The Urchin's Song Part 13

Jimmy said nothing, and after a few seconds had crawled by, Percy, his voice less cheerful now, said, 'What did you want to see me about then? Harry didn't say.'

'No, well he wouldn't, would he, seein' as how I told him not to.'

Percy's gaze flicked to Jimmy's blank countenance and then back to the small Irishman, and now the nostrils in his flattened nose flared briefly, before he said, 'Is owt wrong?'

'Is owt wrong?' Patrick echoed the words, savouring them before he nudged Jimmy and said again, 'Is owt wrong? What say you, son?'

'I'd say somethin' was wrong, Pat.'

Percy's lower jaw moved from one side to the other. 'Patrick, for cryin' out loud, man, what's the matter?'

Patrick's eyes became fixed on the man in front of him and whatever Percy read in the little Irishman's expression caused him to bl.u.s.ter, 'Man, what's wrong? Tell me, Patrick. You know me--'

'You've already said that.' It was sharp and tight and silenced the other man. 'You've got a big mouth, Percy. Anyone ever told you that afore? An' strange as it may seem, I don't like me private business bein' spread over half of Sunderland. That little arrangement we had concerning the items that tend to fall off the boats from Sweden? I thought it was atween the two of us!'

'It is, I swear it is.'

'Then how come you were heard blabbin' the odds in the Queen's Head in Long Row a couple of nights back? An' afore you deny it, I've checked. You've bin workin' on that dockside for nigh on thirty years; you're trusted, the bosses like you, so how come all that goes out of the window an' you play the big feller, eh? Who were you tryin' to impress? A few bit bar proppers!'

'Patrick . . .' Percy gulped deep in his throat, shaking his head and then gulping hard again before he said, 'I . . . I'd had a few jars, man. I wasn't meself. Look, no one cottoned on. It hasn't got back to anyone who matters.'

'It got back to me, Percy.'

'Patrick. Please, Patrick . . . Look, I swear it won't happen agen, man. I'd had a row with the missus; I was drownin' me sorrows, you know how it is. I'd never . . . Please, man.'

'Aye, aye, all right.' Patrick held up his hands, palms facing the terrified man in front of him, and now his voice was understanding, warm even, as he said, 'That's all I wanted to hear, Percy. That it won't happen agen.'

'I swear it. On me bairns' heads, I swear it.' Percy was gabbling now, relief bringing the sweat s.h.i.+ning on his forehead. 'I mean, we was bairns together, weren't we. An' like you said, your mam an' mine were as thick as thieves.'

'That they were. Well, you'd best get yerself home an' the less said the better, eh?'

'Aye, aye, man, an' thanks, thanks Patrick. There's . . . there's a boat due in the morrow as you know. Same arrangement as afore then, is it?'

'Don't see why not.'

Patrick turned as he spoke, Jimmy with him, and as he said over his shoulder, 'Missus all right, Percy?' the other man came up behind them, intending to follow them out of the small patch of ground beside the slipway. It was then Patrick and Jimmy turned as one, the knives in their hands flas.h.i.+ng for one chilling moment before they were buried up to the hilt in Percy's chest.

Percy made a vain grab at Patrick as he went down on to his knees but he was already gasping his last, and within seconds he was stretched out on the cold cobbles and the silence of the night enclosed them again. Patrick stared down at the body for a second, kicking it with his hobnail boot. There was no response. 'Aye, well now you've convinced me it won't happen again, Percy,' he said conversationally as though the other man could still hear him.

'Are we leavin' him here?'

Patrick glanced about him for a moment. 'We'll send him down the slipway into the water. He'll be found soon enough an' it'll send a warnin' to any of the others with slack mouths.'

'Aye.' Jimmy nodded. He fully agreed that Patrick had needed to make an example of Percy. One mistake was one too many in this game, and you couldn't afford to be soft. Any sign of weakness and they'd all be taking liberties. Everyone knew Percy had stepped out of line and they'd all been watching to see what Patrick would do, especially since Percy and the little Irishman did go back a long way.

