The Cockney Sparrow (12 page)

It was all over. She was convinced that Hardiman had seen through her disguise. He was holding her in a bone-crushing grip, with his fingers clamped on her thin shoulders. She bent her head and stared down at the ground. ‘Sorry, mister.’

He shook her again. ‘I’ve a good mind to take you outside and give you a good thrashing. That’ll teach you to respect your elders and betters, me lad.’

‘I said I’m sorry.’ She tried to make her voice sound gruff, more like a boy, but it came out in a squeak. She darted a sideways glance at Hardiman. He was staring down at her, his penetrating gaze hard and cold as hailstones. Just as she thought he was going to rip away her disguise, Ronnie elbowed his way towards them.

‘Anything wrong, mate?’

‘Is this your nipper?’ Hardiman’s harsh voice was slurred with drink.

Clemency angled her head to send Ronnie a mute plea for help. Reaching out, he grabbed her by the ear. ‘I’ll take the young scoundrel, mate.
And I’ll give him what for when I gets him home.’

Hardiman’s fingers tightened and then relaxed. He shoved Clemency away from him with a disgusted snort. ‘See that you do. Teach the little bugger a bit of respect, I say.’ He lurched off, pushing people out of the way as he headed towards the street door. Then, just as Clemency thought she was safe, he stopped and turned. Their eyes met and she felt her blood run cold. She didn’t wait to see if he recognised her. She bolted, head down, barging through the punters. Dodging behind the bar, she ignored Ned’s order to stop and darted into the kitchen, almost knocking down a scullery maid who was carrying a pail filled with potatoes. The girl staggered backwards with a stifled scream, just managing to right herself without spilling the contents of the bucket.

‘Lord above, what’s going on?’ Nell bustled forward, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘Annie, never mind snivelling. Put those spuds on to boil. And you, young shaver, what are you doing in my kitchen?’

Before Clemency could speak, someone grabbed her by the scruff of her neck. She lashed out with her feet.

‘Hold on, there. I ain’t going to hurt you, nipper.’

It was Ned’s voice, but panic had gripped her
insides with icy hands and she struggled to get free. Hardiman might have recognised her in that split second, and he wouldn’t hesitate to follow her. ‘Let me go, you big oaf.’

‘What the devil?’ Ned spun her round to face him. ‘Clemency?’

At any other time, his shocked expression would have made her laugh, but all she wanted now was to escape through the back door. ‘He mustn’t find me,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Hardiman’s in the bar. He was the one we run away from.’

‘Hardiman? Are you sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure. How could you let a wicked man like him drink in your pub? Shame on you, Ned Hawkes.’

‘Shame on me! I just serve ale. I know of him, but I can’t say I’ve ever seen him. Not knowingly, at any rate.’

‘You ought to be more careful. He’s a bad lot. He’s nothing but trouble.’

‘And what sort of trouble have you got yourself into? Why are you dressed like a boy? It ain’t seemly.’ Ned tugged the cap from her head, freeing her mane of hair.

‘Give it here,’ Clemency made a grab for the cap. ‘Are you stupid or something? What if he were to come through that door? He’d know for sure it were me.’

‘You look ridiculous,’ Ned said, frowning.
‘And it ain’t proper for a young lady to go about in breeches. It ain’t decent.’

Struggling to get her hair tucked back beneath the cap, Clemency stamped her foot. ‘Better to be ridiculous than dead.’

‘Stop this bickering, both of you.’ Nell hurried to Clemency’s side, placing a protective arm around her shoulders. ‘Who is this bloke Hardiman? And why are you so frightened of him, ducks?’

‘He’s a bad, bad man, Mrs Hawkes. You don’t want to know nothing about him.’

The door opened. Stifling a cry of alarm, Clemency hid behind Nell’s ample body.

‘Better come quick, gaffer,’ the potman said urgently. ‘There’s customers demanding ale.’

‘Tell them I’ll be there in a tick.’ Ned shooed him off with an impatient wave of his hand. As the door closed, he turned to Clemency. ‘Just tell me why you’re going about London dressed like that.’

‘I’ve taken up with a troupe of street musicians. This garb is part of the act.’

Ned did not look impressed. ‘You look like a common pickpocket.’ His scowl faded into a suspicious frown. ‘That’s what you was doing in the market with that woman’s purse, wasn’t it? You was on the dip.’

‘I was then, but it ain’t like now. We’re professionals, we are. Lucilla and me sing the
songs.’ Clemency puffed out her chest. ‘They call me the cockney sparrow.’

‘Well I never did.’ Nell gave her a hug. ‘Don’t be hard on her, Ned. At least she’s trying to earn an honest living.’

