The Cockney Sparrow

by Dilly Court

  ‘I know I only seem to come here when I’m in trouble.’ Clemency stared down at her intertwined fingers. ‘But you’ve both been so good to me in the past, and I – I think of you as part of me family.’ She raised her eyes and saw Ned’s harsh expression soften. ‘I’m sorry, Ned. I don’t mean to take advantage of your good nature.’

  He smiled reluctantly. ‘You’re here now, so go on, tell us all about it.’

  She explained as best she could, although she stumbled a bit when it came to admitting her mother’s falling out with Mickey, who had been Ned’s friend. She found it difficult to speak about Ma’s near fatal encounter with a back-street abortionist, but somehow she managed to get through the complicated story. Nell uttered exclamations of horror, interspersed with encouraging remarks. Ned remained impassive. Clemency came to a halt, sipping her coffee, and eyeing him apprehensively.

  ‘Oh, Ned. Haven’t you got nothing to say to the poor girl?’ Nell got to her feet, wringing her hands. ‘After all she’s been through. There must be something we can do to help her and her family.’

  ‘So what is this Jared Stone fellow to you?’ Ned leaned forward, staring into Clemency’s face.

  Taken aback, she flinched. ‘I dunno what you mean.’

  ‘Why would he go to all that trouble, tracking you down, and making a bit of a fool of hisself, just to get you to pick the pockets of rich folks. It don’t make sense, unless …’

  The air was heavy with insinuation. Clemency jumped to her feet. ‘Unless what?’

  ‘Unless he wants you to warm his bed.’

  The sound of flesh striking flesh echoed off the panelled walls. Annie stuck her head round the door grinning.

  ‘Ooer,’ she giggled, pointing at the red fingerprints staining Ned’s cheek. ‘I heard that clear out in the scullery.’

  ‘Get back to work, you silly girl.’ Nell shooed her out of the room. She paused in the doorway, turning to face Clemency with a worried frown. ‘I can’t say as how I blame you for that one, ducks. But squabbling won’t help the situation. Ned, say you’re sorry.’

  He clutched his cheek, scowling. ‘She hit me.’

  ‘And you deserved it too. Now say you’re sorry.’

  ‘I’d best leave,’ Clemency said, reaching for her cap. ‘I shouldn’t have come in the first place.’

  ‘No, wait.’ Ned held his hand out to her. ‘I shouldn’t have said that, even if I think that’s what the scoundrel had in mind. As to your need for a place to stay – I got an idea.’

  Clemency eyed him doubtfully. ‘It would have to be somewhere really safe.’

  A slow grin spread across Ned’s face. ‘Where would your mate Hardiman be least likely to go?’

  ‘Heaven,’ Clemency said, unable to suppress a smile.

  ‘Not quite what I had in mind, but close.’

  ‘Lord above! How can you two laugh about it?’ Nell threw up her hands, staring at each of them in turn as if they had both lost their minds.

  Ned took his jacket from the back of the chair. ‘Put your cap on, Miss Cockney Sparrow. And come with me.’

  Clemency looked to Nell, who nodded and gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. ‘Do as he says, ducks. My Ned will look after you.’

  A pale, buttermilk sun, hovering just above the smudged outline of rooftops and chimneys, was slowly burning off the early morning mist. An April shower had left the newly swept cobbled streets unusually clean and glistening, but the horse-drawn traffic was gradually building up at the start of another day’s trading in the city. Costermongers pushed their barrows between drays, carts and omnibuses. Workers returning home from the night shifts jostled shoulder to shoulder with men and women hurrying to begin their day’s work.

  ‘Where are you taking me?’ Clemency demanded breathlessly, as Ned strode on ahead of her.

  ‘You’ll see soon enough.’ He dodged in and out of the traffic on Knightrider Street and led her down a narrow alley into Queen Victoria Street. She could smell the river now, and the stench from the manufactories wafting upstream from Wapping and the Isle of Dogs: boiling bones from the glue factory, roasting coffee beans, burnt sugar, naphthalene, turpentine, linseed oil, horse dung and hot engine oil. Ned walked on at a brisk pace, ignoring the ragged, barefoot street urchins who hung around in packs like hungry animals, and stepping over the legs of drunks sleeping off last night’s excesses in dark doorways. He glanced over his shoulder, as if to make sure that Clemency was following him, but he did not stop. She kept as close to him as possible, sensing the unseen dangers lurking within the smoke-blackened walls of the warehouses and illegal drinking dens that huddled together on the edge of the docks.

