The Urchin's Song (40 page)

It was always Stratton who referred to the weekends he and other gay bloods had enjoyed at the Hogarth estate before his father lost everything, too. He had it on good authority that Stratton himself had been one of the young bucks who had broken his father in that last card-game, and then within days his parents had been lost at sea and he’d been left with very little more than the clothes he’d stood up in. His father’s gambling made his own losses of late appear small in comparison, although that five hundred last night was damned awkward.

Still, he’d been in deeper than this in the past once or twice, and hung on until Lady Luck had smiled at him again. Luck, and his undeniable talent in both cards and the profession he’d chosen, that was. He had some of the best names in the business on his books; talking of which . . . He stopped abruptly, frowning against the cold clear April sunlight as he tapped his gold-topped walking stick against one of the iron railings fronting a smart townhouse. Confound it, he hadn’t told Josie he had just secured her second billing at the new Apollo in Shaftesbury Avenue. Considering it had only been open for a couple of months it reflected well on her, and at fifty pounds a week it wouldn’t do future engagements any harm at all. He had been right about her, she was going to be a star.

He adjusted his hat, tapping it forward on his brow. The last thought had not given him the pleasure it would have done a few months ago. His beautiful young wife had a mind of her own and that mind seemed set against him at every turn lately. Stella had been strong-willed but in a different way; at least she had seen eye to eye with him on matters of social behaviour and etiquette, but Josie seemed determined to make them a laughing stock with this last act of turning his home into a refuge for every Tom, Dick or Harry.

He started walking again, his blood pressure rising. Didn’t she realise that the associates and friendships she formed in her private life away from the stage reflected heavily on him? Philanthrophy had its place of course, and it was a mark of England being a civilised country that workhouses and such had been provided for those who needed them, but one didn’t take such people into one’s home. Vagrancy was next to Godlessness, and most of these people who populated the hovels in the city only had themselves to blame for their idleness. This woman, this Lily Atkinson, she was little better than a whore, from what he remembered. She had been only too willing to sport with him that night in Hartlepool. And now she was residing in his home and being fussed over by his staff and his own private physician. Damn it.
Damn it.

‘Oliver?
Oliver!
’

It was a moment or two before Oliver heard the voice attempting to attract his attention. He was jerked out of his caustic thoughts, and on glancing across to the smart carriage and pair his gaze met a pair of saucy blue eyes set in a smiling face that was undeniably lovely.

‘You were far away. Is anything the matter?’ Stella Stratton said lightly. She knew from experience that such an attitude was the best line to take with Oliver. He loathed confrontation or emotion of any kind, and over the course of her liaison with this man, first before her marriage and then continuing afterwards at her insistence, she had constantly tried to hide her love for him, knowing he would find it an irritation. Desire and passion were the only emotions Oliver considered real, or had done before he had met that little chit who was now his wife.
His wife.
He had known that Stella herself would have married him at the drop of a hat and he had always insisted he wasn’t the marrying kind, and it was only when she had fully accepted that, that she had married Godfrey.

‘The matter?’ Oliver forced a smile. ‘Why should anything be the matter, Stella, and does Stratton know you’re out cavorting on your own without his driver?’

‘Oh, don’t be stuffy, darling, you know these little traps are all the rage.’ Stella’s languid hand took in the smart fashionable carriage and the two beautiful chestnut mares which had cost her longsuffering husband a small fortune. ‘Any woman who is
anybody
drives her own carriage these days; it’s such fun.’

Stella was wearing a tailored dress and coat in dove grey trimmed with silver braid, and her hat was of three different shades of grey with two curling silver feathers tilting low over her forehead. It suited her blonde hair and warm peach colouring, enhancing the blue of her eyes, and as always she had dressed very carefully, knowing her proposed ride would take her into the vicinity of St James’s. Since Oliver had finished their affair she had chosen the same route every afternoon she was in town, hoping for just such a meeting as had occurred today.

