1890s
‘Leave London?’ Daisy looked at Madame with a mixture of disbelief and panic. ‘Leave England?’
‘Yes, but only for a few months. Probably only three – say five or six at the very most. But we’d be leaving all the … the bad memories behind for a while, Daisy. All of them.’
All of the bad memories. All of the secrets and the menace …
Daisy said, ‘But where would we go?’
‘France,’ said Madame. ‘Paris.’ Her eyes started to dance. ‘I’ve had invitations,’ she said. ‘To appear in nightclubs. Moulin Rouge even – no, I know you’ve never heard of it, but believe me, Daisy, it’s very famous indeed. If I can’t cause a few flutters in the audiences there, then I’m no kind of entertainer!’
‘But where would we live? And would the twins come?’ The enormity of the whole thing was engulfing Daisy.
‘Of course the twins would come,’ said Madame. ‘It will be very good for them. Travel broadens the mind. As for where we live – you remember the lady who brought the music we used for “Liszten”? The music her father wanted me to have?’
‘Yes, I remember,’ said Daisy, hastily, because even now she could not bear to remember that strange music.
‘Well, it’s partly because of her that I’ve decided to accept the other invitations,’ said Madame. ‘She wants to arrange a memorial concert for her father in Paris – it’s ten years this summer since he died. I said I’d take charge of it. It’ll be interesting and worthwhile.’
‘But you can’t speak French,’ said Daisy, a bit helplessly.
‘Oh, that’s a small detail. We’ll find people who can interpret. Wait a moment and I’ll show you the letter,’ said Madame, foraging in the desk. ‘It’s here somewhere … This is it.’
‘There is an apartment which I could arrange for you to have for a few weeks, my dear friend,’ said the letter. ‘A delightful place, with a small balcony overlooking the river. The rent would be a modest affair. If you come, I will send letters of introduction around for you. As you know, I do not live in Paris, but I grew up there, and I know people.
‘Most of my time is spent here in Bayreuth. The Festival, which I direct here – to keep alive the music of my beloved husband, Richard – takes up most of my time. If ever you can travel here, you would be most welcome to stay with me as my guest. That is something I should greatly enjoy. For the rest – I am very happy to make these arrangements in gratitude for the concert you are arranging for my father, and also in appreciation of the good memories you gave to him near the end of his life.
I am yours very affectionately,
Cosima Wagner.’
Daisy had supposed that going to France – going to Paris – would be a relatively simple matter of packing their clothes and some of Madame’s favourite possessions, and getting on a train. There had to be a boat at some point, too; she knew that, of course, although she did not know how that worked. Madame would know, though.
But it had not occurred to Daisy that the Maida Vale flat would have to be dealt with in any way. In Daisy’s world you walked out of your house and left a key with the man who collected the rent (when you could afford to pay it), and went on to wherever you were going.
But Madame said the lease did not allow her to leave the flat empty for longer than one month, and since they would be away for at least three, there would have to be what was called a sublet, which was a word Daisy did not know. She felt she was learning a good deal, although she was not sure if she was entirely understanding all of it.
But Madame said she was buggered if she was going to pay out good money to lawyers, who were the most cheating race of bastards in the world. Daisy thought it was to be hoped Madame did not use such language in front of the twins, because it would not be good for them to grow up thinking they could use words like bugger and bastard, and one or two more that Madame sometimes sprinkled around when she was annoyed or impatient. Still, Daisy and Joe – Lissy and Vi, too, of course – had all grown up in a place where people cursed and swore without thinking about it, and somehow they had all acquired an understanding of which words you could and could not use when you needed to be polite.
Rhun made enthusiastic plans to visit them while they were in Paris. He would not intrude on his beloved’s riverside apartment, he said; he would find himself modest rooms on the Left Bank for a week here and there. On the Rive Gauche he would be among kindred spirits – he would become part of Parisian café society. Nowhere else in the world could you dine in a restaurant where presidents and poets, artists and anarchists – and very likely a clutch of courtesans – were gathered together at adjoining tables.
But this flat, said Rhun, looking around the rooms, must be sublet in a businesslike way. Property had to be respected, and they did not want to end up with a set of crooks living in the house, spoiling the nice furnishings, defacing the expensive wallpaper and goodness knew what else, not to mention upsetting the neighbours.
‘That’s true,’ said Madame, thoughtfully. ‘You sometimes talk quite good sense, Rhun – no, that doesn’t mean I shall marry you, because I don’t want to marry anyone.’
‘Didn’t you ever want to get married?’ asked Daisy, curiously, after Rhun had gone.
