The Cockney Sparrow

by Dilly Court

  ‘Too bloody right it won’t,’ Jack said, thumping the table.

  ‘Fighting amongst ourselves won’t help, Jack,’ Clemency saw that he was spoiling for a fight. ‘There’ll be time enough to talk about money later, when we’ve found ourselves some new digs.’

  Augustus held out his hands, palms upwards. ‘I am so sorry, Jack. I should have talked it over with you first, but whatever you think of my actions, without me you would still be playing your tin whistle on the pavement outside the theatre.’

  ‘Here, that ain’t fair,’ Fancy said, raising her tearstained face from Jack’s shoulder. ‘Jack’s a brilliant musician.’

  ‘No one’s denying that, Fancy,’ Clemency said, getting in quickly before Jack had another chance to vent his anger on Augustus. She understood his outrage, but this was not the time or the place to argue the point. ‘We’ll be sleeping on the pavement if we don’t do something pretty quick.’

  For once, Augustus seemed at a loss. He cleared his throat with a nervous cough. ‘I can only suggest that we go back to the dear lady in Flower and Dean Street, and beg her to take us back at a reduced rent, until such time as our fortunes change.’

  ‘You know we can’t do that,’ Jack said angrily. ‘Stone will sell the property over Mrs Blunt’s head, and Hardiman will be after Ma and Clemmie like a hound chasing after a fox.’

  ‘I’ve only got until the end of the week at the theatre,’ Clemency said, pacing the floor. ‘After that we’ll have to go back to busking on the streets, unless Augustus can get me into another musical play.’

  Fancy wiped her nose on the back of her hand and sniffed. ‘You can’t make Jack give up his place in the orchestra. He’s a proper musician now, even if he don’t get paid a proper wage. And whose fault is that, anyway?’

  ‘You got a lot to answer for, Augustus,’ Jack said angrily shifting about on the hard stones. ‘Will someone fetch me chair? I’m getting a crick in me neck staring up at all of you.’

  ‘I’ll go.’ Ronnie hurried off to fetch the chair.

  Fancy got to her feet. ‘I’ll get your coat, love. The sooner we get out of here the better.’ With an angry toss of her head, she went into the vestry.

  Augustus glanced round with a sigh. ‘I was just getting used to this place too. It’s not exactly the best hotel in town, but I’ve slept in worse.’

  Clemency blew on her cold hands. ‘So, we got no money and nowhere to sleep. That’s it in a nutshell.’

  Augustus slumped down on a pew. ‘I’m afraid that’s true. And I must take some of the blame.’

  Clemency said nothing. There was no point in making things worse than they were now. She looked round as Ronnie trundled the bath chair down the aisle, and she gave him a grateful smile. Dear Ronnie, with his funny little ways, who never made a fuss, and was always willing to give a helping hand. Why, she wondered, was it so easy to overlook someone like him? It was a pity there weren’t more men like him in the world. There were plenty of villains, like Hardiman and Stone.

  ‘Here you are, old fellow,’ Ronnie said, coming to a halt by Jack’s side. ‘Let’s get you in your chariot.’

  ‘Never mind humouring me,’ Jack said sulkily. ‘I ain’t a baby.’

  Fancy hurried out of the vestry, carrying Jack’s coat. She wrapped it around his shoulders. ‘Who said you’re a baby? I’ll scratch their eyes out.’

  ‘No, really, I never said that.’ Ronnie backed away, eyeing her warily as if he feared that she might carry out her threat.

  ‘Leave Ronnie alone. He was only trying to help. And for Gawd’s sake stop squabbling all of you.’ Clemency stamped her foot and the sound echoed up into the vaulted ceiling. ‘As far as I can see, the only place for us to go is to the theatre. We’re not out of work yet and there’s plenty of room under the stage to store our stuff. If we’re clever about it, we can dodge the night watchman and sleep in the dressing rooms for a night or two. What d’you say?’

  ‘I say we give it a go,’ Jack said. ‘Unless anyone has got a better idea.’

  ‘It seems eminently sensible to me.’ Augustus plucked his frock coat from the back of a pew. As he put it on, he squared his shoulders and smiled with some of his old bravado. ‘And I will pay courtesy calls on theatre managers, putting your name about, my little sparrow. When I’ve done they will be fighting over who is going to feature La Moineau in their next production.’

  Clemency doubted that very much, but for the moment she had other more important concerns. ‘As soon as we’ve moved our stuff, I’m going to the pub to see Ma.’

