Watford

 

 

IT SEEMED TO Eveline almost unbearably noisy and crowded, an endless, shouting, roaring muddle of people and carriages and factories, roars and rattles and bangs. Trees stood at regimented intervals along the pavement – sad, bumpy, amputated things – and the houses were shoulder-to-shoulder like toy soldiers crammed in a box.

Uncle James’s house was large and broad with great imposing windows that seemed to frown down on the passers-by. Its bricks were a shade between mustard and dried blood. Two grey stone lions sat bolt upright and snarling on the gateposts, each with one front paw resting on the upper rim of a blank shield. Dark laurel, with its hard, shiny leaves and bitter dusty bark, grew along the drive.

“I don’t like it,” Eveline declared, matching the house glare for glare.

“Be good, Eveline,” Mama said. “We must be grateful to Uncle James for taking us in.”

“I want to go home.”

“This is home now, my poppet.”

 

 

A SERVANT LET them in, and they stood in the high chilly entrance hall, which smelled of what Eveline later realised was Uncle James: his pomade, his expensive coats that were always a little too tight so that he sweated even more, his reeking, fussing, overpowering self.

He eventually emerged to greet them. His big red face, with its blobby nose, made him look rather like a giant baby. He moved with something of a baby’s awkwardness, and creaked when he bent. “Well, well,” he boomed. “Here we all are.” He made no move to embrace his sister, nor she him. “Jacobs will show you to your rooms,” he said. “I’ve arranged for dinner to be brought up to you.”

“Thank you, James,” Eveline’s mother said. Her voice was flat and weary.

They were tucked away into a small gloomy chamber near the top of the house. Mama had looked at it when they moved in, and sighed, and then simply started to put their things away as best she could. Many of them went into a bare-floored dusty room which seemed to be used mainly for storing broken chairs. “He’d have put us in servants’ rooms, if not for fear people would talk,” she said, one day, in that absent way she did when she forgot Eveline was there. It happened more often now, and later she would scoop Eveline into a hug and tell her she was her precious girl and that Mama was sorry, sorry to be such a dreadful neglectful mother, and that she would do better.

Mama seemed to have got smaller since Papa died, and smaller still since they had moved to this big strange house. She was reduced and sad and frightened.

Eveline didn’t know what Mama was frightened of. Perhaps the angels. Sometimes Eveline woke up in the night and stared fiercely into the darkness, daring the angels to come and try and take Mama or Charlotte. She planned traps for them in her head, and even built one out of boxes and broom handles, but they never came. She wasn’t afraid they would take her, she knew she was too naughty for angels to come for her. They only came for good people. The village women with their bonnets and sharp noses had told her so.

She didn’t think they would come for Uncle James either, because Uncle James was horrid. He was big and loud and always in the middle of things, usually talking about something in a loud voice, about Important things he had done and Important people he had met and Important things he had said to them. He did something to do with the Town, which was very Important, but other people did not seem to realise how Important he was.

Conversation at meals, and before them, and after them, was dominated by Uncle James talking about how he had told people things and they had not listened, and how they would, mark his words, regret it. And how he had been passed over.

Eveline imagined that passed over meant Uncle James being handed like a big sack from one person to another, like pass-the-parcel, and thought perhaps that was his job. She even tried to explain it to Charlotte, how Uncle James got passed from someone to someone else, and that if they held onto him long enough to listen to what he was saying, then they won. She thought the other people in the Town offices must have very strong arms.

Charlotte only stared and gurgled. Mama, on the other hand, hovering in the doorway, had gulped, and her face had wrestled with itself, until she lost and laughed as Eveline had not heard her laugh since Papa died. She had told Eveline, as sternly as she could while laughing, that she must never talk about Uncle James that way. Eveline had disobeyed, but she had only talked about Uncle James and his job as the Parcel when Mama could hear. Making Mama laugh had become Eveline’s job.

A few streets away were the mills. Hundreds of workers passed every day, going to and from their shifts. The first time Eveline heard them she woke in the night, thinking that the river had burst its banks and was rushing past their doors, and had peered out of the window to see, instead, a river of people shuffling along in the predawn darkness, like ghosts that had lost their way.

Eveline was not allowed outside alone as she had been at home, so instead, she explored the house. She ventured into the other rooms, which felt very tall and chilly after the cottage, and were full of heavily carved furniture upholstered in dark red velvet. All the tables had the oddest feet, like the claws of birds clutching a ball, and everywhere were photographs of solemn heavy-chinned people in elaborate frames and candelabras of brass or glass with hanging crystals and maps and paintings of piles of dead birds or overdressed men on fat horses or soppy-looking girls making sheep’s-eyes at skinny men in armour. It was a great deal bigger than the cottage, but despite the height and the cold it felt stuffy, as though all those things somehow tangled up the air and stopped it moving about.

Eveline missed home, with its chairs still dented by her father’s weight, and the space by the fireplace which was just big enough for her and a book, and her mother’s workroom, and her father’s fossils, and the shaggy garden with its snuffling hedgehogs and its secret treasures of raspberries and currants and sweet apples. Uncle James’s garden was a gravel path and a statue of a rather silly-looking young man standing in what looked to Eveline like a thoroughly uncomfortable position, and two stiff rows of rosebushes, with flowers no-one was allowed to pick.

She missed the woods most of all.

She became extremely good at getting into rooms she was not supposed to be in, and hiding from the servants in the smallest and most unlikely of spaces once she got there. The guest-rooms were dull, once she had bounced on the beds and explored the drawers, finding nothing but spare unused linens tucked away with lavender bags. The servants’ rooms held only the few clothes they owned that weren’t uniforms, a few photographs in cheap frames, spare shoes, and here and there a sprig of St John’s Wort to keep off the Folk. Eveline thought it must be working, since she’d seen not a sign of them since she arrived. She missed the little mischievous fairies and the funny rude goblins and the strange beautiful nixies. She missed Aiden too. She still had the crystal, but she seldom wore it. It lived in her box of precious things, and sometimes she stroked it and wondered, when life was especially dull or miserable, whether to call on Aiden for help, but it never seemed that things were quite bad enough.

Uncle James’s dressing room was smelly, but oddly fascinating. He had a great many pots and bottles of things with pictures of smiling gentlemen on them which proclaimed themselves to be Tonics or Elixirs or Revitalising Lotions. Some of them smelled very nice indeed, and Eveline would dip a finger into them and rub them on her skin and pretend she had been invited to a party.

One day the manservant came in while she was there, and Eveline scooted under the chaise that stood against one wall. Here, she discovered a mysterious box which proved, rather disappointingly, to contain a couple of corsets, like Mama’s, only a great deal bigger and without any lace on them. She asked Mama why Uncle James had corsets, and was told that it was to keep his stomach in. “Like the old Prince Regent,” Mama said, smiling. “Now you mustn’t mention them, my dear. He thinks no-one knows, for all he creaks like a ship at sea. Always vain, my brother. If he’d only use his legs instead of his carriage, and eat a little less, there’d be no need for them... but there.”

Though the kitchen smelled inviting, Eveline rarely ventured there after the first time. The cook had a large nose and big hands and a skinny face with flaring patches of red on his cheekbones, as though he had been slapped.

A girl barely older than Eveline was hastily peeling carrots. There were potatoes piled next to her and apples beyond them. Amidst all that food, she looked hungry.

The cook turned from the roast he was preparing, saw Eveline and snapped, “This is no place for you! Girl, take her back to her mama.”

