Rosie Thomas - The Illusionists

There was a cupboard in an angle of the dim corridor that led between the dressing rooms and the stage. He took the girl’s hand and they slid into the cramped space. The opening bars of Heinrich’s and Lucie’s waltz scraped the air as their mouths met.

Eliza paid the hansom driver, wincing at the size of the fare. She hurried down the alley beside the theatre and she was at the stage door when the dwarf flew out. He almost collided with her but before she could stop him or call out his name he whirled past and raced towards the Strand. She watched him go, then seized the opportunity to step in through the open stage door. She blinked in the yellow light. The air was redolent of sweat and smoke and there was a hollow echo of stamping feet in the distance.

‘Yes?’

A man seated in a cubbyhole looked at her over his newspaper. She recognised the doorman who had bundled them into the street on her first visit to the theatre.

‘Mr Wix. I am here to see Mr Wix.’

The man’s grin showed his teeth, or the place where most of his teeth had once been.

‘Box office round at the front of house, ma’am . I believe there may be some seats available for this performance. Just a handful.’ He laughed at his own wit.

Eliza had no intention of negotiating with this person. She marched past the cubbyhole and into the warren of tight corridors and wooden stairways at the back of the stage. A foreign-looking man tried to push past her as Carlo had done, but she caught him by the elbow.

‘I’m looking for Mr Wix.’

‘Good luck,’ the fellow almost spat. He shook off her hand and strode to the stage door. She pushed her way deeper into the theatre. The din of stamping feet now mingled with boos and jeers. A space opened in front of her, except that space was the wrong word for this wild muddle of strewn clothing, trunks and boxes, dismembered chairs, fragments of mirror perched on ledges strewn with face powder, empty bottles, discarded boots, and half-dressed performers jostling for room to clothe themselves. From behind a screen with a broken leaf emerged the soprano who had closed the show on the night she came with Jasper and Faith. The woman adjusted her bodice as a slatternly creature tugged at her laces.

‘That will do,’ the singer snapped and pushed the dresser aside. She took a long pull at a tankard, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and set off at a tipsy angle towards the stage. From the opposite direction came a ragged shout of mocking laughter mingled with louder catcalling. Eliza was about to appeal to the nearest performer for Devil’s whereabouts when she saw him emerge from a doorway. A dishevelled girl sidled in his wake, accompanied by a faint tinkle of silvery bells.

Devil saw her and his face changed.

‘Miss Dunlop? Eliza?’

Eliza kept her head up. ‘I have an idea to discuss with you,’ she said. ‘When it is convenient.’

Before he could offer a response they became aware of silence spreading through the dressing room. Heinrich Bayer had appeared with Lucie in his arms. His face glistened with tears. The performers stood awkwardly aside to let him pass as he carried the doll to her velvet nest. Eliza went to him, putting her hand on his sleeve.

‘What is wrong? Can I help you?’ she whispered.

Heinrich leapt away from her. He began the work of folding the rubber limbs into their niches. He wept soundlessly as he leaned over to smooth the doll’s hair and kiss her forehead. Lucie’s glass eyes gazed up, void of all expression. Devil came to his side.

‘They are all fools, Heinrich. Ignorant, stupid fools. Make Lucie ready and we’ll go.’

The other performers gave up their staring and turned aside to occupy themselves as Grady burst in on them. Hands in his pockets, belly jutting, he glared at the room.

‘That was the worst of the bad. You, Bayer, and your dancing doll. Don’t trouble to come back tomorrow.’

Heinrich was trembling, but he had stopped weeping. Lines deepened in his worn face. He closed up Lucie’s trunk and fastened the catches, then positioned himself in front of it.

‘You should please pay me for tonight’s performance.’

Grady made a sound like rending fabric. ‘Not a brass farthing.’

‘We danced for your audience. It is not Lucie’s fault nor mine that they did not appreciate the artistry …’

‘Bloody artistry . Entertainment, that’s what I want. And I’m going to get it from the rest of you if I have to whip it out of you.’ The man’s sausage finger jabbed at the silent onlookers.

Devil could suppress his hatred no longer. He dived at Grady and grasping his hands round his thick neck he shook him as hard as he could although the manager’s bulk barely rocked. Behind them somebody, perhaps the coarse comic, gave a low-voiced cheer.

‘Pay him what you owe or I will kill you,’ Devil growled.

Grady’s eyes were watering. He coughed, ‘Is that what you are, Wix? A killer?’

Through the fog of his rage Devil glimpsed the dark figure again. He blinked and it was gone, drawing his strength with it. His hands fell to his sides.

‘Pay him,’ he muttered.

‘You can get out of here, as well. You and the dwarf. And stay out.’

The same voice muttered. ‘It’s them as are bringing in what audiences you do get, Mr Grady. Knock ’em out and you’re done for.’

Grady cursed. He caught sight of Eliza at Heinrich’s side.

‘Who are you?’

‘A friend of Herr Bayer’s.’

‘A living woman? Indeed? Backstage is for artistes only, madam.’

Jacko Grady adjusted his straining waistcoat and stalked away.

‘Let’s go,’ Devil muttered to Heinrich Bayer and Eliza chose to believe that she was included in the command. As they left the room there was no sign of the dishevelled girl although Eliza believed she heard an accusatory jingle.

‘Where d’you live?’ Devil demanded of Heinrich when they reached the Strand. The Swiss gave an address not far from the coffin maker’s workshop.

‘It’s a fair step, but I’ll walk back there with you,’ Devil sighed. ‘Miss Dunlop, how did you come here? May I find you a cab, perhaps?’

She gave him a look. ‘I will come with you. As a matter of fact the idea I hoped to discuss with you was originally Herr Bayer’s, so this is quite opportune.’

Devil sighed again. He was disgusted by his failure to get the better of Jacko Grady over Heinrich’s money. Getting the better of Jacko Grady was becoming as important to him as the success of Boldoni and Wix, and it was infuriating that the success of Boldoni and Wix was dependent for now on staying with Grady and the Palmyra.

Heinrich Bayer was already walking, trundling ahead of him the cart with Lucie’s trunk strapped to it, seeming too unhappy to care whether or not he was alone. He looked utterly beaten, his shabby coat overlarge for his thin body. Devil and Eliza flanked him and they moved through the late evening crowds of swells and revellers and street hawkers that surged to the steps of theatres and saloons. London seemed all glitter and celebration, with poor Heinrich Bayer the frayed figure at its brass heart.

They walked in silence, occupied with their separate thoughts. Devil’s pace was purposeful and Eliza could only reflect on the differences between this journey and the earlier stroll though Hyde Park. Jasper was forever holding back and taking her arm, asking questions as if he was trying to work his way into her head. Devil was bracingly indifferent to her presence. Eliza was excited to find herself out in these vivid streets with the crowds washing past her, not knowing where she was going or what lay in store.

Beyond St Clement Danes there were fewer people. Street lamps shone on empty stretches of cobbled road and the wheels of Lucie’s cart clattered in the sudden stillness. The dome of St Paul’s was pasted black against the sky as they turned to the north of it, skirted the heaving city within the city of the meat market, and headed deep into the warren of Clerkenwell. When they finally reached a recessed doorway Heinrich looked at them as if surprised to find that he had company. But he nudged the door open and led them down an internal alleyway to unlock another door, a low entrance leading into a darkened mews at the rear of some forbidding building. They stepped over the threshold in his wake and waited as he lit a candle.