Chapter 7 - Out of Cheapside
To her relief, Jenny found a little tearoom near Victoria Station where they could stop, rest and take a breath. She was surprised to find one open on Sunday, but since the trains ran anyway and people were out enjoying the day, it made sense for the shop to get the customers while they could. The place wasn't grand but it was clean, and there were a few working-class couples dressed in their Sunday best scattered among the local well-to-dos, so Jenny was hopeful that they wouldn't repeat the trouble at the hotel.
Madame Vastra, of course, was furious at the treatment they'd received. Jenny hoped that some nice hot tea would calm her down. Jenny got them seated, and ordered for them both, careful to let a few shillings clink in her purse so the waitress knew that they could pay. Vastra controlled herself until they were alone, and then had a quiet… well… Jenny could only think of it as a hissing fit.
Finally the lizard woman ran down, and eyed the silent human across the small table. "How can you be so calm about this?" demanded Madame Vastra.
Jenny just shrugged. "It's always been like this for me. Get above your station, and someone will take you for a servant if you're lucky or for worse if yer not. You'll get used to it."
Vastra stopped for a moment, and looked closely at Jenny through her heavy veil. "You've been treated like that before, haven't you?" Jenny nodded and Vastra leaned back in her chair for a long moment, thinking. Finally she spoke.
"That's why you were wary of Mr Dawes and Capman Simundson. They are well off and have power to order others about. And to assume or accuse you of things that simply aren't true."
"Captain Simundson, ma'am. Mr Dawes is alright once you get use to him, but I've no doubt that if I ever overstep and speak too familiar with him, I'll get a strip tore off my hide."
"He will not touch you!" Madame was suddenly, blazingly angry again.
Jenny moved to calm her, before the other customers kicked up a fuss. "Not that way, ma'am. He'll never lay a finger on me. He'll do it with words. Same as you might. That can hurt even more than a blow. Captain Simundson on the other hand… well you heard him. He thought I was a dolt 'cause I'm young and poor. He was surprised I could even read! As if this wasn't the capital of the whole British Empire, not some little town in a backwater colony! The board schools make sure that most children here get at least a few years schooling, even poor ones like me!"
"Very true, and you are working to improve your skills. Still, I can't believe the rudeness of those men. They thought we were beggars, not patrons!"
"Well, our clothes have seen better days. What's the saying; 'Clothes make the woman?' We should get you some new ones anyway. Have you look like a real Lady. 'Specially if you want to make a good impression when you move up the street."
Their tea arrived, along a scone with honey and butter for Jenny and a little meat pie for Vastra. The pair nibbled and sipped happily, slowly relaxing. Jenny made a note to remember this place; they had nice things to eat, and the tea tasted good. Not like floor sweepings.
After a while, Jenny frowned for a few moments and said, "Here's a thought… maybe we should start at a smaller place, a little hotel or inn, where we can 'practice' a bit at being more… genteel like."
They also really needed to buy better clothes. When Jenny asked where she'd bought her clothes before, Madame Vastra was confused. She confessed to Jenny that when she first awoke, she only had the clothes that she went to sleep in (Madame called it 'going into hibernation', but Jenny understood what she meant.) Then Madame was given some clothes by the Doctor from his ship's wardrobe while she travelled with him. When she was with the Monstre Gathering, she was sometimes given clothes and costumes in exchange for part of her pay. Mr Jago arranged it all (after the Doctor had some firm words with him) usually as part of a costume change for the troupe.
"You mean you ain't got any new clothes since you left the circus?" asked Jenny.
"Well, I did accept one or two shirts and a nice scarf from the hanging lines of cloth offerings the ap…your people put out from time to time…"
"The hanging lines… you took clothes from people's clothes lines?" Jenny asked, dropping her voice to a sharp whisper. At Madame's nod, Jenny just shook her head. "It's a wonder you're not in jail long since, Madame, as you seem to be more like to take things that don't belong to you than any street rat I've ever met!" Honestly, thought Jenny, life with Madame Vastra was certainly never going to be dull!
"You don't really understand money and buying things, do you?" continued Jenny. "Don't know why not; you're pretty clever most of the time!"
