entire population quite stole the Corporation’s thunder. Flags appeared everywhere, even draped over the lichen on the walls of the poorest houses. Humble cab-horses trotted through the town with trimmings of red, white and blue; children appeared in miniature tropical helmets, brandishing tin swords; the minstrel bands played little else but See the Conquering Hero Comes and When Johnny Comes Marching Home.
As soon as Moscrop reached the Old Steine he saw that there was small chance of picking out the Protheros, even if Zena had managed to persuade her husband that this was the best vantage-point. It was like The Mall on Coronation Day. Crowds nine or ten deep lined the route from the Pavilion to St. Peter’s. Latecomers were improvising periscopes with hand mirrors, or resorting to the trees. The police, massively reinforced, had linked arms to preserve a passage for the regiment.
‘Was you wishing you had your spy-glass?’
He turned in surprise, stung by the pertinence of the question. It was exactly what he had been wishing. Bridget stood there, smiling mysteriously. ‘You wouldn’t spot the doctor and his wife in this mob, sir. Neither of ’em’s over-tall, and they started out late, long after the crowds began to collect.’
‘You! How strange! I had no idea—‘
‘Not so strange as you think, sir.’ She tilted her hat so that two of its imitation cherries lolled coquettishly over the brim. ‘I’ve been following you for ten minutes or more.’
‘ Following me?’ Whatever was the girl saying?
‘You ain’t the only one that plays follow my leader. I waited for you at the top of North Street, near the Penitents’ Home. I knew you’d come that way because your diggings are in Montpelier Parade. That’s given you food for thought, hasn’t it?’
‘I don’t understand.’ For the first time he looked at Bridget without regard to status. Her manner verged on impertinence and he would certainly have silenced the girl if she had not caught him unprepared. In the most presumptuous way she was demanding a conversation on equal terms. There was a positive hint of archness in the set of her mouth, as if she had caught him prowling below stairs. A neat little face, too, for all its pertness. Until now he had not noticed. ‘What possible reason do you have for following me?’
She stepped closer and, as if it were the most natural thing to do, tucked her hand behind his right arm. ‘If you was to buy me a glass of white satin you might find out.’
He stiffened. Into a public house to drink gin with a domestic? The very idea!
He treated the suggestion with contemptuous silence. But he did not remove the offending hand from his arm.
‘You won’t see much of the military from here,’ she persisted. ‘Just the tops of their hats. We could have a much more profitable half-hour together. The Seven Stars is just around the corner.’
And this was to have been the year when he made his debut in the Brighton season!
‘There won’t be a soul in the bar. They’ve all come on the streets for the march-past. Don’t let’s lose time. You want to find out some more about Mrs. P., don’t you?’
Put like that, it sounded appallingly crude, but he had to admit that the girl had the native gift of shrewdness one sometimes found among females of the lower orders. She was right. If there was anything to be learned of Zena, then he was enslaved. Feeling much as he had when he abandoned Bernhardt for his night at the Canterbury, he permitted Bridget to guide him towards Ship Street by way of Bartholomews. The salute was going to be taken from the Town Hall steps, so the pavement opposite bristled with people determined not to budge from hard-won positions. She steered him determinedly through the crush, at times surprising him with pressures he could not recall having experienced among the crowds in Oxford Street or at Waterloo Station.
A pink awning had been erected in front of the Town Hall, and the
As soon as Moscrop reached the Old Steine he saw that there was small chance of picking out the Protheros, even if Zena had managed to persuade her husband that this was the best vantage-point. It was like The Mall on Coronation Day. Crowds nine or ten deep lined the route from the Pavilion to St. Peter’s. Latecomers were improvising periscopes with hand mirrors, or resorting to the trees. The police, massively reinforced, had linked arms to preserve a passage for the regiment.
‘Was you wishing you had your spy-glass?’
He turned in surprise, stung by the pertinence of the question. It was exactly what he had been wishing. Bridget stood there, smiling mysteriously. ‘You wouldn’t spot the doctor and his wife in this mob, sir. Neither of ’em’s over-tall, and they started out late, long after the crowds began to collect.’
‘You! How strange! I had no idea—‘
‘Not so strange as you think, sir.’ She tilted her hat so that two of its imitation cherries lolled coquettishly over the brim. ‘I’ve been following you for ten minutes or more.’
‘ Following me?’ Whatever was the girl saying?
‘You ain’t the only one that plays follow my leader. I waited for you at the top of North Street, near the Penitents’ Home. I knew you’d come that way because your diggings are in Montpelier Parade. That’s given you food for thought, hasn’t it?’
‘I don’t understand.’ For the first time he looked at Bridget without regard to status. Her manner verged on impertinence and he would certainly have silenced the girl if she had not caught him unprepared. In the most presumptuous way she was demanding a conversation on equal terms. There was a positive hint of archness in the set of her mouth, as if she had caught him prowling below stairs. A neat little face, too, for all its pertness. Until now he had not noticed. ‘What possible reason do you have for following me?’
She stepped closer and, as if it were the most natural thing to do, tucked her hand behind his right arm. ‘If you was to buy me a glass of white satin you might find out.’
He stiffened. Into a public house to drink gin with a domestic? The very idea!
He treated the suggestion with contemptuous silence. But he did not remove the offending hand from his arm.
‘You won’t see much of the military from here,’ she persisted. ‘Just the tops of their hats. We could have a much more profitable half-hour together. The Seven Stars is just around the corner.’
And this was to have been the year when he made his debut in the Brighton season!
‘There won’t be a soul in the bar. They’ve all come on the streets for the march-past. Don’t let’s lose time. You want to find out some more about Mrs. P., don’t you?’
Put like that, it sounded appallingly crude, but he had to admit that the girl had the native gift of shrewdness one sometimes found among females of the lower orders. She was right. If there was anything to be learned of Zena, then he was enslaved. Feeling much as he had when he abandoned Bernhardt for his night at the Canterbury, he permitted Bridget to guide him towards Ship Street by way of Bartholomews. The salute was going to be taken from the Town Hall steps, so the pavement opposite bristled with people determined not to budge from hard-won positions. She steered him determinedly through the crush, at times surprising him with pressures he could not recall having experienced among the crowds in Oxford Street or at Waterloo Station.
A pink awning had been erected in front of the Town Hall, and the
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