  The narrow alley opened out into daylight and Upper Thames Street. A forest of masts, funnels and cranes lined the quays and wharves that were dissected by Blackfriars Bridge to the west, and Southwark Bridge to the east. Ned stopped outside a grey stone church that looked strangely out of place amongst the pubs, ship chandlers, warehouses and shipping offices.

  ‘This is it, Clemmie.’

  She stared up at the dilapidated building with a garden of green lichen blooming on its weatherworn stones. ‘I ain’t in the mood for praying, Ned.’

  He tried the great iron ring on the studded door, but it would not open. ‘Locked.’

  ‘Ned, what are you doing?’ Clemency followed him as he edged along the narrow opening between the church wall and a warehouse. The ground was strewn with rubbish and it stank of cats and human excreta. There was a small wooden door at the far end that opened with just a bit of help from the toe of Ned’s boot. It was so low that he had to stoop to enter.

  ‘Ned, this ain’t right.’ Clemency hovered in the doorway. The dank smell of ancient stone, mould and musty prayer books made her shiver. ‘We shouldn’t be doing this.’

  ‘Come inside and close the door.’ Ned’s footsteps echoed on the stone-flagged floor. Dust motes danced in the hazy beams of light filtering through stained-glass windows. He came to a halt in the nave at the foot of the steps leading up to the chancel. He turned to her with an encouraging smile. ‘Don’t worry, ducks. This ain’t a working church, so to speak. There ain’t been a service here for twenty years or more.’

  She stared at him aghast. ‘No, you don’t mean – you can’t think that we could live here?’

  He shrugged. ‘Why not? No one wants it. I used to come in here with me mates when I was a lad, and we was bunking off school. No one ever thought of looking for us here. We’d smoke baccy and drink beer, and think we was cock of the walk.’

  ‘But living here, Ned. That’s a different matter.’

  ‘Why so? Ain’t churches supposed to offer sanctuary? And isn’t that what you and yours needs right now? A place of safety where Hardiman and that Stone chap won’t never think to look for you?’

  Clemency glanced up at the altar, bare of its holy trappings, and a superstitious shiver ran down her spine. ‘Yes, but it still don’t seem right.’

  Ned took her by the shoulders, giving her a gentle shake. ‘Nothing’s perfect, girl. But surely it will do for now. Let’s take a proper look round and then you can make a decision, yes or no.’

  Chapter Ten

  Ned insisted on accompanying Clemency back to Flower and Dean Street. She would have refused his offer, but the news that Hardiman was working for Jared Stone had turned her world upside down. She had hoped that he belonged to the distant past, the grim days of eking out a living in the rat-infested cellar in Stew Lane. She had begun to feel safe in Mrs Blunt’s lodging house, and his former hold over them had seemed like a dimly remembered nightmare. Now she was jumping at shadows, and even more scared of Hardiman than of the Ripper. In the first heady excitement of appearing on the stage, it had never occurred to her that he might recognise her face on the posters outside the theatre. The beautiful young woman who smiled down from the hoardings, renamed La Moineau by Mr Claypole, which he informed her was the French for sparrow, was so unfamiliar that she barely re
cognised herself. She knew that Hardiman could not read, and that his tastes ran to lewd music hall songs and bawdy jokes rather than the opera bouffe. But the thought that he might choose this day to descend upon the lodging house was enough to convince her that moving into the disused church was a good idea. Now all that remained was to persuade Ma and Jack.

  They arrived at the lodging house to find Augustus pacing the kitchen floor in a theatrical maelstrom of emotional outpourings against Tom Fall, who had seduced and abducted his precious little nightingale. Ronnie and Jack were sitting at the table, silently watching the performance, while Fancy kneaded bread dough, apparently unmoved. Mrs Blunt was nowhere to be seen and all thoughts of Hardiman were wiped from Clemency’s mind as a fresh fear made her stomach contract as though she had been eating unripe fruit.

  ‘Where is Mrs B? Has Ma taken a turn for the worse, Jack?’

  He looked up and the worried lines were wiped from his face in a look of sheer relief. ‘Clemmie. Thank God, you’re back. Where’ve you been? And why didn’t you tell no one you was going out?’

  ‘I had me reasons.’ Clemency turned to Fancy. ‘You’ll tell me the truth. Is Ma—?’