The girl flinched and the knife slid off the carrot and into her finger, blood welling dark.

“Clumsy chit!” The cook aimed a slap at her head, then grabbed the girl’s shoulder and propelled her towards Eveline. “Take her out of my kitchen. And no hanging about and gossiping above stairs.”

The girl ducked past Eveline, clutching her wounded finger to her chest. Eveline turned to the cook. “You’re horrid. You’re a horrid man. The angels won’t come for you.”

He turned back to the stove, muttering about paupers and hangers-on. Eveline wondered what a hanger-on was. It sounded like somebody trying not to fall off something, holding on as best they could.

Perhaps he meant her mother. Eveline understood in some dim way that that was what Mama was doing, just hanging on, as best she could.

She wanted Mama happy again. She knew what had made Mama happy before, but Mama was not working; the sounds were all silent, wrapped up in cloth and dust. So one day Eveline had gone rummaging about among their things from the cottage, unwrapping baby clothes that Charlotte had grown out of and her own old toys, shoving them aside impatiently, until a dial beamed up at her from among its wrappings like a friendly face made of numbers.

She had always been told that the mechanisms were very delicate, and must be handled with the greatest respect. She was afraid to get them out in case she broke something. She sat on the dusty floor – the maids never bothered with this part – and thought.

There was a flicker of movement at the corner of her vision, and there, sitting up, looking at her, as though it was waiting to be noticed, was a mouse.

Eveline looked at the mouse. Then she tore bits of the wrapping away in a nibbled-looking way, and made a hole in some of Charlotte’s old baby clothes with her teeth, and went and told Mama that mice were getting into their things.

And Mama had gone and looked and had seen the dial and had pulled out the mechanism from its wrappings. It was a small rosewood box with tiny brass levers, and on its top a little thing like a rabbit’s ear made of wire which when the box was wound moved from side to side. Eveline remembered the sound it made, a sweet high note that swooped and rose, swooped and rose, and always made her smile.

Mama had turned the box in her hands for a long time, then she had gone to the room next to where they slept and cleared some of the folded clothes from the long table that stood at one end.

It was a battered, stained table, but Mama didn’t care. “Look, Evvie. Solid as a rock,” she said, shoving it with her hand. She set the little ormolu clock Papa had given her on the table, and began to unpack the rest.

Eveline sat happily surrounded by familiar things, drawing traps for angels on a sketchpad, as the dim room filled with the sounds she remembered, soft and subtle and magical sounds, intermingled with the scratching of Mama’s pen as she made notes and occasional soft exclamations of pleasure or frustration.

The clock chimed the hour. “Now, Eveline, that will do,” Mama said. “It is time I took you both out.”

And so it went on for a few months. Mama would work for an hour, then she would take the girls out or teach Eveline some history or nature, or read them both a story. Eveline grew out of her clothes, and Mama, frowning and muttering, lengthened them and let them out.

One day Eveline found her with one of her own dresses, a pretty primrose-coloured silk, laid out on her lap, squinting as she unpicked the seams. “Do you need your dress let out, Mama?”

“No, my love, I’m going to alter this for you.”

“Oh. But what will you do?”

“I’ve other dresses, Eveline. And who is to care what I wear nowadays?” For a moment she looked lost and grey. “Not even me,” she said, quietly, to the crumpled silk in her lap.

Eveline, not understanding but knowing only that Mama was sad, put her arms around her.

Mama was no dressmaker, and the dress bagged in places and was too tight in others, but Eveline primped and danced in it for Mama and managed to make her smile, though it was a trembling smile and when Mama hugged her she whispered fiercely in her ear, “I will do right by you, Eveline. I will, I promise.”

Mama kept the sounds of her work very quiet, and most of the time they were drowned out anywhere but her own room by the constant roar and pounding of the nearby factories. But of course, eventually the rest of the house noticed.

Uncle James hauled his bulk up to their rooms to see what Mama was doing. He poked at her papers and asked her questions.

Mama, pleased and excited, alive again, had shown him everything.

And for a while Uncle James had gone quiet and thoughtful and had smiled at Mama and Eveline and even Charlotte, whose existence he normally completely ignored.

 

 

SCRAPS OF CONVERSATIONS, arguments. “James, of course I am grateful for your assistance, but...”

“Madeleine, you do realise that if anyone should happen to think that you have been concentrating on these things and been neglectful...”

That word, that word which always made Mama fearful and quiet. “I would never neglect my girls, James. Never.”

Sometimes Uncle James’s friends came to the house. Eveline peeked through the bannisters at the men in black and white, like magpies, and the ladies in their huge-skirted dresses, floating like great water-lilies. Good smells drifted up the stairs along with their voices. At first Eveline liked these parties, even though she was not allowed to attend; it was good to hear the house fill up with the sounds of other people, and interesting to watch them all. There was the thin stooped man with the long sad face who she thought of as the Crow, because he walked along just that way, with his hands behind his back, his head dipping with every step. The Sugar Lady, always dressed in pale sweet colours, always smiling and tilting her head so her soft brown ringlets danced and fluttering her pale hands. The Dog Man, who had a bristly moustache that made her think of terriers, who snapped out his words, yapyapyap, making people laugh, and the Sugar Lady would rap his wrist with her fan.

The second time she saw Dog Man he looked up, right to where she was hiding behind the bannisters. She drew back, but she knew he had seen her.

But there was no punishment, no summons to Uncle James’s study. So the next time there was a party she risked it again, and this time, Dog Man looked for her on purpose, and winked.

It became a little game of smiles and expressions. She began to look forward to his visits. Apart from Mama, there were no grown-ups to take her the least bit seriously, or treat her as anything other than a nuisance or extra work. Dog Man seemed to like seeing her there.

Mama, on the other hand, hated these parties.

“James, please. I am happy to eat in my rooms.”

“Madeleine, they will say I am keeping you locked in the attic. Don’t be foolish. Come down. And do try to make yourself presentable.”

“But the girls...”

“Surely you don’t expect me to allow children at the table? And besides, I am sure Eveline can watch her sister for a few hours. Can’t you, Eveline?”

Eveline looked from one to the other. If she said yes, Mama would have to go to the party. If she said no, Uncle James would talk again about how she was ill-disciplined and should be sent away to school. She had a deep terror of being sent away from Mama and Charlotte. The angels might come for them while she wasn’t there to watch. Or other bad things, things she did not know the names of, things that hung like ghosts in the shadows of the house, might happen to them.

“I can watch her, Mama. Go to the party. You can tell us all about it afterwards.”

Mama’s face twitched, and then she smiled. “Very well.”

“Tell me what Do – the man with the moustache says to make everyone laugh so.”

“Oh, that’s Everard Poole. I think his jokes are too sophisticated for young ladies!” James said, pleased and expansive now he had got his way. “Well, well, must go and check on things, lots to do!”

What he had to do Eveline didn’t know, since it was the maids who cleaned and the cook who cooked and his man who sent out the invitations (she had sneaked into his study and seen the cards, written out in the manservant’s neat, careful, rather square hand, instead of Uncle James’s blotchy sprawl).

“Make myself presentable,” Mama said, scowling at the mirror. “I believe your Uncle is hoping to marry me off, Eveline. Let us disabuse him of that notion, shall we?” She put on one of the black mourning dresses she had stopped wearing a month ago, which was now too big and had never suited her to begin with, and twisted her hair up into a rigid bun. She pinned a large, ugly mourning brooch Purple-Bonnet had given her to the front of her dress. “There. Do I look sufficiently discouraging?”

