The Cockney Sparrow Page 3

  ‘Clemmie, please.’ Jack’s voice cracked with emotion. ‘Don’t go that way.’

  A hoarse laugh ripped from her throat. ‘I’ll go me own way, not that of bloody Hardiman. I’ll see the bugger burn in hell fire afore I do what he wants.’ She twisted her long, flame-red tresses into a knot on top of her head, fixing them in place with the combs. Getting to her feet, Clemency turned to Jack. ‘How do I look now? Be honest.’

  Jack swallowed hard and his lips moved soundlessly. She raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to answer.

  ‘Beautiful, Clemmie. You look so fine. Please don’t do nothing rash.’

  She hooked up her shawl and did a twirl. ‘I’m going out to conquer the world, Jack. And I’ll make Hardiman pay for what he’s done to you and Ma. You see if I don’t.’

  The fire was burning brightly in the hearth, and Jack had enough food in his belly to keep him going for the rest of the day. Clemency left him sitting close to the comforting blaze, having extracted a promise from him that he would not attempt to go out into the snow. In return, she gave him her word that she would not do anything foolish. However, once outside in the bitter cold of a January day, with the future looking equally bleak, Clemency knew that this was one pledge to her beloved brother that she might not be able to keep. With little idea or plan in mind, she made her way to Cheapside, where she sauntered along the pavements looking for a likely victim who might have a full purse or a gold watch. But the weather was her worst enemy, and there were few people out of doors braving the slippery pavements and winter chill. Those who did venture abroad were huddled beneath greatcoats, striding along with their hands in their pockets. The ladies travelled in hackney cabs, and were assisted across the treacherous pavements to the door of their destination by burly cabbies, men who could spot a dipper at a hundred yards or more.

  Clemency was getting desperate. Her clothes were decent, but without a bonnet or cape she was poorly dressed for such inclement weather, and this made her stand out in the crowd. She stopped for a moment inside the doorway of a jeweller’s shop, stamping her feet and wrapping her arms about her chest in an effort to get warm. If she did not pick a pocket soon, there would be no supper tonight and she would go home to a helpless cripple, and a drunken mother who had spent her immoral earnings on jigger gin. She would leave herself open to Hardiman and his evil intentions.

  Then she saw him – a well-dressed young man wearing a city suit beneath a topcoat that was left casually undone, as if he was impervious to the cold. On his head he wore a bowler hat, tipped at a rakish angle, and he carried a silver-headed cane. He was studying something that had caught his eye in the jeweller’s window. She sidled out of the doorway and stood beside him. He did not appear to have noticed her and she slid her hand into his jacket pocket. Her fingers caressed a leather pouch, bulging with coins, and her heart began to race. With her gaze fixed on his absorbed profile, she curled her fingers around the pouch and began to lift it slowly from its warm resting place. Suddenly, and without even turning his head, he caught her by the wrist. She tried to break free but he held her in an iron grip.

  ‘Let me go, mister. I was just trying to get me hand warm. A girl could freeze to death out here.’

  He looked at her for the first time and his eyes gleamed like blue diamonds. ‘Amateur,’ he said in a cultured drawl.

  Panic clutched Clemency’s heart in an icy fist. ‘No, honest, guv. I weren’t up to no good. I tells you I was cold and you look like a …’

  ‘Nice, kind man? Believe me, young woman, I am not.’ He dragged her hand from his pocket. ‘And you are not an accomplished thief.’

  ‘I am so.’ She could not let that remark pass unchallenged. ‘Why, I’ve been on the dip since I were a nipper of seven.’ She stopped, clamping her free hand to her lips. She had done it now – condemned herself out of her own mouth.

  ‘Have you now? I suppose you might suit my purpose, with a bit of training.’ He looked her up, with a glimmer of interest lighting his eyes. ‘Yes, you might be exactly what I’m looking for.’

  Clemency raised her chin defiantly, even though she was inwardly quaking. ‘I dunno what you mean. If you’re going to call for a copper then do it now, and get it over and done with.’

  ‘I shan’t call for the police.’ He clamped her hand in the crook of his arm and began walking along the pavement, leaving her no alternative but to run to keep up with his long stride. ‘I have plans for you.’

