The Yellow Silk Scarf

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An alternative universe story set in Soho and the London music hall during the 1890s

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Chapter 2

Contents

Chapter 2

Big barges full of yellow hay
Are moored against the shadowy wharf
And like a yellow silken scarf
The thick fog hangs along the quay.

Noel never spoke about his meeting with Mallory, or about their subsequent meetings over the next two months. Julian was anxious about it, but he never got clear answers to his questions, so in the end, stopped asking.

In every other respect, he was enjoying his new life. After a week the Palace found a replacement pianist, and Julian left the orchestra to work permanently with Noel. At first the act remained the same, but gradually they introduced the new songs they were writing together. They also developed their Mister and Missus routine which the audience loved, even though they presented a marriage that made Punch and Judy’s look harmonious.

Their partnership, in reality, soon found its own eccentric rhythm. Julian woke early each morning and left for Rose Street, taking the omnibus with the clerks and shop keepers when he could afford it, and walking when he could not.

He had his own key now and he let himself into Noel’s rooms, where he went directly to the piano. He had the next few hours to himself to practice and compose, watched over by Noel’s menagerie of creatures. They crept into his writing too; he found his compositions turning stranger and wilder as his mind tuned into their calls and howls, their scratching claws and flapping wings.

Noel refused to consider rising earlier than noon, so Julian became used to his surfacing dreams providing an accompaniment to his work. He also got used to a sleep-hazy Noel, at last awake and in his questionable nightwear, following the mysterious paths of his waking rituals; all to do with tea, hair and excavating for lost clothes.

They would usually rehearse for an hour or two in the afternoon, and then, on days when there was no matinee, see to whatever business required attention before it was time to leave for the evening shows.

To Julian’s disquiet, Noel often spent this time with Mallory. He knew a meeting was scheduled because Noel became silent and preoccupied. Bathing and dressing carefully before he left; intent and seriousness replacing his usual joy in the task. When they met again, at their first engagement, he would only ever admit to having taken tea.

Julian knew Mallory often came to see the show, but Noel took care to keep them apart. On these nights, Mallory’s Brougham carriage would be waiting at the stage door for Noel, and their customary post-show visit to the Crown had to be foregone.

Autumn turned to winter, and Christmas day was a rare, free weekday. They spent it together anyway, eating goose and steamed pudding around Noel’s landlady’s table with the other Rose Street lodgers. Julian, trying not to catch Noel’s eye while Heinrich, their resident anarchist, tried to persuade him to the theory of spontaneous order and sell him a pamphlet.

The white cat curled up on Julian’s lap as he sat at the landlady’s piano afterwards, and he and Noel entertained the group with songs. It was a mismatched crowd but Julian almost felt as though there was somewhere he belonged.

~*~

January 1895 saw winter at its deepest. The daylight hardly seemed to penetrate, and solid ice formed in the water jug each morning. The first snow fell in the middle of the month, starting as Julian made his morning omnibus journey, settling quickly and thickly on the pavements and melting on the horses’ manes.

That morning, Noel woke after Julian had been at the piano for only an hour. He lay awake listening to him play, only rising when Julian stopped to rest and light a pipe.

At the bedroom window, Noel watched the snow turning the disordered landscape of rooftops clean and white.

“I’m going to the Square,” he said. “To look at the snow before it goes to sludge. Come with me, Jude.”

“All right,” Julian said, a little reluctantly. “Aren’t we going to work on West End Wolves?”

“It can wait an hour,” Noel said, amused at his dedication. “I want to talk to you about something.”

“You want an eel, boy?” The pea soup man shouted to Julian as they passed his stall. His top hat was trimmed with snow and the bird that habitually roosted on his shoulder fluffed its feathers and withdrew into itself, staring out with black beads for eyes. “What about you, young lady?”

“What about you getting your monocle polished?” Noel called back.

“Why is he always here?” Julian asked, not expecting an answer.