Eveline giggled. “You look like a witch, Mama.”

“Perfect. Be good, darling, and remember Charlotte’s posset.”

Charlotte had a weak chest, and as the weather got colder, had to be given hot possets and flannels, to stop her coughing. Eveline had got tired of asking the beastly cook to do it, since he always made a great fuss as though it was a huge trouble for him. She watched him make it until she worked out how to do it herself, and did so, now, when he was out of the way.

Eveline struggled to stay awake until Mama came upstairs, but ended up asleep on the floor next to Charlotte’s cot, when she felt herself picked up, and tucked into bed.

Mama stroked her cheek, and got into bed herself.

“Mama? Was it a nice party?”

“Not very, Eveline. But it’s over. Go to sleep now.”

She had hoped to hear about Dog Man, but before she could ask, she fell asleep again.

 

 

EVELINE WAS STRUGGLING with some figures Mama had set her to do. She tried not to interrupt when Mama was working, but Uncle James had no such qualms. Eveline could hear them arguing again, through the wall.

“If you present it yourself, even if your name is on it, Madeleine, you can imagine the reaction.”

“But it’s my work, James.”

“Of course it is, my dear, but it might cause... well, questions. Not only the fault, but even the appearance of the fault should be avoided. Caesar’s wife, you know... or sister, in this case, must be above suspicion.”

Uncle James had left the house in a temper, to go to one of his meetings.

“Mama, who’s Caesar?”

“Darling, have you been listening at doors? You know that’s not proper.”

“I wasn’t listening, I just heard. Who’s Caesar?”

“A very important man in olden times.”

“Oh. Important like Uncle James?”

“Uncle James certainly thinks so. Darling, are you happy here?”

“I’d rather be at home.”

“Oh, my dear, so would I, but there’s no money, you see. But you don’t mind Mama doing some work, do you?”

“I like it when you work. I like the sounds. They make me happy. And Charlotte hardly ever cries when you’re working, especially when you have that thing on, with the rabbit-ear on top, and the other one, the pretty box with the brass handle that goes whoom.”

“It’s true, isn’t it? She doesn’t.” Mama paused, holding a pencil in the air, and staring at Charlotte. Then she nodded vigorously and made notes in one of her books. “Thank you, darling, that’s very helpful.”

Over the next few weeks she worked harder than ever, waking with the maids and going back to her workroom after she’d put the girls to bed. One night she came in while Eveline was still awake, and was humming to herself under her breath, something she hadn’t done for a very long time.

“Mama?” she whispered.

“Oh, did I wake you, my pet?”

“No, Mama. Has something happened?”

“Yes, poppet. Something has. Your mama has made a breakthrough. It’s the combination of sounds, that’s what does it. The right combination. Oh, my pet, we’re finally getting somewhere.”

And for a little while, Mama had a lighter step and a brighter eye. But Uncle James’s voice came through the wall more often, loud and bullying.

Then one day Eveline saw some of Mama’s devices being loaded into Uncle James’s carriage. “Mama, why is Uncle James taking your things? Don’t let him!”

“Now, Eveline, it’s all right. I’ve given my work to Uncle James for him to get people to look at, important people who might give some money for more equipment and things I need. Do you understand?”

“Then they’ll know how clever you are, and give you money, and we can go home and not live with Uncle James any more?”

“Well, no. They’ll think Uncle James is clever. He’s not giving them my name.”

Eveline had frowned, so hard she felt the tension in her forehead. “Why?”

Mama’s head drooped and she rubbed her eyes as though she were very tired. “Because it’s the way of the world, my darling. Now, never mind, let’s go for a walk. We could all do with some air.”

The only place that was nice to walk was all the way out of town, where the houses petered out among fields and woods. Charlotte could hardly toddle more than a few steps, so they took her in the baby carriage, and she squinted at the sunlight and tried to grab butterflies out of the air, and Mama smiled at her, but – for almost the whole walk – said nothing at all. It was only when they were rattling along the pavement back towards the tall stony house that she said, “Eveline, you mustn’t mention this to anyone, you understand? About my work, and Uncle James. If you do, you might get Mama in trouble. And if Mama gets into trouble, they might take you away from me, you and Charlotte. So you must be good, and never speak of this, not to Uncle James or anyone.”

“Yes, Mama.”

 

 

SOMETIMES EVELINE TOOK out the crystal that Aiden had given her, and dangled it from her fingers. He had said he would come if she really wanted him.

“What’s that?” Mama said.

“Aiden gave it to me. Remember?”

“Oh, yes. Yes, I’d forgotten. There aren’t any Folk here, are there? I think they dislike the factories. Certainly the noise, maybe the smells too. Do you miss him, Eveline?”

“Sometimes,” Eveline said. But that made Mama look sad, so she put the crystal away and didn’t mention it again.

It wasn’t the volume of the next argument that sent Eveline creeping out of their room and pressing her ear to the door of the workroom; it was the tone. She had never heard Mama sound quite so angry.

“James. What is happening to my work? What are you planning?”

“Don’t be silly, my dear, I’m doing exactly what we discussed.”

“I saw the notes. This is not what I intended and you know it! It was never meant for such a use!”

“Only because you did not have the imagination, the... drive to see it as I see it. You may have contributed to the research...”

“Contributed? James, it is my research.”

“But it is the application that will gain recognition. All these factory disputes, workers demanding this, that and the other thing – it’s a disgrace, and bad for the country. Something that could encourage good, productive behaviour, though... well, it’s just what the doctor ordered!”

Eveline heard her mother use a voice that she had never before heard, a voice so cold, and so full of something terrible, that it barely sounded like Mama at all.

“James, that would be an utter perversion of everything I have worked for. I will write to the Royal Society myself. I will not permit this.”

“Madeleine, that would be very foolish.”

“Please leave my room, James.”

“I remind you that it is not your room. You – and your daughters – are living in my house, on my generosity.”

“And in return, you plan to steal my work and turn it into this... this abomination! I will not have it, James. If I have to leave and take the girls with me, I will do so. We will make our way. Now please leave.”

Charlotte woke and started to whimper. Eveline crept out of bed and went to Charlotte’s cot, where she was sitting up, her eyes huge in her chubby face, her breath hitching on the verge of sobs. “Hush, now,” Eveline said. With some effort, she lifted Charlotte out of the cot. “Hush. Mama... Mama is just playing a game. A special one for night-time. Let’s play our own. Pat-a-cake!”

She held Charlotte on her lap, warm and solid, and played pat-a-cake with her, one ear cocked for any more sounds from the other room.

But there was silence. Mama would be coming to bed soon – Eveline didn’t know what time it was, but it felt late – and would be upset if they were still awake.

Charlotte’s head was already drooping again. Eveline hauled her into the cot and got back into the bed she shared with Mama. She shut her eyes so Mama would think she was asleep. She heard the door open and close, but no-one came in, and eventually pretended sleep became real.

The next morning Mama was not in her bed. Eveline left the room quietly, so as not to wake Charlotte, and crept along in her nightgown to the workroom. Mama was seated at the table, writing.

“Mama?”

Mama jolted, the pen in her hand spattering ink. “Oh, Evvie!”

“Are you writing a letter, Mama?”

“Yes. Yes, I am. To the Royal Society, though I don’t know it will do much good.” Mama’s hair was coming down from its pins, and she looked terribly tired. “Once I’m done I shall take a walk and post it. Would you like to come with me?”

