Brightling (20 page)

37

Glori slithered out from under the heavy, damp coats and mackintoshes hanging on the back wall of the Belvedere parlour and ran  … 

She had heard everything. She knew everything.

She came to a stop and stood outside in the freezing cold, staring around wildly. They were going to hurt Sparrow! This man, Mr de Whitt, was planning to, to  …  kill Sparrow, push her off the ship – and they were helping him! Never in her darkest moments had she thought that they would sink so low.

Glori set off again in haste, getting away from the Belvedere as fast as she could, but with no clear plan.

The snow that had fallen in the night had almost gone. Water dripped from the eaves of the houses. The pavements were glassy and when she lost her footing and slipped, it sent a jolt of pain searing through her jaw. No one ever said, but she knew what the pain was: phozzy jaw, caused by the phosphorus. That's what made the girls glow in the dark too, turning them all into little ghosts, one way or another.

Miss Minter knows what the stuff does, Glori thought. She knows but still she does nothing about it. If the girls really were Miss Minter's family, why didn't Miss Minter look after them better?

Breathless, confused, Glori finally stopped her crazy rush and began walking. Finding herself not far from the street where the Butterworths' toyshop was, she went to it. The large window was completely plastered over with posters.

Glori had half-noticed the posters before, thinking they were for the stolen spitfyres; now she saw they were for Sparrow. The Butterworths wanted her back. She remembered Miss Minter had said something about it but her thoughts had been in such turmoil  …  She read the poster carefully. Twice. Bruno was Sparrow's
uncle
? That made the Butterworths Sparrow's true family  …  And she had helped kidnap her back. Wanted her to stay!

No! Sparrow must be given back to them!

Glori made to open the shop door, but catching sight of the twirling spitfyres hanging from the ceiling, she stopped.

Toy spitfyres.

She turned and walked away. No love in those spitfyres, Sparrow had said. Glori walked ten paces off then she spun round and walked back, went ten paces past the shop in the other direction, doubled back and finally went in.

‘Hello, may I help you?' The big man smiled kindly at her.
Bruno
. Oh he was a nice, cheery sort, with that big tubby belly and a proper, chuckling smile that lit up his brown eyes and made her want to smile too, only nothing could make her smile now.

‘I'm just looking at the spitfyres,' Glori said in a small voice.

The smile faded from Bruno's face as he looked up at the hanging toys. ‘Oh yes, those spitfyres  …  pretty things, aren't they, my dear.' Then he muttered to himself, ‘I meant to take them down and stop selling them  … ' He shook his head. ‘I'm forgetting things!' he said to Glori. ‘Don't you mind me. You go ahead, my dear. Please take as long as you want.'

The spitfyres were lovely, if you didn't know how or where they were made, Glori thought. Beautiful. The real spitfyres were gorgeous too; she'd always thought so. It wasn't right what they did to them, but  … 

‘Oh! No!' she gasped. ‘It's  … ' She reached for one of the spitfyres with a shaking hand.

‘All right, dear?' Bruno asked her. ‘Can you manage?'

She nodded dumbly.

The fabric of the spitfyre was a tiny flower pattern, orange and pink and purple. Of course lots of people
might
have that fabric, she thought, lots and lots  …  it was just an old scrap of silk, a scarf she'd had from an ancient, kind lady, long ago. But it was unusual. Different. She turned the spitfyre over and over, hardly seeing it now, only remembering that scarf, and remembering giving it to Tapper as a keepsake. ‘I'll keep it by my heart,' he'd said, patting his jacket pocket. ‘For ever.'

What a sad life she had, she thought, with a sniff. What a hopeless life. Everything she'd believed in and wanted to love, was a lie. Maybe she could never be properly happy, she thought. She had inside her a sadness that came up unexpected – often from the very things that should bring happiness – and here it was now, overwhelming her because she knew Tapper was untrue.

‘Who makes them?' Glori said in a tiny voice; not really wanting an answer. Bruno looked very uncomfortable now. ‘Ah, well a young man called Tapper Nash brings them to me and, and  …  I'm not entirely sure who makes them.' He coughed. ‘I'm changing supplier,' he added. ‘Mr Nash isn't the man I thought he was.'

No, Glori thought, that is so true.

‘How about something else, my dear – one of these lovely dolls?' Bruno asked her, waving his hand to show her a shelf of beautiful, porcelain dolls.

‘Oh no, no thank you. I've got to go.'

