Brightling

by Rebecca Lisle

  ‘Funny old place,’ he said.

  ‘My fingers are so cold,’ Miss Minter complained, taking her gloves and hat off. ‘I’m hot and cold. I’m up and down. You should have made him come to me, Tapper. I do not like being ordered to do things. Go and get me a hot pop-apple wine, a very large one. Why couldn’t he come to me?’

  He scowled at the bargirl and she backed away. This feeling of being watched vexed him. He didn’t like it, not when he was doing secret business. Or was it just because he was up to secret business that he felt this way? He sat down again as soon as he had their drinks, hunching his shoulders.

  ‘Cheers!’ He took a long swig of his bark-beer but even that didn’t help. He shivered. ‘What did we have to pick this dump for?’ he said.

  A large, smartly dressed man with a fine, white moustache walked over to their table and, bending down, addressed them quietly.

  ‘Minter. There you are,’ he said.

  ‘Miss Minter,’ Miss Minter said sharply. ‘I will not do business with rude and ignorant people; let me say that immediately. Not even if they are likely to make me a fortune. Manners. Manners, please.’

  ‘Hush, hush,’ the man said, glancing round anxiously. ‘There are ears everywhere. Good to see you again.’ His skin was dark and had the texture of leather, as if it had been beaten and sundried. His hands were large and the nails perfectly manicured. He shook hands with Miss Minter and then Tapper, after which he wiped his palm down his trouser seat and sat down. ‘I’ll have a small bark-beer, young man.’

  Tapper glowered but went to buy him the drink, his eyes darting left and right as he went.

  ‘So, we meet again,’ de Whitt said to Miss Minter. Then, glancing at Tapper’s retreating back, he went on, ‘I don’t like that young fellow, I told you. There’s something quite wrong about him. Did you have to bring him?’

  Miss Minter smiled. ‘He’s all right,’ she said. ‘He does what I tell him to do.’

  De Whitt shrugged. ‘As you will.’

  Tapper returned and handed de Whitt his drink.

  ‘So, you have found the girl again?’ de Whitt said.

  ‘We’ve got her, all right,’ Tapper said with a chuckle. ‘And she’s safe.’

  ‘Safe? That is imperative. She must be held under lock and key, with no chance of escape,’ de Whitt said.

  ‘She is watched over by my girls,’ Miss Minter said. ‘There is no way she can get out.’

  De Whitt breathed out deeply. ‘Good –’

  ‘Yes, well,’ Tapper interrupted, wanting to get on and get home, away from this being-spied-on feeling. ‘What’s the plan then?’

  De Whitt looked serious. He leaned over the table and lowered his voice again. ‘You must keep the girl until I leave Stollenback,’ de Whitt said.

  ‘And when will that be?’ Tapper jumped in.

  De Whitt gritted his teeth and addressed Miss Minter. ‘It will depend on the captain of the ship and the tides. I believe Thursday night. I suggest you tell her that she is going to be reunited with the Butterworth family, since they seem to be so keen to have her back, then she won’t be suspicious.’

  ‘Cracking!’ Tapper said. ‘You could keep her here a while. Get to know each other first.’

  De Whitt ignored him. ‘The moment the captain says we sail, I will send a lad to you with the message. Then you must bring her. There will not be much time.’

  ‘Oh yes, and then what?’ Tapper said. ‘Is the deck slippery?’ he asked with a chuckle, leaning back in his chair. ‘If it was slippery, and the sea was rough, she might fall overboard, so?’

  De Whitt smiled and fingered the tips of his moustache, rolling them into points. ‘There is always the possibility of an accident at sea. Such a dangerous place, a sailing ship … You do not have to concern yourself with that. I will see that she never returns. Once she is out of the way … ’ He paused and smiled. ‘Cosmo’s will leaves everything to this girl, Sparrow, his natural daughter. With no Sparrow, the fortune comes to me, his cousin and only remaining kin … ’

  ‘And to the person who has facilitated the operation,’ Miss Minter said softly. ‘That, de Whitt, is me.’

  ‘And me!’ Tapper added.

  ‘Tapper, leave this part of the business to me,’ Miss Minter said sharply. ‘Mr de Whitt, we have gone to great lengths to get this girl for you and we have kept her safe. The cost has been extortionate. Without us you would have nothing, and now you will be very rich … ’

  De Whitt looked down at the table and spoke in a low voice. The bargaining began.

