Ragged Rose

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Chapter One (#u01cc978d-8111-5418-9d9b-3d6731c642a8)

Cupid’s Court, Barbican, London 1875

‘Do hurry up, Cora. We’re on in a minute.’ Rose edged past her sister, bending almost double to avoid knocking the sequin-encrusted gowns off the pegs in their tiny dressing room, which in reality was little more than a cupboard.

Cora patted a stray curl in place, making a moue as she studied her reflection in the fly-spotted mirror. The atmosphere was thick with the smell of burning lamp oil and greasepaint, with wafts of cigar smoke seeping under the door, and the ever-present odour of stale beer and spirits permeated every inch of the saloon. She stood up, smoothing the tight-fitting bodice of the daringly low-cut gown with a satisfied smile. ‘I’m ready.’

Rose opened the door in answer to an urgent knock.

‘On stage, girls.’ Tommy Tinker, the boy who undertook all the odd jobs that no one else wanted to do, stuck his head into the room, eyeing the girls with a cheeky grin. ‘Very nice too, if I might be so bold.’

‘Little boys should be seen and not heard,’ Cora said with a haughty toss of her head as she squeezed past him.

‘Show a bit of respect for your elders, young Tinker.’ Rose paused in the doorway, fixing him with a stony stare until he blushed and dropped his gaze.

‘Sorry, Miss Sunshine,’ he muttered, making way for her by flattening himself against the whitewashed wall of what had once been a coal cellar. This small space now served as general store, as well as dressing rooms for the acts who performed in Fancello’s Saloon.

‘It’s Miss Perkins,’ Rose said mildly. ‘Sunshine is our stage name, Tinker.’

He frowned. ‘Best hurry, miss. The patrons are getting restless.’

Rose bundled up her full skirt as she negotiated the steep, narrow staircase, taking care to keep the satin from brushing against the damp walls. With Cora following close behind she arrived in the wings just in time to hear Fancello’s introduction.

‘Ladies and gentlemen.’ He raised his voice in order to make himself heard above the general hubbub in the bar room. ‘I am proud to present for your delectation … the delicious and delightful Sunshine Sisters.’ He clapped enthusiastically and his brother, Alphonso, downed the last of his pint and thundered out the intro on the piano.

Ignoring the continuous chatter, the occasional bursts of raucous laughter, and with the odd salacious remark tossed in for good measure by someone the worse for drink, Rose and Cora performed ‘Pretty Little Polly Perkins of Paddington Green’with appropriate actions, and then launched into their dance routine. This had the effect of largely silencing the rowdy element of their audience, as the men craned their necks in order to get a better view of ladies’ legs, and the occasional glimpse of a garter.

Rose and Cora left the small stage to a tumult of applause, and were called back for an encore, but Fancello intervened.

‘You have had sunshine brought into your lives, gentlemen. The young ladies must not be allowed to exhaust themselves, but they will perform again later in the evening.’ He joined the sisters in the wings. ‘Well done,’ he said, twirling his waxed moustache, a nervous habit that Rose had noted several times in the past. ‘We mustn’t spoil them – always leave the punters longing for more.’

‘Yes, Signor Fancello,’ Cora said with a coy smile. ‘You’re always right.’

Rose eyed him suspiciously. ‘We agreed one performance a night, signor. You just said we would be on again later – I take it that we’ll be paid double?’

He released his moustache and it recoiled like a watch spring. ‘I’m paying you for a night’s work, Miss Sunshine. Don’t bring on the storm clouds. Fancello is a fair man, but you can be replaced.’

Cora laid a small hand on his arm, her large blue eyes misted with tears. ‘Don’t be cross, signor. We understand, don’t we, Rose?’

Rose ignored the warning look that Cora sent her. ‘We might not be as well-known as your bambina, but we have been popular amongst your clients, signor. I think we deserve to be paid accordingly.’

For a moment she thought that she had gone too far. Fancello’s dark curly hair seemed to stand on end like the fur of an outraged feline, and his full lips quivered, but a sly smile spread across his face and he roared with laughter. ‘You drive a hard bargain, Miss Sunshine. I will pay you extra if you perform again later. My little bambina has the voice of an angel, but she is delicate like her mamma and we are careful to protect her.’ He cocked his head on one side, frowning at the sound of a slow hand clap from the saloon. ‘Go out there and circulate, but don’t allow the punters to get too familiar.’ He cupped his hand round his lips. ‘Tinker.’

