by Dilly Court
‘You’ll have to share with the rats,’ Fancy whispered, as Clemency dragged the last sack of potatoes into the kitchen. ‘I bet it won’t be the first time you’ve slept with a rat, Miss Sparrow.’
Clemency tossed her head. ‘I’d rather sleep with a dozen rats than share with you, ferret-face.’
‘Sparrow-legs.’
Clemency did not dignify this with a retort. She was much too worried about Jack and Ma, waiting outside in the freezing cold, wondering whether or not they would have a roof over their heads tonight. Fancy stomped off but returned a few minutes later with her arms full of bedding. She dropped a flock mattress, some patched blankets and a couple of pillows in a heap on the floor. ‘I dunno why you should get your own room. I been here ten years, since I was took from the orphanage, and I still has to sleep on the floor by the range.’ She flounced into the kitchen and slammed the door, as if to underline her discontent.
Clemency could wait no longer. She went out into the area and ran up the stone steps. She found Jack, seated on the ground playing a tune on his whistle; Ma was huddled on the bottom step with her head tucked between her knees.
‘I got us a room, Jack. It ain’t much of a place, but until Mr Throop says I definitely got a job, I didn’t dare to tell him about you and Ma. Not yet, anyway.’
Jack stopped playing and smiled, pointing to his cap that lay in front of him. ‘Twopence, Clemmie. All in farthings, but it’ll buy us some bread and maybe some dripping.’
‘Let me help you down the steps. Then I’ll see to her.’ Clemency jerked her head in the direction of Edith, who appeared to have fallen asleep curled up like a robin with its head under its wing.
‘I can manage, ta.’ Jack tucked his tin whistle into his pocket and reached for his cap. ‘You see to Ma.’
She went to wake Edith.
‘You should have left me to sleep,’ Edith grumbled. ‘I would have slipped away peaceful, just like them stiffs they find in shop doorways, frozen to death.’
‘Stop it, Ma. Don’t talk like that.’ Clemency helped her to her feet. ‘I got us a room.’
‘I can’t walk. I can’t feel me feet. Oh, Gawd, I got frostbite for sure.’
‘No, Ma. Just put one foot in front of the other and I’ll help you down the steps.’
‘Not another blooming basement.’
‘Come on, one little step at a time.’
‘I could murder a drink. Me throat is so parched I could spit feathers.’
‘I’ll get you a cup of tea from the kitchen. Just be quiet, Ma.’
‘Tea! I meant gin, or a drop of porter.’
Clemency remembered the florin that lay untouched in her pocket. Since they weren’t paying rent for the room, she could spend it on food for Ma and Jack. ‘Maybe I can get a drop of Hollands for you, but only if you keep quiet and don’t let no one know you’re in me room.’
It took some time to get Edith down the steps, but when Clemency finally got her into the room she found that Jack had settled himself on a corner of the mattress. Even in the dim light, she could see that his expression was grim.
‘It’s just temporary,’ she said, lowering Edith down beside him. ‘And at least we’re safe from Hardiman. He’ll never find us here.’
‘It’s not right, Clemmie,’ Jack said, shaking his head. ‘You shouldn’t have to bear the burden of the two of us. What happens if we’re discovered? You’ll lose your job for sure. And the worst of it is, I can’t do nothing to help.’ He thumped his hand down on the ticking and a spurt of dust flew up in the air.
‘Shut up, Jack. This is just the start. When I gets in well with old Throop, I’ll introduce you and your tin whistle. You’re a better musician than the bloke what plays the flute. Why, I bet if you had a fine instrument like that, you could charm the pigeons down off the lions in Trafalgar Square.’
Edith leaned back against the brick wall and closed her eyes. ‘Never mind all the chitchat, fetch us that cup of tea, Clemmie, love. Me head’s splitting.’
‘All right, Ma. But please keep quiet. Mrs Blunt mustn’t find out you’re here or we’ll all be out on the street.’ Without waiting to see what effect her words had, Clemency opened the door and went into the kitchen.
To her surprise, the room was now crammed with people. Some of them were seated on the forms at the table, eating their breakfast, and others were standing about, drinking coffee and chatting. At the far end of the room, two young women were practising their dance steps, doing high kicks and showing their knickers, to the obvious enjoyment of the men seated at the table. Augustus was halfway down the stairs that led to the hall, and behind him came Lucilla with her blonde hair still tied up in rags and a sulky expression on her red lips. The rest of the band were already seated with their heads down, stuffing bread, cheese and cold meat into their mouths as if their lives depended upon it.
