Jane and the Sins of Society

by Sarah Waldock

  “That is good to hear,” said Mr. Montgomery. “Thank you for sorting it out! I am only glad it was not my brother. He is considering trying a Draisine with springs, you were quite right!”

  “The world is Draisine mad, my son wants one made to size too,” sighed Jane, “And doubtless my daughter, who borrows his clothes, will want to ride too.”

  “She sounds a corky lass,” ventured Mr. Grey.

  “At eleven, she can still be permitted to be, so long as friends remain mumchance,” said Jane, tapping the side of her nose. “Only if you are staying, she is likely to surprise you by turning up dressed as a boy. Come and have a glass of wine and some cakes. It’s been a busy day.”

  A shabby figure sidled down into the area, but gave a knock Mrs. Ketch recognised. Will had gathered up some helpers to watch and run errands, promising them good pay and food from Mrs. Ketch. Mrs. Ketch sent him up to see Jane while she made up a basket of food for Will and his troops.

  “Name’s Chalky, missus, Chalky White,” said the soldier. “Will said as how it was bowman to tell you anyfink. Said ‘e’d as soon foller you as most officers.”

  Jane gave a demure smile.

  “I believe I could outdo any cavalry officer, anyway, not needing a horse to do my thinking for me,” she said.

  Chalky gave a crack of laughter.

  “Missus, any mort wiv half a brain could outdo them jackanapes,” he said. “But if Will rates yer, ma’am, I’ll trust ‘is word. Anywise, ‘e bid me tell you that cully the second ‘as returned to the coop, and set out again lookin’ like a fart-catcher. That’s a footman, ma’am.”

  “Fortunately, Chalky, I am familiar with most vernacular and a lot of cant; you need not worry.”

  “Cor, fanks, missus, that do make it easier not to have to watch me whids for flash all the time. I ain’t a criminal, mind, but when you grows up in certain places, talking flash come natural.”

  “Indeed, and I have not suggested that I suspect you of frequenting flash kens, nor doing your work in the darkmans, with or without the aid of bessies,” said Jane.

  “Cor, missus, that do sound queer comin’ out in a swell voice,” said Chalky. “Missus Ketch is gettin’ food for them of us as Will gathered, is that bowman?”

  “It is entirely bowman, Chalky, and of course while you are in our employ, we will feed you,” said Jane. “I expect Mrs. Ketch will slice you some raised pies and put in some ham and pickles and some fruit. She is used to preparing baskets to keep the troops fed, as you might say.”

  “That’s bene of you, missus,” said Chalky. “Will sent Curly and Pete to foller the footman cove, so Pete could say where he’d gone, and I could go join him to help out a Mr. Fowler if he needed it.”

  “That was good thinking on Will’s part, and please tell him so,” said Jane. “Did Mrs. Ketch give you a drink?”

  “Yes’m, fanks,” said Chalky.

  He was relieved to be on his way, the finicky rooms of gentry morts made him nervous.

  Simon found Cecily without any trouble.

  “’Lo sis,” he said. “Or should I call you brother right now?”

  “Please yourself if nobody’s listening,” said Cecily, nonchalantly. She flicked a stone near a sparrow which was sitting on the railing of the nearest area, chirping hopefully for food. The sparrow hopped one hop along the railing. It was used to being targeted by children and this one wasn’t even trying.

  Simon gave her a narrow look.

  “What’s eating you?” he asked.

  “I dunno how you feel about me bein’ your sister, do I?” said Cecily.

  “Well why do you think I’d write to Ma and Pa and tell them I wanted them to adopt you if I didn’t want you?” said Simon.

  “You did?”

  “’Course I did. You looked out for me. But I had a chance to survive another winter, and I took it, as well as liking Pa already. And you did have a Da, even if he weren’t much of one.”

  “He got took up by the press,” said Cecily. “I like being a swell gentry mort, but some of it’s easier to stomach when I can be a kinchin as well.”

  “Yes, I used to feel the same,” said Simon. “I like being a gentleman fine well though, now, but I’m glad I can still help Pa.”

  Cecily nodded.

