Kitty Peck and the Child of Ill-Fortune (22 page)

‘But surely they can’t all have it? They would have been wiped out by now and we’d be like America.’ I took the marchesa’s letter from Lucca’s hands and felt the fragility of the old paper between my fingers. I ran my eyes over the beautiful slanting script and saw it:
maledizione del sangue –
the words themselves looked sinister.

‘You’re right.’ Misha rifled through the papers. ‘It doesn’t always appear. Generations seem to pass without occurrence and they write of their relief and their gratitude. This one . . .’ he produced a page covered over in the script Old Peter had translated for me, ‘is from the Czarevna herself to the Patriarch of Moscow, giving thanks that her children are free from what she calls “the stain”. She sends him a great deal of money.’

‘And what exactly is a patriarch when it’s at home?’

Lucca shrugged. ‘He is like the Pope in Rome or your Archbishop of Canterbury, a holy man.’ He stood and went to the window. It was bright outside now. He moved the curtains to allow more light into the room.

I leaned forward and rested my head in my hands. Thoughts were flitting about in my mind like silvery fish darting in the river, if I managed to catch one, another wriggled free and disappeared from view.

‘So, if Robbie really does have the . . .
stain
or whatever you want to call it, it’s likely that his mother comes from one of these families?’ I stared at the letters. ‘But why would they want to hunt him down and kill him? Queen Victoria didn’t kill Prince Leopold, did she? And all these others – they all seemed to get on with it.’

‘That’s not entirely true, Kitty.’ Misha reached for another of the pages covered in Russian script. ‘This is from a physician at the court of Czar Nicholas the First. He has been ordered, under pain of death, never to speak of the condition afflicting the family. No one,
no one
is to know that the Romanovs carry the disease.’ He pointed at a word repeated several times – Романов.

‘This is their family name, Romanov. As far as the world is concerned, they must be thought clean, perfect.’

‘Why?’ I folded my arms.

‘Because the Romanovs rule by the grace of God. Their kingship is sanctified. Russia is an old land and her people are devoutly superstitious. They must continue to believe in this divinity or there will be revolution.’ Misha leaned forward. ‘God would not choose a family riddled with disease to be His representatives on earth.’

A sudden gust of wind along the river rattled the window pane. From outside the whistling from the rigging rose to a banshee howl.

We sat there listening for a moment and then Lucca spoke.

‘When we walked here earlier today, Fannella, you said we had become involved with something big, something dangerous.’ He shot a look at Misha. ‘I
. . . We
,
agree with you. It’s why I could not bring my friend here to The Palace or to the theatre. I could not take the risk if you are being watched. I did not want Ilya to know that we have made contact.’

‘Because he’s still here in London?’

Misha nodded. ‘And because I believe he is Okhrana. Ilya Vershinin is an agent of the Czar.’

We were wary as we hurried back to Salmon Lane. Lucca made certain the narrow street outside his lodging house was clear before he allowed me to step out, and then he kept close. We made our way up to the Commercial where there was safety in the bustle. But every time someone came too close or bumped against me I whipped around, expecting to see Ilya’s sly face in the crowd.

It was a fine afternoon now. The blue sky was flicked across with mare’s tails and the damp cobbles had shined up like brass buttons on a military, but as far as I was concerned it was dark. I kept thinking about Old Peter. In my mind the door to his room opened wide and I saw blood spattered across the walls, soaked into the bright fabric hangings and smeared across the painted face of his mother.

I tightened my fingers around the bag handle.

‘Lucca, how long has Misha suspected Ilya of being . . . what was it? Okhrana? Only he didn’t give the impression back then that it was something new to him.’

I paused as a tall gent ahead stopped dead to peer into a shop window. His dark coat flapped open and he reached inside to take out something . . . silver. A woman with a basket of flowers blocked him from view for a second. I gripped Lucca’s arm tight, but breathed easy as the woman hefted the basket round to her other hip and I saw the old man flick open the lid of his snuff box.