“It’s raining.”

“Yes, it is, isn’t it? Never mind, I shall go on my own; I don’t want you or Charlotte to catch cold.”

“You’ve dropped some of your papers, Mama.” Eveline could see a triangle of paper poking out from under the table.

“Have I?” Mama glanced down. “Oh, that was stupid.” She pushed her chair back and stood up. “Eveline, come here.” She knelt down on the floor. When Eveline got closer she could see that the scrap of paper was not lying on the floor, but poking out between two floorboards. Mama took her letter-knife and levered the board up. Underneath was a biscuit tin, sporting a picture of a boy holding a dog on the lid. The boy wore blue breeches and a blue jacket with a lace collar. His cheeks were so round and rosy they made her want to bite into them like apples. The dog was black and white with floppy ears. The dog looked nicer than the boy. Mama opened it, and shoved the scrap of paper into it. “This is Mama’s hiding place. You mustn’t tell anyone, Evvie, do you understand?” She slid the box back into hiding, and put the board down – there, it was all concealed again. Now you couldn’t tell the board from all the others, except for a slight splintered place along one edge where the letter-knife had gone in.

“Why are you hiding papers, Mama?”

“Because I don’t want Uncle James to find them.” Mama looked distracted, turning the letter-knife over in her hands. “What he’s taken already shouldn’t be sufficient... I made sure the essentials weren’t there, but it looks plausible enough if one doesn’t know the underlying principles...”

“Mama?”

“Never mind, Evvie. Just remember that these are Mama’s notes and Uncle James mustn’t know of them, nor anyone. Not even Charlotte.”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Now come here and give Mama a kiss. Is Charlotte awake? I think it’s time for some breakfast, don’t you?”

 

 

AFTER THAT THINGS were quieter for a while. Mama even smiled one day, telling Eveline that Uncle James had invited a man to the house to speak with her. “I do believe he’s attempting matchmaking, Evvie, imagine! How foolish. As though I could ever find a man as understanding as your dear papa. And what a curious fellow he was – so many questions! I was polite, of course, but answered him very shortly, and left him in no doubt I was a thoroughly dull bluestocking! I think I have poured sufficient cold water to dampen any romantic thoughts. He came out of Uncle James’s study as I was coming upstairs, looking very grim.”

“Why would he talk to Uncle James?”

“Because, darling, Uncle James is my only male relative, and if anyone wished to marry me it would be considered proper for them to ask his permission.”

“What if I wanted to marry someone?”

“Then they would have to ask me. Why, is there someone you want to marry?” Mama smiled.

“No, not at all. I don’t know any boys.”

“You don’t know many people at all, do you, my poor pet?” Mama looked worried again, and Eveline felt she had said something wrong, but wasn’t sure what it had been.

A week later Uncle James had invited another man. Eveline, who felt a personal interest in potential stepfathers, hoped this one might be someone Mama could like. Anything, surely, would be better than this horrible unfriendly house and wretched Uncle James who made her so unhappy.

She decided to eavesdrop. Mama said she was a noticing girl, and often asked her opinion; perhaps she would ask Evvie about her beau.

Eveline managed to conceal herself under the ottoman in the drawing-room, but it was not a very good hiding place: all she could see of the gentleman was a pair of highly polished shoes and the tip of an equally polished cane.

After the usual pleasantries, this man, too, started asking questions.

“Councillor Lathrop tells me you have been somewhat troubled.”

“James is overly concerned, Dr Bower. He thinks I have a weak constitution. I assure you I am quite robust.”

“But I understand you have a hobby involving mechanisms, on which you spend a great deal of time. Do you not find that leaves you fatigued?”

“Surely, if something is only a hobby, it is a source of amusement and relaxation, not fatigue?”

“Mechanisms are an unusual pastime for a lady.”

“Yes.”

“You have two children, I understand.”

“Daughters.”

“And have they, too, shown such an inclination?”

“The youngest is barely two, she is a little young to be showing an inclination towards anything.”

“And the older?”

“Oh, Eveline is a bright girl, she manages to keep herself occupied. She can figure well enough, but she shows no signs of following in my footsteps.”

“I see. It must be a great strain on you, bringing up two daughters alone.”

“Living here, surrounded by servants and under my brother’s constant supervision, I would hardly say I am alone.”

“You feel surrounded?”

“Only occasionally. More tea?”

The conversation was dull. Eveline dozed off in her hiding place, only waking to the scrape of chairs. “Well, this has been a most enlightening conversation, Mrs Duchen,” the man said. “I am sure we will have the pleasure of meeting again.”

“Good afternoon, Dr Bower.”

Eveline waited until it was safe, and crept out, dusting down her pinafore. On her way back to her room, she heard Dr Bower’s voice coming from Uncle James’s study, but she couldn’t hear the words. Was he asking Uncle James for permission to pay court to Mama? Eveline hoped not. She hadn’t taken to him, despite the shininess of his shoes.

 

 

EVELINE WOKE THINKING Charlotte had cried out, but the little girl was sleeping quietly. A moment later she heard the shift-change whistle at the mill. It was later than they usually rose. Mama’s bed was empty. Maybe she had worked all night. Sometimes she did, but she always came in to rouse the girls for breakfast.

The door of her workroom was locked. “Mama?” Eveline knocked. “Mama, are you there? Do you want breakfast?” But there was no answer.

Eveline went downstairs.

But neither Mama nor Uncle James was anywhere to be found. She saw the servants pausing to watch her as she passed. Creeping dread started to churn in her stomach and weaken her legs. One of the maids was brushing the carpet in the dining-room. Eveline planted herself in front of her. “Have you seen my mama?”

“Oh, dear...” The maid looked over her shoulder as though afraid of someone, and said, “No, well, a carriage left this morning...”

“Girl! Are you gossiping with your betters?” Uncle James’s manservant had appeared in the doorway, and was looking down his thin nose at them both. “Get back to your work at once,” he said.

The maid scrambled to her feet, clutching the dustpan to her apron, and scurried out of the room.

“Miss Eveline, your uncle wishes to see you,” the manservant said.

“I don’t want to see him, I want to see Mama.”

“Well this is your uncle’s house and you are obliged to do as he says. Will you go, or shall I carry you?”

“If you try to pick me up, I shall bite you,” Eveline said. “Where is my mama?”

“If you want to find out, you’ll go see your uncle. He’s in his study.”

Eveline lifted her chin and walked past him. As she did so he bent down and said, “I would advise you to mind your manners, young lady – unless you want to end up in the poorhouse.”

The walk to Uncle James’s study seemed very long. And there were servants everywhere – the hall and stairs need extra special cleaning this morning, it seemed. Even the cook had emerged from ruling over the kitchens to stare. He and the manservant nodded meaningfully at each other. “Well I wasn’t at all surprised,” the cook said, hardly bothering to lower his voice. “The child’s a positive savage. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

And then she was in Uncle James’ study, and Uncle James was sitting behind his desk.

“Ah, Eveline.”

“Where’s Mama?”

Uncle James sighed, looking down at his hands, as they took a pen out of the inkwell, put it back, turned over a piece of paper... as though his hands were nothing to do with him, acting entirely on their own. “Uncle James?”

He frowned at her. “This is very difficult for me, Eveline. This whole thing is extremely distressing.”

“Uncle James?”

“Your mama has been behaving in an increasingly erratic manner, Eveline. Making wild accusations. She was even talking about leaving, attempting to set up some sort of business in the town – one can easily imagine how that would have ended, and my reputation would be ruined.”

