The Orphan's Dream (4 page)

Despite her reservations Mirabel was intrigued by the stranger, who did not seem the sort of person that a lady like Mrs Hamilton would want to associate with. She pulled up a chair and sat down. ‘You were looking for someone, Mr Starke. Perhaps Mrs Hamilton could help you.'

‘It's Captain Starke if you insist on formality.' He regarded her with a lazy smile. ‘I doubt if Mrs Hamilton would remember Gertie.'

‘If you're referring to Gertrude Tinker, I shall never forget her.' Adela puckered her lips into a disapproving moue. ‘She was no better than she should be, and I sent her packing. You oughtn't to associate with women of the street, Jack.'

He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a small package wrapped in brown paper which he pushed across the table. ‘There are many things that none of us should do, Adela, but we are human after all.'

She snatched the parcel and slipped it into her reticule. ‘You're a rogue, and you'll probably end up in Newgate.'

‘I expect you're right. But you haven't answered my question. Do you know where I can find young Gertie?'

Adela shook her head. ‘I don't encourage gentlemen to associate with such women.'

‘I know where she lives.' The words tumbled from Mirabel's lips.

‘And how does a well brought up young lady like you know about such things?' Adela demanded.

‘Never mind the sermon.' Jack fixed Mirabel with a piercing stare. ‘I don't care how you know; just tell me where I can find the girl.'

‘Don't encourage him,' Adele said angrily.

Despite her better judgement Mirabel could not tear her gaze away. There was something hypnotic in the way he looked at her which compelled her to tell the truth. ‘We used to chat sometimes when we were washing the pots and pans. She lodges in Black Dog Alley.'

‘And where is that?'

Adela pushed her teacup away, slopping some of the liquid onto the ledger. ‘This has gone far enough. I won't have you using this charitable institution to satisfy your carnal needs, Captain Starke.'

He gave her a lopsided grin which for some reason Mirabel could not understand only enhanced his easy-going charm, and this made him even more intriguing. ‘My taste doesn't run to skinny little girls, Adela, and even if it did that's not why I need to find Gertie. I'm afraid I have bad news for her.'

‘It's an alley off Seething Lane, in between Green Arbour Court and Black Raven Court. It's quite near where I live.' Mirabel felt the colour rush to her cheeks as they both turned to look at her. ‘I could show you where it is,' she added shyly.

‘Excellent. Are you finished now?'

Mirabel cast a sideways glance at Adela, who was not looking too pleased. ‘The soup is on, Mrs Hamilton. I only need to clear up in the scullery and I'm done for the day.'

‘Very well,' Adela said reluctantly. ‘I suppose the others will be here soon.'

Mirabel returned to the scullery. Having left everything as it should be she took off her mobcap and was about to put on her bonnet when she sensed she was being watched. She turned to see Jack standing in the doorway, staring at her. ‘It seems a crime to cover such lovely hair with caps and bonnets.'

‘I'm ready,' she said, choosing to ignore the compliment. ‘Do you still want me to take you to Black Dog Alley? It's a rough area.'

‘I'll look after you, Miss Cutler.'

‘Thank you, but I can take care of myself.' She tied the ribbons in a bow and slipped her shawl around her shoulders.

Black Dog Alley was as its name suggested dark and ferocious. Little daylight penetrated between the closely packed rows of semi-derelict buildings. The stench was suffocating and night soil had been tossed into the gulley which ran down the middle of the cobbled street, where it lay festering in the heat of the afternoon. Flies swarmed in dense clouds, and semi-naked children fought over the tiniest scraps of vegetable matter they found rotting in the gutter.

Holding her handkerchief over her mouth and nose in an attempt to escape the worst of the smells, Mirabel glanced at Jack. ‘Do you still want to see this person?'

‘Lead on,' he said cheerfully. ‘I've been in worse places than this abroad.'

‘I don't envy you.' She lifted her skirts and trod carefully, avoiding as much of the detritus as possible. ‘It's number six. I think that's what she told me.'

