Lady Lightfingers (4 page)

James laughed. ‘Now there's a comforting thought.'

‘I wouldn't mind too much if it were my wife or daughter.'

‘No . . . I don't suppose you would.' James patted his uncle gently on the shoulder. ‘That was a long time ago. You should have married again. You should sell this house and your half of the printing business and move back to the country to be near my mother. You could then enjoy the fresh country air in your old age. You know she'd enjoy having you to fuss over.'

‘My dear James, I don't want to be fussed over, even by my sister. Also, you haven't lived long enough to advise me on what I should, or should not, be doing. As for marriage, may I remind you that it's eluded you so far . . . or you have eluded it.'

James laughed. ‘My apology, Uncle. At the age of thirty-three I should know better than imagine I've gained any wisdom from living.'

‘Apology accepted. And please don't pat me as though I'm the family dog, something I find intensely irritating. Besides, you're forgetting I have my book to write.'

‘You could write just as easily in Dorset; you must have finished researching it by now.'

Thomas grinned. ‘Not at all; London changes all the time. Besides, I have a rival. I've recently run into someone who intends to do exactly the same thing. The odds of running into someone in London with exactly the same idea for a book as I have, must be almost nil. The girl looks to be all of fifteen years old, and she has learned to spell and write, and she understands the meaning of every word in the dictionary, or so she told me.'

‘Really? How interesting. It must be the daughter of a friend of yours, no doubt. Will you make her your protégée?'

‘But no, James, she is not someone I know. The child is a beggar I befriended.'

‘Ah . . .' James said, and he began to laugh. ‘That's typical of you. And you wonder where your watch has gone. This girl of yours . . . Is she about this high?' He placed his flattened hand at the height of his armpit. ‘And does she wear a ragged grey cape, and have striking blue eyes?'

‘It sounds as though you've met her.'

‘Just as I turned the corner she came from the opposite direction as if her feet were on fire. Is it possible that you saw your beggar girl leaving your house? She may have robbed you of the watch earlier, using the key to let herself in with. It's possible she intended to rob the house as well.'

‘But nothing is missing as far as I can see.'

‘Perhaps because you came home earlier than usual and disturbed her.'

They were standing in the hall. Into the sudden, reflective silence, the sound of chiming suddenly intruded. Thomas gave a broad and satisfied smile. ‘There, you see, James, my boy, she didn't take my watch. It's simply that I mislaid it. How odd. It's two minutes ahead of the clock, when it usually keeps good time.'

The sound was coming from the library, where he spent most of his time. The fifth chime died away just as they entered. It was James who found the watch dangling from the statuette of Diana, the huntress. He handed it to his uncle then set a match to the kindling. As he straightened up he saw the book on the chair and picked it up. ‘
Robinson Crusoe
. . . I thought you'd read this.'

‘I have. Mrs Packer must have taken the book out and forgotten to put it back.' Thomas slid the book back into its slot. ‘I expect she found my watch somewhere and put it where I could find it, too.'

Thomas didn't really believe his own explanation. It was too much of a coincidence that the girl had mentioned
Robinson Crusoe
. But he didn't want to blame the girl. She was a treasure of a child, like a flower growing in the wilderness, delicate but tough enough to survive. Her mind was fresh and fertile, and open to teaching because she was eager to learn. It was such a shame to allow it to go to waste.

It had struck him also that somebody must have kept his watch wound up. As for the glimpse of someone leaving . . . well, it could have been the beggar girl. But had she, distracted by the book, come to return the watch, or had she simply forgotten to take it with her when she fled? He remembered too, that the last time they'd met she'd called him by his name. Where would she have learned of it, except from the inscription on the watch?

He picked his notebook up and opened it, gently turning over the pages. He stopped and gazed at a drawing. There she was, her sweet little face wistful, her cupped hand outstretched and her eyes full of dreams.

‘Look, here she is,' he said and James came to look over his shoulder.

