by Dilly Court
Edith groaned, and in the fading moonlight Clemency could see that her eyes were open and staring. ‘What is it, Ma? Are you ill?’
‘Me belly aches, Clemmie. I’m hot and cold all over. I need a drop of gin, ducks. It’s the only thing that will give me ease.’
‘I got no money left, Ma. And the gin will do for you one day. You’re best off without it.’
Edith raised herself on to her elbow. ‘You had a florin. I know you did.’
‘And Mrs Blunt had it off me for the use of the bedding. The old besom said it was extra on top of the charge for lodgings, and it were up to us to pay it. I couldn’t let you or Jack sleep on the floor, now could I?’
‘Me guts is being cut with knives. Me stomach is full of cramps. It’s worse than when I was giving birth to you and Jack. Can’t you find me a drop of something? Anything, I don’t care. Laudanum will do if you can’t get a drop of tiddley.’
‘I’ll go down to the kitchen and see what I can find.’ Clemency crept out of the room. Doreen and Flossie were already halfway down the staircase. They glanced up at her, but she could not see their faces clearly in the dim light. She followed them downstairs to the kitchen, where Fancy was kneeling in front of the range energetically working a pair of bellows.
‘Ain’t you got the kettle on yet?’ Doreen demanded. ‘I can’t start work until I’ve had a cup of tea.’
‘Me neither.’ Flossie turned to stare at Clemency. ‘What d’you want?’
‘Mind your own business. I’m a paying guest in this house.’
‘Ooh, my. Hoity toity,’ Doreen said, mimicking Clemency’s voice. ‘What are you today then? A girl or a boy? Or don’t you know the difference?’
Flossie sniggered. ‘I bet she’s got a whatsit, just like a fellah.’
‘If you had half a brain you’d scare me,’ Clemency said, curling her lip. ‘I could whop you with one hand tied behind me back, so don’t give me no lip.’
Flossie’s dishwater-pale eyes widened and she backed away. ‘I was just joking.’
‘Leave her alone, Floss,’ Doreen said over her shoulder as she went to open the door to what had been the broom cupboard. ‘You make the tea and I’ll fetch the cleaning stuff.’
Fancy stopped pumping the bellows and glanced over her shoulder at Clemency. As their eyes met, Clemency was certain she caught a glimmer of amusement in Fancy’s expression. At the same moment, Doreen uttered a loud scream and ran back into the kitchen, clutching her chest.
‘He’s in there, the man with no legs.’ She turned on Fancy. ‘You bitch, you might have warned me. And it ain’t funny.’
Fancy sat back on her heels and rocked with laughter. ‘You should see your face.’
Flossie rushed to comfort Doreen. ‘That ain’t fair. You never told us the cripple was in there.’
‘You never asked,’ Fancy said, wiping her eyes on her apron. ‘And for your information, you dumb-bell, he ain’t a cripple and he has got legs, they just don’t work proper. And if I hears either of you say anything nasty about him, or to him, you’ll feel the back of my hand round your silly faces.’
Doreen and Flossie went to sit on one of the forms, silent and glowering, waiting for the kettle to boil. They shot dark glances at Clemency, who ignored them. She went over to Fancy and touched her on the shoulder. ‘Ta for standing up for me brother.’
Fancy flinched and pulled away from Clemency’s touch. ‘Just because I think a lot of Jack don’t mean that I like you. You got the room what ought to have been mine. I’ll not forgive you for that.’ She clambered to her feet and went to the table to set about hacking slices off a loaf of bread. Clemency could see that it was useless to argue. She wanted to reason with Fancy and tell her that if Mrs Blunt had intended her to sleep in the filthy attic, then she would have done so, but she could see that nothing she could say or do would make the slightest bit of difference. Fancy was a stubborn mule and had a mouth on her the size of the Blackwall Tunnel, but she was good to Jack and that made her all right in Clemency’s book. The kettle on the hob had begun to bubble. Doreen and Flossie seemed unwilling to risk annoying Fancy any further and they sat side by side on the bench, like a pair of starlings on a washing line.
