Lady Lightfingers (9 page)

‘No she didn't . . . She told me about it and made me promise not to take up the profession.'

One hundred pounds!
That would keep them sheltered and fed for a long time.

‘Take up the profession?' The woman cackled with laughter. ‘Dearie me, that's one way of putting it, I suppose. Always acting the lady, your mother was.'

‘She
was
a lady. She was down on her luck, that's all.'

‘And the little luck she had ran out.' The woman gazed slyly at her. ‘This young man will treat you well, and he'll buy you something pretty to wear. I'd give you half of what he pays me, and you can use a private room. Afterwards, you can work for me if you like. We can accommodate the child.' She stroked Lottie's hair. ‘My, but you're a pretty one.'

Fear speared through her at the thought of Lottie being at the mercy of this woman. Her sister was too young to be anything but trusting. Lottie's hands went to a brooch pinned to Bessie's bosom and she gave her a wide smile as she gently touched it.

Celia's hands went to her hips. ‘When did this man notice me?'

‘It was when you lifted his card case from his waistcoat pocket, dear. He followed you home, but then lost you. I knew who you were, though. I've had my eye on you for some time, and you're a good dip, very promising indeed. Have you still got the card case, by the way? The gentleman wants it back.'

Celia darted a look towards the loose brick and automatically lied. ‘I didn't steal anything from anyone. You can tell your gentleman I want nothing to do with him, so I'd be obliged if you left.'

‘You should be careful of this precious little one,' Bessie murmured, her voice hardening as she placed her down. ‘Now, listen to me, girl. I could have snatched you off the street at any time and forced you into this, but I won't at the moment, because I liked your ma and I have a kind heart . . . ask any of my girls. This is big money the gentleman is offering, the like of which you'll never see again.'

One hundred pounds!
It was more than tempting. Think of what she could do with it? No, don't think of it at all. It wouldn't be a hundred; it would only be fifty if Bessie took half. Bessie would charge for the use of the room, for meals, and for a bath, because the man wouldn't want her if she were dirty.

Oh, what she'd give to sink into a bath of warm water and soak . . . herself at one end with Lottie soaking in the other end. The offer was tempting for that alone, but it was meant to be. Once Bessie got her clutches on them, nothing of the kind would eventuate. There would be other men, one every half an hour, she'd heard. Lottie would be exposed to danger, for she'd heard there were men . . . but she didn't want to think about it, and she shuddered. They'd have to do what they were told, or be beaten.

Celia didn't allow her fright to show, but her instincts were so attuned to the danger Bessie represented, that her heart pounded and she began to perspire. ‘I'll think it over.'

‘I'll give you four days, since your gentleman will be out of town for a week. In four days you can come to me and learn what will be expected of you. I'll teach you how to please a man, before your young man comes back. I shouldn't be at all surprised if he becomes a regular after. Some men are faithful to one girl, and he looks the type.'

Celia didn't care what type he was. Dogs were faithful, so were cats . . . as long as you gave them what they wanted. And when it came down to it, Bessie would whittle her share of that one hundred pounds down to a couple of shillings. Celia gave a faint smile. If her virginity was worth all that money to the gentleman, then she might as well cut out Bessie, sell it herself, and keep all of the proceeds. But she wasn't going to; at least, not yet . . . perhaps one day, if she had no choice.

Bessie's threats had rattled her though, and Celia knew the woman would follow through with them. She couldn't stay here any longer. It wasn't safe.

Before she went to bed she wrote down the story of Bessie's visit.

The last thing she thought before a fitful sleep claimed her, was that she hadn't seen Thomas Hambert for a while. She wondered what he'd think of her story.

The next morning she rolled up one of the blankets and tied it across her back. Cutting a hole in the second one – a hole big enough for her head to go through, she placed her valuables in the pocket under her skirt. The card case she'd lifted from the young gentleman was solid gold, and it had several cards in it.

