Brightling (12 page)

21

Sparrow's first sensation was pain. It felt as if a hammer was pounding her temples and smashing against her skull. She raised her hand to her throbbing head.
Bandages
. She opened her eyes slowly, squinting in the light.

‘She's awake,' a woman said softly. ‘Look! Hello dearie, how are you feeling, my lovely?'

Sparrow closed her eyes again. It seemed the safest and easiest thing to do and, really, she couldn't speak; she couldn't even think with this hammering going on.

Someone, presumably the same woman, held a glass of cool water to her lips. She sipped it then lay back on the pillow. The bed was so soft – the sheets had to be absolutely white as snow, she thought, to be as soft and smooth as this. She turned her head slightly and smelled roses and honeysuckle, and felt very safe.

‘Can you hear us?' A man's voice this time.

‘I don't think she's properly awake yet, Bruno,' the woman said. ‘She's all dopey. Does your head hurt a great deal, you poor, dear thing?'

Sparrow heard them quite clearly but she didn't have the strength to answer so she kept her eyes closed. She felt wonderfully safe and relieved to be able to say nothing.

She smiled to herself and slept.

The next time Sparrow woke, her head didn't hurt so much; now it wasn't a hammer she felt, but a steel band, tight around her forehead.

There was a gentle
click clack
sound somewhere near her.

She opened her eyes.

She was in a strange room with red roses growing up the walls. When she looked again she realised it was wallpaper and wondered how it smelled of roses, but then she saw a vase of real red roses on a chest of drawers.

She felt along the bed for Scaramouch. He wasn't there.

She sat up sharply and cried out, ‘Scaramouch!'

A plump woman of indeterminate age had been sitting knitting by the fire – that accounted for the click-clacking noise. She had blonde plaits neatly wound round her head. Her white linen collar was spotless. Her round cheeks looked soft and very pink.

‘She's awake!' The woman dropped her knitting and came to her bedside. ‘Dearie, how are you?' she asked, leaning over her. ‘I'm Hilda, Hilda Butterworth. Three days you've lain there.'

‘Hilda Butter  … ?
Three days!
Where's Scaramouch?' Sparrow muttered, looking round.

‘Oh I'm so glad you can speak, dearie. We were worried you were done for.' Hilda bit her lip. ‘It was Bruno's fault. He knocked you out cold – like a slab of meat, you were.'

‘Three days?' Sparrow repeated. ‘I've been lying here all that time without my cat?'

‘I didn't see a cat, dearie. We brought you home and looked after you because Bruno, my husband, he said it was his fault you hit your head. He got in your way. He owns a toyshop not too far from the square, and came out to see what the fuss was all about. You bounced off his big fat stomach and splat into that old pillar! Five stitches you had to have, but don't worry,' she added, as Sparrow touched her bandaged head, ‘it's mostly in your hair and it won't show.' She smiled. ‘No one else was picking you up, were they? They're a rum lot, our townsfolk, I sometimes think.'

Sparrow smiled weakly. ‘Three days,' she said. ‘I can't believe it.'

When had she last seen Scaramouch? In the hall, in Hettie's arms  …  he'd be all right. Hettie would look after him. She was a kind girl  …  an unhappy girl. She remembered Cari and a sadness shot through her.

‘There, you're a dear girl, aren't you? What a nice face you've got. What's your name?'

‘Sparrow,' said Sparrow.

‘And where are you from, Sparrow? Where do you live? We've been so anxious – we couldn't find out who you were. We asked and asked. Your mother and father must be so worried about you.'

‘I'm from nowhere,' Sparrow said quietly.

She felt tears come into her eyes. Her tears seemed to appal Hilda, who dabbed at them quickly with the bed sheet. ‘No, no, don't cry,' she squeaked. ‘What can be the matter? What is it?'

‘I'm an orphan. I've never had a home,' Sparrow said.

And then it was Hilda's turn to cry. She wiped her eyes and kept trying to apologise and then started blubbing again. Finally she called downstairs to Bruno to come up.

Sparrow's head hurt but she didn't mind because this woman, Hilda, was so kind and the sheets were so smooth and the room so cosy, it was like being in heaven.
Where are you from? Where do you live?
She didn't want to remember the Knip and Pynch Home for Waifs and Strays or Miss Minter's attic or making matches. She never ever wanted to recall the awful look of hopelessness on Cari's face. She wanted to forget it all and lie here swimming in roses and white sheets for ever and ever.

‘Women, women,' the man called Bruno muttered. He came stamping up the stairs with a person who Sparrow guessed immediately was Hilda's sister because she looked very similar, though not so smiley. Her name, she learned, was Gerta.