‘I’ll make the tea then, shall I?’ Clemency did not wait for an answer. She warmed the large brown teapot and made the tea. She sniffed the scented steam rising from the pot. These tea leaves had not been used and reused – this would be a lovely fresh brew. Mrs Blunt might be a bit of a harridan, but at least she was not mean when it came to catering for her lodgers.
After the lodgers had breakfasted and gone about their daily business, Clemency and Jack took a seat in the far corner of the kitchen, well away from Mrs Blunt and Fancy who had begun preparing the day’s meals. Jack had wanted to hear all the details of last night’s street shows, and Clemency had related everything, making light of the gruelling march through the London streets in the biting cold.
‘If only I could get about better,’ Jack said, staring moodily into the distance. ‘I don’t like sending you out on the streets, Clemmie. It ain’t right. It’s a pity I can’t have wheels strapped to me bum so that you could pull me along.’
He laughed, but Clemency was quick to hear the bitter note in his voice. She could think of nothing to say that would comfort him, and she bent her head over the song sheets that Augustus had left for her to read and learn. If it had not been for Lucilla’s caustic tongue, she would have admitted that she had difficulty in reading, but she did not want to lose face in front of that stuck-up little madam. It had been a relief when, during breakfast, Augustus suggested a shopping trip to Lucilla. He had promised her a new bonnet, and Lucilla said she had seen just the thing in a shop window in Commercial Street. She had practically dragged her father from the table, and he had gone off with a hunk of bread in one hand and a slice of ham in the other. Tom had not come down to breakfast. Ronnie said he had drunk too much hot toddy and was feeling the worse for it. Clemency decided that she liked Ronnie. He was a lot older than Tom, who must be in his early twenties. Ronnie seemed to be closer in age to Augustus and he had a world-weary look, as though life had beaten him soundly and now he accepted each day as it came, without either enthusiasm or fear. He was, Clemency thought, the calmest and quietest person she had ever met.
He had come back into the kitchen and politely asked if he could join them at the table. Jack welcomed him with a wide grin, and Clemency knew that if Jack liked a person, they were likely to be all right. From his permanent sitting position, Jack had had time to study people, and he was a good judge of character. Although, Clemency thought, chewing her finger as she watched Fancy sidle over to stand by his side, even Jack could be wrong sometimes.
‘How are you doing, Clem?’ Ronnie asked, sitting down beside her.
She met his frank gaze, and was about to say she was doing well when she saw a flicker of understanding in his grey eyes. ‘To tell you the truth, Ronnie, I can’t read. Well, I can make out the letters, but it takes me ages to work out the words.’
Ronnie’s waxed moustache quivered upwards as he smiled. ‘That’s not a problem. I’d be pleased to help, if you’d let me.’
‘I’d be ever so grateful. But why would you want to help me? I ain’t nothing to you.’
‘I had a daughter once. She died of the smallpox and it took my wife too. Effie would have been about your age now, had she survived. You’ve got a lovely voice, young Clem. You could go far, especially if you could read.’
Clemency shot a furtive glance at Fancy, but she was too busy flirting with Jack to have overheard the conversation. She turned to Ronnie and smiled. ‘Ta, you’re a brick.’
They were out on the streets by midday, performing up West outside the large stores. Augustus had taken them on the underground train, an experience that took Clemency’s breath away, and left her gasping for air as they emerged into the winter sunshine in Oxford Street. She had never been any further west than the Strand Theatre, a
nd she had certainly never seen anything like these imposing shop fronts. The windows were filled with luxury goods that she could never have begun to imagine. The horse-drawn omnibuses, broughams, hackneys and hansom cabs jostled for position in the busy streets, and pedestrians took their lives in their hands as they attempted to weave in and out of the traffic. Uniformed chauffeurs leapt out of motor cars to assist their elegantly dressed passengers to alight. Liveried doormen hurried to open the glassed doors of the department stores, and the intoxicating mixed scents of perfume and expensive toiletries wafted out in a gale of hot air. Clemency could barely sing a note as she stood, open-mouthed on the pavement, completely fascinated by this exotic new world. In her shabby boy’s clothes, she felt even more like a cockney sparrow than before. One day, she thought, staring at a particularly beautiful young lady being handed out of a cab, I’ll be dressed in silks and satins, with a whole dead bird and a pound of grapes on me hat. Lucilla nudged her in the ribs and hissed at her to stop gawping and sing.
