Читать книгу The Clockwork Sparrow - Katherine Woodfine - Страница 12
ОглавлениеAs the final day of preparations went on, the pace began to accelerate. Men in white gloves were busy in the Exhibition Hall, unpacking crates with mechanical precision. In the Entrance Hall, Mr Cooper and Sidney Parker were engaged in an intense discussion about the best deployment of porters, lift-operators and doormen. In the Ladies’ Lounge, bunches of perfect roses were being arranged in crystal vases, and in the Marble Court Restaurant, the waiters smoothed out snowy white linen tablecloths and laid out silverware, the restaurant manager following behind them with a tape measure to ensure that each setting was perfect.
Up in the Millinery Department, the main activities were dusting, sweeping and polishing. Unused to such physical work, Sophie soon found herself weary and aching, but she went on working grimly, determined not to let Edith see that she was tired. All the same, as the afternoon drew on, she was pleased to see Lil appear, giving her a welcome excuse to get up from her polishing.
‘So this is where you work?’ said Lil, looking around her with interest. ‘Gosh, it’s all rather splendid, isn’t it? They sent me up to collect some more hats for the dress show rehearsal.’
Sophie nodded. ‘They’re through in the storeroom,’ she said, leading the way. ‘I’ll show you.’
Once the storeroom door had closed behind them, they grinned at each other conspiratorially.
‘I was simply bursting for a change of scenery,’ said Lil. ‘They wanted to send for a porter – Captain’s Girls aren’t supposed to be running about the store with boxes, and all that, but I insisted on coming myself. Honestly, I can’t tell you how fearfully boring it is, just practising walking up and down in different frocks.’
‘It sounds an awful lot better than polishing,’ said Sophie with a laugh, as she handed Lil the hat-boxes she needed.
‘Well, yes, I suppose you’re probably right there,’ said Lil, grinning ruefully. ‘I really oughtn’t grumble. And at least tomorrow morning I’ll be off to the theatre for rehearsals. We don’t have to come in until after luncheon now, you see, because the dress shows will only be in the afternoons, so it’s all worked out splendidly.’ She paused, and then heaved a sigh. ‘Well, I suppose I should go. They’ll be waiting for me.’
‘And I ought to get on with that polishing,’ Sophie agreed, stretching and stifling a yawn. ‘Mrs Milton really has our noses to the grindstone.’
They both went towards the door – but when Sophie tried the handle, it wouldn’t budge.
‘Is it stuck? Here, let me try.’
But it wasn’t stuck. No matter how much either of them jiggled at the door handle, it would not open.
‘I think it’s locked,’ said Lil in astonishment.
‘This is Edith’s doing,’ said Sophie, with a slow groan of realisation. ‘She must have seen us come in here and then locked the door.’
‘But why would she do that?’
‘To get us both into trouble, of course,’ said Sophie. ‘To stop me from finishing my work, and make Mrs Milton angry, and to pay us back for that business in the refectory earlier.’
‘Oh I say!’ cried Lil indignantly.
Sophie felt her own temper flare. If she didn’t finish the tasks she had been set, she could say goodbye to any chance of becoming Mrs Milton’s assistant. And now Lil would be in trouble too, and none of this was in the least bit her fault!
But there was no sense in losing her head, she reminded herself. ‘Maybe one of the others will let us out. Let’s see if we can get their attention before anyone notices we’re missing.’
They rattled the door, and called out, but no one came.
‘They probably can’t hear us if they’re on the other side of the shop floor,’ said Sophie. ‘And I daresay Edith’s out there laughing at us right now.’
‘What a beast,’ said Lil crossly. ‘We are in a scrape.’ Then, in a sudden burst of cheerfulness: ‘I suppose at least you get a break from all that polishing, anyway.’
‘Oh bother her,’ said Sophie, folding her arms. ‘Well, I suppose if we’re stuck in here, we may as well do something useful. Let’s bring that ladder over and we can put all those boxes away. We can get the storeroom tidied, at any rate.’