“Where is she?”

“Madeleine has had to go away.” Uncle James heaved himself out of his chair and stood with his back to Eveline, staring out of the window. “Really, it is all dreadfully awkward.”

“But where is she?”

“In a place where her eccentricities can be dealt with.”

“But when is she coming back?”

“She will come home if her behaviour can be controlled, if she can stop making these ridiculous claims.”

“I don’t understand. Who has she gone to see?”

Uncle James reached for the bell-pull and yanked viciously. “No-one. She is being treated.”

“Is she sick?”

“Yes. She is mentally unwell. Suffering from hysteria, and delusions.”

Eveline did not know what either of those words meant, but they sounded worse than the croup or even the scarlet fever, that Mama had been so afraid either of them might catch. She must be dreadfully ill. What if no-one was looking after her properly? “I want to go see her!”

“Certainly not. Children are not permitted in such places.”

“Why not?”

“It isn’t suitable. Where is that wretched maid? Flirting and gossiping no doubt, I really will have to speak to...”

“But what about Charlotte?”

“If you cannot deal with Charlotte, I suppose I will have to find some woman to take care of her. Which will be a great trouble and expense. Or perhaps she will have to be sent away where she can be suitably attended to.”

First Mama, and now Charlotte? “You can’t send Charlotte away!”

“Then you must look after her.” Uncle James turned around, and glared at her.

“But Mama...” Eveline’s breath began to hitch. Everything had happened so quickly, Mama was ill, and gone, and all in a night.

“Don’t blether, child. I can’t bear hysteria and blethering.”

Hysteria was what Mama had. If Eveline had it, too, she would be sent away, and then what would happen to Charlotte?

Eveline grabbed onto herself with everything she had, clamped down on the tears, and blew her nose. “Yes, Uncle James.”

And even when the maid appeared and ushered her upstairs, she did not cry, and she did not cry in front of Charlotte because what if hysteria was catching? And all through the next horrible weeks she straightened her mouth and blinked fiercely if the tears threatened, and fed Charlotte and read stories to her and every now and then would ask Uncle James if there was any news.

However quietly and calmly she asked, he always got angry, glaring and blustering and snapping that there was no change before ordering her out of his study. So Eveline started to sneak into the library when he wasn’t there, and look in his books for anything about hysteria. Perhaps she could find out something that would help Mama.

All she found was that hysteria was something only women had, and that it was to do with wombs. Eveline wasn’t sure what a womb was, so she asked Violet, who was the nicer of the two maids, but Violet didn’t know, except that it was something to do with babies. Eveline wondered if Mama was going to have another baby, and if that was making her ill, but the book used too many words she didn’t know and there was no-one else she trusted to ask.

Eveline and Charlotte were in a strange position in the house; not Important like Uncle James, but not quite servants either. With no-one to talk to, Eveline began to eavesdrop whenever she could, in case someone should happen to be talking about Mama. She never heard anything about Mama, but she heard about other things.

Violet the under maid was an orphan, and so didn’t get a day off to see her family like the other maid, Harriet, who was older and crosser. Harriet’s mother was ‘off her legs’ and couldn’t earn, and Harriet sneaked food from the pantry to take home to her. Both the maids were terrified of being turned off.

One day Harriet came up and told her she must come down for dinner. Eveline thought they were to come down and eat with the servants; it would be a relief to have some company. She pulled Charlotte to her feet.

“Just you,” Harriet said. “You’re to put on something appropriate, and wash, and come down and eat with your Uncle and his guests.”

“But what about Charlotte? Who’ll give her her supper?”

“I’ll do that.” Harriet kept her face still, but she was clearly resentful at the extra work. Eveline thought fast. Charlotte had been fussy and unsettled since Mama left, and Eveline often had to sneak down to the kitchen when the beastly cook was out of sight to find treats to tempt her appetite. Harriet wouldn’t do that, unless she was given a reason – she would probably be impatient and rough, and Charlotte would eat nothing.

“I’ve terrible trouble feeding her,” she said. “Uncle James said she’d have to be sent away, if she wouldn’t eat. And me, too, for not looking after her well enough. I think he’d like that. He was saying how expensive everything was getting. If we both get sent away, he said he wouldn’t need nearly so many servants to keep things up.”

Harriet’s jaw tightened. “Don’t you worry, miss,” she said. “I’ll fatten her up nice.” She picked the little girl up, and her weary, rigid face softened. “You’re a pretty one, aren’t you?”

“Yes, she is. Much prettier than me. She’s got hair like yours.”

“Oh, and how would you know under this cap?” Harriet said.

“I saw that day it blew off when you were hanging the washing. It’s all yellow curls.” She’d actually first seen Harriet brushing it when, lonely and bored of being with Charlotte who couldn’t have a proper conversation, she had sneaked up to listen outside the servants’ rooms.

“Much good it does me. And you’re not so bad, miss; you just need some weight on you and a pretty dress or two.”

Now Eveline felt bad for what she’d said – Uncle James complained about money a great deal, but he’d said nothing about turning off any servants – but she hardened her heart. Charlotte was more important than anybody.

She had no pretty dresses, but went down to dinner in the yellow dress Mama had altered for her. It fitted even worse than before, since she’d grown, but it was a little like having Mama with her.

She could hear their voices coming from the drawing-room and stood for a moment outside, listening to them. Fragments of conversation about India and China, about tea and Sepoys and clippers, whatever they were. Someone mentioned the Folk, and Eveline edged the tall door open and peered in.

“It seems they’re dying out,” Crow Man said. “Fewer and fewer sightings, especially in the cities.”

“But how sad!” the Sugar Lady said, pouting and shaking her curls. “Can nothing be done?”

“Oh, well, my dear, sentiment is all very well,” Crow Man said, patting her hand, “but they are the last remnant of a fading world, you know. They couldn’t move forward, so must be left behind.”

“I don’t believe you,” Eveline said.

“Why, who is this?” Sugar Lady said. She looked Eveline over and hid her face behind her fan, but her eyes crinkled up with amusement.

“Don’t believe what, my dear?” Dog Man came over and bowed to Eveline. “You must be Eveline. How charming. Is that your mama’s dress?”

“Yes. What did you mean about the Folk?” She turned to Crow Man. “They’re not dying, don’t say that!”

“Ah, you ladies, so sentimental!” Crow Man said. “You mustn’t be sad, my dear. It’s not as though they’re like us, after all – why, they probably don’t even know what’s happening.”

Eveline felt her chin start to shake. The thought of all the Folk, dead like Papa, dead like her pet rabbit that had simply fallen over one day, its bright eyes gone dull and its warm fur chill under her hand... and Aiden. Aiden couldn’t be dead. Even though she hadn’t seen him for so long, he was part of the old days, back when everything was better.

“Now, now, Peter, you’ve upset the poor child,” Dog Man said. “Come, my dear, I’m sure that it’s not true – the Folk are very cunning, you know. I expect they’re well able to take care of themselves. Why don’t you have one of these delicious almonds, and you shall sit next to me at dinner and tell me all about yourself and your little sister, hmm?” His moustache quivered at her and it made her smile. He gave her his handkerchief, which was so very clean and crisp that she was hesitant to blow her nose on it, but he smiled and nodded and she knew it was all right.

He did indeed make her sit next to him at dinner, though Uncle James sniffed and glared, but soon they were all talking of other things, except for Eveline and Dog Man, who turned out to be called Everard. “Everard and Eveline!” he said. “Why, it sounds like an old romance, does it not? We were clearly fated to be the best of friends.”

