Sparrow Falling Read online

  “I believe I may have another little job for you, soon.”

  “Always a pleasure.”

  “I’ll be in touch.”

  “You know where to find me, Mr Stug.”

  “Yes, yes I do,” Stug said. “Quite often on my doorstep, as it happens.”

  Stug smiled. Simms smiled back. He closed the door with precise quietness as he left.

  Stug leaned back in his chair.

  So, the girl was not one of the Folk. Not if Simms knew her – a more earthbound creature than Simms was hard to imagine. She was – or had been – a common thief.

  The sense of relief he felt went through him like some weakening dose. Anxiety immediately rushed up in its wake. Was she now working for the government? It seemed absurdly far-fetched, but if Simms was right, what did it mean?

  He knew nothing of the girl, except that she did, indeed, appear to be running a business – ridiculous in itself. But why would the government be interested in him? His dealings with his tenants skated up to the very edge of the law, but very, very carefully avoided tipping over the brink. He knew exactly how far he could take things.

  And his... other arrangements, were of no-one’s business but his own.

  The children? Of course, he had made the mistake of allowing himself to show an interest; that should not happen again. But then, if all went well, it wouldn’t need to.

  The idea that the government might interest itself in the disappearance of a handful of slum-brats was ridiculous, too. And if it did, he had, as Simms pointed out, a respectable reputation. He had been very careful to maintain it – until this latest business. Once this was over, his reputation would remain untarnished – and he would ensure that anything that might tarnish it, or anyone, would not be getting in the way.

  The girl... yes. She had broken in – the nonsense about ‘operatives’ was just that, nonsense. That in itself suggested Simms was telling at least a part of the truth. And he could, himself, find out a little more. He had a few contacts, a few people that he and Cora had met at the better sort of gathering. Any digging must be done carefully, very carefully. He had hopes, where the government was concerned.

  Of course, if Cora... He really could not rely on her for this sort of thing, she was, like all women, an indiscreet chatterbox. What could he rely on her for? He felt a dark welling of anger, and pushed it down. He could not afford to be distracted and Cora was, for the moment at least, an insoluble problem.

  He would try to find out, at least, whether the government had at any time had an interest in the girl.

  As for Simms... Yes, his information about the girl might be useful. It would, at least, provide leverage should she become difficult. If it were true. Until it was confirmed from another source, he would not rely on it. But he did know, because he had taken advantage of the fact, that Simms was a man of dubious reputation. It helped keep the tenants in line, having someone like that. Stug kept the knowledge in the back of his mind, taking it out only when he needed it. A useful sort to have around, Simms. But Stug was no longer certain he was controllable – he fancied himself a little too much. There was something in his swagger that suggested he might not always be content with his current role. If he was to become pushy, threaten to be indiscreet...

  He was useful, but not indispensable.

  However with a man like that, a man of no morals, simply telling him his services were no longer required might in itself be a problem. Another solution might have to be found.

  Stug found himself drawing back from his desk, as though the thought that had entered his mind had manifested itself there, on the blotter, staring at him with flat, unblinking eyes.

  Respectable men don’t think of murder.

  Very well, respectable men probably do, but they don’t actually contemplate arranging it.

  It may not come to it.

  If it does?

  It’s not as though Bartholomew Simms is a good man.

  He’s a bad man, a wicked man. The world, surely, is better off without such a man.

  I’m not a wicked man. I create wealth, I provide homes.

  And the girl... if the Queen accepts her she’ll have a life of unimaginable wealth and luxury.

  So long as she continues to please...

  But in Limehouse, only one fate awaited her. Anything is better than to end up some degraded, diseased creature, outcast, despised.

  And the others... I gave them a chance. They failed to please the Queen, and Simms took them off my hands. What he did with them is not my concern. I know nothing about it. I did nothing wrong. Their parents could give them no life, that boy, that first boy, the Queen herself pointed out that he had bruises, he had been beaten, it was obvious. Wherever he went it would be better than that.