Lil readily agreed, feeling that going up and down ladders and putting away boxes would certainly be no worse than clambering in and out of evening dresses. While they worked, they talked. Lil told Sophie about all the plays she had seen recently, including the plot of a most exciting thriller in which a dashing detective (‘So handsome! Simply divine!’) had managed to escape from a locked room and foil a dastardly gang of spies, and that of a heart-rending romance in which the young heroine experienced all sorts of trials before finally being reunited with her true love. They ended up sitting on the floor, talking about books that they had read, and laughing about their old governesses. Lil told Sophie all about her parents and how irritating it was that her older brother could do exactly what he wanted (‘just because he’s a boy !’); and how she didn’t think she would much like being a mannequin (‘Imagine all those beastly old ladies looking you up and down’), but she wanted to be independent and couldn’t get by on her meagre earnings as a chorus girl alone.
‘But what about you? How did you come to be working here?’ Lil asked Sophie at last.
Sophie was quiet for a moment, rubbing at a smudge of dust on her cheek. ‘My papa died just before Christmas,’ she explained slowly. ‘He was a major in the army and he was killed out in South Africa in an accident. There was only Papa and me, you see? My mama died when I was very small. I can hardly even remember her – at least, only little bits. And Papa used to tell me lots of stories about her, of course.’
She broke off for a moment and sighed, thinking that there was so much about her mother that she would probably now never know. ‘Anyway, there was a problem with Papa’s will. He hadn’t left any provision for me – no instructions about a guardian, no money. It was strange because, you see, he was always a very methodical sort of person. But it left me with almost nothing. The house was sold, they sent my governess away, and I had to find work at once – so I came to Sinclair’s.’
Sophie didn’t dare say more. Somehow, of everything, it was that last day at Orchard House, with the carpets up and dear old Miss Pennyfeather weeping uncontrollably as she got into the cab, that she could not risk thinking about; it was almost the worst memory of all. She gave a small shrug and fell silent.
Sophie might not have said much, but Lil had been able to see the emotions flickering across her new friend’s face as she talked: confusion, frustration, sadness. ‘Gosh,’ Lil murmured quietly, feeling suddenly very conscious of just how flimsy her own troubles sounded by comparison. She felt an unexpected surge of fondness for the family home in Twickenham, with its green lawns mowed to bowling-green smoothness, and Mother entertaining callers to tea in the drawing room. She opened her mouth to speak, wanting to say or do something to comfort Sophie, but all at once she felt unsure of her words.
In the silence that had fallen, they heard a rattling sound, and they both looked up. Then the door burst open and Violet almost fell through into the storeroom. ‘The – the door was locked,’ she said, confused.
Sophie jumped to her feet at once. ‘Quickly – before Mrs Milton sees you!’ she urged. Understanding at once, Lil grabbed the hat-boxes she had come for and darted swiftly past Violet, through the door and away, just as Edith’s high-pitched voice could be heard approaching.
‘I just don’t know where Sophie is I’m afraid, Mrs Milton. She didn’t finish that polishing and I haven’t seen her for ages. I suppose she’s wandered off somewhere. Some people think they’re too good to do a proper day’s work like the rest of us.’
‘Did you want me, Mrs Milton?’ called Sophie swiftly.
Mrs Milton came into the doorway and looked around approvingly. ‘Oh there you are, Sophie. I knew you couldn’t be far away. Well, well, and look at this! You’ve got the whole delivery tidied away and the storeroom looking perfect. You have worked hard!’
Sophie smiled and said nothing, but heaved an inward sigh of relief as she whisked past Edith’s angry face and out of the room.
A few hours later, Mr Sinclair’s walk around the store had been completed to everyone’s satisfaction, and the clock downstairs in the Entrance Hall was chiming six slow chimes. Sophie’s feet ached, her shoulders ached, and she was prickly all over with tiredness. And tomorrow she would have to come back here again to work another long day – and the next day, and the next day, and the day after that . . .
‘Well, girls, you’ve done a fine job,’ said Mrs Milton, looking flushed with pleasure. Mr Sinclair had been satisfied with the department and Mr Cooper had given her a few very rare words of praise. ‘Mr Cooper has given me a shilling extra for each of you because of all your hard work. Now off you go, and mind you are looking your very smartest and not a moment late in the morning.’
The girls were almost too tired to say goodnight to each other in the cloakroom as they pulled on their coats and hats, and hurried out towards home. Sophie dawdled for a moment, knowing that Edith and Minnie would also be going back to the lodging house, and not feeling at all eager to walk with them.
