The Cockney Sparrow (29 page)

‘That you won’t.’ Nancy lit the gas mantle and the colours of the room bloomed into being, causing Clemency to catch her breath. It was like fairyland – she could not believe that this luxury was meant for her and her alone. But Nancy had already moved on and had opened a door that led into another, smaller room with a single brass bedstead, a washstand, a chair and a bedside
table. ‘This is your room. What’s your name, girl?’

Fancy gulped and swallowed. ‘It’s Fancy, missis. Fancy Friday.’

‘Huh!’ Nancy cast her eyes heavenwards. ‘Outlandish. Never mind. I suppose you can’t help being given a name like that.’

‘But this ain’t for me, is it?’ Fancy laid a tentative hand on the coverlet, as if she expected it to leap up and bite her.

‘Of course it is, you stupid girl.’ Nancy shook her head. ‘Do you think I’d waste my time showing you a room that wasn’t yours?’

‘We’re tired, missis. We’ve had a hard day.’ Clemency could see that Fancy was overwhelmed and close to tears. If it had been anyone else, she would have given her a hug, but Fancy was prickly as a bunch of holly when she was upset. ‘We’re strangers in this house. We don’t know your ways, so I’d be obliged if you’d bear that in mind.’

Nancy shrugged her shoulders. ‘Don’t you put on airs and graces with me, my girl. I recall the day when Mr Stone dragged you into the house in Hog Yard. You was a common pickpocket then, and that’s all you are now, except that he’s seen fit to try to turn you into a lady.’ She snorted with laughter. ‘A lady! He’ll have his work cut out.’

‘Here, you can’t talk to her like that,’ Fancy said, bristling. ‘You leave Clem be.’

‘And you mind your manners. I’m in charge below stairs, and that’s where you belong, so don’t you forget it.’ Nancy’s jaw jutted out in a stubborn line above her wobbling chins. She spun Fancy round to face a door on the opposite side of the room. ‘That’s Miss Isobel’s room. You’ll be lady’s maid to her and to that one over there as well.’ She shot a darkling glance at Clemency.

‘Don’t talk soft,’ Clemency said, stifling a yawn. ‘What would I want with a lady’s maid?’

‘Mr Stone thinks you can be turned out smart enough to fool the toffs, and it ain’t up to me to argue with the boss. Now get to bed, both of you. And tomorrow morning you can start by filling pans with water and putting them on the range to boil.’

Fancy slumped down on the bed. ‘Is it wash day?’

‘No, ducks. It’s bath day. You’ll bring the tin tub in from the scullery and fill it with hot water. Young ladies have regular baths. It’s the law.’

‘A bath?’ Clemency repeated.

‘Soap and water.’ Nancy sniffed. ‘When did you last have a good wash?’

‘Mind your own business. I ain’t taking off me clothes in front of all and sundry. And no one has a bath at this time of year. It ain’t healthy.’

Nancy’s steel-grey eyes narrowed. ‘You’ll have a good scrub down tomorrow morning even if I
have to strip you both naked and use the yard broom on you. Sleep tight.’

‘And that goes for you too.’ Nancy stood, arms akimbo, by the zinc tub filled with hot water. Clemency and Fancy were hovering nervously by the fire, while Augustus, Ronnie and Jack sat at the table, finishing their breakfast of bread and cold meat. ‘Men have to be clean as well as the women. I ain’t having no fleas and lice in my house.’

Augustus rose to his feet. ‘Madam – Mrs Spriggs. Nancy, my dear, I am happy to act as butler or even as a gentleman’s gentleman, but I draw the line at public bathing. On the first of May, if it doesn’t fall on a Sunday, I visit Nevill’s public baths in Aldgate, where, for twopence, I have a hot bath, second class, naturally, and for a penny-halfpenny I wash and dry my undergarments. I go through the same procedure on the first of October, and that sets me up for the winter.’

‘And next Tuesday is the first of May,’ Ronnie said hastily. ‘I think I’ll join you in the public baths, Augustus.’

‘And me,’ Jack pushed his plate away. ‘Lift me up and get me out of here, Ronnie. No one’s going to get me into that tub.’

‘Cowards,’ Clemency said, chuckling as she clutched the wrap around her that she had found
on a chair in her room. Nancy had informed them that she had taken their clothes, and they were being boiled in the copper, out in the back yard. They had either to wander round naked, or put on the only garment at their disposal.

‘All right,’ Nancy said grudgingly. ‘I’ll let you gents off, providing you go to the nearest public baths before the end of the week. To put it mildly, you’re all a bit whiffy. I had enough of that in Hog Yard, but we’re in Finsbury Circus now, along with the toffs.’ Nancy turned her back on them, rolling up her sleeves. ‘Right then, ladies. Who’s going to be first?’