  I am a respectable man. I have done nothing wrong.

  And the girl? Evvie... Eveline Sparrow, Eveline Duchen. She was probably only some silly girl playing at business. And if not... she would see what happened when some little street-urchin troubled a respectable man of business like Josh Stug.

  The Sparrow School

  SHE HEARD THE argument through the classroom window before she even got to the house. Ma Pether, and Mama. A crowd of girls jammed by the door, whispering.

  “You lot,” she said. “Out of it. If you ain’t got a class, go practise whatever your next class is. Now.”

  “But Miss Sparrow...”

  “I don’t want to hear it. Out.”

  They scattered like scared hens.

  Eveline stood for a moment, gathering herself, and listening. Part of her had known this was coming, that juggling all the sides of her life was not something she could do forever... but she’d thought she’d have a solution before everything came to shouting.

  Not that Mama was shouting. Mama never shouted, and the louder Ma Pether got, the quieter Mama got, until she could hardly be heard.

  “... isn’t suitable,” Mama was saying.

  “What’s not suitable is pretending you don’t know what goes on and trying to stop the girl from making her way, the best she knows how, what’s pretty good being as it was me what taught her.”

  “You kept my daughter alive and I am grateful to you, Mrs Pether,”

  “It en’t Mrs. Ma’ll do, thank you.”

  “I am grateful, but you also taught her a way of life that is dangerous and, need I actually say this? Illegal. I do not want to see my daughter transported or hanged, do you understand? I have lost one child” – now Mama’s voice was rising – “I cannot bear to lose another, because I was not there to stop it, do you understand me, madam?”

  Evvie swallowed, sent up a brief prayer to whoever might be listening, and opened the door.

  There they both stood, Mama with her hair falling out of its bun, her hands, stained with oil, clasped in front of the leather apron she wore when working. Ma Pether, all rolled shirt-sleeves and weskit and oddly elegant hands – those long-fingered hands which had made her such an extraordinarily good dipper – fisted on her hips.

  “Eveline.”

  “Evvie.”

  Eveline suddenly felt very small, and young. It was all wrong. She thought of Bat with his broom, and the whole thing, the school, all of it, felt like Bat’s broom: ridiculously unwieldy and only appealing because everyone thought it was funny.

  And she was utterly, blisteringly furious with the pair of them.

  “What,” she said, “do you think you are doing?”

  “Eveline!”

  “Evvie Sparrer if I...”

  “I’d like you both to come with me, please. Over to the House. I’ll get them to send tea.” She kept her voice calm and small and quiet so they both had to lean in to hear.

  The staff house was set away from the school buildings, a small square place of red brick that had a pleasant, homey glow. The window frames were peeling and specked with rot, the floorboards sagged worryingly in the corner of the dining room and a leak had tracked green down the wall in Evvie’s
bedroom, but it was home.

  She led them into the parlour. “Eveline,” Mama said.

  “Mama, please, after they’ve brought tea? It won’t be a moment.” Fortunately the girl Evvie had collared to bring tea had seen something in her face, and was quick.

  Once she had gone, Evvie shut the door, made sure the windows were down, poured the tea and then said, “Please, sit down.”

  They sat, and both drew breath. Before either could let it out, Eveline slammed the teapot down so boiling tea surged out of the spout and drowned the sugar-bowl.

  “How dare you argue in front of the girls! How am I supposed to be in charge if you undermine me so?”

  “Ev...”

  “No! I am the headmistress, remember? Ma Pether, you should know better, if anyone does. Would you have had this? Well, would you? Someone shouting your personal business in front of us all? And as for you, Mama... it’s bad manners, never mind anything else!” She could feel herself on the verge of furious tears, but had had enough practice at not crying that she would not let them fall, gripping her hands and throat tight, keeping her head up. “What are you trying to do, bring the place down around my ears? What if it gets back to the parents?”

  “I was not shouting, Eveline.”

  “No but you knew damn well you were saying things that would make her shout, Mama.”

