The Cockney Sparrow (41 page)

‘I’m going to visit Hannah, like I said last night.’ Edith hung her apron on a hook by the range. ‘I’ll be back in time to cook the evening meal, so don’t worry about that, Nancy.’

Clemency spent the morning keeping out of Nancy’s way. She had volunteered to sort out the linen cupboard, and when that was done she made an excuse to go upstairs, telling Nancy that she was going to mend a torn flounce on one of
Miss Isobel’s petticoats. She desperately needed to speak to Jared. He must have been very angry with her to go off for the day without telling her. She paced the floor in the drawing room, wringing her hands. Where was he when she needed him? He had told her he loved her, hadn’t he? If that were true, then why hadn’t he followed her to her room last night? Or at the very least he could have tried to make his peace with her before he left the house that morning. She had been ready to apologise for her behaviour, and to beg his forgiveness, if necessary. Now she was torn between anxiety and resentment.

When he had not returned by mid-afternoon, Clemency was beginning to imagine all kinds of accidents that could have befallen him. He might have been killed by a runaway horse, or been crushed beneath the wheels of a brewer’s dray. He might have sought out Marceau and challenged him to a duel, or he might have gone looking for Hardiman – Jared could be lying somewhere in a pool of his own blood. She could stand it no longer. Nancy was in a bad mood, and Isobel had not returned from Half Moon Street. Not for the first time, she wished that Jack were here to share her concerns; to give her that funny, crooked smile of his and tell her that everything would come right. But he wasn’t here, and there was no one in whom she could
confide. Clemency put on her best hat and her new kid gloves. She checked her purse to see if she had enough money for the cab fare to Carter Street. She had to get out of the house, and it seemed natural to go to the only other family she had ever known. She would go to the Crown and Anchor and make things right with Ned, her half brother.

She went in through the back door of the pub. There was just the chance that Hardiman might be in the bar, or that Ned had not yet come to terms with their new relationship and might not want to see her. She preferred to risk a rebuff from Nell, than an outright snub from Ned. Annie was in the scullery washing pans in the stone sink. She looked up and her eyes widened, then she grinned. ‘Ooer! You got a nerve, I must say.’

‘Mind your own business,’ Clemency snapped. Her nerves were already as taut as the strings on a fiddle and she was in no mood to put up with a daft scullery maid. She brushed past Annie, ignoring her protests, and went into the kitchen. Nell was at the range, stirring a pan that smelled temptingly of mutton stew. She did not look round.

‘If you’ve finished the washing up, Annie, get them spuds peeled.’

‘It’s not Annie. It’s me.’

Nell dropped the spoon into the pan and spun round. ‘Clemency!’

‘Are you still angry? I wouldn’t blame you if you was, only none of this was my fault, and I’m truly sorry about your old man.’

Nell stared at her for a moment and then her sour expression evolved into a reluctant smile. She hurried over to give Clemency a hug. ‘I weren’t never cross with you, love. You wasn’t even born when all of that happened.’

Clemency returned the hug. ‘I thought you hated me, and I couldn’t bear it.’

‘I hated her, for a while anyway. Then when I calmed down a bit, I realised that it was Cyril who was to blame. Your mum was taken in, just the same as me. I expect he’s peppered the whole of the East End with his little bastards by now.’ Nell held her at arm’s length. ‘You look so fine these days. Quite a lady.’

Clemency couldn’t meet her eyes and she looked away, biting her lip. If she knew the truth, she would think she was an abandoned hussy – no better than she should be. She changed the subject. ‘And Ned?’

The question hung in the air and Nell’s silence was an answer in itself. She hurried back to the pan on the range and began stirring its contents. ‘Give him time. He’ll come round.’

‘Can I see him?’

She nodded. ‘Go through, but don’t be surprised if he don’t want to know you.’

Clemency went into the bar. A quick glance
told her that Hardiman was not present, but the look on Ned’s face when he saw her was not welcoming.

‘Ned.’ She held out her hand. ‘Can’t we be friends?’

He stared at her upturned palm, frowning. When he looked up at her, his eyes were bleak. ‘It don’t work like that, Clemency.’

‘You’re my brother just as much as Jack is. We’re family whether you like it or not.’

‘Go away, Clem. Go back to your fancy man and leave me and Ma to get on with our lives.’ Ned turned away to serve a man who had walked up to the bar demanding a pint of porter.

