by Jan Constant
“Ow, you hurt me, you did!” he accused, glaring bale- fully at her from out of a dirty face.
“Well, you should not have tried to steal my bag,” Emma felt called upon to point out.
“It ain’t right—you shouldn’t have.”
The urchin waxed so indignant and his sobs and howls so loud, that Emma began to feel in the wrong. “Do stop that noise,” she urged, as he dragged his tattered sleeve across his wet face. “Look, I’ll give you a penny—”
The noise stopped abruptly as he surveyed her across the edge of his arm. Keeping her reticule out of reach, she felt inside and held a penny out invitingly.
“What’s your name?” she asked as he shuffled forward, eyes fixed on the coin.
“Joe, missis,” he said, making a grab for the money and 203
biting it quickly before bestowing it somewhere about his person.
“Well, Joe, do you always try to rob ladies?”
“Yes,” he admitted. “They’re easier than men.” Eyeing her, he rubbed his ear reflectively. “I ain’t never had one clout me lug’ole, afore!”
“It’s what you deserved,” Emma told him. “Now go away, you bad child.”
Setting off homeward once more, she had gone some way when she became aware of being followed and, turning quickly, found her former assailant close upon her heels.
“What do you want?” she demanded.
Joe stopped a few paces away. “Nothing.”
“Well, go away,” she said impatiently, setting off again, uneasily aware of the small figure that dogged her footsteps.
Entering the square, she paused and waited for the child to catch up. When he failed to arrive, she turned to find him leaning casually against a railing, staring up at the sky, whistling shrilly.
“Joe,” she said sharply, and he started with assumed surprise. “Come here.”
“Me, missis?” he asked innocently, having made a play of looking round for the person she was addressing.
“Why are you following me?”
‘ ‘Me, missis? I wasn’t, miss, I was seeing you safe home, miss. There are plenty of bad folk around, y’know. The streets ain’t safe.”
Uncertain whether to laugh at his cheek or clip his other ear, Emma looked down at him. The cocky grin only reached as far as his mouth, his eyes were watchful and wary, their expression far too old for a child. Although he leaned against the park railing, his hands in his ragged pockets, she could see that he was tense and poised for instant flight. There was something so gallant and yet pathetic in his stance that she was touched and her expression softened.
He scuffed one bare foot in the dust of the pavement. “I— 204
thanks for the penny, missis,” he muttered without looking at her, and made to shuffle off.
‘‘Wait—’.’ she cried before thinking, and he paused, sending her a glance at once wary and hopeful as she rummaged in her reticule. “Here’s sixpence,” she said, holding it out. “Go home now, and give it to your mama.”
“Ain’t got no ma,” he shouted after her as she hurried off. “Ain’t got no pa, neither.”
Determined not to look back, she crossed the grassy square and rang the doorbell. Glancing over her shoulder, she was dismayed to see the small figure still watching her and was relieved when Frobisher opened the door and she could slip inside.
The encounter with the urchin had prove beneficial, for upon climbing the stairs, she found a ready-formed plan had arrived in her brain and, having regarded it from all angles, knew that it would suffice as her reason for crying off from Sir Julian’s planned theater visit. Accordingly, she continued upstairs to Maria’s room in order to enlist her aid and, when she descended to dine with the family a short while later, had only to mention that the invalid seemed a little unwell to begin to put her plan into action.
The next morning, having nothing better to do, the two girls decided to partake of the last of the sunshine and walk in the railed garden belonging to the square. Busy with her own thoughts, the memory of Joe had slipped to the back of her mind, and Emma was somewhat surprised when Elvira suddenly inquired why a dirty little boy was following them.
“Oh, dear. ” She sighed, recognizing the disreputable figure hovering casually a short distance away. “It’s Joe.”
Elvira wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Do you know him?” she asked incredulously.
“He tried to steal my reticule,” admitted the other, making shooing movements, which the child studiously ignored.
