Lady Lightfingers (2 page)

‘Don't be so passionate, Celia. Jackaby was a bad money manager, that's all. As for my sisters . . . let sleeping dogs lie. It wasn't their fault. They were young and they didn't have much say in the matter. It's not worth getting angry over after all this time. Just know that your life can be different if you work at it. There's a world outside London where it's clean and green and the air is sweet. Now, fetch your slate and the dictionary and get on with your lesson. As soon as you've copied down every word in it, learned to spell them, and can understand the meaning of them, I'm going to buy you a book.'

‘A proper book with a story in it?' Celia said eagerly.

‘
Robinson Crusoe
. It's an adventure story about a man who's marooned on a desert island.'

‘What's a desert island?'

‘It's a small piece of land surrounded by sea, usually unpopulated. The air is fresh there and the palm trees provide shade when it's hot. There, you can walk for a whole day without meeting anyone else and not be frightened by anything, except for a snake perhaps, or a coconut falling from a palm tree on to your head.'

‘Is that like the countryside you grew up in?'

A smile inched along Alice's lips when she saw how absorbed by the thought of it her daughter was. ‘Dorset doesn't have any palm trees with coconuts as I recall. Compared to London, it's like the Garden of Eden, though. You'll be able to read about such places if you work at it.'

Over time Celia copied all the words in the dictionary, and in doing so learned to read and write . . . but it had taken a long time. By that time, she realized that any money they earned was needed to feed and shelter them, and
Robinson Crusoe
would have to wait. Celia could read well when she came across any printed material, and she could write with a neat hand, make up her own stories and poems, and do her numbers.

Alice Laws bit through the cotton thread and glanced at Celia now, managing a weary smile. ‘I'm glad you're home,' she said. ‘You're breathing fast. Have you been hurrying?'

‘I was marked, and had to shake someone off.' She looked around for her sister. ‘Where's Lottie?'

‘Asleep. She had to go without breakfast, so she's been fractious. How did you get on?'

Celia avoided her mother's eyes as she emptied her pocket on to the bed.

Alice raked a finger through it. ‘You've been on the dip again. I told you to beg for money.'

‘There are too many beggars out there already. I'm fifteen, and getting too big to beg. The toffs like the younger children. I should take Lottie with me. With her curls and sweet smile she'd do well. All I get now is lewd suggestions.'

‘I want you and Lottie to grow up decent, so don't you listen to them. You don't want to end up like me?'

Celia didn't, but if there was a way out of life in the London slums, where everyone seemed to prey on everyone else, she had yet to discover the secret. ‘I'll be careful. Just take a look at that watch. It's real gold,' she said proudly, and examined the house key hanging from the chain.

She'd taken it from a well-fed-looking gentleman who she'd seen in the district many times before. He'd been totally distracted by the entertainment, tearing his eyes away only to write notes and make sketches in a notebook. She'd seen him coming out of the print shop on several occasions before. Celia was curious about what he put in his notebook, and why he was doing it, and was surprised that his watch hadn't been lifted before.

‘How do you expect me to sell that without arousing suspicion? It's got a name etched on it. Thomas Hambert. Besides, I didn't bring you up to be a thief. Dipping becomes a habit.'

‘I'll give the watch back to him, and tell him to keep a better eye on it next time.' She didn't tell her mother about the card case she'd taken from the young toff. He'd been too quick to alert himself to what was going on, and might come looking for her.

‘That man will have you arrested.'

‘Don't worry, I was just teasing. If I can take it from his pocket I can just as easily put it back in again. Or I can follow him home and hand it to a servant. I'll tell him that I found it. He might offer me a reward.' She giggled at the thought. ‘It's just a game, Ma.'

Celia drew her mother's attention away from the watch as she handed over a fat coin purse. ‘Here's some money for you.'

Her mother's eyes widened. ‘How did you get this?'