Lucca huddled me closer and spoke quietly. ‘He told me last night that he has thought it for some time. When The Moika first visited Paris last year some of the company became
infatuati
– obsessed with the ideas of the young people they met in the bars, in the cafés, in the dance halls. When they returned to Moscow they spoke too openly about their desire for change. Their views were radical, dangerous. Misha thinks Ilya was . . . approached to report on them – keep a watch on who they met. Vershinin does not come from a rich family and even though he is a great dancer The Moika does not shower its performers with wealth. They dance for the glory of its reputation. But this past season in Paris he has spent money like water. Misha wondered where that money came from. Now he is certain.’

‘Money?’ I bit my lip. ‘I bet Joey liked that, all right.’

‘
Sì.
’
Lucca sighed. ‘Your brother does not always choose his . . . companions wisely.’

‘Not like you?’ I squeezed his hand and felt him return the gesture. ‘I’m sorry I doubted him, Lucca. He’s a good man. A clever one too.’

We stood to one side to let a woman with a black-covered perambulator the size of a costermonger’s trolley cart get by. From somewhere deep inside I heard the baby babbling to itself.

I watched her bump down the street.

‘Well, we know one thing now: Ilya’s been looking for Robbie and I reckon Joey gave the game away, not deliberate, though. That’s why the Monseigneur sent that note to my grandmother.’ I thought about the economy of that paper and the single word scrawled across it. She knew what it meant immediately. It wasn’t only Sam Collins who knew how to use shorthand.

I hugged the bag to my chest. ‘Joey truly seemed to care for David. He helped him smuggle Robbie onto the train, remember? He’s not part of this, I’m sure of it.’

‘But your brother has been unwise.’ Lucca picked at the leather stitching on his gloves. ‘That poor child. It would be best if his father took him away, as soon as possible. They must vanish together, it’s the only way. Have you heard anything – a reply to your letter?’

I shook my head. ‘Robbie’s safe as possible at The Palace. And Peggy’s there round the clock now with him, I’ve made sure of that. It can only be a matter of time. I hoped my answer came out more confident than I felt. I counted back. The letter (letters) had gone off, three, no, four days ago now. A thought struck me then.

‘Does Misha know anything about David – Robbie’s father?’

‘I asked him that. He did not. It’s not so surprising – your brother’s world is full of people who come and go. Artists, performers from the dance halls, the theatres, the ballet – as you know. David is a singer, yes?’

‘A ballad singer.’ I thought about his soft low voice and remembered the way he’d cupped my hands in his as we talked. I felt my palms tingle.

Lucca shrugged. ‘As Misha says, Joseph has many friends. He always did, Fannella.’

Bartholomew waits.
I ran those words around in my head again. By the sound of them he had a share of enemies too.

I brought a hand to the neck of my coat and felt for the chain with the ring and the Christopher under the collar of my dress. For some reason, as long as they were there, I knew my brother was safe. Some of Nanny Peck’s superstitious old blarney must have rubbed off on me after all, I thought.

We’d be turning into Salmon Lane in a moment. Despite the letters, despite what Misha said about Ilya, there was still something that plucked at my brain like a crow turning over a bit of rotten meat in a gutter.

From my membrance of things – and I’d had a lot of champagne that evening so it wasn’t all clear – Ilya Vershinin was tall, but he was also slender and graceful in the way of a dancer. The man with the cloak and the hawk-head cane was built like a navvy. There was something, though – something Sam had told me. I ran our conversation through my head again. I didn’t need Pitman to bring it back. I saw Sam’s inky finger trace down the page of squiggles and I heard his voice reading it to me.

Ilya Vershinin is the most remarkable performer of our age. He inhabits the spirit of any character he plays. His mastery of physical transition has been compared to a kind of magic.

There! He was an actor as well as a dancer.

It was him, I was suddenly sure of it. Ilya Vershinin was the man in the theatre that time and up on the roof at Pearmans Yard. And he’d murdered Old Peter and those two little ones. He was searching for Robbie – it was obvious now.