“I shall get one of the footmen to see him off, ’ ’ announced Elvira firmly.
“No—don’t do that. He’s only a child—and an orphan.”
“You shouldn’t speak to him—it only encourages them, and if he’s a thief, we should really call the beadle,” Elvira said severely.
“Pooh, what nonsense! I would not have thought it of you, Elvira! Look how thin he is—I daresay he is hungry, and that is why he steals. ” Ignoring her companion’s scandalized expression, she marched to a seat, sat down, and beckoned imperiously to Joe, who had been listening to this exchange with unabashed interest.
Sidling up, he hovered at one end, while Elvira, with many expressions of distaste, perched herself on the other.
“Now, Joe,” began Emma sternly, “what are you doing here? This is a private garden, you know, and not open to the public.”
Sniffing and wiping his nose on his sleeve, he shrugged expressively and said nothing.
Emma tried again. “Where do you live?”
He seemed unable to answer, venturing at last that he knew of a nice little alleyway that was all right, as long as it did not rain.
“Surely you don’t live in an alley!” exclaimed Emma, shocked.
Joe laughed at her ignorance. “Course not,” he assured her cheerfully. “I just sleeps there. Old Grumbleguts ’ud kill me if he found me there in the day. Proper old devil he is!”
Emma and Elvira exchanged horrified glances. “And— how do you live?” asked Emma soberly.
“Oh, I—” Mindful of his audience, Joe swallowed the words he had been about to say and concluded angelically, “I finds things. And some folk gives me things. I manage— sometimes Old Grumbleguts throws out bits of pies and such like. They don’t half taste good, I can tell you. He’s a good cook and no mistake. People comes from all over London for one of his pies. ”
In his enthusiasm Joe licked his lips, making hearty smacking sounds to show his appreciation.
“Where are your mother and father?” demanded Elvira indignantly. “Does no one care for you?”
“Me ma and pa are dead, I told her.’’ He indicated Emma. “I cares for meself.”
“Don’t you go to school?”
“A’course not!” He regarded Elvira impatiently and returned his attention to Emma. “You going back to the theater?” he inquired. “Cause if you are, you need someone to see you right. It ain’t proper for young ladies to wander about without no one to watch out for them. ’ ’ He looked at Emma meaningly before leaning forward to make his proposal. “I’ll look after you, missis—it’ll cost you a penny a day, and I can’t say fairer than that. ”
“You are only a little boy,” Elvira pointed out.
Hunching a shoulder, he ignored her, speaking to Emma earnestly, his expression intense. ‘ ‘I’m older than what I look, miss—and I knows a lot. I’d see you right and proper, honest, I would.”
Emma was touched. “I’m sure you would, Joe,” she said kindly, “but I’ve a better idea. How would you like to live in my house?” Behind her, Elvira was making scandalized squeaks, but Emma ignored her, taking Joe’s dirty chin in her hand and turning his face up to hers. “Not here, but in the country. You could be my gardener boy. What do you say?”
Chapter Fifteen
Joe seemed undecided. “I ain’t never been in the country,” he said doubtfully. “D’you mean with cows and things?”
“Well, there are cows in the country, but not in my gard
en. It would be quite different from here—you’d have new clothes and a bed and enough food, and in return you’d have to be good, do as you’re told—”
Joe hesitated no longer. “I’ll come, miss,” he said and, shuffling his bare feet, appeared ready to start that very minute.
“But first you’ll have to live here while matters are arranged,” Emma told him, rising to her feet. “Do you think Jem can be persuaded to care for him for a few days?” she asked Elvira.
“I don’t think Ju will take kindly to having a waif foisted upon him,” was the answer. “Surely you are not intending to bring him into the house? He’s really very dirty. Aunt Diana would not care for it, you know.”