  Tapper sat and shivered and wondered what sort of dreadful, mournful ghosts lived in the Belvedere and what he’d done to make them haunt him so.

  36

  Seraphina

  The trickling sound of liquid draining into the glass jar went on for several seconds while a glow, like dawn breaking, spread out around Seraphina’s head.

  ‘You won’t last long, Seraphina,’ Brittel said. ‘You’re too highly strung. Stormy’s pet, eh? You’ll pine away quite quick, you will. Those two old boys back there; they’re nearly finished – drained dry of their tears, they are. They lasted well. Kopernicus will carry on a bit longer, she’s strong, but Miss Minter’ll have to be thinking about another source of Brightling soon, that’s the truth.’

  He finished what he was doing and Sparrow heard him pottering around, perhaps taking tears from the other spitfyres and tidying things. Then he was calling out, ‘See you all tomorrow!’ as he crossed the yard. As soon as she heard the house door close, Sparrow jumped up and squeezed round to the front of the stable.

  ‘What did he do to you, Seraphina? Are you all right?’

  She ran her hand gently over the spitfyre’s beautiful neck and peered into her large eyes. They were dry; all their golden lustre had vanished. ‘They’re taking your magic tears,’ Sparrow whispered. ‘They’re stealing Brightling from you. You poor, dear thing.’

  The spitfyre rubbed her nose against Sparrow’s shoulder. Sparrow stroked her dirty coat and stared into her dark, sad eyes. ‘I will stop this. I promise I will … somehow!’ She laid her forehead against the spitfyre’s neck. ‘Can’t you burn him or kick down the door or something?’ she whispered. ‘Isn’t there anything you can do to fight back?’

  Desperate to do something helpful, Sparrow found a bucket full of water and a cloth and, standing on another, upturned bucket, began to wash some of the brown colour away from around Seraphina’s nose and mouth. She tried to comb out her mane. She did not know that Stormy had done these same kindnesses for this same spitfyre, years ago when he’d found her, filthy and neglected in a cave. But the spitfyre remembered, and she trembled at the gentle touch. Something inside her, a yearning for home and her master, grew stronger and stronger.

  The spitfyre’s fine purple, pink and blue coat gleamed out from under the brown. ‘I daren’t do more,’ Sparrow told her. ‘Brittel will notice. He’ll know someone’s been. But is that a little better?’

  She thought suddenly, painfully, of Scaramouch. If Miss Minter could do this to the spitfyres – then what might she do to a cat? ‘I’ll save you somehow. All of you,’ Sparrow said to the spitfyres. ‘And I’ll find Scaramouch too. Somehow, somehow! Try not to weep, try not to make any tears for Brittel. Be brave!’

  She slipped out of the stable and bolted the door carefully behind her. She checked to see that she hadn’t left any signs of being there and went out through the same door she’d come through, back up the stairs and all the way up the dark staircase to the match room.

  Her mind was racing, but by the time she got there she had composed herself and opened the door, smiling.

  ‘Here she is!’ Dolly cried.

  ‘You’ve been ages!’ Hettie said. ‘Is Glori with you?’

  ‘No, I don’t know where Glori is. Miss Minter kept me.’ She went round the first table and stopped by Connie. ‘How’s it going in the match-making department?’ she asked, forcing herself to sound bright
and pushing the images of the tortured spitfyres to the back of her mind. ‘You’re on cutting today, are you?’

  Connie nodded and pointed at the pile of neat matchsticks she’d made. The smell of newly-cut wood fought against the smell of phosphorus, but lost.

  ‘Come and sit by me,’ Hettie called. ‘Help me make my boxes.’

  ‘I’m coming.’

  ‘It’s nice to have you back,’ Connie said. ‘You’re always so cheery, Sparrow.’

  ‘Tell us more about the family you were with,’ Agnes said, as Sparrow took her place at the table. ‘I want to know everything. Did the man, that Bruno, did he shout a lot?’

  Sparrow laughed as she sat down. ‘Of course he didn’t. He was very kind and sweet. They had a toyshop.’

  ‘Toyshop!’ Hettie cried. ‘Oh I wish I could go there,’ she said. ‘I’d do anything to have a toy. A real, pretend spitfyre made of velvet, that’s what I want.’

