The Tigers in the Tower Page 19

  “Sorry, I didn’t know you’d hate the idea that much,” said Emily. “Forget I mentioned it.”

  She’d obviously misunderstood Sahira’s anguished expression. “Thank you, Emily. It’s a good idea. I’ll go to Mr Cops tomorrow and get my money.”

  Emily smiled in relief. “Good. You can’t let them kill your tigers.”

  “No, I can’t.”

  “What do you mean you’ve already sold them?” asked Sahira as she stood with Mr Cops in Lion Yard. Rama and Sita were pacing their cell, eyes bright with concern for her. They could sense her distress.

  Mr Cops wouldn’t meet her gaze. “I knew you’d be upset, so I decided better to make this quick. Lop off the limb so you don’t suffer. Jamrach’s coming for them.” He checked his pocket watch. “Any moment now.”

  Fury robbed Sahira of words. She had to get past this or she’d lose her very last chance to save the situation. Breathing hard, she swallowed.

  “I want to buy them from you.”

  “You?” Mr Cops scratched his chin. “How?”

  “With the money you paid for them – the money you were putting in the bank for me.”

  A red flush appeared on his cheeks. “About that, Sahira…”

  “About what, Mr Cops?” Why had he suddenly become so shifty?

  “I haven’t exactly finalized putting the money in the bank for you. When Jamrach pays, I’ll be able to do that – and have some left over. You’ll benefit too. Ah, here he is now.” He seemed grateful for the distraction.

  A cart drove through Lion Gate, Jamrach holding the reins. Even worse, though, was the arrival of Harry Newton and his boys driving a second cart.

  “The Newtons!” hissed Sahira. She couldn’t believe this!

  Mr Cops frowned. “I didn’t know they were involved. Mr Jamrach, I can’t say I care for your associates.”

  Jamrach glowered at Mr Cops. “Who I use to move these creatures is none of your business, Cops.”

  Harry winked at Sahira. “Special cargo in my territory. Of course I ’ave to see it moved personally.”

  Sahira felt sick. The boys would know that she loved those tigers – everyone at the orphanage did. This was their revenge for her keeping her boots. She sat on the ground and tugged off her sky boots.

  “Here, Tommy – have them. Just leave the tigers alone.”

  Tommy turned his back. “No need. I’m having a pair of boots made of tiger skin next week.”

  Sahira jumped up and flew at Mr Cops, beating his chest with her fists. “You can’t – you can’t do this!”

  He grabbed her wrists firmly, holding her back. “I’ve got no choice, Sahira.”

  “Right little wild cat, ain’t she?” said Harry. “She’s growing on me.”

  All reason left Sahira as she struggled and roared until her voice gave out. Mr Cops had to hand her over to two of the keepers. They dragged her away, kicking and screaming, and locked her in a storeroom.

  “Sorry, Miss Clive,” said Ben as he locked the door. “It’s for your own good. You’ll do yourself an injury carrying on so. We’ll be back to let you out when the tigers are gone.”

  Sahira threw herself at the wooden door – but this was the Tower of London and doors were made to keep people inside. Still she scratched and kicked until exhaustion claimed her. Her nails were broken, blood trickled from a bump on her head, bruises bloomed on her shoulder where she had tried ramming the wooden panel. Nothing made any difference. The tigers were being taken and she could not stop it. She could hear their roars of distress, but then it was much worse when they fell silent.

  Hurt beyond hope of healing, Sahira curled up in a corner and wished to die.

  Several hours later the door opened. Sahira didn’t even look up.

  “I’ve brought you some water,” said Ned.

  She didn’t respond.

  “I’ll put it beside you. I won’t lock the door when I go so you can come out when you’re ready.” He waited for her to acknowledge him.

  Somewhere deep inside Sahira knew Ned was a friend but just now she couldn’t bring that thought to the surface. She kept her eyes screwed shut. This world was so horrid she didn’t want to be part of it any longer.

  “I’m sorry about Rama and Sita. I couldn’t stop them,” he said solemnly.

  Of course he couldn’t. She didn’t blame Ned.

  “Mr Cops says he’s got the money for you.”