“Sometimes, Elvira, you have too much sensibility,” Emma told her friend. Taking the urchin’s hand, she inspected him, noting the grubby skin and tattered, dirty clothes and, reluctantly, had to admit that the other was right. “I shall take him straight to the stables,” she announced, “and leave him in Jem’s capable hands.”
Leaving Elvira at the front steps of the house, she made her way round the side and in at the entrance to the mews.
Here, she found a groom and asked him to send Jem to her, while a bemused Joe clutched her hand and gazed round in awe. She was pleased to notice that his eyes were bright and alert for all his evident nervousness and that he stood straight and upright by her side.
Whatever emotions he was feeling, Jem hid them behind an impassive manner as she made her wishes known. He and Joe eyed each other warily before, apparently recognizing kindred spirits, they walked off together, leaving Emma to go in search of Sir Julian and make her peace with him.
She found him in his study, ensconced behind the pages of a large newspaper, which he lowered at her approach.
“I would like a word with you, if you are not too busy,” she began.
He folded the news sheet and dropped it on a nearby table. “I was making sure that all is right with the world,” he said lightly. “I see that nothing more amiss than a French prisoner of war escaping has happened.”
Emma was momentarily diverted. ‘ ‘From one of the hulks in Portsmouth harbor?” she asked, remembering the rotting ships she had seen when she had arrived at the port.
“From Porchester Castle—I believe that they wander almost at will in the village there—the wonder is that more do not attempt it.”
“In general, I suppose, their accent would give them away,” she suggested.
“Indeed so. This one has been gone for almost a week, which makes it likely that he has an accomplice, I’d say, to keep him hidden. The report says that soldiers are scouring the area.”
“With no great enthusiasm, I’ll be bound,” Emma said. ‘ ‘They will have a fellow feeling for him. ’ ’ Having exhausted the subject, she fell silent, biting her lip and glancing at Sir Julian from under her eyelashes.
“You wanted to see me?” he prompted at last.
“Y-es. I have need of your help.” Raising his eyebrows, he looked interested, and she hurried on; “I have decided to adopt—well, not adopt exactly, more foster a small boy and would be extremely grateful if he could lodge in your stables until I can find a means of sending him down to Hodge Hall. ” Sir Julian’s expression remained impassive, despite a gleam of amusement in his eyes. “May one inquire what boy, and how this came about?” he asked blandly.
“I met him yesterday when he—when he tried to steal my reticule.” Ever honest, Emma’s voice nevertheless held a distinctly defiant note.
‘ ‘One can see how that would encourage a wish to adopt him,” he agreed in so reasonable a voice that Emma felt annoyance rising.
“Of course it did not,” was the withering reply. “At first I was very angry and smacked his head, which startled him, you know.”
“It would,” remarked Sir Julian agreeably.
Ignoring this, Emma went on. “He was so surprised that he began to talk. . . . And the poor child has nothing! He is dressed in rags and seems to live on the remains of pies that some butcher throws out. He sleeps in an alley, which he assures me is nice, unless it rains!”
Her voice broke, and she swallowed convulsively, making Sir Julian regard her closely.
“He seems to have played on your good nature,” he said. “Possibly he is a member of a gang, taught to inveigle himself into houses, which are then burgled.”
Emma shook her head. “I am certain that he is not,” she said emphatically, “but just in case, I have left him in the stables under the care of Jem. ”
“Very wise. I will have a word with that young man and see what he thinks. Jem is very shrewd.”
“And Joe can stay here in the meantime—just until I can make arrangements to send him down to Hodge Hall?” “You cannot be opening an asylum for all and sundry, you know,” Sir Julian pointed out gently.
“I know. . . . But Joe will make a very good gardener’s boy, and if one has money, one may as well use it to some purpose, not just for one’s own enjoyment.”
“I see that you have the makings of a philanthropist,” her companion observed, impressed.
“And I see that you intend to tease me. Very well, Sir Julian, laugh if you will, but in this I am serious. Will you allow Joe to stay here until a message can be got to Hodge Hall, notifying them of his arrival?”