He strode on ahead of her, counting the buildings on their right. ‘This one.' He stopped outside a narrow, three-storey house with a front door that had been kicked in at some point. The bottom timbers were splintered and some of them were missing. A skinny ginger cat shot through the large gap with a dead rat in its mouth, brushing past Mirabel and disappearing in a flash of spiky orange fur with a gang of boys racing after it. Undeterred, Jack raised his hand and hammered on the door, which flew open of its own accord. He stepped inside, turning to Mirabel with a questioning look. ‘You'd best come in. It's not safe to loiter out there.'

She did not argue. It would have been satisfying to refuse and walk away, but she did not fancy her chances of escaping from Black Dog Alley unmolested. An almost new straw bonnet would fetch a few pennies in the market, and so would her lacy woollen shawl. Out of the corner of her eye she could see a group of slatternly women standing in a doorway opposite, and they were watching her closely. Given the slightest opportunity she knew they would descend upon her, and she might be stripped naked and sent on her way barefoot. She had witnessed such an attack on an unfortunate young servant girl who had tried to take a short cut between Great Tower Hill and Seething Lane. The police had been informed, but there was little they could do. The residents of the teeming courts and alleys protected their own and it was a brave or foolhardy officer of the law who ventured there alone, or even in pairs.

Mirabel followed him inside, closing what was left of the door behind her. ‘She might not be here. Have you thought of that?'

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I imagine she sleeps in the daylight hours. Her trade is at night.' He moved swiftly to the rear of the building. Mirabel followed, taking care not to tread on rotten floorboards, and stepping over great gaps where they had crumbled to dust. She remembered Gertie, who had been found soliciting on the streets around the Tower of London and brought to the soup kitchen by a bearded gentleman who had founded a Christian mission in the East End. Half starved and little more than a child, Gertie had been taken in, bathed and clothed in garments from the charity barrel, and allowed to sleep in a corner of the kitchen. She had been earning her keep by washing pots and pans in the scullery when Mirabel had first met her, and Mirabel had struck up a friendship with the girl, who was only a few years her junior.

‘She told me she had a brother,' Mirabel said worriedly. ‘But he was away at sea for a year or two at a time. I wonder if he knows she's reduced to living like this.'

‘I don't suppose you know which room is hers?'

‘No, I don't.'

He knocked on several doors without receiving a reply. When they reached the end of the corridor he tried again. ‘Gertie Tinker. It's Captain Jack. I need to talk to you.'

Mirabel waited anxiously. It was obvious that the news he had to give the poor girl was not good. ‘Maybe she's gone out to buy food. Or perhaps she's found work.'

Jack followed Mirabel's gaze as she stared in horror at the crumbling plasterwork which revealed the skeletal remains of the framework of laths, and there were cracks in the ceiling, which appeared to be in imminent danger of collapsing on them. ‘If she hasn't had any success she'll be desperate for money,' he said, frowning.

‘I thought she received an allotment from the ship owners.'

‘Her brother jumped ship in Rio. She won't have received anything for months.' He raised his fist and beat on the wooden panels until they shook. ‘If you're in there, Gertie, open up. I need to talk to you.'

‘Jumped ship?' Mirabel moved a little closer. ‘Why did he do that?'

Jack held up his hand. ‘I heard someone moving about.' He took a step backwards and the door opened just a crack. ‘I need to talk to you, Gertie.'

THE DOOR OPENED
a little more. ‘Captain Starke?'

‘Yes, it's me. Can I come in, Gertie?'

‘Who's that with you?'

‘Mirabel Cutler. We used to work together at the soup kitchen. Do you remember me, Gertie?'

The door opened to reveal a small figure, wraith thin and wearing nothing but a ragged nightgown. She wrapped her skinny arms around her body, slanting a wary look at Jack. ‘I thought you was the rent collector, but now I know you. You're Cap'n Starke, so where's me money? I ain't had nothing for months.'

‘If you'll let us in I'll explain.'

There was an impatient edge to Jack's voice that grated on Mirabel's nerves. Overcome with pity for the girl, who looked to be in an even worse state than when she had been found wandering the streets, Mirabel slipped past Jack and took off her shawl, placing it around Gertie's shoulders. ‘You do remember me, don't you?'

‘Of course I do. I ain't lost me wits, miss.'

Mirabel led her into the tiny, squalid room, where light filtered dimly through a small window high up on an outside wall. Unfurnished except for a pile of ragged bedding in one corner and a single wooden chair, it was more like a prison cell than a place fit for habitation.