  “Eveline, what are you teaching those girls?”

  “How to make a living,” Ma Pether said. “At least, that’s what I thought I was teaching ’em for. And if you’d kept your nose out...”

  “I live here. This is my home and my daughter, I’ll remind you.”

  “I live here too, and if it weren’t for what she learned offa me your daughter wouldn’t still be here.”

  “Do you think I don’t know that?” Mama said. “There isn’t a day goes by I don’t think of what could have happened to her when I wasn’t there to protect her. Not a single day. So do not, madam, lecture me, if you please. She is not a street urchin any more. She has no need for this...”

  “Will you both be quiet and listen?” Evvie had spent enough years on the street that her best screech could just about shatter granite.

  Shocked into silence, the two women looked at her.

  “I am trying to keep this place going, legal and all, but I can’t do it if you make trouble for me, either of you. I got plans. I didn’t want to say before in case it all went wrong, but the whole point of training the girls like we been doing is so we can provide security. Offer protection against thieves and cons. There’s plenty of places need it, plenty of businesses. It’s good solid work and no-one better suited than you, Ma Pether, to train them in it.”

  “Security,” Ma said.

  “Oh, Eveline,” Mama said. “Why didn’t you say, you silly girl? I think it’s a very clever idea, so long as it is legal. But what about the school, I thought it was doing well?”

  “It ain’t – isn’t – doing well enough, Mama. We’re not getting enough paying pupils. I had to do something.”

  “Well, I think it’s an excellent plan. Do you not, Mrs... Ma Pether?”

  Ma said nothing.

  Madeleine gave her daughter a hug. “You are a clever girl. I was worried you were getting back to your old ways, and I needn’t have been. And I’m sorry that I made a scene; I should have trusted you. I hope we haven’t disrupted your classes too badly.” She glanced at Ma Pether again, but Ma’s face was set like one of the Egyptian statues in the British Museum, and she said nothing.

  Madeleine looked at Ma Pether, and glanced at Eveline.

  “I’d like a word with Evvie, private, if you don’t mind,” Ma Pether said.

  “Eveline?” Madeleine said.

  “All right,” Evvie said.

  “Then I shall take my tea to the workshop,” Madeleine said. She poured herself a cup, and closed the door quietly behind her.

  “You shoulda told me, Evvie,” Ma Pether said.

  “I thought you’d tell me I was being stupid,” Eveline said, watching Ma warily. It wasn’t like her to be so quiet.

  Ma took the remains of a cheroot out of her weskit pocket and turned it over in her fingers. “I never peached in me life. Never. Now you’re asking me to turn against my own? Well, you ran a con on me all right, Evvie Duchen. Oh, yes. But no-one’s making Ma Pether into a chaunter, especially not some mucksnipe I took in hand and saved from the street. I’ll be fetching my things now.”

  “Ma?”

  She aimed the cheroot at Evvie. “What did you think, that I’d just go along with it?”

  “Ma, we wouldn’t be harming no-one! Just stopping them from getting in some places and taking off a few marks, it’s not like there’s not plenty more!”

  “It’s taking the side of the law, Evvie, that’s what it’s doing. It might not be peaching, but it’s bad enough. And I ain’t doing it.”

  “You’re...”

  “I’m leaving. I won’t be telling no-one where you are, or nothing, so there’s no need to look so green. But you’d better think where you’re going, Evvie. You were good. You were nearly as good as me.” She paused, head on one side, staring into the distance. “Maybe better, I’ll admit it. And you can try as hard as you like to back away, but you got the taste for it and the smell of it on you. You’re one of us, Evvie. You always will be. And them respectables, there’ll always be those that can smell it. You won’t last, you’ll slip, and they’ll get you in the end. A rough foot in a satin shoe’ll always trip, you mark me.”

  “But Ma...”

  “And you watch that Thring. He’s crooked as a thorn bush, for all he’s giving your Mama the sheep’s eyes.

