Petals in the Ashes (11 page)

The crowd outside the stage door had just set up a cry for Nelly when the Count came out and began to push his way through them. He was dressed in the swirling cloak he had worn on stage, and a black velvet hood lined with crimson.

‘Count de'Ath!' I hailed him and, when he turned, called quickly, ‘Can you tell me where that young man in your cabinet has gone?'

He looked at me through narrowed eyes. ‘Did you not pay heed to what I said? 'E has gone to a new life, Mamzelle. A better life.'

‘And can I go there too?' I blurted out, and Anne started and gasped.

‘If you enter my cabinet. Come to Bartholomew
Fair!' he said, and then he disappeared beyond the crowd and out of view.

‘Why did you say that?' Anne asked, astonished. ‘What are you thinking of?'

‘I didn't mean it,' I said. ‘It was something to say. I was jesting.'

Of course I had been jesting. And besides, it had not been Tom who had been on that stage and had been transported by magic to another place. Whatever conjuring Count de'Ath could do, he could not conjure with someone who was dead.

This did not stop me from daydreaming, however, and on falling asleep that night I could not but think how terrible it would be if Tom had somehow survived the plague only to have been magicked away from me into Count de'Ath's cabinet, and lost his soul …

‘Wherever did you get those?' I looked at Anne and burst out laughing. I'd sent her to the conduit for water and she'd been gone an age. When she'd come back, her face was stuck all over with black and sequined patches: a heart on her forehead, clubs and spades on her cheeks, a ladybird on her chin.

‘Do they look fine?' Anne said, taking up a looking-glass and admiring herself. ‘Do I look a lady?'

‘You look a harlot!' I said.

‘But everyone wears them now!'

‘Not shop-girls,' I said, shaking my head. ‘How much did you pay for them?'

‘I traded a pomander with a woman who runs a stall in Cornhill.' She picked up Kitty, who looked at her in some surprise and then began to pat at her face,
no doubt thinking that the face patches were black beetles.

‘I have one for you, too,' Anne said to me. ‘It is of a miniature coach and horses and you may wear it across your forehead. The woman said that she sold a Countess one just the same.'

‘I would sooner have my freckles!' I said.

But Anne thought her patches mighty fine and wore them for the rest of the day – and the next, too, until I thought I'd have to peel them off when she was asleep to be rid of them. She wore them until Mr Newbery came in to impart some tidbit of scandal and, seeing Anne's face, stepped back, looking aghast.

‘Have you the pox, Madam?' he asked.

‘No, indeed I have not,' Anne said indignantly.

‘But the women who wear patches are mostly raddled old bawds who wear them to hide their sores and scars,' he said, and for once I was glad of his dismal perspective, for even before he had finished speaking, Anne had begun peeling them off.

Mr Newbery gave us the gossip, which was that the king's new mistress, Mall Davis, was an actress, and that Nelly Gwyn was so jealous of her that she'd had a song written which poked fun at her rival's legs, which by all accounts were fat and not nearly so elegant as her own. We laughed and said we were on Nelly's side, and then just as Mr Newbery was leaving I suddenly remembered. ‘What is Bartholomew Fair?' I asked him. ‘And when is it?'

‘Bart's Fair?' he asked, scratching his bald head under his wig. ‘Why, 'tis a monstrous big fair held on the grounds in Smithfield, by St Bartholomew's hospital. 'Tis there for two weeks at every end of August.'

Anne had gone through to our back room now. She was having trouble removing some of the patches, for they had set hard on her skin, and every now and then she gave a little shriek as she pulled at them.

‘And are there conjurers at this fair, and magic men?' I asked him more quietly, for I did not wish Anne to hear.

‘There is everything there!' said Mr Newbery. ‘Plays and players, dancing shows, educated apes, puppets and horses dancing jigs! The whole world is there.'

I felt excited already. ‘Then Anne and I must go!'

Mr Newbery frowned. ‘You'll get your throats cut and lose your pockets as sure as a sow drags its belly on the ground!' he said. ‘The place is fair bursting with higglers, hawkers and robbers.'

