the theatre, Pa.’
‘The theatre?’
‘Yes, Pa. You remember, Madame Fabron needs her gown for the performance this evening.’
‘Oh, that. Yes, I do. Wretched woman thinks she can act. I’ve seen more talented performing horses. Don’t be long, Nettie. I want you to take a message to Duke. You’ll need to make full use of your feminine wiles because this painting won’t be finished today. He can come and view it, if he so wishes.’
‘Yes, Pa. I’ll be as quick as I can.’
Once again, Nettie left their rooms and made her way downstairs. She was tiptoeing past the Lorimers’ door when it opened and Biddy leaped out at her.
‘I heard you coming. I need help, Nettie. Mrs Lorimer’s having one of her funny turns.’
‘I’m sorry, Biddy. But I’m in a hurry.’
Biddy clutched Nettie’s arm. ‘Oh, please. I dunno what to do. She’s weeping and throwing things. I’m scared to death.’
‘All right, but I can only spare a couple of minutes.’ Nettie stepped inside the dark hallway and Biddy rushed past her to open the sitting-room door. The curtains were drawn and a fire burned in the grate, creating a fug. The smell of sickness lingered in the air. It took Nettie a moment to accustom her eyes to the gloom, but she could see Josephine Lorimer’s prostate figure on a chaise longue in front of the fire. She had one arm flung over her face and the other hanging limp over the side of the couch. Unearthly keening issued from her pale lips.
‘What’s the matter, Mrs Lorimer?’
Josephine moved her arm away from her face. ‘Who is it?’
‘It’s me, Nettie Carroll from upstairs. Biddy says you are unwell.’
‘I’m very ill. I think I’m dying and nobody cares.’
Nettie laid her hand on Josephine’s forehead, which was clammy but cool. ‘You don’t appear to have a fever. Perhaps if you sit up and try to keep calm you might feel better.’
‘How can I be calm when I am all alone in this dark room?’
Biddy shrank back into the shadows. ‘Is she dying?’
Nettie walked over to the window and drew the curtains, allowing a shaft of pale sunlight to filter in through the grimy windowpanes. ‘Mrs Lorimer would be better for a cup of tea and something to eat, Biddy. Have you anything prepared for her luncheon?’
‘There’s soup downstairs on the old witch’s range, but I’m scared to go down there. She’ll put me in a pot and boil me for her dinner.’
Josephine groaned and turned her head away. ‘Have you ever heard such nonsense? I’m supposed to be looked after by that stupid girl.’
‘I’m not stupid, missis,’ Biddy muttered.
‘Come with me,’ Nettie said firmly. ‘We’ll go down together. Ma Burton may be an old witch, but she doesn’t eat people.’
Biddy backed away, but a fierce look from Josephine sent her scurrying for the door. ‘All right, I’ll go, but you must come with me, miss.’
‘We’ll be back in two ticks.’ Nettie lowered her voice. ‘She’s just a child and she’s scared.’
Josephine’s lips trembled. ‘I need someone like you – someone capable and caring, not a silly little girl.’
Nettie gave up her attempt to reason with the irritable patient and followed Biddy from the room.
Ma Burton was tucking into a bowl of soup with evident enjoyment. Nettie suspected that Ma had helped herself from the Lorimers’ saucepan, but it would cause trouble if anything was said. Biddy kept so close to Nettie that she might have been mistaken for her shadow, but Ma Burton was too busy eating to make a fuss. To Nettie’s astonishment, she allowed them to take the pan and leave without adding anything extra to the usual charge of one penny for use of the range.
‘There, you see, she’s not so bad after all,’ Nettie said as they climbed the stairs to the ground floor.
With the hot pan wrapped in her apron, Biddy was careful not to spill a drop. ‘The missis will probably throw the soup at me – that’s what she did last time. I had bits of carrot stuck in me hair for days afterwards.’
‘I’ll make sure she behaves better today.’ Nettie struggled to keep a straight face. She could understand the frustration on both sides: Biddy was a child, taken from the orphanage because she was cheap labour; Josephine was the unhappy wife of a neglectful husband, with no recourse other than to play on her delicate constitution in order to gain attention. Nettie resigned herself to taking charge of the situation until Josephine was fed and comfortable, and, Nettie hoped, in a better mood. Biddy would no doubt improve out of all recognition if someone took her in hand, but that was unlikely to happen in the Lorimer household.
If Josephine was grateful for the food and Nettie’s undivided attention, she hid it well. She complained that the soup was too hot, and that it was too salty. She nibbled a slice of bread and butter Nettie prepared for her and then threw herself back on the cushions, complaining of a headache.
‘Fetch my medicine, girl,’ Josephine said feebly. ‘I need laudanum. Hurry up, you silly child.’
Biddy stood on tiptoe to reach the brown glass bottle set up high on the mantelshelf. ‘I’m doing it as fast as I can.’
‘There, you see what I have to put up with, Nettie.’ Josephine held her hand out. ‘Give me the bottle, girl, and pour me some water. Not too much.’
Nettie took the laudanum from Biddy. ‘Has the doctor prescribed this, Mrs Lorimer?’
‘Mind your own business and give it to me.’
‘I have a better idea,’ Nettie said, glancing out of the window. ‘The sun is shining so why don’t you come for a walk with me? I’m delivering this gown to Madame Fabron at the theatre. Wouldn’t you like to see them in rehearsal?’
Josephine clutched her hands to her bosom. ‘I haven’t been outside these rooms for over a year.’
‘But you can walk,’ Nettie said firmly. ‘You aren’t in pain.’
‘I have pain everywhere, and I am so tired, but I can’t sleep at night.’
‘She is always saying that,’ Biddy added, nodding vigorously. ‘She is always complaining.’
‘Be quiet,’ Josephine snapped. ‘Who asked you, girl?’
‘It isn’t far to walk to the stage door of the Adelphi. Why not make an effort, Mrs Lorimer? The fresh air will do you good, and maybe you’ll feel a little better. You might even see Miss Furtado rehearsing, if you’re lucky.’
Josephine raised herself to a sitting position. ‘I saw Teresa Furtado perform at Drury Lane. We used to go to the theatre often before I became ill.’
‘If Biddy will fetch your outdoor things,