Patrick bent down, wiping the blade of his knife on Percy's moleskin trousers before slipping it back in his inside jacket pocket, and Jimmy followed suit. They disposed of the body with equal equanimity, and it was as they stepped into North Moor Street that Patrick said, as though they had been discussing the matter seconds before, 'Your sister'll be back one day, son, sure as eggs are eggs, if not to play the halls then to see that old biddy in Northumberland Place she seems to think so much of. An' when she comes we'll be waitin', you an' I. She's made a monkey of me three times; she won't do it again. I owe her an' you do an' all, for your da an' her rattin' on you an' the lad. She'd have seen you all go down the line if she'd had her way, the lyin' little upstart.'

Jimmy turned his head on his shoulder and looked sideways at Patrick as they walked on, and his voice was quiet but of a quality that pleased the other man when he said, 'Oh, I've no doubt I'll see me day with her, Pat. No doubt at all. She aimed to ruin the lot of us an' all the time actin' like Lady Muck. There's enough of the lads primed now to let us know when she comes back an' we've surprise on our side. But for that load of wh.o.r.es an' dolts she had with her the last time she'd be pus.h.i.+n' up the daisies by now.'

'Or doin' time in one of Doug's secure wh.o.r.ehouses,' Patrick put in slyly. 'I tell you, man, they don't last long in them places, not with the perverts Doug caters for, but the la.s.sies' lives are h.e.l.l while they're still breathin'. If we're goin' to do her in, that'd be poetic justice to my mind, considerin' all them singers an' actresses an' the like are on the game in one way or another, 'cept they dress it up to appear different.'

Jimmy stared at Patrick for a moment. Murder was one thing, but Doug's locked and guarded brothels which catered - as Doug himself put it - for a special type of customer were something else. And then, as Patrick said, 'Remember your da, son, an' how she turned your own mother agin you an' Hubert, an' broke up the family,' he nodded slowly. He'd think about what they were going to do with Josie once they had her but, by all the G.o.ds, get her they would. They'd heard this singing lark had taken her down south but like Patrick had said, she'd be back, and not just because of Vera neither. Josie was a northerner at heart; the north was in her blood, her bones, and eventually she'd return to her roots. To her ain folk. And when she did, this particular member of her ain folk would be waiting.

Chapter Fourteen.

'Ee, la.s.s, you're as white as a sheet. Put a bit more rouge on, for goodness' sake.'

Gertie's voice was brisk and meant to be rea.s.suring, but to Josie, sitting weak-kneed and trembling on her stool in the dressing room, it was further confirmation that she didn't look the part.

'She's fine.' Gertie received a dig in the ribs which made her gasp as the young woman sitting on the next stool to Josie's physically objected to Gertie's well-meant advice. 'Any more rouge and she'll glow like a beetroot once she's onstage and enjoying herself. And you will enjoy yourself, lovey, believe me. All right?'

'Thanks, Nellie.' Josie smiled at the colourful figure who had auburn hair piled high on her head, the colour of which definitely came out of a bottle. The two girls had only met a couple of days previously when Josie had visited the large theatre in Ealing to familiarise herself with its layout and size, and to have a series of rehearsals before her debut on the London stage. She hadn't been too nervous then, and it had been lovely to meet Nellie and discover she was the daughter of an old music-hall friend of Lily's. In fact, Nellie strongly reminded Josie of Lily; they had the same happy-go-lucky nature and outrageous sense of humour, and - unfortunately - the same penchant for falling for handsome rogues.

However, Josie wasn't thinking about Nellie's torrid love-life at the moment; her mind was on her forthcoming appearance which was now only minutes away. Oliver had a.s.sured her that this theatre was nowhere near as grand as the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane or Covent Garden, both of which held four and a half thousand happy theatregoers at a sitting, but nevertheless its decor and size had proved to be overwhelming. In her mind's eye she was picturing the magnificent salon reached from the street by a flight of fine curved stone steps, and the air of elegance, comfort and convenience it contained. On every side immense gorgeous plate-gla.s.s mirrors reflected surrounding objects and the ma.s.sive crystal-drop chandeliers suspended from the ceiling. Against the walls on either side were comfortable stuffed seats of superior quality, in front of which were small marble-topped tables. From end to end, rows of similar tables were fixed at convenient distances from each other with as many chairs as would seat some one and a half thousand loungers.

