Eve

  I’d never been so frightened in my life before; human predators are much worse than their animal equivalents. It was late at night by then – shadows, noise, young women with old faces – and men, jostling me, forming a circle around me, pressing on to me. ‘Here’s a new one for us!’ A leer, a grasping hand – I hit out, and broke free. I was tall and strong, and they weren’t expecting me to fight back. I got through the cordon and ran – and ran.

  I collapsed shaking in a doorway, and crouched there, panting and frightened, until a gentle voice with a foreign accent asked, ‘What is wrong, my child?’ A little old man with a beard and a black velvet skullcap was bending over me. I managed to explain that I had no money, no bed for the night. He took me in, gave me his room, his bed. The kindness of strangers.

  He was a tailor. His wife had died some years ago, he told me, so he would sleep downstairs in the workroom – the pile of scraps under the big table there would make a soft bed. I offered to go down and sleep under the table myself, but he would not hear of it. ‘No, no, you are my guest.’

  So I slept in his bed, and in the morning we drank coffee and ate bagels. Then he gave me a shilling for my tram fare back to Euston – and told me never to venture down Dosset Street, ever again.

  I walked down the five flights of stairs and out into a huge courtyard, alive with children. From the balconies all around their mothers were calling down to them in a foreign language. Eli Solomons had told me that most of the families in that tenement block were Jews, hailing form all over Eastern Europe, but they had a common language in Yiddish. It sounded a bit like German, and I could pick up the odd word even then.

  When I got back to the station my trunk had arrived. I was ready to collapse with relief. I booked into a hotel nearby – quite a dear one, but I didn’t care – I was just so thankful to have retrieved my savings. All I had to do now was find a job.

  Chapter Thirty Six

  By the time I’d consumed a second breakfast in the hotel I’d decided on my future career. But I couldn’t go in search of a job at once because it was Sunday. Instead I went to church, ate a large lunch, and then walked back across London to the East End. The old man was out, so I knocked at the door of his neighbour across the landing. A woman answered. She didn’t speak English, but her little boy did, and he promised to deliver my shilling to Mr Solomons and tell him, ‘Eve says “Thank you”.’

  I wandered slowly back across the great city. I felt much more cheerful now I was back in London again, and my two lucky escapes had made me realise things weren’t so bad after all.

  Next morning I set off for The Strand. I had decided to go on the stage as a chorus girl – and where better to start looking than at the Frivolity?

  The stage doorkeeper, with waxed moustache and military bearing, passed me on to the ‘The Guv’s assistant’ – a Mr Barker. The latter was a squat, toad-like man who looked me up and down with bulging eyes. I told him, ‘I can sing and dance.’ He continued to ogle me, without speaking, so I added, ‘Lord Rothbury said my legs were more’n good enough tae be in the Frivolity chorus.’

  The toad spoke. ‘So ’is lordship sent you, did ’e?’ He smiled, disclosing a mouthful of stained yellow teeth. ‘Well, ’e should know, alright! Come along then.’

  I was lucky. The pianist was already in the theatre, so I could have a voice-trial straight away. I didn’t have any music, but the pianist said he knew, ‘Were I thy bride.’ Alone on the great stage I experienced a moment of sheer panic, then as the familiar refrain began I pretended I was back at Wenlock Court, singing to my bachelors.

  I danced next, then the toad said, ‘Come back tomorrow, when the Guv’nor’s in – I reckon you’ve got what ’e’s looking for.’ Moving even closer he favoured me with a gust of foul breath – and a sharp pinch on my behind. I managed to restrain my angry retort. I did want the job – then.

  Now that I was actually backstage in a real theatre I didn’t want to leave, so I asked a stage-hand the way to the chorus girls’ dressing rooms. I was in luck again. Behind the first door I tried I found two girls – both tall, slim and attractive. Maisie was fair-haired with clear blue eyes, while Pearl was dark and dramatic. I asked them, ‘Can ye tell me a wee bit about working here?’ And soon I was sitting down with a cup of tea in my hand, the theatre cat purring in my lap – and a new name. That had come about because when Pearl asked my name I forgot, started to say ‘Eve Courtney’, remembered halfway through and stopped abruptly. And, of course, in the dressing rooms of the Frivolity anyone who could possibly be called by a diminutive always was. So that’s how I became Evie Court. I like to think of it as my stage name.