‘Charles Curtis, Hanover Square,' she whispered. ‘I'll take it there like I did with Mr Hambert's watch, since the gentleman is out of town.' Only she'd knock at the door and tell them she found it. Nobody could prove any different, after all.

She placed her mother's private box in a sack, which she tied on her shoulders, and slid her precious notebook inside her bodice. Where would she put Lottie? She wouldn't get far like this. She was too bulky and could hardly move. Lottie couldn't walk very far and she would slow her down. A handcart was needed.

Celia found a cart in the market place. The lad selling it was the only person there, though he was cold and shivering, as if he'd been there all night and she'd just woken him. He wore a frayed coat that reached his ankles, and a battered top hat on his head. It came down over his ears, and had a portion of the front cut out so he could see where he was going.'

‘How much for the cart?'

He looked hungry. ‘Two shillings.'

It would eat into her precious store of money. ‘I can only manage sixpence.'

The boy nodded. ‘That's better than nothing. I can buy a feed with it. Are you going somewhere then?'

She wasn't going to tell him where, but nodded. ‘Just to the country; I won't know where until I get there.'

Sadly he said, ‘I've got nowhere to go, and no family now my old man has been transported. Seven years he got for stealing himself a pair of boots off a corpse. Old ones they were, not worth tuppence. You can have the cart for nothing if you let me come with you. It used to be my pa's. I've travelled the road before and I can help you to find the place you're going to, if you like.'

Celia considered it. She didn't really need added responsibility, but he was small and muscular, and looked as though he might be useful. ‘What's your name?'

He kicked at a cobble with the scuffed toe of his boot, obviously expecting a rebuff. ‘Johnny Archer.'

‘How old are you?'

‘Fifteen.'

‘You don't look it.'

He shrugged at that. ‘All right, I'm twelve?'

It wouldn't hurt to take the lad with her, and he might prove to be useful. Having made up her mind, she nodded. ‘Come on then.'

A smile sped across his face. ‘What do I call you, Miss?'

‘Celia . . . and this is my sister, Lottie. I'm taking her to be looked after by my relatives in the country. I promised my ma. I should tell you something . . . there's a woman after me, who wants me to work for her. I've refused . . . but she might send someone after me. I'm hoping to get out of the district before the sun comes up.'

‘We'll pretend we don't know each other then. I'll walk behind you a ways and keep an eye open. If anyone tries to get at you I'll thump them.'

She tried not to chuckle.

‘You'll see. My dad used to be a boxer, and he taught me a trick or two,' he said fiercely.

‘I'm sure he did. Come on then. I planned to be gone by now.'

They went back to the cellar and Celia picked up one of the threadbare blankets she'd intended leaving behind. Doubling it over and fashioning it into a rough cape, she arranged it around Johnny's shoulders, tying it around his waist. ‘There, that's better than nothing.' She laid the other blanket in the bottom of the cart and put the sack in along with Lottie. There was room for the warm blanket, which went over the top of her.

‘You'll be nice and cosy under that,' she said to Lottie.

She'd have to leave the sticks of furniture behind, but now had room for the sack which contained her mother's personal items, one that she'd thought she might have to leave behind. There were other bits, too. A knife, hairbrush and matches. The book Mr Hambert had given her, and the cooking pot.

She left the key in the door when they made their escape, just after dawn. There was a feeling of unease about her when they went rattling over the cobbles because she felt so exposed.

When they passed Saint Paul's Cathedral without being waylaid by Bessie's thugs, Johnny caught her up and Celia felt more confident. Then she realized she shouldn't have worried, since Bessie and her girls kept late hours, and didn't rise early because of it.

Bedford Square was beginning to stir.

‘My employer is not seeing visitors. He's recovering from a serious illness,' Mrs Packer told Celia.

As if to prove her point there came the sound of a hacking cough from somewhere upstairs.

‘Step inside for a moment,' Mrs Packer bade her, and her eyes went to the blanket that almost enveloped Celia. She sniffed. ‘I wondered where those blankets had gone. He's far too generous for his own good.'