The mirrored wall at the back of the stage itself reflected the carved, gold-painted cupids and swans which decorated tall pillars at various intervals and again made the hall itself appear far larger than it actually was. Bars were situated through a section of open arches at the rear of the auditorium but divided by a promenade from the main salon. Altogether it was gracious and undoubtedly beautiful, and the thought of it at the moment was scaring Josie to death.

'Look, lovey, them out there are just the same as the audiences in the north where you've worked,' Nellie said now, adjusting her generous bust within her low-cut, lurid green satin frock as she spoke. 'They just want to enjoy themselves, that's all. I've had a peek, and we've got a load of the crutch and toothpick brigade in tonight, and you'll go down just dandy with them with your hair and figure.'

'The crutch an' toothpick brigade?' Gertie queried at the back of them.

'You know, the swells, the Beau Brummells, the smart man-about-town type,' Nellie said, grinning. 'Them with their eyegla.s.ses and gold toothpicks and jewellery. You can always recognise them a mile off with their gold-k.n.o.bbed crutch sticks and tight trousers and immaculate hair and dress, but they're good customers and don't heckle on the whole, unlike some. You know that song Nellie Farren sang about 'em? She took the mickey good and proper but they didn't seem to mind, even the bit about how they got their trousers on and whether they hurt much!'

There was general laughter from the other girls around them who were listening to Nellie too, and one of the old hands called out, her manner ribald, 'And I bet you've helped take a few pairs down in your time, eh, Nellie?'

Nellie wasn't in the least offended; she loved being the centre of attention, and now she returned with a lascivious wink, 'Would I ever do that, Violet? I'm a good girl, I am, not like the majority these days. All they think about is where to buy their next frock and who to take it off for.'

'How many new frocks have you had recently then, Nellie?' another wit called.

'One or two, Dot. One or two.'

Josie was still smiling when the little stagehand, who couldn't have been a day over eleven years old and who blithely ignored scantily dressed females like a veteran, popped his blond head round the corner of the dressing room, calling, 'Miss Josie Burns? You're on in three minutes. And Nellie Wood, you're after her.'

'We know, we know.' Nellie slipped her arm through that of Josie as Josie rose to her feet, her face even whiter. 'Come on, gal, I'll walk along with you.'

Josie turned to Gertie and Gertie smiled encouragingly, saying, 'Break a leg, la.s.s. Break a leg.'

'Last time I played a house with Lily she did just that,' Nellie said as the two girls left the dressing room arm in arm.

'Did what?' Despite her nerves Josie's interest was caught and held as Nellie had intended it should be. Like many children of music-hall performers, Nellie had trodden the boards since she was knee high, and she'd always found distraction was the best remedy in situations like these. She had a hundred and one anecdotes to fit the bill.

'Broke her leg,' Nellie giggled. 'One of the girls at that time had this admirer who used to send bottles of champagne and chocolates and roses to the theatre every night. Dead keen he was. Anyway, after the show one night we all got tipsy on his champagne and started messing about onstage singing, and Cicely - that was the girl - said she'd give the latest box of chocolates to the one who could reach the highest note. Well, you know Lily - she couldn't resist that sort of challenge and she was making rapid progress, she was really, before she got carried away and slipped off the stage and broke her leg. We all made a stretcher with our hands and carried her to the infirmary like that; caused a stir when we went in all dolled up in our stage costumes, I can tell you. Anyway, Lily got the chocolates and when Cicely's admirer got to hear about it he sent a case of champagne to the infirmary for Lily, so we had another party on the day she came out. She's a card, old Lily.'

Nellie had timed her little exposition to end just as they reached the wings, and now, as the light-fingered magician who specialised in stage pickpocket routines sent his victim for that night back down in the audience amid much applause, the heavy, richly embroidered curtains swung closed and they heard the chairman holding forth once the piano had stopped.