Lucca’s voice cut my thoughts. ‘We’ll go to the alleyway at the back. I’ll walk you to the yard gate, Fannella, but then I have to go to the workshop. I’m late already.’

I glanced up. ‘The scenery? You won’t be there alone, will you?’

Lucca shook his head. ‘There will be many at work tonight. Monday night is important for The Gaudy – the sets must be right and the paint will need a day to dry.’

I nodded. ‘Danny reckoned on a late night. What about your friend?’

Lucca grinned and the good side of his face burned. ‘Misha will be waiting for me, Fannella, whatever time I return.’

We dipped off Salmon Lane and turned into the passages that connected the yards behind the houses. A little way along we paused in a bricked-up doorway, listening out to see if we were followed. There was nothing.

Lucca leaned out to check and then he took my hand.

‘Come. There is no one.’

When we reached the gate at the back of The Palace I squeezed his hand. ‘Look out for yourself, Lucca. Don’t take risks. When you get to The Gaudy, you’ll find someone called Amit hanging around near my office – you won’t miss him. Can you give him a message, please? Tell him I’m fine and the letters are fine.’

He frowned as I rattled on. ‘And tell him he’s to stay close to you, no matter how late you work this evening. Then he’s to escort you to your door, like you’ve just done for me. After that he’s to come back here. You got that?’

‘
Sì
, but—’

‘No buts, Lucca. I want you safe. Amit Das is a mute so don’t expect a reply.’

I watched until he rounded the corner at the end of the passage and then I pushed open the gate. A black cat out for a ramble flattened itself against the sooty wall for a moment so it was difficult to make out brick from fur. Then it gave itself away blinking up at me with fog-lamp eyes. It slipped round my ankles and darted out into the alleyway. Nanny Peck always reckoned it was lucky when a black cat crossed your path. As I headed across the yard to the rooms in the basement I hoped she was right.

I didn’t come down here. It was the brothers’ territory, although Peggy had clearly made herself at home.

As usual the door swung open. These days I wasn’t even surprised.

Tan Seng bowed and moved aside as I walked into the kitchen. Copper pans sitting along a dresser against one wall gleamed in the glow from the black range on the other. The air smelt of spice and soap. I wondered if it had always been like this down here, even in my grandmother’s days. I suspected it had – and for some reason the thought was comforting. For all the filth up top, it was good to think that there was always some order somewhere. I was glad I’d inherited the brothers along with The Palace.

I nodded at Tan Seng and walked to the stairs leading to the hallway above. From behind I caught the grating of bolts being drawn and then the soft slap of his slippers as he followed me up.

Crossing the black and white tiles to the hall table, I pulled off my gloves and tossed them into a painted Chinese bowl under the painting. I started to unbutton my coat and Tan Seng shuffled forward to help. He folded the coat over his arm, bowed again and cleared his throat.

He pointed at the stairs.

‘The Lady has a visitor.’

I was surprised, I’ll admit it. But even with his back turned, a coil of plaited blonde hair piled on the top of his head and grey skirts sweeping the floorboards, I’d know my brother anywhere. The air was thick with that floral cologne he used.

He was standing in front of Jacobin’s cage.

‘Joey?’

He span about swiftly. Of an instant I caught a wary look in his eyes before he masked it.

‘You inherited everything, I see, little sister?’ He turned back to the cage, holding up a finger to taunt the bird. He scraped a nail along the bars, careful to avoid Jacobin’s nutcracker beak.

‘Don’t! It gets him all het up and when he’s like that he’s vicious.’

It was too late anyway.

‘
Pretty girl, pretty girl, pretty girl.
’
The bleedin’ parrot was off, plucking grey feathers from its chest and bobbing up and down on its perch.

‘I wonder who he means?’ Joey smiled at me now. He walked over to the couch between the parlour’s two tall narrow windows and sat down heavily. I noted that his travel coat and a bonnet with a muslin veil were laid out on the bolsters next to him.