‘Maybe once I did.’ An unfamiliar expression crossed Madame’s face. ‘Yes, maybe once there was someone,’ she said, then appeared to give herself a small shake. ‘It wasn’t to be, though. It wasn’t possible.’ Her face held the very rare shuttered look, and Daisy knew not to press her.
Then, two days later, Madame said, ‘Daisy I know what I’m going to do about this flat.’
‘What?’
‘I’m going to let Thaddeus Thumbprint take it over.’
This turned out to be a very good plan. Thaddeus Thumbprint was the owner of the bookshop above Linklighters – the shop that had sold some of Joe’s sketches. It appeared that he had been looking for somewhere larger to live for a while, on account of his own little house being too small to house his collection of books, and so shockingly damp into the bargain that all of his furnishings were becoming mildewed. Also, his cousin was going to come into partnership at Thumbprints and it would be useful and practical if they could share a house. Or an apartment.
Nobody could pronounce Thaddeus’s surname, so everyone called him simply Thaddeus Thumbprint. He did not mind at all. His family were all very proud of the shop, which had been started by his grandfather, who had come to England in the days of old King George – the one people said had been as mad as a March hare.
The two cousins were delighted to have the Maida Vale flat for three months, or a little longer; it would give them time to look round for something more permanent, they said. Daisy was called in to the sitting room to watch Thaddeus Thumbprint sign his name on a legal piece of paper that said he could live in the flat for up to six months. She had to write her own name to say she had seen him do it. Rhun wrote his name as well, to say the same thing.
‘Witnesses to the deed, the both of us,’ Rhun said to Daisy. ‘It’s a very solemn and important matter to witness a legal transaction.’ He had added his name with so many flourishes that Daisy wondered if anyone would ever be able to read it. She was grateful, though, to the retired schoolmistress in Rogues Well Yard who had taught her to write a neat, clear hand.
Thaddeus Thumbprint was delighted with the flat. It was charming, he said, and everything in such good taste – although perhaps there would be no objection if he just moved the scarlet brocade chaise longue out, and brought in his own? And he might, if Scaramel did not mind, put the black silk bed sheets away in the linen cupboard, and make use of his own which were best Egyptian cotton.
He was a wispy, mild-mannered little man, given to wearing high-wing collars and rimless spectacles which he frequently pushed up on to his forehead, and then thought he had lost them. His cousin was mild-mannered, as well, although not quite so wispy. Thaddeus could undoubtedly be trusted to pay the various charges for the flat, and to do so on time each month. He would look after the flat and he certainly would not hold wild parties or permit raucous behaviour on the premises. The two gentlemen would probably give small supper parties for their friends, at which they would discuss scholarly and learned subjects and chuckle over passages in books that hardly anyone read and could not understand anyway.
The neighbours in the flat below, who had hammered crossly on the door during one of Madame and Rhun’s livelier bouts of love-making, came up to be introduced to Thaddeus and his cousin. They were very pleased to be having such well-behaved and congenial neighbours, and although they did not quite say that they hoped Madame would take up permanent residence in Paris, Daisy could see that they were thinking it.
Everything was going very well.
Daisy had not expected to like Paris, but even though it was not home and never would be, she discovered she was able to enjoy it. She loved the buildings and the bustle which was not so very different from London, really. There were marvellous shops and cafés, and after a while Daisy even began to understand a little of what people were saying. She started to recognize a few words here and there, and presently she found enough courage to go into a shop and buy things, mostly by pointing, but managing to make herself understood. People did not seem to mind that she could not speak French; they smiled and shrugged and said, quite kindly, Ah, les Anglais, which Madame said meant, Oh, the English. She and Madame went to the famous fashion houses, and Madame bought the most beautiful gowns and lengths of silk and velvet for making up that Daisy had ever seen. There was lace-trimmed underwear, fine as cobwebs, and hats so elaborate you would almost be afraid to wear them.
There were nightclubs too, of course, and also some theatres where Madame was invited to perform.
‘That’s Cosima Wagner’s doing,’ she said, winking at Daisy. ‘I’d better tone down my act, hadn’t I? Out of respect for her papa.’
She did tone it down, but not very much and not for very long.
She certainly did not tone it down for her performances at the Moulin Rouge, or for Rhun’s birthday party, which they celebrated in a French restaurant with a number of Madame’s performer friends travelling to Paris to join in.
She did, though, dress with unusual decorum and behave with an unexpected dignity for the memorial concert. Daisy was extremely relieved at that.
And home did not seem so very far away when there were letters coming to them. Thaddeus Thumbprint wrote quite often – he and his cousin had settled in very well, and he liked to send little reports of the flat, and of how the shop was doing. He and his cousin were going to start a little literary society there on Thursday evenings. They would invite writers and novelists and journalists to give little talks.