‘It was my lucky day. I was reciting poetry and a drunken man gave it to me. “Keep it,” says he when I went to hand it back. “I won't need it where I'm going.” Where's that, sir? I asked him, all polite and ladylike. “To hell, my little beauty . . . hell is where I'm going,” says he. “You can join me if that's your fancy.”'

Her mother managed a small smile as she cut through Celia's embellishment of the situation. Celia had been prone to melodrama when they'd travelled the country fairs for a short time with the Wentworth Players. Her daughter had enjoyed watching the actors and had been influenced by their play-acting. Sometimes she'd been given children's roles to play. Alice herself had been employed playing small roles, and making and repairing costumes, but Mrs Wentworth had accused her husband of flirting with Alice, and had dismissed her.

‘How did you really get this money?' Alice insisted.

Celia modified her earlier lie. ‘It dropped from someone's pocket when he gave me thruppence, and I put my foot on it. He was as drunk as a lord and said I could have it for my trouble. It was a good poem, worth every penny, and one that took me a whole week to learn – the one Lord Byron wrote about walking in beauty. The toff said it reminded him of his true love, who he was parted from, and so did I. Then he tried to kiss me.'

‘You didn't fall for that man-talk, did you?' her mother said, her anxiety all too apparent. ‘You're old enough to know about men and their ways, and don't need to gain experience the hard way, like I did. Get the ring on your finger first, and make sure he's an honest man. Women are easily duped.'

Celia did know about men. In this part of London you learned quickly if you wanted to survive – and she did intend to do that. She knew what her mother had to do on occasion to keep food on the table, and how much she hated it. Celia was learning other skills of survival, but they didn't include accommodating the appetites of men.

She snorted. ‘Do donkeys fly? There were others waiting to relieve him of the purse if I hadn't planted my foot on it. That's why I was marked myself, I reckon.'

Celia grinned. Her explanation had been accepted. She must have inherited her father's skill where lying was concerned. Or perhaps her mother chose to believe her because they were in need.

Her smile faded as a second thought intruded. Watch out, Jackaby Laws, I'm only fifteen at the moment but I'll soon be grown-up. If I ever run into you I'll find some way to relieve you of the money you took from my mother and grandfather. When I do, my mother will be able to hold her head up again and so will her children.

Lottie called out and her mother sighed. ‘Look after her, Celia. I'll go out and buy some milk and bread, and some pies and fruit. We'll eat like princesses tonight.'

‘I'll go if you like.'

‘Not if you're marked. He'll be hanging around where he last saw you, waiting for you to emerge.'

‘You can't miss him; he's wearing a red kerchief, and there's a ned in his belt. I haven't seen him round here before, and I spotted him easily. What about the watch? Shall I try and sell it?'

‘You must find some way of giving it back to the gentleman, but don't get caught, Celia. I couldn't bear it if you were put in prison or transported to the other side of the world and I never saw you again. And get rid of that ring at the same time. It's too noticeable.'

It was a pretty trinket with a green stone in the middle, surrounded by small, creamy pearls. It fitted her middle finger perfectly.

Lottie came in and climbed on to her lap, her eyes widening when the watch began to chime. Celia held it to Lottie's ear. She was three years old, and she had light-blue eyes and soft, brown, curly hair, the same as Alice, so she looked as though she belonged to them. Celia had darker eyes. Cornflower blue.

Celia could remember cornflowers in the fields when they'd toured with the Wentworth Players. She resembled her father, her mother had told her. His eyes had been the same colour, as was his hair – dark brown, almost black. Not that Celia had ever met him. He didn't even know of her existence – not yet! But one day she'd find him, even if it took the rest of her life.

As for Lottie's parentage, it was a mystery. Her mother had found her as a newborn baby, abandoned amongst the rubbish on the riverbank. She'd been left for the tide to carry away, something that was a common practice. She'd probably been born there and left where she was dropped.

At first, Alice had intended to ignore the child, but her thin little cry as the cold and dirty water began to lick at her naked body had touched her, and Celia had begged her mother to save the baby's life. They'd called her Charlotte, quickly shortened to Lottie, and thus Celia had gained a sister.