She thought, with a feeling of great satisfaction, of the extra shilling in her pocket. Not so long ago, a shilling had meant almost nothing to her, but now it spoke to her of all kinds of possibilities: a ribbon, perhaps, to trim her hat; or maybe she could save it and put it towards a new pair of gloves because her old ones were getting so very worn. At any rate, she could treat herself to some buns for tea, she thought.
As she went out on to the street, she caught sight of a rather dirty young man – scarcely more than a boy, really – sitting on a step by the staff entrance. His head was down, and she noticed that his arm was in a rough sort of sling. Vagrants weren’t supposed to hang around the store, but it was the end of the day, and he looked ill and exhausted – much more exhausted than she felt herself, she thought, with a stab of sympathy for him.
She considered the shilling in her pocket. In the past, she would have given a shilling to a poor young man like that without even thinking about it. But now, she found herself wrestling with her conscience. Of course she ought to give it to him, she told herself sternly. But a whole shilling! She had worked so hard all day – she had earned that money. She made up her mind to walk on, but even as she began to move forward, she turned back again. Papa would never have forgiven her.
Rather reluctantly, she went up to the young man and handed him the shilling. Looking surprised, he took it.
‘Thank you, miss,’ he said, doffing his cap.
Sophie nodded awkwardly, and went on her way.
It would have been nice to have a new ribbon for her hat, she reflected as she walked down Piccadilly, but she supposed she could do without one for now. Although she still regretted the loss of the buns, she felt she was, after all, walking a little more lightly as she went towards her lodgings.
It had turned into an unexpectedly pleasant evening. The air was still damp, but the last strains of light were soft and warm, the kind of pinkish-grey colour that in the fashion papers they called ashes of roses. The street was bustling with people like her, spilling out of shops and offices and making their way home.
She joined the tide, but before she had gone very far, she stopped abruptly, realising that she had forgotten to bring home Billy’s jacket. She turned back at once: there was nothing for it but to return to the shop. She couldn’t risk leaving it there for Mr Cooper or Mrs Milton – or worse, Edith – to discover tomorrow morning. Wishing her feet didn’t hurt quite so much, she made herself hurry back down the street in the direction of Sinclair’s. If she were quick, she would easily get back before the long process of locking up for the night was completed.
The poor young man had vanished from the step now – probably off somewhere buying buns with her shilling, she thought grudgingly. The store was shrouded in darkness, with only a few lights gleaming from the very top of the building, where Mr Sinclair had his own luxurious private apartments. The staff entrance was locked, but as she had hoped, the door that led into the shop from the stable-yard was still open. Hoping to slip in and out without being noticed by anyone, Sophie made her way back inside.
It was strange being in the store after hours. The ground floor was completely silent and still and yet there seemed to be a faint humming sound in the air. The shapes of the counters and chairs looked unearthly in the dark, and little bits of light from the street outside caught and shimmered in the looking-glasses, casting piercing silvery gleams through the shadows. For a moment or two she hesitated, but then she roused herself to hurry forward towards the back staircase the staff used. She wished she had used one of the main staircases instead when she saw how dark it was, but she hastened onwards anyway, trying not to jump at every creak or rustle. It was a relief when she reached the Millinery Department. Rummaging through the hat-boxes, she at last found the one containing the jacket, took it out and bundled it up quickly in a bit of brown paper. On her way back she took the main stairs, running down two steps at a time.
The staircase brought her down into the Entrance Hall, and here she stopped short. Last time she had been here, the doors to the great Exhibition Hall had been closed; now they stood wide open. She could see a great, shadowy room beyond, and down each side of the room was a row of glass cases, gleaming in the shadows. In spite of herself, she tiptoed a little way through the doors to peer inside.
Approaching the first case, she caught her breath in astonishment. An array of exquisitely beautiful objects was laid out on a white velvet cushion, neatly labelled. Forgetting all about wanting to hurry home, she gazed at a sparkling diamond tiara, then a rich purple gemstone the size of a hen’s egg, and then at a tiny, ornate golden bird, beautifully enamelled and glittering all over with gold and precious stones. The Clockwork Sparrow, she read. It was so small, so richly jewelled, so perfect. She bent to look at it more closely, and for a moment, in the dim light, it seemed almost as if it were looking back at her. Its jewel eye glinted, as if it were winking.
