for your sort.’
‘You’d best tell him I’m here,’ Rosetta said, raising her hand. ‘Unless you want a clip round the ear, you cheeky little sod.’
Tucker backed away towards the staircase. ‘Ho, yes. I’ll tell him a real lady wants to see him, shall I?’ He raced up the stairs before Rosetta could carry out her threat.
He seemed to have been gone for ages and
Rosetta paced the tiled floor, pausing to examine her reflection in the gilt-framed wall mirror. Patting a stray curl back into place beneath the new fur hat perched on top of her curls, she adjusted the spotted veil so that it covered her eyes. Turning her head this way and that, Rosetta tried to decide which look was the most mysterious and alluring. She had spent all her wages on the hat and the short jacket with leg-of-mutton sleeves. She smiled at her reflection in the mirror, well satisfied. The end result was worth all the pain, hard work and ritual humiliation handed out by Madame. Rigorous days of rehearsal and late nights dancing and singing in the smoky music hall had not yet taken their toll of her looks, as they had with some of the girls. Jonas, she thought, would not be much of a man if he could resist her. Never mind the silly misunderstanding when he had mixed her up with Ruby. After all, Ruby was a dear, but sensible and serious, too much of a bluestocking to appeal to a man like Jonas Crowe.
‘He’ll see you now.’ Tucker ambled down the stairs, jerking his head in the direction of the gaming room.
‘Ta for nothing.’ Rosetta swept past him, making her way up the stairs with as much dignity as she could muster. Tucker had left the door ajar and, pretending that she was going out
on stage to do her solo, Rosetta waltzed into the room, but there was no thunder of applause from an appreciative audience. Jonas sat at the roulette table with a ledger open in front of him, a cigar clenched between his teeth. He did not look up.
‘Ahem.’ Rosetta cleared her throat.
‘Take a seat, Miss Capretti. I’ll be with you in a moment.’
This was not the greeting that Rosetta had wanted or expected. Here she was, looking simply stunning, and he could not even be bothered to raise his head to look at her. She marched over to the table and waited, tapping her foot on the floor. ‘I call it rude to ignore a lady what’s come to pay a call on you.’
Jonas did look up this time. He took the cigar from his mouth and his lips curved into an amused smile. ‘Miss Capretti.’
‘And it’s common courtesy to stand up when a lady comes into the room.’ Rosetta was furious now, angered more by his amusement than by his rudeness. ‘I come to thank you for what you done for my poppa and to give you complimentary tickets for the show at the Falstaff. I wish I hadn’t bloody bothered now.’
Rising to his feet, Jonas pulled out a chair. ‘I don’t get too many young ladies visiting my club, so you’ll have to forgive my lack of courtesy, Miss Capretti.’
Rosetta shot him a suspicious look; it was hard to tell if he was laughing at her or whether this was a genuine apology. His expression was serious now, but there was a definite gleam in his eyes, like the glint of polished steel. She sat down. ‘Well, I am a lady and I expects to be treated as such.’
‘I’m glad we’ve got that straight.’ Jonas perched on the edge of the roulette table, folding his arms across his chest. ‘So, what brings a young lady to this house of ill repute?’
‘You’re laughing at me again.’ Rosetta slapped the tickets down on the table in front of him. ‘I come to give you tickets for the next show but I can see I was wasting me time.’
‘It’s Rosetta, isn’t it?’ Jonas picked up the tickets and slipped them into his breast pocket. ‘I appreciate the generous gesture. Thank you for the tickets.’
Rosetta met his gaze and held it. ‘I got a solo singing spot and it won’t be too long afore I’m top of the bill.’
‘You’re ambitious; I like that.’
‘I might be open to offers,’ Rosetta said, angling her head. ‘I can sing just as well as the Shoreditch songbird – better, in fact – and I’m years younger.’
Jonas threw back his head and laughed.
‘That’s it! I never come here to be laughed at.’
‘So why did you come? To repay my
hospitality or to convince me of your great talent?’
