Brightling (21 page)

39

Sparrow was falling. Not free falling, but sliding down a steep, metal chute. Instinctively she made herself into a tight ball as she shot down the narrow shaft, bumping and banging against the edges, rolling and sliding faster and faster until she somersaulted onto a pile of coal at the bottom.

So, she was in the coal cellar.

She couldn't see a thing; it was pitch black. Her shoulder hurt. Her left hand stung from where it had scraped against the metal slide. She lay for a few seconds, trying to decide if she was badly hurt or not and listening to the awful sound of her breath – short and hard and rough. It was freezing and damp. The air was thick with the smell of coal dust and something sharp and drainy.

She began to shiver and sat up and hugged herself.

The darkness was incredible. Not a chink of light anywhere. Wherever she turned her head it was the same; the same dense, impenetrable blackness.

She had a sudden vision of the spitfyres launching off the roof, and grinned. At least I did that, she thought. At least I set them free.

She rolled off the pile of coal cautiously. The lumps rattled around her to the floor. Someone will come and get coal, she thought. We have a coal fire nearly every day  …  Who goes for the coal?
Violet
. It was always Violet, her least favourite person. But even Violet wouldn't leave her here  …  would she?

And I'm not scared, she told herself. It's only blackness and I'm used to that. The coal cellar below the kitchen at the Knip and Pynch Home was the same, and how often had she been left down there? This was home from home. Someone will come. If the spitfyres can escape, so can I. I can and I will.

She stood up warily and stuck her arms out and waved them around. She couldn't see them. Nothing. She took a step forward and another and cracked her head on a low archway. Lights danced in front of her eyes.

When the pain and lights had subsided she moved forward again, this time ducking down and bending almost double. With one hand above her head, feeling for the low ceiling with her fingertips, she inched forward and, when the ceiling disappeared, she stood up again. Her fingers were covered in crumbly plaster and cobwebs and so was her hair. Not nice, but it could be worse, she told herself. She must have come through a sort of doorway into an adjoining room. There must be a door out into the main house, but where? Perhaps there had been one back in the coal room. Should she go back and work her way around the entire room, searching for it? She stood for a moment, thinking, wondering what to do.

It was dark and totally silent.

And then she heard the trickle of rubble, soft and crumbly and very alarming.

Her heart went
bang
. She stood stock-still.

The blackness was deep, totally impossible to see through. She spun round, trying to locate the sound.

There was something there.

‘Hello?'

She turned in a complete circle, straining her ears. She heard it again. More tiny, shifting sounds, something moving over loose bits and pieces, broken slates or tiles or  … 

A cry cut through the air.

The hairs on the back of her neck rose up and she shivered violently.

‘Oh! Oh!' she cried. ‘
Scaramouch!
Is it you?'

‘Meow! Meow!'

It
was
Scaramouch. She would have recognised his call even if a thousand cats had been down in the cellar and all crying at the same time.

‘I'm coming, I'm coming!' she cried. ‘Oh Scaramouch, I can't see, keep calling! Don't stop!'

She inched forward, keeping her fingertips in contact with the wall, and crept towards his voice.

‘Meow!'

‘I know, it's not nice. Oh dear Scaramouch, where are you? How long have you been here? Are you all right, my dear Scaramouch? I'm coming!'

She banged her knee on something and nearly fell. Tears of frustration pricked her eyes. ‘I can't find you, I can't get to you!' It seemed she was going round and round and all the walls felt the same and his voice was no closer.

‘Meow!'

That
was nearer! She wiped her tears away quickly.

‘Yes, yes, I'm here!'

She could sense him very close by.

Beneath her fingers now she could feel some sort of wooden partition built across the end of the room like a prison cell. His call came from very near by, from beyond it. She could sense him pacing from side to side, his paws making the smallest sounds on the crumbling rubble. He was close, so close  … 

She heard him scratching and tearing at the wood.

‘Scaramouch! I can't see you! Dear Scaramouch!' She could only reach through the wooden bars with three fingers, but that was enough. He found her fingers and rubbed against her and pushed his head against her again and again. His purrs were deep and loud.

‘There must be a catch or a door or something!' she said, running her fumbling fingers up and down and across the wood.
There!
Right at the top, a metal latch, and it wasn't even locked – no need, she thought, Scaramouch couldn't reach it. She lifted the latch and flung open the door.

He leaped into her arms and she gathered him up and kissed him again and again.
Scaramouch!
Her dear Scaramouch was back where he belonged. He purred like an engine as he snuggled up to her chin and pushed his forehead into her face while his big paws kneaded her shoulder. ‘My lovely!' she crooned, sinking down with her back against the wood and stroking his smooth, fine fur until her hand ached. ‘That mean Miss Minter! Only
she
would do this to you. Who brought you food? Was it Violet? Someone must have. Oh poor, poor puss. I missed you so much. It's so wonderful to see you again – well, to
feel
you again.'

