Brightling (5 page)

7

Miss Knip sat at her desk, her long fingers pointed in a steeple shape, thinking. Two days had gone by since Sparrow left and still she had not hatched a plan that suited her. Every time her eyes closed, she saw a large heap of shining, golden coins; so many coins that they were slithering over each other and tumbling down, sliding over the edge of the table and rolling on the floor. Her vision was so real she almost bent down to pick them up.

Sparrow must be connected to the family whose name was in the locket. There could be no doubt at all; her likeness to the woman in the portrait was so strong. But now Sparrow had vanished. She had to find her. How was she going to do it? Miss Knip imagined herself too fragile to go traipsing off across the country, then searching the streets of Stollenback. She was certain that Sparrow would have gone there. Miss Knip knew how important that stupid shawl had been to the orphan. A few words with snivelling Little Jean and her suspicions were confirmed. Stollenback it was. And then, once Sparrow was found, she'd put the second part of her plan into action – to extract as much money from Sparrow's family as she could! But first, who could she send to find the girl?

Her door opened and Mr Pynch came in.

Mr Pynch was large in belly and head, both body parts being fat and pale and blobby. He had stringy hair and a wet mouth that tended to hang open like a forgotten drawer. For a few moments Miss Knip considered him as a possible candidate to send to Stollenback, but rejected the idea swiftly.

‘Knip, guess what?' Pynch said, coming in and dumping himself down by the fire, oblivious to the cold look Miss Knip gave him.

Miss Knip's thoughts were elsewhere and she ignored him.

‘That big old cat's gone. Barton said it snuck out. Said it hared off like a, like a hare, I suppose.' He chuckled. ‘Without the long ears.'

Miss Knip stood up as though a spring had unsprung beneath her and let out a little scream. ‘The cat!'

‘What's the matter? Knip? You've gone white as a blancmange, you have.'

Miss Knip had forgotten about Scaramouch. How had she not noticed the cat's disappearance? she wondered. Because she'd been so busy thinking about her plans and the money she might make, of course. ‘I meant to keep it in for a couple of days,' she said. ‘I thought it might go after Sparrow.'

‘It has.'

‘Sparrow would have been lost without it,' she said, ‘which would have made me happy.'

Pynch laughed. ‘Naughty, naughty, Knip!'

‘But if it caught up with her,' Miss Knip went on, thinking aloud, ‘it will make her easier to trace. People will remember having seen a girl with a cat, especially such a big cat.'

‘That cat was a weird old thing anyway,' Mr Pynch said, helping himself to a bun from a plate on the table. ‘You know it came here with Sparrow?'

‘Did it? I didn't know that.'

‘You weren't here then, were you?' He crossed his podgy legs and leaned back in his chair. ‘See, you don't know everything, Knip, old girl, though you think you do. Yes, the cat came into the Home the same day as the baby and sat by its cradle day and night. We could hardly shift it to get near the little thing  …  Ah, squidgy little Sparrow  …  She wasn't scrawny like most of them, but fat as butter, and clean. They aren't usually clean, are they?'

‘No.' Miss Knip was hardly listening.

‘It smelled good enough to eat, did that baby,' Pynch went on dreamily, stuffing another bun into his mouth. ‘Ah, me. Eleven years ago. They don't make babies like that any more.'

‘I want you to take over here tomorrow. I'm going on a little journey,' Miss Knip said suddenly, coming to a decision.

‘You what?'

‘Journey. Someone I need to see. Business.'

‘Leaving me on my own?' Pynch looked worried. ‘What am I going to do? What'll I do with all those girls?'

‘Just wallop them, like you usually do,' she said.

8

Sparrow and Scaramouch walked for three days, scavenging fruit from orchards and hedges, and sleeping where they could; once in a ruined cottage and once in a scratchy haystack.

As they walked on, the lane grew wider and was well worn now by carts and horses and people. They passed farms, barns and sheds, and soon they came to clusters of cottages and then houses and busy streets. They were near the town at last. Stollenback.