‘Ah, there you are Miss Clemency.’ Augustus stopped on the bottom step, causing Lucilla to bump into him.
‘Oh, Daddy!’
‘Look where you’re going, my little poppet. You trod on Papa’s heel and these are my best patent leather shoes.’ He advanced towards Clemency, beaming so broadly that his eyes almost disappeared into his florid cheeks. ‘As soon as we have broken our fast, Miss Clemency, we will give you a proper audition.’ He waved his arms as if embracing everyone in the kitchen. ‘You see, my dear. Most of these good people are fellow artistes, and who better to judge whether you have the makings of a real trouper?’
A desultory round of applause followed his speech, which Augustus acknowledged with a smile and a bow. He held his hand out to Lucilla and led her to a space at the table next to the man whom Clemency recognised as the flautist. Lucilla slumped down on the bench beside him and he slid his arm around her waist.
‘Fancy, my little ray of sunshine, be so good as to bring me the coffeepot.’ Augustus pulled up a chair and sat at the head of the table. He beckoned to Clemency. ‘Have you sampled Mrs Blunt’s culinary masterpiece? I speak of bread, soft, chewy, mouth-watering bread hot from the oven, and jam. Plum jam made by the same fair hands, using purple plums picked in the garden of England.’
‘Shut up, Daddy,’ Lucilla said, cramming a hunk of Cheddar cheese into her mouth. ‘You’re making a spectacle of yourself.’
‘Sorry, my pet. I couldn’t hear that remark through the half pound of Cheddar you have just forced into your mouth. Cheese is the enemy of the singer’s vocal cords. You should eat honey, my little canary. Honey straight from the comb. Here, Fancy, hurry up with that coffee.’
Clemency stood watching the performance. One of the dancers had her foot on the mantelshelf while she poured tea into a mug. How she got her leg up there was a mystery to Clemency: it didn’t look natural to split a body that way. The other girl was bent double, touching her toes with her bum stuck up in the air – folded in two like a hairpin. Whatever would they do next? Fancy hurried over to fill Augustus’s cup with coffee and she was smiling. What a difference a smile made, Clemency thought, staring at her. She was really quite nice-looking when her face was not screwed up as if she had been sucking lemons.
Augustus buttered a slice of bread and spread it with jam. He bit into it with relish and washed it down with a mouthful of hot coffee. For a moment, Clemency thought that he had forgotten about her. No one else seemed to be bothered whether she was there or not. Even Fancy was ignoring her, which suited her very well. She went to the range and poured tea into a mug, adding milk and three heaped teaspoonfuls of sugar. She was about to take it in to her mother, when Augustus called her name.
‘Miss Clemency. I’m ready to audition you.’
Suddenly nervous, Clemency set the mug down on a shelf.
‘Over here, girl. I can’t hear you if you hover by the door.’ Augustus pointed to an empty space on the bench. ‘Jump up there, my dear. And give us your best.’
It felt to Clemency as though she were wading knee deep in the river, as her legs turned to lead and she m
ade her way to the table. The drummer offered his hand to help her up on the form. ‘You show ’em, miss,’ he said, and his waxed moustache seemed to move of its own accord as he smiled up at her.
‘Ta, mister, er …’
‘Ronnie, miss. Ronnie Briggs. Don’t be nervous, you can do it.’
Clemency wished she were as certain about her ability as Ronnie. She stood there, gazing down at the expectant faces turned towards her, and her throat went dry. She licked her lips.
‘What’s the matter?’ Lucilla demanded, her pretty mouth disfigured by a spiteful sneer. ‘Cat got your tongue?’
Last night it had been so easy to take up the tune where Lucilla had left off, and when she had jumped on the table in the Crown and Anchor, it had seemed the most natural thing in the world to open her mouth and sing. She cleared her throat again but her voice cracked on the first note. She couldn’t remember the words or the tune of ‘Come into the Garden Maud’ – she tried again, but the sound came out in a hoarse croak. Lucilla was laughing and Clemency could see Fancy leaning against the wall with her arms folded across her chest.