  “I’ve been running messages for Fowler, I told them I was his son. I also whistle Lillibolero if I want him to take notice. Another time we can be street musicians when Toby can dance again.”

  “He’s a nice dog and Nat likes him. I wasn’t sure about Nat at first, he was spoilt, but Ma don’t spoil him, and he’s a proper dog now, even if a bit small. He isn’t much of a gun dog though, and he has no idea how to retrieve a pheasant. D’you think Toby might learn?”

  “Reckon Toby could learn ‘most anything,” said Cecily, loyally. “I wouldn’t like a spoilt pug, I don’t think.”

  “He was fat, and puffed a lot and was a bit mean,” said Simon. “But he’s nice now, and his eyes can talk to you.”

  “I like dogs,” said Cecily.

  “Me too,” agreed Simon. “Game o’ marbles?”

  The two strangers caught the eye of the two children. It was not their shabby clothes, although beggars might be expected to be given short shrift anywhere in the better neighbourhoods of London, it was their air of looking for somewhere in particular, and the fact that they stopped outside the Radcliffe residence.

  “So how does we get to talk to this Fowler cully anywise?” asked one. The other shrugged. The one who spoke was a big, burly, bald man, with huge hands. The other was wiry, not short, but not over five foot six, with dark, shaggy hair and a brisk, nervous manner. You could never mistake him for anything but a Londoner.

  Simon got up and went over as Cecily gathered up the marbles.

  “You were looking for Mr. Fowler?” he asked, quietly.

  “Get lost, brat,” snarled the big, bald man, pushing Simon. It was not a gentle push, but was designed to hurt. Because of his game leg, Simon fell, and Cecily flew at the man, hitting him with hard little fists, and screaming shrill abuse at him. He backhanded her and sent her flying.

  By this time the row had alerted Fowler, and the younger Radcliffe, and both came running out of the house, took in the situation, and without need to confer, advanced one each towards the men. The fight was short, ugly and one-sided. Radcliffe boxed as did so many young men of his class, and Fowler and Caleb sparred together without Broughton’s rules to hamper them.

  “What do we do with them?” asked Radcliffe, eyeing the bloody creatures lying on the cobbles. One had a broken nose which was flowing profusely, and the other had two black eyes already developing into all the colours of the rainbow, and was missing several teeth.

  “Can’t leave them here,” said Fowler. “Might attract rats. Ain’t a clean death for a poor rat to chew on vermin like that.”

  “They mentioned Fowler,” said Cecily.

  None of them noticed the unassuming man in footman’s livery who had been approaching the house, and stood, just inside another house’s area, to observe.

  “We’ll take them inside and I’ll interrogate them,” said Fowler. “You youngsters better come in; Pierce will give you a hot drink. Have they hurt you bad?”

  “I’ve had worse falls,” said Simon, shrugging. “I know how to fall now. It was a cruel blow to my sister’s head.”

  “My head is ringing like St Clement Danes,” said Cecily.

  “Well, you sit quiet while Mr. Radcliffe and me find out what’s going on,” said Fowler.

  “I’ll tell Pierce to make them chocolate,” said Radcliffe. “He knows, er, Cecily as your son, Fowler.” It was half a question.

  “They’re Sir Caleb’s children, and Simon fresh out of school before the end of term,” said Fowler, disapproving.

  “I got permission account of Pa being hurt,” said Simon. “I’m ahead of everyone anyway.”

  “So you should be, bright lad like you,” said Fowler.

/>   Radcliffe issued orders that Mr. Fowler’s sons were to be given hot chocolate, on account of foiling a couple of house breakers they had overheard plotting, and getting hurt for their pains. The children were made much of in the kitchen for that.

  “I’ll get what I can out of this precious pair, and then you can run home to your ma,” said Fowler. He did not have to tell them to report. He and Radcliffe manhandled the men into a store room and tied them to chairs. They were groaning back into consciousness now. The one with the black eyes, who was bald, spat out another tooth.

  “Right, what did you want to talk to me about?” asked Fowler, coldly. “I’m Fowler, and you have my undivided attention.”

  “Whaddya hit us like vat for?” mumbled the bald man with a sore mouth.

  “For hitting the children, of course,” said Fowler, scornfully.

