The Tigers in the Tower Read online

  “He must. I’ll argue my case well, I promise.”

  Sahira wanted desperately to believe him, but knew from experience not to hope too much.

  CHAPTER 13

  After Sahira had deposited baskets of animals at the Tower and changed into the dove-grey gown, the coachman delivered her back to the orphanage. Jenks had become quite friendly over the two journeys, particularly after Tiny decided his capes were the perfect habitat from which to peek out at the passing streets.

  “This your home, Miss?” he asked dubiously as the carriage pulled up outside Mr Pence’s establishment.

  “Not my home – never that,” she said as she climbed down. She could still feel the quiet touch of the marmoset’s fingers on her neck and she had the memory of meeting her cousin to warm her. This had definitely been her best day since her arrival in England.

  “But you live here?” Jenks gestured to the foreboding building in front of them.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” she admitted.

  Jenks sniffed as if to say he didn’t think much of that.

  “Thank you for driving me today,” Sahira said.

  He touched his whip to his hat. “It’s been a pleasure, Miss.” He cracked the whip in the air – he had explained that, like the best drivers, he rarely used it on the horses and then only to tickle them awake. Anyone who hurt a horse or drove it too hard should be roasted, according to Jenks. Sahira liked Jenks. Sensing a bag of oats in their near future, the pair trotted off away from this dank part of town, back to their stable.

  Sahira looked up at the sooty brickwork and sighed. Only the thought that she would see Ann, Emily, and Jeoffry stopped her from bolting into the night.

  “Where have you been all day, Clive? We’ve been waiting for you,” sneered Tommy. He was lounging on the area steps and had been spying on her as she descended from the carriage.

  “Having tea with the Home Secretary’s son,” she replied straight-faced. Mr Evesham had presided over the lively party given for Bobby’s friends with all the calm of a first class admiral. Nelson would have faced the enemy’s ships at Trafalgar with similar dignity. It had been Bobby’s birthday and there had been a grand cake.

  Sahira hurried inside before Tommy could think of a comeback on her remark. She let the front door bang behind her.

  “Report, Eleanor Clive,” called Mr Pence from his study.

  Tucking her hands behind her back, she entered. Hard as it would be, she resolved not to let Mr Pence rile her.

  “You’ve missed supper,” said Mr Pence.

  “Yes, sir.” She was still so full of cake she had no regrets on that count.

  “Why are you late?” he demanded.

  “I had an engagement in the West End, sir.”

  “An engagement in the West End,” he parroted, with less charm than Napoleon. “What do people in that part of town want with you?”

  Sahira decided not to mention Bobby or her cousin. It was best that Mr Pence knew as little of her business as possible. “I took some animals to a party, sir.” She fixed her gaze slightly to the left of his head so she didn’t have to look at him.

  “Did they pay you?”

  So that was why he was so interested. “Sir?” Sahira didn’t want to admit it to him but Mr Evesham had presented her with a generous tip, managing it in such a way that it felt as if she had done him the favour of accepting it.

  “Turn out your pockets,” he said.

  She knew better than to defy him this time. Sahira put the five shillings on the desk, keeping a couple back.

  “I’ll add these to your account.” He swept them up and put them in the top drawer of his desk. “You may go.”

  He hadn’t asked to which house she had gone. For all he knew it could have been a gambling den or a thieves’ hideout. She bobbed a minuscule curtsey, just enough to escape without further punishment, and left.

  Sahira found Ann and Emily sitting together in a corner of the dormitory, not their usual spot by the beds but the one near Matron’s room. A third girl was with them, one Sahira didn’t recognize. A hefty lass with a mass of pert brown ringlets and tweezered eyebrows that really didn’t suit her, she looked too old for the orphanage, at least sixteen. There was something about her that put Sahira immediately on her guard.

  “Hello, I’m Sahira,” she said carefully, pulling up a footstool to join them.

  The girl sniffed and turned away. “Does anyone smell that? What a stink!”

  So that’s how it was. Her first impression had been correct. Sahira decided to ignore her. “Emily, did you have a good day?”

  Her fair-headed friend wouldn’t meet her eyes, acting as if she weren’t there. “I can’t smell anything, Joanna.”

