The Urchin's Song Part 15

She should have told Vera about the meeting straight away, of course, but she hadn't wanted to bring that whole unpleasant episode up, not with the part she'd played in it. Vera made no secret of the fact that she thought the sun shone out of Josie's backside.

Aye, perhaps all in all it was better to say nowt. She might not see the man again anyway, so what was the point in stirring up a hornet's nest, and if he wanted to settle a score with Josie that was his business.

Decision made, Prudence continued to stand at Barney's side, and she felt no sense of guilt when she put all thoughts of Josie Burns and the man who clearly intended her harm out of her mind.

Chapter Sixteen.

'I'm sorry, Oliver, but just as you are a product of your upbringing, so am I.' Josie was speaking with studied calmness but the atmosphere in the drawing room was anything but tranquil. 'You were brought up in a house full of servants, you said yourself you couldn't recognise half of them, so I can understand that your att.i.tude to Constance and Ethel and Mrs Wilde differs from mine. Why can't you offer me the same consideration?'

'Because it isn't a matter of consideration.' Oliver had been pacing the fine Persian rug in front of the blazing fire, but now he stopped in front of the chair upon which Josie was sitting and stared into her face, holding her eyes. 'They are servants, for crying out loud.'

'They are human beings whom we employ. I am employed by whichever theatre wants my services and you are employed' - here Josie checked herself. She had been about to say, 'And you are employed by me' - 'by your clients. It's all the same.'

'It is not all the same and you know it. Mrs Wilde and the maids are in service and they live here in my - our - home.'

'I'm aware of that.'

'You cannot speak to them as if they were . . . were . . .'

'Equals?' Josie put in icily.

'Yes, exactly. What do you expect our friends are going to think if the servants are allowed to become familiar? These people have to be kept in their place or they won't be slow in taking liberties, I can a.s.sure you.'

'I don't think speaking to people as if they have feelings const.i.tutes giving them a licence to run wild.'

'Josie!' His voice was a bawl.

'Don't shout at me.' She had shot up from her seat with such abruptness that Oliver was surprised into taking a step backwards, but her voice had not been loud. 'I won't be shouted at, do you hear me? Nor will I be bullied. And while we're on the subject of your friends, I have heard and seen the behaviour of some of them, both to those they consider beneath them and to each other, and it does them no credit.'

Oliver frowned angrily at her words. Yet if he had spoken the truth at this point he would have had to agree with her, and had he but known it, his concurrence would have persuaded Josie to meet him halfway and set the tone for any future compromises. Unfortunately, he would have looked on such an admission as a failing.

'My friends are not under discussion here,' he said icily, 'and not one of them has to explain their behaviour to you, but I will say I would have thought you to be more grateful for their ready acceptance of you as my wife.'

'Then you thought wrong.' Josie seemed to have grown in stature, so tensely did she hold herself. She was remembering the dinner-party they had attended the previous evening, a few days after their own delayed wedding reception. There had been a couple there she was sure hadn't been at the first event although Oliver had seemed to be on very friendly terms with them. A Lord and Lady Stratton. G.o.dfrey Stratton had been quite pleasant, she supposed, in a stolid sort of way, but his wife had gone out of her way to ignore her, or that was how Josie had felt at the time. The woman's att.i.tude had made her feel awkward and ill-at-ease all evening, especially when she visited the powder room; Stella Stratton had been there, holding court to a group of ladies, and had stopped speaking very pointedly when she had entered. Josie had been determined not to be intimidated, although her legs were shaking when she emerged from the little cubicle into the larger area filled with mirrors and several small stools to one side of the two wash-basins.

She had opened her vanity bag and pretended to see to her toilette, fixing her hair and dabbing a touch of Eau de Cologne on her wrists, and all the time no one had said a word, although one or two of the ladies had sent a nervous smile and nod her way. As she left she had heard Stella speak, although the other woman's voice had been too low for her to make out the words, but the gust of high t.i.tters which had followed had sent her back into the beautifully lighted dining room with her face burning. And he dared to say he expected her to be grateful?