  ‘I’m coming too,’ Jack said. ‘I’m sick of hiding from bloody Hardiman.’

  Clemency exchanged worried glances with Fancy.

  ‘Now then, love,’ Fancy said softly. ‘You wouldn’t want to risk leading him to your ma, would you? Clem can march into that pub looking like any lad off the street, but we can’t disguise you so easily, now can we?’

  For a moment it looked as though Jack would argue, then a rueful grimace twisted his lips. ‘I suppose you could put me in a long skirt. It would hide me useless limbs, but I’d make one hell of an ugly girl.’

  Fancy kissed his cheek, but, when she raised her head, Clemency saw tears sparkling on the tips of her dark eyelashes. A lump seemed to have lodged in her throat but she managed a chuckle. ‘I dunno, Jack. If Hardiman saw you in a dress he might fall in love with you, then Ma and me would be safe.’

  There was no rehearsal that day. Horace Claypole had taken some time off, and so it was relatively easy for them to smuggle their belongings into the theatre. A couple of cleaning ladies remained, polishing up the brass sconces and scrubbing the floorboards, but they were too intent on their work to take any notice of a few performers carting bundles to the space beneath the stage. Clemency guessed that they were used to eccentric theatrical folk and strange comings and goings, but she heaved a sigh of relief when the last of their things was stowed safely out of sight.

  They gathered together in the musicians’ dressing room to sort out a plan of action. After some discussion, it was agreed that when the evening performance had ended, one of them would hide beneath the stage until the theatre was cleared and everyone had gone home for the night. That person would then come out of hiding and let the others back into the building. The question remained as to whether to try to dodge the night watchman, or to attempt to buy his silence. It was then that Jack demanded to know exactly how much of their money remained in Augustus’s possession. They watched in silence as he emptied his pockets. The result was not encouraging.

  ‘We can’t exist on that,’ Jack said at last. ‘It wouldn’t keep us for more than a few days, even if we found the cheapest doss house in the roughest part of Wapping.’

  Augustus stared down at the small pile of silver and coppers. ‘I know. I was banking on asking for a rise for Clem and a proper wage for you, Jack. Now I am at a loss.’

  ‘You said you would do the rounds of the theatres, Augustus. Maybe now is the time to make a start?’ Clemency fingered the coins, doing a rapid count. It didn’t look good.

  ‘I’m starving,’ Fancy said, rubbing her belly. ‘We’ve had no breakfast and no dinner. We got to eat.’

  Augustus scooped the coins up in the palm of his hand and selected a sixpenny piece. ‘Then why don’t you go out and find a hot potato vendor? That will have to do until suppertime.’

  ‘And it won’t be wasted on jellied eels and bottle of port,’ Jack said, holding out his hand. ‘Give it here, Augustus. I’ll take charge of the money from now on.’

  ‘That is an insult, Jack.’ Augustus closed his fingers over the coins. ‘Are you suggesting that I would deliberately cheat you?’

  Clemency leapt to her feet. ‘Stop it. I’m fed up with you squabbling like kids. You can all do what you like, but I’m going to visit Ma.’

  ‘Not today you’re not, Clemmie.’ Ned had entered the room unnoticed. He strode over to them, his face set in a serious expression. ‘I thought I
might find you all here, and it’s lucky that I did.’

  ‘She’s not taken a turn for the worse?’ Clemency’s lips were so numb that she could hardly form the words. ‘You’re scaring me, Ned.’

  ‘No, it’s not your ma. It’s Hardiman. He walked into the bar this morning, boasting about his new job and buying drinks all round.’

  Clemency licked her dry lips. ‘Are you sure it was him?’

  ‘One of my regulars called him by name. He’s a nasty piece of work all right. No wonder you’re afraid of the bugger.’

  ‘You don’t know the half of it,’ Jack said, frowning. ‘If I had me legs I’d sort him out once and for all.’

  Augustus slipped the coins back in his pocket. ‘At least he doesn’t know where to find you.’

  The grim expression in Ned’s eyes frightened Clemency more than words. She clutched his arm. ‘He doesn’t, does he, Ned? Please tell me he hasn’t found out where we are.’

  Ned shook his head. ‘I wish I could, but word gets round. Someone recognised your likeness on the billboard outside the theatre and they told him. That’s why I’ve come now, to warn you. He was settled in the bar drinking whisky when I left, but when he’s had enough, it’s my opinion that he’ll come here looking for you.’