Josie felt Nellie squeeze her arm encouragingly. She had to go and take her place on the stage now. Unlike Nellie, who was a ribald singer and a forthright, if not definitely vulgar type of comedienne, Josie's strength was in her exceptional voice. This was shown to advantage with the more poignant, emotionally stirring songs she favoured; the slightly risque ones in her repertoire going down best when sung tongue in cheek with a demure, winsome presentation. Oliver had publicised her debut accordingly and - Josie had to admit - spared no expense to promote this stage performance. Lithographers had provided 'personal' posters which Oliver had had displayed all over town, along with pamphlets, insidiously circulated with the view to providing nine-tenths of the newspaper notices he hoped for the next day. There was much more one could do a little later, he had a.s.sured her, such as issuing invitations to a private performance for persons of high rank, personalised song sheets, song collections advertised in the newspapers and music shops, and appearances at social events and so on, but that would come once she had been noticed in the capital. Which wouldn't take long, not if he had anything to do with it. But for now, her debut night, she would be best displayed standing in a ray of silver limelight from the centre of the roof, and from below in the misty gold radiance of the footlights. To that end her dress was an ethereal floating cloud of silver silk chiffon, and the fresh white rosebuds in her golden-brown curls added to the picture of radiant young womanhood.

Oliver was out there somewhere. As Josie forced her feet to walk into the centre of the stage behind the welcome protection of the velvet curtain, her stomach was doing cartwheels. What if she let him down now? Dried on stage and forgot her words? Or what if they didn't like her? What if . . . And then she caught the panic that was constricting her throat, taking several deep long breaths as Madame Belloc had taught her. 'We never have the agitation, little one.' She could almost hear the small Frenchwoman's firm bell-like tones. 'We are professionals, the creme de la creme, non? And so we breathe, we breathe, we breathe, and then we sing. Like the nightingale, yes? Like the nightingale, we sing.'

And she could sing. She could do this. Compared to some of what she'd gone through - the early years when she'd no shoes to her feet and no food in her belly; the endless nightmarish days at the laundry under Prudence's persecution; the attack on her person by Patrick Duffy and her da; and then her da and the lads disappearing; and, worst of all, her mam dying . . . compared to all that, this was nothing. That's how she had to view it.

She heard Alistair, the chairman, finish his spiel and the signature tune they had agreed on for her presentation begin to play, and she knew the curtains would swing back any moment as Edgar, the a.s.sistant stage manager, began to work the rope and pulley. They were going to like her; she would make them like her. They were just people, weren't they, the same as in the pubs and music halls back home. If she made it big time, it would mean more money than she'd ever dreamed of; she'd heard some of the other performers talk, she knew what the stars of the music hall earned. And she wouldn't waste a penny, not a single penny. They could find Hubert again and she'd buy them all a place to live - a place of their own where no one could come along and throw them out on to the streets. She could buy safety for herself and what was left of her family.

She just had time to glance at Nellie in the wings who smiled and gave her a vigorous thumbs-up as the curtains glided apart with a faint squeak from the machinery, and then an ocean of faces was in front of her beyond the footlights.

Josie walked gracefully forward, smiling and bobbing her head towards Alistair - a splendid figure in his white tie and tails - who banged his gavel with white-gloved hands and called out her name in ringing, fruity tones as she took her position on stage. This was it. This was what she had trained for so singlemindedly in the last couple of months and worked towards for the last few years. This was her chance and she was going to grasp it with open hands. Suddenly all the nervousness was gone.

She had had an introduction line which Oliver had thought out, but now the moment had come, Josie knew she had to speak for herself; say what was in her heart. 'Thank you so much for being here today and letting me sing to you. I was nervous a moment ago but now, looking at you all, you don't look so bad.' A wave of appreciative laughter swept round the theatre and a few loungers sat up in their seats. 'I've always wanted to sing, even as a small child, so this is a dream come true. I'd like to start by singing "Masks and Faces", a song Jenny Hill made famous and which some of you might know, followed by "One Last Sweet Kiss".'

There was more perfunctory applause and Oliver, sitting tucked away at the side of the theatre where he could gauge the audience's reaction and hear comments, found himself straining forward in his seat, his palms damp. d.a.m.n it all but she was lovely, more than lovely. And the lighting was just right. It made her appear so fragile, elusive, but when she opened her mouth and let that magnificent voice soar . . . He breathed deeply and then, as the first notes sounded, relaxed back in his seat, his eyes never leaving the silver and gold figure on the stage.

