Tan Seng held my coat open and bowed. I pushed my arms into the sleeves, turned and bowed back to him.
‘Is Mr Fratelli here?’ He nodded and pointed downward.
The first fingers on both of Tan Seng’s hands had long yellow nails which curled inward at the tips. Mostly he kept them tucked away in the loose grey sleeves of the tunics he wore, but every time they came out I couldn’t help staring. Lucca said he used the nails to clear his opium pipe, but I wasn’t so sure. They weren’t black like the old cow’s fingers.
He must have seen me looking, because he bowed his head again and deftly folded his hands back into his sleeves.
‘He came early, Lady.’
I was almost getting used to that now. The first time I felt a twist in my gut and asked him to call me by my name, but he shook his head so violent that his silk cap came askew.
‘You are The Lady.’ He’d kept repeating the words, his mouse-black eyes never leaving my face. Over in the corner Jacobin woke up and went off, squawking the word ‘lady’ over and over like the parrot was agreeing with him.
I’d inherited Tan Seng along with the rest of The Lady’s lascars and Chinamen. Mostly they worked in the dens and warehouses across Paradise, but Tan Seng ran The Palace in the way the Monseigneur ran Joey’s establishment.
I swear the old man was a better mind-reader than Swami Jonah.
Sometimes I’d turn round to call for him and he’d be there already, standing in a corner silent and watchful. It would have been unnerving if it wasn’t for the fact that he also had the knack of making himself invisible when he wasn’t required.
He and his brother Lok, who was even older than he was with skin as rumpled as a bedsheet in a doss-house (which was unnerving seeing as how from behind he looked like a child), had a set of rooms in the basement. I never went down there. It seemed like an intrusion.
Now, I’ll be straight about it – at first I thought Tan Seng and his brother were Lady Ginger’s spies and I wanted rid of them. I said as much to Telferman at our second meeting.
The Beetle looked up at me from behind those half-moon specs and said very slow and serious, like he was talking to a child, ‘You are mistaken. They are the most honourable men in Paradise. They are yours entirely and would give their lives for you. You will do well to remember this, always.’
That didn’t alter the fact that they put me in mind of bits of old furniture she’d left behind.
For the first week Tan Seng and me circled each other like a couple of blinded fighting cocks waiting for the hoods to be drawn, but, tell truth, I began to warm towards him. It didn’t matter what time I came in, he’d be there in the hallway waiting for me with sweet tea or a mug of hot spiced gin if it was late. And Lok was almost as keen as I was to clean and air the rooms that were coated with a sticky brown layer of Lady Ginger’s opium smoke.
At first the old man tried to stop me working with him, but I wasn’t having it. I needed to clean my grandmother’s shadow out of The Palace before I could live there. I needed to make sure that every trace of her was gone. Looking back, I reckon I also needed to be doing something hard and physical to stop my mind. All those nights I spent on the end of a mop swilling out the gallery at The Gaudy hadn’t been wasted.
Lok might have been ancient as the Bloody Tower and tiny as a child, but he was wiry as a stevedore on Timber Dock. Together we washed the walls and swept away the cobwebs that hung in dirty garlands from the moulded cornices of the chamber where The Lady had held court.
In better houses they hang chains of dainty paper loops across the ceiling at Christmas, but if Lady Ginger had ever celebrated the birth of the lamb, the only decorations she looked up at were stiff with dust and dead flies.
After we’d done the walls, we got down on our knees and scrubbed the floorboards. Although I couldn’t make out a word Lok said – not that he said much, mind – I sensed that he approved.
I moved in after a week and that first night, when I found a jug of small blue flowers beside my bed, I knew he liked me.
I fastened the buttons at my neck and pushed the fancy shell comb deeper into my hair to keep it back. ‘There’s no need to wait up this evening. I’ll be late.’
Tan Seng shook his head. ‘Always ready for you, Lady, whatever the hour.’ He shuffled across the boards to open the door for me, pushed his hands back into his grey sleeves and bowed again. ‘Mr Fratelli waits in the hall.’
I bowed. As I walked out onto the landing the smell of beeswax polish filled my nose. Lok had been buffing up the oak stairs. I took a deep breath and nodded to myself. The Palace was changing – I was making it mine, but it wouldn’t be so easy to put everything to rights outside, would it?
I adjusted the lid on a big china pot set next to the door so it sat right and went down. In the marble tiled hallway Lucca was admiring a painting. I went to stand next to him.
‘I found it in one of the closed-up rooms at the top of the house. It seemed a crime to hide it away in the dark. What do you think?’
He brushed the canvas lightly with the tips of his fingers. ‘I can’t see it clearly in this light, but it is good, I think. The fabric of the coat has a quality – and the lace here at his sleeve is very finely executed. These are the clothes of a young man of fortune fifty, perhaps sixty years ago?’ He took a step back and stared up. ‘He is handsome and the expression in his face is . . .’ he looked back at me and grinned, ‘determined, a little like yours.’
