Chapter Forty-Three
Damien hadn’t believed Mr Jane before – when he’d said that your future was a choice. That’d felt … too easy, too simple, somehow – because all life had taught him was that it didn’t matter what choices you made. It didn’t change who you were. Didn’t change what you deserved.
But sitting there, surrounded by Ava’s family – he’d felt as though he were part of something again. Something bright, and warm, and wonderful, and it’d made him wonder if perhaps Mr Jane had been right. Perhaps it was as simple as choosing.
Damien swallowed as he rapped his knuckles against the stage door, as Bertie swung it open in a swirling cloud of tobacco.
‘You’re early,’ she said with surprise. ‘Lillian wasn’t expecting you for another two days.’
‘Tell her to meet me in her office,’ said Damien, stalking past her. ‘For I am quitting.’
‘Quitting?’ Lillian said, her cane clacking upon the floor as she stepped into the office behind him, silencing the chittering birds in their cages with one sharp shh.
She looked tired, dark smudges peppering the skin beneath her eyes, her red hair scraped into a merciless bun.
‘You’re the second person to say that to me today. ’
‘No need to act surprised,’ said Damien, taking a seat on the other side of her desk. The fire was not lit, and a chill hung in the room, but for once Damien was grateful for it, for it would hide the flush upon his face. ‘This was always a temporary arrangement.’
Lillian arched an eyebrow as she released the magpie from its cage. It didn’t hop up her shoulder this time, instead it simply waddled to the very edge of the desk, and tilted its head at Damien. ‘I don’t remember giving you a deadline.’
‘I am setting one,’ said Damien. ‘I’m done. We’re done.’
‘This is all very sudden.’ Something flashed in Lillian’s eyes, shark-like, and hungry. ‘Did something happen?’
Damien kept his chin up, his gaze steady. ‘No.’
‘No?’ Lillian stroked the magpie’s feathers with long, red fingernails. ‘Then these pangs of conscience come from – where?’
‘I’ve always had a conscience,’ said Damien gruffly. ‘I just choose when to exercise it.’
‘And you’ve chosen now?’ Lillian’s gaze was sharp as she studied him. ‘After weeks of being very happy to take my coin in return for a few lies?’
‘Yes, well, some lies are bigger than others.’
Lillian’s mouth twitched up a little at the edge. ‘Oh, I see,’ she said, sitting back in her chair. Her gaze locked upon him as she struck a match, and the flame flared, illuminating the vicious glint in her eyes. ‘Have found yourself growing attached, hmm?’
Damien fought to keep his expression neutral. There was no way that she could know that, no way she could guess that from looking at him. ‘Perhaps I am simply tired of being your plaything,’ he said.
‘Perhaps,’ said Lillian, blowing a cloud of smoke towards the ceiling. ‘But you didn’t complain before.’
‘Because I needed the money.’
Her eyebrows furrowed. ‘Has money fallen into your lap? Have you already booked your passage to America?’ She leaned across the desk now, so close that Damien could smell the cloves woven into her hair, mixing with the sour smell of smoke.
‘No,’ he said, willing his heart to slow in his chest, for his voice to remain steady. ‘My situation is what it was before.’
The curious glint in her eye flashed once more. ‘So then I was right. You have found yourself attached, and now you are in conflict. Your head, or your heart? Money, or love?’
‘There’s no conflict,’ said Damien, speaking now through gritted teeth. ‘I quit.’
‘That’s the wrong choice,’ tutted Bertie from behind him, giving him a start. He hadn’t even heard the door creak open.
‘It is such a pity,’ said Lillian, reclining once more, the cigarette balanced precariously between her middle fingers.
‘It is so much easier when they believe they’re helping me out of their own free will.
Once the threats come out … well.’ She gave him a smile that gleamed.
‘Let’s just say it’ll make these meetings a lot more fun for me, and much more of a chore for you. ’
Damien huffed a half-laugh through his teeth. ‘Oh yes? And what threat might that be?’
Lillian’s gaze raked him up and down. ‘Did I ever tell you the story of how I got my limp, Mr Carter?’
Damien rolled his eyes. ‘Is the moral of this story going to be “Don’t cross me”?’
‘Quite the opposite,’ Lillian said, her attention flitting down to her hands.
‘I performed the high wire, for my father’s show.
We travelled all over the Continent with it, but I always thought the act best performed without the net.
How better to show off my skills? My father …
he disagreed. It’s entertainment, he told me.
Nothing more. But I was stubborn. And so one night, I convinced the stagehands not to bring the net out.
The lights came up, the music started, and there I was – standing up high, nothing but a drop beneath me, ready to prove my father wrong. ’
Her gaze lifted, meeting Damien’s and steadying there.
