Loving Lily (Fair Cyprians of London 6)

“Oh, my, what a fine performance that was,” she said. “Your keening and crying brought the house down. I almost believed you was being murdered as you stood there.”

“But ’tis time ter stop!” snapped Mr Montpelier. “The people ’ave gone ’ome. There’s no need ter keep up such a racket. We’se yer only audience now.”

Lily struggled to sit upright. She felt drained and ill, and her head ached. “I was screaming?” she asked. She had no recollection of anything much beyond the fear she felt

upon opening her eyes to see the room so full of bright, expectant eyes.

“Screaming like a banshee. The audience loved it. They saw you as their victim as he suffered his final moments.” Mrs Moore’s expression was more kindly than Lily had ever seen it. “How did you manage it? You were not there, after all.” She leaned in further. “Do you know what happened?”

Lily shook her head.

“I know that you know more than you let on.” Her tone was conspiratorial, and Lily felt uneasy, for she really knew nothing and only wished she did.

But Mrs Moore was like a dog with a bone. “That woman, Celeste, knew him. Not that I told Mrs Renquist that, knowing as what kind of woman that Celeste was.” Her nose twitched. “And that you lived with her for a time, Mrs Eustace.”

“I didn’t earn my living as she did.”

Mrs Moore shrugged. “That’s neither here nor there. Fact is, you gave the audience just what they wanted. And now they’ve gone home, satisfied for tonight.”

“But more than eager to return for the finale,” Mr Montpelier said, collecting himself and delivering his verdict with the finesse that had no doubt served him well when he was a gentleman’s valet. “I wonder what you will deliver them, eh, Mrs Eustace?” He raised an eyebrow. “What can you deliver them that will top this evening’s performance. When, after all, you really do know nothing. How will we keep stringing them along?”

Lily furrowed her brow, unsure what he was saying.

He held the lamp up to consider Mrs Moore, who was crooning that as long as Mrs Eustace did perform as she had, then the people would be back every week.

“And when do you suppose the penny will drop, Mrs Moore? When do you suppose they will realise Mrs Eustace is a charlatan?”

Just as you both are, thought Lily.

Mr Montpelier looked troubled. “Next week they will return, looking for satisfaction. But again, they will be fed the smoke and the wails and the mystery. That’s when the dissatisfaction sets in.” He gripped Lily’s arm and gave her a shake. “Do you hear what I’m saying?”

Mrs Moore’s crepey neck wobbled. She leered down at Lily, pulling her to her feet and dusting down her gown as if she were some concerned mother hen when, really, she was preparing Lily for the next plan they had in store for her.

“We’ve ‘ad a little nibble, m’darlin’. Tonight, Mr and Mrs Bunting plan to call on you and discuss how you might speak to their dead little Nell from the spirit world.” Exchanging a look with Mr Montpelier, she went on, “Maybe you can get a nice fat deposit out of them before we have to close down shop when your husband comes to town. Well, at home doesn’t work so well when it’s a boarding house that smells of burned cabbage, so Mr Montpelier did a deal with Madame Chambon.” She sent Lily an expectant smile. “Yes, indeed. For the next two weeks, Madame Chambon has let you a lovely little villa in St John’s Wood where her girls sometimes entertain At Home.” Her cheeks puffed out and she looked enormously pleased with herself as she added, “So now you can do all your entertaining in just as much style, thanks to kind Madame Chambon.”

“For the next two weeks?” Lily clarified.

“That’s right,” said Mr Montpelier. “For as long as the people continue to come and pay good money to see Mrs Eustace.” He cleared his throat. “For as long as you can provide them with what they want to pay good money to see. And,” he added again for good measure, “until your husband comes to town.”

He helped Lily walk shakily to the sofa. “Get yourself in order, Mrs Eustace. You did well tonight.”

But that was the extent of his concern for her. Mr Montpelier saw that she had nearly outlived her usefulness. Lily could read between the lines. Next week, he would install some other bright young thing who would dazzle the audience as a sop to them learning Mrs Eustace had been taken by a seizure, or the killer, or whatever excuse he had for why she was no longer the star attraction at Mrs Moore’s seances.

While Lily would be sold on to Madame Chambon.

Chapter 20

They left her sleeping on a divan in the cold cellar, a blanket thrown over her.

So, that was as much concern they would show the woman who would soon make way for someone new and fresh?

Shivering, Lily crept through the silent household and into the street outside. The snow had melted, and the cobbles were slick with the recent rain.

“Miss, yer look done in!”

It was Grace who opened the door at Madame Chambon’s and led Lily up the corridor, depositing her in a small, unoccupied antechamber having hurried her through a room where several gentlemen lounged, sipping aperitifs; preludes to the sexual congress that had brought them here. One was elderly and looked as if he’d just stepped out of his club. He could have been anyone’s grandfather, so benign did he look.

The other was a young blood, eager and impatient, the way he shifted in his seat.