‘Call yourself a nightingale,’ Lucilla said, curling her lip. ‘I’ve heard sparrows sing better than what you can.’
‘Cor blimey,’ Fancy said, giggling. ‘A cockney sparrow.’
Everyone laughed, although Clemency could see that some of the men looked uncomfortable. She tried again, but she had lost the tune. Then, without warning, she heard the clear silver tones of Jack’s tin whistle as he played the introduction. They had often performed this song together. She looked across the room, and her heart missed a beat as she saw him sitting in the doorway. There was a stunned silence and all heads turned to stare at him.
It was too late to stop him – now all the lodgers knew of Jack’s existence, even if they did not know who he was. He had appeared, as if by magic, and he played the introduction again.
This time she hit the right note. Clasping her hands in front of her, Clemency threw back her head and sang to Jack’s accompaniment. When the song ended, she had the satisfaction of seeing Augustus wipe a tear from the corner of his eyes, and the sneer had left Lucilla’s face.
‘Encore!’ One of the dancers called out, clapping her hands.
Soon everyone was clapping, everyone except Fancy. She was staring down at Jack with a rapt expression on her face. Clemency leapt down from the bench, ignoring the calls for a repeat performance. She ran to Jack’s side, ready to take on anyone who dared to laugh at him or call him names. With her hands fisted, she glared at Fancy, daring her to mock him.
But Fancy was staring at Jack with open admiration transforming her features and a smile curving her lips. ‘That were lovely,’ she said softly. ‘But who the hell are you?’
Before Clemency could speak, Jack had shaken Fancy’s hand. ‘How do, miss. I’m Jack Skinner, and this here is my little sister.’
‘You don’t say!’ Fancy cast a sideways glance at Clemency. ‘Who’d have guessed the cockney sparrow was related to a good-looking cove like you.’
For a moment, Clemency thought that she was making fun of him, and she was ready to scratch the bitch’s eyes out, but even as she clawed her fingers, she realised that Fancy was in earnest. Her smile was genuine. She had looked at Jack and seen the man, not the cripple. She had heard his music and it had struck a chord in her, touching her deep down inside. Clemency sniffed and dashed her hand across her eyes.
‘That was indeed a virtuoso performance, Miss Clemency.’ Augustus had left the table and was standing by her side. She looked at him dumbly, too filled with emotion to speak. ‘I’d be proud to include you in my musical troupe,’ Augustus said, wiping the jam off his lips with a spotted handkerchief. ‘As to you young man,’ he looked down at Jack, ‘you have great talent. It’s a pity you have no legs.’
Clemency punched Augustus on the arm. ‘Here, you can’t talk to me brother like that.’
‘No offence meant. I was stating a point. To be a wandering street musician, one must be able to walk. Otherwise I might have considered taking both of you under my professional wing.’
‘Daddy!’ Lucilla’s voice echoed round the kitchen. ‘Tom Fall plays the flute in our ensemble. We don’t need no one else. And she don’t sing as well as I do, does she, Tom?’
Tom looked doubtful for a moment, but, noting the lines deepen between Lucilla’s fair eyebrows, he shrugged and patted her bottom. ‘You’re the nightingale, love.’
Augustus shot an angry glance at Tom, but Clemency tugged at his sleeve. ‘Never mind him, mister. Have I got a job or haven’t I?’
He glanced down at her. ‘I’ve said so. Augustus Throop doesn’t go back on his word.’ He made a threatening motion with his fist at Tom. ‘Don’t let me see you taking liberties with my little girl, Tom.’
‘No, guv,’ Tom replied, winking at Lucilla. ‘I won’t let you see me.’
Clemency saw that this could turn into a fullscale battle, and she tugged again at Augustus’s sleeve. ‘And you won’t tell Mrs B about Jack?’
‘What are you talking about, girl? What should I not tell Mrs Blunt?’
‘What indeed, Mr Throop?’ Mrs Blunt stood at the top of the stairs, staring at Jack and quivering from the top of her bun to the pointed toes of her black boots. ‘What is going on? Get that creature out of my house at once. I don’t take in fairground folk or freaks.’
Chapter Five
‘Freak! Who are you calling a freak?’ Edith pushed past Jack. She pointed a shaking finger at Mrs Blunt. ‘You – woman. I’m speaking to you.’