  Fancy slapped the dough into a pan and covered it with a damp cloth. ‘She’s very weak, but Mrs B thinks she’ll get over it, providing she don’t go down with a fever.’

  Ronnie rose to his feet, holding out a chair. ‘Come and sit down, Clem.’

  ‘Did you know about my little poppet-pie?’ Augustus demanded, coming to a halt in front of her. ‘Gone – left without a word. Ruined, besmirched. Taken advantage of by a ruthless bastard.’ He stopped, staring at Ned, who had put a protective arm around Clemency’s shoulders. ‘Do I know you, sir?’

  ‘This is Ned. He’s come to help.’

  ‘I remember you now. You’re Cyril’s boy, from the pub.’ Augustus thrust his face close to Ned’s. ‘We must follow them at once. We must bring her back home, where she belongs.’

  Ned stood his ground, squaring his shoulders. ‘I’m sorry, guv. But I’m here to help Clemency and Jack. You’ll have to call the cops if you want to chase after your girl.’

  ‘Come and sit down, old chap,’ Ronnie said, taking Augustus by the arm. ‘Getting in a state won’t bring her back.’

  ‘Ruined!’ Augustus moaned, slumping down in the chair that Ronnie had offered Clemency. ‘Her career is ruined by that immoral, womanising bastard. My little songbird, my helpless, innocent child.’ He buried his face in his hands.

  ‘Innocent, my eye,’ Fancy said with a derisive snort as she dumped the pan on the hob. ‘As to helpless! You wouldn’t say that if you’d heard the noises coming from her bedroom night after night.’

  Augustus raised his head, but Clemency stepped in before the argument could escalate into a full-blown row. ‘We’re all sorry for what’s happened, Augustus. But Lucilla is a grown woman now, and I think Tom really loves her. You’ve got to let her go.’

  ‘But what shall I do without her? Without my precious songbird, the Augustus Throop musical troupe does not exist.’

  ‘Never mind feeling sorry for yourself,’ Jack said firmly. ‘We got more important things to discuss. Like where the hell have you been, Clemmie? And what is he doing here?’ He shook his finger at Ned. ‘Ain’t you done enough harm by introducing our mum to that bugger Connor?’

  Ned took a step forward, his hands fisted at his sides. ‘What d’you mean by that?’

  ‘Shut up, the lot of you.’ Clemency leapt between them. ‘You want to know where I was, Jack? I went to ask Ned for help, yet again. Because I couldn’t think of no one else in London what would get us out of this place before Hardiman finds us. He could be coming up the front steps at this very moment, and then we’d be for it. Ned’s found us a safe place to doss down for the time being, until we can find something better. He’s offered to help us get Ma there, but we need to make a move now.’

  ‘She’s right,’ Fancy said, moving swiftly to Jack’s side. ‘And I’m coming with you.’

  Augustus raised his head, staring blurrily at Clemency. ‘Not you too. I’m your manager, Clem. You can’t mean to desert me as well as my little bird.’

  ‘You mean, you want to come with us?’

  ‘What else is there for me to do? Ronnie and I are all that’s left of the troupe. We can’t make it on our own, can we, Ron?’

  Ronnie’s moustache quivered at the waxed tips. ‘You mustn’t worry about us, Clem. You have to do what’s best for you and Jack.’

  ‘You old silly, Ronnie. Of course we need you. Jack can’t get about on his own. We rely on you, and Augustus too. After all, if it’s true that Mr Claypole is going to hire an opera singer from Paris, then I’ll need to find work in another theatre. I need a manager now, more than ever.’

  Augustus pulled a hanky from his pocket and trumpeted into it. ‘Of course you would. Without me, you would be back to being the cockney sparrow, singing on street corners. And Lucilla will return when she’s discovered that her paramour has feet of clay. Then we’ll all be together again. Augustus Throop and his musical troupe.’

  ‘Let’s hope the baby can wail in key,’ Fancy said, grinning.

  Jack slipped his arm around her waist. ‘Have a heart, ducks. Can’t you see he’s upset?’

  ‘Sorry.’ Fancy murmured, cuddling up to Jack and nuzzling his cheek. ‘You won’t go without me, will you, love?’

  ‘Never. You and me is a pair, Fancy.’

  Ned cleared his throat. ‘I don’t want to hurry you, Clemency. But I got to get back to work.’