“His name’s Hitcher,” Noel said, tipping back his bus conductor’s cap, so flakes fell against his face. “Mallory’s paying him to spy on me.”

“Are you sure?” Julian asked, shocked.

“He can’t help it, he’s possessive.”

“How can you be so easy about it?”

Noel sighed. “I’ll tell you all, if you want to hear it.”

The garden at the centre of the square was deserted but for a fluid population of street children conducting snow wars across the empty expanses. When a new front in the battle opened on to the street, Noel and Julian had the square to themselves.

They walked together, making the first tracks in the untouched fall where the children had not ventured. It fleetingly reminded Julian of the moors outside Whitby. When snow fell there, the roads were impassable for days and the whole town came out to help dig sheep from the drifts.

“I’m thinking about going back to Mallory,” Noel said when they found a seat in a little sheltered arbour.

“Back to him? Do you mean he would manage the act?”

“That,” Noel said carefully. “But not only that. I would go and live with him.”

“But who is he?” Julian exclaimed. “Why has he this power over you?”

“Do you want to know the story?”

“I…yes.”

“Are you sure, Jude? Because once you’ve heard it, you won’t be able to unhear it and I don’t want to chase you away.”

“You won’t,” he said. “I mean it this time.”

“All right.” But he did not seem to know where to start. “Let’s get a drink, shall we? You’ll need one in front of you for this, and I’m not from Yorkshire so I’m about to freeze to death out here.”

They got no further than Hercules Pillars, the pub at the end of Rose Street, settling at their usual table by its fire with their drinks. The pub was beginning to fill with a lunchtime crowd of working men and, heads close, they spoke in lowered voices.

“It may be hard for you to believe,” Noel began. “But I wasn’t always the respectable citizen you see before you.”

“I’m shocked.”

“Yes I thought you would be.” He wound his hair around his finger and began. “Remember I told you my parents were in the New World? Well, they left for America when I was sixteen. I grew up in Kent, and I’d been working in their tailoring business until then. I didn’t want to go with them, so before they left, they bought me an apprenticeship with one of the tailors in Lambs Conduit Street. I often wonder how life would have turned out if I had followed that path, but it came to nothing. Something happened and I lost my position.”

“What happened?”

“Another story for another time. But it was bad enough that I couldn’t get another respectable position. But I was young and hardworking, and I could get less respectable jobs. I worked at the penny gaffs round your way in Waterloo and the Old Kent Road. First collecting entrance fees and working back stage, and then taking part in some of the theatricals. If you can call them that. You know the places, don’t you? Some of the entertainments are of the lowest kind.”

The stagehand wages were poor, and we all slept in the room they were using for a theatre; a freezing basement below a pub. The pay wasn’t enough to live on and I needed to make more money. I soon discovered I could earn a month’s wage in a night by going outside with some of the customers.”

He waited for Julian to understand his meaning. “You mean you –?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, this isn’t a pretty story. But I had long known my preferences did not lie with women, so it wasn’t a particular hardship to get on my knees in a back alley. And you are looking confused, Jude. Bless you for that.”

Julian had not actually considered it possible for a man not to desire women. He had thought of what went on between men in the secret clubs, and in places like the lavatory of the Crown, as a kind of hobby. Like croquet. He decided, just this once, not to reveal his ignorance.

“Go on, Noel.”

“Anyway, one of these men who came looking to buy a boy was John Mallory, and he noticed me. The club he owned put on female impersonator acts, and he offered me a job there as a waiter. We would all dress as ladies and go among the customers, selling them drinks and charging a shilling for a dance, or whatsoever they wanted. When I was younger I looked very feminine and some of them like that. Maybe it makes them feel they are not going with a boy at all.”

The story was already worse than Julian had anticipated. He thought of his father, the only teacher the poor children had in their town. He remembered how he would listen patiently with a grave expression and clasped hands, to the tales told to him by his pupils and their families, how he would do his best to help, and never chastise or judge.

