Chapter Twelve

“I’M SORRY TO send you out in this terrible weather.” Felix led Iron back upstairs to the laundry. He spotted his drawers hanging up to dry and, red-faced, swiftly pulled them from the line and dropped them into a sink, hoping Iron hadn’t noticed.

Iron took his overcoat from the hook. “It looks to be easing up now.”

Felix stood on a finely patterned rug, worn at the edges where the sun had touched it, and held the back door open for him. Across the Star’s yard and over a piece of wet grassland, the cemetery yew tree stood silhouetted against a bright, half moon.

“I used to lie in bed and watch the glow-worms in the grass around the graveyard,” Felix said. “Uncle Gregory told me they were ghosts dancing with happiness because somebody, somewhere, remembered them and spoke their name, spoke kindly of them. Silly, I know.”

“He wasn’t all bad, then, your uncle?”

Felix licked his own lips. “I suppose no one is all bad. He took good care of me. I hope…I hope I get the chance to thank him.”

“You will. I’m sure of it.” Iron flicked up his coat collar and hesitated on the step. “This has been…this was… Thank you, Felix.”

“You’d better take this with you.” Felix retrieved a small brass striker-lantern from a shelf and turned its key. The candle came to life, bathing them both in its warming light. Felix smiled and held on to Iron’s elbow. Iron leaned in, just a shade, just to test the water. Felix met him halfway. Their eyes closed and their lips touched, lightly. How soft Iron’s lips were. How warm.

Iron held the corner of the indigo handkerchief around Felix’s neck and ran his thumb across it. “Seahorses,” he said of the white pattern upon it. Then he took the lantern and donned his tricorne cap. “Well, I will, um, I will see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“The lift repairs,” Iron said. “I haven’t—”

“Of course, of course!” Felix said. “Tomorrow, then.”

Iron tipped his cap and with the lantern firmly in his grasp, he hurried out into the night. Felix closed the door slowly behind him and hesitated.

“You’ll have to dry those drawers all over again.”

Felix turned to find Dahlia sitting halfway up the stairs licking the last of the soup from her spoon.

Around her shoulders she wore a heavy, lime-coloured blanket, frayed at the edges. “He seems nice. Too nice for you, don’t you think?”

Felix didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he just smiled.

“You’re looking in much better form,” Dahlia said. “Should I be worried? Have you changed your mind about selling?”

“I have not,” Felix said. “I know you need money but that’s not the way to get it.”

She set the bowl down beside her and leaned back, resting her elbows on the step behind. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve heard some talk about your financial woes.”

Dahlia rapped the spoon on her knee. “The bleddy cousins can’t keep their traps shut about anything.”

Felix didn’t see any need to correct her. He stood at the bottom of the stairs and leaned on the newel post. “Tell me truly—do you think Aunt Alma could have anything to do with Uncle Gregory’s disappearance?”

Dahlia thought about it for a moment. “I don’t know if she’s that ruthless.”

“Could she have had Tenner do it? He is covered in fresh cuts and bruises…”

Dahlia scoffed at the notion. “Tenner’s all talk. He was far too afraid of Gregory to dare cross him. Besides, if Alma is responsible then why didn’t she take over the Star before you arrived?”

“Because I had the key for the front doors.”

“She could have broken in through the back door. It doesn’t take much skill to break a window. As a matter of fact, even if she didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Gregory, she could have still taken advantage of the situation. She could still have broken in and taken over.”

Felix drummed his fingers on the post. “Maybe she was worried about what Uncle Gregory would do when he returned?”

“But if she did away with him, she’d have nothing to worry about.”

“A bluff, then,” Felix said. “To hide it from you and the rest of the family. Or from the Watch.”

Dahlia stuck out her bottom lip and nodded her head. “She is a gambler.”

Felix’s hand hung limply on the newel. “If you’d sold the Star, you’d have burned through the money quickly and then what? No home and no income. It would have been a short term solution to a long term problem.”

“What do you suggest I do instead?”

“We need to open,” Felix said.

“We?” Dahlia asked, raising her eyebrow.

“Yes, we. You and I. I take it your little tantrum yesterday was an excuse to go and fetch your belongings?”

She shrugged theatrically. “You did say I could stay for a week. And I needed to get away from Alma for a while. She’s become unbearable. More so, I mean. You should have seen the glint in her eye when news got round about Gregory.”

“I seem to remember you asked to stay for a couple of days. But I really don’t have the time or energy to argue,” Felix said. “If you’re going to stay here you’re going to pull your weight.”

“How are we going to manage to open the Star with just the two of us?”

“A fine question. I need money coming in soon or I’m going to be in real trouble,” Felix said. “I wonder if Uncle Gregory left enough money to pay staff…”

“There’s some in his safe,” Dahlia said. “I think.”

Felix squinted at her. “How long did it take you to find it?”

“Oh please, we’ve both known where he hides his money since we were ten years old.”

The first place Felix had tried to use the little key etched with a star had been Uncle Gregory’s safe. It didn’t fit and besides the safe had been left open.

Dahlia crossed her arms. “There should be enough to pay Ms Hornby for a couple of nights. But if we pay for staff and no customers turn up, we’ll be in worse state than before. People have been talking about the Star, talking about what might have happened to Gregory. I’ve heard lurid tales about his body being stuffed in the lift shaft, or buried under the stage. We can’t be sure people will come just because we open.”

“We can encourage them to come along.”

“How?” Dahlia asked.

“By doing what the Star does best. By putting on a show.” Felix slapped his hands on the post. “We were never meant to just sell ale to dead-eyed drunks.”

“Don’t let Dick Tassiter hear you calling him that. What will you be doing while this show of yours is going on?”

Felix refused to acknowledge the gnawing in his stomach. “I can make a cheap stew to sell, which should bring in a few extra coins. It’s a shame they’re out of season, I make a lovely gooseberry tart…”

Dahlia rubbed her hand on the faded and peeling green wallpaper. “It’ll be nice to see some life in the place again.”

“The Star We Sail By was born a playhouse and it’ll die a playhouse,” Felix said. “But hopefully not for a while yet. And every show needs a star.” He held out his hand.

Dahlia dropped the spoon into the bowl, rose to her feet, threw her lime blanket about her shoulders, and took his hand. “You always were my favourite cousin.” She gave him a sloppy wet kiss on the cheek.