Sampson's of Stollenback
,
Sampson's of Stollenback
. Sparrow repeated the name as if it were some sort of spell. She must find Sampson's.

‘You can't imagine what it's like,' she told Scaramouch, ‘not knowing who you are, where you come from. It puts you at an unfair disadvantage. It leaves you dangling, like something on a string.'

‘Meow.'

‘No, well, I don't suppose you know who your mother and father are either,' she said, ‘but you don't care, do you?'

‘Meow.'

‘No, I didn't think so. But I
do
care. I want to know who I am. I can't be me unless I know where I come from, who my parents were. I hope I was wanted, Scaramouch. I'd like to know that; I'd like to know anything, anything about the real me.'

Scaramouch flicked his tail and tipped his ears backwards and forwards.

Sparrow had managed to convince herself that
knowing
something about her parents was all she needed, but what if she discovered that they had never loved her and never wanted her at all? How could she cope with that? Best not to think about it, she told herself, looking around. Chin up, Sparrow.

The houses of Stollenback were ancient. Their walls were timbered in black, criss-crossed over the white-painted stonework. The roofs were steeply pitched. The buildings were crammed in, this way and that, along the roads. Their wooden shutters were painted bright colours and decorated with cut-out shapes of flowers, stars, diamonds and even spitfyres. The balconies were crammed with faded plants and doorways were surrounded with tubs of greenery now tinged with red and brown. Horses and carts, fine carriages and bicycles competed for space on the road.

Sparrow was amazed at it all, dazed by the colours and the things that she saw. How would she ever find Sampson's?

She followed the streets and the flow of people until she came to a square where a busy market was set up. So many people and such a lot of noise! It was both exciting and scary, she thought, as she wandered around, looking at the stalls. People stared at her curiously, pointing at Scaramouch beside her. Feeling awkward, Sparrow turned to the wall and began to read a poster advertising a circus, and another plastered over it with a picture of a spitfyre on it.

BRIGHTLING IS ILLEGAL AND CAUSES HARM TO SPITFYRES  … 

She remembered old Barton asking her to send him some Brightling to cure his aches and pains.
Illegal?
Oh dear, and how could it
harm
spitfyres? She was just about to read the small print at the bottom, when someone bumped into her and she spun round.

‘Mamma, Mamma!' It was a little girl, tugging at her mother's coat. She didn't even notice Sparrow. Sparrow shrank into herself even more, ashamed of her grey dress and little tight jacket, her grubby hands and messy hair.

‘I want a cake! I want a cake!' the little girl cried.

‘Of course, sweetheart,' her mother said. ‘Which one?' She took out a leather purse from her bag while the girl pointed at the biggest chocolate bun on the counter. ‘How much is that?' the mother asked the stallholder.

Sparrow's mouth watered. She followed the bun with her eyes as it was dropped into a bag and then into the girl's waiting hands. The mother smoothed her daughter's hair off her forehead and gave her a fond, indulgent look. ‘Little pet,' she crooned. ‘You can have whatever makes you happy.'

Sparrow could not take her eyes off them. That could have been me, she was thinking. That could have been me with a mother and a cake and  … 

Now the little girl was biting into the bun, smearing chocolate icing round her mouth. She was laughing. Her mother was laughing. It was extraordinary.

Maybe, Sparrow thought, maybe that woman there was
her
mother and if Sparrow spoke to her now, she'd immediately recognise her and explain what had gone wrong. But as Sparrow looked longingly at the woman and girl, she realised that they were staring back at her, and not in a friendly way, either.

The child was eyeing Sparrow's clothes and a look of distaste spoiled her pretty face.

‘Why's that girl so dirty?' she asked her mother.

‘Hush dear. You, there, orphanage beggar – don't stare at us!' she snapped at Sparrow. ‘I'll call the guards if you keep staring!' She held her bag protectively against her chest as if Sparrow was going to snatch it from her.

‘
Sorree!
' Sparrow said, as rudely as she could. The woman's words had cut her to the core. ‘There's no law to say I can't stare at you – a cat can look at a king!'