  They told me about rehearsals and performances, about costumes and make-up.

  I listened eagerly, asking questions – until Pearl asked one of me. ‘How old are you, Evie?’

  I tried to flannel, but Pearl was too sharp for me, so I had to admit the truth. The two girls exchanged glances, then Maisie said, ‘I think, dearie, there’s something else you’d better know about working as a chorus girl – especially in a place like the Frivolity.’

  They explained that girls had to attract young gentlemen to the theatre, so that they came night after night to sit in the expensive seats in the stalls. Then after the performance they would ask the Showgirls out to dine and dance with them. That sounded fun – until Maisie leant forward and said, ‘And after a while you’ll be expected to choose one of the gentlemen that’s got his eye on you – and go all the way with him.’

  I was puzzled. ‘All the way?’ Then it suddenly hit me. ‘You mean, like men do with women, tae give them babies?’

  Maisie quickly crossed her fingers and reached round to touch the wooden back of the chair. Then she nodded. ‘It’s part of the job, dearie. More of the gentlemen come to the shows if they know there’s a chance we’ll be kind to them, afterwards.’

  Remembering what Glad had told me in the Duke’s bedroom, I exclaimed, ‘Ye mean I’ve got tae be a tart?’

  Pearl’s retort was sharp. ‘We Friv girls aren’t tarts – we don’t do it with just anybody – and we don’t take money – the Guv wouldn’t allow that.’

  Maisie explained, ‘The gentlemen give us presents – clothes, and furs, and jewellery.’ She added wistfully, ‘Some titled gentlemen even marry actresses.’

  Pearl shook her head. ‘Not often Friv girls, they don’t. But sometimes one of them wants to make a steady arrangement – then he pays for a nice flat for you, with your own maid, and everything.’

  Ah – that was being a regular mistress – like the one Glad’s other duke had had in Maida Vale. At this point Maisie turned directly to me, ‘It’s your choice, of course, Evie – but if you were my seventeen-year-old sister, I’d want someone to give you a word of warning you before you agreed to take this job on.’

  I said, ‘Thank you. Actually, I’m not sure it would quite suit me, after all. I expect I’ll find something else.’

  Maisie said, ‘Haven’t you got a job, now, then?’ I shook my head. She reached for her purse. ‘Look, Evie – if you’re a bit short—’

  The kindness of strangers. Except that Maisie and Pearl didn’t feel like strangers – more like friends. I thanked Maisie and explained I already had some savings from my previous place. ‘Well, dearie, when you have found something, drop in and let us know, won’t you?’

  ‘Just tell Judd on the door that you’re coming to see us, and he’ll let you run up before the performance,’ Pearl added.

  ‘Oh, thank you – I will.’

  ‘And by the way – don’t ever go in to a room alone with the Toad – you don’t need to, now you don’t want a place here.’ What! Another lucky escape.

  As I came away I wondered whether to try another theatre. Perhaps they didn’t all expect their actresses to… Then I suddenly realised that I couldn’t possibly risk going on the stage anyway – in case Mr Henderson saw me. What a relief!

  I found a job in a steam laundry in Kensing
ton. I was paid ten shillings a week for working from 6.30 a.m. to 6.30 p.m., Monday to Friday, with an hour for lunch and a thirty minute break morning and afternoon. On Saturday we finished at 1 p.m. I operated a shirt and collar ironing machine. I would lay the damp shirt on a flat canvas bed, and then bang down a pedal with my foot. This put the belt-driven machine into gear, whereupon it fed the shirt through a pair of steam heated rollers. Another bang on the treadle whisked the canvas bed back through the rollers a second time, after which I lifted off the freshly ironed shirt and put another down in its place. By the time you finished in the evening you felt like a machine yourself.

  I managed to get lodgings nearby. They weren’t very good – grubby, and the food was poor. You know the sort of thing: watery stews, leaden dumplings, hard-boiled potatoes – and the cabbage! If it hadn’t been for its smell pervading the entire boarding house, I’d never have guessed what the green slime on my plate was.