‘Rhun has already agreed to give a talk,’ wrote Thaddeus. ‘Cedric and I think our grandfather would have been very pleased to see our prosperity.
‘I must let you know that a small patch of damp appeared in the small sitting room overlooking the park. It was beneath a window and seems to have been caused by a leaking gutter immediately outside. The lease states clearly that I am responsible for ensuring the rooms are kept in good order, so I have had the gutter repaired, and have had the room newly wallpapered, with the damp plaster renewed. We chose what we think is a very tasteful silk stripe wallpaper in maroon and biscuit colour. I enclose a small sample, together with a piece of maroon brocade, which has been made up into new curtains for that room. It all matches beautifully.’
Reading this, Madame said that when they got back she would have to have the entire room redone, because she could not possibly live with maroon and biscuit. Still, at least the Thumbprints were taking good care of the place.
There was occasionally a letter for Daisy, too.
‘Dear Daise,’ wrote Lissy.
‘I got Bowler Bill to write this for me – ain’t much of a one for the writing and stuff, as you know. He don’t mind writing it, and he’ll see about sending it in the post, too.
‘He told us all about seeing you for Rhun’s birthday and the posh party you had. Wish we could’ve come to that, but I ain’t never been out of London, nor I don’t want to. My Albie says wild horses wouldn’t drag him across that English Channel! Funny, that, him having that Spanish mother. We called the kids Spanish names, though. Sort of a nod to her.
‘I been helping at the Ten Bells of a Saturday night – making the pies mostly. Means a few extra bob every week, and very nice too. We was none of us ever afraid of hard work, was we? I’m bringing my girls up that way – Lita’s been helping me with the pies, she’s getting to be a real good cook. I told her, there’s money to be made from good cooking, gel. Both the girls send their Auntie Daisy lots of love.
‘Joe’s still at Linklighters, and them two old boys from the bookshop keep an eye on him. I reckon he’ll be all right, our Joe. I reckon we’ll all be proud of him one day.
‘Ma got together with Peg the Rags and they got a little stall in a couple of the street markets now. Me and Vi, we got some smashing bargains there – real good stuff for trimming bonnets, and bits of fur and some nice lengths of lace, too. We found Ma better rooms, as well. ’Bout time she got out of that rat-hole. Bit shabby at first, but we spruced them up a treat – my Albie even painted the walls. He said best not ask where he got the paint. You know Albie! Seth Strumble, that has a market stall alongside Ma and Peg, brought his street-barrow to help with the move. Should have seen us all carting the stuff through the streets! Right old laugh we had.
‘We all miss you.
‘Fondest love from us all, Lissy.’
Daisy was pleased to hear from Lissy, and she was pleased about Ma’s new rooms as well. She asked Madame about sending a bit of money to help with the new place; she had no idea how such a thing might be done, she said, and she did not want to send money in an envelope through the post. But Madame knew what to do, and she arranged everything, and insisted on adding a couple of guineas extra.
‘For your ma to buy something special for the new place,’ she said.
‘Dear Scaramel,’ wrote Thaddeus Thumbprint, a few weeks later, ‘all is well with our world here. You might be interested to know that my cousin, Cedric, recently met a former fellow-performer of yours, Miss Belinda Baskerville. The encounter took place at Linklighters, where Miss Baskerville had been entertaining a Thursday-night audience. Cedric had been presiding over one of our literary circle meetings earlier, and he met her afterwards. A purely chance meeting it was.
‘I recall that you and Miss Baskerville seemed to have some kind of small misunderstanding on the occasion of Rhun’s birthday party at Maison dans le Parc. (What a lovely occasion that was – those of us who could travel to it still talk about it. And didn’t the dear twins present their bouquets beautifully!)
I do not know the rights of that little altercation between you and Miss Baskerville, of course, but I am sure it will have been something very trivial, for we have both found the lady to be a charming and sympathetic companion. She and Cedric have taken supper together several times now, and last week she came to luncheon here in Maida Vale, on which occasion she brought with her Miss Frankie Finnegan. A very lively occasion, that was! We ate at the oval table which you have in the dining room, and Cedric cooked mushroom omelettes for us, with a gratin of potatoes, and a dessert of peaches in brandy. Miss Baskerville was very taken with the rooms, and greatly enjoyed looking round them.’
‘Dear God,’ said Madame, reading this missive aloud to Daisy. ‘Frankie Finnegan’s as nice and kindly a soul as you can get and so is her sister, but the Baskerville will corrupt those innocent Thumbprints, and she’ll very likely bankrupt Cedric. Purely chance meeting indeed! And snooping around my rooms! I’m not having that! It’s time we thought about going home.’