  “It smells of animals and… what’s that little extra? Yes, the stench of a foreigner,” Joanna sneered.

  Sahira looked to Ann for an explanation but she gave a minute shake of her head.

  “Do you know where I can get some blue boots? My brothers told me that they’d seen some here,” continued Joanna. “And dresses sewn with pearls.”

  The penny dropped. The Newtons had moved in their sister – if that’s what she really was – to take control of the one part of the orphanage that had so far slipped through their fingers. Sahira was sickeningly disappointed in her friends though: how had they allowed themselves to be turned against her so quickly? She rose, giving up on them for the night. Maybe tomorrow they would explain themselves. She didn’t want her one happy day in England spoiled.

  She moved over to her bed. A piece of coal flew through the air and hit her on the back.

  “Get it away from there!” shrieked Joanna.

  “Get what from where?” asked Ann confusedly.

  “There’s a rat near my bed. It’s not touching my bedclothes, not after I had them changed and those soiled ones thrown out.”

  Sahira was momentarily lost for words.

  “She… Sahira can share my bed,” offered Ann.

  “But then you’ll be dirty and we’d have to throw you out too! I’m not sleeping in here with her and that’s final.”

  “Then don’t sleep in here!” Sahira snapped.

  “And now the rat squeaks,” she mocked.

  Some of the younger girls watching this battle – ones who should have known better – sniggered.

  “Matron!” called the new girl, mock panic in her voice.

  “Matron!” Matron lumbered in from her office, cap askew. “What’s the matter, Joanna dear?”

  “I can’t sleep with that savage in the same room as me.”

  Matron squinted at her, eyes having trouble focusing. “What savage is that?” she asked.

  “The one who smells of dung. That one.” She pointed at Sahira.

  “Oh, but that’s just Ellie,” Matron replied.

  “I’m not sharing with her. My father won’t like it. In fact he demands she be got rid of: he doesn’t like his children mixing with foreigners,” she spat.

  It was obvious what had happened while Sahira had been at the menagerie. “So your brothers went bleating to him, did they, and sent you in to do their dirty work?” The injustice of it infuriated Sahira, sending her temper rocketing until it burst into unwisely blunt words. “Matron, this is an orphanage, not a private club for Harry Newton’s children, and my place here is paid. Why are you even listening to her?”

  Joanna folded her arms. “Harry. Newton,” she said, loading the words with menace.

  “Ellie dear, why don’t you run along and find somewhere else to sleep?” said Matron with a weak smile.

  “Where?” Sahira asked flatly. “This is the girls’ dormitory.”

  Matron’s gaze skittered away as she fumbled her apron strings. “You’ll find somewhere, I’m sure.”

  Right. So Matron had all the backbone of a jellyfish.

  The few things that she’d dared leave here had been bundled in a corner. She scooped them up in a blanket and walked out. There was no point trying to slee
p in there while Joanna was in occupation. That would only end with the theft of her boots and a sharp kick in the middle of the night. Territorial disputes were often bloody; Sahira knew that retreat was a good strategy when you stood on weak ground.

  Sahira made her way down to the kitchen. Cook had already left for the day and Jeoffry was curled up on the hearth. This would do. It was where Ned had taken refuge so had to be fairly safe. He was a worldly wise boy and wouldn’t have slept anywhere near the Newtons. Sahira sat in Cook’s chair, drew her knees to her chest, and dropped her forehead forward. Her life, she reflected, was becoming like one of the French fairy tales Father had read her, even down to sleeping among the ashes. Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be a prince and a ball just around the corner, only a sick old lord, a pair of caged tigers, and a few faint-hearted friends who wouldn’t even stand up for her in front of an obvious bully.

  Sahira got up before Cook arrived, washed under the kitchen pump, and took a slice of bread out into the yard. She decided to stay outside as long as possible. She wouldn’t bother with breakfast because, if they behaved as usual, the Newtons would have planned another round of humiliations. Pigeons pecked around her ankles, uncomplicated, loyal friends. She shared out the crust.

  Ann crept out to see her just as the house stirred.

