13

“I did see him, I’m sure I did. Or else I’m going mad and should be put in an asylum,” said Rose tearfully. “I didn’t imagine it, honest. Ned was in the gallery. I know he was.”

“Did you tell the rozzers?” asked Effie.

Rose nodded scornfully.

“Thomas and I went to see them yesterday, but I don’t know why we bothered for all the notice they took. They’ve decided that Ned was so upset about not being able to get work that he flung himself into the river, hit his head and drowned.” She added bitterly, “Case closed.”

Rose viciously spun the pedal on the bicycle that Effie was holding.

“They were almost as bad as Lizzie Gawkin,” she said angrily.

The news of Ned Dorset’s death had upset everyone at Campion’s. He’d been a great favourite among the ballet girls, and all the acts who’d known him were devastated. Apart from Lizzie Gawkin. She had complained loudly that all the weeping and wailing was giving her a headache. When Rose heard this, she shouted at the astonished Lizzie, telling her that she was a vulture and that Ned had been part of the Campion’s family, which was more than Lizzie would ever be.

Lizzie had shrugged and given a vile little laugh. “Who wants to be part of this ‘family’?” she cried. “I’m not going to weep for Ned Dorset; I never even met the man. I have no interest in him. He’s nothing to me.” She’d stood up and beckoned to Aurora. “Come, my treasure, we’re going to the Four Cripples. My nerves are shredded.”

As Lizzie pushed Aurora towards the door, Rose saw the tears in the girl’s eyes as she mouthed, “I’m so sorry.”

Rose turned the pedal again on the bicycle. If she could find a way to work it into an act it would be a real novelty. Maybe it would attract a crowd. So far her sheep idea had failed to come to anything; she’d stood on London Bridge for two whole days and had been unable to persuade a single farmer to lend her his sheep.

“What was Ned doing when you saw him?” asked Effie, flicking a speck off the bike frame, which she had painted bright green with yellow daisies. It looked like the most cheerful thing in the whole of London.

Rose told her about Ned miming holding a baby and pointing at her. “I’m sure he was trying to tell me something.”

“Maybe you saw Ned’s ghost?” said Effie. “Maybe the ghost couldn’t rest until he had told you something very important.”

Rose was about to laugh when she stopped. She’d never been one for believing in ghosts, but now Effie had mentioned it she wondered if it could be true. It made her all the more certain that Ned had been murdered, and his ghost had returned to tell her something important. “Let’s think about what we know so far.” She ticked the information off on her fingers. “Grace told us that Ned left that morning saying he was coming to see Thomas, and that then he might have to go north. She also told us that he’d been north before on some kind of mysterious family mission. And that morning Ned got a letter from America, the second one he’d had.”

“What happened to the letter?”

“Grace said he took it with him, and the police found something sodden and unreadable in his pocket when they pulled him out of the river.”

“So he can’t have been killed for the letter then,” said Effie. “The murderer would’ve taken it, else.”

Rose nodded and blinked back angry tears. Who could have wanted to kill Ned Dorset?

Sighing, she tightened another nut on the bicycle and turned to Effie. “Do you want to give it a turn around the yard?” she asked.

Effie shook her head shyly. “I don’t know how,” she said.

“It’s easy,” said Rose, and she hoiked up her skirts and started pedalling round the yard like a mad thing. She came to a sudden stop next to Effie. “Here, jump on the crossbar!”

With peals of laughter, Effie managed to clamber on and they wobbled off, shrieking and giggling.

Rose saw Aurora watching them wistfully. “Fancy a go?” she asked, trying and failing to make a dignified stop.

Aurora blushed pink with pleasure. “I’d love—”

But Lizzie suddenly appeared at her arm and pulled her away. “Come, my treasure,” she said loudly. “I don’t want you mixing with nasty common girls.”

Rose snorted with laughter and yelled loudly, “Right, Effie! Let’s see just how fast us nasty common girls can go.”

Effie giggled, and then yelled, “Watch out!”

The butcher’s boy had wandered into the yard and was so mesmerised by the sight of Rose’s knickerbockers that he stood frozen to the spot. There was a loud crash, and Rose, Effie and the butcher’s boy collapsed in a heap on the ground with the bicycle on top of them.

“Is anyone hurt?” asked Rose cheerfully.

“No,” chorused Effie and the butcher’s boy.

“You’re as mad as a hatter, Rose Campion,” said the butcher’s boy. But there was more than a touch of admiration in his voice.

They were all still laughing when Grace appeared at the stage door. Everyone scrambled to their feet at the sight of her wan face.

“Sorry, Grace,” said Rose, feeling they were being insensitive. “We were making far too much noise.”

Grace shook her head. “The world doesn’t stop because my Ned is dead. I like to hear your laughter. Are you and Lottie still planning to take Freddie to see the mudlarks later?”

Grace and Freddie had been staying at Campion’s for a few days now, and Lottie and the other ballet girls had made a pet of him. Rose had once walked into the dressing room to find them teaching him the cancan.

“Of course, Grace,” said Rose. Grace smiled and went back inside.

“Poor Grace,” said Effie. “She doesn’t deserve this. My mum always said Grace, Ned and Freddie were the nicest people in the street. She thought Ned Dorset was a real gent.”

Rose looked up from where she’d been tinkering with the bike, surprised. “I didn’t know you knew Grace? And I didn’t think you had any family.”

Effie flushed. “I don’t,” she said hesitantly. “She died. I don’t like to talk about it.”

“I’m sorry. Must have been very recent,” said Rose softly.

Effie looked away. Rose sensed something evasive in her manner. But Campion’s was full of people with secrets, people who wanted to reinvent themselves, or who had run away, or who didn’t even know their own history. Like her. Rose knew it was best not to ask too many questions, and wait for people to reveal themselves if and when they chose to do so.

“Sorry, Effie,” she said good-naturedly. “I didn’t mean to pry. I’d better get back to work.”

Effie watched as Rose wheeled the bicycle towards the stage door and into the theatre for safe keeping. She felt so guilty for saying her mum was dead when she wasn’t. But she couldn’t tell about her mum being in Holloway. She couldn’t bear the thought of being turned away from Campion’s.

A terrible thought occurred to her. What if by telling a lie about her mum, she was making something terrible come true? Maybe her mum would die suddenly. A tear spilled from her eye.

“I’m sorry, Mum. Forgive me. I didn’t mean it. Please, please don’t die,” she whispered.