London's Calling. Elysabeth Williams
His eyes locked again on the feathered woman and realized she was also still staring at him. Sebastian grabbed his shoulder to gain his attention and the spell was broken for good. What drew her gaze to his?
Dante had weaved through the crowd and out the doors into the night. Sebastian called for him but he couldn’t stand his company anymore. He walked until the stray voice was a distant murmur.
Now, standing on the curb alone, he pulled a pocket watch from his jacket and noted the time. Too late, he mused. He looked into the sky, noting the heavy clouds hanging close. It would most definitely rain soon. Dante looked about, wondering if he should just walk or find a cab.
In the midst of a decision, he was shoved from behind and thrust into the street in front of a speeding carriage. Dante caught himself with his arms before his face smashed into the ground. The whinnying of the horses and their hooves kept coming. He rolled to the side and out of the way.
“Watch wot yer doin,” the cabby shouted down from the driver's seat as he veered around him. Dante jumped up and returned to the sidewalk while looking around for the person who'd pushed him. A form shifted under the gas lamp less than a block away and ducked into an alley. Dante sprinted to catch up.
Dante cursed under his breath as found nothing but darkness and walked further in, hoping to find the culprit. He ran his hand down the cool bricks of the building, feeling his way into the darkness. Only a faint, foggy lantern lit the end, marking the next street over. With such little visibility, he wasn't able to duck the fist that came raring into his face, knocking him unconscious.
* * * *
Delilah opened her steamer trunk and shoved a costume inside. Someone banged on the door and she slammed the lid shut.
“Come,” she barked. She pulled her rose-colored robe around her tightly and faced the door, waiting for a fight to barrel in.
An older man entered, a stubby cigar clenched in his teeth. Delilah’s unease waned as she recognized her stagehand friend, Charles.
“Artie wants to see you, doll,” he grumbled, chewing the cigar into the other side of his mouth. “He ain’t happy about you showing yer bits off.”
“I’ve already spoken with Artie. He’s dismissed me.”
“Oh, right.” He looked down and stubbed his shoe into the ground. “Sorry ‘bout that. Maybe he’ll feel better about it tomorrow, eh?”
Delilah ran her hand through her hair. No, he wouldn’t feel better about it. She was finished. Of course, Artie thought it happened on purpose. No, it wasn’t possible the seamstress didn’t attach her top on properly, she mused, sarcastically. She knew she couldn’t trust that drunken woman to do anything right. Never mind the fact Artie was bedding the tart. Gossip of their secret relationship flowed as freely as the liquor in the bar.
“No, Charlie. I believe I’m done with this place,” she managed to choke out, unable to believe herself. She had worked here for so long it had become her home away from home. Or in recent history, her only home. Evicted onto the street by her proprietor just two nights past, she would pack her costume trunk for the last time and take a carriage out of town for good. The thought made her eyes blur with tears. Charles grumbled and crossed the room to hug her. Delilah felt the fatherly pat of his hand on her back as she fought back her emotions.
“It’ll be awright, doll. Ol’ Charlie will be here for you any time you need. You can always come down to the house with me an’ the missus if you want.” He stepped back and offered a graying old handkerchief to her.
She smiled and dabbed her eyes with it. “I couldn’t do that to your family, Charles. Your house is already so full of children. I wouldn’t dream of adding another mouth to feed. I’ll figure something out.” She nodded and handed back the handkerchief.
Charles waved it away and shuffled toward the door. “You know where to find me, doll. You were always one of my favorites here.” He smiled as he opened it. Delilah was sure she saw his eyes tear up too. She watched Charles close the door behind him and choked on a sob.
The old stagehand had worked here since the opening night and took to her after a rather trying night when she’d fallen off her trapeze. Since then, they developed a familial friendship and she was sad to leave him behind.
She glanced around the room at all the costumes strewn about. The regal colors of the rainbow were splashed on the bricks in sequins and satin, feathers, and velvet. It was her colorful life in material. Delilah recalled every scene and every movement as she looked at them. All the great laughs she had and the wonderful attention she received at the end of each performance. The men there had been generally kind to her. That was more than she could say for most burlesques. Miss Merriweather’s was top notch in London’s entertainment. Since Jillian Johnsworth took over the establishment when her father, the previous owner, died and employed her close friends, Delilah was more than happy to join the ranks of business-minded women.
The three women immediately booked Delilah for the headlining spot for the grand reopening of Miss Merriweather’s–After Dark. It was a new lease on the old secretive rooms and details…Miss Merriweather’s had been transformed. The new owners were more interested in involving anyone who was interested in coming to be entertained, be it man or woman. There would be something for everyone. It was a new take on the nightclub scene. Equality for all.
The seedier bits of the club were taken away, and the notorious ‘backrooms’ were done away with entirely. It wasn’t uncommon to be approached for such extra money from the men, she soon found out on opening night. Some of the gentlemen were difficult to dissuade from their old habits. Such was the life, she supposed. But it was home.
She sat, staring at years of her life through tear-filled eyes. With a sigh, Delilah stood and began the task of packing up bits of her memories into the trunk to leave the rest behind. It was over. Time for a new start.
Once Delilah finished packing all she could stuff in the case, she wiped the tears away with the back of her hand and dressed. After composing herself, Delilah leaned out the door and called for a stagehand to help her with her trunk. As a young man ran to help, she turned down the lamp and silently said goodbye to her dressing room.
Delilah waited on the dimly lit curb for a cab. Pulling a watch from her reticule, she glanced at the time. She sighed, knowing it wasn’t likely there would be anyone out this late at night. She scanned the area around her to see no one there. A cold shiver tickled her spine.
She grabbed one handle of her trunk and wheels popped out the other end. A brass handle extended with the press of a button and she tilted the trunk, rolling it down the street. A gas lamp illuminated the gently swinging sign of a hotel entrance. Delilah hoped she’d find someone still awake to let a room.
She walked briskly, not liking the general feel around her after she left work. This side of town wasn’t necessarily a bad place to be, but being alone and in the early hours of the morning still made the small hairs on her arms stand. Something didn’t seem right.
She picked up her pace as she approached the entrance of a darkened alleyway. Her foot caught on something and she tripped. Delilah looked down and stifled a scream, seeing an upturned hand. She backed away, knocking over her steamer trunk, and fell on her behind.
A moan emitted from the darkness. Delilah gasped, smacking the moving hand with her purse. The moans turned into curses and she skittered backward on hands and feet trying to get away. The owner of the hand crawled out into the lamp light on his knees, clutching his stomach. Delilah noticed the blood running from his nose and lip. He flicked a glance to her and she realized exactly who it was. It was the man who had been staring at her in Miss Merriweather’s. She stood quickly and went to his aid.
“Sir! Do you need help? Shall I call for an ambulance?”
He shook his head then held it with his free hand. Staggering, he moaned again and sat on the curb. Unable to decide what to do, Delilah sat with him and pulled out the handkerchief Charles had given her earlier to dab away the blood on the man’s face. She figured it was clean