“Hello, Dougie. Bet you thought you’d never see me again.”
On the contrary, Layton thought wryly. He wasn’t at all surprised to see his old prison mate, Archie Guest. After five years in Mulcaster, he knew the criminal mind inside and out; when there was easy money to be had, a criminal never gave up the chase. Abruptly moving to London from Nottingham wasn’t going to shake this rotter. He’d known damn well that Guest would follow him here.
It was early Tuesday morning. Layton had been approaching the stage door when Guest appeared at his right, a big grin on his leathery face. Other stagehands were coming down the alley, along with a few performers hoping to rehearse before the evening show.
“Am I imagining things, or was me old pal trying to give me the slip?” Guest was salivating for fear and panic from his victim.
Layton just smiled and put his arm around the man, as companionable as if he were an old Eton classmate. “Archie, have you ever been backstage at a music hall? It’s a fascinating world.” He didn’t wait for Guest’s reply but guided him gently through the stage door. “The gentleman in that little cubicle is the stage doorman, who stands guard to keep out intruders. Since you’re here with me, there’ll be no problem,” Layton said and nodded to Simon Blaine, the doorman.
The two men walked leisurely through the bleak brick-and-plaster hallways. People came and went on all sides.
“You’ve always been an observer out in the audience,” Layton continued in an eager-to-please tone. “Now you’ve crossed an invisible threshold, and you can see where the magic is made.”
Though Guest remained silent and listened, his eyes darted about frenetically, as if he were desperate to figure out Layton’s plan.
“This is the stage from the performer’s point of view,” Layton said. “Looking out into the auditorium. Quite a sight, am I right?”
He guided Guest to the side of the stage. The Bouncing Bobos, a tumbling act, was rehearsing at center stage. Four men held the corners of a large blanket, tossing a pretty young girl in red tights up into the air. She turned multiple somersaults before landing each time. Layton gestured up, drawing Guest’s eye.
“That’s the fly tower above our heads. The cloths I paint are flown up by ropes from that gallery on the side.” Layton led Guest into the wings and gestured left and right. “Back here we have dressing rooms, the scene shop, and a carpenter’s shop. Don’t these poky corridors have a charm and fascination all their own?”
“Sure, sure. It’s all very bloody interesting.” Guest shook his head, refocusing on his task. “But, Dougie, you and I have some business to attend to. Remember?”
“Of course. Why don’t we go somewhere more private? Follow me.”
With Guest following behind, Layton descended a spiral stair to the understage and led Guest behind a large wooden wheel that operated one of the traps in the stage.
“Now we have some privacy.”
“All them people up there would be surprised as hell to know they’re working alongside the Butcher of the West End. They’d be bloody mad, in fact.” Guest waggled his eyebrows, shook his head. “You got some cheek, mate, getting yourself a job with the very circuit you built the Britannia for.”
“How much?”
Guest blinked, folded his arms against his chest. It was a dramatic gesture to show he meant business. “Since we’re old friends, I’d say twenty quid a month is fair.”
“Agreed,” Layton said cheerfully.
“Well…Dougie,” Guest stammered, “I’m right glad we could come to an agreement without a lot of fuss, two Mulcaster gents like us.”
“I couldn’t agree more, Arch. And I bet you want your first month’s payment?”
“Why…yes. That’s what I was thinkin’.”
“How about this? Since it’s nearing the end of the month, I’ll give you ten quid, and we’ll start afresh next month. That’s fair, isn’t it?” Without waiting for an answer, Layton stuffed a ten-pound note into Guest’s pocket.
A smile came over the ex-convict’s face. “That’ll do nicely, m’lad. Very nicely…for now.”
“I’ll see you to the door.”
As they walked down the corridor, they saw Cissie, talking to the stage doorman.
“Mrs. Mapes, let me introduce you to a very old school chum of mine, Archibald Guest.”
“Glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Guest.”
“Mr. Guest is a lover of variety theatre entertainment. Could we leave a weekly pass for him?”
“Anything for a friend of yours, Mr. Owen.”
As they waved him out the door, Cissie smiled and whispered, “So that’s the piece of shite, eh?”
“Indeed it is, Mrs. Mapes.”
“What’s his price?”
“Twenty quid a month.”
“Once he knows he has you under his thumb, you know it’ll go up to at least fifty. What will you do then?”
Layton shook his head, and for the first time, the easy smile dropped from his face. “I don’t know, Cissie. I don’t know.”