Oliver glared at her a moment more, before turning and walking across to a cabinet on the other side of the room which he opened and, after pouring himself a stiff brandy, closed. Josie was seated again and pouring herself a cup of coffee from the tray at her elbow, the manner of her thanks for which, along with her sending her best wishes to Constance's sick mother when the little maid visited her home that day on her afternoon off, had caused the altercation with Oliver.

Josie was trembling inside although there was no outward sign of her agitation, and she was thinking, Our first argument - and over something as silly as little Constance and Ethel. And yet it wasn't about the maids, not really. It was deeper than that. Stella Stratton's beautiful cold face swam into her mind and she pushed the image away as she said, her voice surprisingly steady, 'Would you care for a cup of coffee?'

She watched Oliver swallow back the brandy and set the empty gla.s.s down on the polished wood before walking across to join her. She looked up at him, not knowing what to expect, and when he reached down and drew her to her feet she went without demur. 'I do not want us to quarrel,' he said very softly, kissing her gently on the lips before enfolding her in his arms. 'Our time together is too precious to waste on cross words.'

She didn't reply to this but when he kissed her again she kissed him back. She didn't want to quarrel either, it was the last thing she wanted. She had realised a few years ago, when she had started working in the theatre and she and Gertie had become autonomous most of the time, that the equable quality of their relations.h.i.+p was balm to her soul. All the years of violent rows and bickering at home throughout her childhood had left their mark, and her spirit recoiled from conflict. Nevertheless, she also knew she wasn't her mother's daughter with regard to allowing herself to be subjugated or oppressed, and again, this was probably due to the same reason. She had to be true to herself, that was it first and foremost, and much as she regretted the need for confrontation she would meet it head on when it was necessary. That was the way she was, and she wasn't going to apologise for it to Oliver. He had known before they were married that they saw certain issues very differently; she had broached that very matter several times during their engagement and he had a.s.sured her they would work things out as and when difficulties occurred. But if he thought this working out meant she suppressed everything which made her her and tried to turn her into someone like Stella Stratton, he could think again.

And because the niggle which had been at the back of her mind since the previous evening now became too strong to ignore, she reseated herself, pouring Oliver a cup of coffee and pa.s.sing it to him as he took a seat opposite hers, before she said, 'That couple last night - Lord and Lady Stratton. How long have you known them?'

'How long?' He considered, his head slightly tilted. 'Some fifteen years or so; at least that's as far as Stratton himself is concerned. He's a member of the Prince's set, a very useful friend to have.' He smiled at her, but when she didn't smile back and sat looking at him, he swallowed a mouthful of coffee and added, 'Regards his wife, perhaps five or six years at most. She is a great deal younger than him, of course, but they seem happy enough.'

'How long have they been married?'

Again he said, 'How long?' as though he was having to think about it. 'Two years, I think.'

'She doesn't like me.'

'What?' He raised his eyebrows as though he thought she was talking nonsense, and his tone confirmed this when he said, 'Of course she likes you, my dear. How could she do otherwise?'

'She hardly even looked in my direction last night, let alone spoke to me.'

'No, my dear, you're imagining it. It's just that . . . Stella can be difficult to get to know. Some people are like that.'

Josie had noticed the pause before the use of the other woman's name, and now there was a sickness churning her stomach which she endeavoured not to let show in her voice as she replied, 'I don't think she ignored me because of any reticence on her part, Oliver. She simply doesn't like me.' She couldn't bring herself to tell him of the incident in the powder room somehow. 'Were . . . were they invited to our reception?'

'Yes, indeed.'

'Then why didn't they attend?'

It was a long moment before he answered and then only when he had drained the cup. 'I understand they had a previous engagement.'

She wasn't sure she believed that. In fact, she wasn't sure G.o.dfrey Stratton had even been aware of their reception. He had looked very surprised when someone had mentioned it the night before, anyway. Had Stella meant their absence to be taken as a snub directed at Oliver's new wife? Or was she herself simply being silly? Prevarication wasn't in Josie's nature, and now she said outright, 'Do you mind me asking how well you know Stella Stratton?'