‘I'll stay here. I want to keep my eye on Lottie.' And on Johnny, in case he took it into his head to dump Lottie and run off with the cart.

‘They were his blankets to give, not yours,' Celia pointed out and handed the woman a small package. ‘Would you kindly give him this. There's a letter inside. Tell him I'm going to Dorset to visit my relatives.'

‘And how will you get to Dorset?'

‘We'll walk. I have a friend with me and he has a cart for Lottie to ride in, so we'll manage.'

Her eyes went past her to where the cart was and she almost screeched, ‘Walk! Do you know how far it is?'

‘It doesn't matter how far. We'll get there eventually. I can't stay in London any longer; it's too dangerous now I've been marked.'

‘Marked? I don't understand.' Mrs Packer peered past her. ‘May I ask where your mother is?'

‘She's buried in Potter's Field. Somebody hit her on the head and stole the wages she'd worked all week for by sewing trousers.'

‘Oh, I'm so sorry.' Mrs Packer looked taken aback, and slightly ashamed of herself.

‘And will you thank Mr Hambert for inviting us to tea. My mother enjoyed it immensely. It reminded her of her former life, you see.' A tear sped down her face and she dashed it away as she said bitterly, ‘At least she had that before she died. It made her happy.'

‘Oh, my dear . . . wait there a minute. I've just made some fresh bread.' She disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a basket packed with food. ‘Here's some cheese, bread and some ham for the journey. And there is some cake in the basket. I've put some money in there too; there should be enough for your train fare. There's a train at eleven from Waterloo Bridge; you can take that and be in Dorset in three hours.'

‘Won't Mr Hambert mind?'

‘Gracious, no. The dear man leaves money in an old teapot, just in case someone in need knocks at the door. He's a nice man, very charitable. He's taken a real liking to you, and will be sorry to have missed you. I'm sorry, but I can't let you see him. He's very feverish and the doctor said strictly no visitors. He could pass the infection on, you see.'

‘Give him my best wishes and tell him I hope he soon recovers. If I ever return to London I'll come and see him. Thank you for your kindness, Mrs Packer.'

Colour seeped under Mrs Packer's skin and she thrust an umbrella on top of the basket. ‘Here, take this. It might keep the rain off of your little sister. Safe journey, my dear.'

Their next stop was Hanover Square. There was plenty going on in the square, with vendors setting up their stalls in the middle. And though most people would be at their breakfasts, there were one or two gentlemen going about their business.

She left Johnny guarding the cart, saying, ‘I can trust you, can't I?'

‘With your bloody life, Miss,' he growled, looking menacingly round him.

‘Don't swear in front of Lottie again, unless you want a good clip.'

‘I reckon you would, too.' He grinned. ‘Sorry . . . I won't let you down, I promise.'

And Celia, who rarely trusted anyone, believed him. ‘Placing Lottie on her hip she went down some steps to the basement and knocked at a door, her nose twitching at the smell of bacon frying.

The door opened suddenly and a maid of about the same age as herself stared at her, looking flustered. ‘Who are you and what do you want?'

‘I want to see Mr Charles Curtis,' she said, secure in the knowledge that Bessie had said he'd left town.

‘Hah! Do you now? What for?'

‘That's between him and me, Miss Nosey. As it happens, I've found something of his and I want to return it.'

‘You can leave it on the hall table then. I'll see that he gets it.'

‘No, I'm not going to do that. Someone told me there was a reward.' Her mouth watered as the sound of sizzling meat came to her ears. Pots and pans clanged and a kettle lid rattled with the force of the steam. She and Lottie could live happily off just the smell in this kitchen.

‘Ada, shut that door; you're letting the cold in and the oven's cooling down,' someone shouted.

‘There's a beggar here, Mrs Smithers. She reckons she's found something that belongs to Mr Curtis.'

‘What is it?'

‘She didn't say. I reckon she's just trying to get a foot in the door so she can steal something. 'Ere . . . How did you know where Mr Curtis lived?'