The Parliament of Blood by Justin Richards Read Free Book Online Page B

didn’t want to be seen leaving. Charlie knew some gentlemen – and some clubs – were like that. He barely glanced at the cab as he walked past.
    And froze in mid-step. Colour in the grey of the fog. Brilliant red, burning through the colourless air around it. The shape that Eddie had drawn in the dust. Charlie almost called out in triumph, and took a step closer to the carriage, staring intently at the shape. No doubt about it – this was the carriage Eddie wanted.
    â€˜You – boy!’ The voice was clear and commanding, cutting through the fog from above.
    The driver of the carriage was leaning down towards Charlie, whip in hand.
    Charlie stepped back, ready to run. But something about the man’s deep dark voice made him hesitate, as if his feet did not want to obey his fear. ‘Sorry,’ he stammered. ‘Just looking.’
    â€˜Who are you?’
    He answered despite his fear. Like his voice was not his own. ‘Charlie Frankham. From the Kenton Workhouse. I didn’t mean no harm.’
    As the Coachman raised his whip hand, a door at the back of the building opened. Light washed through the swirling fog, illuminating the Coachman’s face for a moment.
    A face like a pale skull.
    In that moment, the spell was broken. Charlie’s legs began to feel like his own again. And he ran.

    â€˜I sometimes think,’ Marie Cuttler confided in Liz, ‘the only time that man feels emotion is when he’s on stage. Perhaps that’s why he does it.’
    They both turned slightly to watch Malvern as he paced the stage, occasionally adjusting a piece of furniture or an ornament in Marguerite Gautier’s room.
    â€˜I hardly know him, I’m afraid,’ Liz said.
    â€˜I hardly know him myself,’ Marie said quietly. ‘And we’ve been appearing together here for over five years.’ She smiled. ‘I mustn’t be too down on him. Many years ago, he gave me my first real chance on the stage. And you’ve seen yourself, he’s an accomplished actor.’
    â€˜That scene between you was incredible,’ Liz told her.
    â€˜Thank you, dear.’
    The words sounded quaint and odd coming from such a beautiful young woman. Though now that Liz was close to Marie, she could see that her face was thick with make-up and her cheeks were pink with rouge. Beneath it, MarieCuttler was not so young as she would like to appear. But then, that was true of many of the women in the theatre. Experience came with the greatest price of all …
    â€˜Henry tells me you’ve some little acting experience yourself.’
    â€˜Little is right,’ Liz said, feeling her cheeks redden without the need for rouge.
    â€˜That’s lucky.’
    â€˜Why?’
    â€˜I need a maid,’ Marie said. She laughed as she saw Liz’s expression. ‘I don’t mean I
really
need a maid, dear. But little Beryl who was playing Marguerite’s maid didn’t turn up this evening. Henry says he always worried about her and doesn’t expect to see her again. He’s usually right. Good at judging character. What do you think?’
    Liz felt her face was burning now. ‘Me? But, what if Beryl does come back? What if she’s been ill or something?’
    â€˜What if she doesn’t?’ Marie countered. ‘It isn’t a big role. Not many lines. But lots of time on stage with Marguerite. I need someone I can get on with, and just between the two of us, Beryl was such a …’ She stopped and laughed. ‘Well, I won’t say what she was, but I’m sure you get the idea. She wasn’t someone I could easily talk to. Be a friend.’
    â€˜I, well …’ Liz was blustering. ‘My father, he doesn’t really … That is, I’m not sure if I could – if I’d be able to …’ Her voice faded as she ran out of words, still without saying what was on her mind.
    â€˜But would you do