Becoming Lola Page 10

  Catherine replied with an invitation for Eliza to stay for as long as she liked. On the post coach north, she reflected that such generosity was very likely more than she deserved.

  *

  Her life in Edinburgh was quiet and unassuming, but at first, she was glad of it. She did not want to be noticed and she was content to spend her days helping Catherine or reading. She immersed herself in the novels of Sir Walter Scott, and when she had exhausted those, the poetry of Burns. How fortunate his lover was, she thought wryly. He promised to love her until all the seas ran dry. The merest puddle had barely had time to seep into the dry earth before George Lennox fell out of love.

  One damp, gusty Monday, she and Catherine had spent the morning baking. The windows in the stone-flagged kitchen streamed and the smell of warm, fresh bread, nutmeg and cinnamon filled the steamy air.

  Catherine wrapped a thick cloth around her hands and pulled a tray of scones out of the oven. ‘I’ll take some of these to Mrs Anderson. The poor soul has been in bed all week with a chill.’

  Eliza looked out at the grey sky and scudding clouds. ‘I think I’ll stay here and read for a few hours.’

  Catherine tipped the scones onto a rack to cool. ‘I’ll go and get ready then,’ she said.

  When she had gone, Eliza sat by the fire. Her attention soon wandered from the book in her lap. She had been in Edinburgh for five months now. She was fond of Catherine but she didn’t want to stay with her forever. With a sigh, she put down her book and stood up. Perhaps she should have gone to visit Mrs Anderson after all.

  She went out to the hall and up to her bedroom to find her sewing basket. A pile of stockings needed mending. A dull chore, but at least it would pass the time. When she came downstairs again, one of the maids was talking to a man at the front door. He saw her standing at the bottom of the stairs and pushed past the girl.

  ‘Mrs James?’

  Eliza frowned. ‘Yes, but what business of yours is it who I am?’

  He came closer. She caught the smell of mothballs on his rusty black suit.

  ‘I have come to inform you that your husband, Thomas James, has petitioned for divorce on the grounds of your adultery with one George Lennox.’ He held out a paper sealed with red wax.

  Eliza took it and broke the seal. She felt numb as she scanned the words. Then anger welled up inside her.

  ‘How dare he do this? He drove me away with his cruelty.’

  ‘The rights and wrongs of the matter are not my concern, Mrs James. I’m only the messenger. I have done my duty, now I wish you good day.’

  When Catherine returned, she found Eliza huddled on the bottom stair.

  ‘Whatever’s happened?’ she asked anxiously.

  Eliza held out the paper. Catherine’s frown deepened as she read.

  ‘It’s taken a long time for the news to reach Bareilly,’ Eliza said bitterly, ‘but Thomas has found me out at last. He wants his revenge. He intends to divorce me, but it will not be the quiet affair I once hoped for. I shall be branded as an adulteress. The whole of society will shun me.’

  Catherine’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh Eliza! I had so hoped that one day you and Thomas might live together again as man and wife.’

  Eliza felt Catherine’s strong arms about her, rocking her to and fro. The older woman’s sympathy overwhelmed the last vestiges of her self-control and she gave way to tears.

  ‘There must be something we can do,’ Catherine soothed. ‘I’ll write to Sarah Watson straight away. Thomas is very fond of her. Perhaps she can persuade him to change his mind.’

  Eliza gulped down her tears and shook her head. ‘It will do no good. Why should he? I wasn’t happy with Thomas, but I can’t deny what I did.’

  ‘You’re a brave girl, Eliza,’ Catherine said gently. ‘Whatever happens, I promise there’ll always be a home for you here with me.’

  *

  Slowly, winter slackened its grip on the grey city. Icicles melted from the railings and the eaves and darkness no longer fell in the middle of the afternoon, but there was still no news of when the trial would begin.

  Eliza read in the newspaper reports that Thomas had not only named Lennox in the divorce proceedings, which had to be held in the ecclesiastical courts, but had also lodged a claim against him in the civil courts for substantial damages on the ground of seduction. As far as she could ascertain, Lennox had bolted to France to avoid the charge. She didn’t feel any sympathy for him.