And it wasn't until some ten minutes later, when an explosion of thunderous applause rocked the theatre, that Oliver came to himself and realised that far from noticing the crowd's reaction he had been blind and deaf to anything but the slim, ethereal woman singing so effortlessly in front of him. She was exquisite. He glanced about him now, seeing entranced faces wherever he looked. And they all knew it. Hark at them - they loved her. They were calling for more in a way he hadn't heard for years. She had them in the palm of her tiny hand.

Josie was laughing and curtsying on the stage but she had to sing another song before the audience would let her go and, mindful of Oliver's instruction to leave them happy, she flirted her way through 'The Farm Boy and the Milkmaid' before waving one last time and running lightly into the wings, there to be embraced by a delighted Nellie. 'I told you, didn't I!' her friend exclaimed when she stood back a pace and looked into Josie's bright face. 'They'll want to retain you here, so mind your agent b.u.mps up your fee.'

'Oh, Nellie.' Josie was br.i.m.m.i.n.g over with excitement. 'I can't believe it!'

'Believe it and enjoy it, gal.' Nellie grinned, not a trace of jealousy in her voice as she added, 'You'll go far, Josie Burns, you mark my words. Nellie Wood knows a good thing when she sees it.' And then, as Alistair finished his preamble, she grinned again, saying, 'And now for something completely different. I think after all that purity and good taste they're ready for "And Her Golden Hair was Hanging Down Her Back", don't you?'

The curtain was already swinging back and now Nellie swaggered on to the stage, the long feathers in her sparkling headband wafting about her auburn hair. Josie waited in the wings. She had heard Nellie sing this song in rehearsals, and no one got the mix of sauciness and wide-eyed appeal so right as Nellie, especially bearing in mind the naked child that appeared in the latest advertis.e.m.e.nts for Pears soap. Nellie was a natural comedian and this song was perfect for her.

Nellie turned and winked at her before she announced the t.i.tle of the song which met with a roar of approval from the crowd, and then she began to sing all about the country maiden who came down to London for a trip and was enticed by the bright lights.

Nellie had everyone singing l.u.s.tily in the chorus, but knowing what was coming, Josie herself was laughing so much she was quite unable to join in. Nellie was thoroughly enjoying the reaction of the audience and sang with relish the cheekiest of the verses, in which the young innocent was persuaded to pose beside a marble bath upon some marble stairs in the manner of the Pears soap advertis.e.m.e.nt, with just her golden hair hanging down her back, and with Nellie's gesturing and outrageous innuendo the audience were howling with laughter.

There was more along the same lines but knowing Gertie would be waiting for her, Josie slipped away, intending to make her way back to the dressing room.

She felt as though she was floating as she walked down the wooden steps from the stage area, and when one or two of the other artistes who had come into the wings to watch her first performance called out their congratulations, she thanked them breathlessly with sparkling eyes.

Josie had just reached the corridor leading to the bowels of the theatre, when a voice calling her name brought her turning, and then Oliver was there in front of her, his hands coming out swiftly and catching hers as he said, 'You were wonderful, magnificent, as I knew you would be.'

It was more the look on his face than what he'd said which caused Josie to blink rapidly before she answered, 'Thank you. I'm glad you're pleased.'

'Pleased?' He shook his head slightly. 'Pleased does not begin to describe what I felt out there.' He stared at her, part of him - the Hogarth part, the part which had been brought up as a gentleman, his every need catered for to the point where he had never even dressed himself before he had been so rudely cast adrift at the age of twenty - protesting that this was madness.

As his mistress, Josie would be welcomed, or perhaps the word was 'patronised', by his friends, who would even then wonder why he had replaced Stella with a mistress of less . . . lofty pedigree. But they would accept her as a mistress since most men, even the Prince of Wales himself, indulged in affairs with ladies from the world of the theatre. But although his friends would talk behind their lace cuffs and sn.i.g.g.e.r a little, it would be their lady wives who would cut her apart with their tongues, should he present her as his future wife. No matter that the majority of them hopped from bed to bed with scant regard for discretion, nor that a good proportion had children fathered by the current lover rather than their husband, they mated within their cla.s.s, that was the thing, and so they were still ladies. Josie had more natural dignity and poise than the lot of them put together, but they wouldn't see it like that. Or rather, they might see it, and that would make them even more cruel. But Josie would consider nothing less than marriage. Even to suggest anything else would mean he might lose her for good.