‘Meow!'

‘Exactly. Just that much.'

They sat for a while, with Scaramouch draped around her like a thick scarf, then he began to struggle gently away from her. She could feel him standing just by her, even though she couldn't see him.

‘It's all right for you,' she said. ‘You can see – but I'm blind as a bat, probably blinder. You want to take me somewhere? OK. Where?'

Scaramouch set off, but it was impossible to follow him in the dark. She tripped over something and fell hard onto her knees, grazing the palm of her hand and knocking her chin. She tried not to cry but she felt like sitting down and weeping buckets.

‘Meow?'

‘No, no, I'm fine, it's just my lovely coat,' she said as brightly as she could. ‘That's all it is, Scaramouch. That's why I'm sad. Hilda will go mad when she sees it. Oh puss, how can I follow you when I can't see?'

Scaramouch began to walk up and down past her face. His tail flicked her nose softly, back and forth again and again.

‘I get it. Excellent.' She lightly took hold of the tip of his long tail and slowly got back on her feet.

‘Meow!'

Scaramouch stepped forward and Sparrow, crouching like an old woman, holding his tail, hobbled blindly after him.

They walked only for a minute. He led her to a corner of the cellar where she felt a heap of dry, dusty earth and rags and they sat down on it. It was much warmer here than the stone floor and when Scaramouch snuggled onto her lap, she grew cosily warm.

She was sleepy now – it was still the middle of the night. ‘Do we just sit here, then?' she asked him, yawning.

‘Meow.'

‘Well, if you say so. Dear Scaramouch, we should never have come here, should we?'

She wasn't afraid of anything now she was reunited with her cat. Stroking Scaramouch was soothing, and his constant purr was relaxing. Whatever happened, she felt, as long as they were together, they would be all right. Soon, no doubt, Miss Minter would be down to sort her out, but right now, she had to close her eyes.

They both slept.

40

‘Sparrow's gone,' Hettie said.

It was the following morning and Hettie was shaking Glori awake and speaking loudly into her ear. ‘She's not in her bed.'

Glori sat up quickly.

‘Her bed's cold,' Hettie said. ‘I felt it. She's not in the bathroom. Where is she, Glori?'

Glori felt icy all over. Had they taken her to de Whitt already? Oh please no. If they had she would never forgive herself. Never. She should have warned her last night. She should have been less selfish and not thought about her own worries.

‘She's probably gone on an errand for Miss Minter,' Glori said. Her voice sounded flat and unreal to her. ‘Don't worry.'

She got up slowly and dressed but her fingers couldn't find the buttons on her shirt and her knees kept buckling. Something was wrong. Something was wrong.

At last Miss Minter appeared, her nose uncharacteristically red and her normally immaculate blonde hair had flyaway strands. No lipstick either. Glori had never seen her without her lips painted.

‘What is it?' Glori said. ‘What's the matter?'

Miss Minter scowled at her and her eyes flashed dangerously.

‘Sorry, sorry,' Glori said quickly. You never asked Miss Minter questions.

‘Sparrow's gone!' Hettie said. ‘Oh Miss Minter, you've got snow on your lovely hair!'

Miss Minter threw her coat at Hettie, ordering her to hang it up, and then she sat down by the fire. ‘Build this fire up,' she said. ‘Nothing is the matter. Get the table laid. Make some hot chocolate. Girls, girls!' She called out to the others, who were still in bed. ‘Time to get up.'

The match-girls began to stir. Hettie stacked more logs on the fire and a shovelful of coal.

‘Glori,' Miss Minter said, ‘don't go out. Don't leave the room until I tell you.' She turned and stared into the leaping flames. ‘This is going to be an interesting day.'

The girls stayed in the nest.

Glori and Connie were sitting playing cards. Glori kept dropping her cards as she rubbed her jaw.

‘Keep still, Glori,' Connie said, nudging her.

‘Sorry. Ow, ow,' she muttered. ‘My teeth ache something dreadful.'

‘Join the club,' Agnes said, making a funny face.

‘What's the matter?' Miss Minter said, glancing up from her newspaper. ‘Yes, yes, your jaw hurts. There's nothing you can do about it. Don't bother me.'

Glori caught Agnes's eye and they exchanged a worried look.

‘I need  … ' Miss Minter began, then stopped. ‘Is that someone at the door? Go see!'

‘It's Tapper,' Beattie called and threw down the keys to him.