‘I remember I was scared. So scared, but I was excited, too. This would be my moment – the moment I deserved. People would finally see me – and my talent – for what it truly was. And my father – he could do nothing. The lights were up. The music was playing. The audience was so quiet, it was like they’d all disappeared.
And I was alone up there, just me and the wire, and all I had to do – all I had to do – was cross it.
Like I’d done a hundred times before. A thousand times before. ’
She gestured to her left leg, which she kept awkwardly straight, and the cane beside her. ‘But of course you know the ending to this story already. I slipped. I fell. And you want to know what the worst part was?’
Damien didn’t want to know, but he nodded all the same.
‘I was almost there. I was almost at the very end – and that is where I went wrong. I could see it – everything I wanted – in front of me, and I stopped thinking about each step. I stopped being careful. And … I fell.’
Damien frowned. ‘I’m … not sure I follow.’
‘Then let me put it in simpler words,’ said Lillian, sitting back in her chair. ‘Stop working for me, and you’ll fall, too. Right into the hands of the man who’s looking for you. What was his name again, Bertie?’
‘Mr Briggs,’ said Bertie, and Damien felt his stomach lurch.
Lillian’s smile glinted. ‘You didn’t truly think I’d hire you without doing a little digging, did you Damien? Give him the man’s card, Bertie.’
‘Seems like he’s very eager to speak with you,’ said Bertie, shoving her hands into both trouser pockets and eventually fishing a tiny square of yellowing cardboard from her waistcoat. ‘He came past here wondering if we had any information on your whereabouts.’
Damien felt the world slow around him, felt the air in the room turn to ice as he took the card from her hands and studied the familiar, golden lettering. ‘He’s here? In Liverpool? You brought him here?’
‘Oh no,’ said Lillian languidly, stubbing out her cigarette upon the desk. ‘Mr Briggs found his way to Liverpool all by himself.’
Damien gripped the card between his fingernails, as though if he pressed hard enough he could make it disappear. ‘How long has he been here?’ he said. ‘Looking for me?’
‘A while,’ said Bertie.
‘And we’ve protected you,’ said Lillian.
Bertie twisted her voice into a lighter, lilting timbre. ‘“Oh, no sir, he’s not been around these parts. Not seen him. But of course sir, we would tell you the very instant we did.”’
Lillian’s gaze flattened as it settled upon Damien, her bright eyes dark. ‘It would be a shame for us to have to change our story so suddenly.’
He felt as though all his limbs had become unattached, as though the only part of him left was his heart, thudding against his ribcage and telling him to run. ‘If he is here, then I cannot be,’ said Damien.
‘If you flee now, he will find you,’ said Lillian. ‘He has passed your likeness around at the railway station, at the port. But if you stay, if you lie low, and you follow my instructions, I will ensure that that man leaves Liverpool on a wild goose chase that takes him far, far away from you.’
Damien looked up at her. ‘And why would you do that?’
‘Because,’ she said. ‘You’re worth more to me now than before.
Now that you have earned her trust.’ Lillian stood then, stepping around the desk, busying herself with one of the bird cages.
‘I need Ava back on my stage. I need her bringing in the coin she was before – and for that, I need her ready. I need her confident. I need my star back – and you will make sure she shines.’
‘No,’ said Damien, more forcefully now. ‘I won’t.’
‘You will,’ said Lillian. ‘But you’ll do more than that, too. You’ll make her want to come back to me. To the show.’
Damien met Lillian’s glare with his own. ‘I won’t manipulate her.’
‘Then I will call Mr Briggs,’ said Lillian. ‘And tell him that the rat he has been chasing since London is locked in my office.’
Damien turned, and realized too late that both women were between him and the door. ‘You don’t know what you’re doing,’ he said. ‘You don’t know what any of it is about.’
‘And I won’t know,’ said Lillian. ‘So long as you come every week with what I want to hear.’
Damien glanced behind her to the door. He could push his way out of here if he needed to – he’d been in tighter spots than this before – but what was the point if Mr Briggs was waiting for him at every station, every road leading out of the city?
He hated to admit it but Lillian was right, if he fled now then he would play into Mr Briggs’ hands: fleeing the safety of the sprawling city for the sparsity of its exits.
But if he stayed … if he did what Lillian expected of him …
Damien could feel that tiny seed of an idea that’d taken root when he’d kissed Ava begin to blacken.
‘And you?’ Damien lifted his chin to meet her gaze head-on. ‘How will I know you will keep your word?’
‘Because you won’t find Mr Briggs knocking at your door,’ said Lillian, giving him a smile that was all teeth. ‘That’s how you’ll know.’
Damien looked at her, and she at him, and he felt something inside of him wilt. Felt the pressure upon his chest grow as he sighed, and said: ‘Then you have a deal.’
‘Good,’ said Lillian, leaning forwards a little. ‘Now tell me again what she said before? About her mother’s dressing room?’