Out-manoeuvred, humiliated and furious, Rosetta hissed at him like an angry cat. ‘You wouldn’t recognise talent, not if it jumped up and bit you on your bum.’ She flounced out of the room and ran down the stairs, almost colliding with Tucker.
‘Turned you down, did he?’
‘Mind your own bloody business,’ Rosetta said, wrenching the front door open and slamming it behind her.
‘So what’s got you in such a state?’ Tilly sat in front of the dressing mirror, putting the finishing touches to her stage make-up.
‘I ain’t in a state.’ Rosetta jabbed paper flowers into her piled-up hair.
‘It’s got to be a bloke,’ Tilly said, grinning. ‘Is it that Billy?’
‘Billy! Don’t make me laugh. I ain’t seen him for a couple of weeks and I don’t care if I never sets eyes on him again.’
‘All right, I was only asking.’
Rosetta jumped up from the stool and smoothed down the frills of her costume. ‘Get a move on, Tilly, or we’ll miss our cue.’
Dabbing her face with a powder puff, Tilly got to her feet. ‘He must be a bit of all right to get you in such a state.’
‘Shut up, Tilly.’ Rosetta pushed past Aggie who had obviously been listening and had opened her mouth to make a comment. ‘And you can shut up too!’ Rosetta slammed out of the dressing room and made her way to the wings.
Halfway through the opening number, Rosetta almost missed her step when she saw Jonas sitting in the box nearest the stage. Next to him was Lily, looking palely beautiful in a pink silk evening dress. Jonas turned to Lily, smiling and making a remark that brought the colour flooding to her cheeks, and Rosetta’s moment of triumph dissolved into one of jealous rage. If she could have leapt across the limes and scratched Lily’s eyes out, she would have done it and not felt a twinge of remorse. With her temper well and truly roused, Rosetta put every last bit of effort into her performance, so that even Madame congratulated her as she tripped off the stage.
Buoyed up with fury and drunk with anger, Rosetta upstaged everyone in the chorus during the second half of the show. Her solo brought roars of approval from the audience and dire looks from her fellow performers, even Tilly.
‘Don’t know what you think you’re playing at!’ Aggie hissed as they danced off stage having taken the final curtain after several encores and applause that shook the building. ‘You may think you’re the bleeding star but you’re not. I
hope Madame rips your ears off, you selfish bitch.’
‘They loved me. You’re just jealous.’ Rosetta made her way to the dressing room, swallowing down tears that threatened to choke her.
The call boy met her in the doorway, carrying a huge bouquet of red roses. ‘You got a rich admirer, Rose.’
‘They must have cost a bob or two,’ Tilly said, peering over Rosetta’s shoulder. ‘There’s a card with them. Read it, Rose. Tell us who your mystery bloke is.’
Rosetta’s fingers trembled as she opened the card.
Crowe
. No message, just the one word.
‘Who’s the mystery man then?’ demanded Aggie. ‘No, don’t tell us, we can guess. It must be the Prince of Wales hisself.’
Everyone laughed and Rosetta felt her cheeks burning. How dare Jonas put her in such a position, especially when he had brought that woman with him. She tossed the bouquet into a wastepaper basket. ‘Bleeding royals,’ she said, determined to have the last word and put Aggie in her place by stealing the laughter. ‘Always pestering me, but I says, “No, Prince, leave us alone, there’s a good bloke.” And then he sends me red roses! Well, did you ever!’
Stealing back to the dressing room after everyone had left, Rosetta picked up the bouquet and
was about to leave when Madame burst into the room followed by Alf Ricketts, the theatre manager.
‘There!’ Madame said, turning to Alf. ‘I tell you that Rosetta is a true professional. She no leave the theatre like it was on fire like the rest of the girls; she stays on and think about her next performance. Maybe do a little rehearsal on her own.’