Clemency opened her mouth to argue that Jared was nothing to her, but the words stuck in her throat. She knew that Ned would not believe her. He seemed to have known by some sixth sense that she had deep feelings for Jared. She felt her throat constrict with unshed tears, but she was determined not to cry. ‘I’m going. But I want you to know that I still care for you, Ned. Maybe one day you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me for being your sister.’ She did not wait to see if he was going to answer, and she pushed past him to open the flap in the bar counter. She made her escape through the taproom, half hoping that he would call her back – but he did not. By the time she reached the street outside the Crown and Anchor, her tears
were flowing freely. Everything had gone horribly wrong. She walked blindly on, ignoring the curious glances of passers-by. When she had her emotions sufficiently under control, she went in search of a cab to take her home to Finsbury Circus.

She paid off the cabby and ran up the steps to hammer on the door knocker. Perhaps she should have used the servants’ entrance, but she did not stop to think. She was certain that Jared must be home by now and she desperately wanted to see him. She knocked again and yanked the bell pull. She heard heavy footsteps approaching and Nancy opened the door scowling. ‘Oh, it’s you. What’s wrong with the servants’ entrance, or are you too grand for it now?’

Clemency dodged past her. ‘No, of course not.’

‘Don’t think you can fool me, my girl.’ Nancy glared at her with narrowed eyes.

‘I – I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Don’t put on that innocent face with me. I could see it coming a mile off. I thought you was up to something when you didn’t come down for supper last night.’

‘I wasn’t hungry.’ Clemency started to back away but Nancy caught her by the sleeve.

‘You leave Jared alone. I’ve looked after him since he was a little boy, and I don’t want to see him get hurt by the likes of you.’

‘How could I hurt a man like him?’

‘He was born a gentleman, and you was born in the gutter. You’re encouraging him in his bad ways. If he keeps on after that bloody foreigner, he’ll end up dead like his poor father. For some reason he’s soft on you, girl, and you’ve got to talk him out of his obsession with that man. It ain’t healthy.’

Clemency bit her lip. Nancy knew Jared better than anyone and she loved him too. Perhaps she was right. ‘Is he upstairs?’

Nancy shook her head. ‘There’s no one in except you and me. Miss Isobel sent a message saying that she’s staying in Half Moon Street for another night. Ronnie and Augustus are bound to be late, and your mum ain’t showed up yet. I knew exactly how it would be, and I’d have to do supper all on me own. You can forget your airs and graces and give us a hand in the kitchen.’

Reluctantly, Clemency followed her downstairs to the basement. She donned an apron and began peeling potatoes while Nancy cut up some rancid-smelling mutton and tossed it into a pot on the hob. ‘When he comes in, I wants you to promise me that you’ll try to talk him out of his madness.’

‘I will. Of course I will, but where is he?’

‘How should I know? He could be floating in the Thames, bloated and swollen with the fishes eating his eyeballs for all I know.’

‘Don’t say things like that.’

‘You’ve been encouraging him, so it’ll be your fault.’ Nancy stabbed a piece of gristle with the point of her knife.

‘I don’t have to listen to this,’ Clemency cried, tearing off her apron.

‘And where d’you think you’re going?’

‘Away from you and your nagging. It’s getting late and I’m going to meet Ma. I don’t like her roaming the streets with the Ripper still at large.’

‘That’s silly. What could a skinny little thing like you do to protect either of you from a madman?’

A vision of Todd Hardiman flashed through her head, and Clemency rammed her hat on her head, securing it with a hatpin. ‘He’s never attacked two women at a time. If I go now I’ll be safe enough. There’ll still be folks heading home from work and I’ll run all the way.’

‘Jared won’t like it,’ Nancy said. ‘He’ll be mad as fire with me for letting you go out on your own in the evening.’

‘According to you, I’m a bad influence on him anyway. So you should be glad if I’m out of the way.’

‘He cares for you, you stupid girl. What do I tell him when he comes home?’

Clemency snatched up her reticule. ‘Tell him what you like, but I’m going anyway.’