She was outside the shop again so quickly that her head was spinning. She set off back to the nest, taking long, purposeful strides, thoughts reeling. She needed to be in the nest, she needed Miss Minter to tell her she was wrong to doubt Tapper. She wanted to hear how Miss Minter needed her and she wanted to sit by the fire with her and sip hot chocolate and feel all was right in the world.

The posters were everywhere. How had she not read them properly before?
MISSING MISSING MISSING
. There were hundreds of them. They haunted her journey and followed her path so she could think of nothing else except that Sparrow had a real family – a family who wanted her.

All of a sudden a hand slammed down heavily on her shoulder.

‘Glori!'

‘
Tapper!
' she spun round, feeling her cheeks burn and blaze guiltily. ‘You gave me a fright,' she managed to squeak. Oh what if he knew? What if he knew what she'd done, where she'd been? Her heart did one heavy thud then began to race and thrash about like something caught in a trap.

‘You shouldn't have such a guilty conscience, girl. Seen the posters?' Tapper asked her, nodding towards one. ‘Rum, eh? Now they're saying she's like family and everything, but we all know she's an orphan.'

‘I don't know, is she? I don't know  …  I've got toothache, Tapper. I can't think. I'm feeling bad.' She looked along the street; the nest was close, she longed for the nest. ‘I need to –'

‘Come on, my girl, let's go have some food,' Tapper said, linking his arm through hers. ‘Things are looking up again and we're in clover.'

‘I'd rather not, Tapper, really  … '

Tapper froze. ‘
Rather not?
I don't think so. I want lunch with you, my girl, and lunch with you is what I'll have.'

‘Yes, Tapper.'

They soon had a table in the busy tavern.

‘See how they move out for me, eh?' Tapper said as they sat down on seats still warm from the first occupants. Tapper smiled into his bark-beer and Glori miserably watched the bubbles disappear.

A steaming rabbit pie was placed on the table for them.

‘I'm not hungry,' Glori said, pushing her pastry round her plate. ‘Sorry, Tapper.'

‘Eat.'

Glori tried, but the pastry tasted like cardboard and the meat was like chewing leather.

‘Here. I'll eat it.' He scooped up the rest of the pie. ‘I'm always hungry. I'm hungry for life, I am. Oh Glori, are we going to have a good time, you and me?'

‘Are we?' Her voice came out cracked and feeble.

‘What's up?' he asked, tossing his hair aside and fixing his cold eyes on her. ‘Come on, tell me. You know you will in the end.'

‘Nothing,' she said, rubbing her jaw.

‘Glori, you can't keep nothing from me and you know it.' He suddenly grabbed her arm, squeezing it tightly. ‘Glori, speak up. Don't make me be mean. I don't want to be mean, but you make me.'

‘I'm not very well,' she said. ‘It's my teeth.'

He picked up a fork and stabbed it inches from where her hand lay on the tabletop, digging the prongs in deep then rocking the fork backwards and forwards. ‘
Glori?
I'm warning you  …  Glori, don't  … '

She had to tell him something  …  she pretended to crumble.

‘Sparrow told me  …  She said she'd been in a house by the swamp and it was
your
house and you'd
made
her sew the spitfyres and locked her up. I saw the spitfyre, Tapper. I saw it and it's true.'

Tapper laughed.

‘She's a one, that Sparrow,' Tapper said, smiling at his pie, which immediately stopped steaming. ‘I must have a little word with her when I get back to the nest. She was a guest in our house, Glori, and my ma fed her and looked after her like she were her own dear daughter. What a little minx to lie about it.'

Glori tried to look relieved but didn't feel anything except certainty, certainty that he was lying.

‘But you
do
make spitfyres for them Butterworths?'

‘How was I to know she were connected to them? How? That's just bad luck  …  or good luck. Oh I know, I know what this is leading up to,' Tapper said. ‘You've seen the posters and you want us to send her back to them, don't you?'

‘Why not, Tapper?' Glori cried, grabbing his arm. ‘She could have a real, loving family then and belong somewhere. A
real
family and they're so kind and –'

‘How d'you know they're so kind?' he interrupted her.

‘I mean  …  I mean she told me they were kind. Nice. It's what she said.' Glori cast her eyes down and quickly sipped her drink.

Tapper leaned back in his chair. ‘It ain't going to happen, Glori, no way.' He shook her off when she reached out for him. ‘No. And don't paw me!'

‘But why not?' Glori took hold of his hand again, pleading. ‘Please, Tapper. We could just do this one good thing and make her happy. Then you and me, we'd still be all right. We could –'

‘You've forgot about the money,' Tapper said coldly.