“Do I go on?” Noel asked, catching his expression.

“Yes,” he said. “It’s all right,”

Noel smiled gratefully. “Mallory took a shine to me. He told me not to dance with the customers anymore, and had me stay at his house; a beautiful place in Bloomsbury, which he still has. When I was at home he had me wear women’s gowns and made all his servants call me ‘Miss’.”

“Good God,” Julian murmured.

“I didn’t mind the dresses,” Noel said. “I’m a hopeless case, Jude, you know that. The other business I just found funny. Of course I had to sleep in his bed, as well. That didn’t bother me too much either; I had known what it was like to be hungry and homeless and now I was sleeping in clean sheets and dining like a king. Please don’t look so shocked. I couldn’t bear it if I disgusted you.”

“You don’t,” he answered honestly. “It’s just we don’t have this sort of thing in Whitby.”

“I don’t advise you to take a wager on that.” Noel paused to swallow a mouthful of brandy as he found the right words to continue. “The nicest thing Mallory did for me was pay for singing lessons. I think he wanted to turn me into his own accomplished lady. Eventually I went from being a waiter to a performer and Lady Patricia was born.”

I learnt his kindness was on condition of complete obedience. I had to do everything he wanted. If I didn’t I found myself locked in my bedroom, in true romantic heroine style. Imagine that! I started to resent him; I wasn’t even twenty years old, after all. I began to socialise with the customers, just as he had told me not to. I was punished, of course, this time with a whip.”

“Noel.”

“Don’t get upset,” Noel whispered. “It was a long time ago.”

This was about the time the club was raided by the police. You’ve already heard this part of the story; Mallory was arrested for keeping a disorderly house.”

They arrested staff and customers too, and it was only by good fortune I wasn’t there at the time. I decided to leave, and luckily, I acted quickly, because although the club was shut down, Mallory escaped criminal charges. I took what I could carry, and what money I could find and left London by the railways. I didn’t see him again for more than a decade.”

“Where did you go?”

“Everywhere. I went to Glasgow first; it was the furthest place I could think of. I got a job in one of the music halls there, and then I travelled with a troupe. It wasn’t the Savoy, but I learnt my trade. I met Lizzy in Manchester when she joined the company as wardrobe mistress. I used to help her with the costumes and we got on well. I really did love her, I thought marrying her would be a way to put the past behind me. It worked for a while, but you can’t pretend forever.”

We came back to London two years ago. I’d been travelling for nine years, by then. I had started getting offers to take the Lady to the West End theatres, and Lizzy wanted to settle somewhere so she could open up a shop.”

I never thought I’d see Mallory again. I thought he would have been transported or sent to prison, but he had been living freely between Paris and London and managing his business. It didn’t take long for him to find me when he returned home this time.”

“And the first thing he did was break up your marriage.”

“No, the first thing he did was poach my pianist. He wanted to make a point.”

“And you are seriously considering going back to him?”

“He wants me, Julian,” Noel said, his voice so low as to be almost inaudible. “No one else does. I’m thirty years old, I’m not a pretty child any more and still he wants me, I never expected that.”

“But can’t you see, he thinks of you as his property?”

“He wants me to sing and he wants me to wear silk. Those are the two things I like doing most.”

“And what if, one day, you do something he disapproves of?”

“What happens in any marriage?” Noel sighed. “I don’t expect you to understand. If you’re like me, there aren’t many choices.”

Julian had actually forgotten he was having a conversation about a practice he never usually allowed himself to even think about. He did not dwell on it, all he knew was he could not allow Noel to give up his freedom to this man.

“Noel, please,” he said. “He’s dangerous; you know it better than anyone.”

“He’s changed since then, we both have. He’s respectful and considerate and I’m not so rebellious as I was. I’m dining with him tonight, after we finish at the Royalty, come with us.”

“Noel, I -”

“Come with us. You’ll need to meet him if he is to manage the act.”