  Sahira growled.

  “I know. That’s more or less what I thought you’d say. I’ll leave you alone for now.”

  Ned came back at the end of the day to find she hadn’t moved.

  “You should go home, Sahira, or you’ll get in trouble,” he cautioned.

  The orphanage wasn’t home. Nothing they could do now could touch her.

  He sighed. “Right. Well, I’ve brought you some supper. I’ll leave it with the water.”

  Mr Cops came next.

  “Sahira, you’d better get back before it gets dark.”

  She curled up into a tighter ball.

  “Ben, Mike.” He stepped away.

  As soon as she felt the touch of one of the keepers on her arm, she exploded into action, kicking and clawing. She was a tigress now, not a girl. Plate and cup went flying. Someone yelped as their shin got the brunt of a kick.

  “Mr Cops, we can’t move her without hurting her,” said Ben.

  “Yeah, leave the little lass. She’s too upset to hear reason,” said Mike.

  “I’ll make her move.” That was Joseph Croney. “A little taste of a whip and she’ll scurry back to that orphanage of hers.”

  “No! Croney, I didn’t ask you to stick your nose into this business. Get you gone!” Mr Cops sighed. “All right, we’ll leave her for now. One night on the floor here won’t harm her. I’ll send a message to explain why she hasn’t gone back. Ned, keep an eye on her – and clear up that mess.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The door closed on her and she was left alone.

  “Why aren’t you talking to me?” asked Ned. He sounded hurt.

  Sahira opened her eyes a crack. It was morning – not that that mattered. She wasn’t going to come out of here ever again.

  “And you’re not eating.” He picked up the cup. “Or drinking.” He sniffed. “You… you want to die – like Sita when she first arrived here?”

  She hadn’t thought of it like that, but he was right. She was pining for her tigers. Where were they now? Had they reached the estate belonging to the hunter? Not yet, she thought. It was no easy matter to transport two large cats across England, and longer to arrange a hunt for such special prey. Maybe, if she stayed like this, not eating or drinking, they’d die on the same day? She was fairly certain she’d know when they were gone.

  “I don’t want you to die, Sahira. You’re my best friend.”

  A little prick of guilt penetrated her numbness. Ned would be all right. He had his job and the other keepers. He didn’t need her.

  “You can’t give up.” He kicked her foot. “Stop this! I’m not ’aving this!”

  She almost rallied for his sake, but then she heard Mr Cops outside.

  “How’s she doing, Ned?”

  “Not well, sir. I think she feels as though the tigers were the only thing worth living for.”

  “Humph!” Mr Cops sounded angry now. “This is taking things too far. She’ll get over it – she’ll have to. I don’t like losing creatures any more than she does but sometimes you have to make a tough call. Leave her to stew.”

  “She’s not eating – or drinking.”

  “Well, she will when she’s ready. People don’t just starve themselves to death. Nature takes over. She’ll eat when she’s hungry.”

  Their voices faded as they moved off.

  “I really don’t think she will,” said Ned. “She’s lost too much.”

  Mid-morning Sahira was startled out of her numbness when a bucket of cold water was thrown over her. She gasped and spluttered, sitti
ng up in a pool.

  “Get up, you little tyke!” Joseph Croney stood in the door. “Enough of the hysterics. The tigers are gone and good riddance!”

  “Croney!” bellowed Mr Cops. “I told you to stay away from Sahira. What have you done?” He looked into the storeroom. “Good lord, man, have you no compassion? Ben, fetch a towel – Ned, dry clothes.” These offerings were left inside and the door closed. “Get changed, Sahira, before you die of cold.”

  Sahira sat for a long time undecided as to whether she’d bother to change. She wrapped the towel around herself and shivered. Her muscles started cramping. The pain penetrated and instincts drove her to crawl to a dry spot. Slowly she changed into the shirt and loose trousers Ned had found for her. They wouldn’t leave her here to die quietly, she realized. She would have to go away.

  It didn’t matter where.

  Wringing out her hair, she draped the towel around her neck and opened the door. Ned was sitting on a bench just outside.

  “Sahira!” He jumped to his feet. “You look terrible.”