  But I did have a small room of my own, with a view over the roofs and a convenient loose floor board by the hearth where I could hide my Bible box of savings. Those savings were proving vital, now. I’d had to buy a new pair of boots and a winter coat, and then I’d needed two print dresses plus a pair of enveloping aprons to wear at the laundry. But at least I could do my washing there in the dinner hour; washing was extra in the boarding house, along with baths and fires – yet it still cost twelve shillings a week, paid a fortnight in advance. I’d started out with nearly thirty pounds in savings, and thought I was rich – only they’d soon dwindle away if I didn’t get another job before too long. But by now I’d already discovered that girls’ and women’s wages were set low, on the assumption that they had families to live with. And I didn’t.

  At Christmas, which came a few days later, the boarding house also assumed lodgers had homes to go to. After walking miles through silent streets I returned to eat fatty mutton sandwiches in my tiny room – and tried not to remember all those Christmases I’d shared with Apa. It was a relief to get back to the shirt and collar machine.

  You must be wondering by now if I wasn’t regretting Wenlock Court – the answer is, no – because of the magic of the theatres, and the friendship of the girls at the Frivolity. I went back to see them the first Saturday after I’d started at the laundry. I could hear the sound of chattering and laughter as I came up the stairs, and I put my head very shyly round the door – perhaps they’d forgotten all about me? Maisie looked up, and smiled. ‘It’s Evie! Pearl and I have been wondering how you’ve been getting on. Now come on in, and tell us all about it – have you found a job yet?’

  They introduced me to the other three girls who shared with them – Belle, Violet and Flossie, and they all listened while I told them about the laundry. I didn’t stay long that first time – I didn’t want to get in their way. But I came back again the Saturday after Christmas. ‘Oh, Evie why didn’t you tell us you were on your own – we had a little party after the show on Boxing Day, you could have come!’

  There was only one dresser to look after ten girls in two separate rooms, so they all helped each other with hooks and eyes, and combs and hairpins. Soon, I’d joined in. The French-combing skills Miss Bradley had taught me were warmly praised – and for the first time in my life I was part of a female group. I began dropping in at the Frivolity several times a week. For me, the smell of greasepaint and cheap face powder spelt warmth and laughter – and friendship.

  They talked about their songs, costumes, dances – and I drank it all in, fascinated. Occasionally they made some reference to the other aspect of their job. They were completely matter-of-fact about it. ‘My young gentleman took me to ever such a nice hotel last night – lovely room we had. And look what he’s given me!’ We admired the emerald bracelet. Naturally she didn’t go into any details of what precisly she and her current gentleman did in the ‘lovely room’ – so I continued to believe implicitly in what Glad and Flo had told me. And then I’d be off home of an evening carrying a box of chocolates or basket of candied fruits – the reward of their activities which they generously shared with me.

  Those nights I didn’t go to the Friv I spent watching the rival musical offerings at the Pompadour, or the Hussar, or even the Gaiety. I enjoyed them all – but the Showgirls in their choruses could never compete with my girls, at the Frivolity.

  Then, in the third week in January, the five girls in that dressing room all left with one of the Frivolity touring companies. They were looking forward to the change – Maisie and Belle had been promised speaking parts. And all of them were booked to come back for the new production, which was to go into rehearsal in April. ‘See you in the spring!’ They hugged me goodbye, Maisie kissed my cheek, ‘Now be a good girl, Evie – do!’ They’d gone.

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  The Frivolity girls left on Wednesday, and by Friday evening I felt totally bereft. Spending Saturday afternoon with them had been the highlight of my week – now the weekend stretched ahead, lonely and blank. So I decided it was time to forgive Lord Rothbury. After all, the baby hadn’t happened, had it? And he and Mr Parton must surely be back by now, so I’d call on one of them this Saturday, and the other the next – Horseface first.

  With his card tucked in my pocket I headed for the Thames. At the bottom of Beaufort Street I asked for further directions, and then set off east, strolling along beside the river, enjoying its constant variety. Once I’d passed the Albert Bridge I began to look about me – there were still gardens to my left, but I knew I’d soon be on the Chelsea Embankment. Then I saw them, a striking row of very tall and very imposing houses.

