Read Online Twelve Minutes to Midnight by Christopher Edge - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Christopher Edge
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could tell that this wasn’t an establishment favoured by the aristocracy.
She had to find out what business Jenkins had there. Pulling the cap further down over her face, she stepped towards the door of the tavern. Then she felt a hand grab at her shoulder and a voice whisper in her ear.
“Penny!”
She wheeled in surprise to see Alfie emerging from the shadows.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed. “I told you to follow Bradburn!”
“I did,” Alfie replied. “He’s inside the pub. I was going to follow him, but then I saw Jenkins arriving too.”
He cast a nervous glance over his shoulder at one of the drunks, who had now staggered noisily to his feet. The stumpy man lurched towards them with an outstretched hand, the sleeve of his threadbare brown overcoat flailing as he begged for change.
“Spare us a couple of pennies for a pint,” he slurred.
Penny ignored the man, her gaze firmly fixed on the door to the pub.
“We’ve got to go inside – find out what they’re doing there.”
Alfie shook his head as he looked down at Penelope’s clothes: the fine embroidery embellishing her black cloak with its fur-lined collar and velvet trim. Even though her boots were muddied and worse, they were still recognisably fashionable.
“You can’t go in there looking like that,” he told her. “They’ll spot you straightaway.”
“Drink!” the drunken man demanded as he tugged on Alfie’s arm.
Penny scowled, anxious not to waste any more time on the tavern’s doorstep whilst the answer to Bedlam’s mystery could be uncovered inside.
“So what are we supposed to do?”
IX
The pub was crowded. Dingy red curtains were half-drawn across its small cobwebbed windows, peering like two bloodshot eyes at the darkness within. A motley mob of rivermen, vagrants and thieves thronged the long room, the taller amongst them stooping their heads beneath the low ceiling. A scrum of figures hemmed in the bar at the far end, squeezing their elbows between the empty gin measures, ale quarts and glasses piled up on the metal counter, as they shouted their orders at the barmaid. In reply, her mouth snapped open with a snaggle-toothed leer as she slopped another round of drinks in front of them.
The brim of the cap pulled low over her eyes, Penny looked down at the long brown overcoat she was wearing, her own clothes hidden beneath. It smelled as if something had died inside, but the itch crawling down her back made her fear that something was still alive. Alfie led the way as they pushed through the press of people, grunted mutters of protest impeding their path.
“Where are they?” she hissed in Alfie’s ear, as she stepped over the lolling figure of a pale thin man, his threadbare pockets turned out and emptied.
Before Alfie could answer, Penny felt a hand snake into her own pocket, its fingers grasping in search of a purse. Swiftly turning, she grabbed hold of the hand before it had the chance to slip away. Struggling to free himself, a scrawny boy stared up at Penelope, his eyes filled with defiance.
“Keep your hair on,” he whined, “I didn’t take nothing.”
The boy was only a year or so younger than Penny, the top of his head reaching up to her shoulder. He was dressed in an ill-fitting jacket that hung down to his knees, its bulging pockets hinting at the things he had already pilfered.
“You were trying to rob me,” Penny replied indignantly.
At the sound of her cut-glass accent, the boy started in surprise. He caught a glimpse of the fine embroidery hiding beneath the collar of Penelope’s overcoat.
“You’re a proper bit of frock, aren’t you,” he hissed. “Well, don’t think you can rub me in to the peelers.”
Before Penny had a chance to respond, the boy kicked out, his boot striking her ankle. With a yelp of pain, Penny released her grip on his hand and the boy darted back into the crowd, disappearing amongst the throng of drinkers.
“Are you all right?” asked
She had to find out what business Jenkins had there. Pulling the cap further down over her face, she stepped towards the door of the tavern. Then she felt a hand grab at her shoulder and a voice whisper in her ear.
“Penny!”
She wheeled in surprise to see Alfie emerging from the shadows.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed. “I told you to follow Bradburn!”
“I did,” Alfie replied. “He’s inside the pub. I was going to follow him, but then I saw Jenkins arriving too.”
He cast a nervous glance over his shoulder at one of the drunks, who had now staggered noisily to his feet. The stumpy man lurched towards them with an outstretched hand, the sleeve of his threadbare brown overcoat flailing as he begged for change.
“Spare us a couple of pennies for a pint,” he slurred.
Penny ignored the man, her gaze firmly fixed on the door to the pub.
“We’ve got to go inside – find out what they’re doing there.”
Alfie shook his head as he looked down at Penelope’s clothes: the fine embroidery embellishing her black cloak with its fur-lined collar and velvet trim. Even though her boots were muddied and worse, they were still recognisably fashionable.
“You can’t go in there looking like that,” he told her. “They’ll spot you straightaway.”
“Drink!” the drunken man demanded as he tugged on Alfie’s arm.
Penny scowled, anxious not to waste any more time on the tavern’s doorstep whilst the answer to Bedlam’s mystery could be uncovered inside.
“So what are we supposed to do?”
IX
The pub was crowded. Dingy red curtains were half-drawn across its small cobwebbed windows, peering like two bloodshot eyes at the darkness within. A motley mob of rivermen, vagrants and thieves thronged the long room, the taller amongst them stooping their heads beneath the low ceiling. A scrum of figures hemmed in the bar at the far end, squeezing their elbows between the empty gin measures, ale quarts and glasses piled up on the metal counter, as they shouted their orders at the barmaid. In reply, her mouth snapped open with a snaggle-toothed leer as she slopped another round of drinks in front of them.
The brim of the cap pulled low over her eyes, Penny looked down at the long brown overcoat she was wearing, her own clothes hidden beneath. It smelled as if something had died inside, but the itch crawling down her back made her fear that something was still alive. Alfie led the way as they pushed through the press of people, grunted mutters of protest impeding their path.
“Where are they?” she hissed in Alfie’s ear, as she stepped over the lolling figure of a pale thin man, his threadbare pockets turned out and emptied.
Before Alfie could answer, Penny felt a hand snake into her own pocket, its fingers grasping in search of a purse. Swiftly turning, she grabbed hold of the hand before it had the chance to slip away. Struggling to free himself, a scrawny boy stared up at Penelope, his eyes filled with defiance.
“Keep your hair on,” he whined, “I didn’t take nothing.”
The boy was only a year or so younger than Penny, the top of his head reaching up to her shoulder. He was dressed in an ill-fitting jacket that hung down to his knees, its bulging pockets hinting at the things he had already pilfered.
“You were trying to rob me,” Penny replied indignantly.
At the sound of her cut-glass accent, the boy started in surprise. He caught a glimpse of the fine embroidery hiding beneath the collar of Penelope’s overcoat.
“You’re a proper bit of frock, aren’t you,” he hissed. “Well, don’t think you can rub me in to the peelers.”
Before Penny had a chance to respond, the boy kicked out, his boot striking her ankle. With a yelp of pain, Penny released her grip on his hand and the boy darted back into the crowd, disappearing amongst the throng of drinkers.
“Are you all right?” asked
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