She saw Oliver's blue eyes widen just the slightest and knew she had surprised him with the directness of the question. 'She is a friend; G.o.dfrey and his wife both.'

'And before she became his wife?'

Oliver's eyes left hers and he pulled out from his waistcoat pocket a gold watch on a thick gold chain, glancing down at it before saying, 'She was a social acquaintance, a friend, but I really can't go into the history of everyone who was at the dinner-party last night at the moment. I should have been at my club over half an hour ago.'

Josie would have said more but for Gertie choosing that moment to burst into the room. Had they heard the news that the Queen had been taken gravely ill on the Isle of Wight? Stricken with paralysis? They hadn't, and the next few minutes until Oliver left for his club were spent discussing the implications of the Queen's ill-health.

Oliver returned from lunching at his club just in time to drive Josie and Gertie to the theatre in his carriage in time for the first of her evening performances, and much later, once they were home again, he made love to her so beautifully and so tenderly all thoughts of Stella Stratton were forgotten.

The next morning Josie awoke early. She lay for some time watching Oliver as he slept beside her in the enormous double bed the master bedroom boasted, and she forced herself to face the issue which Oliver's experienced lovemaking had clouded the night before. This Lady Stratton, Stella, had meant something to Oliver at one time. She didn't know how she knew it with such certainty, but know it she did. And along with the knowledge was the unwelcome conviction that whereas Oliver might not care for Lord Stratton's wife any more, the lady in question certainly cared for him. But she had always known Oliver had had affairs before he met her; he hadn't tried to hide the fact that he had lived life to the full, and in a manner which had embraced many of the vices.

Aye, she'd known it in her head, she admitted, biting hard on her lower lip, but it was different when she was faced with the living reality. If she was right in what she suspected, that woman had known him intimately. She had kissed him, she had lain with him, she had caressed and touched him and he her . . . But it was in the past. It was, and that was the important thing. She had to believe in him; she had to trust him and believe that he had been trying to spare her feelings in keeping the truth from her, and in all honesty, what good would it have done to admit that Stella had been his mistress? He had never questioned her about Barney, not once, but she knew he sensed something between them. The past was the past, that's how she had to look at this or she was in very real danger of spoiling what they had in the present, and she wouldn't give that horrible woman the satisfaction.

She snuggled down beside him again, feeling his body stir as he became aware of her presence, and in the moments before he reached for her she told herself that men and women were very complex creatures, each with their own sets of values and principles. Oliver had told her he had never loved anyone before her and that there would be no one after her, and she believed him. She must have done, to have married him. And coming from such different backgrounds and cultures they were going to have problems enough without dredging up the past. She would let sleeping dogs lie in this particular regard, that was what she would do, but should Stella Stratton make the mistake of cold-shouldering her again - and more especially repeating that little tactic she had tried in the powder room - she might just find that a born and bred northern la.s.s was tougher under the skin than m'lady had bargained for.

Queen Victoria died three days later on 22 January at her seaside home on the Isle of Wight, and the death of the 'Monarch of an Empire where the sun never sets', as she had been hailed through her sixty-four years of reign, hit the ordinary people of England hard. The Queen had travelled to more parts of Britain than her predecessors, using the steam railways which linked her rapidly growing cities, and despite her years of public withdrawal after Albert's death the people adored her. This 'grandmother of Europe' and 'mother of the Empire' was someone her common subjects could relate to; hadn't she been worried to death about her eldest son's behaviour the same as any mother the world over, and hadn't she adored her Albert to the point where she nearly went mad when he died? What's more, she was a woman who knew her duty, who maintained standards and stood for everything which had made Britain great. How, the ordinary fellow in the street wondered, would the Prince of Wales behave now he had succeeded to the throne?

Oliver, as Josie had expected knowing his leaning towards the Prince of Wales, took the publicly expressed doubts about Edward's capacity to be King - put most forcefully by The Times - as a personal insult.

The morning after the Queen's death they were sitting having breakfast with Gertie when he almost made the two girls jump out of their skin. 'This is an outrage!' He threw the newspaper down on the table, his face turkey red, only to s.n.a.t.c.h it up again and thrust it at Josie as he growled, 'Read that! Just read what the d.a.m.n upstarts have written.'

