Sparrow Falling Read online

  “When he came to the door I didn’t know who he was until he said ‘Hello, Elizabeth.’ He was so thin. His hands seemed to have got bigger, but they hadn’t – it was just his wrists had no meat on them, none of him did. And his face. His face was grey. His moustache had started to go grey, too, just a little, otherwise it was the same – but it was wrong, it was on the wrong face. Even Mama looked shocked. She asked him if he’d been wounded and he said, ‘Oh, no. A little. Nothing.’ He said he was glad to see us and Mama fussed about making tea and Evvie, it was all wrong. He was like his own ghost, all grey and drifting. I asked him if he was ill and he said yes, in a way, and that seeing me made him better, but it didn’t. I knew it didn’t, not really. He didn’t call me Little General any more. And when Mama chattered at him about my going away to school, he just nodded, I think he barely heard her. He just stared through things until even Mama stopped talking. He put his arms around me, oh, so thin, and said, ‘Thank God they’ll never send you, Elizabeth,’ and then he was gone.

  “And he never came back. Mama wrote to his regiment, in the end. They told his parents, when he was killed, but his people didn’t bother telling Mama, they...” She shook her head, and blew her nose again, smearing the other side. “They’d cut her off, when I was born, so I suppose they didn’t think she deserved to know. I don’t know if they even knew he’d been coming to see us. I stopped reading military history, because they talked about ‘soldiers’ and ‘the men’ but every one of them could be Uncle Berry, and maybe they all had people at home who wanted them to come home and they came home wrong or never came at all. So it matters, you see. It matters if there’s a war, because there’s people in it and they get broken.”

  Eveline tried to think of something comforting to say, but she couldn’t. So she refilled the teacups and sat silently with Beth in the sunny kitchen, her eyes constantly drawn to the thick black headlines that marched, military and stern, across the pages. Her mind put people inside those headlines now. Old Jeff who pulled himself along Northey Street in a little cart, his uniform trousers wrapped over where his legs ended above the knee. Jenny Blake, whose five boys had all gone for soldiers, and not one of them had come home. Jenny who had gone quietly mad, wandering the streets asking strangers if they had seen her Davey, her Bobby, her William or Frank or little Joe with his red hair like his Da’s. More, plenty more – men missing eyes and arms and smiles, women missing husbands and brothers and sons. And Beth’s big, laughing Uncle Berry, who turned into a ghost before he was even dead.

  AFTER SLEEP AND sausages, Eveline felt better, more like herself. Liu would come around. And Mama would be happy.

  Ma Pether... well, Ma Pether could either go on training the girls, or she’d have to find something else to do. Evvie felt a little chill around her heart at the thought of telling Ma to go, but in the end, if it came to it, she’d have to. And the war? The war was none of her business, even if it happened. The newspaper said it wasn’t going to and that would have to be enough for her.

  She went to visit Mama, and found her flushed and smiling over a letter. “You look wonderful, Mama, what is it?”

  “It’s Mr Thring, darling. He’s coming over tomorrow. Isn’t it wonderful?”

  “I suppose...”

  “Don’t sulk, my pet.”

  “I’m not sulking, Mama. I’m just... worried. You won’t let him...”

  “Eveline, my dear girl. After what I went through with your uncle, and that horrid man Holmforth, do you really think I would let another man get the better of me?” She gave Eveline a stern look. “I am your mother, not a child. It is not your place to lecture me.”

  “I didn’t mean...”

  “I know you mean well, dear, but sometimes you do seem to forget which of us is the parent.”

  “I’m sorry, Mama.”

  “Yes, well. I don’t mean to lecture, either. But I am concerned; that woman, Ma Pether. I know she was your mother when I couldn’t be, but... I hope you don’t allow her to be too much of an influence. She’s not a respectable person.”

  “Well, no, she’s not, Mama, but she’s not had it easy. And she’s trying to be respectable now,” Eveline said, thinking of her earlier encounter with Ma Pether and mentally crossing her fingers behind her back.

  “I do hope so,” Mama said. “You still won’t tell me what goes on in those lessons of hers.”

  “I will, Mama. But I have to go out now.”

  “Is it...”

  “It’s proper work, Mama, I promise.”

  “Well, be careful, dear. I worry about you.”

  “I know you do, Mama.” That makes two of us, Eveline thought.

  Eagle Estates

  STUG’S BUILDING LOOKED no more pleasant by daylight than it had when she’d first come here; in fact, it made her more uncomfortable. It occurred to her that it was the first time she had ever returned to a building that she’d broken into. Not a good idea, as a rule, and Ma Pether would no doubt have told her as much.

  She wasn’t sure why she’d refused to tell Ma what she was about: it was as though, she thought, she had something precious, and fragile, like an egg made of china, and was worried that rough handling would break it. Maybe because it was the first properly complicated idea she’d had that wasn’t just a con, or was – but an honest one. A legal one, that would harm no-one.

  Or maybe it was because Ma was always going to be on the other side from the law, and never mind finding holes in Evvie’s scheme, she’d disapprove. Maybe to the point of leaving the school, maybe taking the more talented of the girls with her – and now having knowledge of what Evvie was up to.