‘But we'd get the money. The Butterworths' reward.'

‘No.' Tapper snatched his hand away. ‘No.'

‘But why not?'

Tapper turned away and stared at the wall. A black spider scuttled off down a deep crack. ‘I can get more for her, that's why not.'

‘Who'd pay more for her than her uncle?' Glori asked, although she knew. She waited, wanting him to commit himself, to fall into her trap. If he was prepared to let Sparrow go to de Whitt and certain death then she was all set to do anything – anything – to save her friend.

‘Never you mind. All I'll say is we'll get more. I promise. We'll get more.'

‘But she's got a
real
family! What we all want!'

‘Speak for yourself,' Tapper snapped. ‘I don't want my old ma!' Then he grinned. ‘Yeah, she's got more family than you can shake a hat at, has Sparrow. Now leave off. I've done with talking about Sparrow. Talk about
us
. Talk about that little house we're going to get and what fine clothes we'll have, eh? I've found the place, right near the nest it is, and you'll love it. End of discussion.'

38

The other match-girls were asleep; the fire had burned down low.

Sparrow looked over at Glori's sleeping shape. Glori had been upset when she came in, too ill to talk, she'd said. Sparrow had wanted to ask her about the spitfyres outside in the yard. She hoped Glori didn't know about them, that she wasn't part of
that
business. Glori was too kind, too caring to be so cruel.

She was going to help those creatures tonight. She had to.

It was quiet and still. She turned back her covers gently and crept out of bed. She pulled on two jumpers and two pairs of socks; took her coat from the peg and picked up her boots. Her breath clouded in front of her; her teeth rattled in her head.

She tiptoed silently out of the attic.

At the top of the long flight of stairs she stopped, lit a candle using stolen matches and put on her boots. Then she made her way down.

Her heart seemed to have ballooned and was filling her throat, thumping massively in her chest, booming in her ears. If only Scaramouch were here, she thought. Dear Scaramouch, please find me Scaramouch, if you're here somewhere. That's what she'd do next, she thought; after helping the spitfyres, she'd go into every single room in this place, every single room and look for him.

She crept down the stairs, feeling for the rail in the dark, and on through the draughty, echoing hall. What if the door at the end of the corridor was locked? What if Brittel kept watch at night? She reached out for the door nervously, turned the handle. It moved. It opened.

Freezing air rushed in at her.

The wind rustled in the tall trees and made a horrible, sad moaning sound as if the entire courtyard was alive with phantoms and trapped spirits.

Her candle went out.

She stood and waited, letting her eyes adjust, trying not to let her fears take over. No lighted windows showed in the tall buildings behind the trees. There was no sign of life anywhere; she felt very alone.

The four stalls in the stables glowed with a dull, orangey light. The heat from the spitfyres had melted the ice on the roof and water dripped from it. She made her way across the cluttered yard towards the animals. In the first stable the grey, dirty spitfyre lay on the floor, weak and still. It hardly moved when she went in.

‘Dear spitfyre,' she whispered, kneeling beside it. ‘I've come to save you.'

The spitfyre opened its eyes and blinked at her blankly. ‘Come on,' Sparrow said. ‘Come on.' She undid the rope from around its neck. ‘You're free. Look, you're free.' She pointed to the open door. ‘This is your chance.'

The spitfyre hauled itself up onto its knees and then slowly stood, panting, its sides heaving with the effort. ‘There, you did it! You did it!' she said. ‘Well done.' Next she ripped off the cloth that was wound around its body. The moment its wings were free, it lifted its head and its ears pricked up and life came flooding back into its eyes as if some internal energy source had been turned on. It shook out its mane and flicked its tail from side to side. Gobs of thick dirt and old paint fell from its coat. ‘Lovely thing!' she said, patting its neck. ‘You feel better already, don't you? Go outside, move around and flap those wings about.'

The spitfyre staggered out into the yard. Its hooves made such a clatter on the stones she was immediately frightened someone might hear. She pulled armfuls of straw from the stable and threw it down, trying to cover as much of the stone as she could.

Then quickly she went into the other stalls and did the same for the rest of the spitfyres.

Kopernicus and Seraphina, the circus spitfyres, hadn't been kept prisoner there for so long and were not so weakened. Their eyes gleamed with unshed, golden tears. They puffed out miniscule sparks and thin smoke rings. Whinnying softly, they walked round and round the yard, stretching their legs and opening and closing their wings. They seemed to glow with an inner light and soon the whole yard was warm and lit by them.

