11

Effie stood shivering outside Campion’s and watched as the crowds pushed their way into the music hall. There was a hint of snow in the air. She could hear music and laughter coming from inside, and the frosted windows gave off an enticing golden glow.

Effie blew on her hands. She longed to go in and be enveloped by the warmth and see the wonders inside for herself. But she didn’t have the money. For the past ten days she had just about kept body and soul together. But every second had felt like a struggle. She’d had some luck, mind. Running errands for one of the coffee-stall keepers had kept her in hot drinks and bread; she got two days’ work at one of the laundries amid the steaming coppers. But the last couple of days it had turned colder and her luck had run out too. There had been no work at the laundry and the coffee-stall keeper had been replaced by his less-friendly brother.

That morning she had stood in a crowd next to a well-dressed woman whose purse was poking out of her open bag. The temptation to dip her hand in and prig it was almost overwhelming. But the image of her mother looking at her sorrowfully from the dock of the Old Bailey popped into her head and she hesitated. At that moment the woman looked down, realised her bag was open and pulled the strings tight shut. Then she’d glanced at Effie suspiciously and moved away. It made Effie feel guilty even though she’d done nothing.

Now as she loitered outside Campion’s in a mean drizzle of rain she wished she had taken the purse. She wondered about going into the yard and asking for Rose. But Rose had probably forgotten all about her by now. The door to Campion’s opened and there was a gust of warmth as a group came out, their eyes shining and their cheeks glowing. They were muffled against the cold and they didn’t even notice Effie as they walked down the road. She was just one of thousands of ragged children who thronged the London streets.

Two carriages loomed out of the swirling fog and pulled up outside the music hall. A group of toffs got out, laughing loudly. They had some young women with them. Their clothes were bright in the glimmer of the street lamps and Effie thought they looked like beautiful butterflies against the inky darkness of the street. The group thronged towards the entrance that was giving out a light like molten honey.

“I say!” said one of the men loudly. “This is slumming it a bit, what!”

“Champagne tastes the same wherever you are,” brayed another. “We’ve come to see the Infant Phenomenon. Let’s hope the Infant Phenomenon is ready to see us.”

There were cackles.

“I’ve been before. It’s a quaint little down-at-heel place,” said another man. “Feels authentic. They’re got a good singer too, Belle Canterbury. Wonderful voice. Let’s give it a chance. We can always move on to the Alhambra or the Britannia later.”

They brushed by Effie without seeing her, even though one of them managed to step heavily on her foot. They flung the door open and swaggered in. Effie peered yearningly into the melting light. She took a step towards it. The music and laughter clawed at her heart as she remembered being at the Fortune with her mum. She took another step forward.

The group were by the table where the box office was set up, jostling impatiently. Unseen, Effie wormed her way into the centre of the crowd, and as the toffs were waved through after paying she slipped in with them. The swells made straight for the mahogany bar. Effie heard them calling loudly for champagne as they were shown towards a table.

Effie looked around quickly and then quietly headed for the gallery. She filled her lungs with the warm mustiness of the place. She picked her way along a bench near the front of the gallery where there was a space next to a large, bad-tempered woman wearing an ugly tartan dress with a lorgnette held to her eyes. She slid into the empty spot. The woman glared at Effie and shuffled slightly to her left. Effie blushed. She was certain the woman thought she was riddled with fleas.

She glanced around her and froze. Sitting right behind the woman was the scar-faced Tanner Street boy who had tricked her out of her money. He hadn’t noticed her because he was laughing and joking with his friends. Sitting next to him were three girls who looked as if they could be his sisters. The one right behind Effie was bouncing a gurgling infant on her knee. The child was wearing a grimy bonnet and a handkerchief around her neck.

Effie longed to confront the boy but she knew she’d be a fool to even try. The entire gallery would laugh at her. Instead, she tried to concentrate on the stage where Ali the Great Wizard of the Orient was delighting the crowd by juggling several swords. The man on Effie’s other side was handed a steaming pie by his wife. Effie sniffed the delicious aroma and tried not to think of her rumbling stomach. Ali finished his act with a daring display of sword-swallowing and left the stage to enthusiastic applause and much whooping.