I glanced up at the overdressed, pink-cheeked toff in the painting. He had a heart-shaped face and his large dark eyes were locked onto something over my shoulder. His left hand emerged from a spatter of froth at his cuff to gesture at a grand stone house fronted with columns and set among trees painted a distance behind.
I stretched my gloves and snaked my fingers into the leather. ‘He’s got a chin like mine, if that’s what you mean, but nothing else. You can’t even see his hair under the wig. As for handsome – I’ll let you be the judge of that. He’s not my taste. If you must know, I brought him down because I liked the colour of his coat. It brightens up the hall. You ready?’
Lucca’s smile faded. ‘Everyone has been summoned to The Gaudy. The call went out yesterday.’
‘And what are they saying about it?’
When he didn’t answer I nudged his arm. ‘Well?’
‘They wonder why you are calling a gathering.’
‘It’s not a gathering – it’s a meeting!’ I could hear the tightness in my voice.
‘They see it as the same thing and they are . . .’ He stared up at the ceiling as if he might unravel an answer from the scrolling loops of ornate plasterwork crawling about over our heads.
‘Go on, they are what exactly?’
Lucca sighed. ‘You know this already, Fannella. Some of them are angry. They wonder why you are now in this position. Some are scared that you have bad news, they believe you will sell because you cannot run the halls. Some of them – the girls mainly – are plainly jealous, and some of them are angry because . . .’ He paused and picked at some paint caught under his thumbnail.
‘Because?’ I stared at him and waited.
‘Because you are just a girl.’ Lucca shrugged sadly. ‘It is the way they think.’
‘All of them? Danny too?’
He shook his head. ‘Not everyone. Danny, Peggy and Anna – they have spoken for you. They will always support you after . . .’
I nodded, grateful to hear they took my part, even if they couldn’t tell anyone why.
‘And some others say you should at least be given a chance to prove yourself.’
‘Well, that’s generous of them, isn’t it?’ I reached for my bonnet from the hall table, planted it on my head and tied the ribbons so tight beneath my chin that it hurt. Lucca’s words didn’t come as a surprise, I’d heard as much from Peggy and Old Peter, but it didn’t make what I was about to do any easier.
I span round, reached for the handles and threw the double doors wide open. It was raining and the cobbles of Salmon Lane outside glistened in the slick of light puddling from the hallway.
Lucca’s voice came from behind. ‘Remember what we said on the boat, Fannella, about family.’
‘Family!’ I snorted and started off down the steps, my boots tapping furiously on the stones.
‘I’m not their bleedin’ mother, Lucca, I’m their employer.’
*
I stood behind my desk and listened.
Out in the hall people were talking. I could hear the clomping of feet on the boards, the clinking of glass and just occasionally a short burst of laughter. The taint of cheap cigarettes and rough gin leached into my office through the gap beneath the door.
I looked down at my hands splayed on the desk top. The little finger and ring finger of my right hand were twitching. I tried to stop the movement but it didn’t work. I raised my hand and twisted Joey’s ring and Christopher between my fingers like all the times when I went up in that cage.
Get a grip, girl, I told myself. If you can dandle seventy foot up without a net to catch you, then surely to God you can do this? The door swung open and I must have pulled tight of a sudden because the gold ring and the medal clattered to the floor, leaving me clutching a bit of broken chain.
The ring went under the desk, but I watched the Christopher roll like a penny towards the open door where Fitzy stood. His bloodshot eyes narrowed as he took in the changes I’d made and the faded bristles of his tache rippled beneath his broad red snout.
‘If you’re going to keep us waiting much longer, Mistress Kitty . . .’ he coated my name with a greasy slick of insolence, ‘then you’re going to have to get the lads to shift another barrel up from the cellar. People are dying of thirst out there, so they are. And it’s their night off. We’ve all got things to be seeing to, so if you don’t mind, ma’am.’
There it came again, an insult barely concealed. I shoved the broken chain into my pocket and straightened up. ‘Do you think I don’t know that, Mr Fitzpatrick?’ I gave his name the treatment and was surprised to hear my voice come out much stronger than I felt. ‘Get them to bring the house lights up. I’m not going up on the stage to waste limelight.’
He didn’t move. He just stood there in his chequered suit blocking my view of the hall beyond. I could still hear the sound of them all talking out there.
‘I said bring—’
‘Oh, I heard what you said, missy.’ Fitzy took a step toward me and pulled at the door behind him so it was almost shut again.
He grinned and pulled on one side of his straggly tache. ‘You’ve come a long way, haven’t you, Kitty? The proprietor of three halls now, is it? I just wanted to remind you how important it is for a girl in your shoes to know who her friends are. You treat me right and I’ll make sure no one bothers you.’
‘Like you used to bother Peggy?’
