‘I never seen nothing like it,’ Big Biddy whispered to Rosetta. ‘He must be even richer than old Bronski. Play your cards right and you’ll be in there, girl. You won’t have to stitch another seam.’
‘I won’t anyway. I’m on the stage now and I
ain’t never coming back,’ Rosetta said, keeping her eye on Jonas. She didn’t like the way he had led Ruby in first, keeping her at his side. He must, she decided, simply have got them muddled up. She tried to edge away, but Big Biddy had her by the arm.
‘I don’t understand,’ Biddy said, closing her fingers round Rosetta’s arm in a vice-like grip. ‘What are you talking about, Rose? We sees you every day, don’t we Winnie?’
Little Winnie nodded.
‘Don’t talk soft,’ Rosetta said, wincing as she prised Biddy’s fingers apart. ‘I walked out before Christmas and I never come back.’
‘But we seen you,’ whispered little Winnie. ‘I helped you thread your machine when you was poorly and lost your voice.’
‘Lost me voice?’ The truth dawned as Rosetta glared across the hall at Ruby. She would have words to say to her later, but she wasn’t going to admit that she didn’t know that Ruby had taken her place. ‘That weren’t me. I had a better offer so I sent Ruby in me place.’
‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ Biddy’s mouth worked as if she was about to burst into tears. ‘I thought as how we was mates.’
Winnie shook her head. ‘I knew there was something up.’
‘No harm done,’ Rosetta said, forcing a smile. ‘Ruby needed the money more than what I did.’
‘You don’t know then,’ Biddy said, frowning.
‘We was robbed,’ Winnie whispered, her lips trembling. ‘One of them street gangs raided Bronski’s and took all our wages. Beat up Mr Bronski something awful.’
Concentrating more on keeping an eye on Jonas and Ruby than on what was being said, Rosetta patted Winnie’s shoulder. ‘That’s too bad. Maybe I can fix you up with complimentary tickets to see me on stage at the Falstaff.’ As she hurried off, Rosetta could feel them staring after her. Well, what was she supposed to say? It was too bad they had lost their money, but it served Ruby right for sticking her nose in what didn’t concern her.
Jonas and Ruby had gone on ahead, with the rest of the party following them up the staircase and Rosetta had to push and shove to catch up with them. Elbowing one of the Wapping cousins in the ribs, Rosetta managed to get a few steps closer to Jonas.
On the first landing, Jonas flung open double doors that led into a huge room, that smelt faintly of cigar smoke and brandy. Rosetta blinked as at the flick of a switch the room was flooded with light from crystal chandeliers. Wall lights hung with lustres sent prisms of colour dancing on the heavily patterned wallpaper. She had never imagined that such opulence could exist and, judging by the awed silence, neither
had the rest of the party. The room was crowded with small tables, covered in green baize, set around with spindly gilt chairs, and at the far end, raised on a dais, stood a grand piano.
Standing next to Lottie, Rosetta tugged at her sleeve. ‘What goes on here?’
‘It’s the gaming room,’ Lottie said, raising her eyebrows. ‘I won and lost a fortune in here.’
‘But ain’t that against the law?’
Lottie chucked. ‘Of course it is, cara. That’s what makes it exciting.’
‘Make yourselves at home,’ Jonas said, with an expansive wave of his arms. ‘Normally I would have entertained you in the ladies’ parlour but it’s being refurbished as we speak. Refreshments will be brought shortly.’
‘This is a bit of all right,’ Sarah said, elbowing Lottie out of the way as she led Granny Mole to a table in the centre of the room.
‘Where’s the food and drink then?’ demanded Granny Mole in voice that echoed round the room. ‘A drop of gin would go down nicely.’
The cousins from Wapping gathered around a table in the corner, hovering expectantly like vultures round a dying animal. Lottie sailed past them all with her nose in the air and Billy strolled in with Sly, who stopped to light up a Woodbine and then headed for Lottie, who had taken a seat at a table directly opposite Sarah. Big Biddy and Winnie sidled in last and sat by the door,
clutching their purses and looking a bit overawed by the whole thing.
Waiting her chance to get close to Jonas, Rosetta moved towards him, but two maids carrying trays laden with sandwiches and cake distracted his attention. Following them into the room came a young woman who was anything but a servant. With suspiciously blonde curls piled high on her head in the latest fashion, and wearing a low-cut black gown that revealed more voluptuous curves than was modest, she was quite breathtakingly beautiful, and instantly Rosetta hated her. Watching Jonas incline his head to speak to the woman and noting the smile that softened his harsh features only added to Rosetta’s yearning to rush over and scratch her eyes out. Startled and confused by the violence of her feelings, Rosetta dragged her gaze away from them and went to join Ruby and Joe, who stood apart from the rest, chatting to Billy. Before she had time to ask them what they were talking about, Jonas had led the woman in black to the grand piano. While she settled on the piano stool and opened her sheet music, Jonas clapped his hands and waited for silence.
