Dilly Court - Ragged Rose

Published by HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

The News Building

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London, SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Published by HarperCollins Publishers 2016

Copyright © Dilly Court 2016

Cover layout design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2016

Cover photographs © Gordon Crabb (woman); City of London (background scene)

Dilly Court asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008137359

Ebook Edition © February 2016 ISBN: 9780008137366

Version: 2017-05-09

For my great-niece, Evie Marian Jane Atchison.

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

A Letter from Dilly

Read on for an exclusive extract from Dilly Court’s gripping new novel

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About the Author

Also by Dilly Court

About the Publisher

Cupid’s Court, Barbican, London 1875

‘Do hurry up, Cora. We’re on in a minute.’ Rose edged past her sister, bending almost double to avoid knocking the sequin-encrusted gowns off the pegs in their tiny dressing room, which in reality was little more than a cupboard.

Cora patted a stray curl in place, making a moue as she studied her reflection in the fly-spotted mirror. The atmosphere was thick with the smell of burning lamp oil and greasepaint, with wafts of cigar smoke seeping under the door, and the ever-present odour of stale beer and spirits permeated every inch of the saloon. She stood up, smoothing the tight-fitting bodice of the daringly low-cut gown with a satisfied smile. ‘I’m ready.’

Rose opened the door in answer to an urgent knock.

‘On stage, girls.’ Tommy Tinker, the boy who undertook all the odd jobs that no one else wanted to do, stuck his head into the room, eyeing the girls with a cheeky grin. ‘Very nice too, if I might be so bold.’

‘Little boys should be seen and not heard,’ Cora said with a haughty toss of her head as she squeezed past him.

‘Show a bit of respect for your elders, young Tinker.’ Rose paused in the doorway, fixing him with a stony stare until he blushed and dropped his gaze.

‘Sorry, Miss Sunshine,’ he muttered, making way for her by flattening himself against the whitewashed wall of what had once been a coal cellar. This small space now served as general store, as well as dressing rooms for the acts who performed in Fancello’s Saloon.

‘It’s Miss Perkins,’ Rose said mildly. ‘Sunshine is our stage name, Tinker.’

He frowned. ‘Best hurry, miss. The patrons are getting restless.’

Rose bundled up her full skirt as she negotiated the steep, narrow staircase, taking care to keep the satin from brushing against the damp walls. With Cora following close behind she arrived in the wings just in time to hear Fancello’s introduction.

‘Ladies and gentlemen.’ He raised his voice in order to make himself heard above the general hubbub in the bar room. ‘I am proud to present for your delectation … the delicious and delightful Sunshine Sisters.’ He clapped enthusiastically and his brother, Alphonso, downed the last of his pint and thundered out the intro on the piano.

Ignoring the continuous chatter, the occasional bursts of raucous laughter, and with the odd salacious remark tossed in for good measure by someone the worse for drink, Rose and Cora performed ‘Pretty Little Polly Perkins of Paddington Green’ with appropriate actions, and then launched into their dance routine. This had the effect of largely silencing the rowdy element of their audience, as the men craned their necks in order to get a better view of ladies’ legs, and the occasional glimpse of a garter.

Rose and Cora left the small stage to a tumult of applause, and were called back for an encore, but Fancello intervened.

‘You have had sunshine brought into your lives, gentlemen. The young ladies must not be allowed to exhaust themselves, but they will perform again later in the evening.’ He joined the sisters in the wings. ‘Well done,’ he said, twirling his waxed moustache, a nervous habit that Rose had noted several times in the past. ‘We mustn’t spoil them – always leave the punters longing for more.’

‘Yes, Signor Fancello,’ Cora said with a coy smile. ‘You’re always right.’

Rose eyed him suspiciously. ‘We agreed one performance a night, signor. You just said we would be on again later – I take it that we’ll be paid double?’

He released his moustache and it recoiled like a watch spring. ‘I’m paying you for a night’s work, Miss Sunshine. Don’t bring on the storm clouds. Fancello is a fair man, but you can be replaced.’

Cora laid a small hand on his arm, her large blue eyes misted with tears. ‘Don’t be cross, signor. We understand, don’t we, Rose?’

Rose ignored the warning look that Cora sent her. ‘We might not be as well-known as your bambina , but we have been popular amongst your clients, signor. I think we deserve to be paid accordingly.’

For a moment she thought that she had gone too far. Fancello’s dark curly hair seemed to stand on end like the fur of an outraged feline, and his full lips quivered, but a sly smile spread across his face and he roared with laughter. ‘You drive a hard bargain, Miss Sunshine. I will pay you extra if you perform again later. My little bambina has the voice of an angel, but she is delicate like her mamma and we are careful to protect her.’ He cocked his head on one side, frowning at the sound of a slow hand clap from the saloon. ‘Go out there and circulate, but don’t allow the punters to get too familiar.’ He cupped his hand round his lips. ‘Tinker.’

Popping up like a jack-in-the-box, Tinker appeared at his side. ‘Yes, guv?’

‘Where is the bambina ? Why is she not ready to go on stage?’

Tinker shook his head. ‘Your lady wife says it’s no go, guv. The little ’un ain’t to appear on stage as she’s took sick.’

‘We’ll see about that.’ Fancello strode off towards the staircase.

‘Is she ill?’ Cora asked anxiously. ‘It’s not catching, is it? I was talking to her earlier and she seemed perfectly fine then.’