Sparrow Falling (15 page)

“No,” Stug said, staring at the wall beyond Simms and tapping his fingernail on the desktop. “No, she isn’t.”

“And there’s them as might be interested in knowing that while their ever-so-clever government fellas, with all of their schooling and such, managed to get themselves lost in foreign parts, one little street-urchin got herself home and dry, and doing quite well by the look of her. Or maybe, and that’s the thought that come to me, Mr Stug,
maybe they already do
.”

The same thought, at the same time, amid the whirl of speculation, had already occurred to Stug. “You think she’s working for the government?”

“Well, Mr Stug, she was a bright enough spark, she was, but running a business? By herself? Now that’s the sort of thing I don’t believe would be going on without she had someone setting her up, and
backing
her up. She’s only a mort when all’s said and done.”

“Well,” Stug said. “That’s very interesting, Simms.”

“I thought it was the sorta thing you might want to know, Mr Stug.”

“Indeed. Indeed.” Stug leant back in his chair. “I am gratified to find you so careful of my interests.”

“You’re a generous employer, Mr Stug, I’d be a fool not to do my best for you.”

Stug took a key from around his neck and opened a drawer in his desk, extracted a tin box, and opened that with another key. He took out a sheaf of notes and passed them to Simms. “I hope this will be acceptable?”

“Most kind, Mr Stug, most kind.” Simms tucked the notes away in a pocket inside his jacket.

Stug raised his brows. “You’re not going to count it?”

“Now, Mr Stug, I’m sure we know each other well enough that I can rely on you to do the right thing.”

“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 any
one,
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

S
HE 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.”