Tapper came in and tossed his snow-spattered coat onto the chair by the fire. ‘Cold out,' he said, shaking snow from his hair. ‘Freezing.'

Glori watched the snowflakes on his coat refusing to melt. She moved over to the window and sat on the trunk looking out at the snow. Where was Sparrow? Was she out in the cold somewhere? If they'd taken her to de Whitt, why weren't the pair of them looking pleased?

The girls gave up their seats by the fireplace to Tapper, leaving their hot chocolate to grow cold, and huddled on their beds, whispering amongst themselves.

‘What's wrong? Where's Sparrow?' Agnes asked, coming and sitting beside Glori. ‘Miss Minter's in a right state.'

‘I don't know,' Glori said. ‘Do you know anything, Violet?' she called softly. ‘You're very close these days.'

Violet looked offended. ‘Not as close as you! Anyway, you should ask your Tapper.'

Tapper and Miss Minter sat with their heads close together, whispering. Both looked tense. Something was amiss; their plan must have gone wrong, which meant Sparrow was  …  where?

‘Don't sit around doing nothing, girls!' Miss Minter called out. ‘Get on! Get to work. Leave us alone!'

The match-girls crept about, collecting their things.

Glori sidled up to Miss Minter on the pink chaise longue. ‘My jaw hurts real bad, Miss Minter,' she said, pressing her hand against her face. ‘Please could you spare a penny for me to see the doctor?'

Tapper glanced at her suspiciously. ‘What d'you want with a quack?' he said.

‘I don't know what this awful pain is,' Glori said. ‘But it's bad. My teeth are loose and my bones hurt.' She looked at Miss Minter, giving her one last chance to admit that the phosphorus did it, but Miss Minter was busy adding up figures in a little notebook.

‘Oh go then, Glori, if you must,' Miss Minter said without looking up. ‘But you can pay for the luxury yourself. And don't be long! I want you back here within the hour, d'you hear? I need you.'

‘Yes, Miss Minter!'

Tapper glanced at her distrustfully, his eyes narrow and calculating.

Glori was so relieved she hardly noticed; she just dragged on her coat and went.

The toyshop wasn't open, but Glori had the Butterworths' address from the poster.

She ran until she was breathless and her sides were aching and she had to sit on a bench and get her breath. Passers-by stared at her as she sat there unravelling.

‘Get a good look?' she asked them, pushing up her trailing ribbons and strands of dark hair. She probably looked wild. She felt wild; like some hunted thing. I know too much, she thought grimly. I can put them both in prison. They'd do away with me too, if they knew, and not get a penny for it and not care.

What if she were too late to save Sparrow? She hugged herself against the cold. She had to be in time.

Memories flooded in. She remembered the things Miss Minter had done for her. She remembered the first nights in the nest, just the two of them. Miss Minter had dark hair in those days and was more posh and proud than a queen. She'd wept at night. Every night. Talked of how she'd been a grand and fine lady. She never did that any more. Miss Minter had given her food and showed her how to cook and steal  …  How could she give up her dear Miss Minter? And Tapper? He was her man, the only one she'd ever have, and the only one who'd ever wanted her.

Slowly Glori stood up and turned back the way she had come. No. She couldn't do it.

As soon as she began walking again, her thoughts started up. Round and round. Miss Minter and Tapper meant to give Sparrow to de Whitt. For money. They were selling her. So, that wasn't so bad; even Glori had been happy to sell her to the Butterworths  …  but Tapper and Miss Minter meant to
kill her
.

She spun round again and started running towards the Butterworths' house. Birdie deserved something more than the nest, more than Miss Minter, more than being pushed off a ship in the fog as it sailed out to sea. She deserved the best, and that meant her own family.

She hammered on the door. By the time Gerta opened the door, Glori had gone back down the path and had her hand on the gate, ready to flee.

‘Yes?' Gerta looked Glori up and down, taking in her dishevelled hair, her dirty orange trousers and wild eyes. ‘Yes?'

Glori turned back slowly and went up to the door.

‘Is this where Bruno Butterworth lives and the nice Hilda?' she said.

Gerta stiffened. ‘Yes.'

‘I've got to see them, please. My name's  …  oh my name don't matter but I must see the lady called Hilda. It's about Sparrow! It is urgent!' she added, as Gerta did not move or change her expression. ‘It is a matter of life or death.'

‘
Sparrow?
'

Glori nodded furiously. ‘Life or death!'

‘Come in, come in quickly. Mind you wipe your dirty boots there,' Gerta said. ‘And don't touch a thing with those mucky fingers. Hilda – Mrs Butterworth – is just finishing her breakfast.'