She left by the servants’ entrance and ran until
a stitch in her side made her stop to draw breath. The streets were much quieter now and the sun had plummeted in the west, leaving the sky streaked with crimson and purple. She continued at a slower pace, casting nervous glances into the openings of the dark alleyways, and looking over her shoulder to make sure that she was not being followed. Clouds of steam hung in a pall over Liverpool Street Station, but the sound of chugging engines, whistles and the general hubbub of a busy terminal were oddly comforting. She crossed Bishopsgate, and entered a different and more sinister network of streets that were little more than dark canyons between tall buildings. She jumped at every small sound, and eyed the men who were slouched in doorways with suspicion. She did not know if she was more afraid of the Ripper or Hardiman. As she neared Flower and Dean Street, the denizens of the night were appearing as if from nowhere. Prostitutes hung about on street corners. Sailors of all nationalities strolled along with their rolling gait as if the deck of the ship was still pitching and tossing beneath their feet. Dockers, navvies and clerks with leather patches on their elbows disappeared through open pub doors that exuded the smell of stale beer, sweating bodies and tobacco smoke.

Clemency hurried on until she reached Flower and Dean Street. Dusk had swallowed up the last
glimmers of daylight, and the lamplighter was doing his rounds. She could have cried with relief when she reached the lodging house. She opened the gate that led down to the area. She would go in through Jack’s old room and give Ma and Mrs Blunt a pleasant surprise. She ran down the steps into almost complete darkness. She felt her way to the door, and was groping for the handle when a pair of calloused hands closed around her throat. She kicked out with her feet but the vice-like grip tightened. She could not breathe. She knew that she was about to die.

Clemency opened her eyes, but she could see nothing. Her throat felt bruised and sore, and her mouth was so dry that her tongue seemed to be stuck to her palate. Her head ached, and she couldn’t move her hands or her feet. Noise filled her ears: a deafening rumble of wheels and the thundering of horses’ hooves – she was being tossed from side to side against the leather squabs of a moving carriage. The fog of fear and pain cleared slowly from her brain, and she realised that she was bound hand and foot. As her eyes became accustomed to the darkness, she could just make out the figure of a man seated opposite her. She opened her mouth to scream, but all she could utter was a feeble croak.

‘Make a sound, and I’ll finish you off this time.’

She closed her eyes again, praying that this was a nightmare, but when she opened them she could see that it was Todd Hardiman who had abducted her. She licked her dry lips, forming the word with difficulty. ‘Why?’ He leaned towards her, and she retched as she caught the overpowering odour of his unclean body.

‘Got a sore throat, ducks?’ He took a hip flask from his pocket and unscrewed the cap, holding it to her lips. ‘Drink.’

She gulped thirstily. The liquid had a strange taste. Dimly she wondered if he had poisoned her, but her head was swimming, and the interior of the carriage was spinning round and round. The sound of his laughter grew fainter until it became a distant echo.

When she opened her eyes again, she was almost blinded by the bright light of day. As she came slowly to her senses, she realised that she was no longer in a carriage. She was lying on a bunk in a room that moved up and down. She squinted into the source of the light. Through the porthole she could see water, grey-green waves flecked with white foam. She tried to sit up, but fell back against the pillows, overcome by a wave of nausea. Was this part of the same nightmare? Or was she really on a ship at sea? The cabin door opened, and Hardiman squeezed into the small space. His mouth curved in a contemptuous grin. ‘Not feeling too well?’ He jerked her roughly to a sitting position, and thrust a mug into her hands. ‘Here, drink this. I don’t want you puking all over me boots when we land.’

‘Wh-what is it?’ Clemency sniffed the brown liquid. It smelt like tea, but she vaguely remembered drinking something in the coach that had made her sleep.

‘It’s tea. Drink it, or do I have to pour it down your throat? Don’t think I won’t do it, neither.’

She sipped the tea. It was strong and sweet, and it soothed her sore throat. Surprisingly it also settled the queasiness in her stomach. She peered at him over the rim of the mug. ‘Where are you taking me?’

‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’ Hardiman made a noise in his throat, halfway between a growl and a chuckle. ‘If it was just for meself, I’d have pitched you into the river. But I got orders from the Frenchman.’

Clemency’s heart seemed to leap into her throat, choking her. She could barely breathe. ‘M-Marceau?’

He produced a length of cord from his pocket, and, taking the mug from her hand, he lashed her wrists together. ‘He’s paying me well to bring you to Paris in one piece. But if you gives me any trouble, I’ll enjoy giving you what for, and bugger the Frenchie.’ He left the cabin and she heard the key turn in the lock.