  In the days that followed, Catherine was tactful and never mentioned Eliza’s predicament, but Eliza was painfully aware that her disgrace was the subject of gossip. She feared that her kind friend’s reputation would be tainted by her plight and she tried constantly to think of a way she could leave Catherine’s house and support herself. Work as a governess or lady’s companion – the least regarded person in any household – would have been respectable, if not at all congenial, but even that would be impossible now.

  It was a while before the idea that she might make her way in a more glamorous sphere, perhaps as an actress, formed in her mind. The more she considered the prospect, the more attractive it seemed. ‘I’ve always been complimented on my looks,’ she mused. ‘They should be an advantage.’

  She remembered a celebrated elderly actress she had met in London, who had planned to set up a school of acting after her retirement. It was a moment before the name came back to her – Mrs Fanny Kelly.

  ‘I’ve made up my mind to go to London,’ she announced to Catherine the next day.

  ‘To London! But why? How will you support yourself there?’

  ‘I shall become an actress.’

  Catherine’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth to protest, but Eliza held up a hand.

  ‘Dear Catherine, you’ve been so kind. I know there are probably a hundred reasons why I shouldn’t go, but I have to do something. I’ll go mad if I don’t.’

  Catherine sighed. She knew how stubborn Eliza could be. If there was a rift between them now, it might never mend.

  ‘If it’s what you really want,’ she said at last, ‘I won’t try to stop you. Will you at least promise to come back if you need help?’

  Eliza hugged her. ‘Thank you for understanding,’ she whispered. ‘Of course I will.’

  *

  The journey south, on a succession of post coaches, was slow and tedious. The inns were noisy with other coaches coming and going half the night. Food was expensive and poor and the beds were lumpy and damp. By the time she reached London, Eliza had spent most of what she had left over from Thomas’s allowance. She found cheap lodgings and went straight to see Fanny Kelly.

  Fanny Kelly’s life on the stage had inclined her to favour a bohemian mode of dress. She was tall with a narrow, olive-skinned, aristocratic face which she accentuated by concealing her greying hair with elaborate turbans fastened with jewelled brooches. She wore flowing, heavily embroidered robes in the oriental style. The effect was imposing and, Eliza thought, a little intimidating. She was glad Fanny did not ask too many questions and agreed to take her on as a pupil for a fee she could just afford.

  In the months that followed, some of the lessons went well, but others were not a success.

  ‘How many more times must I tell you to speak up?’ Fanny snapped after a difficult morning. ‘London theatres need big voices, or the audience won’t hear a word.’

  ‘I’m doing my best.’

  Fanny’s tone softened. ‘I know you are.’

  Eliza sighed. Over time, she had developed an affectionate respect for Fanny and had come to confide in her and trust her opinions.

  ‘I’ll never be good enough,’ she said sadly. ‘What am I to do, Fanny?’

  ‘Life is precarious for us women without the protection of marriage or family. Are you still determined not to return to your husband?’

  ‘Determined.’

  ‘It’s always possible to find other men to pay the bills.’

  Eliza gave her a wry smile. ‘You kn
ow that I already do, but . . .’

  ‘You don’t love any of them,’ Fanny finished for her. ‘And I think you have too much heart and spirit to go on that way for ever. So you must support yourself. But not in the way you have chosen.’

  She touched Eliza’s cheek. ‘You are a beauty and you fill a dress splendidly, but you won’t make an actress. Don’t look so downcast. All is not lost. If you are determined to go on stage, there is another way.’

  She stood back and surveyed Eliza. ‘You move gracefully. It’s true you are too old to train as a ballerina, but other styles are less demanding. Spanish dancing, for example, is very popular at the moment and you have the looks. I could send you to someone who would teach you all you need to know.’

  ‘Do you think it would work?’

  ‘I believe it would.’