She opened a door and led Glori into a small, bright room with vases of winter greenery and pale orchids. There was a small fire and several candles burning, so the room was bright and jolly; it had an odd effect on Glori; it made her want to cry.

‘Hilda, this young – thing – has something to tell you. She says it's about Sparrow.' Gerta stood, watching Glori with her hands folded over her front.

Hilda started up so suddenly that she upset her teacup. ‘Oh my dear!' she cried, leaping up. ‘Do you know where she is?'

Glori nodded. ‘Can we just speak together, you and me, in private?' Glori asked her, glancing round at Gerta. ‘She's stern. She makes me nervous.'

‘Of course. Gerta, do you mind?'

Gerta frowned and went out, but as Glori could very well tell, she stayed on the other side of the door, listening.

‘I ran,' she explained. ‘I would have come before, I nearly did – got to the shop, but I wasn't sure they'd go so far – but, now she's gone  … '

‘Start at the beginning,' Hilda said gently. ‘If you know something about Sparrow then I must hear it. I will help all I can.'

‘Oh you are kind,' Glori said, sinking down on a stool by the fire. ‘Sparrow said you were. Is it true she's your real niece?'

‘Yes.' Hilda pointed to Mayra's portrait. ‘That is her mother –
was
her mother. When she died Sparrow was taken to the Knip and Pynch Home for Waifs and Strays. We didn't know she existed, or we'd have had her here. Gladly. She was alone in that dreadful place for more than ten years, poor dear.'

‘Then she came to Sto'back,' Glori said. ‘Miss Minter got her. My fault, that.' She paused. If she'd never picked Sparrow up, never offered her that pie and a place to sleep  … 

‘Go on, dear,' Hilda said.

‘Miss Minter heard Sparrow was worth something to the right people – that was you, miss. Miss Knip found that out first  …  Miss Minter's got this friend of mine  … ' Glori hesitated, not wanting to give up Tapper's name. ‘Anyway,' she went on, ‘forget about him. What happened was, Miss Minter meant to sell Sparrow to you, only she found out that there was someone else who'd pay even more.'

‘
What?
Who? We are her only family. Who else would offer a reward for her, dear thing that she is.'

Glori smiled grimly. ‘No, you wouldn't think it, would you? But see, there's this gent, a cousin I think, called de Whitt – Oh!' she cried suddenly, as another awful thought crossed her mind. ‘Oh Miss Hilda, I
didn't
help grab her at the circus. I swear I didn't. I saw her but I told no one. But the others, they told. I saw you and saw she was happy and I wanted to leave her – I swear!'

As quickly as she could, Glori explained all she knew about Mr de Whitt, Cosmo's cousin and only other relative, who wanted Sparrow dead so he could claim her inheritance.

‘You see,' Glori finished, ‘when I heard them talking I knew what they was up to and I couldn't let them.'

‘I see,' Hilda said, standing up and pacing round the room. ‘You are very brave to come here. I appreciate it enormously. You are a true friend to Sparrow.'

‘I am!' Glori cried. ‘I am!'

The door was flung open suddenly, crashing back against the wall. ‘But where is Sparrow now?' Gerta cried. ‘We must save her!'

Glori stood up shakily. ‘That's it,' she said. ‘That's why I came now. She's in danger. They – Miss Minter and this –
my friend
– they've got her, I think. She disappeared last night. I 'spect she must be hidden somewhere. I'm praying she's still all right. But something has gone wrong with their plans because they're all jumpy and Miss Minter went out this morning and she never ever goes out without her lips done pink. You got to act now, but, but  … '

‘What is it? Is it this friend you mentioned?'

‘Yes,' Glori said. ‘He's not a good one, I know he in't; he's got like
heart rot
or something, but he's all I've got. Please, please can we give him a chance to get away? If I tell you where they are, the match-girls, and who they are and what they do, will you let me warn him?'

‘But Glori,' Hilda said gently, ‘surely you don't want to go back to this man? A man who steals children? Ransoms them? You say he's not a “good one”. I don't understand  …  how could you care for someone so heartless?'

Glori shrugged. ‘I don't know, Miss Hilda,' she said. ‘He's not good at all and he is wicked, but there you are. I've never had much and to have him is better than not to have him, if you see what I mean. I've betrayed him, but he'll never find out if I can get him away now.'

‘Very well, Glori, whatever you want,' Hilda said. ‘Now, sit down here at the table and take some tea and some toast, I insist, and in the meanwhile I will explain everything to my husband.'

‘I suppose you expect the reward my brother has offered,' Gerta asked when Hilda went out.

‘I don't want no reward,' Glori said quickly. She rubbed at her jaw and aching teeth. ‘I've no use for any reward now and anyways I don't deserve it.'