The three of them stood and stared at Sparrow.

‘She says her name is Sparrow,' Hilda told them. ‘And she doesn't remember anything and she's an orphan.'

‘Oh is she now?' Gerta said, making a face that meant she didn't believe a word of it.

Bruno was a big man. He was almost bald and had a nose like an old potato, upon which rested a pair of wire spectacles, and ears like cabbage leaves. ‘Hello, there Sparrow,' he said, grinning widely. ‘Well, well. No more talking, if it turns on the waterworks.
Sparrow?
Now,
that's
a funny name for a girl.'

‘Very unlikely,' Gerta put in.

‘Is it?' Sparrow asked, glancing anxiously from one to the other.

‘No, of course it isn't,' Hilda said. ‘Don't you look so worried. It's a lovely name.'

‘I'm sorry my dear, how rude of me,' Bruno said. ‘You can have any name you want,' he added, giving his sister-in-law a stern look. ‘I didn't mean to be rude.'

‘Let me help you sit up,' Hilda said, plumping up the pillows.

Sitting up, Sparrow could see a pale blue cover on the wooden bed, a dresser with a mirror, all polished so it shone, two chairs beside the fire, a rug on bees-waxed boards; it was homely and comforting. She reached down the bed to the empty space where her cat should have been.

A moan escaped from her.

‘Does your head hurt?' Hilda asked softly.

Sparrow nodded – her head did hurt; it wasn't a complete lie. ‘What happened to me?' she asked. ‘Tell me again  … '

‘Oh you poor dear, don't you remember? Well,' Hilda brought her chair up close to the bed. ‘There were some match-girls in the square and –'

‘– And this lot weren't just selling matches, that's for sure,' Gerta said.

‘What were they selling?' Sparrow knew Kate had been up to something. She fixed a blank expression on her face.

‘Bri—'Bruno began, but his wife stopped him.

‘Oh no dear, don't. Not now. I don't want to upset Sparrow. Something they shouldn't, that's all, dearie, something unkind.'

Bruno patted Sparrow's hand. ‘See you later, my dear,' he said and headed downstairs.

Gerta folded her arms over her chest and stared at Sparrow. ‘An orphan, eh? Lost your memory? Very convenient.' She winked meaningfully at Sparrow.

‘You've all been so kind to me,' Sparrow said, ignoring her. ‘Thank you very much.'

‘It's nothing, nothing,' Hilda said. ‘You are our guest. It was Bruno's fat tummy that caused the accident, so we
must
look after you. You will stay with us, dearie, until you're quite better, won't you? I mean, if you have no home and everything, where else would you go?'

Gerta shot her sister a worried look. ‘Well, she can stay until her head doesn't hurt,' she put in. ‘Then –'

‘I think I can make decisions in my own home, thank you, sister,' Hilda said firmly without looking at her.

‘I do want to stay,' Sparrow said.

‘I'm sure you do,' Gerta said grimly, under her breath.

‘Only,' went on Sparrow, ‘only I had a cat, a big beautiful cat, like a Siamese but he isn't, he's bigger. Grander. Furrier. He has almost invisible stripes of golden honey and dark tips to his ears and  …  I've never been without him before. And now  … '

‘An orphan with a big cat? What next?' Gerta said, rolling her eyes.

‘Bruno and I didn't see a cat, dearie.' Concern and worry showed in Hilda's broad face. ‘We'll keep our eyes open, I promise you. They're funny creatures, cats are, and yours may well find you here. I've heard of things like that, haven't you? They have different senses from us – more ways of seeing – and they can always find their way home.'

‘I hope he'll find me,' Sparrow said, glancing towards the window. ‘I'm sure he
would
come and find me if he could. At the orphanage he just seemed to appear, as if he came through the mouse holes or under the door; he could always find me there.'

‘I don't care for cats,' Gerta said.

‘You'd like this one,' Sparrow said. ‘He's wonderful. Everyone loves him.'

‘I'm not everyone,' Gerta said. ‘And I'm quite content to be the odd one out, thank you.'

Sparrow suddenly noticed a small painting by the window, a portrait of a young woman with green eyes. ‘Who's in the picture?' she asked. The woman looked a little wild and not at all like the portly and solid figures of Hilda and Gerta. She seemed out of place, and yet there was a look of Bruno there, Sparrow thought, in the bright eyes. ‘Is she family? I do like her face.'