A voice came from the wings. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Miss Aurora Scarletti, the Infant Phenomenon…”

There was a clash of cymbals that sounded like thunder, a cascade of piano keys and the Infant Phenomenon pranced on to the stage. The audience leaned forward as one, with the large woman in the tartan dress leading the applause.

The girl on the stage began a comic song about a posh girl who goes for a walk across London and repeatedly slips and falls in the mud. The crowd were lapping it up. Effie leaned further forward to watch. The song was reaching its climax where the girl falls in a pile of steaming horse dung. The woman in the tartan dress next to her was screeching encouragement, unaware that the Tanner Street gang were mocking her behind her back.

Effie glanced around the eggshell-blue interior and marvelled at the gilt mirrors. She hugged herself with pleasure. Campion’s was so lovely. She caught a glimpse of Rose standing at the entrance to the gallery, watching the stage. Suddenly Rose turned and looked at Effie and grinned at her.

Effie smiled shyly back. Her heart gave a little skip. She had been wrong, Rose did remember her after all! When the Infant Phenomenon had finished, she would try and talk to Rose. Perhaps Rose would repeat her offer to let Effie spend a few days at Campion’s. But of course she wouldn’t! If Rose thought Effie could afford to get into the music hall, she’d assume she didn’t need help any more. Effie felt tears prick her eyes. She could hardly admit that she had crept into Campion’s without paying. It was as good as thieving from Rose. She stole another glance in Rose’s direction, but Rose’s eyes were fixed on the row behind her. She seemed very interested in the Tanner Street crew and the baby.

The Infant Phenomenon was dancing now. The audience quickly became restive. Effie could see that the girl on the stage had sensed their rowdiness, and she faltered. It only made the crowd noisier. There were some catcalls coming from the gallery and one of the braying toffs from downstairs was baiting her. The woman in tartan was gesturing at the Infant Phenomenon and yelling instructions at her. Effie suddenly felt sorry for her.

The girl glanced up at the balcony and seemed to recover herself. Her mouth was set in a line of determination as she broke into a new comic song. The boisterous crowd quickly quietened and the catcalls died away. They wanted to laugh, and Aurora was now giving them what they wanted.

The woman in the tartan dress lowered herself heavily back on to the bench and as she did so, Effie noticed that her silk handkerchief and her purse were clearly visible, just peeping from inside her pocket. She stared at them both, mesmerised. They were so close. The silk handkerchief alone would be worth at least a shilling. When she and her mum were prigging for Josiah he always said a silk hankie was a better bet than a purse. Easy to steal, easy to sell, and a purse might turn out to be empty.

Suddenly the baby in the row behind started bawling loudly. Effie turned round, and so did everyone else in the vicinity. The woman in tartan craned her neck and shouted, “Stop that racket! Nobody can hear the poor girl sing.”

When the woman turned back towards the stage, her purse and handkerchief had vanished, and so had the Tanner Street boys. Effie saw their backs sliding out of the door. She looked around, panicked. Should she raise the alarm? But she couldn’t be sure that they had taken the purse. The girls were still sitting on the bench behind, chatting and laughing with a blasé insolence. They didn’t look in the slightest bit guilty. The restless anxiety in Effie’s manner alerted the woman, who suddenly looked at her sharply. She then looked down at her pocket and patted it frantically.

“I’ve been robbed!” she screeched, standing up.

Lizzie’s voice felt like needles stabbing into Effie’s flesh. Effie looked wildly around. She saw Rose move towards her, a troubled look in her eyes.

“My purse, my hankie! Call the rozzers!” cried Lizzie, her voice rising in hysteria.

“It must have been her,” said the girls behind, pointing at Effie. “The muck snipe has mizzled that lady’s purse and wipe. She deserves the noose.”

One of them giggled as if she was looking forward to the spectacle of Effie being hanged by the neck until she was dead. Nobody in the gallery was watching the stage now; all eyes were fixed on Effie and Lizzie, and there was an ugly mood in the air.

A worried-looking Thomas Campion appeared at the gallery door, eager to calm the situation and protect his music hall’s good name. He didn’t want the police involved if it could be avoided.