  “Oony brats, wassit to you?”

  “Well, as they are my outside contact and Simon spoke to you about me, I should have thought that was bleedin’ obvious, cully,” said Fowler.

  “Well ‘ow was we to know they wasn’t tryin’ to take a rise?” whined the other, rather nasally and with a few horrid bubbling noises.

  “A sensible man would find out first,” said Fowler. “Who are you? Who sent you? What do you want?”

  “Gawd, try an’ do a man a favour an’ he get violent over a pair o’ brats!” said the bald one. “Will sent us, to see if you needed ‘elp. ‘E’s working for some cove called Sir Caleb. I’m Curly; ‘e’s Pete.”

  “And so you took it on yourselves to ignore the help I already had, and beat on children I love as dear as if they were my own,” sneered Fowler. “That’s the sort of help I can do without! I’ll pay you for the day and then you can get lost, and don’t go cozening round Will, him and me we understand each other. And if he finds out you hit Cecil and Simon, you’ll get more lumps out o’ him, Jackie and Daniel than you have from me, you understand?”

  They did not really understand, Fowler could see; why anyone should care if children were beaten on was beyond their comprehension. Fowler suspected that Curly at least was the sort of man to go out of his way to kick cats, dogs and disabled beggars. He gave them a shilling each, and manhandled them roughly out of the door, past the children, having to smell the delicious smell of chocolate, and not have any, which Fowler considered fitting. If only Pete could smell anything but blood right now.

  Fowler lurked in the area to see that they left.

  It was then that he noticed the man dressed as a footman approach and question them; but fortunately, Curly was in too bad a mood to do anything but snarl, and advance threateningly on the man. The two ex-soldiers slouched off, painfully, and the footman set off with purposeful feet.

  Fowler swore, and went back in to speak to both Messers Radcliffe.

  “I think that our little altercation has scared off the assassin,” he said, without preamble. “I didn’t notice anyone in the street, but a man dressed as a footman, in livery enough like yours to pass muster, tried to talk to those precious pair. He got nothing, I think, but he went away. I’m guessing he’s now aware this house is a trap.”

  “And that don’t mean we’re safe, does it?” said the older man. “After all, someone else had his house burned down.”

  “He did,” said Fowler. “Which is why I ain’t leaving you nohow. But I’m sending those childer back home with a message to Lady Armitage to be very wary, and goodness knows, I’d rather be there than here, but I swore I’d protect you, and protect you I shall.”

  “Sir Caleb must be quite a man to inspire such loyalty, and obedience.”

  “He is, sir,” said Fowler. “And I’m glad my wife, Lady Armitage’s dresser, has a pistol and has learned how to use it.”

  “Who are the children? Yours?” asked the old man.

  “Sir Caleb’s,” said Fowler. “And his daughter as good a son as his son, bless her. Villains don’t respect the family of a Bow Street Officer, sir, so they prefer to be ready to fight back as best they might, by playacting as street children, to run errands and loiter to overhear things. Master Simon makes a most disreputable beggar brat,” he chuckled. “He helps his pa a lot. Mrs. Jane keeps a closer eye on Miss Cecily.”

  “Good grief! I must find a way to thank them for helping you care for me, appropriate to their station; if they had been your children, or street children you had recruited, I would have given them money, but that’s an insult to young gentry.”

  “They’d be pleased to be appreciated,” said Fowler. “They do it for their pa and for the sport.”

  “Well, well, a book each, perhaps? Feeding young minds is always good.”

  “If you wish, sir. Simon is starting Greek, so something inappropriate in Greek that his tutor won’t show him, perhaps? And ... I’d have suggested music for Miss Cecily, as she’s a talented girl, but Lady Armitage has most music. A book of Perrault’s fairy tales, perhaps?”

  “Excellent, excellent!” James Radcliffe nodded. Fowler bowed, and took himself back down to the kitchen to brief the children in a low voice, and send them back to Jane with a warning.

  “And if I was her, I’d get Sir Caleb into the house tonight,” said Fowler.

  Chapter 26

  Fortunately, Sir William and Rohini were not upset at a change of plans.