‘That’s no excuse for exposing her – limbs.’

Clemency felt the blood rush to her cheeks. What right had he to criticise her? And it was embarrassing to have a man staring at her legs. ‘I’ll thank you to wipe that stupid, shocked expression off your face, Ned Hawkes.’

He opened his mouth to reply but was cut short by a screech from Annie. ‘Pan’s boiling over, missis.

‘Move it to the back then, silly girl,’ Nell said, with an impatient wave of her hand.

‘Sparrows don’t sing,’ Annie muttered, shifting the pan off the heat.

‘Well, this one does,’ Clemency retorted angrily. ‘Who asked you, anyway?’

Annie shrugged her shoulders and disappeared into the scullery.

‘Now, Clemency, love,’ Nell said gently. ‘Don’t pay no heed to Annie; she’s a bit simple. And don’t be cross with Ned, he’s just worried about you. We both are.’

‘I can take care of meself, ta.’ Clemency jammed the cap down over her eyes. ‘You been good to me, Mrs Hawkes. I don’t forget a kindness, but don’t let on to no one what you just
saw. Hardiman’s got spies everywhere. He mustn’t find out where we are.’

‘Gaffer!’ The potman stuck his head round the door. ‘There’ll be a riot if you don’t come quick.’

‘I’m coming.’ Ned hesitated, frowning. ‘There must be some other way you can keep your mum and Jack. I didn’t like leaving you there in Spitalfields, not with the Ripper still at large. And now I see you out on the streets late at night, I like it even less.’

‘Ta, but it ain’t your problem.’

‘I got to get back to work, but I’ll come and see you at your lodgings, if that’s all right with you.’

‘It’s all right with me. Now, will you take a quick look and tell me if Hardiman is still in the taproom. He’s a big, burly bloke with black hair and eyes like chips of coal. He’s got a scar on his lip that makes him look like a mad dog.’

‘Oh my Lord,’ Nell said with feeling. ‘He sounds awful.’

‘You don’t know the half of it.’ Clemency waited while Ned opened the door and peered into the crowded taproom.

‘Can’t see him. I think he must have gone.’ Ned went to serve the waiting customers who were rhythmically beating their tankards on the bar counter.

Clemency kissed Nell’s lined cheek. ‘Ta, for everything.’

‘You take care of yourself, dearie. And come back soon.’

Clemency blew her a kiss and followed Ned into the bar. She could hear Augustus’s loud voice calling for quiet, as his little nightingale was about to sing. She edged her way through the crowd to where Lucilla was standing on a table, and she sat down on a settle next to Ronnie. He smiled, and handed her a glass of mulled wine. ‘Are you all right, Clem?’

She nodded, sipping the warm spiced drink. ‘Yes, ta.’

‘I thought you was took bad.’

‘I’m all right now.’

‘Who was that evil-looking cove?’

‘Someone best avoided.’

Augustus rapped his cane on the table. ‘Tom, Ronnie! Music, gentlemen, please.’

Ronnie got to his feet and began beating out the rhythm while Tom, slightly the worse for wear it seemed to Clemency, swayed from side to side as he put the flute to his lips. Lucilla began to sing ‘Believe me if all those endearing young charms …’ but no one was listening. Augustus’s call for silence was received with boos and jeers.

‘No one’s dead. This ain’t a wake.’

‘Sing us something cheery, girl.’

Clemency craned her neck to see who had dared to call out, but the taproom was packed
with drinkers, and no one was about to own up. Lucilla kept going, and Clemency could only admire her for being such a trouper, but her quavering soprano was lost in the general babble of voices.

‘Come, Lucilla,’ Augustus boomed, lifting her down from the table. ‘Don’t waste your voice on these peasants.’

‘Here, guv. Who are you calling a peasant?’ A drunken man with a bulbous red nose and sandy eyebrows that met over the bridge of his nose lurched towards Augustus with his hands fisted. ‘Say that again, if you dares.’

Augustus attempted to bluster his way out of the situation, but a crowd of angry men converged on them, and, with the fire at their back and the angry punters cutting off their escape, Clemency could see that things were about to turn nasty. She leaned over to whisper in Ronnie’s ear. ‘Play that song you taught me this morning. You know – the one about the workhouse boy what got lost on Christmas Eve and ended up in the stew pot. That ought to get their attention away from the guvner.’

Ronnie’s moustache quivered, as it always did when he wanted to laugh, and he whispered to Tom, who grinned foolishly but somehow managed to take up the rhythm.