"My people simply did not have such concerns. What we needed, we requested. The request was either granted or it was not." Madame Vastra shrugged. "Besides, no one, not even one of my people, can be proficient at everything. There are many subjects that I understand better than you do, but two you understand far better than I do: You understand you people better than I, and you understand your currency and …economy."
"Economy? You mean being pinch penny?"
"Pinch penny?"
"Ummm… thrifty?"
"Well, that as well. But I meant that you understand the value of items in this society; absolute, relative and situational."
"What, what and what?"
Vastra shook her head; sometimes she forgot that Jenny was so very young, and her vocabulary was still limited. "For example, you understand the price to be paid for a cup of tea and a snack, the value of one being available instead of, say a bottle of gin, and especially important, you understand when you or I need them."
Jenny wasn't sure about all the words, but she agreed on one idea. Madame Vastra needed this little break and a snack, and Jenny knew how and where to find one and how much to pay for it. So maybe she did have some useful skills to offer after all.
And she knew at least one safer place to get clothes than stealing 'em off a clothesline!
Very early Monday morning, Jenny dropped by the rag-picker tables set up near the Billingsgate Fish Market. She was on the hunt for some better clothes for Madame Vastra, and to trade cash and Madame's scrubbed but still stained cloak for a better looking one. She knew that someone who was well off could either buy nice clothes in a shop, or have some made by a tailor or seamstress, but she had no idea how to go about it, and she was worried about giving the game away by asking any of the neighbours.
Problem was, it was almost mid-July, and the weather was nice and warm. Dark cloaks, even a nice light one like Madame's, were likely packed away in storage; there certainly weren't any on the tables or hung in the stalls.
Nearby a foreign couple were talking with the rag-picker everyone called Old Mirvish. Jenny glanced over; they seemed to be selling things, not buying. Jenny sighed to herself; they were likely trying to make ends meet. London was not a cheap place to live.
Jenny wandered closer, not so much interested in the conversation, most of which she couldn't understand anyway, but because there was a nice big steamer trunk sitting on the ground by the couple. It was a bit scratched and half-covered with shipping labels, but if Jenny could find another one like it, moving the notes and such would be much easier.
Suddenly Old Mirvish looked up at her. "Buying or Selling?" he barked.
"Buying and trading old and coin for a better one," Jenny replied, holding up Madame's cloak.
Old Mirvish frowned. "Do not be foolish! It is the wrong season for such a heavy garment!"
Jenny shrugged. "Madame wears a cloak summer or winter. If she wants a new cloak, getting one is my job. Do you have one to sell me? About this size?"
There were several crates at the rear of the booth, and Jenny knew that sometimes the rag-pickers would come up with something almost as good if they could make a sale. Sure enough, Old Mirvish scratched his long grey beard for a moment, and then dove into a box. He rummaged around a moment, muttered a word that Jenny didn't understand, and then dove into a different crate. Finally he pulled out two bolts of dark cloth, and brought them to the table at the front of the stall.
"Here," he said, "this is what you need. You can sew, of course? All girls know how to sew!"
"Can sew a little. Good enough for mending."
"Then this will be excellent practice for you, yes? A cloak is a very easy thing to make. You can make one yourself from this. "
"Need a pattern, don't I?"
"You are holding one in your hand." Old Mirvish pointed at the cloak that Jenny still carried.
Jenny sighed, but bought the cloth. She didn't have much choice: Madame needed the cloak, and this was likely the best deal she'd get in the middle of the summer.
The woman, who was watching them, suddenly asked Old Mirvish a question. He replied in the same language, and they went back and forth for a moment. Finally Old Mirvish turned back to Jenny.
"Mrs Mandelstam offers to make the cloak for you, if you would like."
Jenny eyed the wife and the man beside her with curiosity. They were dressed well, but they had a hungry look in their eyes. And just a little bit of hope as they eyed the cloak and cloth in Jenny's hands.
"Do they need the work to eat?"
Old Mirvish regarded her for a moment. "Most people would not care… but yes. They only speak a few words of English. They are proud, but hungry too. She is a seamstress who sewed for those with summer houses on the Crimean coast, and he is a cobbler. There they were well off. Until they became hunted for their faith. The new tsar sees enemies everywhere, even where none exist. Here they are nothing. But they have some distant family in London. So here they are."
