Codlinsâ?â
He started it for her, but Eliza quickly joined in, very loudly and off-key, making Celia wince.
âThere was a little woman, as Iâve been told,
Who was not very young, nor yet very old;
Now this little woman, âer living she got
By selling codlins, âot, âot, âot!â
âNow Iâll be thinking of them âot codlins all night,â Eliza complained, rubbing her rumbling stomach. âWell?â she asked them brightly. âWhat did you think?â
They had arrived in Curzon Street. At that moment, the hackney carriage rolled to a stop and the jarvey gave a shout. Fitzclarence quickly opened the door and climbed out.
âThat was extremely interesting , Miss Eliza,â Celia told her. Opening her reticule, she took out a card. It was pale pink with her name printed in gold. âCome to the theatre tomorrow, and weâll find something for you to do.â
Eliza cradled the card in her cupped hands. âOh, Miss St. Lys!â
Taking Fitzclarenceâs hand, Celia climbed out of the hack.
âWhat the devil am I supposed to do with her?â he wanted to know.
âWell, she canât stay with me ,â Celia replied. âI have my reputation to think of. Get her a room somewhere, and something to eat. Some hot codlins, perhaps.â
âWell, she did sing for her supper,â he said grudgingly, as Celia took out her purse and handed him a single gold sovereign. He kept his palm open until she gave two more. During the silent negotiation, Fitzclarence had become aware that they were being observed.
âDonât look now,â he said as he escorted her up the steps to her door, âbut thereâs that nosy neighbor of yours. Whatâs his name, Dickory? That spaniel of his must have a bladder the size of a pea. He always seems to be out walking it in the middle of the night.â
âGood evening, Mr. Dickson,â Celia called out pleasantly.
The gentleman with the spaniel whirled around, apparently startled at the sound of her voice, even though he must have heard the hackney arriving. A middle-aged man with a pleasant, if bland face, he squinted at them through thick spectacles in the flickering light provided by the street lamps. âMiss St. Lys! Is that you? IâI was just walking Queenie.â
âHello, Queenie!â Celia called out sweetly. The spaniel instantly broke free of its master and bounded toward her.
Fitzclarence recoiled in disgust as Queenie sniffed his boots. âFor Godâs sake, why do you indulge these people?â he muttered angrily to Celia.
â These people have made me rich,â she replied softly. âAn actress is nothing without the affection of her public.â Bending down, she patted the spanielâs head. âWhat a good doggie! You must be so proud of her, Mr. Dickson.â
For a moment, Mr. Dickson stared at the beautiful actress, but then he seemed to gather his courage. âYou shall have a puppy from the next litter, Miss St. Lys!â he blurted out.
âOh,â said Celia, a little taken aback. âThat is very good of you, Mr. Dickson, but IâI am so seldom at home. It wouldnât be fairâto the puppy, I mean.â
Behind her, the door of her house opened, and the huge hulk of Tonecho, her Spanish manservant, filled the doorway, a branch of candles in his fist. Formerly a sparring partner to Mendoza, the famed boxer, Tonecho clearly was not a man to be trifled with. âGood evening, Doña Celia,â he growled.
Mr. Dickson shrank noticeably. Braver than her master, Queenie gave a low, warning growl.
âItâs all right, Queenie,â Celia assured the spaniel. âThatâs only Tonecho. His bark is worse than his bite.â
âCome, Celia,â Fitzclarence commanded. Quite out of patience with her insipid conversation with this nobody and his dog, he caught her by the elbow.