City of Secrets Chapter 3
By misha
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CHAPTER THREE
A sliver of moon rose above the city. Icy mist seeped from the river, winding through narrow alleyways and curling into forsaken corners, where old men shivered in threadbare coats and homeless children huddled together for warmth. The windows of taverns and alehouses glowed bright and welcoming through the darkness and outside the mansions of the rich torches burned into the night.
On Tobacco Wharf ships’ timbers creaked and groaned. Sailors roared and cursed, some angry, others in jest, while deep from the holds of West Indy merchant men came the muffled sound of groans and cries to unknown gods. Underfoot the cobbles were slippery with damp and Letty tied her shawl tightly around her shoulders and rested her arms on her empty tray, glad of Jeb’s presence now the night was drawing on. He walked warily, soft soled boots as silent as a cat’s paws, ears alert for every sound, eyes constantly scanning the dark places between ships and warehouses. His shirt a blur of white, Mango circled them like a terrier, sometimes setting off on a quick foray behind a pile of lumber or a row of barrels then returning eyes gleaming in the darkness.
“He’s not here,” he hissed.
“Wouldn’t dare,” Jeb said carelessly, but he glanced over his shoulder as he spoke. “This is our patch.”
“Wouldn’t stop Fat Harris,” Letty said.
“It wouldn’t. But I would,” Jeb’s voice was hard with menace. Letty shrugged.
“There’s no call for that,” she said.
“Not unless he steps out of line,” Jeb agreed. “He and his gang, they’ve got over Redcliff way. The docks and the wharves are mine.”
Letty said nothing. Jeb and Fat Harris might like to think that the streets were theirs, but everyone knew the real power in the city lay with the thief runner Miss Liddy and the shadowy underworld figure of the Bear. Half man, half beast, he and his gang haunted the nightmares of naughty children.
“You know what, if you can’t do nothing for that kid, I could use him,” Jeb said. “In the line of business, of course. Bleedin snakes Mango. Mind where you’re going.” He jerked to a halt as Mango stopped suddenly in front of him. “I could have fallen face over tit. Do that again and you’re cats meat.”
“Rats,” Letty said slyly, thinking of Gabriel. Behind her the shadows thickened. The air trembled. A lock of hair lifted from the back of her head. There was a sharp tug.
“Don’t let Jeb take him,” Gabriel’s voice was in her ear.
“I’ve got it sorted,” she said sharply, annoyed that Gabriel had the gall to tell her what to do. It was as if he didn’t trust her to do the right thing, which coming from someone like him was a bit steep.
“She’s got it sorted, sorted, sorted,” Mango danced stamping his feet up and down, throwing up his arms and grinning.
“Stow it,” Jeb growled. “Or I’ll sort you.”
“Sorted,” Mango crowed, dodging the oncoming blow. Darting out of reach, he skipped and stamped, bare legs brown as tobacco juice, pink soled feet, seemingly immune to the night time chills, not stopping ‘til he reached the end of the wharf, where their ways would part.
“Look out for yourself, Lets,” Jeb said.
“I will. I do,” she replied. “And you Mango.”
“And me,” he grinned, his eyes swivelling down Ship Street to the lights of the taverns that crowded the centre. “Supper,” he said hopefully, his thoughts fixed on the warmth and light of the Landogandcrow.
“Business,” Jeb said briefly. “First,” he added.
Letty turned, pretending not to hear. Each to their own business. Never ask, this was the code they lived by. You could, however, choose to tell and she’d often wished Gabriel would say where he’d come from and why he thought she needed looking after, but he never did. All he had ever said was that she reminded him of someone he had once known and with that she had to be satisfied.
Another thing that made her cross was the way you never knew when he would turn up, or for that matter, leave. Only a moment ago, he was telling her what to do and now when she wanted his company he had gone.
Letty bit back her irritation, said her goodbyes to Jeb and Mango and hurried away down the hill towards the centre of the city. Her shadow danced behind her on the tree lined road, leaping and cavorting, like some huge black beast, then shrinking to nothing as she burst out into Park Street and its blaze of gas lamps and brightly lit shop windows. The pavements were crowded with ladies and gentlemen on their way to their evening entertainment and working people hurrying home. Carriages and cabs jolted over the cobbles, brakes jammed fast as they inched down the steep incline. At the bottom of the hill the chestnut seller bent over the red hot coals of his brazier. Brown and gnarled as his wares, his old grey coat was fastened with a piece of tarred rope to keep away the eels.