"Don't know where the Crimea is, except we fought a war there once, I think. Been hunted meself though. Not a nice feeling." Jenny hesitated, then nodded. "All right. Let's give them a chance. It'll be a kindness to all of us. They'll have work, Madame'll have a nice cloak, and I won't be mortified by my sewing. I can hem things and patch things and sew buttons so they'll never fall off, but real clothes need real talent. "
Old Mirvish nodded, and said a few words to the couple.
"She accepts."
"Bless her!" The woman crossed to Jenny, seized her hand, and kissed it. Old Mirvish noted that while the girl looked embarrassed at the sudden display of gratitude, she didn't pull away in distaste.
"Treat her fairly," he said." She is not of our faith, and she is very young, but she is strong and kind in her own way. And she just confirmed that the words of the streets are true; she has faced down men that were as evil as those who lead the Pogroms. But be warned: someone… or Some Thing… is rumoured to protect her. Whatever it is, do not cause it to be cross with you. You may not live to lament it. So the Black Scorpions discovered to their regret."
"Kindness should be met with kindness," replied the woman. "And a good customer is worth their weight in silver and gold, no matter what their faith. I will deliver the cloak as promised. It will buy us more time. You know that if we end up working in factories we will lose our skills. Besides, if God is kind, both her household and mine will prosper from our dealings."
Jenny glanced at Old Mirvish as she handed over the cloth and cloak. "How much will they need to be paid now, and how do I know that they will deliver?" she asked warily.
"The cloth has value, so you need pay nothing now. The new cloak and the old will be delivered to you two mornings from now." There was a quick flurry of words as Jenny's lodging was confirmed and relayed to the Mandelstam's. They nodded and between them picked up the chest, which Jenny guessed was empty, as they had no trouble with carrying it as they started to walk away.
"They buy that trunk from you?" Jenny asked, wondering if Old Mirvish might have another one to sell her.
"No, they were trying to sell it to raise some money, but none of us here deal in such large goods. They would be better off trying on Portobello Road."
"That's a long walk…." Jenny looked up quickly, suddenly very interested. "They want to sell it? 'Cause if the price is fair, I might buy it."
With Mirvish's help, Jenny arranged to buy the trunk. The deal was struck, Jenny gave them two shillings as a 'down payment' for the trunk, (and because she thought they might need the money for some food,) with the remaining cash on delivery of the trunk, and delivery and approval of the cloak to the Gin Palace in two days. Old Mirvish took charge of the trunk to save the Mandelstam's dragging it about, and promised not to sell it in the meantime.
Jenny knew she was being a bit soft again, and might be out the cloak, the price of the cloth and two shillings besides. But Old Mirvish had a fair reputation, and at worst she`d likely get a trunk out of the deal. Jenny could live with that, she thought.
And she might end up a good deal ahead. Especially if Mrs Mandelstam really could sew.
On Monday evening, Madame Vastra and Jenny found Mr Thackeray sitting in the Area behind the Gin Palace enjoying a drink. Vastra took the opportunity to confirm that they would be moving soon, and to thank James for his help. Shortly afterwards, Inspector Abernathy wandered in. They'd not seen him very often since the end of the Black Scorpions, but Constable Palmer had explained to them that as member a Scotland Yard and the Metropolitan Police, the City of London proper was not part of Abernathy's jurisdiction.
It turned out that while Madame Vastra and Jenny were working on the Tournament Case, Abernathy was working on the case of the murder of a Mr Issac Gold, who was killed while riding on a train! Madame, of course was interested in the case and wished to hear what ever details Abernathy was able to tell her. Jenny understood her interest; as Madame had recently confessed to having some experience in such crimes, a fact which she carefully did not mention to Abernathy or Constable Palmer.
"So you're moving, then?" Jenny looked up at the gruff voice behind her. Constable Palmer was watching her closely.
"So Madame says. She's moving up the street, to near St. Paul's. Asked me to come along."
"Why?" growled Palmer.
"Well, she needs someone to haul the coal, and buy the groceries, don't she? You expect a lady like her to do for herself?"
"Haven't heard anything about her money coming in. When did that happen?"