“I have met him, remember.”

“Please, Jude.”

~*~

The request was made so urgently, Julian could not refuse, but he was not happy to find Mallory’s Brougham waiting for them outside the theatre when their last show of the evening was over.

The snow fall of the morning had been flattened into ice and the driver walked the nervous horse the short distance to Kettners, the animal’s snorting breaths loud in the muffled quiet of the snow covered city night.

Julian was more discomfited than usual in the evening suit he had worn on stage, but Noel was lively and talkative. He wore his blue velvet coat and, under that, a burgundy smoking jacket liberated from the Palace’s costume department, his scarf was artfully draped and a silk rose blossomed from his button hole. For reasons Julian had never felt strong enough to explore, Noel had taken to carrying a doctor’s bag about with him. This he clutched to his side like a faithful dog, the only sign he gave of nervousness.

Mallory appeared relaxed and at ease, perfectly groomed in his dress suit and great-coat. Once again Julian was struck by his imposing presence. He had charisma, but there was steel in his pale blue gaze; the eyes of a man who could take a whip to a young lover.

The word lover, even silently in his mind, brought a flush to his cheek. He finally, vividly understood this was what the two men sharing the carriage with him had been to each other, and were now for all he knew. Noel appeared unbidden in his imagination, on an ivy covered bed, naked and breathless, his creatures come to life around him, Julian’s own arms reaching for him.

Dining out was a rare event for Julian, and he had no experience of a restaurant like this. The private room Mallory had reserved was papered in muted gold and green and lit by twinkling electric lights in gilt candelabra. It made too small a space to be comfortable in. The menu in French brought him out in a cold sweat, as did the quantity and variety of wine glasses before him.

In the end Mallory ordered for them all, and course after course arrived. Sole, slices of tongue, and chicken in rich sauce were apparently only the beginning. Each course had its own wine, and each its own special pieces of cutlery.

Mallory also took responsibility for the conversation, giving the appearance of gracious interest in someone far lower down the social scale.

“So Mr Barratt, where do you reside?”

“I have a room in Brixton.”

“Goodness, how do you stand it? The factories in Lambeth and Southwark release the most noxious filth.”

“Then, why do you visit south of the river, Mr Mallory?” Julian asked evenly.

“Mal lives near the British Museum,” Noel cut in. “He thinks it makes him an intellectual.”

“And Noel believes living among the foreigners and revolutionaries means he can break all the rules.” Noel laughed, but Julian heard a clear note of rebuke.

“And do you find work easy to come by?” Mallory asked.

“I’ve been fortunate and never had to search for it,” Julian replied. “I got my place in the Palace orchestra soon after I came to London, and now I’m with Mr Fielding.”

“When Fielding becomes one of my clients, I can see about getting you a new position. There is always a need for a pianist of your calibre.”

“Why would I need a new position?” Julian asked. It had not occurred to him Mallory might, in taking Noel on, break up their working partnership. Evidently it had not occurred to Noel either.

“What’s that, Mal? Julian’s part of the act now.”

Mallory put down his champagne with studied casualness. “I have plans for your female character. They do not involve comedy, and you will be accompanied by my musicians.”

“You don’t understand,” Noel said, more firmly, the seasoned performer in him finally awakening. “Lady Patricia can’t do without Julian. The audience comes for both.”

“I understand perfectly,” Mallory said coldly. “But if that is the case then it would be impossible for you to become one of my…clients.”

“Mal?” Noel said. “You don’t mean it. I thought you liked us.”

“You’re still welcome to come to me of course. But I’m afraid I can’t use this good gentleman.”

“I see.” Noel was silent for a moment, staring into his plate of asparagus. Then he looked up. “I’m sorry, Jude.”

Julian said nothing, surprised by the wave of anticipatory sorrow washing over him.

“I wasted your time today.” Noel got to his feet. “We should have been rehearsing our new song. Perhaps we can start afresh tomorrow.”