‘Ladies and gents, can I have your attention, please? It wouldn’t be a wake without a bit of music and lovely Lily Lawson, the Shoreditch songbird, will be only too happy to entertain you while you enjoy a bit of light refreshment.’ Jonas
held his hand out to Lily, who struck up a chord and began to sing.
‘Well, what a nerve!’ Rosetta said, bristling. ‘He might have asked us if we wanted the blooming Shoreditch sparrow to warble.’
‘Hush, Rose,’ Ruby said, blushing to the roots of her hair. ‘Keep your voice down or he’ll hear you.’
Rosetta tossed her head. ‘I don’t care if he does. If anyone was going to sing at Poppa’s wake, it should have been me what was asked, not some brassy trollop what none of us knows.’
‘Sounds to me like you’re jealous,’ Joe said, winking. ‘But serious like, Rose, don’t you go getting no ideas about Jonas Crowe, he’s a dangerous bloke.’
‘Says who?’ demanded Rosetta.
Joe shook his head. ‘Believe me, Rose, Jonas is nothing but trouble. He runs a street gang as well as an illegal gambling den. Don’t get no funny ideas about him.’
Shrugging her shoulders, Rosetta couldn’t help stealing a glance at Jonas as he strode around the room giving orders to the maids and making sure that the drinks were flowing. He strutted with the cocksure manner of a rooster in a farmyard, unselfconscious and arrogant. Entranced, Rosetta could only stand and stare; she jumped when Ruby pinched her arm. ‘Ouch! What’s that for?’
‘To stop you making a fool of yourself,’ Ruby whispered. ‘He’s a bad man, Rose. Listen to what Joe says.’
Billy nodded earnestly. ‘Aye, and I second that. Steer clear of Crowe.’
‘And you would know, I suppose?’ Rosetta turned on him angrily. ‘I suppose you and Joe couldn’t just be a bit green with envy seeing as how he’s so rich and successful and you two … well, Joe, you’re just a printer’s lackey, and Billy’s a jumped up rag and bone man.’ Rosetta broke off, biting her lip, knowing that she had gone too far this time.
‘Rag and bone man!’ Billy recoiled as if she had slapped his face.
Ruby nudged her in the ribs. ‘Shut up, Rose.’
‘No need to be so touchy,’ Rosetta said, tossing her head. ‘I just meant that Jonas Crowe is …’
‘Shut
up
, Rose,’ Joe said, turning pale. ‘He’s coming over.’
That night, Rosetta climbed into her narrow bed exhausted by performing on stage after the trauma of Poppa’s funeral and the explosion of emotions brought about by her meeting with Jonas Crowe. She had not been able to get him out of her mind and had made so many mistakes in the dance routines that, at one point, Aggie had kicked her on the shins, and Madame had given her a right old telling off in the wings. She
had pleaded a headache, but Madame had said that having a bad head didn’t affect your feet and if she couldn’t do better then she would be out on the street. Even in the darkness of her own room, Rosetta could feel her cheeks burning with shame, remembering how she had burst into tears, claiming that her poor performance was due to Poppa’s funeral. Madame Smithsova had calmed down a bit then, but that didn’t stop her delivering the lecture about how the show must go on even if your heart was breaking. A true artiste, she had said, would work their emotions into a heartrending performance that would bring the audience to tears. Rosetta had gone back on stage, gloomily anticipating Father Brennan’s reaction at her next confession. How many Hail Marys would it take to absolve her from the multiplicity of sins that she had committed, from lying to lustful thoughts about a man she didn’t even know?
However hard she tried, she simply could not fall asleep. Every time she closed her eyes she could see Jonas Crowe’s face, hear his deep, slightly gruff voice and feel the tingle that had run up and down her spine when he had accidentally brushed against her. He had come over to express his condolences, addressing most of his remarks to Ruby and Joe, but he had been standing next to Rosetta and she had been so acutely aware of his physical presence that she
was certain he had meant every word for her ears alone. Ruby had answered him politely, but frosty as a January dawn, and Joe had looked frankly terrified, as though he wanted to escape back to Fetter Lane as fast as his two feet would take him. Billy had acted like a sulky little boy, his usual cocky manner crumbling beneath the force of Crowe’s overpowering presence.