A hand fell heavily on her shoulder, as sudden as a thunderclap. She started up and gave a little yelp of terror, but fell silent when she saw Mr Cooper’s face looming out of the dark.
‘Miss Taylor – what are you doing here?’ he demanded, frowning sharply.
‘I beg your pardon, sir, but I left something behind and I wanted to run up and get it before everything was shut up for the night,’ she said quickly, pink flooding her cheeks. She clutched her parcel close to her, hoping that he wouldn’t ask what was inside it. ‘I thought it would be best not to trouble anyone.’
‘Get on home,’ said Cooper sternly. ‘Quick, quick, be off with you.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Sophie. She fled in relief through the darkened store, and then out into the stable-yard.
‘Well, well, and what have we here? Why, it’s the high and mighty Lady Sophie, running around after hours. And all alone without your friend this time, I see.’
It was Bert Jones, she saw in surprise, standing half-concealed in the shadows. He seemed different out here in the dark: there was a look in his pale eyes that she didn’t like. What was he doing here, so long after all the others had gone?
‘Excuse me, please, I’m going home,’ she said briskly, but Bert just laughed and stepped in front of her, blocking her way. A sudden prickle of fear ran over her.
‘Always in such a hurry to get away, aren’t you? Well there’s no need. Whatever it is you’re up to, you don’t have to worry about me. I won’t split on you. I’m good at keeping secrets, me.’
He laughed again, as if the thought pleased him, and Sophie’s heart began to beat more rapidly. What would Lil do, if she were here? ‘Let me pass at once,’ she said, trying to keep her voice steady. If only Mr Cooper would come out of the door!
But he didn’t come and Bert still stood there, grinning at her. Then he reached towards her and instinct took over. She darted past him as fast as she could and ran, not stopping to look back. In a moment, she was out into the street and away, still clutching the bundled jacket.
Left behind, Bert smirked to himself as the distant sound of Sophie’s feet skittering on the cobbles faded to nothing in the settling dark.
Sophie kept running, her feet clattering, her heart bumping. She was conscious of attracting curious looks from passers-by: after all, young ladies didn’t generally go racing down the city streets. But at that moment, Sophie didn’t care in the least about what young ladies generally did.
It had begun to rain, and everything seemed darker now. The last few shops were shutting, and the bursts of music and voices that spilled out of the public houses seemed louder and more menacing. As she turned the corner she ran blindly into a young man carrying a big portfolio, which at once crashed to the ground, spilling out papers. ‘Hey! Look where you’re going, can’t you?’ he demanded, but too agitated even to pause and apologise, Sophie kept her head down and ran for home, leaving him calling angrily after her.
By the time she reached her lodgings, pink-cheeked and out of breath, she had missed supper. The lodging house was not an attractive place, and as usual the hall smelled like overcooked cabbage. As she started up the creaking stairs towards her room, a trio of girls spilled out on to the landing. Edith was at the centre of the little group and gave her a sneering look, taking in her red face and damp hair, which was now most definitely coming down. There was a bubble of laughter and then they breezed past and the door slammed abruptly behind them.
Sophie trudged upwards to her room. It was small and shabby. There was a damp patch on the ceiling, and the sound of a baby crying could be heard through the thin walls, but at least it was her own. There wasn’t much in it: only a narrow, iron-framed bed, a washstand squeezed into a corner, and a chair wedged in the space between the bed and the tiny fireplace. But her old china doll sat on the chair smiling a glassy-eyed welcome, and on the mantelpiece were a few treasures she had been able to save from Orchard House: a jug with cowslips on it, one or two books with pretty morocco bindings, and a walnut box that held keepsakes – a hatpin shaped like a rose that she wore often, a string of green beads that had once belonged to her mama, and her papa’s medals. Most precious of all was the photograph of Papa, which she kept at the very centre of the mantelpiece. It was a rather stiff, formal portrait in which he stood very upright and gallant in his military uniform, and yet somehow he seemed to be looking at her with the barest hint of a smile. It gave her a strange sort of comfort to fancy that he might almost be watching.