“Aye,” he said, surprised again by the turn of events. “I see no reason not to. Good evening, Mr Mallory.”

He pulled loose his bow tie, and followed Noel out of the private room without looking back.

Outside, Noel walked slowly away through a fresh fall of snow, flakes settling in his hair before melting away. Julian lingered by the restaurant doorway, wondering if he should leave him to his thoughts, wondering if he might be regretting the unconsidered decision he had just made.

Noel stopped and turned when he realised he was alone. He trudged back to Julian.

“Come, Captain,” he said softly. He linked his arm with Julian’s and they walked together through the snow-bright Soho streets.

“I know I’ve made a fool of myself,” he said later, after last bells at the Crown, as they went their separate ways at Trafalgar Square. “It’s just there are some things I don’t want to always live without.

~*~

They were back at the Palace for their last show of the night. It had been a long day, as Saturday matinee days always were, and they were waiting for Professor Mangassarian to finish before they could begin.

They had been ready to go on for half an hour. The corset lacing, at which Julian had become an authority, wig adjusting and make up applying had all taken place two halls ago at the Alhambra.

For the first time in the five months Noel and Julian had been working together, Lady Patricia was the finale act. The not-naked girls had closed the first half to make room for her. It wasn’t worrying Noel, of course, but Julian was fretting quietly.

“I have a message for Rachel,” the professor said, and a young woman near the front stood up to cheers and applause. “It is your grandmother. She asks you to return the clock to the mantelpiece in the parlour.”

“She always did like it there,” Rachel admitted.

“We’re not getting on before midnight if he keeps this up,” Julian muttered, wishing he could free himself of the constrictions of his bow tie.

“I know,” Noel said. “The dead ought to stay dead. Not manifest themselves all over the place, passing opinions on domestic interiors. Gods these shoes are biting tonight.”

“I’m not surprised with those heels. You should get some stout walking boots, sir.”

“Brute.”

On stage, Mangassarian appeared to go into a trance, and with a hand to his forehead, announced his intention to ‘open his mind’. He had once told Julian, he did this to give himself time to make sense of the different voices competing to be heard. Just as if it were all real.

“Leave your tie alone, Jude.” Noel said, knowing he was tugging at it without even bothering to look. “You’re worse than the cat with its collar.”

“I don’t think I should be wearing an evening suit anyway.”

“Yes, you’ve mentioned that before,” Noel said smiling.

“If I’m supposed to be your uncouth husband, surely a shirt collar would be best.”

“But I’m dressed up like a Christmas tree, so you should be too.”

“Oh, you’re always -”

“Look,” Noel interrupted. “He’s drawing a veil.”

The professor, as usual, finished his act by announcing he would now ‘draw a veil’ between this world and the next. He bid the audience goodnight, the curtain dropped and the Chairman stepped up on to the stage.

“My apologies, madam,” Mangassarian said to Noel, who rolled his eyes. “The dead would be heard tonight.”

Then he turned to Julian. “Pardon me, Mr Barratt. Your father is here. He wants you to know, he is staying for the show.”

Noel understood his meaning before Julian did. “His father is alive,” he said crossly, moving Julian out of the way as the piano was pushed on by stage hands.

“He says he is sorry about the letter,” Mangassarian added obscurely, before leaving them.

For a moment, Julian thought his bowtie really was going to choke him. Noel seemed to understand this. He pulled the tie loose and slipped it off him. He replaced it, Julian noticed afterwards, with his yellow silk scarf, which had formed part of his own outfit, tying it into a version of a cravat.

“He’s a charlatan,” Noel hissed, taking his hand and leading them on to the stage.

They finished the evening in the Crown, celebrating their first time at the top of the bill and their two encores. But Julian could not help but dwell on what Mangassarian had told him. He resolved to write home and, he told himself, it would all be cleared up.

In his heart, though, he knew the ghost conjuror had spoken the truth. He had felt a hand on his shoulder while at the piano that evening, resting where his father’s hand used to when he practiced as a child.