Josie cast a quick look at Gertie who stared back at her, her eyes bright with concealed mirth, and picked up the paper. In its leading article that day, The Times had commented that the new King must often have prayed 'lead us not into temptation' with a feeling akin to hopelessness, and while acknowledging that as Prince he had never failed in his duty to the throne and the nation, the newspaper continued that 'we shall not pretend that there is nothing in his long career which those who respect and admire him would wish otherwise'.

'This, on the day he makes his accession speech,' Oliver ground out furiously. 'The Queen refused to let him take on many of the royal duties which, as heir to the throne, he expected and wanted to perform, everyone knows that. And what sort of message does this send to the rest of the British Empire, eh? Eh? It's a disgrace. An absolute disgrace! The bounders want taking to the Tower, if you ask me. He'll be an excellent King, you mark my words.'

And even by the time of the Queen's funeral on the second day of February it looked as though Oliver was going to be proved right, something he pointed out at the breakfast-table almost every morning. 'Eight minutes, the King spoke for at the Accession Council, and without notes. Said he's fully determined to be a const.i.tutional sovereign in the strictest sense of the word. His judgement in deciding to call himself King Edward VII rather than King Albert I has been noted and well received, I tell you. He'll make the bounders eat their words before the year's out.'

By the time King Edward opened his first Parliament two weeks later Josie was heartily sick of the subject, and more than a little irritated by her husband's excessive championing of someone she felt could well look after his own interests. Unlike one of her old friends who had recently been brought to her attention by Nellie, who was now working with her again in the current venue at Covent Garden.

Gertie had been helping Josie into her stage costume when Nellie burst into the dressing room in a whirl of cold air and melting snowflakes from the snow storm raging outside the warm confines of the fine theatre. When one of the other girls commented, 'You'd better jump to, Nellie, else you'll have old Angus on your back,' her friend had responded with uncharacteristic sharpness, calling back, 'I don't need you to tell me the time, Amy Dodds.'

'Sorry, I'm sure.'

Amy had settled back on her stool in a huff of hurt feelings and bristling taffeta, and Josie had let the buzz of conversation - which Nellie's arrival and subsequent exchange with Amy had killed - rise again before she leaned across to her friend, who was busy slapping rouge and powder on her face with unnecessary vigour, and whispered, 'You all right, la.s.s?'

'Oh, Josie.' For a moment Josie thought Nellie was going to burst into tears, but then the other girl said shakily, 'It's poor old Lil. Blimey, gal, I had the shock of my life last night, I don't mind telling you. Me and a gentleman friend were walking past Shepherd's Bush Green just as a load of ne'er-do-wells the constable had moved out of Hyde Park ended up there, and one of the women caught my eye. It was Lily, Josie, I'm sure of it. And I reckon she recognised me because she ducked her head and hurried off.'

'But . . .' Josie sat back on her stool, staring at Nellie's face. 'Didn't you call to her? Stop her?'

'I should have.' Small white teeth nipped at Nellie's lip. 'I know I should have; I don't know why I didn't really, except I was with this bloke and we were going back to his place, and . . . Oh, I don't know. I was taken aback and they were all so dirty and some of the men were drunk. I didn't want to know her, I suppose. Only for a minute,' she added hastily. 'But by the time I'd turned round and gone back she was nowhere to be seen. I went half-mad then. Told this bloke where to go as if it was his fault, and searched the streets for her. Oh Josie, I feel so rotten.'

'Well, don't.' Careless of her silk and satin dress Josie hugged Nellie. 'It was the shock of seeing her like that, it's perfectly understandable. Look, we'll find her. All right? I'll have a word with Oliver and we'll find her.'

In the event her word with Oliver had yielded nothing beyond causing Josie to acknowledge that if she wanted to help Lily, she would have to do it by herself.

She'd related her conversation with Nellie word by word and her husband's reaction had disappointed her greatly. He had been amazed and nonplussed at her desire to find Lily for a start, and then ill-disposed to help in any way. 'My dear, the profession is full of individuals like Lily and you cannot help them all.'

