Lucilla gave Tom a shove that sent him staggering back against the wall, and she flounced over to Augustus. ‘Daddy, he’s being mean to me.’
Augustus shook the cap, staring into its greasy interior. ‘Is he, pet? That’s nice.’ He turned to Clemency with a broad smile. ‘If we go on like this, my dear Clem, I will be a happy man.’
Clemency wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Her nose was running and she could not feel her feet. ‘Can we go home now?’
‘Home? My dear boy – I mean girl – we’re just starting. We’ll make our way towards the Strand. Fleet Street is always good for a few bob, and we’ll catch the queues waiting outside the theatre. If we do as well all evening, I’ll treat everyone to a pie and mash supper. I can’t say fairer than that.’
It was almost midnight by the time they returned to Flower and Dean Street. Augustus led them home at a brisk marching pace, twirling his malacca cane, which doubled as a conductor’sbaton, and stepping out with boundless energy. Lucilla leaned heavily on Tom’s arm and Ronnie walked behind them, dragging his feet. It was all that Clemency could do to keep up with them. She plodded along, barely noticing where she was treading, regardless of the piles of horse dung, dog excrement and rotten vegetables that lay mouldering on the thoroughfares and pavements, awaiting the arrival of the early morning street sweepers. The night sky seemed to have compressed the smoke from thousands of chimneys into a thick blanket, which rested on the tops of the flickering streetlamps. Clemency’s throat was sore and she was certain that she was losing her voice. She was painfully aware that the ill-fitting boots had rubbed blisters on her heels. Augustus led them up Petticoat Lane, cutting through Wentworth Street where prostitutes solicited from shop doorways. The banks and businesses in the City might be sleeping, but here the narrow alleys teemed with the nightlife of the underworld, but Clemency was too dog-tired to worry about who might be lurking in the shadows. The terrifying phantom of Jack the Ripper meant little to her at this moment. All she wanted was to crawl into whatever sort of sleeping arrangement Mrs Blunt had thought fit to give her. She knew she would fall asleep as soon as she laid her head on the pillow, always supposing that she was to have the luxury of a pillow.
At last, when she thought she was about to collapse, they reached Flower and Dean Street. Augustus unlocked the door and went inside, but he came to a halt at the foot of the stairs so unexpectedly that Tom and Ronnie cannoned into him. He raised his fingers to his lips. ‘Hush, we don’t want to wake the whole house. But I think we’ve earned ourselves a drop of hot toddy, just to keep the cold from our bones, of course. What d’you say?’
Tom nodded. ‘You’re on, guv.’
‘Ta, but I’m going to me bed,’ Ronnie said wearily. He hobbled off along the passage.
‘Me too. I’m fair done in.’ Lucilla grabbed the banister rail with one hand and began to haul herself up the stairs.
‘Goodnight, my little nightingale,’ Augustus called in a stage whisper. ‘You were magnificent tonight, as always.’
Clemency said nothing. She followed Lucilla up the staircase, parting company outside her room on the second floor and wearily mounting the final flight that led to the attics at the top of the building. The dancers from the Pavilion Theatre shared one of the tiny rooms beneath the eaves. Doreen and Flossie, the two young chambermaids, slept in the middle room, and Mrs Blunt had grudgingly allowed Edith and Clemency the use of the smallest room at the end of the narrow corridor. Clemency felt her wayalong the wall, unable to see even the faintest chink of light in the darkness. Her fingers closed round the latch and the door opened with a squeal of rusty hinges. She blinked as her eyes grew accustomed to the silvery stream of moonlight slanting through the
Augustus shook the cap, staring into its greasy interior. ‘Is he, pet? That’s nice.’ He turned to Clemency with a broad smile. ‘If we go on like this, my dear Clem, I will be a happy man.’
Clemency wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Her nose was running and she could not feel her feet. ‘Can we go home now?’
‘Home? My dear boy – I mean girl – we’re just starting. We’ll make our way towards the Strand. Fleet Street is always good for a few bob, and we’ll catch the queues waiting outside the theatre. If we do as well all evening, I’ll treat everyone to a pie and mash supper. I can’t say fairer than that.’
It was almost midnight by the time they returned to Flower and Dean Street. Augustus led them home at a brisk marching pace, twirling his malacca cane, which doubled as a conductor’sbaton, and stepping out with boundless energy. Lucilla leaned heavily on Tom’s arm and Ronnie walked behind them, dragging his feet. It was all that Clemency could do to keep up with them. She plodded along, barely noticing where she was treading, regardless of the piles of horse dung, dog excrement and rotten vegetables that lay mouldering on the thoroughfares and pavements, awaiting the arrival of the early morning street sweepers. The night sky seemed to have compressed the smoke from thousands of chimneys into a thick blanket, which rested on the tops of the flickering streetlamps. Clemency’s throat was sore and she was certain that she was losing her voice. She was painfully aware that the ill-fitting boots had rubbed blisters on her heels. Augustus led them up Petticoat Lane, cutting through Wentworth Street where prostitutes solicited from shop doorways. The banks and businesses in the City might be sleeping, but here the narrow alleys teemed with the nightlife of the underworld, but Clemency was too dog-tired to worry about who might be lurking in the shadows. The terrifying phantom of Jack the Ripper meant little to her at this moment. All she wanted was to crawl into whatever sort of sleeping arrangement Mrs Blunt had thought fit to give her. She knew she would fall asleep as soon as she laid her head on the pillow, always supposing that she was to have the luxury of a pillow.
At last, when she thought she was about to collapse, they reached Flower and Dean Street. Augustus unlocked the door and went inside, but he came to a halt at the foot of the stairs so unexpectedly that Tom and Ronnie cannoned into him. He raised his fingers to his lips. ‘Hush, we don’t want to wake the whole house. But I think we’ve earned ourselves a drop of hot toddy, just to keep the cold from our bones, of course. What d’you say?’
Tom nodded. ‘You’re on, guv.’
‘Ta, but I’m going to me bed,’ Ronnie said wearily. He hobbled off along the passage.
‘Me too. I’m fair done in.’ Lucilla grabbed the banister rail with one hand and began to haul herself up the stairs.
‘Goodnight, my little nightingale,’ Augustus called in a stage whisper. ‘You were magnificent tonight, as always.’
Clemency said nothing. She followed Lucilla up the staircase, parting company outside her room on the second floor and wearily mounting the final flight that led to the attics at the top of the building. The dancers from the Pavilion Theatre shared one of the tiny rooms beneath the eaves. Doreen and Flossie, the two young chambermaids, slept in the middle room, and Mrs Blunt had grudgingly allowed Edith and Clemency the use of the smallest room at the end of the narrow corridor. Clemency felt her wayalong the wall, unable to see even the faintest chink of light in the darkness. Her fingers closed round the latch and the door opened with a squeal of rusty hinges. She blinked as her eyes grew accustomed to the silvery stream of moonlight slanting through the
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