“Make her turn out her pockets!” yelled Lizzie, glowering over Effie like a wild bear.

“Please,” whispered Effie, who felt as if her stomach had gone into free fall. “I didn’t steal nothing. Cross me heart.” She half rose to her feet but as she stood, a handkerchief slithered to the floor. Effie’s face was a picture of confusion. Rose snatched the handkerchief up and examined it. She narrowed her eyes at the Tanner Street girls.

“There! Proof!” cried Lizzie triumphantly, without even glancing at the handkerchief.

“I … I … I didn’t…” stuttered Effie.

“I think you did, my girl,” said the girl holding the baby, and she stood up with a swagger.

“Come on, Elsie, Rubes. We ain’t going to hang about in a den of tea leaves and cutpurses. It don’t become us.” The girls swanned towards the door like affronted duchesses. Rose went to open her mouth, but Thomas frowned at her and shook his head. Then he clapped his hands to get the entertainment back underway and the orchestra struck up once more.

He herded Lizzie, Effie and Rose out of the gallery and on to the stairs. Effie was shaking uncontrollably.

“Keep an eye on that one,” said Lizzie, “or she’ll make a bolt for it, the nasty little dipper. She’s a thief; the handkerchief proves it.”

“No, it doesn’t,” said Rose firmly. She was holding the hankie behind her back.

Thomas looked at her quizzically. “What do you mean, Rosie? Spit it out.”

“Is this your handkerchief?” Rose asked Lizzie, holding up the handkerchief with a flourish like a magician.

“Of course it’s mine!” snapped Lizzie furiously without even deigning to glance at it.

“Oh,” said Rose, “and I always had you down as a proper lady.”

Lizzie bristled. “I am a lady, born and bred; fallen on hard times,” she said indignantly.

Rose saw Thomas’s mouth twitch.

“Of course,” said Rose sympathetically. Then she added, “And as a lady you’d only ever carry a silk hankie…”

Lizzie nodded vigorously. “Of course!”

“So,” said Rose, waving the handkerchief in front of Lizzie, “you’d never use a poor grimy thing like this.”

Lizzie took out her lorgnette and peered more closely at the grimy hankie. She saw the poor-quality material and the ungainly stitching.

“That’s not my handkerchief. I wouldn’t touch such a nasty thing,” she said, drawing herself up to her full height.

“I thought so,” said Rose. She turned to Effie. “I hate to ask this, but would you mind turning out your pockets, Effie?”

Effie did as she was told. They were empty.

“See?” said Rose. “There’s no purse and no silk handkerchief. If this grimy bit of cloth is the only evidence you have of Effie’s guilt, then surely we must agree she is entirely innocent of the crime of which you have accused her?”

“Oh, Rosie,” said Thomas admiringly. “You’re better than a lawyer. Maybe you learned something at that posh school after all.” He turned to Lizzie. “Mrs Gawkin?”

Lizzie’s face was a mix of the sheepish and the belligerent.

“I still wouldn’t trust that guttersnipe,” she said, pointing her finger at Effie. She drew herself up. “Besides, I’ve still suffered a great loss, Mr Campion,” she said slyly.

Thomas put an arm around her and guided her down the stairs.

“I’m sure that we can make good your loss, Mrs Gawkin. Will you join me in a glass of brandy and we’ll settle it amicably?”

“That’s kind of you, Mr Campion,” simpered Lizzie. “I will take a small brandy. Only for the shock, of course.”

Rose watched them to the bottom of the stairs. Then she turned back to Effie, and in Lizzie’s voice she said, “Will you join me in a pie? Only for the shock, of course.”

Effie giggled, but her hands were still shaking. “How did you work it out?” she asked shyly.

“Simple. It was the baby,” said Rose. “I always try and keep an eye on the Tanner Street lot when they’re in. They’re trouble, but we can’t ban them. They’d put a match to the place. I noticed the babe had a ’kerchief round her neck one minute, and then she didn’t. The girls made the baby cry to create a disturbance, the boys prigged the purse and Lizzie’s silk handkerchief, and slipped away. Then the girls stayed to create a diversion and peach you up if needed so their brothers would have plenty of time to get away without being fingered.”

She took Effie’s hand. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get those pies.”