So when he reached his lodgings, he was not surprised to find a letter waiting for him. The letter had been forwarded from an address in Clerkenwell, where he had stayed when he first came to London. His cousin, who had written it, must not have known his new address and the report of his father’s sudden death from a fever was two weeks old. He had not had a chance to say goodbye, he would not even have a chance to go to his funeral.

He poured himself a drink from the brandy bottle he kept for the coldest nights, and sat at the table, burning a candle to its wick and drinking. He fell asleep there and woke in the early hours, cold and sick. He crawled into bed, still in most of his evening suit, Noel’s scarf gripped in his fisted hand.

~*~

He was woken by a banging at the door. Shock and sadness came flooding back with consciousness.

“Open up, Barratt.”

He got up to let Noel in. His head ached and he was finding it hard to open his eyes. Noel’s spring flower shirt, in shades of green, mauve and yellow did not help.

“I’ve no idea where I am,” Noel said. “Couldn’t you have lodged any further from civilisation?”

“Come in, Noel.”

“Also there’s a man balancing on one hand on the bannister outside your room. Did you know about this?”

“Why are you here?” Julian asked, sinking back on to the bed.

“You didn’t come to play the piano, I was worried.” He examined the empty brandy bottle. “You’ve been pickling yourself. What’s going on?”

Julian found his cousin’s letter among the bedclothes, and gave it to Noel. Then he put his head in his hands.

“Oh, Jude.” Noel sat down on the bed next to him. “Do you suppose he was there last night, after all?”

Julian had been fighting tears, but this set off a flood of choking sobs. A hand in his hair, stroked gently for as long as it took him to control himself.

“Look, why don’t you get dressed and come back to Soho? Get out of this rat’s nest.”

“I was just going back to bed.”

“You’ll feel better after you’ve had something to eat. Then you can sleep if you want to. Come on, you can’t stay here.”

The warmth and colour of the two rooms in Rose Street drew him as strongly as they always did and he agreed.

He changed while Noel tutted over the condition of his dress suit. He bundled it into his doctor’s bag to take with him and, no doubt, put to right in time for tomorrow’s performances.

They travelled on the omnibus back to the West End. The trees along the roadside were blossoming as brightly as Noel’s shirt in the sunshine. Julian was sure only yesterday they had been bare. Perhaps winter really was at an end.

Noel made toasted cheese and heated soup for them both. Julian felt better after the comforting meal, eaten in his friend’s unobtrusive company. Then Noel pottered about while Julian drifted in and out of sleep on the sofa.

He woke, when the sun had already set, to the landlady’s cat making itself comfortable on his stomach. Noel had left a cup of tea on the pile of magazines and music scores which served as an occasional table. He sat up, rearranging the cat, to drink it.

Noel wandered over from the bedroom in his velvet dressing gown. He lit one of the lamps, and then curled himself up next to Julian on the sofa. Noel bathed more than any sane person, and apparently this was what he had been about while Julian dozed. He unwrapped his hair from a towel, and began brushing it dry.

“You’ll have to go home for a while, won’t you?” Noel said.

“Aye,” Julian agreed. “There’s the will. My father owned our house and he had an annual income. Now both my parents are gone –“ He stopped himself as this train of thought became too difficult. “I can stay for the engagements we have this week though, and you’ll be able to find another pianist while I’m away. I could ask –“

“We can take some time off, Jude. You must have as long as you need.”

“There’s no need for you to wait for me. It’s the Lady’s show. She’s what they come for.”

“That’s not true,” Noel said. “It is as I told Mal. Nothing works without you anymore. We are of one blood you and I.”

Afterwards he returned to that moment, trying to understand why he did what he did. The lingering affects of alcohol could be blamed, and the smell of Noel’s newly-washed hair, all almonds and spice. But in reality he had no comprehension of why he leaned over and kissed Noel softly on the lips, because it was done completely without thought.