'I don't want to help them all, just Lily,' she had objected.

'Even if you could find her, that would be very unwise. Your star is in the ascent, hers is all but extinguished. Please, my dear, trust me on this and let's not discuss the subject again.'

She had stared at him, long and hard, before replying, 'I won't discuss Lily with you again, Oliver, but it's only fair to tell you I shall make my own enquiries as to her whereabouts, and should I find her, I shall help her.'

At this point he had sighed deeply, shaking his head. 'If you must, you must, but your enquiries will be fruitless no doubt. If, as you say, she is one of the flotsam and jetsam of which the Ill.u.s.trated London News talked recently, she will have no fixed abode and be impossible to trace.'

'And this doesn't bother you? That these people are ill and dying and have no roof over their heads?'

'There is no need for it. There are the workhouses, aren't there?'

She had continued to stare at him for a moment before turning away. The divide between them was huge, ma.s.sive - how could she have not realised it before they were married? But even as she asked the question of herself, she knew the answer. Oliver had skirted any confrontational issues during their engagement, just as he did now most of the time. It was only occasionally, when something like this incident with Lily cropped up or yet again the matter within their own home concerning Constance and Ethel, that his true feelings were expressed.

For a moment she knew a terrifying feeling of blind panic - the knowledge that she had made a catastrophic mistake. And then she cautioned herself, her mind becoming filled with a voice not unlike Vera's which said, A day at a time, la.s.s. A day at a time. He loves you and you love him, and love covers a mult.i.tude of sins.

And so she had stiffened her back and faced the fact that this was something she had to do on her own. After consulting with Angus, the under manager at the theatre who was sixty years old and a mine of wisdom, Josie had ventured into Ealing to the premises of Turner & Webb, Private Investigators. There she'd employed Mr Webb to discover the whereabouts of a Miss Lily Atkinson. She gave him all the facts and the location where Lily had last been spotted, and told him to contact her at the theatre with any information he might unearth.

It was a cold but sunny morning when Josie and Gertie, along with Mrs Wilde and Constance and Ethel to whom Josie had given most of the day off, joined the boisterous crowds lining London's streets to see the new King open his first Parliament. There was a carnival atmosphere prevailing at the revival of pageantry and the release of the monarchy from many of the restraints Queen Victoria had put upon it; the street vendors were doing a roaring trade selling hot baked potatoes, mussels and whelks, and fragrant roasted chestnuts at tuppence a bag, along with the organ grinders and their beautifully dressed little monkeys providing a tune, and stalls galore lining the pavements selling small Union Jacks for the children and penny whistles to add to the noise.

Josie and the others managed to push their way forwards to a perfect spot on the route to Westminster, and they knew long before they saw the magnificent state coach - which had not been seen in public since the death of Prince Albert forty years before - that it was close, from the enthusiastic acclaim of the crowd. King Edward and Queen Alexandra were making the journey from Buckingham Palace to Westminster in full state splendour, and as the coach neared Josie she could see the two figures inside and their beautiful long robes edged in ermine. Despite the splash of colour provided by the coach and the soldiers' uniforms, the prevailing colour was black - in mourning for Queen Victoria - but this took nothing away from the wonder and splendour of the occasion, and the people were wild with excitement.

The sunlight lit up the fairytale coach with dazzling beauty and the blue sky overhead, so everyone was saying, was a good omen for the new King's reign.

'Oh Josie, I wouldn't have missed this for the world.' Gertie's little face was brick-red with elation, and she and Constance and Ethel - who had linked arms and were standing just in front of Mrs Wilde and Josie - couldn't keep still as the coach and fine plumed horses rolled by. 'How Oliver could prefer to look from the windows at his club rather than be here with us, I don't know. He's missing the best part.'

Josie couldn't have agreed more and although she wouldn't have said so, not even to Gertie, she had been hurt and surprised at her husband's refusal to join the rest of the household on the streets. She couldn't help thinking that if this occasion had taken place when they had still been courting, Oliver would have been at her side. And then she brushed all thoughts of her husband out of her mind, and began to shout her head off with the rest of them.