“Hot and tasty, my lover. Stop and buy,” he called. “Special price for you young Letty.
“Sorry, Jericho can’t stop. Business,” Letty cried over her shoulder. The clock on St. Nicholas church chimed eight ass she put on a final spurt dodging though the traffic. Drivers yelled and cursed and some cracked their whips. Flicking up her fingers in a rude gesture, Letty skipped out their reach and went on running until she was brought to a sudden halt by a girl standing stock still in the middle of the pavement.
“Watch it,” Letty yelled. “You could have had me over then. Broken my leg even. Hey I’m talking to you.” The girl said nothing; she was staring at a black carriage drawn by two gleaming horses. A motherly looking woman in a black bonnet stood on the steps and as Letty watched she raised her hand in blessing then climbed into the vehicle and was driven away.
The girl did not move. Her mouth was half open, the basket of oranges on her arm tilting dangerously. An orange fell out and rolled towards Letty. She was about to pick it up and slip it into her pocket when the girl bent down and scooped up the fruit. Holding it the palm of her hand she breathed,
“Did you hear her? Did you hear what Mother Jenkins said? Follow me to the promised land. Believe and you will dwell in fields of gold.”
“Yeah and feast on milk and honey,” Letty said scathingly. She put her hand on the girl’s arm. It was so thin it was like grasping a twig. “You don’t want to listen to them,” she gestured in the direction the carriage had taken. “What do they ever do for us? Nah we have to look after ourselves.” The girl shook her off.
“If you’re good, you will have your reward,” she whispered. “In this world as in the next.”
“Hmm,” Letty snorted. “Do gooders. Leave ‘em. They only want something from you.”
“Not Mother Jenkins, not her,” the orange seller sighed. “I only wish she’d take me with her. To dwell in…” her thin voice warbled the tune, but Letty was gone.
In Kings Street brightly burning lamps lit up the slender columns and elegant portico of the Theatre Royal. Outside the main entrance, a boy played a penny whistle as his sisters danced, swirling their skirts and smiling at the queue and a man juggled brightly coloured squares that flew and sparkled like exotic birds. Girls selling oranges and bunches of violets and red, red roses, sang out their wares, their voices competing with the stamping of horses, the jingle of harness and the chatter of the theatre goers.
“Roll up, roll up, electrify your ears, stun your senses. Let your soul swoon with joy, your heart break with sorrow. Tonight at the Theatre Royal the Nightingale herself will enchant and entertain you,” the barker called and clanged his bell. Letty thumbed her nose at him and dived into a side alley. Narrow and dark it stank of cat and dog and the stench of rotting fish.
A flash of scales, a shiver in the cobbles and something slid away into a hole in a wall leaving a trail of brine and sulphur in the air. Barbary eels; Letty shuddered. Those slimy reptiles could wind themselves round your limbs, sink their teeth deep in your flesh and burrow their way deep into your insides. She knew a girl once had her stomach eaten away by an eel that had slid down her throat from a half cooked pie. Behind her something reared and hissed. Not daring to look behind her, Letty threw herself at the stage door.
“Let me in,” she yelled.
“Hold your horses. The performance hasn’t finished. Hasn’t even started. So off with you.” Back lit by the hall light a moon face gleaming with sweat peered through a chink in the door.
“Let me in Ollie. It’s me Letty Parker.”
“Oh it’s you, young Letty. In that case,” puffing and panting Oliver Runkin pulled at the bar and the door swung open.
“Took your time,” Letty said haughtily, smoothing down her skirts with shaking hands.
“I told you, the performance hasn’t even begun. I’m not letting in any followers.”
“I know that,” Letty snapped, thinking of the things out there in the darkness that had scented her out, of sharp teeth and slippery bodies. “I’m not no follower am I Ollie?”
“No you’re not,” Ollie allowed grudgingly.
