The Dollmaker's Daughters (21 page)

Creeping back past Elsie, Rosetta left the kitchen and dragged her aching body up to the first floor. She was still shaking all over, weak at the knees and her teeth clattered together like a busker playing the spoons. She paused. There was no telltale strip of light under Lottie’s door and Rosetta went inside, fumbling her way in the dark to the small side table where Lottie kept her bottle of gin. She took off the stopper and put the bottle to her lips. The fiery spirit burnt her throat, made her gasp and her eyes watered. Smothering a cough, she took a deep breath and another swig of gin. It hit the lining of her now empty stomach like a lightning bolt, ricocheting upwards, dizzying her brain and blunting memory. Putting the bottle carefully back where she had found it, Rosetta made her way to the staircase and climbed the three flights to the attic. Pausing to catch her breath, she heard the now
familiar sound of footsteps, male voices and tipsy laughter coming towards her. She ran to her room and dodged inside, looking anxiously over her shoulder to see if Joe was asleep in the chair. The room was empty and she breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe he had seen sense after all. Holding the door ajar, she peeped out and saw three men, one with a woman leaning on his arm. They had gone past her door and were now lurching drunkenly towards the staircase. Their voices were still audible long after the darkness had swallowed them up. Rosetta heard more doors open and close and then silence.

The gin had gone to her head, dulling the memory of losing her virginity to a disgusting pig like Alf, and the effects of the alcohol had made her bold. Determined to find out once and for all where these nightly revellers were coming from, Rosetta crept along the passage that ended, as she had always thought, in a blank wall. She was in total darkness but, amazingly, straight ahead of her there were threads of light outlining the shape of a door. Running her hands over the wall she could not find a handle, but what she had previously thought to be panelling now appeared to be the indentation of a doorway. On the other side, in Crowe’s premises, she could hear the sound of voices and laughter and approaching footsteps. Panicking, she turned to run but caught her heel in a threadbare patch of
carpet. There was a moment of silence, Rosetta kicked free of the cords but was pitched backwards as the door flew open, pinning her to the wall.

‘What the hell?’

Rosetta almost fainted with relief. ‘Joe?’

‘For God’s sake, Rose, what d’you think you’re doing?’

‘What was I doing? What are you doing coming through the wall like a bloody spook?’

‘Shut up or someone will hear you.’ Joe grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her along the corridor.

‘There’s no need to shove,’ Rosetta said, breaking away from him. ‘Keep your stupid secrets if you must.’ Strutting off towards her room, she could hear Joe padding along behind her.

‘There!’ Joe said, following her into the room and tossing a leather pouch on the bed. ‘I won tonight. I told you me luck would turn.’

‘And you paid off your debt to Jonas?’

‘No, but I got enough to buy me a bit of time. One or two more runs of luck like tonight and I’ll be able to get away from Crowe.’

‘He’ll skin you alive when he finds out.’

‘I covered me tracks. I ain’t stupid, Rose. One more big win and I’m a free man.’

Rosetta dashed her hand across her eyes as exhaustion washed over her in a great tidal wave. The way Joe talked about gambling was
beyond all reason and he sounded just like Lottie: the big win was always just a bet away. Right now all Rosetta wanted was to get into bed and forget everything in sleep.

‘You all right, Rose?’ Striking a match, Joe lit a candle and held it close to Rosetta’s face. ‘You look a bit peaky.’

‘Just tired. It’s been a long day.’

‘Get some sleep and forget what you saw tonight.’

‘How can I forget it? Why is this house linked with Crowe’s place?’

‘It’s a business deal between Sly and Crowe.’

‘I don’t understand.’ Rosetta’s knees gave way beneath her and the bedsprings groaned in protest as she slumped down onto the flock mattress. ‘You’d better tell me, and I want the truth, mind. I’m not in a mood to listen to lies.’

Joe sat down in the rocking chair and kicked off his boots. ‘You’re a sport, you always was.’

‘You ain’t answered the question and I ain’t stupid. Does Aunt Lottie know what’s going on under her own roof?’

‘Shouldn’t think so.’ Joe tapped the side of his nose, grinning. ‘Sly by name and sly by nature! Letting rooms to tarts and punters is a good deal more profitable than looking after commercial travellers and a lot less work.’

‘Turn your head,’ Rosetta said, preparing to undress.

Obediently, Joe looked away, staring into the empty grate. ‘I think that Sly done the deal without telling Lottie. And let’s face it, she don’t care about anything much as long as she’s got a bottle of tiddley to keep her company. Old Cyril Wilby is the only real lodger. He’s just there to make the place look respectable. Rose, are you decent? Me neck’s aching something chronic.’