In the afternoon, they moved from Oxford Street to Regent Street, and by teatime they were in Piccadilly Circus, where they had to vie for position with the flower sellers, who took a dim view of their pitch being queered, and other groups of buskers, who were as territorial as fighting cocks. Augustus allowed them brief stops for refreshment at a pub and a teashop, and by late evening they had made their way back to Carter Lane.
Augustus stopped outside the Crown and Anchor. ‘This will be our last stop for tonight.’
‘Daddy!’ Lucilla whined. ‘I’m exhausted. I can’t sing another note.’
Augustus pushed the door open with his shoulders. ‘My old friend Cyril Hawkes was mine host here, that is until he run off with a barmaid from Wapping, which made him a fool, in my opinion, as his wife is the best cook in London. We’ll do our turn and then I’ll treat you to supper. I can’t say fairer than that. Now can I?’
‘You could send me home in a cab,’ Lucilla muttered, pushing past him into the smoky interior of the pub.
Clemency followed last. She did not want Ned to see her dressed like this, but perhaps he would not recognise her. She pulled her cap down a bit further over her eyes. The bar was packed with customers: Augustus cut a swathe through them with the aid of his cane and his loud voice. He came to a halt by the inglenook, claiming a table that had just been vacated by a group of men. Clemency had to push to get through the crush of male bodies.
‘Here, look where you’re going, boy.’
The familiar voice sent an icy shiver down her spine. Todd Hardiman gripped her by the shoulders, shaking her like a terrier with a rat. ‘Where’s your manners, boy?’
Chapter Six
It was all over. She was convinced that Hardiman had seen through her disguise. He was holding her in a bone-crushing grip, with his fingers clamped on her thin shoulders. She bent her head and stared down at the ground. ‘Sorry, mister.’
He shook her again. ‘I’ve a good mind to take you outside and give you a good thrashing. That’ll teach you to respect your elders and betters, me lad.’
‘I said I’m sorry.’ She tried to make her voice sound gruff, more like a boy, but it came out in a squeak. She darted a sideways glance at Hardiman. He was staring down at her, his penetrating gaze hard and cold as hailstones. Just as she thought he was going to rip away her disguise, Ronnie elbowed his way towards them.
‘Anything wrong, mate?’
‘Is this your nipper?’ Hardiman’s harsh voice was slurred with drink.
Clemency angled her head to send Ronnie a mute plea for help. Reaching out, he grabbed her by the ear. ‘I’ll take the young scoundrel, mate. And I’ll give him what for when I gets him home.’
Hardiman’s fingers tightened and then relaxed. He shoved Clemency away from him with a disgusted snort. ‘See that you do. Teach the little bugger a bit of respect, I say.’ He lurched off, pushing people out of the way as he headed towards the street door. Then, just as Clemency thought she was safe, he stopped and turned. Their eyes met and she felt her blood run cold. She didn’t wait to see if he recognised her. She bolted, head down, barging through the punters. Dodging behind the bar, she ignored Ned’s order to stop and darted into the kitchen, almost knocking down a scullery maid who was carrying a pail filled with potatoes. The girl staggered backwards with a stifled scream, just managing to right herself without spilling the contents of the bucket.
‘Lord above, what’s going on?’ Nell bustled forward, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘Annie, never mind snivelling. Put those spuds on to boil. And you, young shaver, what are you doing in my kitchen?’
Before Clemency could speak, someone grabbed her by the scruff of her neck. She lashed out with her feet.
‘Hold on, there. I ain’t going to hurt you, nipper.’
It was Ned’s voice, but panic had gripped her insides with icy hands and she struggled to get free. Hardiman might have recognised her in that split second, and he wouldn’t hesitate to follow her. ‘Let me go, you big oaf.’