They were all hoa.r.s.e by the time they wandered into Hyde Park where many informal picnics, along with organised games for the children, clowns, jugglers, street magicians, Punch and Judy shows and other forms of entertainment, were in full swing.

Josie smiled as she watched her sister, along with Constance and Ethel - like three bairns let out of school for the day, she said to herself - deciding what memento of the day they were going to buy with the two half-crowns she had slipped each of them. The scattered stalls amongst the trees were selling everything from tiny male and female dolls in full state costume and small, beautifully painted wooden coaches, to fine framed pictures of the new King and Queen. But all the time, even as she enjoyed the day in the cold February suns.h.i.+ne with the others, Josie was keeping half an eye open for Lily. She couldn't bear to think of the other woman scratching a living of sorts on the streets - if, indeed, it had been Lily Nellie had seen. But the few facts Mr Webb had gleaned thus far did point that way. According to the information he had been given, Lily had fallen down some stairs and hurt herself, 'whilst under the influence of intoxicating liquor', which had effectively finished her stage career, and after leaving the infirmary, having sold virtually all she had in the way of clothes and jewellery to meet her debts, she had disappeared. That had been over nine months ago and no one had seen hide nor hair of her since.

Oliver was waiting for them when they got home - 'With a face like a wet weekend,' Gertie whispered in an aside to her sister before she left Josie to face her husband alone and slipped off to the kitchen with the others. But instead of the lecture Josie had half expected on the foolishness of spending the whole day in the company of the servants, rather than returning home straight after the procession had finished, Oliver had merely maintained a cool and somewhat distant manner whilst Josie changed and got ready for the first of her evening performances. He drove her to the theatre as usual, escorting Gertie and herself to the dressing-room door, but then he said, 'I shall not be home until very late tonight, my dear, so please don't wait up for me.'

'Oh?' There was a question in her tone although she knew where he was going. He had cut down on his visits to the gambling houses he frequented when she had asked him to in their courting days, but he had made it plain that he couldn't give up the 'sport', as he called it, completely. It was in his blood, he had told her quietly a few days after their engagement; he came from a long line of gamblers, although his great-great-grandfather, great-grandfather and grandfather had been very successful in their pursuit of the cards and so on. Unfortunately his father had been a foolhardy and irresponsible gambler and had lost everything his ancestors had obtained. However, his father's example had served as a warning to his son, and although he liked to try his hand now and again, he could a.s.sure her his gambling was the only vice he would carry over into his married life.

Oliver had said this with a twinkle in his eye before he had pulled her into his arms and kissed her, and at the time a little dabbling at the gaming houses occasionally had seemed unimportant.

It still was unimportant, Josie a.s.sured herself now, watching her husband disappear down the corridor which led to the back door of the theatre. After all, what Oliver did with his private allowance was nothing to do with her.

As her agent, Oliver dealt with the financial side of her career and, as her husband, he did likewise with all the bills and accounts, except those directly concerning housekeeping which Josie, as mistress, settled herself with Mrs Wilde.

Josie and Oliver had agreed it was sensible they both had their own personal allowance which Oliver drew monthly from the bank, and Gertie too now had her own income which was paid to her by Oliver at the same time. Oliver had been a little vague about the amount the agency cleared each month, explaining that owing to the business he was in - one in which clients were in and out of work all the time - it could fluctuate wildly, but he had led Josie to believe it was considerable. And as she was now earning over forty pounds a week - which princely sum Oliver had a.s.sured her would rapidly rise in line with her popularity - she knew their bank balance must be extremely healthy.

Of course there were the maids' and Mrs Wilde's wages, but at 20 each a year for Constance and Ethel, and 80 for the housekeeper, these were not excessive. Oliver always went to great pains to point out that their domestics were fed and housed far better than most, but even so Josie didn't think he was overly generous. It might be true that the standard of comfort for servants was poor and that in many of the larger stately homes three or four people were crammed into tiny attic rooms, and admittedly Mrs Wilde had her own, very pleasant room at the back of the house with Constance and Ethel sharing a smaller one next to it, but knowing that both Constance and Ethel came from large poor families she still wanted to pay the girls more. To that end she had got into the habit, since becoming mistress of Oliver's home, of slipping each of the girls two large bags of groceries when they visited their families on their afternoons off once a week. She hadn't attempted to keep this a secret and she suspected Oliver was well aware of the practice, but to date he had not challenged her on it.