‘She recited a Shakespeare sonnet to the crowd that day. Her voice was clear and rang out with great feeling, but her actions were too dramatic for my taste. She collected very little in the way of money for her efforts. On the whole, the crowds were intent on a more colourful and exciting entertainment.'

‘That's the girl who bumped into me in the street. She managed to get a shilling out of me with some tale of woe about a sick mother. As soon as she got the coin she went running off as though the devil himself was after her.'

‘Perhaps her mother
is
sick. A girl like that can't enjoy having to live a life of poverty and be obliged to beg. You know what the next step will be for her.'

James shrugged. ‘I suppose you're going to make it your mission in life to save her. You should have taken up missionary work. Be careful, Uncle Thomas, she's probably as cunning as a river rat.'

‘So would you be if you'd had to fend for yourself from an early age. That's enough now, James. I'm not the old fool you tend to think I am, and I still enjoy a challenge.'

James grinned widely at him. ‘I think nothing of the sort. I think you are the most compassionate man I know.'

‘Only within reason, my boy. Tell me, what would you make of a thief who steals goods then returns them to her victim?'

James considered it for a moment, his eyes reflective. Wide blue eyes with dark lashes came into his mind. She'd been a pretty little thing despite the dirt on her face and the rags she wore. ‘I'd think that the girl saw the memorial to your daughter in the back of your watch, and her conscience was rattled.'

‘Which indicates that she isn't dishonest by nature, and has been brought up to be honest. And yes, I do believe she has a good mind, and because her needs in that area are not really satisfied she employs and enjoys using trickery. She put the watch where she did to trick me into thinking it's where I left it, and it had been there all the time. What she forgot was, if it had been left there for all that time, the spring would have wound down and it would have stopped. She had kept it wound up while she had it, you see.'

‘What if she'd left it there by mistake?'

‘She would have snatched it up as soon as the key went in the latch.

She could also have taken several things on the way out. The silver snuffbox, spoons, ornaments and coins. All this indicates to me is that she thieves or begs only to survive.'

‘You have an odd sense of what's honest and what's not, Uncle.'

‘Perhaps I'll be able to prove it to you before you return to take up that legal partnership in Dorset. I'm going to find out more about this girl. She interests me.'

James sighed.

Three

Thomas didn't see his light-fingered friend for two weeks. He thought she might be avoiding him, which as far as Thomas was concerned was a sure sign of her guilt in the matter of her uninvited intrusion into his house. Nevertheless, her lesson had been driven home and he no longer wore such a valuable timepiece when going about his day, but a rather ordinary metal watch that didn't keep perfect time like his other one.

In his satchel he carried a gift, with which to entice her.

He was observing a sideshow of tumblers when he saw her again. It was a cold, still day. The sky was high, a sweep of thin cloud brushed across it by a wind that hadn't yet found its way down to ground level. Dark hair tumbled down her back. Her eyes were wide, her expression absorbed. She had a wall at her back and her occasional glances kept her aware of what was going on around her.

She must have sensed his interest for she gazed more carefully at the crowd. Her glance wandered past him and then came back. She didn't avoid his eyes, but cocked her head to one side and offered him a faint, but altogether mischievous smile.

He beckoned.

She shook her head and pointed to a notice on the side of a cart before pointing to herself.
Prize of five shillings for the best amateur acts, voted on by audience acclaim. Thruppence to register your act. Spectator entry fee, sixpence.

Thomas paid his sixpence and joined the rest of the people crushed shoulder-to-shoulder into a small tent. The smell of humanity was ripe, but after a while Thomas got used to it. At thruppence for registration and sixpence each from the audience, this little travelling entertainment venture could prove to be quite lucrative. And it all packed away into a gypsy caravan pulled by a sturdy carthorse.