Augustus hurried from the kitchen, followed by Ronnie, who had hefted Jack over his shoulder. Fancy was cringing by the fire, eyeing the bath as though it was filled with acid that would dissolve her flesh on contact. Nancy had promised them fresh clothes as soon as the bathing ordeal was over, and there seemed to be no way out other than to comply with her wishes. Clemency allowed the wrap to slip to the floor and she stepped into the hot water.

An hour later, scrubbed clean from head to foot and having undergone the humiliation of a fine-tooth comb being dragged painfully through her long hair, she was dressed in some of the loveliest clothes she had ever seen. They had belonged to Isobel, and had apparently been discarded for no better reason than that they
were no longer in fashion this season. Clemency could not imagine how anyone could throw out such fine garments; there was not a patch or a darn to be seen, no frayed ends and not a stain in sight. Her skin was still pink and tingling from the hot bath, and the over-enthusiastic scrubbing of her back with a prickly loofah. She was certain that Nancy had enjoyed inflicting pain, but she had to admit, as she perched on the edge of the sofa in the drawing room, that feeling clean was a pleasant sensation. She might smell of carbolic with a hint of Lysol, but the white lawn blouse with lace frills and the French-blue tussore skirt were scented with lavender. She lifted it just far enough to admire the bright moreen petticoats, stiff with starch. Her legs were encased in white silk stockings and on her feet she wore a pair of high button boots that had also belonged to Isobel and were only a couple of sizes too big.

‘So my old clothes fit you, then?’

Clemency jumped. She had been so absorbed in admiring her new outfit that she had not heard Isobel enter the room. She looked up into a pair of blue eyes, startlingly similar to Jared’s, and a cool gaze. ‘They do. Ta – I mean thanks for the loan.’

Isobel tossed her head and the sunlight streaming through the windows caught golden glints in her hair. ‘I’d thrown them out anyway. But you’re welcome to them. I believe that those
of us who have wealth should share it with the less fortunate.’

‘Do you now?’ Clemency eyed her with interest. She had formed the opinion that Miss Isobel Stone was a spoilt and snooty young woman, used to getting her own way. She had not expected someone with such a lively social conscience.

Isobel moved gracefully, seeming to glide rather than walk. When she sank down onto a chair, her skirts fell into elegant folds, like the petals of a flower. Clemency could not help but be impressed.

‘So,’ Isobel said, returning her stare. ‘What exactly are you doing in our house? What is it that Jared wants with you, Clemency?’

‘Why did Jared have such a desperate need for your company?’ Isobel leaned forward, her pretty face alive with curiosity.

Clemency stood up, playing for time while she tried to think of an answer to a question that was still puzzling her. If she did not fully understand Jared’s motives, how could she possibly explain them to his sister? Avoiding Isobel’s intent stare, she went over to the window, wobbling a little on the unaccustomed high heels. She had grown used to striding along in boys’ boots and breeches, or dancing onto the stage in ballet shoes that were lighter than air: she felt uncomfortable in her borrowed garments, and out of place in these unfamiliar surroundings. She realised that Isobel was waiting for an answer. ‘I’m blowed if I know exactly. You should ask your brother.’

‘And I will,’ Isobel replied evenly. ‘But you’ve got a tongue. Tell me about yourself. I’m desperately keen on supporting women’s rights, and I don’t hold with the exploitation of the female sex by men who ought to know better. He hasn’t propositioned you, has he? I mean, Jared
hasn’t made improper suggestions to you? Not that I’m a prude, but I think we women should have control over our own bodies, and not be subservient to the carnal desires of men.’

‘Izzie, that’s enough.’ Lady Skelton stood in the doorway, frowning at Isobel. ‘That sort of talk may go down well with your radical acquaintances, but it’s not a fit subject of conversation for unmarried girls.’ She swept into the room, followed by Jared.

Isobel rose to her feet, bobbing a curtsey. ‘I’m sorry, Grandmama. I didn’t know you were there.’

‘Go to your room, Isobel,’ Lady Skelton said severely. ‘I’ll speak to you later.’

‘Must I, Jared?’ Isobel cast an appealing look at him, curving her lips into a winning smile.

‘Do as you’re told, Izzie.’ Jared’s tone was severe, but there was a twinkle in his eyes as he pinched her cheek.

Scowling at him, Isobel flounced to the door. She paused, turning to Clemency. ‘We’ll continue this discussion later.’ With a defiant toss of her blonde curls, she left the room.

As the door closed behind her, Lady Skelton collapsed on the sofa clutching her sides and laughing. ‘That girl will be the death of me.’