‘Well? Is that it, Kitty? A warning about the parrot? Anyone would have thought you weren’t pleased to see me.’

I raced across the room and wrapped my arms around his shoulders, planting kisses on both his cheeks and his forehead. ‘Of course I’m pleased. How could you think otherwise?’

Tell truth, when Tan Seng pointed at the stairs a little voice went off in my head suggesting that David Lennox might be up there waiting for me.

I pulled my brother tighter. ‘How long you been here?’

‘Not long.’ He folded his arms around my shoulders. I could feel him taking in great draughts of me. His back moved under my fingers as he breathed deep. It was as if he didn’t want to let go.

Eventually he released me and pointed at a china service laid out on a side table. ‘I’ve been here long enough for Lok to bring some tea. I confess I was surprised to find the brothers still here. I see you’ve made some changes. Quite the dainty residence now, isn’t it? Shall I be mother?’

‘No!’ I jumped up and went over to the table. ‘I’ll do it.’ For some reason what he’d just said didn’t seem decent. Joey grinned and I realised he was playing a game, teasing me like he did when we were small.

I’ll tell you one thing, though, if I didn’t know better I wouldn’t have taken him for a man under all that gear. He looked like a proper bit of frock. It was only when he spoke that something didn’t ring quite true, but even then you might have thought him to be a woman with a naturally low voice, or maybe an enlivened throat.

Joey looked down at his neat, French-cut dress and smoothed out the skirts.

‘I . . . I don’t, as a general rule, travel like this. I think you should know that.’

I wasn’t sure what to say. I arranged the cups on the saucers and poured in the milk.

‘It’s not for me to say how you go about, is it, Joey? As long as you’re comfortable.’

He snorted. ‘That’s not the word I’d use. Back in Paris, I’m among friends, but here on the streets . . .’

I quizzed at him.

‘It’s a disguise, Kitty, the best I could think of at short notice. It was a risk, but I had to take it. Come over here.’

He stood and went to the hearth. An old mirror crackled over and spotted with age leaned out from the wall. It was so heavy that the top two corners were suspended from hooks in the ceiling. It must have been there for years. I was of a mind to replace it.

I set down the jug and went to stand next to him. On account of the heat, the mercury under the glass had bloomed into a mass of twisted shapes. Joey’s reflected face was half-covered by coral-like fingers that bubbled through the surface.

‘Do you see, Kitty?’

I looked from his face to mine in the mirror, and despite the flaws in the glass I saw.

‘In Paris so many of my friends remarked on it, especially after that night. You and I, Kitty, we can be very alike. I knew I could use that, if I needed to.’

‘And you need to now?’

He nodded.

‘You want people round here to think I’m you?’

He nodded again. ‘It’s safer that way. I . . . I’m not supposed to be here. The message you brought to Paris was clear enough.’

‘
Bartholomew waits
? She, our grandmother, told me to tell you that. Only she didn’t say what it meant.’

Joey moved away from the glass and went back to the couch. ‘It’s best that you don’t, Kitty, believe me.’

‘Well, this is just like old times, isn’t it?’ I whipped around and gave him the arrow. ‘You don’t know about half the things I’ve done on your account and all because of secrets and shadows. I think I deserve a proper answer. What have you got yourself into now, Joseph Peck?’

‘It’s not something I’ve
got myself into now
.’

I flinched as he mimicked my voice and I heard the difference between my coarse Limehouse and his smooth English. He glanced up and his cool blue eyes softened.

‘Look, it’s not something new, Kitty, it’s an old . . . complication. You don’t need to know any more and I’m certainly not going to tell you, so leave it. It’s for the best.’

He pushed at some loose hairs, forcing the pins that kept the coil in place tighter into his scalp.

‘Where’s that tea, then? I’m dry as a nun’s quim.’

Despite myself, I laughed. ‘You better not let Lucca hear you talking like that.’