  I stopped. Obviously I knew Horseface was a marquis, but somehow I hadn’t expected him to live in this sort of house. Mr Parton’s was a reasonable size – not at all like these houses. Perhaps it was further on – I saw a policeman ahead and rushed to catch him up.

  ‘Rothbury House, miss? That’s it.’ He pointed to the tallest and most imposing of them all.

  ‘You mean, the biggest one?’

  ‘That’s right, miss.’ He added chattily, ‘Well, it would be the biggest, wouldn’t it? Seeing as his lordship owns all of the land round here.’ He looked me up and down. ‘You’ll be coming to see about getting a place there, I daresay. The servants’ entrance is just round the corner and down the steps to the basement. Good luck!’ With a parting smile he strode firmly on.

  I looked up at that house, down at my shabby boots and even shabbier skirt – and lost my nerve. Then, be a tiger, Eve – tigers aren’t frightened of anything. Tiger-like, I stalked across the road and along the pavement to the bottom of the wide flight of stone steps leading up to the massive front door. And stopped.

  Retreating to the kerb, I tipped my head back as far as it would go. Rothbury House towered above me, and in the shadow of its soaring grandeur I shrank to the size of a very small tiger cub – and then dwindled away to nothing. I simply couldn’t tear my eyes from its brace of white-painted balconies; from its opulence of oriel windows; from its tiers of terra-cotta roundels and friezes – every one of them boasting a different pattern. Glowing rose-red in the winter sunset that house was like a maharajah’s palace – and just as unassailable. Even if the maharajah was inside, I’d never get past that army of retainers whose sole purpose was to erect barriers against the entry of undesired callers – like me. A tiger wouldn’t have a chance here; besides, maharajahs shot tigers.

  Think Eve – think.

  A horse. Be a horse, Eve – ‘a fine young filly’, ready to leap over every fence. He’d called me that once, and now I’d show him my mettle. It would be a steeplechase, just like the ones he’d ridden in. And what was the prize at the end of the race? Why, Horseface himself, of course. Or at least, entry to his presence, an invitation to be seated – and perhaps even a cup of tea.

  Come on, Eve – the race is starting! In one bound I galloped up the flight of steps, seized hold of the bell and pulled it, hard.

  The massive door swung open to
reveal a tall liveried footman. Looking down his nose at me he announced, ‘The tradesman’s entrance is round the corner.’

  Bracing myself for the first fence I held out Horseface’s card. ‘Ma name’s Eve Gunn, an’ I’ve come tae see Lord Rothbury.’

  ‘Is his lordship expecting you?’ Said with not quite a sniff.

  My reply was brisk – and truthful. ‘He gave me his card.’ I handed it over.

  As he read the scrawled message his eyebrows rose just the merest fraction. Then he pulled the door fully open. ‘You can come in and wait.’ First fence cleared.

  I followed him through the vestibule and into a high, light hall. As he left me I glanced quickly around; windows of soft-coloured stained glass were to the left, and to the right – peacocks. Their tails were spread wide in a multitude of blue-green eyes, while trailing leaves of a darker green made up the pattern on the glorious wallpaper. Stepping forward I touched the nearest peacock for luck – and the footman returned. ‘This way, miss.’ I was over the second fence!

  I trotted after him into a main staircase hall, and then on through that to enter a room filled with books – and with Horseface. He was sitting at a desk with his back to me, but even so he dominated the entire space. Finishing the sentence he was writing, he put down his pen and spun himself rapidly round in the revolving chair. ‘Well, well – it’s my Scottish hornpipe dancer!’ He smiled. And I knew I’d cleared the most important fence of all.

  As I moved closer to the welcoming warmth of the fire he asked, ‘So what are you doing in Town, Eve Gunn? I looked out for you when I was at Richmond,’ – just the faintest touch of reproach in his voice told me that the fourth fence now lay safely behind – ‘But I assumed your services had been required down in Shropshire – though apparently not at present?’ That comment was voiced as a question, and he was waiting for an answer.