  For the first time Evvie wondered if she could properly trust Ma Pether. Taking her on had seemed so natural, so right – and by means of being thanks, too. After all, though Evvie knew she was clever and a good prig, she also knew that without Ma, she’d not have survived on the streets, and never have learned everything she had.

  But Ma’s loyalties lay first and foremost with Ma, and after that with the girls under her wing. And Eveline wasn’t exactly under her wing any more...

  But if there was one thing Ma Pether had taught her – among the many – it was that when you were on a job, you thought about the job, nothing else. If you’re thinking about the door when you’re climbing in the window, you won’t get out of neither with nothing. And here she was, mithering on about things she couldn’t do a thing about, especially not right now, when what she needed was all her mind on persuading Mr Stug that he wanted to take them on, without him calling in the Peelers, and maybe having her locked in that creepy upper room for good measure while he waited for them to appear.

  Of course, now she knew why that room was so bothersome. And knowing that – knowing anything about a mark – that was always a useful thing.

  She took a breath, straightened her skirts, marched up to the door and rang the bell with a determined jab.

  The secretary – Jacobs – it was always useful to remember names, too – opened it with a look of anxiety that changed to sympathy in a moment. “Oh. Miss, I’m sorry, but he won’t see you. He don’t change his mind, Mr Stug. Not for nothing he don’t. There’s no good you wasting your time.”

  “Tell him...” She’d meant to use a different approach but something – the thought of Liu, trying to push her around, maybe – pushed the words out. “Tell him I’ve come about a musical instrument, that he might be interested in. A very special one.”

  “A musical instrument? I don’t think...”

  “He’ll want to know,” Eveline said. “He really will. It’s a very old musical instrument, you might say elderly. If you’d be so kind as to tell him that, exactly in them words, I’d be everso grateful. And so will he.”

  “An elderly musical instrument.”

  “That’s it. You’re a very good secretary. Hope he appreciates it.”

  The young man looked as though he’d like to say something, but shook his head. “I’m not promising,”
he said. “He’s not generally amenable to... but I’ll tell him.”

  “Thank you,” Eveline said, with her brightest smile.

  “You’d best come in,” he said, but didn’t take her upstairs, instead he left her in the small chilly hallway with its black and white tiles and an umbrella-stand of Indian brass that Eveline automatically valued, though it was a big clumsy thing and ugly to her mind. There was only one umbrella in it, which was worth a bit itself. It had a silver bird’s-head for a handle, and looked sneery but lonesome, all by itself in a stand big enough for a dozen umbrellas. She heard the office door shut and a murmur of voices, then a thunder of feet on the stairs and Jacobs was with her again, looking startled.

  “You’re to come up, miss.”

  She followed him, smiling to herself.

  STUG CLENCHED HIS hands under the table as the young woman walked into his office. Brassy, for all her respectable dress, looking him in the eye that way. That was like them, too... bold. Full of their own importance.

  He waved Jacobs out. “Well,” he said. “What is it exactly that you wanted to see me about?”

  “You remember what we talked about yesterday.”

  “Of course.”

  “I thought you might be willing to think again.”

  “And why would I do that?” Stug said. He hated this, hated that this wisp of a girl should have power over him – but power she had.

  Because he couldn’t be sure. She’d thrown him off balance by turning up – just when he had started looking to improve his security – by being young and female and apparently respectable.

  But it could be that she was none of those things. It could be that she was one of the Folk, and without asking straight out – which would almost certainly be unwise and in any case unlikely to result in an honest answer – he had no way of knowing.

  Treat her as though she was what she claimed, or as though she was one of them? He had wrestled with the question from the moment Jacobs had told him who was here and what she had said.

  “Because I have something of yours,” she said. “Here.”

  She opened her bag, took out the case and put it on the table.

  He looked at the flute-case, then studied her face, which was open and bright and interested and perhaps a little pleased with itself.

  “And what am I supposed to conclude from this,” he said, “apart from that you are a thief?”

  “Why, that I can tell you how to prevent such unfortunate things from happening in the future, Mr Stug. After all, someone got in, and took something of yours. You don’t want that happening again, do you?”

  No, he most certainly did not.

  “Next time it could be something far more valuable,” she said, with an apparently casual air. “Our rates are extremely reasonable, Mr Stug.”

  He put out his hand and closed it over the case, drew it towards him, opened it. The flute was still there – and it appeared to be the exact same flute, though until he tried to use it, he would have no way to tell.

  “You have an interesting way of proving your point,” he said.

  “I was simply trying to be convincing.”

  “And is there a good reason why I should not send Jacobs to summon the police?”

  “And what would you say to them, Mr Stug? There’s nothing missing from your offices now, is there? If something was taken, it’s come back. And it wasn’t even something very valuable, unless perhaps it’s worth more than it seems.” She had her head slightly cocked, and a faint smile on her lips.

  “What do you want?” he asked.

  “Twenty-five pounds to go over the place in detail. We will tell you what you need and what it will cost, including fitting. We will then hire any necessary services, such as locksmiths. We have a list of excellent, reliable people who are reasonably priced.”