  Eliza thought for a moment. Perhaps she should try a different approach. Her mother had been born in Ireland, but had often claimed to have Spanish blood. The famous Fanny Essler had danced a bolero at the opera house a few evenings previously. It had looked far less difficult than the classical dances she usually performed.

  Fanny smiled. ‘Shall I send a note to my friend?’

  ‘May I think about it?’

  ‘Of course, you must take your time.’

  Eliza went to the door and collected her bonnet and cloak. In the hall, her escort for the evening waited. She stepped out into the dusk with him and felt the nightly fog that descended on London sting the back of her throat. She was glad she could look forward to an evening at the theatre and a late supper, with a warm carriage to drive her home afterwards. Lightly, she put her hand on her companion’s arm and gave her full attention to what he was saying. This latest one was younger than many of the men who squired her about town, and rather handsome. She would be glad of that when the time came to reward his generosity.

  *

  Two days later, she returned to Fanny Kelly and accepted her offer. On her first lesson with her new teacher, she knew she had found her niche. The dancing master, Don Diego Montez de Leon, an impoverished aristocrat exiled from Spain during the Carlist civil war, applauded as she completed the simple steps he had shown her.

  ‘Marvellous! I must admit I was not sure when Mrs Kelly sent you to me, but you have fire and passion. My job is already half done.’

  The lessons continued to go well and Eliza grew fond of the elderly, dapper man who was, in spite of his large paunch, still very nimble on his feet. It was too soon to seek any engagements, he told her, but she was confident that would change.

  A month went by and then another. As the year drew to a close, the newspapers trumpeted the imminent hearing of the case against Lennox, which would be followed by the case of James v. James in the Court of Arches. Eliza began to fear that her carefree days were doomed.

  ‘What will become of me?’ she asked Don Diego. ‘Half London will turn out to watch the trial. I shall have to endure endless pointing and whispering and at the end of it all, no theatre will employ me.’

  ‘People forget,’ he shrugged.

  ‘But not soon enough.’

  ‘You do not have to stay in London.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Spain is pleasant at this time of year. My family there would help you, and you could perfect your dancing.’

  ‘It’s an interesting suggestion.’

  ‘You might even consider a more radical course.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Your dancing has improved a great deal, but if you returned as a true Spaniard, how much more romantic and fascinating your audiences would find you.’

  ‘Change my name?’

  ‘Why not? At a stroke, Mrs James would disappear.’ He flourished the cane he used to beat time. ‘Pouf, she is gone.’

  Eliza thought for a moment. It was a bold plan, but it tempted her. The alternatives were not appealing: at best public ridicule, at worst hostility. A life dependent on the whim of any man whose fancy she caught and loneliness and fear when her looks faded, as one day they must. Don Diego’s suggestion offered the possibility of a different course, perhaps one that would allow her to control her fate.

  She lifted her chin. ‘I’ll do it,’ she said.

  Chapter 13

  To raise the fare, she sold the jewels she had been given by her more generous admirers and, with Don Diego’s letter in her trunk, set sail from Southampton a few weeks later, bound for Cadiz. Winter seas made the crossing a rough one, but she had always been a good sailor. As the ship neared port, the days grew warmer and she felt full of hope. In the harbour at Cadiz, bright flags fluttered at the mastheads of a huge assortment of steamboats and sailing ships. She noticed many of the fishing smacks had eyes painted on their bows. She remembered her ayah’s tales from long ago of the magic eye that warded off bad luck. She would be glad of such a talisman now.

  She disembarked and joined the crowds on the quayside. Don Diego’s family lived in Seville and she knew the steamer did not leave for two days. As she stood wondering which way she should go, a swarthy man with sharp, black eyes smiled at her.

  ‘Can I help you, senorita? You need somewhere to stay?’

  ‘Do you know of a cheap place?’

  ‘Si, si, I will take you.’

  He grabbed her valise and hurried off at such a speed she had difficulty keeping up with him. He led her through a maze of narrow streets – she feared she would never be able to retrace her steps – until he stopped at the entrance to a small courtyard surrounded on three sides by shabby houses. Her heart thumped. She was alone in a strange city. Perhaps she should not have followed the man, but it was already too late. He had disappeared through the door of one of the houses.

