Jocasta waited a moment then looked up at him frowning. “Out with it, boy.”
“Mrs. Bligh, I don’t mean no disrespect, but are you a witch, Mrs. Bligh?” The words tumbled out of him like a sailor’s pay.
Jocasta sucked on her few good teeth. “Wish that I were. But if I were, you’d see more frogs and toads round here and fewer men. I have my talents. See forward sometimes. Right-I’ve satisfied your asking, now satisfy mine.”
The boy looked a bit confused and Jocasta thought for a second he wouldn’t have the sense to stop with his own questions, but he seemed to take a hold of himself and said, “Ripley told me at your asking to stay outside the Mitchell place. By the time I got myself there, there was a candle lit, and a lady walking about inside. Young, like.”
“Kate.”
Sam shrugged. “Can’t answer to her name. So she closed the shutter, then evening-timeish came a man, not that old, all yellow-haired and milky-looking. .”
“That’d be Fred.”
“I guess so. Anyhow, he was in a while then he came out and spotted me, lurking, and he gave me a penny to carry a note to Hay Market. Said it was urgent. Told me to give it to Mrs. Mitchell in the coffee rooms there.” He puffed out his chest a bit as he said the last, then his shoulders dropped again. “I wasn’t sure what to do, so I got my mate Clayton to stand watch while I went. Was that right?”
“It was.”
The boy looked relieved.
“So I took it where I was told and she was there flogging oranges and coffee fast as she could take the money. She read the note and looked bitter as dry lemons, and made a face like she’s smelled something real bad, and said, ‘You go back to the man that gave you this, and tell him to come fetch me at midnight and say nothing but sweets till then,’ and sent me out of the place. She made me repeat it a couple of times first.”
Jocasta nodded slowly. “Can you read, boy? Did you look at what was writ?”
The boy scratched the back of his neck with sudden energy and force for a moment then replied, “No, Mrs. Bligh. But I brought it with me.” He reached into his waistband and pulled out a crumpled bit of paper. “She just dropped it after I gave it her, so I picked it up again, pretending to be after touching her manky oranges. Cost me a slap.”
“No use handing it to me, lad.”
“Oh,” he said, and put it a little disappointedly on the table between them.
Jocasta pulled her shawl around her shoulders. “All right then, boy-then what?”
“I went back to that milky bloke, gave him the message and he gave me the penny.” The boy looked sadly at his feet. “I gave it to Clay, though I might’ve kept it because he said no one had been or come since I was gone.” The corner of Jocasta’s mouth twitched. “Then late, real late, Milky Boy heads out again, and about an hour later I see them turn in at the top of the street and stand there a while.”
“Just standing, were they?”
“Fighting, I’d say. The Mitchell woman was all hissy and him cowering like a kicked dog.”
“Did you hear what passed?”
The boy looked suddenly miserable. “No, Mrs. Bligh. I tried, but they kept their voices low. Her maid was following on behind, and I didn’t want to be seen. He looked like he was asking something, getting her to say a yes to it. Just guessing, mind.”
“All right then, lad, say on.”
“They went in the house, both looking sour, and there were a few lights about.”
Jocasta rocked herself back and forth a while, sucking on her teeth. Thinking on it, she forgot the boy for a moment, and was almost surprised when she came to herself and saw him still standing in front of her.
“All right, Sam. You can earn back that penny, if you like. Get that fire going and cook up the bacon in the crock under the window and you can warm up and have your breakfast here. My dog Boyo will whine at you for a share, but don’t you be fooled by his blandishments. But stroke him if you care to.”
Sam beamed and got to work with a vigor, although till the fire was bright and the bacon starting to sing, Jocasta could see his thin shoulders were still shivering from the cold of his watch. Out all night in nothing but rags, enough to make you spit.
She looked at the paper Sam had retrieved lying on the table. There were a few words on it. What they were, she had no way of knowing.
