Page 32 of The Songbird of Wychwood

“When I was a nipper we would travel from town to town where Ma would work as a seamstress and costumier. I started my schooling when we moved into the Middlesex. I was eleven. That was where I learned to read and write properly, words and music too,” I admitted.

Percy listened intently. He didn’t look down on me as if I was lesser because I hadn’t been to a posh school. He made me feel like I was the only person in the whole world. We’d come from vastly different backgrounds and yet, there were so many things we had in common.

I paused eating and reached for my glass of cordial. “I was wondering. Do you have any say about stories for the newspaper?” I asked before I took a sip.

“Oh goodness, no! That’s a totally different department. There’s a dedicated team of journalists, editors and illustrators for each of our publications. My father has the final say. Why do you ask? Do you have a salacious story to tell?” he grinned and cocked a brow.

“Funny you should say that. My boss, Mr. Grayson has been behaving all kinds of funny since you and I met last Friday.”

“Is that right?” Percy replied warily. I could tell that Percy was as concerned as I was about exposure.

“The serving girl, the one you asked to give the note to me…Doris. She’s a right old wagon!” I sneered.

Percy reached for his glass, and appeared confused. “Wagon?” he quizzed.

“Ridden by many, if you know what I mean!”

“Oh…ohhhh!” At understanding the crude explanation Percy burst out laughing and I smiled at seeing him laugh. He had the most wonderful, lyrical laugh and it made my innards twist.

“Do go on,” he said after taking a sip of his drink.

“Well, our Mr. Grayson is a married man with kiddies. Doris is his latest bit-on-the-side. She told him about the note you sent to me.” I paused for a moment before admitting, “I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d read it!” Percy grimaced and appeared worried at hearing the admission, but I couldn’t keep it from him. The fact was he’d chosen the laziest serving girl with the loosest morals to deliver a love note to me.

“Anyway, Grayson sent her to flirt with some of the fellows at your table. They told her you were all from Harcourt’s Press. Then Mr. Grayson starts behaving strange, spying on me backstage, asking questions about my private life, and acting out of sorts. He had the nerve to come out and accuse me of selling stories to the Daily Gazette!”

“Are there any scandalous stories circulating about the Music Hall?”

“Not that I know of. That’s what I don’t get!”

“He made quite the leap then.” Percy pondered for a moment his eyes searching mine before he said, “So, he thinks I’m a journalist and not…” Our gazes held and we both smiled in shared understanding before Percy continued, “Good, good. A man who behaves in such a suspicious way, accusing staff of misdeeds where there are none, most certainly has something to hide. Usually it has something to do with money. Are your wages paid up to date?”'

“Yes. Mr. Myrna does the box office receipts and accounts. He deals with the takings for each show and Grayson only gets what’s left once we’ve been paid,” I explained. “I’m Grayson’s star act and I’m lucky that I have a roof over my head to boot. Some of the other regulars don’t like that I live at the theater, but that ain’t my problem. I think you’re right, something else is going on that has Grayson all jittery, throwing unfounded accusations around.”

“He could have money trouble,” Percy suggested. “Men in financial dire straits will do the damndest things to dig themselves out of the hole.”

“If the numbers of punters are anything to go by, the Middlesex is doing well. We’re always rammed on a Friday and Saturday and get good crowds on Wednesday and Thursday too. Grayson also has a troupe of acts that travel the country, so he must have a pretty penny coming in from that as well.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s involved in other enterprises you know nothing about. Be careful George. Trust is hard won and easily lost. I’d suggest you keep an eye on your Mr. Grayson.” Percy paused to take a sip of cordial. “Come, let’s finish up here. We’ll go for a walk to aid the digestion.” He gestured for the waiter to come to our table and asked for the bill. He paid with a crisp pound note and didn’t wait for the change. I supposed that if I socialized with a gentleman I’d best get used to such largesse.

We left the hotel and strode down Albemarle Street, just a couple of swells having a stroll together in the city. Percy was wearing a well-tailored blue frock coat, and I was in Lord Dickey’s suit with a colourful emerald cravat that made me look like quite the dandy. I paused to gaze in the windows of boutiques that sold finery to the Lords and Ladies, but no matter the tug of temptation I couldn’t justify buying a new silk cravat for Lord Dickey’s costume at these prices when the second-hand shop would do!

It was a fine afternoon, the sky was a pale powder blue, and the light breeze had a note of river stench to it, but no matter, no one, neither rich nor poor could escape the foul air in this city. I felt as light as a feather, contented to be about in the posh side of town with my very own gentleman friend. If we hadn’t arranged this luncheon, I’d have called on Eloise and gone to Regents Park for a stroll, and a penny lick. I supposed Percy would have remained at his office.

Percy and I turned onto Piccadilly and strolled together through the bustle of pedestrians in their finery. The shops lining each side of Piccadilly sold all kinds of wonderful things, from confectionary, to fine tailoring, haberdashery, tobacco, tea, and baked goods. I saw a hanging sign denoting the guild of the Worshipful Company of Stationers and Newspaper Makers. There were many such signs for guilds around the City of London if you knew to look up. This particular guild held a grip over the publishing industry and was responsible for setting and enforcing regulations. Without a word, Percy linked his arm into mine, and pulled me into the stationers below the guild sign.

Now, this shop was right up my alley. The gentleman behind the glass display counter was pole thin, suited, and he wore small round spectacles. He gave a nod to Percy.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Waterman,” Percy said in greeting.

“Ah, back so soon Mr. Harcourt. It just so happens that your order has been finished. It’s in the work room. I’ll be back in a tick,” Mr. Waterman said and then he left through a door into a back room. Percy and I shared a look of excitement and then we were off, browsing the wares and picking up the display jotters to check the quality of the bindings. I usually bought loose leaf manuscript pages in bundles of a ten, and loose blank paper was cheaper than purchasing a bound notebook. Percy’s playful gaze met mine and he beckoned me to join him as he viewed the display of the new, costly fountain pens. They were a very clever invention that kept a reservoir of ink inside the body of the pen, so you didn’t have to keep dipping into an ink pot. I gazed lustfully at the display.

“Nice aren’t they,” Percy whispered to my ear, eliciting a shiver to places that should not be mentioned in public. “It is quite a remarkable achievement. You see, the nib is made from iridium; it’s a metal, silver in appearance but much harder and denser, so it’s excellent for long-lasting nibs. The pen barrel is metal and can be clad with whatever you like, Mother of Pearl, tortoise shell, enameling, even gold or silver. And don’t get me started on the chemistry that went into to the recipe for free-flowing ink. It’s a marvel.”

I shared Percy’s awe at the invention of the fountain pen and enjoyed the insight’s he’d shared. “Oh, I can only dream of owning something so beautiful,” I said, my sigh filled with longing. The fountain pens were very expensive and only for the richest of men! The rest of us were stuck with dipping pens or, my less messy preference of writing was with a Banks and Co graphite pencil.

Mr. Waterman returned minutes later carrying an ivory gift box, which he tied with a thin red ribbon and then handed the box to Percy. I supposed Percy was a regular, and he’d popped in here for new stationary before meeting me for luncheon.

“Add it to the account if you please, Mr. Waterman.”