  “You weren’t able to work all this out when you stole that flute from me last night?”

  “Now Mr Stug, would a respectable businesswoman do such a thing?”

  “How do I know it isn’t just an excuse to go over the place and find out all its vulnerabilities, so you can strip it bare?”

  “As you yourself said, Mr Stug, if someone did take that flute from you, they already know what needs to be known.”

  “I could get someone else.”

  “You could. But...” She glanced significantly at the flute. “Perhaps you might consider that Sparrow’s Nest Security is the best option.”

  He still couldn’t be sure. There was something about her, a swagger and confidence beyond her years, a kind of polish... and the very fact that she’d chosen the flute, that most of all.

  But what she – or they – actually wanted if this was just an elaborate charade, that was another matter. He was not sure why they had not just taken the flute from him themselves – he was sure it was not beyond their powers – but it might involve some of those strange, tricksy rules of theirs, that a man could forever be tripping over. Damn them and all their works.

  Still. If there was any chance, any chance at all, that by refusing he would offend them... He could not take the risk.

  “Very well then,” he said. “The contract?”

  She drew a sheaf of paper from her bag and laid it neatly on the desk. He read it, carefully, watching her for signs of impatience, for any sign at all, but she waited calmly, her hands neatly folded in her lap.

  He could find nothing wrong with the contract; the language was all correct, if simple. There were no oddities, no hidden clauses. He looked with particular care at the space for his signature, but if there was anything else there, he could not see it.

  Nonetheless, he hesitated over the document, peering for any clue. It wasn’t as though he were required to sign in blood, and contracts, at least ones on paper, contracts that certainly read as though they were drawn up by lawyers, were not the Folk’s usual method.

  But in the end, what choice did he have?

  He signed, the pen sputtering with the force of his hand.

  He opened his desk drawer with a snap, jerking at it when it jammed, tugging so hard there was an audible crack. He snatched out a wad of notes, and counted them off, slapping them onto the green leather surface.

  “Here.”

  “Thank you.” She took the money, but didn’t count it – careless, or did she actually not care?

  “When can I expect you?” he snapped.

  “Well, I could have a look about now, if you like.”

  “No! No. Today’s not convenient.”

  “Whenever would suit you, Mr Stug. We’re here to serve you, you know.”

  “Are you indeed. In that case, in three days. At three. Will it be just you? I don’t want to deal with all your people tramping about the place until I must.” He put an emphasis on ‘all your people’ and peered at her, seeking a reaction, but her face was calm, pleasant, unreadable.

  “Just as you wish, Mr Stug. It’s a pleasure to do business with you.”

  And that, that could be true, or a lie, depending on who – or what – she was.

  It was the flute. Had it been anything else he would have dismissed his fears. But it was the flute she had taken.

  Whatever she was, he disliked her with an intensity that soured his throat and tightened his muscles as he went to the window to watch her leave. Pert, improper young woman. Had he been sure, he wouldn’t have given her a moment of his time. The very idea!

  And of course, if it proved she was only what she claimed, he would take great pleasure in throwing her off, and giving a piece of his mind to any business associates he could think of about the perils of allowing women – young, impertinent women – to become involved in one’s business.

  In the meantime... he turned away from the window.

  He would have to provide his next payment soon.

  He felt the familiar shudder of distaste, the brim of fear along his nerves. Was it just to show him that even with the flute, he had no power over them, that they had the upper
hand? Perhaps they were simply trying to get him to give up.

  But that would not happen. He would not be defeated. One way or another, Josh Stug always ended up in charge.

  EVELINE BOUNCED ALONG the pavement, brimful of pleasure. There. She had done what she set out to do, she had proved herself smart, and she had got them a respectable job.

  She had done it by stealing and conning, admittedly – but only because Stug was so unreasonable. And that part of it would please Ma Pether and Liu, at least.

  She slowed, her walk losing some of its energy. Liu had been... she knew Liu cared for her. He’d risked his life for her, in fact – though she also knew that risk was his lifeblood, the way it was hers... or had been. But was he right? Was she doing something stupid?

  And could she make up to him for what she’d said? The memory of it chilled her and leadened her feet. You should know, she’d said. You are one.

  Stupid, and cruel, and unfair – but he’d got under her skin so. He could do it like almost no-one else; because she cared for him, too, whether she liked it – and whether Ma Pether liked it – or not.

  Maybe she should check Stug out. A bit more. Because he was obviously up to something. Many people might dismiss the Folk as a spent force, something between history and myth, now they stayed away from the cities; she knew better. They were still there, and if Liu was right – and it was true, he really should know – still dangerous.

  What she knew about them was that they – at least real Folk, not half-Folk like Liu – didn’t think like people, and that made them tricksy.

  So someone who got involved with them either didn’t know what they were doing, or did, and thought it was worth it.

  Like you, something whispered in her head, and she made a face. She’d never got involved with the Folk on purpose, it had just happened. And she hadn’t seen Aiden of the Emerald Court in years. When she was little, she’d thought of him as a friend. Later, she’d realised that he thought of her as more of a half-trained puppy. Her sister was his lapdog now.