  Inside, she found a cool, dark hallway. At the far end of it was a narrow flight of stairs. She was just in time to see the man shoulder her valise and bound up them. At the top was an open door.

  She entered the room cautiously and, as she did so, heard a swift movement behind her. A sinewy arm encircled her neck. She smelt sweat and fear.

  ‘You give me your money and I will not hurt you.’

  Eliza fought for breath. The blood roared in her ears and her eyes clouded as panic mounted.

  ‘I have no money,’ she gasped. Summoning all her strength, she kicked at him and caught him on the shin. He howled with pain and, for a vital instant, his grip slackened. She wrenched away and swung round to rake her nails down his face, then, before he had time to recover, she flew down the stairs and out into the courtyard. She didn’t stop running until she had exhausted her last ounce of strength.

  She sank down on a bench beside a fountain and splashed her face with the cool water. Her hand went to her bodice where she had sewn in a small packet before she left England. She closed her eyes and gave thanks. The wretch had her valise but she still had her money. And she had learnt a valuable lesson. She would need something more than courage if she was to protect herself.

  For several hours, she tramped the streets until she found a cheap lodging house. The owner eyed her lack of possessions suspiciously, but thawed when she paid for two nights in advance. The following morning, she asked for directions to the nearest market and bought some clothes. She also sought out a stall that sold knives and chose a small dagger with a carved bone handle and a short, keen blade. As she tucked it in her belt, the old man who kept the stall nodded. ‘You are alone, senorita?’

  ‘For now, yes.’

  ‘Then you are wise to buy this. The city can be a dangerous place.’

  *

  Two days passed before she was able to embark on the paddle steamer that would take her up the Guadalquivir to Seville. The countryside they sailed past reminded her of India: brown and dusty with few creatures apart from herons and storks fishing in the shallows, and even fewer people. At last, rounding a bend in the river, Seville came into view. It was evening and the setting sun gilded the venerable city walls and turned the rosy brick of the imposing Giralda tower to vi
olet.

  She went first to the house of Don Diego’s relations. It was even more humble than she had expected.

  ‘I fear the war has left us in greatly reduced circumstances,’ his sister, Carmela Montez, said sadly on the first evening, ‘but you are very welcome to stay for as long as you like.’ Later, Eliza discovered that her generous hospitality was typical of Sevillians.

  In contrast to Cadiz, where the steep terraces of tall, white houses seemed to peer over their neighbours’ shoulders for a view of the sea, Seville was a city of low buildings on a broad plain, huddled round the gigantic silhouette of its great cathedral. Many people whitewashed their houses three or even four times a year and the predominant colours of the city were pristine white and the hot blue of the Andalusian sky.

  It was hard to find work. The manager of the Teatro Real was courteous but Eliza left his office with nothing. Undaunted, she set off to try her luck at some of the famous theatre’s humbler cousins.

  Day succeeded day as she trailed around the city’s different quarters, until one afternoon, she stopped in a bar in a shabby part of town to buy a glass of wine to revive her spirits. She practised her Spanish on the bartender and learnt that a nearby theatre often needed chorus girls.

  The address he sent her to was a small square where a central fountain splashed into a stone bowl. A peasant stood by it watering his donkey. In answer to her question, he pointed to a house that was half hidden by a jacaranda tree. As was the practice in Seville, from the street, the theatre was indistinguishable from the private houses flanking it. The only sign it was a place of entertainment was the trio of lamps hanging above the entrance door. Inside, the floor was of plain earth and the air reeked of tobacco. Eliza soon discovered that Spanish audiences smoked incessantly.

  After a brief talk with the manager, she obtained a place in the chorus, dancing six nights a week. As she left with the small advance on her wages she had succeeded in winning from him, she noticed a man putting up gaudy posters beside the ticket booth. She gave a wry smile. Her theatrical debut was to be in the company of a troupe of gypsy acrobats and a strong man who went by the name of Hércule.