  “I’m so sorry, Sahira,” she whispered, sitting next to her. “If it makes it any better, neither Emily or I slept a wink last night. We feel awful.”

  Sahira shrugged, still wary of her.

  “She… she threatened our brothers and sisters – the little ones in the nursery. She says she’s got the nurses in her pocket. A little something in their milk, they’d sicken and we’d never see them alive again. So many children die, no one would question it.”

  “And you believed her?” Sahira asked hoarsely.

  Ann wiped a tear from her eye. “I have to. I can’t risk them. The Newtons are ruthless. Look, just give them those silly boots and have done with it! Then we can be friends again.”

  “You think?” Ann was naive if she believed it would stop there. “This isn’t my fault, Ann. Don’t make it into something I’ve done.”

  Ann’s shoulders slumped.

  Sahira knew she couldn’t ask Ann to choose their friendship over her sisters, nor Emily her brother. What would she have done if the choice had been between them and her tigers? Maybe she would have shown the same cowardice. It is so much harder to take risks when the people you love are threatened.

  Sahira felt something good drain out of life, like so many things had of late. “Thanks for being my friend while you could. Don’t worry about me. I’ll manage.”

  “I am still your friend, even if not much of one right now,” she said, her voice wavering.

  “No, Ann, I don’t think you are – and it’s not really your fault. It’s the fault of this place. It’s a kind of cage and it forces all of us to act against our nature. We’re all like wolves chewing off their own paws to escape a trap.”

  Sahira didn’t say any more. Her words had been punishment enough for someone who was essentially decent and kind. What more was there to say? Ann hadn’t chosen to put her over others. After a few minutes, Ann got up and left, touching Sahira’s shoulder with the lightest of farewells.

  Jeoffry came into the courtyard with Ann’s departure and jumped up on her lap. She stroked his soft fur. Animals were so much easier to love.

  Hearing the noise of the day starting inside the building, the rattle of crockery and voices of the monitors marshalling the orphans in line for porridge, Sahira remained where she was. Even Jeoffry eventually abandoned her as he smelled something more tempting next door. She thumped her head against the bricks and stared up at the little patch of cloudy sky. The treatment meted out by the orphanage ended any duty she had toward obeying its rules. The ones who were supposed to protect her were weak or greedy and the Newtons cruel; in fact, the entire situation was so unfair! She couldn’t sit meekly sewing for Mrs Pence if they wouldn’t even provide her with a bed. She had to escape.

  As the others gathered for breakfast, she slipped out the tradesmen’s entrance in the kitchen and up the steps to the pavement. Her heart raced: being caught now would probably end in another beating in Mr Pence’s study, and in her frame of mind she’d probably try to snap his cane. How that would go – one smallish girl against a grown man – was pretty clear. Fortunately, no one tried to stop her. It was too early to report to the menagerie without explaining her truancy. She wandered aimlessly for a while but there was no park or place of refuge open to someone like her. Searching for something to occupy the morning, she decided to settle her curiosity about the shop Mr Cops had mentioned the day before: the animal emporium on the Ratcliffe Highway just north of the docks. Jamrach and Sons – the family were well known for their ability to get you any creature you desire. Her father had often supplied their orders and she remembered seeing Mr Jamrach’s decisive handwriting on letters he had received. Sahira knew now that she had to make plans for her own future, as no one else seemed prepared to step forward. Might there not be a role for her as an animal collector? She may be too young now, but in a few years, who knew where she might be? If she were good at her trade, men like Jamrach would ignore her gender, wouldn’t they?

  “’Ere, Missy, want to see some kittens?” Lost in her thoughts, Sahira had strayed off the main road. An ox of a man got in her way. He wasn’t carrying a basket but his old coat sagged at the pockets with something much heavier.

  “No, thank you,” she replied sharply, kicking herself for her beginner’s mistake.

  “I’ve lovely ones, down there.” He grabbed at the back of her skirt and pointed to dank alley. “Bound for the river in a sack if a nice little lady won’t save them.”

  Did he really have some that needed rescuing? “How old?”

  “Oh, just a few days. Cute as buttons.” He stood too closely, leaning into her when he spoke.