As the spitfyres beat their leathery wings up and down, the wings plumped up and refilled with blood. They changed colour from paper-white to pink and purple and orange and yellow as the tiny blood vessels filled and nourished them. ‘You are so lovely, so marvellous!' Sparrow said. ‘How could Miss Minter, or anyone, ever hurt you?'

Round and round the spitfyres went, jumping carefully over the rubbish, snorting out orange and yellow sparks, stopping now and again to beat their wings, blowing and puffing to each other, tossing their heads, flexing their limbs.

Suddenly, Seraphina reared up on her back legs with a high-pitched whinny.

Sparrow quickly backed away as the spitfyre pawed the air and then crashed down with a hollow clatter to the ground, throwing her head from side to side as if she were shaking something off.

‘Hush! Oh be quiet!' Sparrow cried, looking round at the blank windows, dreading a light appearing. ‘Gently, Seraphina, gently!'

But the spitfyre was unstoppable. She arched her neck and spat and roared like a dragon. Again and again the spitfyre gazed round at the confines of the yard, and then stared up to the night sky.

Sparrow looked up too, at freedom.

‘Go, go if you can!' she urged the spitfyre. ‘Go.'

Seraphina tossed her head and whinnied as if to say she would. She spun round on a tight circle, like something clockwork winding itself up, then she suddenly leaped over a heap of barrels, up onto the shed by the stable, up onto the stable roof and up onto the very top of the roof. Her hooves slipped and slates came loose and slithered, crashing to the ground. Right on the top of the pointed roof she somehow balanced, wings held out like a tightrope walker might hold a pole. She looked again into the sky above and began to thrash her wings, preparing to jump. The other spitfyres watched her, pawing the ground expectantly.

Seraphina tensed, bent her legs as if they were springs, clamped her wings tight to her sides, and jumped. Straight up, she went, like a giant rocket. Skimming the tops of the trees, she unfurled her wings and began flying; up, up into the dark night sky. Orange flames streamed from her mouth; she looked like a shooting star.

Sparrow clapped her hands. Wonderful! Glorious! Oh what a pity there is no one else to see this, she thought, as Seraphina flew off over the rooftops and disappeared. Well done, Seraphina! Farewell!

The other spitfyres were electrified; it was as if Seraphina's escape had empowered them; the yard was hot and sparky and tingling with energy. Kopernicus was up onto the stable roof in two giant strides. She pirouetted, leaped, and then spiralled up into the darkness. Soon he had flown away over the houses and trees. Gone.

Sparrow ran back to the first spitfyre, who looked dazed and confused still. ‘Come on, come on,' she urged it, patting its flanks. It was very weak. ‘This is your only chance – come on! You must go! You must!'

‘Stop right there!'

Sparrow spun round.

Brittel
.

She screamed and ran but he was too quick; in an instant he'd leaped over the clutter and caught her, immediately clamping his hand across her mouth before she could utter another sound. He forced her arm up her back, twisted her about and marched her back towards the house.

‘Idiot. Stupid little brat! Fool!' he spat, close beside her ear.

Sparrow kicked and struggled. She tried to bite his hand but each time she did he just yanked her arm harder and more painfully. ‘Stop! Keep still!' he hissed.

There was a sudden roar, the air swirling and whooshing around them, making Brittel swing round just as the third spitfyre soared into the air.

It flew up off the stable roof and then suddenly swooped down low, its hooves brushing Brittel's head. A shower of hot ash sprayed over him. Brittel nearly let her go; he was torn between avoiding the pain, catching the animal and stopping Sparrow. She felt him waver and she almost yanked herself free, but then he had her again, his grip tighter than ever.

‘You stupid little fool!'

He pushed her up to the wall and held her there, her face pressed into the stone while he kicked open a low metal door beside them with a loud clatter.

Behind them they heard the fourth spitfyre trying to clamber onto the stable roof. Brittel swirled round as tiles clattered to the ground and smashed on the cobbles. The spitfyre wheezed. It was weak. It had no strength. Sparrow urged it on.
Go
,
go
, she willed it.

The spitfyre whinnied, blew out a gust of black smoke and made it onto the roof.

Go, go
!

Its hooves slipped, its wings thrashed and suddenly, with a startling cry, it soared into the air, throwing out a shower of silvery sparks and clouds of dusty ash.

Sparrow's own heart flew up into the stars with it.

‘By the dragon, she'll kill you for this,' Brittel said, watching the orangey-golden glow fade into the sky, ‘if you don't rot down there first.'

He doubled her over and pushed her roughly through the low opening in the wall, and bolted the door behind her.