She forced herself to grin as she picked Scaramouch up and rubbed her face against his. ‘Can't we, Scaramouch, dear? We can look at anyone and anything, can't we?'

She stalked off, letting Scaramouch settle into her arms with a contented sigh.

‘You poor thing, you're tired,' Sparrow said. ‘All that walking, you poor dear,' and she rubbed his swollen pads. ‘Your feet must hurt. You have a rest, don't mind me,' she added as he closed his eyes.

A young lady with a happy face smiled at them. ‘Are you lost, dear? Looking for somewhere particular?'

Sparrow shook her head; but of course she
was
looking for somewhere particular –
Sampson's
. At the same time she dreaded finding it; dreaded finding out something that she didn't want to discover at all.

She wandered round and round the market square. She'd never seen so much stuff: there were stalls selling clothes, books, food and pots, pans and knives. She wished Mary were with her, she'd love it – she loved
things
.

Sparrow was getting very hungry. She stopped beside Bert's Pie Counter, where a pyramid of hot, golden-crusted pies and pastries steamed. A warm, oven smell oozed from the freshly-baked crusts, making her mouth water. She stood there for so long that the man behind the counter finally shooed her away. A notice on the wall behind him said BEGGING IS FORBIDDEN.

Sparrow leaned against the wall and watched the pies from there.

After a while she got a tickling, prickling feeling in her neck and, looking about, saw that another girl, older than her, was staring at her fixedly. She had a mass of long, scraggly hair and wore a short blue jacket. When Sparrow stared back she immediately looked away and pretended to be preoccupied, pulling at her sleeves and digging in her pockets as if looking for money. Sparrow didn't like being watched. She tossed her hair and moved on, searching for any scraps of food that might have fallen, but there was nothing apart from cabbage leaves, rotten fruit and a sleeping dog. She went back to the pie counter and walked round it three times, breathing in the delicious aromas. Next time she looked up, the same girl in the blue jacket was still watching her intently. Now what? Sparrow stared back. The other girl was just as untidy as she was, so it wasn't her clothes she was staring at. She wouldn't let this girl bully her.

The girl came over. ‘All right, love?' she said.

She was taller than Sparrow. Her dark hair fell in tight rolls down her back and in complicated plaits and bows, interwoven with brightly-coloured scarves on top of her head. She had a flat brown face with very dark brown eyes and small, crooked teeth that she licked now and then with the tip of her tongue, as if checking they were still there.

‘All right?' she said again, nodding at Scaramouch as well.

‘Yes. We're fine,' Sparrow said. She realised suddenly that she was on the verge of falling down in a faint. ‘Why? What do you care? It's a free country, isn't it?' she snapped, and was furious to hear that her voice cracked.

‘You look like you're from out of town, you do. Where've you come from?'

‘Knip and Pynch Home for Waifs and Strays.' Sparrow hadn't the strength to lie.

‘Oh, my!
That
place! I see now  …  Over the swamp? Well, I thought you looked like a stray, and you are – both of yous,' she added, pointing at Scaramouch. ‘He's a big one, in't he? Cheer up, my dear. Gloriana'll help you.'

Sparrow felt immediately better, then cautioned herself to be careful. Remember Mrs Nash, she thought.

‘Now, you just ask the nice pie man something,' said Gloriana. ‘Keep him busy for a moment. Go on, and I'll get us some nosh.' She pushed Sparrow back towards the pie stall.

‘Excuse me, Mister Bert,' Sparrow said when she got there. ‘Have you got any spare, please? A broken bit, a little scrap for the cat and me? We're very hungry. We've walked all day.'

‘So you're back again, are you?' Bert pointed to the notice about beggars. ‘Can't you read?'

Sparrow glanced at the notice. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gloriana near the pyramid of pies.

‘I can't read!' Sparrow cried earnestly. ‘No, I never learned how. I'm just an orphan, up from the country,' she said. ‘It's not my fault I'm all alone,' she went on. ‘And I've got to feed my cat, he's not very well. Please mister, please!'

‘I don't hold with beggars,' Bert said, ‘but your cat does look sick. Here, take this one and get on with you. The guards'll be after you if you don't watch out! Best get off the streets.'