  “Thanks, Ned.” She handed him back the towel, but she meant for caring, for being her friend, for everything. “I’m going now.”

  “Where? Back to the orphanage?” he asked anxiously.

  She shrugged.

  “I bet you aren’t. I bet you’re going to follow the tigers and try and steal them back.”

  She hadn’t thought of that, but what then? What would she do with two tigers in the English countryside? She could hardly let them out of their cages.

  “You could bribe the carters with the money you’ll get from Mr Cops.” Ned had clearly been giving this a lot of thought. He shook her arm. “This isn’t like you. You ’ave to try something!”

  Sahira swayed, dizzy from lack of food and water. “I’ve tried – and I’ve tried, Ned. But nothing worked.”

  “No, you can’t give up. I won’t allow it. Where’s the girl who took on Cook for me? Who refused to give her boots to the bullies? Those tigers are yours to protect – you’ve always said so.”

  Finally, something he said got through to her. “Ned, you’re right.”

  He let go of her arm. “You’re not giving up?”

  “No – yes – I mean, they’re still mine. Mr Cops never paid me for them – he broke the contract, selling them while they still belonged to me. He could only do that after he paid me – not so he could pay me.” The fire in her belly to right the wrongs done to her tigers flamed into hot, urgent life. “They’re still mine. I’ve not got the money even now – and I’m not taking it. I’m going to get my tigers back.”

  Ned danced from foot to foot, delighted to see his friend recovering her old spirit. “That’s good. But how?”

  “We’re going on a tiger hunt.”

  PART 5

  BURNING BRIGHT

  CHAPTER 18

  Sahira found Mr Cops having dinner with his wife in the kitchen at Lion House. The smell of lamb stew hit her, making her empty stomach growl and scratch.

  “Ah, Sahira, good.” He patted a chair beside him. “Have something to eat.”

  Sahira was hungry but that wasn’t why she was here. It would be best to get right to it before she lost her nerve.

  “Mr Cops, you’ve sold my tigers. Illegally. They still belong to me. I do not approve the sale.” She laid down her sentences like putting a winning hand of cards on the table.

  He placed his knife and fork on his plate.

  “Alfred, what have you done?” asked Mrs Cops. Nearing her time, she rubbed the top of her large bump.

  “I had to sell the tigers, love,” he explained. “Sahira is upset.”

  “Of course she is! Any fool can see they’re more than just tigers to her.”

  “But you didn’t have the right to sell them. You never paid for them,” said Sahira. She hated to do this to him, but it was this or the tigers. She had a solemn duty to protect them.

  “I’ve got your money now. I’ll take it to a bank later,” said Mr Cops.

  “But I don’t accept it,” she said firmly.

  He frowned. “What nonsense is this?”

  “Not nonsense.” Please, please support me, she thought. “Say you made a mistake – an honest mistake. The tigers are still probably on the road. The new owner hasn’t yet taken delivery so the deal isn’t completed.”

  Mr Cops shook his head. “Take the money, girl. It’s the best you can hope for out of this situation.”

  “It’s not! I’m going to go and fetch them back.”

  He folded his arms, matching her stubbornness. “You’ll be laughed at – Jamrach won’t care what you say.”

  “He will when I arrive with the Home Secretary’s son. I’m sure a local magistrate will side with us when I explain.”

  Mr Cops was slowly realizing that she was serious. “Is this all the thanks you give me? You’ll get me in hot water – imprisoned for debt no doubt – and you’ll make Jamrach and the Newtons my enemies – all to save those tigers.”

  “Oh, Alfred!” moaned his wife.

  Sahira swallowed. As Emily said, it was sometimes necessary to do a bad thing to stop something worse from happening. “I’m sorry for your trouble, but I didn’t do this to you. You sold the tigers, not me.”

  Mr Cops shoved back from the table, making the cutlery rattle. “Don’t you care that you’ll ruin this place?”

  Sahira looked down at the caps of her blue boots, drawing strength from them. “I do care.”

  “No, you don’t – not if you behave like this.”

  “I just can’t let my tigers die,” declared Sahira.

