Brightling (17 page)

32

Miss Knip prodded Barton's slumped form with the tip of her finger. ‘Wake up, wake up!'

Barton shot upright with a grunt, quickly slipping his bottle of bark-beer into his pocket. ‘Back already, Miss Knip?' he said cheerily. ‘Have a good time?'

The horse, which hadn't drunk bark-beer and was cold and grumpy, tried to kick her.

‘Oh control that old nag, can't you? No, I did not have a good time! Help me up, man! Give me a hand, can't you?'

Barton clambered down from the cart and helped Miss Knip onto the padded seat behind him. He arranged a blanket around her knees. ‘Where now, miss?' he said, yawning broadly.

‘The Home,' Miss Knip said, looking pointedly down the road in what she imagined was the direction of the orphanage. ‘Knip and Pynch.'

‘What? All the way back across that blooming swamp tonight?' Barton said, glancing at the sky. ‘It's freezing, Miss Knip, and if it snows –'

‘Do as I say.'

Barton shrugged and got up into his seat. He took up the reins in his cold hands and headed out of town. They made slow progress. Night was falling. The road was already icy and the horse lost his footing a couple of times and his hooves slithered noisily over the cobbles.

Leaving the town behind, the darkness of the countryside slipped around them like a black velvet cloak. Barton lit the two lanterns on the front of the cart.

‘We could try and find somewhere to sleep,' he called out. ‘There's a tavern off on the –'

‘No,' Miss Knip called back. ‘
Home!
'

She was so bitterly disappointed that all she wanted to do was get back to her orphanage and be mean to someone. She'd pick on scrawny Fiona Feathers with the unblinking eyes. She was hard to break, hard to make cry, but she could do it. Oh yes, indeed she could, and would. Miss Knip's own father had done it to her, little Nora Knip, night after night; locking her in the darkness and cold of the cellar, where the rats nibbled her ankles and tugged her hair until she begged to be let out. So she would do it to Fiona Feathers. There's no point in resisting, Fiona, she thought; no point in trying to fight back because there's always someone stronger and harder who will push you under. If only it were Sparrow she could lock in the cellar, and Sparrow's desperate cries she'd listen to – but that had always been the problem: Sparrow never did utter so much as a squeak and never begged to come out.

Miss Knip was so deep in thought she did not notice the cold of the black night. She did not see the glory of the stars as they sprinkled the sky with sharp pinpricks of silver. She missed the moon's wonderful white light, bathing everything about them, and the sound of the horse's hooves clip-clopping along the road. She didn't hear how, as they crossed the lowlands, all sounds grew softer, cushioned by the marshy path through the swamps. Nor did she see how Barton's head sagged onto his chest, or how his eyes closed and he slept.

Horace the horse walked on, dreaming of his warm stable at home.

Gerta was to blame for this bad day, Miss Knip told herself. In her imagination she began to skewer long pins into a small figure of Gerta. In the background she could hear Fiona Feathers begging for mercy. They'd pay; they'd all pay. She clutched her handbag with her measly five pounds in it and wished that everyone she knew were stone dead.

She did not see or hear the krackodyles slithering around the cart in the reeds. They were listening, watching and sniffing the air. Something on the cart bothered the krackodyles; it was something to do with the narrow-bonneted person at the back of the cart.
Sniff. Sniff.
There was something there and it shouldn't have been there and they didn't like it. It was wrong and it upset them  … 

A large krackodyle began to follow alongside the rolling cart; his red eyes gleamed, his jaw opened and closed in anticipation. Two more krackodyles followed, then three and four, leaping and sliding and running through the muddy swamp to keep up, as Horace, seeing them all around, stepped up and went faster.

Suddenly one krackodyle jumped, snapping its jaws like a nutcracker. Miss Knip was jolted from her dreams by the sound. ‘
Barton?
' she called.

The horse shied, neighed shrilly and lurched forward at a sudden gallop.

Miss Knip's handbag, made of finest krackodyle skin, flew up in an arc and sailed out of the wagon.

Miss Knip screamed and lunged for her bag.

Just at that moment, a krackodyle snapped near Horace's ankles and the horse twisted violently. Miss Knip was thrown the other way and tossed over the side of the cart like a rag doll.

She hit the swampy mud with a wet splat and lay there dazed, staring up at the stars.