He thrust a squashed and mangled pie into a bag and gave it to her. Then he turned suddenly, with a shout to Gloriana: ‘Hey! You! What are you up to, missy?'

Gloriana held out her grubby, empty hands to him. ‘Nothing, sir,' she said sweetly. ‘Just looking.' And she turned away and wandered off as if she and Sparrow were in no way connected.

Sparrow went in the other direction and sat down on the first bit of low wall she came to. She'd only invented the story of Scaramouch being sick to get sympathy, but now she wondered if perhaps he really was ill. He had been very quiet since they'd arrived in Stollenback. She smoothed his fur and tried to interest him in the food.

A few minutes later Gloriana joined her. ‘You're a natural,' Gloriana said, patting Sparrow's knee. She grinned. ‘I never even needed my thieving fingers, did I?' And she brought out a steaming, undamaged meat pie from a pocket in her voluminous trousers and placed it beside Sparrow on the wall.

‘You didn't need to steal. The pie man gave me this,' Sparrow said.

‘You always have to steal,' said Gloriana. ‘Because if you don't, they will. There's them that takes and them that gives, and you have to be one or the other. I've got nothing to give so I have to take. It's fair, I reckon.'

‘I suppose.' Scaramouch ate a little piece of pie but didn't seem very interested in it. It was a shame Little Jean and Mary weren't here to share the food; they were always hungry.

‘Don't he like steak and onions?' Gloriana said, watching Scaramouch. ‘Fussy, is he?'

‘Just very tired, I think,' said Sparrow.

‘Don't you look so worried,' said Gloriana, waving a chunk of pie at her then biting into it. ‘Think of it as sharing, sharing with Mr Bert. Can't have you starve, can we?'

The girl was older than Sparrow had first imagined, about seventeen, she guessed. Although she was so slight and not very tall, her face showed some strain and lines that only come with time.

‘Amazing cat, that,' said Gloriana. ‘Is it friendly, then?'

‘He is.' Sparrow stroked Scaramouch's head, smoothing the tiny hairs on the bridge of his nose and gently running her fingers over his head, between his ears. He did purr, but only faintly, which was unusual. ‘He's my best friend. His name is Scaramouch.'

‘What's a
Skarra-moosh
, then? Or is it like what he does, scares the mouses, eh? He's a Scare-a-mouse?' She gingerly scratched Scaramouch under one ear. ‘Big, in't he?'

Sparrow grinned. ‘Someone told me his name meant acrobat, and he
can
do all sorts of tricks. You should see him climbing trees and walking along a rope even – it's amazing!'

‘Well, well. And where are you going, you and the Scare-a-mouse cat?' Gloriana asked her.

‘Here, to Stollenback.'

‘So you've somewhere to stay then? Friends?'

‘No.'

‘You've got some money though, for lodgings?'

‘No.'

‘I see.' Gloriana stuck her hands into the pockets of her voluminous trousers and made a face. ‘I see.'

Silence fell. They finished eating the pies and watched the people milling around. Sparrow went on stroking Scaramouch and waited to hear his purr grow stronger and waited to hear what the other girl might suggest. She was sure she would suggest something; she could almost hear the cogs and wheels working in Gloriana's brain.

‘I live in Sto'back – that's what we call it – and I can take you home with me if you like,' Gloriana said at last, as if she'd come to a difficult decision. ‘A kind woman I know, a lady she is, she keeps a sort of hostel here, a hostel for young girls like you who might be lost and in need of help. She don't charge nothing, neither.'

‘Oh. I see.' Sparrow was immediately suspicious. ‘No thanks.'

Gloriana laughed and gave Sparrow a friendly nudge. ‘I in't going to kidnap you, if that's your worry.'

Sparrow tried to smile too, but Betty Nash had seemed kind enough to begin with. It wasn't easy being an orphan; it wasn't easy having nothing more in your life than a cat, a shawl and the name of a shop  …  Why would this hostel keeper, this lady, not charge for rent unless she wanted something in return?