  ‘Where are you taking me? I won’t go. I’ll scream for help.’

  ‘No you won’t. You wouldn’t be so foolish. One squeak out of you and I’ll deliver you to the nearest constabulary. Don’t forget, you were caught in the act.’

  It was all she could do to keep her footing on the pavements where the pristine white snow had been trampled into blackened slush. They had left Cheapside and were now walking at a slower pace along Bread Street in the direction of the river. Clemency was on home territory, and was determined to break free at the first opportunity. Given the chance, she could disappear into the maze of back alleys and narrow lanes; he would have to be Spring-heeled Jack in order to catch up with her. Then, without warning, he dragged her down a narrow slit between the tall buildings that opened into Hog Yard. This was not the sort of place that she would ever have ventured into on her own. The soot-blackened buildings towered above them, five and six storeys high, cheap lodging houses, brothels and haunts of cadgers, magsmen, prostitutes, thieves and swindlers. Even Hardiman would think twice before setting foot in Hog Yard.

  ‘I won’t go in there,’ Clemency cried, digging her heels into the slush and rubbish that had been tossed out of windows, carpeting the cobblestones with a stinking mess.

  He took no notice of her protests, and she was towed along in his wake like the tender of a steam engine, up the front steps and into a seedy-looking establishment. The hallway was long, dark and narrow. He opened a door to the right and Clemency gasped as a wave of hot air almost took her breath away. She found herself standing in a large kitchen with a fire blazing in the range. On either side of it there were boilers bubbling and gurgling with hot water, and pans simmering on the hob exuding tempting aromas of boiled mutton and vegetables. A leg of bacon was hung in the chimneybreast, turning golden brown in the smoke, and strings of onions and herbs dangled from the beamed ceiling. Two long deal tables were littered with the remnants of a meal, and seated at them, on wooden forms, were as motley a crowd of people as ever Clemency had seen grouped together. The steamy atmosphere was fuggy with tobacco smoke, cheap perfume, spicy stew and hot coffee.

  ‘What you got there, then, Jared?’ A fat woman, who had been stirring a pan on the hob, waved a wooden spoon at Clemency. ‘I ain’t running a soup kitchen for waifs and strays.’

  Clemency’s abductor took off his hat and greatcoat, dropping them down on one of the benches as if he owned the place, which, she thought, he probably did. She glanced up at him and saw that his grim expression had relaxed into a smile.

  ‘Two cups of coffee, Nancy, my dear. If you please.’

  ‘I ain’t your nanny now, Jared Stone. And I ain’t at your beck and call. This is my establishment, and you ain’t my landlord.’ Nancy picked up a jug and took two mugs off the dresser, filling them with steaming coffee. She fixed Clemency with a shrewd stare. ‘I’d keep away from the likes of him if I was you, nipper.’

  Before Clemency could answer, a young woman entered the kitchen. She was smartly dressed in warm outdoor clothes, with a stylish fur hat perched on her head, and a matching muff dangling from silken cords around her neck. In her gloved hand, she carried a small portmanteau. Clemency felt a stab of envy at the sight of such finery, even though it was obvious from the size of the woman’s belly that she was in the family way.

  The young woman stopped when she saw Jared, and her pretty mouth turned down at the corners. Her large brown eyes filled with tears. ‘Jared! You can’t mean to treat me so cruel. I’ve worked hard for you since I was lit
tle more than a nipper.’

  His expression hardened. ‘You knew the score, Meg. It was a straight business deal. There was to be no hanky-panky with the punters.’

  ‘But I love you, Jared. You can’t turn me out on the street just because I made a mistake and give meself to a bastard what ruined me.’

  Stone took her by the shoulders and lifted her chin with the tip of his forefinger. ‘Come now, Meg. Don’t make this hard on yourself. You know you and your child will be better off in the country, and you won’t want for money. I’ll see to that.’

  ‘I want to stay with you,’ Meg sobbed, beating her hands on his chest. ‘I hate you.’

  ‘Here, drink this, ducks. You look as though you need it.’ Nancy thrust the mug of hot coffee into Clemency’s hands. ‘Don’t take no notice of them. No one else does.’