Jared was laughing too, and Clemency looked from one to the other, wondering what it was that had amused them.

‘My little sister has a social conscience,’ Jared said, chuckling. ‘Isobel believes that she can change the world for the better, and the lot of women in particular.’

‘I don’t see that’s no laughing matter,’ Clemency said primly.

‘No, of course it isn’t.’ Lady Skelton mopped her eyes with a lace handkerchief. ‘Isobel is an innocent, my dear Clemency. She has received the strictest of upbringings, and the best education that money can buy.’

‘Look,’ Clemency said, edging towards the doorway. ‘I dunno what you want with me, but I think you’re both loony. Now can I go?’

‘Sit down, please, and hear us out.’ Jared motioned her to a chair, his expression suddenly serious.

Still suspicious, particularly of the grand old lady who appeared to have taken leave of her senses, Clemency went to sit on the edge of a spindly chair that was near enough to the door to enable a quick escape. She folded her hands on her lap. She would not let them see that she was nervous, and that she suspected Jared had not been completely honest about his reason for employing her. ‘Well?’ she said. ‘Go on then.’

‘Really, Jared. You should have told the girl everything from the start.’ Lady Skelton began peeling off her white kid gloves.

He nodded. ‘I know, Grandmama, but we
haven’t really had the opportunity to talk seriously.’ He turned to Clemency. ‘The first thing you must understand is that Izzie knows nothing of the way in which I supplement our income.’

‘You mean she don’t know that you’re a crook?’

‘Precisely so. Izzie is under the impression that our wealth is inherited. We, that is, my grandmother, Lady Skelton, and I, have big plans for Isobel. Our aim is to see her married well, with her future secured.’

Clemency angled her head. ‘You mean you’re going to sell her off to the highest bidder?’

‘You are direct, aren’t you?’ Lady Skelton exchanged amused glances with Jared. ‘She’s bright, Jared. I give you that. Maybe she’ll do after all.’

‘I wouldn’t have picked her if I didn’t think so, Grandmama.’

‘Oy, you two!’ Clemency leapt to her feet. ‘What’s going on? I thought I was working for him.’ She pointed at Jared. ‘I don’t mind a bit of pickpocketing from folks what can afford to lose a quid or two, but if you’ve got anything else in mind, you’d best forget it.’

‘She has spirit too.’ Lady Skelton looked Clemency up and down. ‘And polished up a bit, with the right clothes and a few lessons in etiquette, we might be able to pass her off as a
lady, providing she keeps her mouth shut.’

‘Look, lady,’ Clemency said, taking a step towards the sofa. ‘I’m an actress and a singer. I ain’t a high-class whore, so don’t you get no ideas about finding me a string of rich geezers who’ll pay for me services. If you wasn’t a lady, and an old one at that, I’d think you was running a knocking-shop.’

‘Clemency! That’s no way to speak to my grandmother. I won’t have disrespect for her in my house.’ Jared’s voice was harsh, but Lady Skelton let out a hoot of laughter.

‘Leave her alone, boy. She’s only speaking her mind and I like that.’ She leaned forward to pat Clemency’s hand. ‘Listen to me, child. I may have a title now, but before I married the late baronet, I was Emily Smith, a haberdasher’s daughter from Spitalfields. My face, as they say, was my fortune and I was a quick learner. How I came to marry well is another story, but my husband had a weakness for the horses, and very soon his inherited fortune was gone. Then the selfish man died, leaving me with no money and a young daughter to launch into an unforgiving society, where money counts just as highly as breeding. When Cecily married the wealthy merchant, Oswald Stone, I thought I had done my best by her.’ Her voice broke on a muffled sob, and she averted her gaze.

‘But, as I told you,’ Jared continued, when Lady
Skelton seemed to be unable to go on, ‘my father was also profligate with money. They were travelling abroad, escaping their creditors, when their carriage overturned on a mountain pass between France and Italy. They were both killed outright. Izzie was just ten and I was eighteen.’ He turned away to stare out of the window. His hands were clasped tightly behind his back, his fingers tightly interlaced. Clemency sensed that just talking of the past distressed him. She was beginning to think he had feelings after all.

‘We brought Izzie up together,’ Lady Skelton said, dabbing her eyes with her hanky. ‘We were both virtually bankrupt. I now live in rented rooms in Half Moon Street, on a small annuity left to me by my late father-in-law, who knew all too well of his son’s weaknesses. I, of course, was too old to learn the skills necessary to become a successful thief, but I could train the girls that Jared plucked from a life of destitution on the streets. We fed and clothed them, educated them to a far higher degree than they would ever have reached in their previous lives, and we looked after their morals.’