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Authors: Catherine Jinks
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Jem.
Alfred scowled as Purdy gave a surprised laugh. ‘He’s a downy one, ain’t he?’ the plumber observed, eyeing Jem with reluctant admiration. ‘The lad bargains like a Thames waterman.’
‘He weren’t raised right,’ said Alfred. Then, having resigned himself to the inevitable, he added, ‘Could you wait for us downstairs, Mr Purdy? I need a minute or so to make meself decent.’
‘Of course! Anything you want, Mr Bunce.’ The plumber’s face creased into a wide, relieved smile. He had very good teeth, Jem noticed. ‘There’s a baker’s shop around the corner. What if I was to stop in and buy us a couple o’ Bath buns for breakfast, while you’re dressing? We could eat ’em on our way.’
Jem didn’t even have to nod; his stomach spoke for him. Alfred muttered something about being very much obliged. Then Hugh Purdy left the room – and Alfred made sure that the door was firmly shut before rounding on Jem, saying, ‘I’ll have no more o’ that, d’you hear?’
‘More o’ what?’
‘Them gammoning, griddling ways you garnered from Sal Pickles. If you can’t be honest, there ain’t no place for you here.’
‘What do you mean?’ Jem was deeply offended. ‘I never tried to gammon nobody! I were haggling, is all.’ ‘You was driving up the price and speaking out o’ turn,’ Alfred snapped. ‘I’ll never take advantage of no desperate soul that’s a-grieving for some lost child. Sal might have, but I ain’t her. And neither are you!’
Jem was assailed by the sudden memory of how he had once helped to rob a woman’s house while she was making her regular, weekly visit to her dead child’s grave. It was a sour and shameful recollection, but he told himself, as he always did, It were Sarah as made me do it. She’s the one as led me astray.
And she deserved to suffer the consequences.
‘Besides which, you ain’t here to talk. You’re here to listen and to learn,’ Alfred was saying. When Jem opened his mouth, the bogler immediately cut him off. ‘Ned’s smart enough to know that he don’t know nothing . Birdie’s the same. You’d better follow their lead, or we’ll be parting ways by nightfall. I don’t want you saying one word to that plumber without leave from me. Understand?’
Jem swallowed hard. Then he nodded.
‘Good.’ Alfred picked up one of his boots. ‘Now take that jug next door and see if Mrs Ricketts can spare us a drop o’ hot shaving water . . .’
9
ON THE ROOF
Though Jem had heard of the Holborn Viaduct, he’d never been there. He knew that it had been built, quite recently, across the valley lying between Fetter Lane and Newgate Street. He also knew that it was supported on the back of a remarkable bridge. But when he finally reached this famous bridge, he could see very little of it. From the top, it was just a wide stretch of busy road flanked by iron balustrades and bronze statues.
Jem particularly liked the statues of the four winged lions. The other four statues were of gigantic women wearing bedsheets. They didn’t interest him much. He preferred to look at the women hurrying past them, wrapped in sensible coats and shawls.
He was hoping to see the same woman he’d glimpsed the previous afternoon, near the omnibus stop down the road. He was convinced that, if he spotted this woman again, he’d be able to put a name to her face.
It bothered him that he couldn’t remember who she was.
Buildings were being constructed all around the viaduct, wherever older houses had been knocked down to make way for the new stretch of road. After passing St Sepulchre’s church, heading west, Hugh Purdy pointed to where the Saracen’s Head Inn had once stood. Skinner Street was also gone, he lamented, as was Haberdashers Court, and Turnagain Lane. A railway station was being erected near the bridge, with a grand hotel attached to it.
‘You wouldn’t recognise this place,’ said Purdy, shaking his head as he surveyed all the hoardings and
Alfred scowled as Purdy gave a surprised laugh. ‘He’s a downy one, ain’t he?’ the plumber observed, eyeing Jem with reluctant admiration. ‘The lad bargains like a Thames waterman.’
‘He weren’t raised right,’ said Alfred. Then, having resigned himself to the inevitable, he added, ‘Could you wait for us downstairs, Mr Purdy? I need a minute or so to make meself decent.’
‘Of course! Anything you want, Mr Bunce.’ The plumber’s face creased into a wide, relieved smile. He had very good teeth, Jem noticed. ‘There’s a baker’s shop around the corner. What if I was to stop in and buy us a couple o’ Bath buns for breakfast, while you’re dressing? We could eat ’em on our way.’
Jem didn’t even have to nod; his stomach spoke for him. Alfred muttered something about being very much obliged. Then Hugh Purdy left the room – and Alfred made sure that the door was firmly shut before rounding on Jem, saying, ‘I’ll have no more o’ that, d’you hear?’
‘More o’ what?’
‘Them gammoning, griddling ways you garnered from Sal Pickles. If you can’t be honest, there ain’t no place for you here.’
‘What do you mean?’ Jem was deeply offended. ‘I never tried to gammon nobody! I were haggling, is all.’ ‘You was driving up the price and speaking out o’ turn,’ Alfred snapped. ‘I’ll never take advantage of no desperate soul that’s a-grieving for some lost child. Sal might have, but I ain’t her. And neither are you!’
Jem was assailed by the sudden memory of how he had once helped to rob a woman’s house while she was making her regular, weekly visit to her dead child’s grave. It was a sour and shameful recollection, but he told himself, as he always did, It were Sarah as made me do it. She’s the one as led me astray.
And she deserved to suffer the consequences.
‘Besides which, you ain’t here to talk. You’re here to listen and to learn,’ Alfred was saying. When Jem opened his mouth, the bogler immediately cut him off. ‘Ned’s smart enough to know that he don’t know nothing . Birdie’s the same. You’d better follow their lead, or we’ll be parting ways by nightfall. I don’t want you saying one word to that plumber without leave from me. Understand?’
Jem swallowed hard. Then he nodded.
‘Good.’ Alfred picked up one of his boots. ‘Now take that jug next door and see if Mrs Ricketts can spare us a drop o’ hot shaving water . . .’
9
ON THE ROOF
Though Jem had heard of the Holborn Viaduct, he’d never been there. He knew that it had been built, quite recently, across the valley lying between Fetter Lane and Newgate Street. He also knew that it was supported on the back of a remarkable bridge. But when he finally reached this famous bridge, he could see very little of it. From the top, it was just a wide stretch of busy road flanked by iron balustrades and bronze statues.
Jem particularly liked the statues of the four winged lions. The other four statues were of gigantic women wearing bedsheets. They didn’t interest him much. He preferred to look at the women hurrying past them, wrapped in sensible coats and shawls.
He was hoping to see the same woman he’d glimpsed the previous afternoon, near the omnibus stop down the road. He was convinced that, if he spotted this woman again, he’d be able to put a name to her face.
It bothered him that he couldn’t remember who she was.
Buildings were being constructed all around the viaduct, wherever older houses had been knocked down to make way for the new stretch of road. After passing St Sepulchre’s church, heading west, Hugh Purdy pointed to where the Saracen’s Head Inn had once stood. Skinner Street was also gone, he lamented, as was Haberdashers Court, and Turnagain Lane. A railway station was being erected near the bridge, with a grand hotel attached to it.
‘You wouldn’t recognise this place,’ said Purdy, shaking his head as he surveyed all the hoardings and
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