  “My house has extra guards. I cannot help fearing that the desperate men we seek might choose to finish Caleb off if they think him alive,” she said. “I will risk harming his leg, as I know he will agree, to save violence towards you and your family.”

  “I do agree,” said Caleb.

  “We do not give in to threats,” said Sir William.

  “You would if they were threatening to rape all your infant daughters if you did not give me up,” said Caleb. “Believe me, Jane and I know what such people can be like.”

  Rohini paled.

  “But you also have children!” she said.

  “And servants trained with firearms,” said Caleb. Annie had been made to learn how to use a pistol in defence of her charges, and though she hated it, she had accepted it as necessary. Ella outwardly disapproved of practising with a pistol, but was actually quite glad to be able to defend herself!

  “You had better take my gong as well,” said Sir William. “I will loan it to you. It is very loud, and we have not yet had occasion to use it, since Sir Caleb had already roused those on the top floor.” He sounded regretful. The gong was a grotesque thing, the actual gong a good three feet across, suspended between two carven figures with excess arms.

  “Take it round later, in case someone is watching the house,” said Rohini.

  “Ah, a good idea, my love,” said Sir William.

  And Jane, noticing a figure across the street, watching, was not displeased to be removing a possible danger from the kindly couple. Jane waited until the Wetherbys had returned to the house, after the coffin was put into the carriage, to draw a long, shuddering breath, and say in a low, intense voice, which she thought the watcher would still manage to hear,

  “Damn you to hell, you evil creature, for killing my husband.”

  It was, she thought, more convincing than tears from a woman known to shoot highwaymen.

  Caleb was pale by the time Jackie and Daniel lifted him out of the coffin.

  “I can’t say I’m enamoured of the style of transport,” said Caleb. “Nice touch to have the hooves muffled on the horses.”

  “Black plumes an’ all, Capting,” said Jackie. “All in the proper mode, you wouldn’t be ashamed o’ bein’ buried that way.”

  “Jackie, I’d be ashamed of being buried any way at the moment, it would mean I’d let my family down,” said Caleb.

  “Manner o’ speaking,” shrugged Jackie.

  Caleb was thoroughly embraced by Simon as well as Cecily.

  “I’ve seen you worse, Pa,” said Simon, critically, “But not a lot.”

  “I’ve been worse,” said Caleb, “But you haven’t seen me that bad.
I’m going to be a cripple for a while, but I’ve been there before, and I won’t get impatient.”

  “Good,” said Jane. “We have Jackie and Daniel, and four funeral mutes who are no such thing. Dusty, Johnny, Charlie and Smitty are taking turns to be on guard outside, but the two who are resting are also available inside. They’re sleeping in the nursery on truckles, as guards to the children. Mr. Grey and Mr. Montgomery have taken up a position in the coal cellar, in case anyone comes through the coal chute. They consider it a lark.”

  Caleb nodded, chuckling over the dispositions of the Draisine fanatics.

  “’Struth, well, the young gentlemen aren’t hardly any older than Henry Redmayne, and I swear he’s as much of a schoolboy as Simon,” he said. “Good to have those off duty, as it were, on the watch in the nursery.”

  “The funeral wands is shod with iron, too,” said Jackie. “No point givin’ men staffs if they ain’t staffs as what they can do a bit of good wiv, and you can’t see nuffin’ wiv all that black crepe all over them, nowise. Hide a multitude o’ sins wiv that you can.” He did not mention that the crepe hid a little more than iron-shod staves.

  “So long as they won’t trip over the crepe wrapping on their top hats,” said Caleb, dubiously.

  “They’ll ditch ‘em if they has to fight,” said Jackie.

  Dusty and Johnny kept their eyes resolutely forward when the carriage drew up, and the gentleman followed by his man got out and came up the steps. It was too late for visiting, really, and anyone might see that the house lights were out. There was, however, the click of the lock, and the man and his valet went into the house.

  Dusty looked at Johnny as the door shut.

  “Like ‘e’s supposed to be ‘ere,” he said, softly. “So y’reckon ‘e’s one o’ the fambly?”

  “Not ‘ardly,” said Johnny. “Look, there’s Chalky, dropping off of the back of their carriage.”