Read Online Brightling by Rebecca Lisle - Free Book Online Page B

looking around – but maybe he was too exhausted to give her a sign?
    She followed Glori into a hallway paved with large black and white tiles – most of which were broken – and bare walls where the plaster had cracked and fallen off, exposing old red bricks and dust. A steep wooden staircase went up to the floor above. A girl’s grinning face peered down at them, her long hair dangling over the banisters. Her clothes seemed to glow with a pale light as she stood there in the dark, so for a second or two Sparrow imagined she was looking at a ghost.
    â€˜Who’s that with you, Glori?’ the ghost, who was not a ghost, called down.
    â€˜Wait and see!’ Glori called back.
    She pulled Sparrow up the wide staircase and then up another flight and another. ‘Don’t worry!’ Glori said, grinning at her. ‘It’s fine.’
    Sparrow tried to smile. Why would they need a hideout, unless they were doing something against the law? Why did I come? Why did I trust her? she thought. But still she followed Glori up the stairs, because the idea of being alone out there in the town was too bleak to contemplate. Glori was kind; she was the only person she knew; she was her only hope.
    A strong smell of sulphur, a burning sharpness, caught in her throat as she went up the final flight of stairs, then it was gone. Scaramouch winced at the smell and turned his head this way and that, sniffing the air.
    â€˜Here they are!’ the ghostly girl with the long hair yelled from the doorway.
    Glori led Sparrow into a large attic room that stretched right across the top of the old building. Massive beams joined overhead in a lattice pattern and formed wooden pillars supporting the roof. It was a vast space – hot and smelly, noisy and bright.
    The noise was made by girls – about ten of them, Sparrow guessed as she looked around – but not like the girls in the Home who had to remain silent most of the time. These girls were giggling and chatting as they lounged around on their beds and chairs. They wore red, orange, pink and green, not orphanage grey. The Home had always been cold, but here a massive fire burned in the ornate fireplace and it was cosy. And there were mirrors everywhere – none were allowed at the Home except one small one in the bathroom, and that had been cracked – probably by Miss Knip looking in it. Pots of flowers and greenery filled every free shelf. Two giant windows, one at either end of the room, looked out on the surrounding rooftops: all sloping terracotta tiles and tall, black chimneystacks.
    The other girls left what they were doing to come and gawp at Sparrow. Glori led her to the fireplace, where a slender woman sat perched on a pink chaise longue, flicking through a magazine. She was in her mid-twenties, Sparrow guessed, and was wearing a bright yellow dress that fitted her tightly. She wore shiny black boots with high heels; Sparrow had never seen anything like them. Rows of silver and gold chains glittered around her neck. Her hair was very blonde – almost white – and with a high gloss, like polished metal. She wore it neatly folded and pinned at the back of her head. She had dangling earrings and her lips were full and glistening, like wet murgberries.
    Sparrow fixed on her and stared open-mouthed.
    â€˜Who is this? Whom have you brought to see us, Gloriana?’ the woman in yellow said, smiling vacantly. ‘What delightful creature is this in our midst?’ She looked at Sparrow with mild interest, frowning as she took in her grubby clothes, her big old boots, the huge cat. ‘A girl? Is it a new girl?’
    There was something odd about her. Her manner was offhand and she spoke without seeming to connect to what she said, Sparrow thought.
    â€˜Is that what it is, Gloriana?’ she went on.
    â€˜This is Sparrow, Miss Minter,’ Glori said. ‘She’s an orphan,’ she added with a wink, ‘and