She didn't see her handbag slowly slip under the black water, back where it belonged, amongst its brothers and sisters.

The krackodyles inched around Miss Knip. They were sniffing and snorting, creeping closer and closer, red eyes gleaming and white teeth bared:
snap, snap!

Barton woke with a start.

‘Whoa, whoa!' he called. He gathered up the reins and brought the horse back to a gentle trot. ‘There, there,' he murmured. ‘Don't take on so, Horace. Calm down, them krackodyles won't hurt you. All right back there, ma'am?' he called to Miss Knip.

Not hearing anything, he assumed she was asleep and, pulling up his collar against the cold, settled Horace into a steady walk. His head soon drooped and he was dreaming again. He didn't wake until he reached the Knip and Pynch gatehouse, very much later that night.

33

‘Darling little Sparrow!' Miss Minter cried, coming across the attic with her arms outstretched. ‘You angel. You're awake! Are you feeling better?' She took Glori's place on the narrow bed. ‘How lovely to have you back!'

Violet had come in behind her. They were close now, those two, Glori thought with a smile. She'd have minded a month ago, now she didn't.

‘We have been so worried about you, haven't we, Glori?' Miss Minter said.

Glori rubbed her aching jaw thoughtfully. ‘Yes,' she said quietly. ‘I have been.'

Miss Minter was lying. She didn't care about Sparrow at all. She always lied about everything, pretending to like Sparrow when all she was doing was hoping to make money out of her  …  it made Glori weak to think about it.
You make money from our hard work. You squeeze it out of us, so stop pretending!
was what she wanted to say.

‘We have all missed you, angel,' Miss Minter said to Sparrow. ‘Dear little Hettie will be so pleased to see you. So thrilled. Oh angel, you're looking sad. What's the matter?' She looked around the attic room as if trying to guess what the problem was. ‘It's that cat, isn't it?' she said. ‘It's because that old pussycat has gone.'

‘How? When?' Sparrow asked her. ‘Did he go straight away or was he around for a few days after I left?'

Miss Minter smoothed her hair. ‘I can't remember, angel,' she said.

Glori noticed a little muscle twitching beside Miss Minter's beautiful, pink mouth; she was lying. Again. Then she glanced at Sparrow's face and it was the saddest face she'd ever seen. Please be happy, Glori urged her silently. A happy Sparrow would want to stay with them.

Miss Minter brightened suddenly. ‘But, darling Sparrow,' she said, ‘now you've returned safely, your lovely big cat will come back too, won't he? Why don't we put some milk out for him on the roof where he liked to sit? Then he'll come home, won't he?'

‘I suppose we could try some milk,' Sparrow said, doubtfully.

‘And some nosh,' Glori said. ‘Something Scare-a-mouse really likes, hey? What d'you think? Sardines?'

‘Well, of course we could try that – or rather,
you
could.' Miss Minter stood up and smoothed her skirt. ‘Were we a little rough with you when we brought you home, Sparrow? But it was the only thing to do! We could have left you – no, we couldn't leave you! Silly girl. We
had
to kidnap you. We were in a hurry. It was essential that nothing hampered our plans  …  Speed up! Faster, faster!' she stopped suddenly, as if realising her thoughts were running away with her, and managed, with an effort, to readjust her expression. ‘It was a surprise to see you there at the circus, angel. Like magic. Fate. Agnes spotted you, I think. I'm not sure  … ' Miss Minter began to walk away. ‘I'm not sure if  …  Were they nice, those people, the old, odd-looking people you were with?' She kept her back to Sparrow.

‘Yes,' Sparrow said. ‘They were very nice. I think they liked me – I reminded them of someone  … '

‘You mean they only liked you because you were like some other girl?' Glori said.

‘No  … '

‘But they weren't like us,' Glori said, ‘were they?'

‘Not
family
,' Miss Minter said. ‘We are your family. Aren't we, Glori?'

‘Yes, miss. I told her that too,' said Glori.

‘They were kind and –'

‘Dull,' Miss Minter finished for her. ‘Kind and dull.' She yawned. ‘You'll have much more fun here. We have fun, don't we, Glori? It's an adventure, living in the nest. Hiding from the guards. Selling under their very noses  …  Set the table, will you Sparrow? The others will be up for supper soon. The dancing was such fun! Make a pot of tea, Glori. Violet, go down and get a bucket of coal. Hurry, hurry!'