  ‘Funnily enough, that’s just what I have,’ Sparrow said. ‘Bruno insisted I took one. I’ll show you. It’s upstairs in my coat pocket.’

  ‘Goody!’ said Hettie.

  ‘You smell funny,’ Violet said, sniffing Sparrow’s jacket. ‘Where’ve you been?’

  Sparrow shrugged, cross with herself for not remembering she might have picked up the scent of the spitfyres. ‘It must be that old bag that Tapper tipped up over me,’ she said. ‘It was disgusting.’

  ‘Did you have your own bedroom then?’ Billie asked her, leaving the dipping to come and join them. ‘I’d love my own bedroom – no offence, girls!’

  ‘Yes, I did. It had rose wallpaper and the mattress was so soft it was like sleeping on a cloud!’

  ‘Oh you lucky thing!’ Beattie shrieked. ‘Tell us more! Tell us everything you ate and everything you drank!’

  Sparrow did her best, describing the food, the rooms and what they had done each day.

  ‘Sounds boring to me,’ Violet said, turning back to her work. ‘I’d’ve hated it.’

  Sparrow was hardly concentrating on what she said; her thoughts were on the spitfyres she’d just found because – she realised suddenly – these girls must know about them. If Seraphina and Kopernicus had been kidnapped at the circus the same time as she had been kidnapped, they had probably helped. She hoped they didn’t realise what a terrible thing it was that they helped Miss Minter to do.

  ‘Oh do go on,’ Hettie urged her. ‘Tell me more.’

  ‘Sorry, what?’ Sparrow said. Without noticing, she had come to a complete halt and they were staring at her. She went on quickly, ‘Hilda, the lady, she wanted to keep me,’ she said, pushing all the bleak and upsetting thoughts of the spitfyres away. ‘She was lonely, you see, and she liked me.’

  ‘She could have me,’ Hettie said, looking up at Sparrow with her big round eyes. ‘I’d be really good and help and do the cleaning and everything.’

  ‘Do you know, I think they’d love you,’ Sparrow said truthfully. ‘You’re just perfect for them, but … ’

  ‘You’re Miss Minter’s,’ Violet put in.

  ‘For ever and ever,’ Connie added.

  ‘Like Glori.’

  ‘That Tapper,’ Sparrow said cautiously, ‘what does he have to do with Miss Minter?’

  The girls shrugged and looked vague. No one was clear about it. ‘Don’t know,’ Billie said.

  ‘He’s foul, worse than a black pit of despair,’ Connie said, giggling. ‘That’s what we call him, the pit of despair!’

  ‘Don’t say that in front of Glori,’ Agnes put in quickly. ‘Glori really, really likes him.’

  ‘He’s her boyfriend,’ Hettie said clearly.

  ‘Oh.’ Sparrow stared round at the others. ‘Is he? Really?’

  ‘What can she see in the pit of despair?’ Violet said wearily.

  ‘A way out,’ Dolly said.

  ‘Freedom from phosphorus!’ Beattie added, banging the lid down on the jar.

  ‘She thinks she can change him,’ Connie added. ‘She thinks she can turn him into a good person; like my ma used to think she could change my pa and stop him drinking … Uh uh. No way!’

  37

  Discoveries

  Glori slithered out from under the heavy, damp coats and mackintoshes hanging on the back wall of the Belvedere parlour and ran …

  She had heard everything. She knew everything.

  She came to a stop and stood outside in the freezing cold, staring around wildly. They were going to hurt Sparrow! This man, Mr de Whitt, was planning to, to … kill Sparrow, push her off the ship – and they were helping him! Never in her darkest moments had she thought that they would sink so low.

  Glori set off again in haste, getting away from the Belvedere as fast as she could, but with no clear plan.

  The snow that had fallen in the night had almost gone. Water dripped from the eaves of the houses. The pavements were glassy and when she lost her footing and slipped, it sent a jolt of pain searing through her jaw. No one ever said, but she knew what the pain was: phozzy jaw, caused by the phosphorus. That’s what made the girls glow in the dark too, turning them all into little ghosts, one way or another.

  Miss Minter knows what the stuff does, Glori thought. She knows but still she does nothing about it. If the girls really were Miss Minter’s family, why didn’t Miss Minter look after them better?