  Clemency looked round and saw that what Nancy said was perfectly true. The men and women seated round the tables were intent on their own business, barely giving the tearful Meg a second glance. Clemency sipped the coffee. It was hot and sweet and already the warmth was returning to her chilled limbs, but the heat had made her chilblains start playing up again – itching and burning as if her legs were on fire. However, that was the least of her worries. She edged towards the doorway, intent on escape, just waiting for her chance while Jared’s attention was occupied by Meg’s hysterical outpourings.

  ‘Stop this, Meg.’ Jared caught her flailing hands as she attempted to slap him about the head and face. ‘You’ll only harm yourself and the child. You’ve got enough money to set you up nicely in Havering. You’ll have prospective husbands queuing for miles to ask for your hand in marriage, if only to get their hands on your dowry. I’m sure they’ll overlook one little bastard.’

  ‘Oh, you brute,’ Meg screamed, struggling and kicking out with her booted feet. ‘You’re so cruel. I really do hate you.’

  ‘Then you will be quite happy to be miles away from me and this den of iniquity, won’t you?’

  ‘No, no. I don’t want to go home in disgrace,’ Meg wept. ‘I done everything you ever asked of me, Jared. Don’t send me away like this.’

  Nancy dropped the spoon into the pan and waddled over to Meg, taking her by the shoulders and twisting her from Jared’s grasp. ‘Now look here, my girl. You got yourself into this mess. You was happy enough while you was going with him to theatres, gaming houses, racetracks and the like, robbing the rich and enjoying the comforts it brought you. Well, now you got your comeuppance. Take his money and run, that’s my advice.’

  Meg stopped howling and sniffed. ‘He’s ruined me reputation. I was a good girl until I met with Jared Stone.’

  ‘Nonsense. You was a runaway, starving on the streets when he found you. You could have done a lot worse. Now go home to the farm and bring up that baby of yours proper.’

  Clemency moved a little closer to the door; she wanted to get away, but she was fascinated by Meg, so tragic and so beautiful. Jared was standing there saying nothing now but looking cold and aloof as the statue of Lord Nelson on top of his column. Clemency decided that, at this moment, she hated him even more than Hardiman, and that was saying something. She shuffled backwards and knocked over a stool. It fell with a resounding clatter on the flagstones and this time everyone turned their heads to see what had happened.

  Meg turned on her like a white-lipped fury. ‘It’s all her fault,’ she cried, pointing a shaking finger at Clemency. ‘He’s fetched her in to take me place. Look at her, the skinny, green-eyed little monkey; she’s only fit to sell matches in the street, or work as a skivvy. She couldn’t pass for a lady not in a hundred years.’

  ‘Here, who are you calling a skinny monkey?’ Clemency demanded angrily. ‘I couldn’t take your place because I ain’t a whore.’

  A gust of laughter rippled around the tables and a dozen or more pairs of eyes turned on them, watching with some amusement. Meg broke free from Nancy’s grasp, and she hurled herself at Clemency with her hands clawed. Jared stepped between them and caught her by the wrists. ‘That’s enough. I’m putting you in a cab and you’re going straight to Liverpool Street Station, Meg. You have your ticket.’

  ‘You can’t make me go home.’

  ‘I won’t be responsible for the consequences if you don’t go.’

  Meg’s face crumpled and fresh tears spurted from her eyes. ‘You don’t love me no more.’

  ‘I never pretended that I did. You’re twisting everything for your own ends.’

  Clemency leapt forward. ‘You really are a brute and a bastard, aren’t you?’ She turned to Meg. ‘You’re better off without a man like him, take my word for it. And he never brought me here for what you think. I’m a pickpocket, one of the best in the East End. That’s me trade and nothing else. You don’t have to fret about me ending up in his bed, because I’d rather sleep with one of them chimpanzees at the Zoological Gardens than with the likes of him.’

  Howls of laughter drowned out whatever Jared had to say, but the look on his face made Clemency think that the name Stone suited him down to the ground. His jaw and cheekbones stuck out in tight angles as if he had been carved out of a block of granite and his startlingly blue eyes blazed beneath his lowered brows. He pushed a lock of dark hair back from his brow with an impatient hand. Clemency had the satisfaction of knowing that she had pierced the steel-plated armour that undoubtedly surrounded his hard heart.