  “’Bye, Evvie,” Ma Pether said. “And don’t think I’m not grateful you gave me a chance. I am. But it ain’t gonna work.” She lit the cheroot, and walked out. Steam from the pot rose to mingle with the fading smoke.

  Eagle Estates

  STUG PICKED A box from a shelf, opened it. The herbs inside were losing their scent, he must get some more. He would have to order them. Or would that be worse? Evidence... Perhaps he should go himself, or send Simms. No, not Simms. Jacobs.

  But what if Jacobs became suspicious? No, he would go himself. He had relied too much on other people. It would be better if he did it himself.

  He put the box back on the shelf, aligned it with the edge. Noticed a smudge on the lid and polished it with his handkerchief. Not that anyone else would ever see it, of course.

  That little witch of a female, Sparrow, not that he cared what she thought of his housekeeping. She should never have been here.

  He had sounded out his contacts, carefully, very carefully. It had been difficult, and only possible to do at all because the gentlemen he was dealing with had had certain temporary financial embarrassments that he had, in the past, been able to assist them with.

  “Duchen, Duchen... oh, there was something,” Robert Delaney had said, over brandy in the Conservative Club. “I believe it may have been to do with the Britannia School.”

  “The Britannia School?”

  “Oh, my dear chap, have you not heard? Well, no, I don’t suppose you would have. Quite a scandal, if it ever broke, but I can trust you not to go to the press. I don’t have an interest there, praise be.”

  “A school hardly sounds like a place for scandal,” Stug said, topping up Delaney’s glass.

  “It is if it’s being used as a convenient cupboard in which to store embarrassments,” Delaney said. “Cheers. Really the number of gentlemen who are incapable of discretion – by-blows left, right and centre, old boy. Boys one can get into the professions, of course, one way or another – but girls... well. Can’t have them ending up on the streets, never know when someone might recognise the family conk, what?” He tapped his own purplish and veiny nose, grinning. “So they got shoved off to the Britannia.”

  “This girl...”

  “I heard her name in connection with a rather unfortunate case – some chap with a touch of
the other, you know.” Delaney looked around, then leaned forward, and said, “Not just the other. Half-Folk, old boy. Definitely the result of an indiscretion. His Papa had connections, got him a government post, he tried to act like a gentleman, but well, blood will out, as they say. Rumour has it he ended up going native in some godforsaken outpost, and disappeared. The girl was involved in some way, whether she was his by-blow or he’d taken her along for entertainment, who knows? Didn’t realise she’d surfaced again. If she’s popped up now to go after the family’s money, I suspect she’s out of luck – the chap’s father, old Holmforth, laid down his knife and fork soon after the news came through, and it all went to some distant cousin or some such.”

  “What about government money? She’s not someone they’d still have an interest in?”

  “I doubt it. Once young Holmforth had disappeared there was a distinct sense of relief in the department, frankly. Still, might be worth keeping an eye on – you never know when someone will prove embarrassing. But after all, she’s a female on her own – there’s a limit to how much damage she can do.”

  Stug had put up with Delaney’s increasingly garrulous and eventually maudlin company for the rest of the evening, took him to a card game, and ended up with Delaney deeper in his pocket than ever.

  It wasn’t as though he had intended it, of course, but Delaney was a gambler by nature, and who was Stug to dissuade him from his pleasures, or refuse to lend him money? The fact that he happened to have more than sufficient on him was simply a matter of him having visited his banker earlier that day, in the normal course of business, and getting out a little extra, just in case.

  He wasn’t a bad man, not a criminal, not like the girl, if Simms was to be believed. Not like Simms himself, in fact. He was simply helping out an acquaintance.

  And as a respectable man, an upstanding citizen... it was unjust. All these men who produced bastards as easy as winking! Not that a girl more or less would make any difference – Stug would never leave his carefully built-up business in the hands of a woman – but it just went to show how utterly unjust the fates could sometimes be. Here he was with a good reputation and a healthy business to leave, and no son.