He loved her. He had loved her from the minute he had seen her on that stage in Hartlepool - before that, even; he had loved her from the beginning of time without recognising who or where she was, but until he had met her his whole life had been a period of waiting. If he lost her, if he let someone else s.n.a.t.c.h the prize from under his nose . . .

'Josie?' He still had hold of her hands but now he moved a fraction closer, taking encouragement from the fact that she did not immediately pull away. 'I have to ask you something and you may well think I am being presumptuous, but I know you will give me an honest answer. Do you think you could ever bring yourself to look on me as more than an agent, as a friend? I trust you do think of me as a friend?'

She blinked again but she had begun to s.h.i.+ver inside, the smell of him - the fresh, clean and altogether attractive smell of him - teasing her senses as she looked up into the strong masculine face staring down at her. He wasn't Barney, but Barney had been lost to her since the day he had walked out of the small parish church in Newcastle with Pearl on his arm, she knew that. And Oliver . . . Oliver was handsome and worldly and intelligent, but more than that he was gentle and kind. At least, that was the way he had been with her. She'd heard stories of his reputation of course, from various sources, but she couldn't equate them with the sober, considerate man she knew. But he was of the gentry. The word was loud in her ears and spoken in a strong northern accent, like her mother or Vera might have used. Such men only wanted girls like her for one reason.

And then, as though she had spoken her doubts out loud, Oliver said quietly, 'I am twice your age, Josie, I know that, but I don't consider that a disadvantage in a marriage, and . . . and I love you. I love you more than I had ever imagined it was possible to love; in fact, meeting you has made me realise I have never loved before.'

Marriage. He was talking of marriage. That, and the brief, almost shy hesitation before he had spoken of his love caught at her heartstrings. She began to tremble. This, coming on top of her recent triumph on the stage, was almost too much.

'You haven't given me an answer as to whether you could learn to look on me in a different light.' He moved her closer to him, their joined hands resting on his chest. 'I can promise you I will spend the rest of my life making you happy if you will give me a chance?'

There was nothing of the coquette in Josie, and now one of the attributes Oliver loved most about her came to the fore when she said, with touching and embarra.s.sed honesty, 'I . . . I think you're very attractive but I never considered . . . I mean, I didn't think you looked at me like that.'

'From the first moment we met.' It was tender, and Oliver comforted himself with the fact that he wasn't actually lying. He had always wanted her, loved her, it had just been the prospect of proposing marriage that had been in question. But tonight had told him that if he didn't snap her up, someone else would; she had been thrust into the glare of the public eye tonight in a big way and this was just the beginning. Gertie had told him in confidence that Josie had rebuffed any advances from the opposite s.e.x in the past although her admirers had been manifold, but here in the capital she would be swept into a different life. No, he had to act now, stake his claim as it were. He had prevaricated long enough. And he could continue to mould and educate her far more effectively as a husband than he ever could as a mere agent. Marriage to him would be a great social and professional a.s.set to her.

Oliver did not admit to himself here that there were definite advantages on both sides, or that, whatever his feelings for Josie - and they were ones of love and desire - it hadn't been merely her working-cla.s.s background which had caused him to hold his hand until this precise moment in their relations.h.i.+p. It wasn't in him to acknowledge that he had waited to see how London had received her before he had staked his claim, nor that his pressing debts caused by a recent run of bad luck on the horses and in the gambling dens he frequented meant that a wife with the potential earning power of Josie Burns wasn't to be sneezed at.

'So, my dear?' His face was straight now and very serious. 'What is your answer? Will you marry me?'

She stared at him, her mind racing. She liked Oliver, she liked him very much, but could she love him as she loved Barney? Was it possible to love two men? And if it wasn't, did she care for him enough to make him happy and make a marriage work? They had so much in common with regard to their professional lives and he was funny and warm and always extremely attentive, but marriage was made up of one main ingredient that was more important than all those things. Did she want to make love with him? For him to hold her close, to kiss her? Did she like him enough to lie with him?

She lowered her eyes for a moment and then suddenly, as a new thought came to her, her brain stopped its scrambling. How would she feel if she refused him and he fell in love with someone else? Unhappy. More than unhappy, devastated. Over the last months he had become a big part of her life, had woven himself into her affections and her heart, and she hadn't fully realised it till now. And he was handsome and strong, wholesome. And she had to forget that other love - it could never be and she had always known it. But if she refused Oliver she might never meet anyone else she liked so much. No, loved. The emotion she was feeling was stronger than just liking.