“Of course, child.” Sir Julian’s expression was so kind and indulgent that again Emma had to fight back the urge to confess all. To compensate for such weakness, she straightened her posture and spoke coolly, assuming a remote manner.
“I am most grateful, sir, and will bother you no more.” If Julian Leyton was surprised by her manner, he hid it well, merely informing her that a groom would be sent upon the message and watched her thoughtfully as she escaped from the study.
Late that afternoon, having spent the hours since luncheon with a well-primed Maria, Emma slipped downstairs and presented her excuses to her hostess.
“Poor Maria is not at all well ... a low fever and headache, nothing to worry about over much, but I really feel I should stay with her, rather than go to the theater this evening,” she explained in a suitably disappointed manner, while feeling uncomfortably guilty at her deception.
“Of course you must do as you think best, my dear, but could not Hetty or Hill oblige?”
“Maria is in a restless mood, you know how it is with invalids. She will settle for no one other than me, I am afraid.”
“Emma dear, you must learn to control your kindness. Servants will rule you, given the chance.”
“I shall give in to her just this once. And, indeed, she has not asked me. She seems so low and fretful that I decided to keep her company, out of humanity.' ’
Lady Beauvale said no more, and when the theater party set off that evening, Emma watched from an upstairs window.
“Sir Ju won’t half be mad,’’ Maria told her half-fearfully, her eyes round with excitement as she peered over the bedclothes. “He’ll turn me off, I shouldn’t wonder and you—”
“Oh, Maria, do be quiet,” cried her mistress, who did not want to hear her maid’s surmisings, having an uncomfortable suspicion that they might be true. “In a few hours it will be over—we must just hope that nothing goes amiss and that no one is any the wiser.”
She spoke more positively than she felt, having long before that moment wished that she had not agreed to the foolhardy venture.
‘ ‘And what about walking home after midnight? ’ ’ went on Maria remorselessly. “It’ll be proper dangerous, ’m, that’s what. I’m that worried—”
“Well, there at least you have no need,” Emma assured her, “for I sent a note this morning to Captain Gray begging him to escort me home.” Pleased with her forethought and certain that Johnnie Gray would comply with her request, she beamed at her little maid, who did not appear too impressed.
“Let’s hope it works,” she said, snorting.
“Of course it will. Johnnie Gray is a man to be relied upon. You may rest easy, Ma
ria, in the sure knowledge that I shall be well looked after.”
After making sure that the girl had everything she needed, Emma left the house and made her way to the theater in Covent Garden. Already people were wending their way toward it in the half-light, happy in the thought of an evening’s entertainment.
Entering by the stage door, she hurried upstairs and poked her head around the green-room door. Molly Rourk, who was lying on the bed-settee with her leg propped up, brightened and tossed aside the book she had been desultorily reading.
“Dear child!” she cried. “Your shining countenance fills me with joy—I had wondered if you would hide your light under a bush, so to speak, and deny us the pleasure of seeing your performance. Now, run along to the dressing room. I have bidden my own dresser to help you. Remember all I have taught you, and you need have no fear. I shall not wish you luck, for we of the theater have a superstition that to do so is unlucky, instead I shall say—bring the house down!”
With the odd request ringing in her ears, Emma went in search of the dressing room, finally finding it after several attempts. An old crone was already ensconced, busily setting out pots of paint in front of a misty, fly-blown mirror.
Looking up as Emma entered, she stared through the curl of smoke rising from the bowl of a clay pipe she held clenched between her teeth. Having examined the girl from head to foot, she gave an unexpected smile, showing blackened stumps and waved her toward a screen in one comer of the room.
“You’ll be the New Hope?” she remarked, speaking in the capital letters Emma had come to expect from anyone associated with the theater. “Well, well and a right pretty little piece, too. You’ll be the darling of the audience in no time. ”