However, he had mentioned, at fairly frequent intervals, the exorbitant costs involved in running the household. The rent alone was three hundred pounds a year, he'd declared more than once, and when added to rates and taxes, their personal allowances, wine, coal and light, the servants' wages, was.h.i.+ng, normal household bills, and garden and stable expenses, it meant they could not live extravagantly.

The last time he had spoken thus, Josie had suggested they should consider moving away from the town centre and into the suburbs. In the last decade Middles.e.x, Ess.e.x and Surrey had seen large population increases mainly consisting of middle-cla.s.s families, according to the Ill.u.s.trated London News, and in an inner suburb such as Edmonton or Clapham (called the 'capital of Suburbia' by one contemporary critic) a ten-roomed house, such as they were living in now, could be rented for less than 3 a week, perhaps no more than 2.

Oliver had been horrified at the proposal, and to Josie's insistence that the suburbs brought cleaner air, more light, larger gardens and a healthier way of living, he had countered that a price couldn't be put on a fas.h.i.+onable address such as his. Didn't she understand that a move to one of the areas the growing cla.s.s of white-collar workers inhabited would not benefit his business? Two 'his's and not one 'theirs', Josie reflected now.

'You all right, la.s.s?'

Josie turned from the silent empty corridor to see Gertie standing in the doorway to the dressing room. 'I'm fine.' She smiled brightly. 'We had fun today, didn't we?'

'Aye, aye we did an' all.' Gertie hesitated. She wanted to ask again if Josie was all right, if she was happy, but she didn't like to. It was none of her business, after all. Gertie did not admit to herself here that it was less a matter of tact and more that she felt she might not like a truthful answer which prompted her discretion. She was well aware that she had done everything in her power to promote Oliver's course, and also that since his return from honeymoon he had begun to display . . . what exactly? A different side to his character, perhaps. One he had kept hidden through the courts.h.i.+p.

But he loved Josie, Gertie rea.s.sured herself silently, standing to one side for her sister to precede her into the noisy room which was a hive of half-clothed bodies, gaudy costumes, clouds of smoke from long ivory cigarette-holders and the cloying scent of Eau de Cologne. And as her husband as well as her agent, Oliver had an extra vested interest in getting Josie to the top. Top billing. Gertie frowned thoughtfully. It was the one thing everyone dreamed of in this business, whether they admitted it or not. Your own dressing room, everyone bowing and sc.r.a.ping . . .

And then she swung round and followed Josie, who was already sitting at her stool, into the room, closing the door behind her.

It was over six weeks before Josie received the news she had been hoping for as to Lily's whereabouts, and by then she had almost given up hope of ever finding her old friend.

However, in the first week of April, Mr Webb called at the house in Park Place one morning when Oliver was out.

He was full of apologies after Constance had shown him into the morning room where Josie was sitting with Mrs Wilde sorting out the next week's menus. 'I know you told me to contact you at the theatre, Mrs Hogarth, but the stage manager informed me you have been indisposed?'

'Only for the last two evenings, Mr Webb. A sore throat, nothing more, but the doctor advised prudence. I shall be singing again tonight.' Josie smiled at the small man in front of her. She had liked him on sight, mainly, she supposed, because he reminded her so much of Frank. He was stockier than Betty's husband had been, and slightly taller, but he had the same perfect ears for propping a cap on and the same kind eyes, and his whole face was remarkably like the late miner's. He looked very tough too, which Josie had found rea.s.suring, and he smoked a clay pipe which, the first time Josie had met him, looked as though it was burning the end of his nose.

'You have some news for me?' she asked once he was sitting, rather uncomfortably it seemed, on the very edge of a low divan facing her chair. Mrs Wilde immediately excused herself and bustled away to arrange a tea tray.