Popping up like a jack-in-the-box, Tinker appeared at his side. ‘Yes, guv?’

‘Where is the bambina? Why is she not ready to go on stage?’

Tinker shook his head. ‘Your lady wife says it’s no go, guv. The little ’un ain’t to appear on stage as she’s took sick.’

‘We’ll see about that.’ Fancello strode off towards the staircase.

‘Is she ill?’ Cora asked anxiously. ‘It’s not catching, is it? I was talking to her earlier and she seemed perfectly fine then.’

‘Gin,’ Tinker said, tapping the side of his nose. ‘The bambina likes a drop of gin and water to give her Dutch courage.’

Rose pursed her lips. She was no prude but she had listened to enough of her father’s sermons to know the difference between right and wrong. ‘She’s just a child, a defenceless little girl. She should be drinking warm milk with a little honey to help her voice.’

‘Ain’t you never had a close look at her?’ Tinker said with a superior smile. ‘Ain’t you never smelled the gin fumes on her breath, nor the tobacco smoke what clings to her hair and clothes?’

Cora’s eyes widened. ‘What are you saying, Tinker? Is this one of your jokes?’

‘I been with the Fancellos since they plucked me from the poorhouse, miss. I seen the way they encouraged little Clementia to smoke and drink. It means she don’t eat much and she don’t grow proper – like us kids from the backstreets. Why do you think me legs is bowed and me arms don’t straighten out proper? Most of us kids suffered from rickets.’

Rose laid her hand on his bony arm. ‘It’s a terrible affliction, Tinker. I’m ashamed to think I didn’t notice your infirmities before, and I’m equally shocked to learn the truth about little Clemmie.’

‘Never mind her,’ Cora said urgently. ‘There’ll be a riot out there if we don’t put in an appearance. Besides which, I saw a really handsome young man seated at one of the tables. I’d swear that he had eyes for me and me alone.’

‘Best do it, miss.’ Tinker peered out through a gap in the curtains. ‘The signora is coming this way. She’s got that look about her like when she starts throwing things. I’m off.’ He turned and raced off towards the stairs that led up to the Fancellos’ private apartment.

Rose went to meet Signora Fancello, who did not look amused. ‘Your husband has asked us to do another performance this evening,’ she said boldly. ‘We have agreed but we must be out of the saloon before ten o’clock.’

Graziella Fancello’s winged eyebrows drew together in an ominous frown. ‘You are in no position to make demands on us, Miss Sunshine. We pay you to perform, and perform you will, even if we ask you to sing and dance at midnight.’

‘But, signora, our mama is unwell and we have to look after her. She will be worried if we’re out late. The streets of Islington are dangerous enough in daytime, let alone late at night, and we are two young women on our own.’

Graziella’s red lips hardened into a thin line. ‘I’ll think about it. Now go out there and socialise with the clients.’ She headed towards the stairs with a determined set of her chin.

‘Well done, Cora,’ Rose whispered, smiling. ‘You know how to handle the wretched woman.’

‘I suppose she’s gone upstairs to give poor Clemmie a piece of her mind.’ Cora adjusted her costume, pulling the bodice up in an attempt at a semblance of modesty. ‘We’d best go out and circulate. Who knows, I might catch the eye of a rich man and he’ll sweep me off my feet, and marry me?’

‘I’d settle for being spotted by the manager of thePavilion Theatre or theGrecian. We could earn twice as much, and we wouldn’t have to pander to gentlemen with roving eyes and wandering hands.’ Rose braced her shoulders. ‘But we must leave here by ten, or Aunt Polly will have locked the doors.’

Cora pulled back the curtain and stepped down from the stage to a rousing cheer from the clientele: mostly well-dressed men of means who had come slumming. She headed for the blue-eyed gentleman she’d spotted earlier, who leaped to his feet with a courteous bow. Rose followed more slowly, walking between the tables, acknowledging the flattering comments, and ignoring suggestive remarks that would have made a courtesan blush. There were familiar faces amongst the audience, some whom she knew it was best to humour and then move on. Just as Fancello erupted onto the stage to introduce his bambina cara, Clementia, Rose came to a halt at a table occupied by a distinguished-looking gentleman of military bearing. He was older than the usual punter, and he had a kind, fatherly look about him.

‘You are on your own, sir,’ she said, smiling. ‘May I join you?’

He half rose from his chair, motioning her to take a seat. ‘That would be delightful, but you must excuse me if I don’t stand. I have a gammy leg – an old war wound, you understand.’