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Authors: Kate Griffin
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his right hand rubbing at the ridged and melted skin beneath his blind eye, like he was trying to pull it back to see me more clearly.
‘Dressed as a what?’ I was indignant. ‘She gave me money to buy myself some better clothes, so I did. What of it? And Fitzy says I should look my best at all times – like a lady. I might be up there half-naked in that cage, but I don’t want to give the Johnnies the wrong idea, do I?’
I smoothed the skirt of my new blue satin dress. It was cut to the fashion with a snug bodice and tight sleeves that frothed into a billow of lace at the elbow. I shrugged my shoulders so that the lace that was tucked around the dipping neckline came up a bit higher and I pulled the coat tighter round me. Lucca’s words had made me feel self-conscious, but worse, I knew he was right.
‘I’ll wear what I like,’ I snapped. ‘And I’ll mind my language if you mind your manners. You don’t own me, Lucca Fratelli.’ I stood up, took off his old coat and threw it on the bed, then I rammed a new feathered bonnet down over my curls and turned to the door.
‘I might as well freeze in my own room back at Mother Maxwell’s.’
Lucca sprang up and caught my hand. ‘I’m sorry, Fannella, truly. Don’t go, please. I was thoughtless.’ He smiled apologetically and squeezed my hand. ‘I’ll put some more coal on the fire. It seems so long since we talked properly – like before?’
He kneeled in front of the hearth again, poking at the glowing coals with the shovel. The scarred half of his face was hidden in shadow as he got a lively little fire crackling.
Not for the first time I found myself thinking what a good-looking lad Lucca would have been if it wasn’t for the accident. No, more than that – he would have been beautiful. His profile was perfect, like one of them statues he was so fond of showing me in his arty books. Lucca had a veritable library piled under his bed – mostly in Italian, although the pictures were lovely.
As I stood there, I noticed how his eyelashes curled and how his lips seemed very firm and distinct and of a sudden I wondered what it might be like to kiss them. Lucca looked up and I saw the melted half of his face again. Would it matter, I wondered? I felt a flush spread up from my neck and across my cheeks.
‘That’s better, Kitty, you look warmer now – accogliente .’ Lucca grinned and patted the threadbare carpet in front of the fire. I rustled down next to him, crossing my legs under the stiff satin skirt that peaked up around me like a small blue tent. I kept my eyes fixed on the fire, not wanting to give him the idea that I’d been thinking about anything other than getting cosy.
It was a funny thing, me and Lucca. Apart from Joey, there was no one I cared more about in the world. When he’d come to work at The Gaudy, just after his accident, none of the other girls would talk to him at first. They were afraid of his face, which looked a lot worse then, I can tell you, what with all the flaking bits of skin and the angry red ridges of scorched flesh that stretched down to his collar.
But one evening I was clearing up in the gallery, singing away as usual, and after I’d finished I heard someone clapping from the stage. It was Lucca, who was working late on a painted bit of scenery. That was the first time he called me Fannella.
I suppose I’d just turned fifteen at the time and Lucca was . . . well, I’m not too sure to be straight with you. I’d lay a bet he’s never more than twenty now, so he must have been about seventeen then. And that’s another thing, see, Lucca never talks about his past, about his accident or about how he came to be here in Limehouse.
He’ll talk about his village back home, and about Naples where he was prenticed, and sometimes he’ll talk about his family – brothers, sisters and that. But if I was to ask him about where he was before The Gaudy and what brought him to London in the first place, he’ll slam
‘Dressed as a what?’ I was indignant. ‘She gave me money to buy myself some better clothes, so I did. What of it? And Fitzy says I should look my best at all times – like a lady. I might be up there half-naked in that cage, but I don’t want to give the Johnnies the wrong idea, do I?’
I smoothed the skirt of my new blue satin dress. It was cut to the fashion with a snug bodice and tight sleeves that frothed into a billow of lace at the elbow. I shrugged my shoulders so that the lace that was tucked around the dipping neckline came up a bit higher and I pulled the coat tighter round me. Lucca’s words had made me feel self-conscious, but worse, I knew he was right.
‘I’ll wear what I like,’ I snapped. ‘And I’ll mind my language if you mind your manners. You don’t own me, Lucca Fratelli.’ I stood up, took off his old coat and threw it on the bed, then I rammed a new feathered bonnet down over my curls and turned to the door.
‘I might as well freeze in my own room back at Mother Maxwell’s.’
Lucca sprang up and caught my hand. ‘I’m sorry, Fannella, truly. Don’t go, please. I was thoughtless.’ He smiled apologetically and squeezed my hand. ‘I’ll put some more coal on the fire. It seems so long since we talked properly – like before?’
He kneeled in front of the hearth again, poking at the glowing coals with the shovel. The scarred half of his face was hidden in shadow as he got a lively little fire crackling.
Not for the first time I found myself thinking what a good-looking lad Lucca would have been if it wasn’t for the accident. No, more than that – he would have been beautiful. His profile was perfect, like one of them statues he was so fond of showing me in his arty books. Lucca had a veritable library piled under his bed – mostly in Italian, although the pictures were lovely.
As I stood there, I noticed how his eyelashes curled and how his lips seemed very firm and distinct and of a sudden I wondered what it might be like to kiss them. Lucca looked up and I saw the melted half of his face again. Would it matter, I wondered? I felt a flush spread up from my neck and across my cheeks.
‘That’s better, Kitty, you look warmer now – accogliente .’ Lucca grinned and patted the threadbare carpet in front of the fire. I rustled down next to him, crossing my legs under the stiff satin skirt that peaked up around me like a small blue tent. I kept my eyes fixed on the fire, not wanting to give him the idea that I’d been thinking about anything other than getting cosy.
It was a funny thing, me and Lucca. Apart from Joey, there was no one I cared more about in the world. When he’d come to work at The Gaudy, just after his accident, none of the other girls would talk to him at first. They were afraid of his face, which looked a lot worse then, I can tell you, what with all the flaking bits of skin and the angry red ridges of scorched flesh that stretched down to his collar.
But one evening I was clearing up in the gallery, singing away as usual, and after I’d finished I heard someone clapping from the stage. It was Lucca, who was working late on a painted bit of scenery. That was the first time he called me Fannella.
I suppose I’d just turned fifteen at the time and Lucca was . . . well, I’m not too sure to be straight with you. I’d lay a bet he’s never more than twenty now, so he must have been about seventeen then. And that’s another thing, see, Lucca never talks about his past, about his accident or about how he came to be here in Limehouse.
He’ll talk about his village back home, and about Naples where he was prenticed, and sometimes he’ll talk about his family – brothers, sisters and that. But if I was to ask him about where he was before The Gaudy and what brought him to London in the first place, he’ll slam
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