She dropped the parcel containing Billy’s jacket on the floor, lit the lamp and then sank down on to the bed to ease her boots from her aching feet. In the warm glow of the lamplight, everything troubling – the dark streets, the empty store, the girls’ laughter, and even the looming figure of Bert – seemed to fade away. There would be no buns for supper, but bread and butter would do just as well, she thought decidedly, pulling the shabby curtains firmly closed against the darkness outside.
He sat still in the shadows of the stable-yard, watching. It was a risk staying here after that lad had spotted him earlier, but he felt it was a risk worth taking. He’d stay tonight and be on his way again tomorrow. It was a shame, for this was a good place, safe and quiet. He felt sure that no one would ever think of looking for him here. Besides, he was fond of horses, always had been, and they were fond of him.
There was a light burning high up in one of the top windows of the big shop building – a little point of yellow light in the grey dusk. It made his thoughts flash suddenly back to that awful night, to looking in through the misted window as the watchmaker held up a pocket watch, like a gleaming gold star in the dark. He remembered how still the old man had been, motionless, but for the delicate movements of his long fingers as he bent over the bench, all scattered with the parts of clocks and watches. Something about the way he sat there had made him think of his old grandad. Suppose the watchmaker had been someone’s old grandad too? He had known then that he couldn’t do what they wanted. He couldn’t do it, and so he’d have to run.
He pushed the memory away and wiped the rain off his face. He had to forget all that. He had to stay sharp, concentrate on the here and now. He’d been watching since the store closed. Soon, he’d be able to find a quiet corner to kip for the night, well away from the nightwatchman’s beat. Not that he’d been getting much sleep since he left the Boys behind. The wound from Jem’s knife ached, and the pain left him wakeful. Besides, what little sleep he managed to snatch was tormented by dreams. He dreamed of his own treacherous hands, shaking as they gripped the blade; the small, defenceless figure of the watchmaker behind the window; Jem smiling his jagged smile; and always the unknown figure of the Baron, lurking somewhere beyond, a faceless monster from a child’s nightmare. ‘Know why they call him the Baron?’ he remembered Jem saying to him once. ‘Cos he’s the tops when it comes to villainy. There’s no one who can touch him for that.’ He’d heard some people say that the Baron was no more than another tall tale surfacing from the slums of the city, but he knew they were wrong. The Baron’s Boys and the things they did were real enough, that was for sure.
There was hardly anyone left in the store now. The big fellow with the black moustache had long gone, heaving himself on to his bicycle and pedalling strenuously off into the evening. One or two others had followed, but still the thin young fellow remained, standing just beside the door smoking a cigarette. He wished that young fellow would sling his hook. There was something about him that he didn’t trust – the curl of his lip, the glint in his eye, or perhaps just the way he’d tried to bully that girl, the one who had given him the shilling. It had been a relief to see her dart past him and hurry away.
A shilling, that was something. For the dozenth time, he felt for the reassuring circle of it in his pocket. Once or twice before he’d got a penny or two, but he didn’t set himself up to go a-begging. The old fellows and the kids, they might do all right, but he didn’t reckon that anyone would want to give a farthing to someone like him. But that girl, she’d just given him that coin, right out of nowhere. A whole shilling, just like that.
His ears pricked at a new sound. The door was opening and someone else was coming out. Another man, his collar turned up, a cap pulled well down over his eyes. The young fellow looked surprised, but then an expression of interest broke over his face and he opened his mouth as if to speak. Somewhere, close by, there was the splintering tinkle of glass shattering, and the yowl of a cat.
Then all at once, as if the sound had sparked it off, everything happened very fast. There was a glint of metal in the dim light; a sudden, heart-stopping explosion of sound. He started and shrank back into his corner, but the thin young fellow had fallen. He was on the ground. His body was crooked, slumped face-down. The other man turned smoothly, soundlessly away, and a moment later he had melted into the dark.
The yard was empty but for the black shape of the young fellow’s body. He stole forward and hesitated, seeing the dark pool blooming on the ground. The young fellow had been shot.
There was a crumpled piece of paper lying beside the body. He picked it up instinctively and shoved it into his pocket with the shilling. Already he could hear the sound of a whistle: the police, the nightwatchman? He couldn’t stay to find out which it was. He had to get away.
He slipped into the shadows by the wall, where he blended with the darkness and became invisible. It was something he knew only too well how to do. Silent and swift as a fox in the night, he padded away down the alley. Once again, he had to disappear.