  “What colour are their eyes?” she asked.

  He paused a moment. “All sorts – blue, green…”

  Sahira would never have gone down the alley with him – her parents had taught her better than that – but at least now she wouldn’t have any real cats on her conscience. Kittens didn’t open their eyes for at least a week. “You’re a liar.” She ripped her skirt free and ran. Glancing behind, she saw him hesitate as to whether he could catch her, then give up to wait for some easier prey.

  That had been too close for comfort. The encounter reminded her that she should keep her wits about her and not let her own preoccupations become a distraction. She was in one of the most dangerous parts of London and she didn’t know this jungle like she did the ones at home. Having avoided one snake, she shouldn’t tumble into a nest of red ants. After that scare, she chose the people she asked for directions with care, women with young children in the main, who were too busy shepherding their flock to plan anything that would harm her. They all knew the shop and one even knew the exact address. Counting the numbers as she went down the broad highway that ran east–west north of the river, she arrived outside Jamrach’s shop as the shutters opened for the day. She would have found it by the smell alone. On dry land, she had never seen so many animals crammed into such a small space.

  The assistant came out to hang up cages of singing birds, using a long pole to loop them around hooks placed for the purpose.

  “Do you need a hand?” Sahira asked.

  Smoothing back the lock of oily black hair that had flopped over his eyes, he gave her an assessing look. He could only have been a few years older but his gaze said he could tell a person’s spending power to the last ha’penny from the cut of their clothes.

  “What’s one of Pence’s orphans doing so far from home, eh?” So he had recognized the uniform.

  “Would you believe me if I said I was on an errand?” she ventured.

  He wiped his nose on his sleeve – a charming habit. “Nah, but at least you know I know where you liv
e. Any funny business and I’ll be down on you like a crate of elephants.”

  “That would have to be one very big crate.” She picked up a cage and gave him her sunniest smile. “Where does this one go?”

  “You bring them to me, I hang them,” he said gruffly.

  After the bird cages, Sahira helped him carry out hutches, home to some patient rabbits.

  “We can leave these on the street,” her new acquaintance explained, warming to her as she showed no signs of “funny business”. “There ain’t much value in a bunny and it brings in the children. Special breeds we keep out back.”

  “Do rabbits make good pets?” she asked, crouching down in front of the wire mesh.

  He gave her a curious look. “Don’t you know? Most people with a bit of space round here have a rabbit or two – some for eating, some keep them as a pet.”

  “I’m not that familiar with rabbits,” Sahira admitted.

  Studying her more closely, he finally noticed she was a little different from his usual customer. “Been abroad?”

  “I lived in India until last autumn.”

  “You’ve not had a pet?”

  “We travelled and collected animals. None of them were our pets. I don’t count our working animals, horses, mongooses and so on.” Sahira offered the nearest rabbit a green leaf from the supply put aside for the purpose. It nibbled the lettuce thoughtfully.

  The assistant was interested now. “What kind of creatures have you collected?”

  “Snakes, birds, tigers: the usual kind of thing,” she replied matter-of-factly.

  “My eyes, harken to her: ‘the usual kind of thing’!” He chuckled. “Oh, you’re priceless. I wager Mr Jamrach would like to meet you. He’ll be in any time now. You hang around and tell him your tales and there’ll be a shillin’ in it for you. Bring in anything special with you? He’s always in the market for exotic creatures.”

  The assistant, who now confided that he was called Bartholomew Langland, or Tolly, allowed Sahira to wander the shop as he served the first customers of the day. Leaving him to help a gentleman select a chinchilla from a little enclosure in the main shop, she found a way out to the yard at the back where the larger animals were kept. She didn’t like what she saw: they were far too cramped. One young mountain lion was in a cage that barely allowed her to stand. A macaque looked through the bars with a blank expression like a hermit in a forest cave. A brown bear sat chained in one corner, staring at his paws. He showed no interest when she approached, reminding her of a prisoner condemned to the gallows who knew his life was at an end. If she could have conjured up keys and a flying carpet like Aladdin’s genie, she would have taken them all out of here and magicked them back to their homes; instead, she could only make sure they had fresh water and food within reach.