Free The Cockney Sparrow by Dilly Court Page B

floor whisking dust out of sight beneath the dresser.
    Augustus rose to his feet and struck a pose. ‘It might make a striking contrast – the street urchin, a cockney sparrow – singing a duet with my fragile flower.’
    ‘Fragile flower, my eye,’ Fancy muttered beneath her breath.
    Clemency couldn’t help agreeing with her. From what she had seen of Miss Lucilla, fragile and flower-like were not the words she would have used to describe the spoilt little barrel of lard. But she would work with the devil himself if it gave them a roof over their head. She eyed Augustus cautiously. ‘So you’ll take me on then?’
    ‘A trial period of one week should be ample time to see if our takings increase.’
    ‘And I gets board and lodging?’
    ‘You may share a room with Lucilla, although you will have to sleep on the floor.’
    Fancy sniggered and then turned it into a cough. Clemency ignored her. She stood up, clasping her hands in front of her. ‘I needs a room of me own, Mr Throop, sir.’
    ‘Impossible.’
    ‘But – but I snore something terrible, sir.’ Clemency shot a warning look at Fancy, who turned away with her shoulders shaking silently. ‘I couldn’t deprive the young lady of her sleep, now could I?’
    Augustus stroked his chin, frowning. ‘I can hardly put you in with the men – that wouldn’t be seemly, as Mrs Blunt so aptly puts it.’ He turned his head to stare thoughtfully at Fancy. ‘I don’t suppose …’
    ‘Don’t look at me. I’d sooner share with a pig,’ Fancy said, waving the besom at him. ‘Anyhow, I’m just a skivvy. I sleeps on a mat by the fire, in case you hadn’t noticed, guv.’
    ‘A room of me own, sir,’ Clemency repeated. ‘Or I shall have to take up the offer of the other lot what offered me a job.’ She had no idea if there were any more bands of street entertainers, but it was worth a try.
    Augustus stared at her in horror. ‘They made you an offer? They were trespassing on my territory?’
    Clemency nodded.
    ‘A room you shall have. I’ll go and find Mrs Blunt and arrange it right away.’
    The room that Mrs Blunt allocated to Clemency was little more than a large cupboard at the rear of the kitchen. A small window set high in the wall, with a pigeon’s-eye view of the area steps, allowed in just enough light to reveal the outline of objects stacked against the brick walls, and a half-glassed door led out into the area. The floor space had been used to store mops and brooms, buckets and articles that were disused, but might come in useful later, together with sacks of flour and potatoes. Rats and mice had obviously been nibbling at the hessian, creating gaping holes and leaving telltale paw prints in the dust. Clemency’s heart sank as she gazed round theroom; it looked like a junkyard. The air was thick with dust and the putrid smell of rotten potatoes, but it was not as damp as the basement room in Stew Lane, and was free from the stench of rising sewage. It would have to do until she could find better accommodation.
    Mrs Blunt ordered Fancy to seek alternative cupboard space for the useful articles, and to sweep up the mouse droppings and the dried carapaces of dead cockroaches. Fancy obliged, grumbling all the while beneath her breath, and making it clear whom she blamed for causing her the extra work. Clemency was left to heft the sacks into the kitchen, which Mrs Blunt said would be a better storage place anyway, as it would be more difficult for the rats and mice to get at them.
    ‘You’ll have to share with the rats,’ Fancy whispered, as Clemency dragged the last sack of potatoes into the kitchen. ‘I bet it won’t be the first time you’ve slept with a rat, Miss Sparrow.’
    Clemency tossed her head. ‘I’d rather sleep with a dozen rats than share with you, ferret-face.’
    ‘Sparrow-legs.’
    Clemency did not dignify this with a retort. She was much too worried about Jack and Ma, waiting outside in the freezing cold, wondering whether