A stout lady singer faced the audience first, and was pelted with cabbage stumps. Number two on the bill was a man with one leg who played a tune on a wheezing hurdy-gurdy while his dog danced on its hind legs. Another man whistled a tune, one that was drowned out by a chorus of louder whistles and boos. A soldier marched up and down, clicked his heels, saluted the audience and cried out, ‘God save the Queen.'

‘Save her from what?' someone shouted. ‘Piss orf, will yer! Go and march upp'n down outside the palace with the 'orses.'

Behind the tent the carthorse whinnied loudly, as if it were laughing.

It was then the girl's turn.

‘For our final act, Miss Celia Jane Laws will recite a poem of her own composition called, Only a poor London girl.' He helped her up on a box for all to see.

Celia Jane! The name gave Thomas quite a shock, and a painful feeling of grief for his deceased daughter attacked him. He suffered a moment of resentment that this beggar shared his dead daughter's name. No wonder the girl's conscience had pricked her. Celia Laws had discarded her cape, but her blue dress was just as patched and ragged, the hem stained with mud.

There was dignity in the way she stood still, her head bowed until the audience became quiet. From behind the curtain came a few plaintive notes played on a violin. Only when it stopped did she lift her head to look up at the expectant crowd. Her face was tragic, her eyes filled with tears.

Thomas winced, but the audience didn't seem to notice anything amiss with the rhyme. She fell to her knees, put her hands together in prayer and gazed up to heaven.

‘
Lord, help my mama to recover from her malady. Save her from the appetites of men and the sweet, long sleep of the dreadful opium den.
'

Startled, Thomas' eyes flew open and he whispered, ‘Good grief!'

Somebody from the back yelled, ‘Where does your ma live, sweetheart?'

She stood and glared at the speaker, then picked up a cabbage stump and hurled it at him. Everyone clapped and laughed until she assumed a dramatic stance once more, her hands against her chest. Thomas wanted to laugh then. He was certainly getting his sixpence worth.

‘
I'm just a poor girl on the dusty streets. I'm waiting for papa to return from war and to gather us in his arms when he marches through the door.'

Several women in the crowd had begun to sob.

'I'm just a beggar girl filled with London pride, doing my best to stay alive in the cruel, cold city. I'm as gentle as a dove, so on poor me, please take pity
.' She finished with a limp hand against her forehead, and a loud sigh, then came the
coup de grâce. ‘Alas . . . poor me!'

There was a moment of silence before somebody at the back gave a piercing whistle. Somebody else shouted ‘Bravo!' as though it was a signal.

With tears streaming down her face Celia bowed to tumultuous applause. ‘Thank you, my dear friends; I'm humbled.'

Thomas very much doubted it and he had to stifle the urge to roar with laughter.

‘Judging by the applause there's no need to count votes. I hereby declare Miss Celia Jane Laws the winner,' the tumbler said. ‘Come and get your prize money, girl.'

Celia curtseyed and smiled tragically through her tears before walking regally off the makeshift stage. She disappeared behind a curtain.

Thomas pushed through the tide of the departing crowd and joined her. He was in time to see the tumbler handing her two shillings.

‘I thought the prize was five shillings; don't let the man cheat you,' Thomas said.

Her glance slid to his, eyes still wet but drying rapidly. She shrugged as she pocketed the money. ‘You don't have to be clever to work it out, professor,' and she indicated the tumbler. ‘This is my friend Benito. Benito, this is Professor Hambert, the man I told you about.'

Benito smiled at him and extended a hand. ‘I'm pleased to meet you, professor. I'll be over at St Paul's tomorrow if you want to earn a little extra, Celia. Same time. You always go down a treat with the audience.'

‘I'll be there, Benito. How's your wife. Has the baby been born yet?'

He beamed a smile. ‘Just a couple of days ago, so Marie isn't up to getting back to work yet so she's staying with her parents till I get back. We have a son . . . His name is Gulio and he can already juggle.'

She laughed. ‘Give him a kiss from me, then.'

Thomas raised an eyebrow after they left. ‘Professor?'