Clemency climbed onto the table and began stamping her foot in time to the beat of Ronnie’s
drum. It took a minute or two, but gradually the comic words of ‘The Workhouse Boy’ and the cheery tune, turned the angry mob into an appreciative audience. Having dealt with Ma when she was swipey, Clemency knew very well that a drunk could turn in a moment from happy to nasty. She ended by dancing a jig on the table-top with everyone clapping in time to the music.

‘Well sung, boy.’ The man with the red nose attempted to slap her on the shoulder, over-reached himself and fell flat on his back. Much to the amusement of the crowd, he lay there kicking his legs in the air like an upturned beetle, until one of his mates went to his aid and helped him to his feet.

‘Well done, indeed, Clem.’ Augustus murmured, lifting her down from the table. ‘And now I think a hasty retreat is indicated, before the mood of the mob swings back to fisticuffs.’

‘Let’s have another drink, guv,’ Tom said, sliding his arm around Lucilla’s waist. ‘Just a tot to keep out the cold. And you promised us supper. You said …’

‘Never mind what I said.’ Augustus picked up his battered top hat. ‘We’ll get some fish and chips on the way back to our lodgings.’

‘Daddy! I can’t walk all that way,’ Lucilla wailed.

‘I’ll give you a piggyback ride, love,’ Tom said, fondling her buttocks.

‘I saw that!’ Augustus roared, brandishing his cane in Tom’s face.

The drunken man with the red nose, having recovered from his tumble, lurched forward, leering at Lucilla. ‘I’ll give you a ride, ducks.’

Tom made a growling sound deep in his throat, pushed Lucilla into Augustus’s arms and lunged at the drunk, flailing his fists.

‘Oh my Lord, that’s done it!’ Augustus hitched Lucilla over his shoulder and seized Clemency by the hand. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

Ronnie snatched up his drum and just managed to catch Tom’s flute, which had catapulted from his hands as his assailant punched him in the stomach. As Clemency was being dragged unceremoniously out of the taproom, she glanced over her shoulder in time to see Ned vault the bar to hurl himself upon Tom and his opponent. They went down in a flurry of punches. Augustus did not stop until they were outside on the pavement. It was raining.

‘Daddy, we can’t leave Tom in there. They’ll do for him,’ Lucilla cried, beating her fists on his chest and sobbing.

‘Now, now, my little strawberry, don’t take on so. You’ll damage your vocal cords.’

‘Bugger me vocal cords. My fellah is being murdered and all you worry about is whether or not I can sing. I hate you, Daddy. I hate you.’

Augustus released her so suddenly that Lucilla
fell against Clemency, almost knocking her off her feet. Clemency just managed to save herself from falling. She set her cap straight, scowling at Lucilla. ‘Here, watch where you’re treading, you blooming elephant.’

‘I’ll scratch your eyes out if you keep making rude remarks about my size,’ Lucilla said, dry-eyed and hissing like an angry snake. ‘I’m the prima donna, not you – you drab little sparrow.’

‘Girls, that’s enough.’ Augustus stepped in between them. ‘This is no way for professionals to behave. Ronnie, go inside and rescue Tom from those ruffians.’

‘You’re bigger than I am, guv. You go in there.’

Augustus puffed out his cheeks, making spluttering noises.

‘Oh, you big sissies!’ Clemency exclaimed, throwing up her hands. ‘I’ll go.’ Before anyone could stop her, she opened the taproom door almost colliding with Ned, who was about to frogmarch Tom out of the pub.

‘I take it he’s one of yours.’

Clemency nodded, speechless. Tom had his hands to his mouth and blood was trickling through his fingers. He had a cut over one eye and the other was swollen and already half closed. ‘Tom! What have they done to you?’

Shaking his head, Tom groaned.

Ned set him down against the pub wall and Tom slumped to the ground. Lucilla screamed
and ran to kneel on the wet pavement in front of him. ‘Tom, Tom! My poor Tom.’

‘He took on the wrong one with Swipey Sam,’ Ned said, chuckling.

‘How can you be so heartless?’ Clemency demanded. ‘Your bloke has half killed him by the looks of it.’

‘And he’s one of the best flute players in the East End,’ Augustus groaned. ‘Go and find a hackney carriage, Ronnie. He can’t walk in that state.’

‘And he’s bleeding all over the place.’ Ned pulled a dishrag from his pocket and handed it to Clemency. ‘Best mop him up a bit. Blood on the pavement ain’t good for business.’

‘I’m seeing a new side of you tonight, Ned.’ Clemency snatched the rag and tossed it to Lucilla. ‘And I don’t like it.’

Ned shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘And I could say the same for you, miss.’ He turned to Augustus. ‘See she gets home safe, or you’ll have me to answer to, mister.’