‘I don't mind going,' Glori said. ‘Violet always gets it.'

‘No.' Miss Minter's voice was sharp. ‘Violet will get the coal.'

‘Yes, Miss Minter,' Glori said. She winked at Sparrow as Miss Minter went back to her place on the pink chaise longue by the fire. ‘
She's
never dull, is she?'

‘She's a bit mad if you ask me,' Sparrow whispered. ‘What am I going to do now?' she added.

Glori took her hand. ‘What d'you mean?' she said softly. ‘You're going to stay with us, aren't you? You're our mate. You're our little Birdie and we want you to stay here in this cosy, warm nest what we've made.'

Sparrow tried to smile. ‘I know,' she said. ‘But  …  the Butterworths will be so worried. Somehow I should let them know I'm safe. And Scaramouch  …  You see, Glori, I pictured him here, warm and cosy and well-fed  …  Now I'm here and he's not  …  I never imagined that, not ever. Now I know something's really wrong! I have to find him. You don't think Miss Minter knows anything, do you?'

‘Course she don't know nothing,' Glori said cheerily. ‘Nah. You stay and give that old window a stare. Look hard enough and your cat might just feel you willing him home.' She could not look Sparrow in the eyes. ‘I'll do the table. Oh my, Hettie will be so chuffed to see you!'

‘It's Sparrow! It's Sparrow!' Hettie cried, rushing into the room. ‘She's come back. I knew you'd come back, Birdie, I knew it.'

‘I never meant to leave,' Sparrow said, laughing and hugging her. ‘It was an accident.'

The other match-girls followed Hettie in and most of them were pleased to see her, Sparrow thought. That made her feel better.

‘We thought you'd gone for good,' Violet said, sitting down and taking a slice of bread from a plate on the table. She glanced at Miss Minter then back to Sparrow. ‘Now we shall have less to eat again,' she added.

‘That day, at the market – you just vanished,' Agnes said.

‘Glori looked and looked for you,' Billie said.

‘What
did
happen?' Kate asked her.

‘Hey, it's nice to be missed!' Sparrow tried to sound light-hearted but inside she felt heavy and sad. Poor Hilda, poor Hilda, she kept thinking. She glanced at Miss Minter, who was reading her newspaper but listening too, Sparrow could tell. She went on brightly, ‘What happened was, some great big fat belly got in my way and I banged into it.
Kerplong!
' She bounced up in the air. ‘And I came off it like it was a trampoline and went
whack
into a pillar.'

‘Ow!' Hettie said, rubbing her own head.

‘Exactly. Then the big fat belly, which belonged to a really nice man called Bruno Butterworth, took me home. Oh what a place, girls! It was so grand! And Bruno and his wife Hilda were so kind to me! Fed me chocolates and cakes and as much pop-apple juice as I wanted. Their own children had died,' she added more quietly. ‘Two girls.'

‘Weren't they glad?' Violet asked. ‘Glad to be rid of them little girls and have everything to themselves?'

‘Oh no,' Sparrow said. ‘They were sad as anything. They'd loved them.'

‘I got the pneumonia once,' Violet said. ‘Nearly finished me off. My ma said she wished it had. Just one less mouth to feed, and she'd've got by. So she said. Nine of us, there was.'

‘She were just joking you,' Connie said.

‘She weren't, you know,' Violet said.

‘The Butterworths weren't poor,' Sparrow said.

‘What luck! Is that why you've such a lovely new coat and fancy boots and stuff?' squealed Agnes. ‘Oh, you should have stayed with them, Sparrow!'

The room fell silent.

‘Whoops,' Beattie said, looking round nervously.

All the girls stared at Miss Minter; her profile gave nothing away. She went on reading.

‘But Sparrow couldn't do that,' Hettie's small voice rang out clearly. ‘'Cos Miss Minter stole her back.'

‘Pass me some jam,' Miss Minter said sharply. ‘And Hettie, go and wash your hands, they're filthy. Agnes, you need to tie back your hair. Beattie,
your
hair needs combing – what a frizz! Billie, go and make your bed, it's a disgrace.'

The girls sped off to do her bidding.

‘Now, let's eat quietly. Like the nice young ladies we are,' Miss Minter said, as one by one the girls came back and took their places for supper. ‘Are we young ladies with good manners?'

‘Yes, Miss Minter!' the match-girls chimed.