  ‘He won’t be able to get past the doorman,’ Augustus said, puffing out his chest. ‘We’ll warn him to be on the lookout.’

  ‘The old codger’s drunk. I got in easy enough.’ Ned took Clemency’s hand in his. ‘You ain’t safe here, girl. Let me take you back home. He’ll never think to look for you there.’

  ‘You’ve gone white as a sheet, Clem,’ Fancy said. ‘I think she’s going to faint.’

  ‘I am not.’ Clemency took a deep breath. The room had swum around her for a moment, but she clung to consciousness like a drowning woman clinging to a spar. She had always known he would find them sooner or later. She must think of a way out of this dreadful situation. She glanced around at their concerned faces, and steadied herself by leaning against Ned. The warmth of his body was comforting: he felt solid, like a splendid oak tree in a forest of saplings. ‘I’m all right. And none of you need to worry. Hardiman ain’t interested in any of you. It’s me he wants, if he can’t have Ma. And she’s safe as long as no one knows she’s living with Ned and his mum.’

  ‘You’re not to do anything reckless, Clemmie.’ Jack’s face had paled to ashen and deep lines were etched on his brow. ‘We’ll stick together. We won’t let him have you.’

  ‘Let me take care of you, Clemmie?’ Ned’s voice broke with emotion. ‘Come home with me. I won’t let Hardiman come near you or Edith.’

  ‘Is that wise, old boy?’ Augustus rose to his feet. ‘I mean, without you, Clem, we won’t be able to stay on here. What will happen to Jack if you leave us? Claypole will throw us all out on the street.’

  Moving away from the protection of Ned’s arm, Clemency shoved her hands in her pockets, trying to look calm, but her mind was a whirl of doubts and fears. It was so unfair that they were putting the onus on her. She had done nothing to deserve this. But she felt completely responsible for all of them. Fancy was glaring at her, as if daring her to run away and desert them. Augustus shifted from one foot to the other, running his finger around the inside of his starched collar, eyeing her warily. She could feel Ned willing her to comply with his wishes. Ronnie was the only one who gave her an encouraging wink and a smile. For once, he was not twirling his wretched moustache, and the waxed ends drooped over the corners of his mouth, giving him a slightly comical appearance. He inclined his head towards her. ‘Have courage, little one.’

  Resting in the bottom of her pocket, she felt the slippery surface of Isobel’s calling card. Suddenly it was all clear to her. One person had put them all in jeopardy. He had employed Hardiman, and he alone could call him off.

  She turned to Ned. ‘You will keep Ma safe, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course I will. But what about you, Clem?’

  ‘Will you see me as far as the bus stop, Ned?’

  ‘Hold on,’ Jack shouted. ‘You’re not going anywhere, Clemmie. I told you we got to stick together.’

  ‘Leave her be, Jack.’ Fancy grasped his hand. ‘She knows what she’s doing.’

  ‘I do,’ Clemency said, crossing her fingers behind her back. ‘You got to trust me, Jack. I think I know how best to sort this mess out.’

  ‘Don’t do nothing foolish, Clemmie.’ Jack fumbled in his pocket and drew out a packet of cigarettes. His fingers shook as he opened it, spilling them on the floor. ‘Damn! What I’m trying to say is – you’re to stay here, safe with us.’

  ‘Let her go,’ Ronnie said. ‘She knows what she’s doing. I think you ought to trust her judgement, Jack. And, Clem, I’ll go and see Edith. I won’t tell her anything that will distress her, but I can help to keep her mind easy.’

  She flashed him a grateful smile. ‘Ta, Ronnie. What would we do without you?’

  ‘Ahem.’ Augustus cleared his throat. ‘This is all very well, Clem. But will you be back in time for tonight’s performance?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I’ll try.’

  ‘And what do we tell Claypole?’ Jack’s eyes were dark with suspicion. ‘I don’t like this, Clem. I want to know what you’re going to do.’

  ‘If I don’t get back before curtain up, tell Claypole that I’m sick and he’ll put Maisie on in my place.’ Clemency linked her hand through Ned’s arm. ‘Let’s go quick, afore Hardiman decides to make an appearance.’

  He patted her hand. ‘All right. I don’t pretend to know what you’re up to, but let’s get out of here.’

  Ignoring Jack’s continued protests, Clemency left with Ned. The doorman was fast asleep in the booking office. She banged on the glass and he woke up with a start.