He paid a great deal of attention to her throughout dinner, even giving her a little wine from his own glass, well mixed with water. Sugar Lady, whose real name Eveline never bothered to learn, said, “Really, Everard, do you think it’s quite the thing? She can’t be more than six.”

“I’m eight,” Eveline said sharply. She didn’t like the taste of the watered wine very much, but drank it anyway, to prove that Everard the Dog Man had been right to give it to her, and he patted her hand and said she was quite the sophisticated young lady.

She began to look forward to his visits. No-one else ever paid the slightest attention to her except for Charlotte. She had read all her books several times over and he brought her more, and a new dress, with blue silk ribbons. She put it on for the next dinner party, and he told her how pretty it was, and stroked her hair, and said it was silkier than the ribbons.

He wasn’t Mama, but he was her only grown-up friend. Her only friend at all, apart from Charlotte, who hardly counted.

 

 

ONE DAY EVERARD the Dog Man had come up to see Charlotte, and had petted her cheek, and said she was going to be as pretty as her sister.

And he had put his hand on the back of Eveline’s neck, and run his fingers under the collar of her dress, and her nape had shivered. The feel of his fingers was wrong, like a spider running over her neck. “Pretty dears,” he said. “My pretty little dears.”

Then Harriet had come in, and he had snatched his hand away so fast a stitch in Eveline’s collar had ripped.

He started to come around at odd times, after that, bringing some apples from his garden or a clipping from the paper he thought Uncle James might like. And he always brought something for Eveline and Charlotte, like ribbons, or marzipan.

Harriet seemed often to find something to do in their room when he was there, and Eveline wondered if she liked him too. But she didn’t act like Sugar Lady, fluttering and laughing. She hunched her shoulders and kept quiet as she stitched or folded.

“Harriet?” Eveline asked one day when Everard had gone, pulling a strand of bright pink satin ribbon through her fingers to watch it shine.

“Yes, miss.”

“Do you like Everard?”

“You should call him Mr Poole.”

“He asked me to call him Everard.”

“Did he indeed,” said Harriet, and her mouth went tight at the sides.

“You don’t like him, do you?”

“One of these days, young miss, you’re going to have to learn not to let the first thing in your head fly right out of your mouth.”

“Did I say something wrong?”

“You just can’t go about commenting on everything people do or don’t do, or how they look. It’s not polite. And it’ll get you in trouble. Watch all you like, but you don’t have to speak. As it happens, no, I don’t like Mr Poole.”

“Why?”

Harriet’s mouth went tight again. “I know his type, and he shouldn’t be around young girls giving them ribbons. You watch out for him, Eveline. Someone gives you ribbons, they want something.”

“But we haven’t got anything.”

“That’s as maybe.” And that was all she would say on the subject.

What she had said about watching people was interesting, though, and Eveline, having little to do except watch Charlotte, made a game of it. She watched the maids as they worked and the cook as he cooked, and Uncle James and the boot-boy and the coal man who came to the door. She began to learn the little tics and twitches of face and body and hands, the things that gave away a stomach ache or a worry or a hope. The way the youngest maid looked when she thought the boot-boy wasn’t looking; the way the cook’s face sagged in relief when he sat down.

She became adept at walking quietly and concealing herself where she could watch and listen. She learned how faces and words sometimes didn’t match; how a clenched hand could say one thing while a polite tongue said another.

And she watched Everard. She saw how he looked at her and Charlotte the way Uncle James looked at a roast goose or a candied almond. The way every time he gave them something he asked for a hug or a kiss or to put the ribbon in their hair for them.

Charlotte had begun to recognise him and hold up her arms when he came into the room, and he would pick her up and dandle her on his knee and wind satin ribbons around her dimpled wrists. She was a quiet child, but would babble happily at him and tug at his moustache and he would laugh.

And Eveline realised that Harriet was right, that he did want something, that he wanted kisses and hugs and sittings upon his lap, a little more every time. She understood that it was some sort of game, but it was a bad, uncomfortable game. And she began to make excuses when he came to visit. She said she and Charlotte were sick with the grippe, which worked twice; then Uncle James called the doctor to dose them both with foul medicine and whined about the cost and what he had done to be left with two useless sickly females on his hands.

Eveline was very sick after the medicine, and so was Charlotte, who cried for a long time until she was choking and wheezing with every breath. Harriet brought up a soothing posset which put her to sleep as though with a spell.

“How did you do that?” Eveline said.

“I put a drop of laudanum in it, miss.”

“What’s laudanum?”

“Something people use to make them sleep.” She looked at Eveline. Eveline’s face was stiff with tears, and her throat and chest ached. “I’ll make you up one, if you should fancy it.”

“No, thank you, Harriet.” Eveline didn’t want to go to sleep. She wanted to think.

Mama’s workroom was kept locked, but Eveline had the spare key, which everyone seemed to have forgotten about. Uncle James wheezed and groaned his way up the stairs every few days to mess about with Mama’s mechanisms. He couldn’t make them sing like Mama did, and he would get angry, after an hour or two, and stomp away muttering.

When she unlocked it, the room was all a mess. Not a mess the way Mama kept it, but a different kind of mess altogether. It smelled of Uncle James instead of Mama.

Eveline ran her fingers over a few of her favourite instruments, but she couldn’t make them sing like Mama did, and even if she could, she wouldn’t dare in the quiet of the house, with everyone sleeping. Outside, the factories thudded and groaned, making the sky flare red and yellow, as though they were trying to make their own sun to replace the one that their smoke covered over during the day, but inside, the house was terribly quiet. Eveline sat down among the remains of her mother’s work, and cried for a long time.

Some days later Uncle James summoned her to his study. “You’re a very lucky young woman,” he said. “Everard has asked for your hand. As your guardian, I have accepted. Of course, the marriage can’t take place until you are twelve, but he has very kindly offered to assume responsibility for you and your sister. You are to go and live with him.”

Every hair on the back of Eveline’s neck was shivering, as though Everard-Dog-Man’s hand were still there, brushing her skin with his fingers.

“But I don’t want to go and live with him.”

“Contrary child! After he’s been so kind! Why he should even consider you a suitable bride I am at a loss to understand! You will do as you are told.”

Looking at his face, she realised that even if she told him why – a why she herself barely understood – he would not listen, because he never listened. That this was something he wanted, something convenient that would get her and Charlotte out of the house, and so he would ignore anything she said.

Except, perhaps, one thing.

“But what about Mama? He’s supposed to ask Mama.” Men were supposed to ask a girl’s father, but when a girl didn’t have one, surely, he had to ask her mother instead? “I shall ask him to take me to see Mama so he can ask her properly.” She knew Mama would not let her marry someone she didn’t want to, however sick she were.

Uncle James huffed, and his eyes narrowed. She had a moment of satisfaction, knowing he hadn’t expected that. “Eveline... you can’t.”

“The man is supposed to ask the papa. I don’t have one, so he must ask Mama.”

She saw Uncle James’ face redden and swell, the way it always did when he couldn’t have something he wanted, just like Charlotte’s. “Go to your room!” he snapped, and he yanked on the bell-cord.

She went to her room. She wanted to put on the yellow dress, to feel close to Mama, but it fit even worse now and she couldn’t get it over her arms. Instead she picked up Charlotte, who was getting too big to carry for more than a few steps, and sat down with her on her lap, her arms tight round her, her face pressed into the mite’s thick soft curls. Charlotte didn’t even fuss, but stared at Eveline with wide dark eyes and her finger in her mouth, as though she understood that something was wrong, until she fell asleep with her cheek against Eveline’s chest.