Joey grinned. ‘He’s an old woman and he’s not here. So where is it?’

I knew my brother of old. It was clear I wasn’t going to get any more out of him. I poured two cups and added three spoonfuls of sugar to one of them before handing it to him. Then I took mine and sat down cross-legged on the rug in front of the couch. The stiff folds of my skirts peaked and then collapsed gently about me as the fabric settled.

‘You got my letter and the note?’

Joey nodded, stirring the tea around and around. ‘That’s why I’m here.’ He didn’t look at me direct as he spoke. The spoon went around again.

‘Robbie’s here with you at The Palace?’

‘Peggy’s upstairs with him. You remember her?’

‘Fancy Worrow’s girl? Pretty, dark – nice smile. About your age or thereabouts.’

‘That’s her. She’s been good to me since you . . . She’s been almost like a sister. Peggy’s good with kids too, better than me. I got her to look after Robbie over at her place at first. I didn’t think anything of it. Then, when . . . everything started up, I asked her to come here to care for him. It was safer. I told her it was because I felt bad about farming him out. She doesn’t know the real reason.’

I paused and scanned Joey’s face. ‘Robbie’s . . . special, isn’t he?’

Joey put down his tea cup and saucer. ‘I’m sorry, Kitty. I thought it would be safe, but I was wrong. When you arrived in Paris it seemed so obvious. We thought it was the best thing to do. It won’t be for much longer. We’ll take him from you and . . . they’ll realise soon enough that he’s gone. It will be over.’

We?

‘Is David . . . David Lennox here too?’

Joey shook his head. ‘Not until Monday. It wasn’t wise to travel together and there are still . . . affairs in Paris that need attending to before they can take ship to America.’

‘David’s coming for Robbie?’ God forgive me, I felt something flutter under my bodice as I said his name again. I felt in my pocket for his ’kerchief and caught the point embroidered with the ‘D’ between my finger and thumb as Joey continued.

‘I came ahead. I arrived yesterday to make the arrangements. There’s a ship leaving London for Hamburg on Tuesday morning. If all goes to plan they’ll be on it.’

‘But I thought you said they were going to America?’

‘They are. I’ve also arranged for their onward passage from Hamburg to New York. They are booked on the
Frisia
,
a steam ship. Don’t you see? I’m covering their tracks. No one would think they’d go back to Europe.’

At last I felt on firmer ground. At least I understood why David wouldn’t want to take his son back to a world where there was most likely an assassin waiting round every corner. I put my cup down carefully.

‘I know all about Robbie’s mother, Joey, so you needn’t worry about keeping secrets there.’

‘You know?’ His eyebrows shot up.

‘Thanks to our grandmother I know enough. She’s got a spy in Paris keeping watch over you.’

‘The Monseigneur?’ I was surprised to see Joey shrug. ‘I guessed as much. He came with the house, like Tan Seng and Lok. She’s watching both of us, little sister.’ He sighed. ‘So, you already know—’

‘—that Robbie Lennox is descended from most of the royal families in Europe and that his mother carries the sickness the Romanovs want to hide. Yes, I know all that.’ I felt quite smart rattling it off. I raised my cup again, took a sip of tea and watched Joey’s face. I was one up on him now.

‘It’s not because his father’s a low-born, black singer from the halls that they want to kill him, is it?’

Joey stared at me and I saw his eyelid twitch. When he answered it was slow and careful. ‘No. It’s the disease. The Romanovs can’t allow the people to know. Within the great families of Europe it is a closely guarded secret, but they are not murderers. In Russia it is a different matter. Those who carry the condition are forbidden to procreate, but the sickness still returns in almost every generation. It is a curse.’

‘So Robbie’s mother is . . .?’

‘A brave woman, Kitty. She gave her baby away to save him. And now we must make sure that he lives. Robbie was an accident, but he is greatly loved. Almost from the day he was born his . . . family tried to wipe him from the face of the world. We’ve all tried to keep him safe, but it was becoming more and more dangerous. Just a week before you arrived one of our friends, a woman who cared for him during the evenings, was found murdered in her room.’