“I’ll go up then,” Letty swept past the large man, holding her breath against his stink of musty uniform.
“She isn’t receiving mind,” he called after her as she hurried along the dimly lit corridor and up the narrow stairs.
“Too bad. She’s seeing me”, Letty muttered, pushing open the dressing room door.
“Out!” The voice swooped and flew. A long slender finger pointed towards the door, huge eyes glowed. “How many times must I tell you, before I sing I must have silence. Solitude and silence.” The hand dropped. “Oh Letty, it’s you.”
“Yes Ma.” Letty’s stomach dropped. She knew her mother had no time for her. She was famous and beautiful and did not want to be reminded of her awkward, ginger haired brat of a daughter.
“Well since you’re here, you can brush my hair.” Bella de Vere, the Bristol Nightingale, sank back into the chair at her dressing table. “That stupid dresser tugs it so,” she sighed. Letty picked up the brush and began to work her way through the tumble of curls. Her mother sighed and shutting her eyes hummed softly under her breath. Letty breathed in grease paint, powder and perfume. She remembered a lullaby, soft arms rocking her to sleep. What was the song? Her mouth puckered, she let out a single note.
“Letty,” her mother screeched. The brush fell from her fingers. “Why is it,” shw sighed, as her daughter bent to retrieve it, “that my only child cannot sing a note, let alone hold a tune.”
“Don’t know,” Letty said. “I suppose I must take after my dad.”
“Ah!” Bella shrieked, clasping her hands to her chest. “Don’t you ever mention him to me again. And before a performance, when I’m on the very verge of going on stage to sing in front of my audience. Do you want to see me mocked and reviled.”
“Rats,” Letty said sharply. “Course I don’t want to see you done down.” A sharp pain slid under her ribs. “You’re my Ma,” she finished. Even if you don’t care to see me, she thought.
“Yes, well,” her mother shrugged carelessly.
“Five minutes,” there was a rap on the door.
“Oh my!” in one swift movement Bella rose to her feet. “Powder my shoulders. Am I too pale? Do I need a little rouge, do you think?” Letty picked up the powder puff and dusted her mother’s porcelain skin.
“You look lovely,” she said simply.
“More beautiful than the fair Dorinda?”
“She don’t hold a candle to you. Fairest of the fair, that’s what you are.” Letty knew what to say whenever her mother’s rival was mentioned.
“Dearest,” Bella leaned over and dropped a fleeting kiss on her daughter’s hair.
“You’re so lovely Ma, you’re like a queen,” Letty continued and was struck by a sudden brilliant idea. “And like a queen you should have a page boy. An attendant. To set you off like.” Bella smiled a long soft smile. “I know the very boy,” Letty hurried conscious of the passing time. “I’ll bring him to you.”
“Tomorrow,” Bella purred.
“Two minutes,” came a voice from outside.
“He sings,” Letty said hastily. “Not as good as you, of course. But his voice is sweet and true.”
“Yes.” Her mother’s hands rested lightly on Letty’s shoulders and the pain under her heart flared like a splinter under a nail. “Bring him.”
“Miss de Vere on stage please.” The callboy opened the door, Bella picked up her fan and swept out.
“Sorted,” Letty said gruffly. She rubbed the back of her hand over her eyes, which were suddenly full of water, then took a long swallow from the decanter on her mother’s dressing table. The wine was rich and full and its warmth stole through her limbs dulling the ache and soothing the roughness in her throat.
She should go. Her business here was done and she was tired, but it wouldn’t hurt to sit down for a moment or two and rest her feet. Letty yawned. She wouldn’t stay long. By the time Bella had finished, she’d be gone. A screen stood in the corner of the room hiding a washstand and beside it was a couch, covered with shawls and cushions. The cushions were soft, the shawls light and warm. Letty sat down and curled her feet under her, her head drooped, her eyes began to close and she drifted off to sleep. A swish of skirts, a slam of the door woke her.
“They love me,” Bella declared. “They simply can’t have enough.” Hurrying over to the dressing table she poured a glass of wine. “My throat,” she sighed dramatically. “Must take care of the throat. Make up needs attention too,” she leaned forward squinting as she peered short sightedly into the mirror. Letty’s face, pale and startled, floated into view. “Oh you’re still here.” Hastily Letty scrambled to her feet, wriggling her shoulders and blinking. “Don’t scowl, you’ll get lines,” Bella murmured leaning closer to the glass.