They'd lived in a real house then, the room and board paid for by her mother's efforts at housekeeping. Another child in his home, especially one that cried at night, was too much for the owner to bear, and he'd sent them packing.

They'd gone downhill. Nobody would employ her mother and she sent Celia begging. But Celia couldn't earn enough to keep them all.

They'd been lucky and had found the cellar that they'd called home for the past three years. But it was a struggle to pay the rent and buy food. Now, when it seemed that they couldn't go any lower, her mother seemed resigned to her lot in life.

Life wasn't fair sometimes, Celia thought, kissing her sister's soft curls. But she had no intention of trying to earn an honest living by sewing seams in trousers or being a housemaid and a dollymop on the side.

Celia learned things easily, and she didn't intend to stay. When she was old enough she would leave this place. Using her wits, lying, stealing, dramatics, begging – or even marriage to a rich man – she'd be the very best at what she did, and she'd look after her family while she was doing it.

Her gaze went to the watch. She was tempted to keep it, but just as she thought she might, Lottie's exploring fingers found a hidden catch and the back sprang open. Celia laughed when Lottie's eyes rounded with surprise and she clapped her hands. Revealed was a small sketch of a child's face surrounded by a wreath. RIP Celia Jane Hambert it said on the back, and there was an address.

For reasons unknown, tears sprang to Celia's eyes.

The man had lost a child he loved and he carried a memorial of her around with him. Odd that they bore the same name. Celia didn't believe in signs . . . until now. It was as if the ghost of the girl was whispering to her, asking to be taken back to the father who loved her. She must take the timepiece back; if she didn't something bad would happen to her.

Her fingers touched against the dangling door key. She had the address and she had a way in. There was bound to be cash at the house and she could leave the watch and help herself to the reward at the same time. All she had to do was watch and wait, and seize her chance.

Two

It didn't take Celia long to discover where Thomas Hambert lived. It was apparent that he was a pleasant gentleman, tipping his hat when the need arose to people he passed, especially the ladies. He had an air of absent-mindedness about him that was endearing. Celia followed him around and learned his habits, which proved to be just as much fun as the thrill of dipping her fingers into pockets undetected. He seemed unaware of her presence.

It never ceased to amaze her how careless people were with their purses. Just that morning she'd taken one from a woman's basket, handing it back to her, lighter by several coins.

‘Excuse me, ma'am, but you dropped this,' she said, handing it over with as much humbleness as she could muster.

The woman's male companion fished a penny from his pocket and dropped it in her hand. ‘Here, girl.'

The purse was placed back in its basket, while the man automatically patted his inside pocket to make sure his paper money was secure, revealing exactly where it was kept. Celia could almost guarantee that by the time they reached the end of the lane, both purse and pocket would be emptied. She was tempted to do it herself, except she'd spotted Thomas Hambert standing outside a bookshop.

She sidled up beside him and looked in the window. When she was sure he wasn't looking she slanted a glance at his notebook. He was making a sketch of the alley with quick, sure pencil marks.

She lowered her gaze when he gave her a quick glance and her eyes fell on a book in the window. ‘
Robinson Crusoe
,' she whispered, her eyes shining as she wondered if she should duck through the door and grab up a copy. But there was a barrier made of wire across the back of the display.

‘I beg your pardon, young lady. Did you say something?'

‘
Robinson Crusoe
.' She pointed to the book. ‘See, it's there. Four shillings and nine pence. Who would have thought words would cost so much?'

‘It's good value, because when you've learned them the words are yours to keep and do what you like with. People who arrange words into stories earn money from them. Also, the publisher who makes the book earns money, and so does the shopkeeper who sells the book.'

‘So if I wrote a book and it sold for four shillings, I would only earn about . . .' She stopped to count it on her fingers . . . ‘One shilling and four pence. That's very little for all that work.'