‘Y-you’re a boy.’ Rose felt the blood rush to her cheeks and she hastily averted her gaze.
Fancello clenched his fists. ‘You are a wicked boy, Clementino.’
‘I don’t understand.’ Rose looked from one to the other. ‘Why have you made your son pretend to be a girl?’
‘Are you mad?’ Fancello demanded angrily. ‘The patrons would not pay to hear a choirboy sing. They want to see pretty girls on stage.’
‘But I am not a girl,’ Clementino protested. ‘I never wanted to be a girl. You have turned me into a freak.’
‘You are an ungrateful child,’ Graziella stormed, clutching her hands to her breast. ‘Haven’t we given you everything?’
Rose looked Clementino in the eye and experienced a sudden surge of sympathy. ‘What’s the matter? Don’t you want to perform any more?’
‘Don’t put ideas into his head.’ Fancello glowered at her. ‘He is our little star.’
‘I’m not your little star,’ Clementino’s voice deepened. ‘You hear this? I can no longer be a girl. I am a man now.’
‘You are not yet fourteen.’ Graziella held her hands out to him. ‘You are my baby still.’
‘I am growing up, Mamma.’ Clementino dropped the shawl to the ground, flexing his biceps. ‘You cannot force me to wear a dress and sing like a girl.’ He fingered his chin. ‘I have to shave twice a day. Do you want to put me in the circus as a bearded lady?’
Rose picked up the shawl and laid it on the arm of the sofa. ‘You must listen to him, signor. Can’t you see how unhappy he is?’
Fancello turned on her. ‘I didn’t send for you so that you could give me a lecture. I want you to persuade this bad son to honour his parents and do as we say. He might listen to you because he will not listen to his mamma or me.’
‘Clementino is right,’ Rose said slowly. ‘You are making a show of him and it isn’t fair. He just wants to be himself.’
Clementino pointed a shaking finger at Rose. ‘She speaks the truth. She understands me, but you don’t. I will kill myself if you make me go on that stage tonight.’ He reached for a bottle of gin and held it to his lips.
‘No!’ Graziella leaped to her feet and snatched it from him. ‘What will we do, Alessandro?’
‘I am ruined.’ Fancello subsided onto a chair. ‘Ruined by an ungrateful child. The show will close tonight. I cannot go on.’
Clementino threw back his head and laughed. ‘It is a punishment for the way you have forced me to live these past five years, wearing dresses and bows in my hair. I will do it no longer.’
‘Where will we find another act to compare with our dear child?’ Graziella moaned.
‘Where will you find someone who works for next to nothing?’ Clementino reached for a shirt and slipped it on. ‘I intend to go home to Naples where I hope to join the opera buffa, and train to be a basso buffo. You have used me long enough.’
Fancello held his head in his hands. ‘We will have to close.’
‘We cannot let our patrons down tonight,’ Graziella said, rising from the sofa. ‘Sing for us just once more, Clementino? Just once more, for your mamma.’
‘No. Never again.’ Clementino tossed his long dark locks and stalked out of the room.
‘I know the words to most of his songs.’ Rose looked from one bleak face to the other. ‘So does Cora. We could do Clementino’s act just for one night, but we would expect to be paid extra.’
‘It would be a travesty.’ Fancello threw up his hands. ‘I won’t allow it.’
‘Yes, you will, Alessandro.’ Graziella moved to a side table and unlocked a tin box. ‘Do what you can, Rose. Here is your pay, including extra for tonight. We will not be requiring you again.’
Rose accepted the money. ‘What will you do, signora?’
Graziella’s full lips twisted into a semblance of a smile. ‘We will return to Italy. We have family in Naples, and I wish to be close to my son. Perhaps one day he will forgive us for what we have done to him.’
‘I hope he will, signora.’ Rose left the room. As she made her way slowly down the stairs, she noticed for the first time that the treads were worn and plaster was flaking off the walls. She must, she thought, have had stars in her eyes when she first came to Fancello’s saloon, and if she were to admit the truth she had enjoyed every minute of each performance. Papa would be horrified and Mama might never speak to her again, but she had loved the limelight and revelled in the applause. Now it had come to an end, and the distress she felt was not entirely due to the shortfall in the amount they needed to free Billy. She would miss the excitement of leading a double life, and the ever-present danger of discovery, but she could not help feeling sorry for Clementino and his parents. She went to give Cora the bad news.
Both their performances went down well, and the audience did not seem to notice the absence of the child star, but as they took their final bow and exited from the stage Rose found herself embraced by Clementino. It was the first time she had seen him in male clothing and he was every inch a handsome youth.
‘Thank you, Rose,’ he said, kissing her on both cheeks. ‘You have saved my life.’
Cora stared at him in amazement. ‘Well,’ she breathed. ‘Who would have thought it?’
‘Good luck, Clementino. I hope everything turns out well for you.’ Rose watched him walk away with a feeling akin to envy. His metamorphosis was complete, and now he could fly away like a butterfly emerging from its pupa: there was no such escape for a young woman like herself. This adventure was over, and now she must return to a life of duty and diligence, at the beck and call of her father and then the man she might ultimately marry. Her brief stab at independence, albeit for a just cause, had come to an end. How they would find the money to pay for Billy’s defence was a problem yet to be solved. She turned with a start as Cora tugged at her sleeve.
‘Stop daydreaming, Rose,’ Cora said impatiently. ‘I’ve seen him. Gerard is seated at his usual table and he is on his own. I must speak to him.’
‘It’s over, Corrie. You won’t see him again after tonight.’
Cora tossed her head. ‘We’ll see about that.’ She pulled back the curtain and ran down the steps to join Gerard. His handsome features dissolved into a charming smile as he stood to greet her. Rose turned away. She had seen enough to realise that there was more to her sister’s relationship with the young aristocrat than she had at first suspected. It was another complication in an already difficult situation. She went to their dressing room and began taking off her stage make-up.
It was almost midnight when they returned to the vicarage, having first stopped to change their clothes at Polly’s establishment. It had been decided that Maisie should remain at the vicarage until morning, as it was unsafe for her to walk home alone at this hour of the night. Even as Rose opened the scullery door she sensed that all was not well, and, as she entered the kitchen she heard the sound of groaning. A single candle guttered on the table leaving the room in deep shadow, and she almost tripped over Maisie, who was lying on a mat by the range. She was curled up in a ball, clutching her belly and moaning piteously.
Rose went down on her knees beside her. ‘What’s wrong? Are you ill?’
Cora lit a lamp and held it over them. ‘What’s the matter?’
Maisie raised a pale, tear-stained face and her mouth contorted with pain. ‘I dunno, miss.