‘What the devil?’ Ned spun her round to face him. ‘Clemency?’
At any other time, his shocked expression would have made her laugh, but all she wanted now was to escape through the back door. ‘He mustn’t find me,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Hardiman’s in the bar. He was the one we run away from.’
‘Hardiman? Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure. How could you let a wicked man like him drink in your pub? Shame on you, Ned Hawkes.’
‘Shame on me! I just serve ale. I know of him, but I can’t say I’ve ever seen him. Not knowingly, at any rate.’
‘You ought to be more careful. He’s a bad lot. He’s nothing but trouble.’
‘And what sort of trouble have you got yourself into? Why are you dressed like a boy? It ain’t seemly.’ Ned tugged the cap from her head, freeing her mane of hair.
‘Give it here,’ Clemency made a grab for the cap. ‘Are you stupid or something? What if he were to come through that door? He’d know for sure it were me.’
‘You look ridiculous,’ Ned said, frowning. ‘And it ain’t proper for a young lady to go about in breeches. It ain’t decent.’
Struggling to get her hair tucked back beneath the cap, Clemency stamped her foot. ‘Better to be ridiculous than dead.’
‘Stop this bickering, both of you.’ Nell hurried to Clemency’s side, placing a protective arm around her shoulders. ‘Who is this bloke Hardiman? And why are you so frightened of him, ducks?’
‘He’s a bad, bad man, Mrs Hawkes. You don’t want to know nothing about him.’
The door opened. Stifling a cry of alarm, Clemency hid behind Nell’s ample body.
‘Better come quick, gaffer,’ the potman said urgently. ‘There’s customers demanding ale.’
‘Tell them I’ll be there in a tick.’ Ned shooed him off with an impatient wave of his hand. As the door closed, he turned to Clemency. ‘Just tell me why you’re going about London dressed like that.’
‘I’ve taken up with a troupe of street musicians. This garb is part of the act.’
Ned did not look impressed. ‘You look like a common pickpocket.’ His scowl faded into a suspicious frown. ‘That’s what you was doing in the market with that woman’s purse, wasn’t it? You was on the dip.’
‘I was then, but it ain’t like now. We’re professionals, we are. Lucilla and me sing the songs.’ Clemency puffed out her chest. ‘They call me the cockney sparrow.’
‘Well I never did.’ Nell gave her a hug. ‘Don’t be hard on her, Ned. At least she’s trying to earn an honest living.’
‘That’s no excuse for exposing her – limbs.’
Clemency felt the blood rush to her cheeks. What right had he to criticise her? And it was embarrassing to have a man staring at her legs. ‘I’ll thank you to wipe that stupid, shocked expression off your face, Ned Hawkes.’
He opened his mouth to reply but was cut short by a screech from Annie. ‘Pan’s boiling over, missis.
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‘Move it to the back then, silly girl,’ Nell said, with an impatient wave of her hand.
‘Sparrows don’t sing,’ Annie muttered, shifting the pan off the heat.
‘Well, this one does,’ Clemency retorted angrily. ‘Who asked you, anyway?’
Annie shrugged her shoulders and disappeared into the scullery.
‘Now, Clemency, love,’ Nell said gently. ‘Don’t pay no heed to Annie; she’s a bit simple. And don’t be cross with Ned, he’s just worried about you. We both are.’
‘I can take care of meself, ta.’ Clemency jammed the cap down over her eyes. ‘You been good to me, Mrs Hawkes. I don’t forget a kindness, but don’t let on to no one what you just saw. Hardiman’s got spies everywhere. He mustn’t find out where we are.’
‘Gaffer!’ The potman stuck his head round the door. ‘There’ll be a riot if you don’t come quick.’
‘I’m coming.’ Ned hesitated, frowning. ‘There must be some other way you can keep your mum and Jack. I didn’t like leaving you there in Spitalfields, not with the Ripper still at large. And now I see you out on the streets late at night, I like it even less.’
‘Ta, but it ain’t your problem.’
‘I got to get back to work, but I’ll come and see you at your lodgings, if that’s all right with you.’