  ‘I know, and I am grateful to you, Ned. I’ll go upstairs and get Ma ready to travel.’

  At that moment, the baize door opened and Mrs Blunt came slowly down the stairs.

  ‘How is Ma?’ Clemency demanded. ‘Is she going to be all right?’

  ‘She’s very weak and feverish. Only time will tell, Clem.’

  ‘But we got to leave here now. We have to take her with us.’

  Mrs Blunt took off her spectacles and polished them with the corner of her apron. ‘She shouldn’t be moved. She needs looking after.’

  Clemency hesitated, thinking of the cold, damp interior of the church. It would be hard enough for the fit amongst them to survive in those conditions, but she could not leave Ma here. She turned to Ned. ‘We can’t take Ma to that place. It would kill her.’

  He looked past her, addressing himself to Mrs Blunt. ‘Would Mrs Skinner be fit enough to stand a cab ride?’

  Mrs Blunt nodded. ‘She’d have to be wrapped up warm and carried all the way. She mustn’t put a foot to the ground, not yet, or it could start up the bleeding again.’

  Ned turned to Ronnie. ‘Looks like you and me got a job, mate. Are you willing?’

  ‘Of course. I’d do anything for Edith.’

  ‘Good man. We’ll take Mrs Skinner to the Crown and Anchor. My old lady will look after her. She’s as good a nurse as Florence Nightingale ever was. You lot can make your own way to Upper Thames Street.’

  ‘Upper Thames Street – it has a good ring to it.’ Augustus got to his feet. ‘I’m back in charge of this troupe. Never let it be said that Augustus Throop failed when duty called. Ned, young chap, if you would be so good as to procure a hackney carriage, I will get the idiot housemaids to pack our few belongings in a bag. If the young ladies will make Edith ready for the journey, I will settle up with Mrs Blunt.’ He caught Clemency’s hand as she was about to mount the stairs. ‘I do hope this new lodging will be commensurate with our status, my dear. After all, you are a star and I am your man of business.’

  ‘This is a joke – isn’t it?’ Augustus stood in the nave staring about him, his eyes wide with horror. ‘You can’t imagine that we could stay here, Clem?’

  Ronnie set Jack down on the front pew. ‘I’ve kipped in worse places than this.’

  ‘It’s freezing cold,’ Fancy said, shivering. ‘We’ll catch our death or worse.’

  ‘You didn’t have to come. If you
don’t like it you’re free to go back to Mrs Blunt’s place.’ Clemency hugged her cloak round her. It was cold, bitterly so, but no one, not even Stone would think to look for them in a church.

  ‘You won’t get rid of me that easy.’ Fancy huddled down on the pew next to Jack.

  ‘It ain’t so bad,’ Ronnie said, blowing into his cupped hands and rubbing them together. ‘It’s a bit chilly, but there must be a vestry or a crypt that we could use for sleeping. And the good thing is that it’s free.’

  ‘Now that,’ Augustus said, smiling, ‘is a good point. And it’s a lot better than sleeping under Blackfriars Bridge, which I have done during lean times in the past.’

  ‘We’ll move on as soon as I’m certain that Stone has given up on me,’ Clemency said, hoping she sounded more positive than she was feeling. ‘Maybe you could get me a part in one of them big theatres up West, Augustus. With Jack learning to read music and me studying me words, there’s no end to what we could do.’

  Jack took a packet of Cinderella cigarettes from his pocket and offered one to Ronnie. ‘Let’s make the best of this. At least it ain’t the middle of winter. We’ll be fine, so long as we stick together.’

  Clemency flashed him a grateful smile, but it froze on her lips as she met Fancy’s resentful gaze. ‘All right, Fancy. I know you don’t like it, but if you’re going to stay I suggest you give me a hand to make the place liveable.’

  Reluctantly, Fancy got to her feet and followed her into the vestry. She wrinkled her nose. ‘It stinks in here.’

  ‘Look here.’ Clemency spun round, her patience stretched to snapping point. ‘Stop bloody moaning and give me a hand to make this place comfortable.’

  ‘Comfortable?’ Fancy looked up at the vaulted ceiling festooned with cobwebs, hanging like veils of black lace. Her gaze travelled down the whitewashed walls where the plaster had fallen off in huge clumps and lay on the floor like lumpy custard. A stack of old hymnals in the corner sprouted hairy blue mould, and the floorboards were coated with mouse and bat droppings.