  Taking advantage of the general hubbub, she snatched a knife from the table. ‘I’m going, and them as tries to stop me gets this stuck in their breadbasket. Good luck to you, lady. And think yourself lucky to be rid of him.’ There was silence as all eyes were turned to Jared. Clemency did not wait to see his reaction. She opened the door and fled.

  She ran and did not stop until she reached the corner of Stew Lane where she bent double with her hands on her knees. She struggled to catch her breath, not wanting to arrive home in such a sorry state. Heavy, featherbed clouds had gathered, spilling rain that was now turning to sleet, and she was soaked to the skin in seconds, with icy particles clinging to her hair and eyelashes. As she regained control of her erratic breathing, Clemency hesitated, listening for sounds of pursuit, but there was nothing other than the normal day-to-day rumbling of cart-wheels, and the clip-clopping of horses’ hooves, mingled with the cries of the street vendors and the distant sounds of the working river. She had intended to go home, and change out of her wet clothes into the ragged garments that she had so happily put aside, but if she did that then she would have to tell Jack what had happened, and she knew that he would be upset. He already suffered the twin torments of physical disability and his inability to protect his mother and sister. She could not face the thought of distressing him even further. If she kept walking, she could keep warm. Maybe if she headed in the direction of Fleet Street and the Strand, she might lift a wallet or even a silk handkerchief or two. She began to walk, striding out and praying silently for a break in the weather. If she kept going at this pace then hopefully her clothes would dry out – if only it would stop sleeting.

  She had reached Ludgate Hill without any luck, and there was no sign of a let-up in the strings of iced rain that fell from a pewter sky. She decided to try Farringdon Market. People had to venture out to buy necessities, whatever the weather, and they would have money on their persons. She trudged on, mingling with the crowd that thronged amongst the market stalls. Farringdon vegetable market was famous for its watercress, although she doubted whether anyone in their right mind would spend good money on such a peppery vegetable in the middle of winter. She spotted a well-dressed, middle-aged matron with a young maidservant walking a couple of steps behind her. The woman stopped at one stall and then another, examining apples and oranges, poking a fat, pork-sausage finger into the centre of cabbages, and when she wanted to purchase something, she took a bulging purse from her reticule. Clemency followed them at a safe distance, watching and waiting for a moment of carelessness when the woman might set the purse down, or
tuck it under her arm while she haggled over the price of a pineapple or a bunch of grapes. At last it seemed that her patience was about to pay off. The maidservant had spotted a young man and was waving frantically as she tried to gain his attention. Her employer was exchanging angry words with a stallholder, and had dropped her purse. Hardly able to believe her luck, Clemency pounced on it, and was about to make off with it when a hand clamped on her shoulder. She spun round, expecting to see a policeman about to arrest her, but the glib explanation froze on her lips as she found herself looking into the smiling face of Ned Hawkes.

  ‘Why, Miss Clemency. I didn’t expect to see you here.’

  With the purse clutched in her hand, Clemency felt a guilty flush rising from her neck to her cheeks. Any moment now, the old dame would miss it and she would be found out. ‘Just a moment. There’s something I got to do.’ She flashed a smile at Ned and tapped the woman on the shoulder. ‘Excuse me, missis. I think you dropped this.’

  ‘Well, so I did.’ She snatched the purse and her face puckered into a frown. ‘Where’s that dratted girl? Ivy, come here. Stop ogling that young man and do what you’re paid for.’ She turned her back on Clemency and resumed her verbal battle with the stallholder.

  ‘Don’t say thank you,’ Clemency muttered beneath her breath. If only she’d been a bit quicker, or if Ned Hawkes hadn’t chosen that particular moment to turn up, she would not have had any conscience about stealing the purse from such a miserable old cow.

  ‘So what brings you out on such a dreadful day?’

  Clemency realised that Ned had been speaking to her and she managed a weary smile. ‘Oh, I just needed to get a bit of food in.’

  ‘Me too. We get through a whole vegetable garden in no time at the pub. Ma makes the best soup in London – she’s famous for it. You must try it sometime.’

  ‘That would be nice.’ Clemency glanced over her shoulder; she had spotted another likely target, but first she must get rid of Ned. ‘Anyway, I must get on.’