There was a rattling noise from the corner. Jacobin was clinging to the side of his cage, tearing at the bars with his claws and beak.

Joey glanced over and I saw him flinch. ‘Her body had been ripped apart.’

I thought of Old Peter and that spattered painting of his mother.

‘Do you know who did it?’

‘No – they have people, spies, working for them everywhere. It’s their way.’ He leaned forward and cupped his forehead in the palms of his hands. ‘I didn’t think it through. Of course they’d follow him. They always find a way.’

I took a deep breath. It was time.

‘Misha Raskalov reckons Ilya’s a member of the Okhrana.’ I didn’t dress it fine.

Joey’s head snapped up. ‘What?’

‘You know what that means?’

Joey nodded. ‘Of course I do. They are the agents of the Czar. But how—’

‘Misha’s here in London. He told me.’

‘I know. He has come here to arrange venues. Ilya has gone to Venice to do the same thing – they are The Moika’s best representatives. They are always sent ahead to make contacts. They . . . they are ambassadors for the company.’

‘I saw Misha today. Ilya lied. He didn’t go to Venice. He came here with Misha and he went missing a day or so after they arrived a fortnight back. We think he’s still here – and you’ve just confirmed that.’

I went to sit next to my brother on the couch.

‘Ilya Vershinin didn’t go back to Paris to see you last week, did he?’

Joey looked blank. ‘No. He is meeting the owners of La Fenice. It will be a great spectacle if they can secure it next year. I’ve promised to travel to Venice to see him perform. It’s as I told you . . .’

I took Joey’s hand in mine and stared at a tuft of red wool coming loose from the rug at my feet. I wasn’t sure how to put my next question.

‘I . . . I think you’ve told Ilya some things too, haven’t you? You’re . . . close, you’re bound to share secrets with each other.’

Joey pulled free and stood up. He walked over to the mantle and I heard the hem of his skirt rip a little as it caught on a nail poking up through one of the boards. Peggy was going to ask Lok to hammer it flat because of Robbie.

‘No, Kitty, I don’t believe it. He wouldn’t . . .’ I watched him move a little posy of china roses an inch to the left.

‘Wouldn’t he? Remember when you and David brought Robbie to the station and you asked about a cut on my head? It was still bleeding?’

Joey balled a fist and rested his head against the cool marble of the mantlepiece as I carried on. ‘There wasn’t time to tell you, the train was about to leave, but just before you arrived, someone, a porter I thought, knocked me onto the tracks in front of a train. Only it wasn’t an accident.’

Joey stared at me in the mirror. ‘I was carrying Lucca’s bag at the time and it could, perhaps, have been taken for a baby. It was deliberate, I’m sure of it. At the station as we drew out I saw someone watching. Someone with white blond hair. It’s very distinct.’

I faltered for a moment. ‘You need to think, Joey. After I left you and David that night when you persuaded me to take Robbie to London, did you tell anyone else what was planned?’

He swallowed. I saw his Adam’s apple move under the lace trim of his collar.

‘And the children here in Paradise – the ones I wrote to you about. Those things all happened after we came back here with Robbie. There’s been others too – you remember Old Peter?’

In the mirror Joey nodded.

‘Did you know he was Russian? It don’t matter whether you did or didn’t, because he’s dead. They found his body ripped apart in his room. And only because I involved him in all this. I’ve got blood on my hands too, Joey.

‘Peggy met a man in St Dunstan’s churchyard, a handsome man with snow-blond hair, slanting eyes and foreign talk. Robbie was with her at the time and he asked all about him – most particular he was.’

I paused. ‘The only reason that boy is still alive is because Peggy said he was hers.’

Joey stared at himself in the mirror. From the couch I could see his expression in the glass – it was something between horror and disgust. He slammed his hand down hard on the mantle and the china posy leapt into the air, shattering to splinters across the stone hearth.