She hadn’t been able to believe it for days when he had cast her off. And she still hadn’t accepted it. She would not accept it, she told herself now as she smiled into the eyes of the man she loved. The reason for her dismissal from his bed after five years and more became clear when she heard the rumours that he was infatuated with one of his clients. Oliver, of all people! But she had also realised that with this new development, she couldn’t cause one of the scenes she had indulged in in the past when his eye had roved. She would lose him completely if she did. But she wasn’t beaten yet, oh no, not by a long chalk. Oliver belonged to her; she knew him inside out and no one could satisfy him like she did, certainly not some little baggage from the music halls.

‘Come and ride with me, I’ll take you to wherever you’re going.’ She kept her voice casual and smooth, straightening the skirt of her dress as though her appearance was the only thing of concern. ‘We hardly seem to see each other at all these days. Are you in hibernation since your marriage?’

He stared at her, surprised at her nonchalant tone and the fact she had mentioned his marriage. It was true their paths had crossed but rarely since he had married Josie, but he had thought it was due to Stella avoiding contact for some reason of her own. ‘No, I am not in hibernation, Stella, merely busy.’

‘Not too busy to ride with an old friend, surely?’ Her voice held just the right note of hurt reproach and she saw him blink for a moment. ‘We
are
still friends, aren’t we?’ she added sadly.

‘Of course we are.’ But Stella knew as well as he did that it would be the height of indiscretion for them to be seen riding together. It would be a statement in itself, and although Godfrey might be dull and prosaic he was not stupid. In fact, he was an extremely intelligent man. And if something like this got back to Josie . . . ‘But I chose not to drive because I wanted a walk,’ he continued quickly, smiling to soften the refusal.

Stella bowed her head for a moment. ‘I miss you, Oliver, but I don’t suppose I should say that, should I?’

‘Stella--’

‘I know, I know.’ She interrupted him swiftly, one gloved hand raised in fluttering acquiescence. ‘But I can’t help it. We had some good times, didn’t we?’

For a moment the memory of his past life - when his home was his own and
he
was in control of all areas of his life, including his relationship with the woman closest to him - hit Oliver with a poignancy that took him unawares. He stared at Stella and she stared back, reading the naked sentiment with its touch of pathos in his face as her heart leaped. Was Oliver finding married life too claustrophobic? Stella lowered her head again, frightened he would read the elation in her eyes. Careful, careful, she warned herself. If she was going to get him back, and she
was
going to get him back, she had to tread carefully here. Oliver could be more autocratic than Godfrey at times, and if he suspected she still loved him . . . It was strange, considering Oliver was such a quick-witted man, that he had never really understood how she felt about him. But then, did
she
? He was an obsession, she supposed, but one which was enduring. ‘Anyway, I must be going if you’re sure I can’t persuade you to ride to your destination?’

Oh, what the hell! After that one initial outburst she had been damned good about their split, damned good, and after the way Stratton had dealt with him last night he didn’t owe her husband any consideration.

And Josie? He ignored the warning voice at the back of his mind, answering it with, Stella was an old friend - hadn’t she just said so herself? And if his wife hadn’t defied him - yes,
defied
him - he wouldn’t even be here right now. All in all he’d been dealt with abominably, and to give Stella her due she would never have presumed to act with such impropriety as Josie had done. And what was a carriage-ride, when all was said and done? They moved in the same social circle and it was going to be better for everyone, including Josie, if any awkwardness between the Strattons and themselves was overcome.

‘I’m going to my club. Is that out of your way?’ he asked.

‘Of course not.’ Stella smiled again, the feathers on her hat dipping and waving, and after just a moment’s more hesitation Oliver climbed up beside her.

The last four years had seen mixed fortunes for Britain’s working class. Severe smallpox epidemics brought doctors calling for nationwide vaccination programmes as people died in their thousands, and when King Edward VII had an emergency operation for appendicitis, thereby delaying the massive celebrations planned for his Coronation - and which his advisers had felt would be an uplift for everyone after the ravages of the smallpox - the King treated the poor of London to dinner. Over 456,000 diners at 700 venues throughout the capital sat down to a veritable feast, hundreds of entertainers being booked for the occasion.

