Fair Venus calls, her voice obey,
in beauty’s arms spend night and day.
I have been told there are strange lands where live exotic beasts, their heads larger than their bodies, birds of exuberant plumage, and creatures that possess horns and resemble men in all but nature. As I stood with Ned Bird, waiting to make my entrance, the musicians playing in the gallery, I thought that these creatures must have been washed ashore here. They tottered about, holding tight to their papier-mâché faces, mingling with others dressed from the Italian comedy, with nuns and priests who belonged to no order other than that of pleasure, with women changed into men and men changed into women, with whores dressed as saints – the world bedizened in borrowed gowns. The truth of who they were was lost behind the array of masks. But I saw that from the folds of their clothes, ghosts emerged, whispering shapes. They needed no masks for they were here to haunt the living, to niggle at their thick consciences in hope of driving them to Bedlam for the wrongs they had committed. There she was, Pretty Poppet, her arm on Queenie’s waist. Seeing her made me shudder. A bad omen, I thought.
‘What do you think all those fine gents and ladies are hiding from?’ Ned whispered.
‘Ghosts,’ I said.
I closed my eyes and, with all my being, willed the shades to be gone.
Gilded lights illuminated the ballroom’s scurrilous paintings, a reflection of the delights that were on offer at the masquerade ball. Amid the collage of colour and the rising cacophony of chatter, still the dead clung, unforgiving, to the living.
Waiting for my cue, Ned and me watched the scene. When all the guests had assembled, the musicians stopped playing and everyone fell silent. The man in the hooded domino strode menacingly into the middle of the floor, parting the guests with a wave of his hand so that he dominated an empty space. He whirled round and round, faster and faster, and as he did his cloak disappeared to reveal a black and silver harlequin. He came to an abrupt halt and a loud cheer greeted the master of ceremonies.
‘My lords and ladies,’ said Mr Crease. ‘For your delight and entertainment, we have filled our cellars with the wine of Bacchus and our kitchens have prepared a banquet fit for the gods. We have virgins and courtesans a-plenty, willing to share their innocent – and not so innocent – charms with you. We have gentlemen in need of lovers and lovers in need of gentlemen. Ladies, shake off all prejudice, for here is an opportunity to indulge your amorous inclinations without fear of interruption from father or husband. All we ask is that you leave your morals and virtue with your cloaks and swords.’
He picked out a man in the audience and, addressing him, said, ‘If you, sir, happen to make love to your wife or to her maid, secrecy is the order of the night.’ The ballroom rang with the raucous laughter of the guests. Mr Crease raised his hands and once more everyone was quiet. ‘Be not ashamed of your desires. Relish your appetites and partake in all the dishes on offer. So, without another word, let the entertainment begin.’
Rose petals fell from the ceiling as I walked up to Mr Crease. He removed my cloak, nodded his head and raised his hands again for silence. I closed my eyes and began to spin up and up until I was on the swing, and set sail over the heads of the guests and ghosts.
I swung, causing my skirts to billow and the swing to go higher and higher until I could almost touch the naked lovers painted on the ceiling. The masked faces stared up at me in awe. Then I let go, throwing myself out, arms stretched, a flightless bird with nothing to stop me from falling. A horrified gasp rose from the guests. The ghosts vanished, hoping, no doubt, to catch me on the other side. But I was not to be theirs tonight.
As Mr Crease had taught me, I hovered, luxuriating in the audience’s reaction, and for the first time I enjoyed the power my abilities had given me. I willed myself to slowly descend, and stopped about a foot from the ground where I floated until Mr Crease took my hand. I stepped down as if all along I had been standing on an invisible platform.
My performance was greeted by a cascade of clapping that only stopped when a footman brought the birdcage containing Boozey and put it on a small table. I took the cage, opened it, and walked round the ballroom, showing Boozey to the guests who all agreed that he was a very dead parrot indeed. I whispered to Boozey. He ruffled his feathers, spread his wings and took flight. At that moment, to a hushed disbelief, the black and silver harlequin transformed the ballroom into a jungle. Even the old sailor made an appearance, calling to his beloved bird.
Mr Crease clapped his hands. The illusion vanished, the sailor gone, the parrot returned lifeless to his cage.
The musicians started up again and the dancing began. Mr Crease and I were to give two more shows that evening. In the next one, I brought back Shadow and by the time Mr Crease and his dog had worked their magic with the fortune-telling alphabet cards, you could almost hear the heartbeat of those in the room who were desperate for fate to look on them kindly.
Queenie found us in an antechamber where we had escaped to take refreshments.
Mr Crease took her in his arms. ‘Are you satisfied, my lady?’ he asked. ‘Yes, very,’ she said and kissed him. She turned to me and put out her hand. ‘Tully, you were superb. Quite enchanting. When you leapt from the swing…’
‘Am I forgiven?’