He fiddled with one of the brass buttons on his waistcoat and then he took a fob from a pocket in the lining of his jacket. ‘I haven’t got time for that sort of dirty talk.’ He flipped open the case and squinted at the dial. ‘It’s getting late, so it is. These good folk . . .’ he jerked his head back at the hall, ‘will be wanting their beds soon enough. I just wanted to be certain that we understood one another.’
I planted my hands on the desk and leaned forward. ‘Is that a threat, Mr Fitzpatrick?’
He shrugged. ‘With The Lady gone there’ll be changes in Paradise. A new Baron moving in. They’ve been circling for years, waiting for her to give up the reins and now it’s time. It’s a . . .’ he paused, searching for the right word, ‘. . . nasty world out there, so it is. I’ll be well placed to help you with that – ease your way as it were. Fact is, I know some people who could work to our mutual benefit. Let’s call it . . . a proposal, shall we?’
Now it was my turn to smile. ‘Well, thank you very much, but I’m not in the market for a husband at the moment.’
He frowned. ‘I don’t think you quite understood what I meant—’
‘Oh, I think I understood very well what you was driving at.’ I came out from behind the desk and walked slowly towards him. ‘But what I don’t think you’ve quite grasped yet is that the very last thing a girl in my shoes needs is assistance, least of all from you.’
I stopped just in front of him and looked up into his pockmarked face. I folded my arms. ‘Things to be seeing to, you said? And don’t I know it! It’s Thursday evening, so by my reckoning you must have an appointment at the pit in the cellar under The Old Queen’s Head. Got to see a man about a dog, have you?’
Fitzy’s eyebrows knitted together.
‘No? Maybe it’s Mr Tonkin tonight then? You got a nice little trade concern going on there with the Marine brew house. And then there’s customs officer Legge over at Shadwell New Basin. That’s a good reciprocal, I’d say. Dutch gin, is it, slipping over the back doorstep? Must be worth five or six guineas a month to the both of you.’
‘I . . . I don’t rightly . . .’ Fitzy’s little eyes darted about of an instant like he was a rat cornered by a tabby. I reached up to flick a little speck of imaginary dust from his sleeve as if I really cared for him. I rested my hand on his arm and smiled.
‘And what about the cut you get from Mrs Dainty for supplying her trade with gut rot? According to the books I don’t see much of that, do I? She keeps a very neat whorehouse, I’ll give her that, but she can’t keep a ledger. I’ve been through them all most careful with Mr Telferman and there appear to be some . . . gaps. Even he was surprised when I brought them to his notice.’
Fitzy looked down at my hand as I went on. I noticed the ginger bristles on his top lip quiver as his breathing came heavy. ‘Do you know what I think?’ I had to stop myself from laughing out loud at the look on his face now. The penny had dropped from a great height and it hurt.
‘I think you and me are going to have to sit down together soon and go through some figures. You see, Patrick Fitzpatrick, I haven’t just inherited The Lady’s theatres. I’ve inherited Paradise itself and everything and everyone in it – the dens off Butchers Row, the warehouses, the wharves, the trades, the crews, the customs, the lascars, the knuckle boys and even you and all of them waiting out there. You do understand what I’m telling you, don’t you?’
His eyes bulged and his lower lip dropped revealing the three stained, uneven teeth that still had a purchase in his gums. For a moment I was reminded of one of them fish the Billingsgate mongers sell cheap on account of their looks.
‘As it happens, I haven’t got all night neither. Do you understand me?’ I repeated the question slowly.
He nodded, ‘You . . . you are a Baron? But—’
‘There are no buts about it. She chose me. It will be official in May.’ I paused and swallowed. It was less than two weeks away now. I couldn’t afford to let Fitzy know what I really felt about that. I clenched my hidden right fist and smiled up at him, sweet as a shepherdess. ‘And if you breathe a word of what I’ve just told you to anyone – most ’specially to any of them out there – without my say so, you’ll find out what a Baron, even one who’s just a girl, can do. Now – get them to bring up the lights.’
I saw a vein twitching in Fitzy’s right temple as he digested what I’d just told him. It was a risk on my part, but for all his bark and bluster I knew him to be a coward. The Lady – the real one – had practically made him a gelding, and God forgive me, on Peggy’s behalf I enjoyed seeing him squirm. Soon enough they’d all find out, but in the meantime I was certain it wouldn’t be from him.
‘The lights, Fitzpatrick?’
‘I’ll get to it, ma’am.’ As he turned and flung open the door I realised there hadn’t been a dash of sauce in his reply. I glanced at myself in the spotted mirror over the fireplace. It was the only reminder of Fitzy’s incumbrance still in the office on account of it being bolted to the wall.
The girl who looked back at me wore a dark, high-necked gown in a good plain crêpe and her hair was drawn back into a tight knot at the back of her head. I pinched my cheek and bit down hard on my lips to make them flush up dark. Then I pulled the pins from my hair and shook the ringlets loose.
The people waiting for me out there knew Kitty Peck, The Limehouse Linnet, not a bleedin’ nun.