‘No need to pile it on, Smithy,’ Alf said, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. ‘I got the point. Now you can leave the details to me and Miss er …’
‘Capretti,’ Rosetta said, smiling. ‘Rosetta Capretti, Mr Ricketts.’
‘Well then, Rosetta, I saw you upstage the whole damn chorus tonight, and while I don’t approve of such goings on I can see you’ve got talent, and what’s more you’ve got push, girlie.’
‘She could be a star, given the proper training,’ Madame said, puffing out her chest.
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Alf said, taking a silk hanky from his breast pocket and mopping his brow. ‘You said your piece, Smithy. Ain’t you got a home to go to?’
‘Are you all right, Mr Ricketts?’ Rosetta cast an anxious glance at Madame. ‘Should we send for a doctor, Madame?’
‘It’s just a touch of dyspepsia,’ Alf said, belching. ‘And you ain’t making it any better,
Smithy, standing there looking daggers at me. You done your bit. Now sling your hook.’
‘Well!’ Madame made gobbling noises like a turkey in Smithfield Market. ‘No one speak to Madame Smithsova like that.’ She flounced out of the dressing room, slamming the door behind her.
‘It ain’t fair to tease her, Mr Ricketts,’ Rosetta said, frowning. ‘She’s done a lot for me.’
‘Never mind old Clara Smith,’ Alf said, running his finger down Rosetta’s bare arm. ‘You and me got a little business to do, dearie.’
Now they were quite alone and Rosetta felt sick and suddenly quite scared. She tried to back away but Alf slid his arm around her waist and pulled her towards him. His breath stank of beer and onions and he was sweating profusely. ‘I think I should go home, Mr Ricketts,’ she said, using the bouquet to fend him off. ‘It’s getting late.’
Tightening his grip round her waist, Alf fingered one of the rosebuds, teasing the petals apart and allowing his finger to stray from the bloom to trace the swell of Rosetta’s left breast. ‘There’s nothing to worry about, girlie; Alf wants to take care of you, that’s all. Be nice to me, ducks, and next week you might get second or third billing, depending on how good you are, if you get my meaning.’
Rosetta did get his meaning; she stamped on his foot and hit him over the head with the roses,
leaving him hopping up and down on one leg in a shower of red petals. Storming out of the dressing room, Rosetta left the theatre by the stage door and strode down Old Street, too angry to feel the cold or to be scared of walking home alone. If any man tried to assault her at this moment in time, Rosetta would have scratched his eyes out and enjoyed it.
She arrived back in Raven Street cold, tired and still fuming with outrage. Lights blazed from all the windows of Crowe’s establishment. The front door opened and closed as a constant stream of shadowy figures came and went, vanishing into the night. In contrast, Lottie’s house was in darkness except for a light from her upstairs sitting room. Rosetta let herself into the hall, ignoring lewd remarks from a couple of drunken men lurching down the steps of Crowe’s place. She closed the door, leaning against it as her knees threatened to give way beneath her. It had been a horrible day and an even worse night. Jonas was a cruel beast who obviously enjoyed making a fool of her and Alf was a dirty old man. They wouldn’t have dared to treat her like this if Poppa had been alive. He would have sorted them out good and proper. Tears welled up in her eyes, running unchecked down her cheeks as she remembered Poppa’s loving kindness; he had called her his little canary and, no matter what she had done, she
had always been able to go to him for help. If only Ruby were here. Rosetta rubbed her hand across her eyes, sniffing; she had only herself to blame for the rift with Ruby. She shouldn’t have gone for Ruby like that just because Jonas had given her a lift in his motor car, and she hadn’t meant those nasty things that had come tumbling out of her mouth. Why did she always let her sharp tongue run away with her? Choking back a sob, Rosetta ran up the stairs and burst into Lottie’s room. The air was thick with a fug of cigarillo smoke and gin fumes.
Lottie gave her a bleary smile. ‘How was the show tonight, cara?’
Slowly unbuttoning her jacket, Rosetta bit her lip, afraid that if she tried to speak she would burst into a fresh bout of tears.