Hilda's eyes dimmed and her smile died away. ‘That's Bruno's sister. I'm afraid she was a rather foolish young woman and –'

‘– Ran away from home,' Gerta said, shortly. ‘She had an accident and died.'

‘I'm so sorry,' Sparrow said. After a pause, she added, ‘She looks sparky.' And she was thinking too that the young woman was very like her to look at. She felt an immediate connection, as if, even though the other eyes were painted, they were meeting and linking with her own.

Hilda smiled and patted her arm. ‘She
was
sparky. It was a terrible accident; a dreadful waste. She was lovely. We all adored little Mayra; it broke our hearts when she went.'

Sparrow nodded, understanding. She could not take her eyes from the portrait. She felt bewitched.

Hilda and Gerta tiptoed down the narrow stairs to the parlour at the front of the house. Bruno looked up from the newspaper as they came in.

‘Well, well,' Bruno said, grinning broadly. ‘What a sweet girl! She'll stay, won't she, until she's quite better?'

Hilda nodded happily. ‘Of course. I want her to, anyway.'

‘I can't imagine why,' Gerta said. ‘We know nothing about her. What was she doing in Middle Square in the first place? Is she really from an orphanage?'

‘Oh Gerta  … ' Hilda turned to Bruno. ‘Don't
you
think she's telling the truth? Please say you do, dear.'

‘She wasn't even wearing orphanage clothes,' Gerta put in.

‘Sparrow wouldn't lie, I'm sure,' Hilda said. ‘You can see she's just not that sort.'

‘I shall ask around,' Bruno said. ‘It wouldn't do any harm, would it? To check if an orphanage did have a child called Sparrow – there can't be many of that name; if that really
is
her name. I feel she is honest, personally.'

‘Me too,' Hilda said. ‘I feel it in my bones.'

‘Your bones are probably made of liquorice laces,' Gerta said. ‘You're far too sweet and soft. Personally, I doubt it,' Gerta went on. ‘And all that nonsense about the picture!'

They told him how Sparrow had been enthralled by his sister's portrait. Bruno looked puzzled. He rubbed his big nose and took off his glasses to rub his eyes. He smoothed his thinning hair and finally said, ‘Now that is strange, because I did think Sparrow looked a little like Mayra. The hair? The green eyes? Or is it that I see Mayra's face everywhere, even in a little orphan girl from the streets?'

Hilda bit her lip. She looked troubled. ‘My love, I fear that
is
the truth,' she said.

‘Of course there isn't any resemblance!' Gerta said. ‘How could there be? That girl is just trying it on. It's comfortable here and she wants to stay. Then you'll turn your back and she'll be gone and all the silver with her too!'

‘Oh now, Gerta, for shame!' Bruno said.

‘I feel confused,' Hilda said. ‘I'm so ready to love something  …  I know it's a fault, I know it, but after, after the Swamp Fever took our little Emma and Matilda from us, I've been so ready and willing and then here comes this little angel out of the blue and I'm so inclined to ask her to stay  … '

‘No one could ever replace our girls, dearest.'

‘Of course not. Never, but I have room in my heart for someone, Bruno. But what if Gerta's right and Sparrow's going to leave me too? I couldn't bear it.'

‘There, there,' Bruno said. ‘You always get upset talking about the darling girls. Dry your eyes. I think that's Sparrow coming now. We mustn't show her teary faces. We must find out a little more about her, my dear,' he added quietly. ‘We'll care for her and help her and find out all we can. And we'll get my brother down here too. If
he
thinks she looks like Mayra, then she does.'

‘You'll be lucky if you can get Otto out of the Academy kitchens for one second!' Gerta said. ‘He'll say his sponge will collapse or his pancakes flip or something.'

Bruno grinned. ‘He'll come,' he said. ‘For this.'

22

Tapper was grinning as he slipped the letter into the envelope. A very fine bit of writing; to the point and well written, he thought.

‘You shan't get her now, Knips, no matter what you do,' he said to the envelope. ‘When I find her she's going back to Miss Minter.' Miss Minter was better looking than old Knip and much smarter. And Miss Minter had come up with a new plan that meant more money.

Cedric de Whitt
. Tapper rolled the name around in his head.
Cedric de Whitt
. It was a fine name, a gentleman's name. The name of the gentleman who would pay a lot more for Sparrow than nasty old Knips, that's what Miss Minter had told him. He'd no idea how Miss Minter had discovered this Cedric de Whitt, but then that was none of his business. His business was simply to find and bring back Sparrow. Meanwhile he'd milk Knips for every penny he could.