Down to her shift, Rosetta climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. ‘Someone ought to tell her that Sly’s running a knocking shop.’

‘Well it ain’t gonna be me,’ Joe said, yawning. ‘And if you take my advice, Rose, you’ll keep your mouth shut too.’

Next morning when Rosetta woke up she found that Joe had gone, but on her bedside table he had left a shining golden guinea. She did not feel in the least little bit like going to the theatre and the thought of seeing Alf was nauseating, but Rosetta knew that if she missed a single rehearsal she would lose her solo spot. She must be nice to Alf, but this time she would take charge and there would be no repeats of the disgusting events of last night. Her head ached as the result of drinking Lottie’s gin and the taste of vomit lingered in her mouth; she longed for a hot, sweet cup of tea to wash it away but she had little appetite for breakfast. On her way down to the
kitchen, Rosetta took a peek into several of the rooms, first listening at the keyhole to make sure they were unoccupied. Each room was identical to the last, sparsely furnished with a double bed, a washstand and a single chair. There was no doubt left in her mind: Sly was running a bordello and more than likely keeping the profits to himself. Should she tell Aunt Lottie, or should she follow Joe’s advice and say nothing?

Silas was sitting in his usual chair by the range, with his feet up on the brass rail, reading a copy of the
Daily Mail
. He glanced at Rosetta over the top of the paper. ‘You wasn’t in last night when I locked up.’

Shrugging her shoulders, Rosetta went to pick up the teapot.

‘It’ll be stewed. Breakfast was over an hour ago and I sent Elsie to the market.’

Without answering, Rosetta set about making a fresh pot of tea.

Silas put down his newspaper. ‘I heard young Joe had a winning streak last night.’

Rosetta almost poured boiling water over her hand, missing the brown teapot and slopping it onto the flagstone floor. ‘How do you know that?’

‘I got it from young Tucker when I went out to buy a morning paper. It come from the horse’s mouth, so to speak. Satisfied?’

When Alf did not put in an appearance during rehearsals, Rosetta began to relax. Madame put everyone through a rigorous practice session and, not wanting to draw attention to herself, Rosetta had to force her aching limbs to keep up with the rest of the girls. When at last it was over, she was in the middle of dressing and barely listening to the girls chattering about their male admirers, teasing each other and making lewd jokes, when Alf put his head round the door. There was total silence and Rosetta could feel everyone staring at her.

‘Excuse the intrusion, ladies.’ Alf cast around the room until his eyes lit upon Rosetta. He raised his finger and beckoned. ‘Miss Capretti, please. I need to go over a clause in your contract. In my office, now!’

As he closed the door, everyone began to giggle.

‘I wouldn’t bother to pull them up, dearie,’ Aggie said, jerking her head in Rosetta’s direction. ‘He’ll have them off again in two ticks.’

Hastily buttoning her blouse, Rosetta felt her cheeks burning but she forced a smile. ‘You’d know all about that, Aggie Brown.’

‘Me and most of the girls in this room, but then we didn’t get third billing. You must have got something that we ain’t got.’

‘It’s called talent, Aggie,’ Rosetta said, tossing her head. ‘Something you definitely ain’t got.’

Aggie flew at her with fingers crooked into talons, but Rosetta nimbly dodged her and left the room with her head held high. Let them talk and let them giggle behind her back. She was going to put Alf firmly in his place; there would be no repeats of last night’s shenanigans.

She strode through the narrow corridors to Alf’s office, rapped smartly on the door and went in without bothering to wait for an answer. ‘Now, Alfie dear, you really shouldn’t show me up in front of the other girls. It won’t do and I won’t have it.’

Alf got up from behind his desk, his teeth bared in a wolfish smile. ‘Oh, I think you will, pet. That is, if you want to remain at number three. If you’re a very good girl, we might even get you up as far as number one, but you’ll have to be ever so good.’

Poised for flight, Rosetta curled her fingers round the doorknob. ‘You got it all wrong. I ain’t cheap and I ain’t easy.’

‘I’ve seen your sort come and go over the years, so don’t put on airs and graces with me, girlie.’

Alf was coming at her, his lips parted like a dog salivating over its dinner. Rosetta tried to open the door but he lunged forward, slamming it with one hand, turning the key in the lock with the other, his portly body pinning her to the wooden panels.

‘I’ll scream,’ she said, struggling.