Eveline wondered when Everard would come visit. He must be waiting for Uncle James to tell him what Eveline had said, so it would be soon. She would explain about him asking Mama’s permission, they would go see Mama, and Mama would not give it. She began to feel better, and excited about seeing Mama at last. What would it be like, where she was? She had been sick for months, why hadn’t they made her better yet? Perhaps it wasn’t a very good hospital, perhaps they could find a better one. She wondered if they could take Charlotte – no, better not, Charlotte still had a weak chest, and the doctor said she shouldn’t be around people who were sick. She would make a drawing of Charlotte to show Mama how much she had grown. She would like to take Mama some flowers, but it was winter now and the flowers were all gone. She would make a drawing of some instead. Thinking of flowers, she fell asleep herself.

She woke to darkness. Charlotte was grizzling and fussing, hungry, as Eveline was herself. She put the baby down and went to the door, only to find it wouldn’t open.

She banged on it, banged louder and louder until she heard a voice on the other side saying, “What a fuss! I’ve your supper here, and Charlotte’s. If you’re going to be a bad child I shall take it away.”

Eveline backed away from the door, and heard the click of the lock.

Jacobs, Uncle James’s manservant, came in with a tray covered with a cloth.

“Why was the door locked?”

“Because you’ve been a bad girl and defied your uncle.”

“But I haven’t! I just said I don’t want to marry the Dog Man without talking to Mama!”

“Now don’t talk such nonsense. Marry a dog man indeed! You’ve been reading too many fairy tales and given yourself nightmares. You’re lucky you’re getting supper at all, lots of bad children go without!” And before Eveline could protest any more, he had gone, locking the door behind him.

Eveline waited for him to come back for the tray, but he never did. The next person to unlock the door, the following morning, was Uncle James. Jacobs followed behind him and scooped up the empty tray. Charlotte sat on the floor, banging on the boards with a spoon.

“Eveline. I have some grave news, child.” Uncle James looked at the window, the walls, the floor, anywhere but at her. “Can you make that child be quiet?”

Perhaps he had told Everard-Dog-Man what she had said and he had decided he didn’t want to marry her after all. That would be good, except then she would have no reason to go visit Mama. She would have to think of another one. She took the spoon gently out of Charlotte’s hand, and gave her an ancient doll with one arm missing. Charlotte banged the unfortunate doll on the boards instead.

“Are you listening?”

“Yes, Uncle James.”

“I’m afraid it’s your mother,” he said, looking out of the window. “You must be brave.”

The words fell into Eveline’s mind like small, cold stones. “Mama?” She felt the earth shudder and tilt.

“She was very sick, Eveline. And now she’s gone.”

Jacobs fumbled the tray as he was taking it out of the door, and paused, righting the tilting bowls.

“But where’s she gone?”

“Sir... should I perhaps fetch the cook? One of the maids?” Jacobs said.

“Leave this to me, Jacobs.” Uncle James bent down, enveloping her in a fat, thick cloud of scented pomade and sweat. “She’s with the angels now.”

“Like Papa?”

“Yes, child, exactly like Papa. You must be a good brave girl.”

And Uncle James straightened up and turned to Jacobs, and the world went to shards and swirled away like broken china tipped down a well.

 

 

SHE WOKE UP to see Harriet by the side of her bed. “Look at you, you poor little thing. Here, eat some of this.”

Eveline looked at the spoon, with its burden of soup. It didn’t seem to have anything to do with her. “Mama.”

“Yes, child, I’m afraid your mama is gone. Your Uncle told us. I’m very sorry. She’s with the angels now.”

“Like Papa.” Eveline had stopped being angry at the angels some time ago. She’d decided they weren’t real in the way the Folk were real. She didn’t have anything to be angry with, anyway. Everything was cold and empty, inside and out.

“Eat your soup.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Well, I’ll leave it here. I’ve fed your sister, don’t you worry.”

“Thank you.”

Harriet looked at her for a moment, shook her head, sighed, and went out.

Eveline hugged her knees and stared at the wall. Mama was gone. Mama wasn’t ever coming back.

She looked at Charlotte, who was babbling to the one-armed doll. Charlotte didn’t understand. Charlotte didn’t realise they were all alone now.

It was several days before Eveline could think properly again, and realise that this meant Everard-Dog-Man didn’t have to ask permission of anyone.

No-one in the house would help them. They were all scared of Uncle James, or on his side.

She only had one person left to turn to, and that was Aiden. But to find Aiden they would have to leave, and go into the woods.

 

 

SHE WAITED UNTIL the house was silent, or as silent as it ever got. The thud and boom of the machines never ceased. The clouds, thick and rolling, underlit by the gouts of flame that roared from the factory chimneys, loured close over the blackened rooftops. A few cold stars blinked in the gaps, pinned against the sky.

Eveline crept into Uncle James’s study, her bare feet wincing from the cold tiles of the hall. His desk was locked, but his coin-purse was in the pocket of the jacket he had left hanging over the chair, and she knew where he kept a roll of notes in the tankard on the mantel. She paused before taking the notes; it felt, somehow, more like stealing than the coins. But she knew that without money she and Charlotte wouldn’t get far. Everyone needed money. If Papa’s money hadn’t disappeared, they wouldn’t have had to come live with Uncle James and none of this would have happened.

She tucked the notes into the pocket of her apron, but the bulge they made was obvious. If she was caught, she’d be in a great deal of trouble. She’d be in trouble anyway, but more if they found the notes.

She lifted her skirt and tucked the notes inside her underwear, where the fall of her skirt covered them.

Back in their rooms, she put on all her own warmest clothes and Mama’s winter coat, which was too big for her. She rolled up the sleeves and wrapped a belt around her waist, pulling the excess material up over it so the coat didn’t drag about her feet. The coat still smelled of Mama. She pulled the collar close around her face and breathed deeply, taking a little comfort and courage from the faint, sweet memory of perfume. Last of all, she took the crystal Aiden had given her and hung it around her neck.

She roused Charlotte, hushing her sleepy protests. She didn’t protest loudly or for long. Once so lively and mischievous, she had become too thin, too quiet, since Mama had gone. Eveline dressed her in all the warm clothes she could find, until the little girl could hardly toddle.

She left her boots off and carried Charlotte, whose head was already drooping heavily against her shoulder. She turned the handle of the great iron-heavy front door, and pulled.

The door didn’t move.

She’d forgotten the bolts.

The bottom one came loose, eventually – though she winced at every scrape it made against its brackets. The top one she couldn’t reach.

There was nothing in the hall except a fragile little pot stand, barely able to support the ugly sharp-leaved plant in its massive, acid-green pot, writhing with embossed figures that seemed to grin and caper at her as she stood clutching the sleepy child.

Back door. She would have to go out the back door.

She scurried desperately through the sleeping house, her feet whispering on the cold tiles, stopping to take some bread and cheese. The kitchen still held a faint warmth; she wished she could take some with her as she opened the servants’ door (the bolts here were easily reached with the help of a kitchen chair) and the cold grabbed her like a big hard hand. She paused to pull her boots on, propping Charlotte next to her, then wrapped her scarf around her head, pulled the door to behind her, and started down the steps.