I could not but laugh. ‘It's a wonder we've survived in London so long,' I said, ‘and thank you for warning me, but I think we'll take our chances. You have painted too exciting a picture for us to miss it.'

‘Carried my wife by coach to Bartholomew Fair and showed her the monkies dancing on the ropes. There was also a horse with hoofs curled like Ram's horns, a goose with four feet and a cock with three. Then to see some clockworks and several scripture stories, but above all there was shown the sea, with Neptune, Venus, mermaids and the sea rolling.'

As soon as we came to Smithfield market, which led on to the fair, I began to be afeared that I would lose Anne, for seeing the field set with such a gay scene stretching in all directions she began uttering little shrieks of excitement and running here, there and everywhere, so that I wished I had her on a restraining tether like a child. As Mr Newbery had said, it was a monstrous big fair and would likely take several days to get around it all.

By Smithfield, forty roast pigs turned on their spits as the butchers cried up their products. There was a rich smell in the air, the sizzle of crackling and the singe of smoke. ‘Tender pork! Here's your delicate pig
and pork!' they called. ‘A good sausage, and well made!'

‘Hot sheep's feet!'

‘Rare beefsteaks!'

‘Trotters all hot!'

I stopped to sniff the tantalising odours, suddenly feeling hungry.

‘What d'you lack, sweet ladies? What d'you lack?'

Two peddlers stopped before us, their trays laden with an assortment of braids and tassels, ribbons and silk flowers.

‘Oh, what lovely colours!' Anne said, straightaway delving into a tangled skein of ribbons.

‘Fine ribbons, pin cases, lovely flowers – what d'you lack?'

‘We lack nothing at the moment,' I said to them, pulling Anne's hand away. ‘For we have just arrived and must see everything else before we buy.' But we had made the mistake of pausing and looking, and now found ourselves surrounded by a dozen or more hawkers.

‘Fine pears!' one called.

‘Sweet gingerbread!'

‘Ballads, fine new ballads!'

‘Fresh fish … fresh new fish!'

‘Fine singing birds!'

‘Ink – seven pence a pint! Very fine, bright ink!'

‘Strawberries ripe! Cherries! Asparagus!'

‘A powder for a flea!'

A crowd of them were round us, and indeed it seemed that every London peddler and street seller was today at Bartholomew Fair trying to do business.

I grasped Anne's hand. ‘Come and we will run for it!' I said to her and, dodging through the sellers, we ran across the grass towards the bigger booths and the striped tents and awnings, all bright with fluttering flags and streamers.

Pausing by a puppet show, I spoke to Anne seriously. ‘You must show no interest in buying anything,' I said, ‘or you will find we have spent our money before we have even started. You must stay beside me all the time, and not go wandering off. And you must keep your hand on your pocket all the time, for everyone has told us of the cut-purses here and Mr Newbery seems to think that we'll be lucky enough to get home with our heads on.'

‘But it's all so thrilling!' she said breathlessly. ‘And I've never before seen such sights in all my life. Nor so many of them!'

I could not but smile. ‘Neither have I. But we must be cautious,' I added.

Arm in arm we began to stroll through the tents and booths, admiring, exclaiming and gasping by turn and not knowing what our eyes would fall on next. There were rare sights to see, and the dress and appearance of the visitors (who were of the quality as well as tag, rag and bobtail) were almost a show of their own. The ladies were dressed in their best, but it was a mixed best: some wearing full wigs, face masks and vast plumed hats, some up from the country in out-of-fashion moiré dresses with straw bonnets, some in neat riding habits and some attired as if they were attending a ball at the palace.

We paused outside a tent showing a drawing of a tiny person standing by a daffodil, and refreshed
ourselves with a glass of juniper water. ‘Shall we go to see this sideshow?' Anne asked. ‘What does it say?'

I read from the printed notice:
‘Inside sits a girl of sixteen years of age, not above eighteen inches long. She reads well, sings, whistles and all very pleasant to hear. You may see this wonderful creature for the sum of two pence.'

‘Oh, do let's go in!' Anne said.