“Not if I take after you, Ma,” Letty replied dutifully.
“Dearest,” Bella turned and held out her arms. Letty’s heart jumped. Was her mother going to hug her? She hesitated and before she could move, there was a knock at the door. “Get it will you,” Bella said. Letty’s throat felt tight, but she did as she was told.
“Message,” the callboy held out an envelope.
“For me?” Bella stretched out a hand. The boy shook his head.
“Sorry Miss de Vere it’s for a…” he held up the note to the light, between finger and thumb, “ Miss Letty Parker.”
“Me? What’s anyone want with me?” Letty cried. Her mind raced over anyone she might have annoyed or offended. “Are you sure?”
“I can read,” the boy haughtily. Nose in the air he handed over the letter. Letty looked at it cautiously.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” her mother said.
“Yeah,” Letty said doubtfully. “But who’s sending me letters?”
“You’ll never know ‘til you look.” Bella turned back to her mirror.
Letty slid her finger under the flap and carefully prised it open. She pulled out a piece of paper and read.
“Dear Letty,
Hoping this letter finds you well and thriving in your chosen lot. I only wish the same could be said of us. Our little family is suffering most terrible. Your dearest half sister Violet has not come home tonight. We have searched all round, but no one knows where she is gone and she has sent no word. Please come home,
Your loving step mamma
Primula Parker.”
“Oh,” Letty cried and her stomach twisted uneasily. “Who brought this?” she demanded. “Are they still there?”
“An urchin left it at the stage door. Said he’d been everywhere he was told. This was the last place. If you weren’t here, he weren’t to bother.”
“Well?” Bella turned from admiring the curve her of eyebrow. “Who was it from? What do they want of my little Lettuce?”
Letty squirmed. She took a deep breath and said quickly. “It’s Ma Parker. She’s got trouble.”
“Poor woman. Of course she has, she married Ezekiel Parker. What’s he done now?”
“He hasn’t done nothing Ma. He’s gone. Went down with his ship, remember. It’s not him. It’s Violet. She’s gone missing. I have to go and help look for her.”
“How like the Parkers. Not a word until they want something from you. Never bothered to see how my little daughter is doing in this cruel hard world.”
“I didn’t want them to, Ma. I’m all right. I’m doing fine. You know that.”
“Then stay here. Come into the wings and hear me sing. I’ll treat you to some supper after the show. You can come with us to Colley’s Supper Rooms. I’m sure Lord Brandon won’t mind.”
Letty was sorely tempted. She loved the glamour of back stage and then Colley’s where all the actors and singers went. Where the pink champagne flowed and you swallowed oysters and sat in dark red velvet booths and followers drank from their favourite’s slippers. Surely it wouldn’t matter if she didn’t rush off straight away.
Her fingers closed round the note. As it began to crumple she had a sudden picture of neat bright kitchen, her step mamma in her white apron her hair drawn back under a snowy cap, her half sisters Rose, Lily and Violet all sitting round the table. There had been bread and milk for breakfast and then off to school with a slice of bread and cheese in your pockets and instructions not to talk to strangers or to stop for any reason, not even an unlaced boot before you got to Miss Forster’s Academy, for it was a dangerous world out there for young ladies.
Dangerous. Letty grimaced. They didn’t know the half of it. But she’d rather be looking over her shoulder for Fat Harris and keeping an eye out for the rasping slither of a Barbary eel than living safe and clean at Ma Parker’s where you couldn’t even say “Rats!” without having your knuckles rapped. Still they’d always been kind to her and Violet wasn’t the only one missing. She had to go; she owed them. On the other hand if her mamma really wanted her to stay.
“I’m off,” she announced.
“Darling,” Bella sighed briefly. “Well if you must,” she said dismissively, making no effort to keep her.
Letty flinched. Then she drew back her shoulders, pulled her shawl tight over her chest and picked up her tray. “Bye Ma,” she said sharply and hurried out into the night.
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This is very good. I really
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