She hurried through the regimented roses, bare sticks now, rigidly strapped to their supporting posts, and opened the garden gate that led onto the alleyway behind the houses. It was a narrow, muddy track between high fences, stinking and shuffling with rats, piled with discarded rubbish and heaps of rag. A bare filthy foot stuck out of one of the heaps, and Eveline stared, horrified. The foot withdrew into the rags, convulsively, like the leg of a wounded spider. Eveline clutched Charlotte tighter and ran as best she could.

Once out of the alley she looked back at Uncle James’s. The house hunched against the sulphurous sky. There were no lights on. No windows flew open, no shouts competed with the boom and thump of the factories. It looked not one whit different from the day they had arrived, as though the three of them had never been there at all.

She had picked a time between shift changes. The streets were almost entirely empty except for a few figures huddled in doorways.

It wasn’t long before she had to put Charlotte down. Charlotte whimpered and held her arms up to be carried. “No, Charlotte, you have to walk now. Come on, soon we’ll see Aiden! He promised. He’ll find us somewhere much nicer than Uncle James’s. And nice things to eat and everything. Come on. Look, we’re out at night-time. We’re having an adventure, aren’t we?”

Charlotte did not seem very impressed with the idea of an adventure, but nonetheless stumped along beside her sister, stiff in her layers of clothes, occasionally rubbing at her eyes with her fists.

It seemed a terribly long way to the edge of town. As the houses went on and on, Eveline began to be afraid that she’d forgotten the way, that they were walking not towards the woods but away from them. It was very cold. She paused several times to wrap Charlotte’s scarf more firmly and tug her own down towards her eyes and up towards her nose.

Charlotte began to whimper again. “Foots,” she said. “Foots.”

“Do your feet hurt?”

“Foots.”

There was nowhere to sit, so Eveline lifted Charlotte up. Her little shoes were cracked and leaking; Eveline had put three pairs of stockings on her, but her feet were already wet. Eveline knew wet feet could be lethal, everyone said so, only the other day she had heard Harriet talking about an aunt of hers who had got her feet wet and died of the croup.

She wondered if they should turn back. She would be in terrible trouble.

As she straightened up, she caught a glimpse of something above the roofs at the end of the street, a black bristle against the louring sky. Trees! Not just someone’s garden, but a proper thick mass of them.

“Look, Charlotte, the woods! Not far now. Come on!”

She held Charlotte against her shoulder, and walked as quickly as she could. Charlotte grew heavier with every step. The houses grew smaller, more like cottages, further apart. Gradually they fell away, and then they were on the road, in the woods.

The factories still thumped away, but here the sound was reduced to something less brutally present, an angry but impotent ghost thumping its fist on an insubstantial table.

“Aiden!” Eveline called. “Aiden!”

There were no glimmers of light, no sounds of the Folk. Perhaps they weren’t far enough in. She kept walking. Eventually she turned off the road; perhaps the Folk didn’t like the road. Besides, someone might come along and see them, and make them go back.

Under the trees it felt warmer, but the path was muddy and harder to see. Charlotte began to cry, a low, breathless whimper.

“Aiden! Aiden!” Eveline’s throat hurt; her cries faded to croaks.

So dark, and the baby so heavy. She staggered, no longer sure where the path was. Then her shoulder hit something, something else scratched her face. She had walked into a tree, and only just avoided bashing Charlotte into it.

She couldn’t see, and she couldn’t carry Charlotte any longer. She sat down, and held her sister on her lap. She didn’t realise she was crying until the tears chilled on her face.

There was a faint patter of something around her, like snow; she was no longer sure where she was. It had been so cold, but it wasn’t any longer. She had been doing something important, but she was so tired.

A young voice. One she knew. “Aiden,” she mumbled. Aiden was here. It was all right. Aiden would take care of them.

She woke hours later, stiff and cold. The branches of the trees were black lace against a clear chilly sky.

Charlotte was asleep on her lap, fragile eyelids stained purple like the petals of violets. Eveline looked around, muddled. She’d thought Aiden had found them, but it must have been a dream. They were still in the woods, in the mud, alone.

Eveline sighed. They must not have got far enough into the woods. She patted Charlotte’s cheek. She would be hungry when she woke. Eveline hoped she would be able to persuade her to eat some of the bread and cheese, at least.

Charlotte didn’t move.

“Charlotte, wake up.”

The little girl lay limp and quiet. Eveline patted her cheek, harder, and Charlotte’s mouth fell open, her chin drifting a little to the left.

She knew at that moment. Although she shook the baby and tried to stand her up and wailed her name and screamed it over and over to the black wet unmoving trees, she already knew that Charlotte was dead.

Aiden hadn’t come, she had only dreamed it, and Charlotte was dead and she had killed her, taking her out in the woods at night with her weak chest, and her feet had got wet and now she was dead.

Eveline clutched the heavy cold little body and rocked, until the sun had risen and she heard the first carriage rattle along the road, not very far away.

She laid Charlotte on the ground and gathered wet brown leaf mould and mounded it over her as best she could, though she couldn’t bear to cover the little girl’s face with the slimy cold stuff. Instead she took off one of the shawls Charlotte had been wrapped in, and laid that over her. There were things one should say, she knew that. She could not remember what they had said at her father’s grave. Had anyone spoken over her mother? She didn’t know. They hadn’t let her go to her mother’s funeral. She hadn’t even known the day.

“Goodbye, Charlotte.” She wanted to say something else, wanted to say she was sorry, but sorry wasn’t a big enough word. Sorry was a feather drifting on the wind.

She turned away and began to walk, finding herself eventually back at the road, or anyway at some road. She hardly cared if someone found her, but though the occasional carriage passed, no-one stopped. At some point she remembered she had the crystal in her hand. She dropped it indifferently in the mud.

And she walked, and kept walking.

 

 

SO SHE HAD walked, and she had begged and been chased off and slept in ditches and dodged men who were like Everard-Dog-Man but poorer and dirtier, and sometimes she didn’t manage to dodge, and she had learned to kick and butt and bite and sometimes just to endure. And finally she had found herself in London, which was louder and filthier and far more full of people than Watford. She had tried to get maid work, but she was too young and dirty and had no references. She soon learned to go to the servants’ entrance, but even there she seldom got past the door. She stood supplicant before the servants of those great fine houses, sometimes catching glimpses of warm kitchens stuffed with food, and was told to go away, that she was a thief and a gypsy, that the police had been called, that she was a disgrace.

Sometimes people were kind. Sometimes a cook or a maid or a knife-boy would slip her a bit of food. But no-one would hire her.

She saw girls her own age and younger going with men for money. Having lost the last of her innocence on the road, she knew that that was what she’d run from, that was what Dog Man had wanted, and that was why Charlotte was dead. Sometimes she thought that if she hadn’t run, at least they would be warm and fed; but having lost so much, she’d rather starve than do it now.

She was close enough to starving when she tried her first pocket, and failed. At the second, she was nearly caught. At the third she succeeded. Not much, a handkerchief. But you could sell handkerchiefs, if they were good enough, and then you could buy sausage or a bit of bread, and survive another day. She’d found it hard to resist a nice handkerchief ever since, no matter what else the mark might be carrying.

She learned. She learned to be quick and clever and to play the innocent if she was caught. She learned that if you approached someone rightly you could get them to give you their handkerchief and think they’d got the better of the bargain. She learned not to encroach on other thieves’ territory – or at least, not in ways they’d notice and chase you for.

She fell in with Ma Pether and found, for a little while, something like a home again, and something like a family.