  An eruption was building. His face flushed red. “Get out of here! I don’t want to see you anywhere near my menagerie again!”

  “Alfred, don’t!” pleaded Mrs Cops.

  He rounded on his wife. “Are you saying you take her side? You don’t mind that I’ll be in debtors’ prison when the baby’s born?”

  Mrs Cops held up her hands. “Don’t be absurd, Alfred. Of course I don’t want that. I’m saying you’ll regret you spoke to her like this as soon as your temper cools.”

  “That Mr Pence was right: she’s trouble.” He wheeled around. “Get out!”

  Shaken by his fury, Sahira backed away. Even the most placid bear could turn vicious when poked too hard.

  Ned was waiting for her outside, riding on the garden gate to pass the time. “Well?”

  “It went as you would expect.” Her voice wavered.

  “That bad?”

  Sahira was already heading for the exit. “We’d better get to Bobby. We can’t take Nebbie this time.”

  Ned shoved his hand in his pocket and drew out two shillings. “We’ll get a cab.” Seeing her expression, he smiled. “I’ve got to spend my zebra-ride money on something.”

  The rap on the back door of Bobby’s home sounded like a gunshot in the quiet mews.

  “Yes? Beggars aren’t welcome.” It wasn’t the friendly footman that Ned had hoped would answer, but a supercilious specimen of the footman species, one neither of them had met.

  “We’re not beggars. We’re here for –” began Sahira, putting a foot in the door.

  “Message for Mr Evesham,” interrupted Ned.

  “About?” sneered the footman. If words had been butter, he would have smeared his all over their faces.

  “About something educational and very, very important for ’is lessons. Message to be delivered in person.”

  Ned showed a fair hand in embroidering his lie but Sahira knew it wouldn’t wash with this suspicious man.

  “We’ve word on the Panthera tigris from a zoological colleague,” she said, giving the tigers their Latin name.

  The man repeated the Latin like holding a dirty rag by its corner. “Panthera tigris?”

  “And please add that Miss Clive says it’s about adiuva me,” Sahira added. This meant “help me” in Latin – Mr Evesham would know.

  A little less doubtfully, the man looked behind them
, expecting to see the respectable sounding Miss Clive, not this duet of street urchins, one dressed in Indian garb. “Miss Clive?”

  “That’s right. She’s asking for him. Adiuva me. Have you got that?”

  The implication that he couldn’t remember a message poked him into action. “I believe I can retain that information as far as the schoolroom – Panthera tigris, adiuva me. Will Miss Clive be expecting a reply?”

  “I should ’ope so,” muttered Ned.

  “Yes, we’ll wait,” said Sahira, planting herself on the mounting block with no intention of moving until her message produced results.

  The message made its slow way upstairs in the capacious brain of the footman – and received a short answer in the form of the running legs of Bobby, and the statelier progress of his tutor.

  “Miss Clive, what’s happened?” asked Bobby, bursting out into the yard. He looked them both over like a farmer checking his herd. “You both look all right – bit rough around the edges but not in need of saving.”

  “Mr Cops…” But Sahira couldn’t speak past the lump in her throat.

  “’E sold her tigers – for shootin’,” said Ned with admirable succinctness as Mr Evesham approached. “But thing is, they ain’t ’is to sell, but ’ers, so we’re fetching them back.”

  Bobby rubbed his hands. “Good-o. Let’s get the carriage.”

  Mr Evesham put his hand on Bobby’s shoulder before he went off like a rocket to fetch the coachman. “Miss Clive? What’s going on?”

  Sahira could tell that he was about to throw a bucket of cold water on the fire of their rescue plan. “It’s true, Mr Evesham. Mr Cops never paid me for my tigers but went and sold them to some rich man with an estate. I’m going to get them back from Mr Jamrach.”

  He raised a brow. “And then?”

  “It’s not as mad as it sounds. I thought I’d lend them to the menagerie or the zoo while I get the money to ship them back to India – back home.”

  “With what money?”

  She thought it better not to mention her plans to blackmail her family. “I have connections who might help.”

  Mr Evesham sighed. “Miss Clive, I think I understand how much the tigers mean to you –”