I shook my head. ‘It must be some trick,' I said, trying to peer around the curtain to see what was within. ‘It cannot be a true person.'

‘A girl as real as life!' the showman cried, seeing our interest. ‘Only come in and see for yourself. And ladies only may see this creature in her shift.'

But Anne was now looking at the canvas booth next door, which was painted to look like a horse's stable and had, in fact, a real horse peering out of the flap on the door.

‘What will happen here?' she asked me.

‘The Mare that counts money,'
I read out. ‘
Come and see this beast who is as clever as a man. She counts, gives wise advice on investments and imparts knowledge.'

‘That cannot be!' Anne said.

‘No, it cannot,' I said, laughing.

‘Come see the horse that counts!' the showman called. ‘Wisdom truly from the horse's mouth!'

We walked on and Anne moved closer to me, for three chained lunatics came along, gibbering and dancing with a bear who wore irons on its legs. A man with them carried a notice which announced that they were released for the day from Bethlehem Hospital, which was a madhouse, and were available
to come to the houses of the quality to amuse their guests for a small fee.

As we walked on my eyes were everywhere, darting through spaces and over people's heads, trying to see the one show that I was really looking for: was Count de'Ath going to be at the fair today?

A man passed with six or seven monkeys sitting all over him, and another wore the head of a great beast and carried a board which announced that all should repent of their sins, for this was the Year of the Beast and judgement was at hand.

Anne pointed towards a large tent with a board outside. ‘B … best sh … show,' she began reading out haltingly, for I had been helping her with her letters and her reading and writing were slowly improving.

‘… in the fair,' I continued.
‘A wonderful curiosity. A man with one head and two bodies, both masculine, who is lately brought over from the country of the Moguls, and with him his brother who has hair down to his knees.'

‘I don't think I should care to see those,' Anne said. ‘I would rather see the little creature as tall as a flower.'

‘Or what about this,' I said, reading out from the next-door booth:
‘A tableau recently come from Russia of curiously preserved people who are enchanted and lay between life and death. You may touch and examine these people as much as you wish for no extra charge.'

Anne gasped. ‘I should like to see those!'

There were more of the same at the other sideshows: dancing apes, a dog that played the tabor,
a man twice the size of a Lincolnshire heifer, a hare that did a morris dance, a woman with a prodigious beard. I could not see the Count and his magic cabinet, however.

After much deliberation we decided to go into the booth with the Russian tableau for, as Anne said, we would get several people for the price of one. Paying our money, we went behind a curtain and came across a strange scene, which so startled me that I turned to go out again, thinking that we had somehow gone the wrong way and strayed into some lady's drawing room by mistake.

In the tent was a long upholstered sofa, and on this sat three people: two women and a man. Each was exquisitely dressed in velvet and satins, and each engaged in drinking tea, either holding a cup to their lips or conveying it delicately towards its saucer.

This in itself was not strange. What was most surprising, though, was that none of the people was moving, but rather seemed frozen in that moment, each teacup neither touching their lips nor ever reaching its destined saucer. More strange still – for people could, mayhap, play at statues, but
animals
couldn't – there was a golden-haired lapdog sitting on one of the lady's laps, its pink tongue hanging forth and its head coyly on one side.

‘Oh!' Anne breathed and, after standing in silence staring at them staring at us, we circled the trio, examining them minutely.

‘They do not breathe,' Anne said timidly. ‘Are they alive?'

‘They do not even blink!' I said, passing my hand in front of the man's eyes.

Daringly, I put out a hand to touch the hand of the woman. It was smooth and cool, almost like skin but not quite.

‘It
looks
like skin,' I said, peering at her cheek as closely as I dared, for I was in a mind to think that these people were enchanted and would be released from their spell in a moment and chastise us for examining them so rudely.

We tiptoed around them, looking at their hair, their clothes and their shoes. Every aspect of them was considered and refined. One of the ladies was wearing mules and I could see the tips of her toes, pink-painted, while the other carried a little silver-mesh bag in which could be seen her red lip-crayon and patch box.