And so Ragazzo became a shop boy, living and working in the pastry shop in Hungerford Hall, sleeping under the counter at night, serving all day, always sweeping out and cleaning up, and although he liked it well enough and Lorenzo Branca was fair, Ragazzo was lonely.
In the late summer evenings he would wander down to the river to watch the boats coming and going and the hay boats unloading their great bundles of hay on the quay for the Haymarket close by. Or he would go up to Signor Carlo's cafe in the Great Hall to talk to the other boys who worked there. But they were always too busy or too tired to pay much attention. In his wanderings, he discovered that they held shows and exhibitions in the Great Hall and it was there by chance that he saw a diorama for the first time the - Funeral of the Duke of Wellington with its procession through the streets of London.
He had never believed he would visit the show. The Gattis had been and Rosa had given him a confused account of its marvels when she and her mother had passed by the shop, but as even the cheapest seats were sixpence each, there was no chance that he could get in.
Then one dinner time he had wandered into the Great Hall and up the steps to the entrance to the diorama. A small crowd had collected waiting for the doors to open for the afternoon performance and Ragazzo stood longingly by the door, craning his neck to see into the dark interior.
"Psst." A lad about his own age, just inside the door beckoned to him. Ragazzo looked round. The doorkeeper was turned away talking to a lady with a little girl. Swiftly he moved in. It was very dark inside but following the boy he walked down a central aisle between rows of seats. In front of him, a wide screen with a painted cloth stretched on rollers, filled the far end of the hall.
Phutt, phutt. Two jets of gas flared suddenly behind the screen
and Ragazzo could see horsemen and buildings appear on the painted cloth, and
behind a man with a taper, moving. The man put his head round the side of the
cloth.
"Jack, Fred, come on, light up. It's near opening time. George, we
must roll back the cloth."
He handed the taper to another boy, who appeared from the darkness, and started to turn a handle at the side of the screen. Magically the horsemen and carriages began to move backwards until the scene changed into one of a great castle by the sea.
Round at the back, Fred with the taper was lighting further gas jets but turning them down low so that the castle on the screen appeared subdued and mysterious. Ragazzo watched in wonder.
"That's it, Jack," said the man, making fast the cloth. "You can get the doors open now and let 'em in."
At that, Ragazzo's new found friend went to tell the doorkeeper all was ready. The doors were flung open and an eager crowd began to make its way warily forward in the semi-darkness, to their seats. Ragazzo stood nervously in the shadows till Jack returned. Jack beckoned again and disappeared behind the screen. Ragazzo followed. To his surprise he found there a bass drum on a stand, a chime of bells and beyond that a man seated at a small portable organ. After a few minutes, the first man stationed himself at the side of the screen. Jack picked up the drumsticks and at the man's signal, sounded a roll of drums. This silenced the audience and the show began.
It was a moonlit scene at Walmer Castle where the great Duke died. There were 'oos' and 'ahhs' from the audience. Then the sad music crept in and the scene changed to his Lying in State at Chelsea Hospital. Fred moved swiftly, lighting more of the gas jets, and suddenly it was day and before all eyes the great funeral procession began to move through the streets of London, to the measured beat of a funeral march. There were contingents of infantry and the Guards on their fine horses. There were the great guns of the artillery and behind them the huge funeral chariot, pennants waving, drawn by twelve black horses, the bier draped with a deep black velvet pall and on top of all, the Duke's scarlet coffin bound with brass, with his Cap and Sword.
By now Ragazzo had crept round to the front of the screen. He stood entranced, the slow march and the drums beating in his ears. On the procession wound, through Hyde Park and Piccadilly, past St. James Palace, down the Mall and into Trafalgar Square and the Strand. It had in fact come past Hungerford Market.
Hungerford Market - the shop! He should be in the shop! He turned and stumbled blindly out of the darkened hall, with people complaining and shushing him as he reached the door. Breathless he ran down to the Main Hall.
"Where have you been, Ragazzo? You've been away nearly an hour. You're lucky Signor Branca's not here. You would have been for it."
But now he was running, running to fetch Signor Carlo. It was night and behind him there was a red glow in the sky. Hungerford Hall and the diorama were burning! As he reached the end of the Strand, he heard shouts "Hi, hi, hi," and looking down into Fleet Street, he saw the fire engine coming towards him, the firemen shouting as they drove along. For a moment the horses were checked by the traffic, but then the cabs and carts pulled aside and the horses surged forward again, the driver slapping the reins on their backs and the two brakesmen standing on either side of him ready to brake the engine to a halt or swerve it round some obstacle on just two wheels.
Crowds were forming in the street, people coming out of their shops to find where the trouble was. Ragazzo made a dive down an alleyway past the Bull Inn and took the short cut he knew through the maze of small streets and courts towards Holborn.
By the time he reached the Hill, his chest felt it would burst, the blood was drumming in his temples and he almost fell into the shop. At the bottom of the stairs he shouted. "Signore, Signore, vieni subito. Come quickly. The Market's on fire!"
The Signora appeared at the top of the stairs frightened and distrait. Then Signor Carlo came, putting on his coat, followed by Luke Corazza and some of the other workmen.
"We'll take a hansom," said Carlo, "Luke, Barthes come with me, the rest of you follow on as fast as you can." He was out in the street now, hailing a cab.
They all crammed into the cab. Ragazzo was thrust forward, jammed against the folding doors just above the horses' hindquarters and the smell of the horses and the musty hay strewn on the floor of the cab was overpowering.
"They say it was the gas. One of the boys lighting the jets
accidentally let the taper touch the cloth and it caught fire."
"Jesue,
not in that crowded hall - all those people."
"No, no the evening
performance hadn't started."
"God be praised," said Carlo.
"They
called the fire engine. It was coming down the Strand as I ran up."
"You
did well," and turning to Luke, Carlo said, "That's the second fire we've had
in the Market."
"Well, what can you expect? I always did say that
new-fangled gas was dangerous."
The cab had set a good pace until they reached the Strand, but there they found the street crowded with people some of whom were moving down the road in a solid mass. Shouting abuse and raising his whip, the driver tried to force a way through but all to no avail. In a moment the cab seemed stuck fast.
"Best to walk from here," said Carlo. "Quicker."
They all got out of the cab and began to push their way through the crowds. Carlo with his hand on Ragazzo's shoulder was sometimes forced to lift Ragazzo right off the ground to force a way through.
