THE EVENING’S PERFORMANCE AT THE Supper Rooms had been just as much of a triumph as the day before. The applause for Gertie’s song had been enthusiastic; Baby, irritated by what he saw as competition, had been spurred into trying even harder, and had dazzled his audience with a cascade of card tricks as well as his usual routine.

Jago, running from kitchen to table with steaming plates of food, had watched eagerly; he could imagine winning impossible amounts of money if he could only learn Baby’s ability to slide cards in and out of the pack without being seen. As the evening went on, he grew more and more determined to make Baby his confidant – and should Baby be unwilling … well, there were ways to persuade him.

Baby bowed to his audience and retired to Mrs Moore’s private parlour. His mother hurried after him, while Mrs Moore remained in the Supper Rooms. A sudden demand for sweet sherry drinks made her realise there was no sugar; calling for Jago, she gave him instructions to run to the corner store to buy a sugarloaf.

“Tell them to put it on the slate,” said Mrs Moore. “And you can buy half a pound of butter while you’re there.”

Jago nodded, nothing loath to leave the hot and steamy supper room, and hurried out. He was just dawdling back from the shop when he saw Edie.

His heart began to flutter wildly in his chest, and he felt breathless. Edie was talking to Charlie and they were looking at each other with what seemed to Jago to be huge admiration. The fluttering in his chest changed to a furious thumping as jealousy and anger misted his sight.

Dumping his purchases on a window ledge, he dashed across the road and fell upon Charlie with flying fists and boots. “Theatre scum!” he yelled. “Workhouse trash!”

Charlie fought back, but Jago had taken him by surprise, and a moment later he was on the ground. Jago stood back to aim a vicious kick at his head, but a whirlwind of black hit him so hard in the stomach that he doubled up, gasping for breath.

Edie rushed him again, this time knocking him over, and he lay beside Charlie moaning and wheezing. She grabbed one of Charlie’s arms and Rosie seized the other, and between them they heaved him to his feet.

“Run!” Edie ordered, and run they did. Charlie, his nose bleeding and his left eye gradually closing, was still in a haze, but the girls half-pulled, half-dragged him along until they had gone far enough to be certain they were safe.

As they slowed to a halt, Rosie inspected her brother. “You’re a mess, Charlie! Here … let me clean the blood away.”

“OUCH!” Charlie winced, and took the handkerchief for himself. He gave his nose a cursory wipe and looked at Edie. If Jago had been there he would have seen something more than admiration in Charlie’s eyes. “Edie … you floored him! You were amazing!”

Edie blushed. “He weren’t fighting fair. Besides, I been wanting to do that awhile now. But he’ll cause trouble … he’ll be telling Mrs Moore a tall tale of how it was you as started it.” She shook her head. “And she’ll believe him. Some folk can’t see a liar’s a liar, even when they’re told that apples is pears and pears is apples.”

Charlie grinned and patted his bulging pockets. “Oh well … who cares about him? We’ve still got the money.”

“Will he try and get you into trouble too, Edie?” Rosie asked anxiously.

“What, and say he was walloped by a girl?” Edie chuckled. “Not likely. It’s Charlie he’ll be after … so we’d better watch out. That Jago, he’ll be dangerous as a cut-throat razor.”

Jago, still unable to stand fully upright, collected the butter and sugar and staggered back to the Supper Rooms. As he went, he was imagining all kinds of revenge – varying from chopping Charlie’s fingers off one by one to boiling him in oil, with many variants in between.

“I’ll get him,” he promised, “him and all his scummy friends. I’ll get them good and proper!”

Mrs Moore was overseeing the end of the meal when Jago reached the kitchen, but to his surprise Baby was standing by the dresser inspecting a bowl of fruit with an air of disapproval.

“Isn’t there anything better than this?” he asked Jago. “That old woman said fruit would do me good, but I don’t like it. I want ham and eggs. Or roast chicken. Or oysters. Are there any oysters?”