2
Gabriel Crowther may not have attended the opera the previous evening, but by the time Mrs. Westerman made her appearance in the drawing room in Berkeley Square on Sunday morning, he thought that he might as well have done. He was shown into the room just as the other ladies had come back from church and he was pounced upon by Rachel, Harriet’s younger sister, and by Susan as a fresh audience for their enthusiasms. As they began to talk to him, Lady Susan skipping around his chair like a puppy in need of exercise, Crowther bowed to Mrs. Service, who gave him a friendly nod and took her usual place in the corner, fetching out her work basket.
If there had been some element of appeal in Mr. Crowther’s glance, she chose to ignore it and did not check her young charge, thinking, as many did, that a little liveliness would do Mr. Crowther no harm, but sat by the fire with her sewing and smiled as she listened to the retelling of the opera.
Susan Thornleigh knew enough to realize it had been a great indulgence in her guardian to let her attend the opera with Rachel and Mrs. Service and himself, and perhaps suspected she should not let herself be as obviously excited as she was, but the joy of an audience and pleasure in having something to tell was too intoxicating. Her natural abilities as musician and actress made her retelling more interesting than monologues from little girls usually are, and the palpable joy with which she told Crowther the whole argument of the entertainment was so innocent and wholehearted, to hold her back would have been an unnatural cruelty.
“Then Fleance-Signor Manzerotti, you know. .” She pulled herself up straight, opened her eyes wide and set her shoulders down and at an angle. The effect was so like Manzerotti, Crowther could not help smiling. “He is convinced he must leave Indomida-that’s Miss Marin.” Now she pointed her chin upward and fluttered her eyelashes, her hands clasped and raised. Again, it was uncanny. Crowther was surprised into a dry bark of laughter, which made Susan skip with pleasure before taking up her story. “Indomida does not know why Fleance is become so cold and is very upset, and it is just after that, they sing the duet! You heard it yesterday-Mrs. Westerman told us you did.” He nodded, and Susan began to hum the tune. “Oh, it is so beautiful, isn’t it, Rachel, dear?”
Miss Trench nodded and said dreamily, “They had to encore it twice, Mr. Crowther, and even the composer was given his own ‘bravo!’ The roses on stage! Oh it was heaven, and such noise in the theater, I thought the ceiling would go flying off! In truth, if the performers had not left the stage, I think that we would be applauding still. I certainly should.”
“Did the composer seem pleased?” Crowther asked.
Susan shrugged and replied, “Not really. Just a little embarrassed, I think. Some people are shy like that.” Lady Susan put the composer from her mind with a brutal simplicity. “Then there was another ballet, which was very nice, I thought, except one of the dancers danced like this.” She put her arms out in front of her and performed a few steps with a strange halting diffidence, looking about her as she did as if trying to copy the invisible performers around her. “However, she was at the back, so didn’t spoil it much.”
Crowther did not comment, though he saw Mrs. Service look up from her work with an eyebrow raised and caught Susan shrugging an apology while mouthing, “But it’s true!” across the room.
He hid his own smile to ask, “And how did you enjoy the rest of the opera, Susan?”
“Oh, it was very pleasant, I think. Though mostly in the old style. Graves said Mr. Bywater saved all his originality for the duet. That is where he is now-Graves, I mean-supervising the printing of the duet to go on sale in the shop tomorrow. He’ll sell thousands! Everyone will want it. Everyone was talking about it at church today, weren’t they, Rachel? Even people who weren’t there.” Susan shook her head at the madness of the world, then continued, “Though I don’t need the music, I can remember it all anyway. And Manzerotti sang, ‘Sia fatta la pace,’ his favorite aria. He sings it every time he performs, you know, and it was quite wonderful.” She hummed a little, then exclaimed, “But we must show you what happens in the end! There is a sea battle and a very funny bit where Manzerotti is chased round the stage by the Furies. Rachel, I shall be Manzerotti and you must be Miss Marin because that is not so hard. All you have to do is clasp your hands and blink as if you have dust in your eyes.”