  ‘You’d better not let Mr Claypole catch you asleep.’

  ‘I was just resting me eyes.’

  ‘I walked right past you, mate. While you was resting your eyes. You’d best lock the doors after us, if you want to keep your job.’ Ned opened the door to let Clemency out into the street. ‘Or perhaps you’d like me to report you for drinking on duty?’

  The doorman staggered to his feet, cursing loudly and glaring at them as he locked the doors. Clemency gave a sigh of relief. At least it wouldn’t be easy for Hardiman to get inside the theatre. He would have to wait until the box office opened that evening, and then he would have to fork out for a ticket. She didn’t think he would want to do that, and his meanness would buy them precious time.

  Ned walked with her to the bus stop. ‘Won’t you change your mind, Clemmie? I promise you’d be safe with us.’

  She shook her head. ‘Ta, Ned. But someone would be sure to snitch on us. That girl Annie don’t like me, I can tell. She’d sell her own grandmother for a threepenny bit.’

  ‘Then won’t you at least tell me where you’re going? Jack’s right to be worried about you. I am too.’

  The address was etched into her memory: 35 Finsbury Circus. She spotted an approaching chocolate-coloured omnibus that would take her as far as Cheapside. ‘Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.’ She waved frantically at the driver.

  ‘Be careful, that’s all I ask. Get a message to me as soon as you can, just to let me know you’re safe.’

  ‘I will, I promise.’ The horses pranced and snorted, stopping just long enough for Clemency to leap on board and then they were off again, ploughing into the mainstream of traffic. Holding onto the rail, she leaned out and waved to Ned.

  ‘Where to, sonny?’ The conductor came swaying towards her along the narrow aisle.

  ‘Cheapside, please.’ She handed him a penny and he gave her a ticket. She went to sit beside a fat woman holding a basket of apples on her knee. The scent of the apples made her mouth water and her head began to spin. She had eaten nothing since last evening and her stomach ached with hunger. She turned her head away and stared ahead. Was she doing the right thing? She sighed and settled back on the hard
seat. Whether it was right or wrong, there was no alternative but to go and face Jared Stone, and to offer her services in return for his calling off Hardiman.

  Chapter Twelve

  Clemency alighted from the omnibus at Cheapside and made her way along Old Jewry to Moorgate. She did not stop until she reached Finsbury Circus, and by this time she was footsore, hungry and extremely thirsty. This was unfamiliar territory, although she had passed this way once, when they had been performing on the concourse of Liverpool Street Station. She felt distinctly shabby and out of place in her ragged boys’ clothing. Well-dressed City gentlemen in black frock coats and top hats sauntered along the wide pavements, together with bowler-hatted bankers and clerks. There were nannies pushing babies in perambulators, and matrons out for a stroll with their maids following a couple of steps behind them. Privately owned broughams and landaus jostled for position with hackney carriages and hansom cabs. There was not a cart or a dray to be seen; neither were there any beggars or ragged children. Tradesmen did their business at the back of the terraces, well hidden from public view, and the shoeblacks, hot chestnut vendors, knife grinders and match sellers plied their trade in side streets.

  With its elegant curved terraces, built in gleaming Portland stone, Finsbury Circus was a different world from the stews of Hog Yard and Fish Street. There was no stench of cess to pollute the atmosphere and no heavy chemical-laden air from the manufactories. Street sweepers worked constantly to keep the thoroughfares clear of horse dung and dog excrement, and in the centre of all this, like an oasis in the desert, there was a public garden. Fenced off from the traffic by iron railings there were tall trees with the first flush of green leaves sprouting on their branches. Beneath them on blankets of green grass were the nodding golden heads of daffodils. It was as if someone had planted a small patch of countryside in the middle of the bustling city, and the sight of all this magnificence took Clemency’s breath away.

  She checked the address on the card, just to make sure she was in the right place. She was uncomfortably aware of suspicious glances from both servants and their employers as she searched for number thirty-five. Passers-by gave her a wide berth, as if suspecting that she would beg for money or pick their pockets. Suddenly, her fingers began to itch, and the temptation to revert to the old way of life, on the dip, was almost too much for her. Serve the toffs right if she did relieve them of a full purse or a wallet. What right had they to look down their noses at a poor boy? The wealthy patrons of the theatre had seen fit to clap their hands together at the end of her performances on stage, with their diamond rings flashing like tiny lightning strikes. They had cheered La Moineau and called for encore after encore. They had applauded her then, so why would they despise her now?