Rosetta pulled the coverlet up to her chin, shivering as the temperature in the attic room plummeted now that the last glowing ember in the grate had burnt to ash. She was certain that Jonas had been about to give her his full attention, but Aunt Lottie had chosen that moment to stagger over to the piano with a glass of gin in her hand, announcing that she would come out of retirement to sing one of Aldo’s favourite songs. She had knocked back the rest of the gin while Lily searched for the appropriate sheet music. Then, tapping her foot in time to the intro, Lottie had flung back her head, opening her mouth so wide that her face seemed in danger of splitting in two. Then, holding out her arms, she had done a swallow-dive, falling face down on the floor. The cousins from Wapping had whistled and cat-called and Sarah had leapt to her feet shouting abuse that would never have passed her lips if she had not drunk several port and lemons. Granny Mole, fuelled by gin, had jumped to her feet, lifted her skirts and begun to
jig up and down like a drunken marionette. Cousin Stan had joined in, shrieking at the top of his voice, and Sarah had slapped him round the face, causing Great-aunt Lil, who was Granny Mole’s younger sister who had married beneath her, to rush to his defence. Then the rest of the Wapping cousins had bundled on top of everyone with Big Biddy rolling up her sleeves and wading into the fray.
Rosetta could feel her cheeks burning with shame at the memory. Jonas had, with a click of his fingers, conjured up two giant minions who had knocked the men down like skittles and hefted the scratching, kicking women out of harm’s way, one under each arm, dumping them outside the doors without a by your leave. The party had broken up after that. The humiliation and embarrassment were etched in her memory forever, but even stronger was the desire to see Jonas again. With sleep evading her, Rosetta struggled to think of a plausible excuse for calling at the house next door. Perhaps she should apologise for the rowdy behaviour of her family, but she abandoned that idea almost as soon as it formed. She would not demean herself by apologising for something that was not her fault. She could, of course, simply thank Mr Crowe for his hospitality, but that seemed a bit too obvious. What if the Shoreditch songbird should open the door? Did she live there and, if
so, what was her relationship to Jonas Crowe? Rosetta felt her eyelids getting heavier and heavier as sleep began to overcome her. Tomorrow she would ask Aunt Lottie. After all, Lottie had vast experience in the world of men.
Next morning, Rosetta went into Aunt Lottie’s bedroom carrying her breakfast tray and found her sitting up in bed, smoking a small black cigar and drinking seltzer water.
Lottie eyed her through a haze of cigar smoke. ‘Where’s Elsie?’
‘That kid’s worn to the bone,’ Rosetta said, placing the tray on a side table. ‘You and Uncle Sly work her too hard.’
‘Hard work never killed no one and there are plenty more where she come from.’ Lottie took a sip of seltzer, closing her eyes. ‘Don’t bother me now. Can’t you see I’m poorly?’
Rosetta perched on the edge of the bed. ‘You got a bad head from too much drink, so don’t expect no sympathy from me.’
‘You’re a hard-hearted girl. Don’t talk to your auntie like that.’
‘You fell down dead drunk in the middle of Poppa’s wake.’
Lottie inhaled a lungful of smoke and coughed. ‘Did I, cara? I don’t remember.’
‘Well, you did, and then there was a fight. I’m mortified, Aunt Lottie. What can I do to make
amends to Mr Crowe when he was so good to us?’
Lottie’s eyes flew open and she stared at Rosetta. ‘You keep away from Jonas Crowe, my girl.’
Rosetta shrugged her shoulders, pleating the coverlet between her fingers. ‘I dunno what you mean. I was just being polite.’
‘Ho, just being polite, were you? You can’t bamboozle a bamboozler, Rosa. You got puppy love for Crowe, you better forget it; he’s got a woman already. Compared to Lily you’re just a bambina.’
‘Lily’s old,’ Rosetta said, pouting. ‘She got to be twenty-five at least.’
Lottie’s cigar butt hissed and went out as she dropped it into the glass of seltzer water. ‘Twenty-five, old!’ She threw back her head and laughed. ‘All right, Rosetta, seeing you’re a lump off the old block, I’ll give you some advice.’
‘You mean chip.’
‘I know what I mean, don’t interrupt. You think you can handle Crowe, then you have a go, cara. Test your kitten claws on the big cat and see what you get.’
Undeterred, Rosetta grabbed Lottie’s hand. ‘Tell me how. What would you do?’
‘You serious, Rosetta?’
‘Deadly serious. I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anything in me whole life.’