‘Don’t worry, pet,’ Alf said, lifting up her skirt. ‘Scream away if you want. We’re underground and there’s a full orchestra rehearsal going on.’

Rosetta began to live in dread of Alf’s frequent summonses to his office. Everyone knew what was going on behind his locked door. She found that almost as hateful as his seemingly insatiable lust. She was trapped by her own ambition and her need for money. Alf had threatened to make sure that if she refused to co-operate, she would never work in the London theatre again and Rosetta had no option but to believe him. She took no pleasure in their hurried couplings on the office floor – or, if he was feeling generous, in a cheap hotel room after an indifferent supper. But there seemed to be no way out. Aunt Lottie would not be sympathetic; after all, hadn’t she told her that this was the one and only sure way to get to the top? Rosetta thought of confiding in Joe, but almost at once abandoned the idea. There was no knowing which way he would react; he might be shocked and angry, playing the part of the outraged elder brother and physically assaulting Alf. He might even think it funny or simply turn his back on her, saying that she had brought it upon herself.

Rosetta’s thoughts turned to Ruby who was living just next door, although it might have been a hundred miles away with Jonas Crowe stand
ing like a barrier between them. Once, what seemed like a lifetime ago, she had told Ruby absolutely everything. They had lain side by side in bed whispering confidences long into the night to the background noise of Granny Mole snoring. It had been so innocent, Rosetta thought sadly, although they had thought it shocking at the time, when Sammy Maloney had kissed her on the lips and tickled her tongue with his. She had been certain that this was how babies were made, but Ruby had said it didn’t count unless you were lying down in bed; that’s what Sukey Harris had told her and she should know, being one of ten children living in two rooms with their parents, and a new baby arriving regularly every year.

No, she couldn’t tell Ruby. She couldn’t admit what a stupid, over-ambitious fool she had been and that now she was trapped in this horrible situation, having to suffer physical intimacy with a man who revolted her, and whom she was beginning to hate so much that nightly she dreamed of killing him. Rosetta could just see Father Brennan’s face if he knew just half the truth of her fall from grace. She had never been a conscientious churchgoer, and she could barely remember the last time she had been to confession, but she was certain that her catalogue of sins was so great that no amount of Hail Marys or penances could save her immortal soul.

To add to her burden of guilt, Rosetta had been short with Billy when he had come to call. Joe had told her all about his bravery in rescuing the baker and his family and how Ruby had nursed him until his burns healed, but Rosetta had long ago lost interest in Billy. Compared to Jonas Crowe he was little more than a cheap chancer, doing dodgy deals and living by his wits, who would never amount to anything. She could not imagine now what she had ever seen in Billy, and had made it clear that she did not want him to call again. When he had gone, Rosetta had to run to the privy in the yard and was sick. She had been sick that morning too, and the previous morning. She really must stop eating the chocolates that Alf now bought for her, having complained that she had grown too thin for comfort and needed a ‘bit more meat on her bones’.

After almost three months, there was nothing that Alf did that either surprised or shocked her; she did not enjoy their physical union but Rosetta found that, by concentrating on something else, perhaps a new dance step or the words of a song, she could mentally detach herself from the sweaty, humiliating process. His demands on her had gradually eased, so that now it was just once or twice a week that she had to suffer his advances. For the rest of the time, he left her more or less alone. Rosetta was more
than grateful for this, but she had her sights set on top billing and she couldn’t help worrying a bit that she had lost some of her bargaining powers.

Walking to the theatre one morning in late April, Rosetta realised with a lift of her spirits that the bite had gone out of the wind and ragged puffball clouds were scudding across a baby-blue sky. The streets were just as grey and dirty as before, but the costermongers’ barrows spilled over with golden daffodils and narcissi brought in from the country. Old women at street corners sold nosegays of violets and primroses and the scent of spring was in the air. Rosetta bought a bunch of violets, pressing the velvety purple flowers to her nose and inhaling the delicate scent. Pinning it to her lapel she paused at the stage door, studying a poster and revelling in seeing her name printed in large black letters just one line beneath the comedian who was top of the bill. If she could catch Alfie in a good mood, who knows, with a little cajoling, she might even get to the top very soon, and once she was a star she would have theatre managers falling over in their eagerness to sign her up. She could tell Alf to go to hell and never have to put up with his sweaty embraces ever again. Looking at the billboard outside the theatre, Rosetta could see her name in large, black letters. In her mind she
had already achieved star billing and proper high-class gents were queuing up to drink champagne from her slippers.