comfort,’ he said, sitting down heavily in his chair.
‘Aunt Jay, she was outside the window,’ Josie stammered. ‘I thought she was going to come in!’
‘Don’t worry, girl,’ said Gimlet. She ran to him and he put an arm round her. ‘I’ll keep you safe, but I think we’d better move you.’
‘Move me? Where to?’ Josie said, grabbing Gimlet’s sleeve. She saw Gimlet give a sly grin and she backed away. ‘Oh no! Not back to that bumbling old man. And as for that awful boy . . . The only way you’ll get me back there is in a box!’
‘Just what I had in mind,’ Gimlet said, starting forward.
‘No, Gimlet, I can’t! I hate boxes,’ Josie said, staring at the coffin that lay on Gimlet’s handcart.
‘Look outside,’ Gimlet said, laying a hand on her shoulder. The grey sky was hardening, the brief twilight silhouetting the rooftops. But clearly visible in the gloom were rooks, ravens and crows thronging the slates, all bickering and flapping for space. Josie could hardly see the roof tiles for feathers. ‘Now it might just be me, but I reckon those birds are keeping watch on us for the Aunts. We were lucky this morning, but what better cover than Gimlet taking a few caskets to an undertaker’s?’
Josie grimaced, and reluctantly clambered into the rough wooden box and lay down. Gimlet lowered the lid. The darkness and closeness of the rough wooden sides pressed in on her. There were a couple of bumps as Gimlet placed some other boxes on top and then her stomach gave a lurch as the handcart jolted into movement.
The air in the box became colder. Josie could hear the noises of the street: costermongers selling off the last of their goods before the end of the day, snatches of conversation between passers-by. She bumped and rolled around, scraping knees and elbows as the handcart bounced over cobble and kerbstone. Josie crossed her hands over her chest to stop them from banging against the sides.
She tried to distract herself from the crushing prison of the box. Thoughts and images tumbled over in her head – Alfie sneering at her, the corpse rearing up . . . Cardamom had said Alfie could help her but he seemed beyond awful. I wasn’t exactly friendly , she admitted to herself. But then, he was rude to me! Perhaps she’d been too hard on him. If he could help her, then maybe she needed to give him a second chance.
The bone-numbing ride trundled on. Josie squeezed her eyes tight shut. Her breathing became shallower. She wanted to scream and kick her way out of the box. She whimpered and curled up as best she could, trying to remember how long it had taken her to get to Seven Dials last time.
‘We’re here,’ Gimlet’s muffled voice broke through the darkness. ‘Wait until we’re inside before you make a move.’
More bumping and the cart tipped, sending Josie rolling to the side. She heard Gimlet grunt and then she flew to the other side of the box, banging her head. Just wait until I get out , she thought angrily .
‘Mr Gimlet, again,’ Josie heard Wiggins say in surprise. ‘I don’t remember ordering any caskets . . .’
‘Forgive me, Mr Wiggins,’ Gimlet said. Josie heard the other boxes on top of hers being lifted. ‘You can have these, but I have a favour to ask of you.’
Even the yellow gaslight of Wiggins’s shop dazzled Josie as she raised the lid, sat up and peered about.
‘That is the last time I do that, Gimlet.’ Josie rubbed her temples and winced. ‘Did you have to be so rough?’
Wiggins pressed his spectacles to his face and craned his neck forward. ‘Well, I never,’ he began. But Gimlet took his elbow and manoeuvred him to one side as Josie climbed out of the box and leapt to the floor.
‘I do apologise, sir. We find ourselves in a dire situation.’ Gimlet lowered his voice and began to explain. Josie stood massaging life back into her arms and legs. Every now and then, Wiggins would turn round from his conspiratorial huddle with Gimlet and frown
‘Aunt Jay, she was outside the window,’ Josie stammered. ‘I thought she was going to come in!’
‘Don’t worry, girl,’ said Gimlet. She ran to him and he put an arm round her. ‘I’ll keep you safe, but I think we’d better move you.’
‘Move me? Where to?’ Josie said, grabbing Gimlet’s sleeve. She saw Gimlet give a sly grin and she backed away. ‘Oh no! Not back to that bumbling old man. And as for that awful boy . . . The only way you’ll get me back there is in a box!’
‘Just what I had in mind,’ Gimlet said, starting forward.
‘No, Gimlet, I can’t! I hate boxes,’ Josie said, staring at the coffin that lay on Gimlet’s handcart.
‘Look outside,’ Gimlet said, laying a hand on her shoulder. The grey sky was hardening, the brief twilight silhouetting the rooftops. But clearly visible in the gloom were rooks, ravens and crows thronging the slates, all bickering and flapping for space. Josie could hardly see the roof tiles for feathers. ‘Now it might just be me, but I reckon those birds are keeping watch on us for the Aunts. We were lucky this morning, but what better cover than Gimlet taking a few caskets to an undertaker’s?’
Josie grimaced, and reluctantly clambered into the rough wooden box and lay down. Gimlet lowered the lid. The darkness and closeness of the rough wooden sides pressed in on her. There were a couple of bumps as Gimlet placed some other boxes on top and then her stomach gave a lurch as the handcart jolted into movement.
The air in the box became colder. Josie could hear the noises of the street: costermongers selling off the last of their goods before the end of the day, snatches of conversation between passers-by. She bumped and rolled around, scraping knees and elbows as the handcart bounced over cobble and kerbstone. Josie crossed her hands over her chest to stop them from banging against the sides.
She tried to distract herself from the crushing prison of the box. Thoughts and images tumbled over in her head – Alfie sneering at her, the corpse rearing up . . . Cardamom had said Alfie could help her but he seemed beyond awful. I wasn’t exactly friendly , she admitted to herself. But then, he was rude to me! Perhaps she’d been too hard on him. If he could help her, then maybe she needed to give him a second chance.
The bone-numbing ride trundled on. Josie squeezed her eyes tight shut. Her breathing became shallower. She wanted to scream and kick her way out of the box. She whimpered and curled up as best she could, trying to remember how long it had taken her to get to Seven Dials last time.
‘We’re here,’ Gimlet’s muffled voice broke through the darkness. ‘Wait until we’re inside before you make a move.’
More bumping and the cart tipped, sending Josie rolling to the side. She heard Gimlet grunt and then she flew to the other side of the box, banging her head. Just wait until I get out , she thought angrily .
‘Mr Gimlet, again,’ Josie heard Wiggins say in surprise. ‘I don’t remember ordering any caskets . . .’
‘Forgive me, Mr Wiggins,’ Gimlet said. Josie heard the other boxes on top of hers being lifted. ‘You can have these, but I have a favour to ask of you.’
Even the yellow gaslight of Wiggins’s shop dazzled Josie as she raised the lid, sat up and peered about.
‘That is the last time I do that, Gimlet.’ Josie rubbed her temples and winced. ‘Did you have to be so rough?’
Wiggins pressed his spectacles to his face and craned his neck forward. ‘Well, I never,’ he began. But Gimlet took his elbow and manoeuvred him to one side as Josie climbed out of the box and leapt to the floor.
‘I do apologise, sir. We find ourselves in a dire situation.’ Gimlet lowered his voice and began to explain. Josie stood massaging life back into her arms and legs. Every now and then, Wiggins would turn round from his conspiratorial huddle with Gimlet and frown
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