I should have held on to Sparrow more tightly, when I had her at Ma's, he thought. Missed a chance there, didn't you, Tapper? he told himself. It was Ma's fault. Now Sparrow'd slipped out of his clutches again – Glori's fault.
Women!

Glori now had bruises on her wrists where he'd held her as tight as he could, wanting, just for a moment, to snap her stupid little arms. But he'd got over his first blind rage.

Gently, gently, he told himself. Just get Sparrow back!

‘Oooh, I am so frightened,' Tapper said to his empty room. He laughed. ‘Pynch is as fierce and scary as a custard tart.' He threw down Miss Knip's letter in disgust. ‘What do I care, Knip? Me and Miss Minter're cleverer than you. So.' And who needs lockets, he thought. We'll
get
the girl and then we'll sell her to the highest bidder and it won't be you. So.

That evening he met Glori in the Old Blue Bear Tavern and passed her Miss Knip's letter to read. ‘See, she wouldn't send no money,' he told Glori. ‘That's why you're drinking limewater tonight. And you know what? It's all your fault, for losing that girl.'

‘Isn't Miss Minter paying you?' Glori asked him, ignoring his dig at her.

‘Maybe,' Tapper said. ‘Knips don't know that, though. Knips is just a stingy old crow.'

Glori sipped her limewater. Limewater tasted of nothing.

‘Now, how's the search going? Got any clues?' Tapper said. ‘She can't have disappeared into thin air, can she, so?'

Glori was pale. She hadn't slept properly since Sparrow had gone.

‘We asked around and looked everywhere  …  Phew, it was a close one though. Kate was doing really good, she'd sold some tonic to some fat gent and then another geezer come up and he said he was going to arrest her. She legged it.'

‘You told me.'

‘Yes, I told you. I keep going over it, I'm sorry. We'll have to be more careful now.' She lowered her voice. ‘The authorities know it's the match-girls what are selling it. And Agnes said she was followed for miles yesterday, and only just lost them. Selling Brightling's getting real dodgy. I wish we didn't –'

‘Miss Minter knows what she's doing. She's a proper lady, in't she?' Tapper interrupted her, leaning over the back of his chair and crossing his legs, slicking back his hair. ‘How come you ain't picked up any of her airs and graces, so?'

Glori felt herself sag. She gulped down another mouthful of hateful limewater. ‘I don't know.'

‘No, I don't either.' He turned away from her, as if even the dirty floor was better to look at than her.

Glori glanced at Miss Knip's letter again. ‘What's she on about with this locket? How's it proof, Tapper?'

Tapper shrugged. ‘Dunno. Well, best get on,' he said. ‘You're sure Sparrow don't know her way back to the old school, aren't you?'

Glori nodded sadly.

‘What's the matter? Don't look so glum, your face in't pretty when you're glum. You know I only like you pretty.'

‘Oh Tapper, can't we just leave her and forget about her?' Glori said.

‘So, that's your game?' Tapper said, leaning over the table and getting close up to her. ‘This is what's going on in that little head, is it? Leave her be?' His voice had sunk low and harsh.

‘No. No, not really.' She shrank back from him. He frightened her. He had a sort of unsteadiness about him, so she never knew what he'd do next and now he was so angry about Sparrow. When he suddenly burst out like this, it scared her; scared her rigid. She shivered and moved away from him, rubbing at her sore wrists.

‘Glori, don't you want her to be reunited with her family? Don't you want her safe in the bosom of her own flesh and blood?' Tapper sneered.

Glori nodded. ‘So there is a family?'

‘I never said that.' Tapper smiled. ‘Miss Minter is so smart. She can worm things out of folk. You should have seen her with that man de Whitt.' He flicked his fingers as if they'd been burnt. ‘She can bargain. Phew! Hot stuff!'

‘What man
de Whitt
?' Glori said.

Tapper went very still. ‘I didn't say it,' he said. ‘Did I say  … ? Forget you heard that name, Glori!' he hissed, grabbing her fingers and bending them backwards and all the while smiling at her. ‘Forget it!'

‘I've forgotten it! I never heard nothing!' Glori whispered desperately. ‘Please, Tapper! Ow!'

He let her go.

Oh if only Miss Minter hadn't got her claws into him  …  What a combination: both so greedy, both as explosive as the phosphorus. Both could make her so happy and so miserable.

She wished he were only hers, like he used to be; he'd been kinder then too.

‘And when we've found Sparrow and got some money we're going to set up house together, aren't we, like you said?' She touched his sleeve tentatively.

‘Maybe,' he said, shaking her off. ‘We'll see.'

And he was gone.