There was a moment of silence as everyone stopped what they were doing, and all heads turned to stare at Edith. She stood over Jack snarling like a tigress protecting her cub. Her flame-coloured hair hung in snake-like strands around her face, seeming to leach the colour from her pale skin. Her eyes burned with the ferocity of a madwoman and she was trembling from head to foot. Clemency seized her by the arm in an attempt to quieten her, but Edith thrust her away and advanced slowly on Mrs Blunt, who retreated back up the stairs. ‘My son ain’t no freak,’ Edith cried with passion in her voice. ‘He was struck with a terrible illness when he was a nipper. It took the strength from his legs but not from his heart. He’s worth ten of every man present here.’
Edith swayed on her feet and Clemency had to support her. She cast a fearful glance at Mrs Blunt, certain that they were all about to be forced out onto the street.
‘Shame on you, Mrs Blunt.’ A voice from the table broke the silence. The cry was taken up in a chorus of blame. ‘Shame! Shame! Shame!’ The sound of hands drumming a slow beat on the table made the rafters shake.
Mrs Blunt covered her ears with her hands and the tip of her nose quivered. ‘Stop, stop. This is my house and I’ll evict you all if you don’t stop that noise.’
Augustus stepped forward. He held his hand up for silence, and placed his arm around Edith’s shoulders. ‘Come now, madam. We must show some respect for our good landlady.’
The drumming and chanting ceased, and Mrs Blunt came slowly down the stairs, but it was obvious to Clemency that her confidence was shaken; she almost felt sorry for her. ‘Please, ma’am,’ she said. ‘Don’t throw no one out on our account. I know I should have asked permission to bring me mum and brother into the house, but I was scared that you’d say no. We’ll leave directly.’
Mrs Blunt opened her mouth to speak, but her lips moved wordlessly, as if she had lost the power of speech.
‘No one is to leave,’ Augustus said firmly. ‘Mrs Blunt, I will undertake to pay the board and lodging of this family, until they can afford to support themselves. If anyone can recognise talent, then it is I, Augustus Throop. This young girl and her brother are a find, madam. A true find. And they should not be cast out into the cold, cold snow because of the young man’s infirmity.’ He released his grip on Edith and raised his hands in a theatrical gesture of supplication to Mrs Blunt, which was greeted with another round of applause.
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br /> Clemency held her breath as a multitude of emotions crossed Mrs Blunt’s face. Was she going to lose the chance of a lifetime? If they were thrown out onto the street they had nowhere to go but the workhouse. Being the best pickpocket in London was not going to save Ma and Jack from destitution. She willed Mrs Blunt to reconsider.
Mrs Blunt nodded slowly. ‘Very well, Mr Throop. But on your own head be it. I’ll allow them to stay for a week. The woman and the girl can sleep in the attic, but the cripple will have to stay in the back room. I can’t say fairer than that.’
Edith lurched forward, but Clemency held her back. ‘Leave it, Ma.’
‘She can’t talk about my boy like that.’
‘Hush, Ma. We’ve got a place to stay. Be thankful for it.’
Augustus hurried to the foot of the stairs. ‘You are a just woman, Mrs Blunt. Augustus Throop thanks you for your wisdom and charity.’
‘Charity be blowed,’ Edith hissed. ‘I need a drink.’
Clemency hurried her from the room and made her sit down on the mattress. ‘I’ll fetch you some tea. Stay there and don’t move.’
Edith drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. ‘I’m so cold, Clemmie.’
‘Here, wrap this round you,’ Clemency said, handing her Nell’s old cloak. ‘I’ll be back in a couple of ticks.’ She went into the kitchen to find Jack sitting in the chair that Augustus had vacated at the head of the table. Fancy was pouring coffee into his cup and he had a plate of cold meat and cheese in front of him. He looked up and smiled at Clemency. ‘This is a turn up for the books.’
It was so good to see him looking happy that Clemency had to turn her head away so that he would not see the tears welling up in her eyes. She had thought she was so tough and hard, having grown up on the streets, and here she was, crying like a baby because their luck had changed. She sniffed and poured fresh tea into a cup. She added a generous amount of sugar and took it to Edith. ‘Here you are. I’ll bring you some food in a bit.’