“There’s a beef and oyster pie in the larder.” This was one of Mrs Moore’s specialities, and destined for a meal with friends, but Jago didn’t hesitate. “I’ll fetch it… But you got to tell me something.”

“Pie first.” Baby was an able negotiator when it came to his own interests.

Jago nodded and fetched the pie from the top of Mrs Moore’s private cupboard.

“Go on then,” Baby instructed. “Cut it open. And I want a lot of gravy.”

Knife in hand, Jago paused. “How do you do them card tricks?”

Baby hesitated. The intensity of Jago’s expression made him uneasy. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone,” he said. Then, seeing Jago’s face darken, he added, “Magicians aren’t allowed to share their tricks except with other magicians, you see. I had to promise. I can’t break it. Not even for pie.” He gave the pie a last longing look, and began to get up.

“No need to rush off. You don’t have to tell me nothing … I was just asking.” Jago sliced the pie in half, and handed Baby a dripping plateful while he considered a different approach. As his companion seized the pie with both hands he asked, as casually as he could, “Know anything about that there theatre lot, do you? At The Golden Lion?”

His mouth too full for speech, Baby shrugged. Several seconds later, and spraying flakes of pastry, he said, “I know mother doesn’t like them.” He giggled. “She told me someone was sick over their costumes, so they can’t work! I think that’s funny, don’t you?”

Jago was interested. “What kind of costumes?”

Baby waved a sticky hand. “The clothes they dress up in. They have scenery for their plays, as well – that’s lots of painted pictures, and props: that’s swords and things.”

Jago came closer. “So if they ain’t got the stuff, they can’t work?”

“Of course they can’t.” Baby was astonished at Jago’s ignorance.

This information set Jago thinking. Might it be possible to use Baby to get rid of Charlie? And to do it in some way that would leave the child magician open to a little useful blackmail?

“That singing woman. She’s one of them, isn’t she?”

“What?” Baby stopped eating to stare at him. “The one who sings about me being magic?” Being entirely self-centred, Baby had never thought to ask where Gertie came from. Now he was interested. She had been applauded, and the only person who deserved applause was Little Baby Bubbles. “Well, I hope she goes back to the Lion and stays there.”

“Wouldn’t it be better if she went away altogether?” Jago suggested, his weasel eyes even sharper than usual.

Baby considered this idea. “I suppose so.”

“As long as she’s in Uncaster she’ll be warbling away in our supper room.” Jago laid his trap. “Mrs Moore, she told me the customers really like her. She says, ‘Don’t you think she ought to sing more songs, Jago?’ That’s what she said.”

Baby choked on his mouthful. As he coughed and spluttered, Jago went on, “If you ask me, I’d say she’ll split the evening soon. Half for her, and half for you…”

This was almost too much; Baby was beginning to shake. Jago, fearing a temper tantrum, hastily added, “But I tells her you’re the one they want to see.”

Baby, always willing to believe flattery, was soothed. He licked the empty pie plate, and belched loudly. “I’ve had a very clever idea. I’m going to tell Mrs Moore I’m not going to do another trick until she gets rid of that singing woman.”

“I got a better idea.” Jago leaned towards Baby. “We get rid of her once and for all. Her and the whole scummy lot – send them scuttling back to where they come from, tails between their legs.” Jago paused to check that Baby was listening before he went on, “I’ll tell you what – how about me fixing it for you? Then, after they’ve gone, you can tell her how clever you’ve been! It’d be a real honour. I mean to say, a nobody like me getting the chance to help a world renowned magician! How lucky is that?”

He gave his companion a sly glance to see if he had gone too far, but Baby was nodding his approval. “That’s right,” he said. “You’re very lucky.” Baby blew out his cheeks, glowing with smug self-importance. “After all, you’re nothing more than a kitchen boy.”

Jago grinned, whilst mentally consigning Baby to a deep dark well. “So that’s settled… I’ll fix it. But let’s keep it as our secret, shall we? Much better that way.”

“All right.” Baby held out a podgy hand and they shook on the deal. “You fix it – I’m going to go to bed.”