Jack followed them in, brushing a large cobweb off his hat. ‘Did your brother know you'd sunk to this, Gertie?'

‘We had a better room when Bodger was home, but I couldn't afford to keep it on when he went back to sea.' Gertie sank down on the chair which rocked dangerously, one leg being shorter than the others. She huddled in the shawl, shivering violently.

Mirabel laid her hand on Gertie's forehead. ‘She's burning up with fever. I can't say I'm surprised. This is a terrible place.'

‘It's all right for you,' Gertie said angrily. ‘You live in Cutler's Castle. I know all about you, miss. You used to talk nice and friendly, but then you went home at night to live in luxury.'

‘Cutler's Castle?' Jack raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? You live in a castle, Miss Cutler?'

‘Don't be silly. Of course I don't, and even if I did it hardly matters. This poor girl is sick and she looks as if she hasn't had a proper meal in weeks.'

‘Oy! Don't talk about me like I weren't here. I got a bit of a chill, that's all.' Gertie gave Jack a sideways glance beneath her pale eyelashes. ‘If you gives me Bodger's pay I could better meself, Cap'n.'

Jack put his hand in his pocket and took out a small leather pouch, pressing it into her outstretched hand. ‘This is yours by rights, but there won't be any more for a while. I'm sorry to tell you that Bodger jumped ship in Rio and we had to sail without him.'

‘Jumped ship?' Gertie's pale faced turned a sickly green. ‘He wouldn't. Not Bodger.' She slid to the floor in a dead faint.

‘Damn! I suppose I should have seen that coming.' Jack stared at Gertie's inert body, pushing his hat to the back of his head. ‘Why do women always pass out at the most inopportune moment?'

‘Why are men so tactless?' Mirabel countered angrily. ‘You could see that she's ill. Couldn't you have broken the news more gently?' She went down on her knees. ‘Gertie, it's all right.' She chafed the small, cold hands. ‘You mustn't worry. We'll take care of you.'

‘Leave me out of this. I've done my bit.' Jack scooped up the purse and the coins that had fallen onto the floor. ‘This money will keep her off the streets for a while, but after that it's up to her.'

Mirabel looked up at him, frowning. ‘Is that all you can say? You didn't look after her brother very well.'

He leaned over, peering at Gertie who was beginning to regain consciousness. ‘Make her comfortable and we'll go. I've got other business to attend to.'

‘What? You'd leave her in this dreadful place when she's sick and helpless? Haven't you any human decency?'

‘For God's sake, woman. What do you want me to do?'

Mirabel scrambled to her feet. ‘For a start you can lift her onto the chair.'

He thrust the leather pouch into her hand. ‘All right, but then I'm leaving. You can stay if you've a mind to, but I've done my duty.'

Ignoring him, Mirabel turned her attention to Gertie who had opened her eyes and was staring at her dazedly. ‘You're all right now. We won't leave until you feel better.'

Gertie groaned and bowed her head, clasping her hands to her face. Her shoulders heaved. ‘Poor Bodger. He was a good chap.'

‘See what you've done?' Mirabel said angrily. ‘She thinks her brother is dead. Tell her it's not true.'

Jack ran his hand through his hair, eyeing Mirabel with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. ‘You'd make a good boatswain, Miss Cutler.' He held up both hands in a gesture of appeasement. ‘All right, don't look daggers at me.' He turned to Gertie with a sympathetic smile. ‘Bodger was very much alive when I last saw him,' he said gently. ‘I've no doubt he'll make his way home eventually.'

Gertie raised a tear-stained face. ‘Do you think so, Cap'n?'

‘I know so, Gertie.'

Her head lolled onto her shoulder and once again her eyes closed. Mirabel moved quickly to prevent her from sliding off the chair. ‘We can't leave her here. She's in no condition to look after herself.'

‘She's not my responsibility or yours. We'll put her to bed and make her comfortable, and that's it as far as I'm concerned.'

‘And the kindly souls we saw loitering outside will come and nurse her back to health? Is that what you think, Captain Starke?'

‘It's Jack to my friends.' He held a finger to his lips. ‘Don't say it, Miss Cutler. I know when I'm beaten.'