Josie herself sang for the crowds at Covent Garden where the big hall was bedecked with flowers and Chinese lanterns, and in Lambeth no fewer than 6,000 people were fed plum puddings cooked over a fire in a trench. Everyone agreed there would never be another day to match it.

Less than two months after his operation Edward was crowned on a bright sunny summer’s day, but the following years saw much unrest for the new King at home. A state of emergency was proclaimed in Ireland; a new militant women’s movement led by a Mrs Emmeline Pankhurst caused furious controversy; the miners’ unions and others began to gain ground and demand basic human rights for the working man; and although the politicians claimed greater numbers of the poor were receiving relief in Britain than ever before, every winter saw thousands dying of malnutrition and cold. The working class was questioning with a vengeance the old order of things which said the rich got richer and the poor got poorer, and all over the country different factions were challenging the wealthy upper class, the employers and land owners, and not least the judicial system itself.

To those outside her immediate circle however, it appeared that Josie’s four and a half years of married life had been happy ones, untouched by the prevailing unrest. At twenty-two years of age she had blossomed into one of the most beautiful women in London; her figure slim and straight but rounded in all the right places, and her eyes and hair calling forth as much acclaim from the critics as her outstanding voice.

By the end of her second year in the capital she had become a firm favourite of the London halls, easily commanding fees of approaching a hundred pounds a week. Gone were the days when she’d found herself dashing from one theatre to another and then back again several times a night, in order to support Gertie and herself and send money home to Vera for her mother. Now, more often than not, she had her own dressing room and refreshments served there after each of her two nightly performances.

She was fêted and adored and made much of by the general public, her popularity enhanced, ironically, by the very attribute which had caused an ever-widening rift between her husband and herself. Namely that of Josie’s altruistic championing of the underdog.

Lily had proved to be a catalyst both in Josie’s private and public life. Her predicament and the terrible circumstances in which Josie had found her friend had opened the younger woman’s eyes to the fact that Lily was one of many veterans of the halls who had never advanced into anything approaching reasonable money. These performers were often in poor health from their gruelling life on the boards and more often than not had no savings or home of their own, due to the gypsy-style life of the average entertainer. In their old age a great many found themselves cast, quite literally in some cases, into the gutter, there to die in squalor and loneliness. And once Josie’s eyes had been opened there was no going back.

Against Oliver’s express wishes, Josie had rented a small house at the back of the Caledonian Market - where on Fridays bargain-hunters gathered in search of everything from Old Masters and rare plate, to rusty bolts and chipped china, and which on Mondays and Thursdays was used as London’s cattle-market - and she had installed Lily in it. Nellie was more than happy to depart her lodgings and live with Lily; the younger woman’s only stipulation being she would finish the arrangement when her work moved her out of the capital to the provinces.

By the time this happened, Josie had already heard of two more old-timers in desperate need of help through Lily herself and her contacts throughout the halls. The older woman had been told, firmly but gently by Oliver’s doctor, that she would never be able to consider a strenuous working life again, but she took great delight in caring for the other two women who were much older than Lily and pathetically grateful for a roof over their heads.

The surrounding neighbourhood got used to the sight of the latest star of the music halls delivering a sack of coal or potatoes and other groceries in her carriage and pair, and street gossip being what it was, it soon got round that ‘Miss Josie Burns, her that was such a hit in the West End, had a heart of pure gold under all her fine togs’. And no one said this more vehemently than Lily.

At first she had been hard-pressed to take in her miraculous - as Lily herself termed it - deliverance from the Howards in the East End. Her weak state and ill-health caused her to sleep for twenty or so hours out of every twenty-four. But after a couple of weeks her exhausted body and bruised mind had started to fight back, and within two months she was the old Lily again, mentally at least. Physically, she was now unable to push herself and for a time she found that hard to take. However, once Josie had come up with the bright idea of moving in the other two women when Nellie’s decision to leave was announced, Lily felt she was doing something again.