  Breathless, confused, Glori finally stopped her crazy rush and began walking. Finding herself not far from the street where the Butterworths’ toyshop was, she went to it. The large window was completely plastered over with posters.

  MISSING MISSING MISSING

  Glori had half-noticed the posters before, thinking they were for the stolen spitfyres; now she saw they were for Sparrow. The Butterworths wanted her back. She remembered Miss Minter had said something about it but her thoughts had been in such turmoil … She read the poster carefully. Twice. Bruno was Sparrow’s uncle? That made the Butterworths Sparrow’s true family … And she had helped kidnap her back. Wanted her to stay!

  No! Sparrow must be given back to them!

  Glori made to open the shop door, but catching sight of the twirling spitfyres hanging from the ceiling, she stopped.

  Toy spitfyres.

  She turned and walked away. No love in those spitfyres, Sparrow had said. Glori walked ten paces off then she spun round and walked back, went ten paces past the shop in the other direction, doubled back and finally went in.

  ‘Hello, may I help you?’ The big man smiled kindly at her. Bruno. Oh he was a nice, cheery sort, with that big tubby belly and a proper, chuckling smile that lit up his brown eyes and made her want to smile too, only nothing could make her smile now.

  ‘I’m just looking at the spitfyres,’ Glori said in a small voice.

  The smile faded from Bruno’s face as he looked up at the hanging toys. ‘Oh yes, those spitfyres … pretty things, aren’t they, my dear.’ Then he muttered to himself, ‘I meant to take them down and stop selling them … ’ He shook his head. ‘I’m forgetting things!’ he said to Glori. ‘Don’t you mind me. You go ahead, my dear. Please take as long as you want.’

  The spitfyres were lovely, if you didn’t know how or where they were made, Glori thought. Beautiful. The real spitfyres were gorgeous too; she’d always thought so. It wasn’t right what they did to them, but …

  ‘Oh! No!’ she gasped. ‘It’s … ’ She reached for one of the spitfyres with a shaking hand.

  ‘All right, dear?’ Bruno asked her. ‘Can you manage?’

  She nodded dumbly.

  The fabric of the spitfyre was a tiny flower pattern, orange and pink and purple. Of course lots of people might have that fabric, she thought, lots and lots … it was just an old scrap of silk, a scarf she’d had from an ancient, kind lady, long ago. But it was unusual. Different. She turned the spitfyre over and over, hardly seeing it now, only remembering that scarf, and remembering giving it to Tapper as a keepsake. ‘I’ll keep it by my heart,’ he’d said, patting his jacket pocket. ‘Fo
r ever.’

  What a sad life she had, she thought, with a sniff. What a hopeless life. Everything she’d believed in and wanted to love, was a lie. Maybe she could never be properly happy, she thought. She had inside her a sadness that came up unexpected – often from the very things that should bring happiness – and here it was now, overwhelming her because she knew Tapper was untrue.

  ‘Who makes them?’ Glori said in a tiny voice; not really wanting an answer. Bruno looked very uncomfortable now. ‘Ah, well a young man called Tapper Nash brings them to me and, and … I’m not entirely sure who makes them.’ He coughed. ‘I’m changing supplier,’ he added. ‘Mr Nash isn’t the man I thought he was.’

  No, Glori thought, that is so true.

  ‘How about something else, my dear – one of these lovely dolls?’ Bruno asked her, waving his hand to show her a shelf of beautiful, porcelain dolls.

  ‘Oh no, no thank you. I’ve got to go.’

  She was outside the shop again so quickly that her head was spinning. She set off back to the nest, taking long, purposeful strides, thoughts reeling. She needed to be in the nest, she needed Miss Minter to tell her she was wrong to doubt Tapper. She wanted to hear how Miss Minter needed her and she wanted to sit by the fire with her and sip hot chocolate and feel all was right in the world.

  The posters were everywhere. How had she not read them properly before? MISSING MISSING MISSING. There were hundreds of them. They haunted her journey and followed her path so she could think of nothing else except that Sparrow had a real family – a family who wanted her.

  All of a sudden a hand slammed down heavily on her shoulder.

  ‘Glori!’

  ‘Tapper!’ she spun round, feeling her cheeks burn and blaze guiltily. ‘You gave me a fright,’ she managed to squeak. Oh what if he knew? What if he knew what she’d done, where she’d been? Her heart did one heavy thud then began to race and thrash about like something caught in a trap.