‘Yes, my dear. Where is Mr Fitzjohn?’
‘He left this afternoon for France.’
‘Then I will find you someone else to entertain.’
She stared at me and I didn’t blink.
Feathers and dust. This was my world now, this was where I belonged.
‘Why the hurry, madam?’ said Mr Crease. ‘Tully has more than proved her worth to the fairy house. She has value beyond that of any other courtesan.’
I left them to their own company. Pretty Poppet was waiting for me outside in the hall.
‘He’ll shackle you, that’s what he’ll do.’
‘Who?’ I said.
‘It’s you he wants. Come, I’ll show you the cull so you can keep out the way of his cutty-eyes.’
Supper had been served and many of the guests now made their way to the drawing room on the second floor, which had been given over to cards. I heard whispering as I passed and comments about my costume. As I watched, outrageous fortunes were wasted on a roll of the dice, the play of a card.
A gentleman in a dusty-pink, striped Scapino costume came up and bowed to me. His mask seemed designed to revolt rather than please, being black with large moles upon it, and a bulbous nose.
‘I do not know you,’ he said.
‘I do not know you,’ said I.
Was he the reason Pretty Poppet had brought me here?
‘I saw you on the swing, young fairy. How did you perform such magic? Wires, I presume.’
His voice was rich, buttery and far more seductive than the mask he was wearing.
‘No, sir.’
‘Come, come, my sprite. Surely you do not tell me that you can defy the laws of science? It is irrational.’
‘If you find that irrational, then what, sir, are you doing in a fairy house?’
‘Touché. Show me how it’s done.’
‘I will not, sir,’ I said, laughing.
‘Do you give private performances?’
‘That depends,’ I said.
It was then that I felt every bone in my body turn to lead. Pretty Poppet was standing behind the chair of one of the gamblers, his costume was striped in yellows and reds, his mask dominated by a big, hooked nose.
Scapino saw that he looked in our direction and asked if I knew the gentleman.
‘Never been keen on Punch,’ said Scapino. ‘He’s too cruel for my liking.’
I didn’t listen to what else he had to say on the subject because I did know the Pulcinella. With or without his mask, I knew Victor Wrattan.
Desperate to remove myself from Wrattan’s orbit, I asked, ‘Do you dance, sir?’
‘I used to, but now I—’
He was interrupted by a very drunk lady whose clothes were in disarray.
‘Kitty,’ said Scapino. ‘You look as if you have already been ravished.’
‘Perhaps I have,’ she said with a giggle.
This then was Kitty Lay, the notorious mistress of Lord Barbeau. I had become a student of the gossip of the day and in near every paper I read, Kitty Lay was described as a beauty. What I could see of her face beneath the mask did not leave me with that impression. She put her arms lazily around Scapino and turned to me.
‘He’s mine,’ she said, confirming that I was correct in my deduction that the gentleman in the Scapino costume was none other than Lord Barbeau.
‘Madam,’ said Scapino, ‘you are drunk.’
‘And what other state would you have me in, sir?’
He muttered something in her ear.
‘My lord, you are a bore tonight. I want to be extravagant. Lend me some money for the cards and you can have me any way you want.’
She adjusted her dress, took the reluctant Scapino by the arm and walked unsteadily to the card table. Pulcinella stood up.
‘Madam,’ he said to her, ‘please take this chair.’
‘I would if I could,’ she said. ‘I will wait for it to come round again and then, if necessary, I will take it by force.’
She made to sit down, missed the chair and fell inelegantly onto the floor. In the commotion that followed I retreated to the antechamber that Mr Crease and I had used after the show, only to find there a rather portly gentleman, his pleasure pole well exposed, on the point of mounting an equally large lady. I quietly closed the door then jumped as I felt an arm round my waist and something sharp in my side.
‘I have been looking for you everywhere,’ said Pulcinella. He leaned his grotesque head towards me. ‘You will walk with me out of here. You will look loving, and if anyone stops you, you will tell them I am your gallant for the evening. But if you make any fuss I will willingly put this blade through you.’
There was nothing I could do except hope that someone might see what was happening and would have the wit to ask where I was going. We had reached the top of the stairs to the hall and I could see the open front door and knew that once I had passed through it there was no return.
‘Sir, where are you taking her?’
It was Ned.
‘None of your business,’ said Pulcinella, sinking his blade all too easily into my flesh.
‘But it is,’ said Ned, taking hold of Pulcinella’s arm. ‘Let go of her immediately, sir.’
Just then a Blue Pierrot with a white mask came up towards us. He looked at me and immediately blocked Pulcinella’s way. I felt the knife pierce my skin and flinched.
‘Madam,’ said the Blue Pierrot, ‘do you need assistance?’
I recognised his voice and my heart soared.