She looked at him again, holding the cornflower-blue gaze for a moment and she felt his hands tighten on hers as he waited for her answer. She wanted to be loved, to be married, to have a family one day . . . 'Yes, I'll marry you, Oliver,' she said quietly, and then, as his face lit up and he picked her right up off the ground and swung her round in the narrow corridor, she gave a little squeal of surprise.

And then she was on her feet again and he drew her closer, and her heart began to pound as she realised he meant to kiss her on the lips. The pleasant smell which emanated faintly from him was stronger as, her eyes shutting of their own accord, she felt his lips on hers. His mouth was warm and firm, and the feel and smell of him was exciting little nervous s.h.i.+vers deep inside her. She couldn't ever remember anyone kissing her on the mouth before, not even her mother, but she liked it. She liked it very much.

The kiss only lasted for a moment or two, and Josie would never know the restraint Oliver was practising when everything in him wanted to crush her to him and cover her face with kisses. She was so sweet, intoxicating, and since he had finished with Stella and brought Josie up to London he had abstained from the pleasures of the flesh for the first time in over twenty years. It hadn't been easy. Perhaps that was why he had been gambling so heavily the last little while; he'd needed some outlet for the restlessness and frustration his self-imposed forbearance was causing in the night hours.

'Josie, you don't know how happy you have made me.' He continued to hold her close with one arm round her waist as he spoke, his other hand touching one flushed cheek in a light caress. 'I am the most fortunate man in the world. Are . . . are you going to insist on a long engagement or can we break with sober tradition and have the wedding towards the end of this year?'

She did not answer straight away; in truth she was finding the whole situation more than overwhelming and Oliver must have sensed this, because his next words were, 'But we have plenty of time to sort that out, of course, my dear. And now you must inform your sister of the happy news and perhaps the three of us can go out to dinner after your next performance and celebrate?'

She smiled at him. 'That would be lovely,' she said softly, adding, suddenly shy, 'and I'll try and be a good wife, Oliver.'

Her words seemed to please him, for his grip on her waist tightened as he pulled her towards him again, this time dropping a lingering kiss on her brow before he said quietly, 'And you think you might come to like me more than a little?'

'I do already.'

'Good.' How on earth he was going to manage not to ravish her in the coming months he didn't know, but manage he would. She would stand at the altar as pure as she was now. For once in his life he was going to do it right. She was head and shoulders above any other woman of his acquaintance, and if any of his so-called friends c.o.c.ked a snook at her or allowed their lady wives free rein, he'd draw blood, d.a.m.n it, whoever they were. 'Because I adore you, my beautiful angel.'

She blinked at the endearment. She couldn't ever imagine Barney saying that to a woman; his love would not take the form of affectionate utterances but express itself in the way of most northern men, in the physical commitment to providing a roof over the heads of his wife and bairns and working all hours to provide for their needs. And then she mentally shook herself, silently admonis.h.i.+ng the waywardness of her thoughts. It didn't matter what Barney did or didn't do, for goodness' sake! This was the start of a new life and she would give it her all.

'May I kiss you again before you go and tell Gertie the glad news?'

She nodded, and this time when his lips met hers he felt a response in their softness which thrilled him but which made him warn himself, Careful, careful. Her lips told him she was as innocent as they come and he could easily frighten her. He would have to go and visit one of the establishments he knew of and get some relief, however; he had satisfied the hunger of his flesh for too long to continue abstaining. Self-denial was all very well for monks and clergymen but he wasn't made that way, and if he was to get through the engagement and remain sane he would need some a.s.sistance.

They were brought apart by Nellie's voice saying, the tone bright, 'Oh, so that's the way of it, is it?'

Oliver turned to face the girl he privately thought of as far beneath him, and his voice was cool when he said, 'Miss Burns has just done me the honour of agreeing to become my wife. That is the way of it.'

'Really?' Undaunted, Nellie grabbed hold of Josie and hugged her. 'You're a dark horse if ever there was one; you haven't breathed a word of this.'