He remembered Noel leaning into the kiss, but he was also the one who ended it, pulling away with a small gasp, and waiting, unblinking, for Julian to react. He leapt to his feet, disrupting both cat and tea cup.

“I- I’m sorry. God. I’m sorry.”

When he fumbled for shoes and jacket, and ran to the door, Noel did not try to stop him.

Hitcher was there as he came out of the house, still tending to his pea soup and hot eels. “Goodnight, boy,” he sneered, and his black bird spread its shabby wings and took flight in a jagged circle above their heads.

His thoughts as he stumbled home, incoherent as they were, sparked between London and Yorkshire. The river was a black ribbon tonight, it gave off a foul odour, he could not imagine why he was here; why he had left his father to die alone, why he was playing the halls for the drunken mob. He had allowed himself to mix with degenerates. He was becoming a degenerate himself. He made a decision.

When he reached his lodgings, he wrote a letter to Noel apologising for his behaviour. He wrote that, as a consequence, he considered it necessary to end their partnership. He would honour their existing engagements, but then he would be returning to Yorkshire permanently. He posted the letter immediately, because he did not trust himself not to weaken and change his mind.

Unsurprisingly he slept poorly that night. He thought of his father, wondered with a shiver what he might have made of the strange show he had created with Noel. He thought of Noel, his cheerful kindness, his brilliance, his true friendship; a friendship of like minds, as he had never known.

He thought of how it was to touch him, of stars exploding and planets colliding, and could not banish the thought.

~*~

He spent the following day making arrangements for his journey to Yorkshire; buying his train ticket and giving notice to his landlord. He dressed for the evening’s engagements, having to borrow a rather interestingly sewn suit from one of the acrobats. It was adapted for the performance of cartwheels, contortions, tumbling and the like. He could as easily have performed one of these feats as ask Noel for his own suit back.

Their first engagement of the evening was to have been at the Alhambra in Leicester Square, but at the stage door, Julian learned Lady Patricia was no longer on the bill.

“Your missus came up and cancelled,” the manager told him. “Family emergency, she said. Flanagan and Tucker are stepping in.”

“What about tomorrow?” He asked.

“All cancelled.”

Julian went on to their next two venues, both on the Strand, and heard the same story. There were no more bookings.

He would not see Noel again.

Not wanting to go home, he spent the passing hours of the evening at the Crown.

“Ah, Mr Barratt. What cheer?” He looked up to find Mangassarian at his table, drink in hand. “May I join you?”

“Aye, Professor,” he said, honestly glad of the company. “Are you finished for the night?”

“Indeed. And I understand you are off the bill for the time being. The audience missed you.”

“My father died,” Julian said, and Mangassarian was gracious enough not to look smug.

“It was not a difficult passing for him,” he said kindly.

“Thank you.” Julian hesitated. “How did he seem to you?”

“Content and at ease. He wasn’t angry or bitter as some of them are on the spirit side. A nice gentleman.”

“Yes,” Julian said. “He was.”

Mangassarian had always been easy company to drink with; not expecting too much from the conversation. His accent never seemed so strong when he was off stage. After a brandy or two, it was hardly there at all.

“Are you really Romanian, Professor?” Julian asked.

“Along the line,” he said vaguely.

“Is Mangassarian really your name?”

“I go by many names.”

“Oh?” Julian replied. “What are they?”

“You may call me Rudolph, if you wish.”

Julian wished Noel had been here to enjoy this. He had to stop doing that.

“Your father told me one other thing,” the Professor said. “You had to go on stage, so I could not mention it.”

“What was it?”

“He said he liked your wife.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your dark-haired wife, who wears red velvet. I’m sure I have that right. He is happy you have found love.” Julian stared at Mangassarian; he found his expression earnest and innocent. “Is your love dark-haired?”

“You must have been mistaken,” Julian said. “I don’t have a love.”

End of part two