Jenny crossed her arms and scowled at him. "Oh no you don't! That's not my place to say, and you know it! Go ask Madame that one. See if she bites yer head off for that, why don't you?"
Vastra could hear the low rumble of Palmer's voice, asking Jenny a great number of questions about their upcoming move. He was watching Jenny closely, and now Jenny was bristling like a tiny dragon at him. Vastra didn't know whether to be amused or alarmed.
"Am I mistaken or does Constable Palmer sound…angry with Jenny?" She asked.
"He's just being a bit short with her. He thinks she's taking advantage of your kindness," explained Abernathy.
"He thinks Jenny is taking advantage of me?" Madame Vastra asked, honestly surprised.
"He's worried about you, ma'am." Abernathy sighed. "Constable Palmer has half convinced himself that Jenny was in league with the Bank Robbers, and passing on information to them," he explained. "He's worried that she'll set you up as well to be robbed. Nonsense of course; the girl is clearly happy to be working for you."
"I thought he was starting to like Jenny a little," chimed in Thackeray, confused.
"That might be part of the problem. He thinks he's not supposed to like her, so he's a bit grumpy about how he feels."
Thackeray eyed the constable for a minute. "How old is he, anyway?"
"About twenty-four. He'll be eligible for promotion in another year, when he passes his five year mark." Abernathy replied.
"Hmmm. He's a bit old for her then, but she's got enough spirit to lead him quite the dance when she grows up. Might work out well," nodded Thackeray.
Madame Vastra noticed Mrs Crawford the Grocer wander out of the Gin Palace, a small mug of Ginger Beer in her hand. The female, well-known for her gossip, stood listening quietly in the background. Vastra saw Jenny give her a little grin and a wave; her human liked the woman, and her son had helped save Jenny's life, so Vastra simply nodded to the intruder, and returned to the conversation.
"What are you two chattering on about?" growled Vastra. "As to the other matter, have you forgotten that Jenny fought the thugs who attacked Mr Thackeray, and was later kidnapped by them? How could you possible think they are her allies? Besides, she is usually either here at the Gin Palace, or with me."
"That's all very well, Madame," chimed in Constable Palmer, approaching the group, "but I can't help but notice that Jenny's often out on errands for you. She could be up to anything during that time."
"Constable Palmer, I point out to you that the Black Scorpions were murderers, blackmailers and thieves. And I understand that the very worst of the Scorpions were rumoured to be rather well-placed Englishmen. And worse, there were even several banks involved with them, and they were the true targets of your bank robbers. Possibly the police should be more concerned with The Scorpions, then with whoever was undermining their finances. "
Constable Palmer gave the other men a sour look. "Wonder where the widow heard all THAT from," he grumbled.
Vastra decided that it was time to change the focus of the discussion. "Constable, WHY are you so interested in chasing Jenny, especially if she was indeed fighting the Black Scorpions?"
"Rumour is that there's something dangerous out there. The Scorpions said the girl was rescued by a monster with a sword…"
"As opposed to a widow with an umbrella?" interrupted Vastra, wanting to turn attention away from talk of swords and monsters. "Constable Palmer, you are both intelligent and diligent. Do you really believe that the Scorpions would tell the truth about that encounter, especially if they lost?"
"So… Jenny didn't kill any of them?"
"Jenny?" now Vastra was truly shocked. "Don't be ridiculous! The girl fights with a broom!" Because she's not trained well enough to use her knife yet, thought Vastra to herself.
"Gentlemen," she continued, "I can assure all of you that while Jenny fought valiantly against the Black Scorpions when they attacked her, she did not kill any of them. You know that as well as I do, as you were there! However, I am both shocked and appalled that the police seem to be more concerned in protecting the persons and banks which profited from the Scorpions crimes, than protecting the victims of those fiends. That I cannot understand. If it was left to me, I would happily rend every member of the Black Scorpions, Chinese or English, from limb to limb to make them pay for their crimes!"
And ain't that the honest truth, thought Jenny.
Seated nearby, Mrs Crawford chuckled to herself. People might call her a 'friendly old gossip', but she knew a great deal of the comings and goings in Cheapside. Hearing of Jenny's trouble with the Black Scorpions reminded her of the shadowy figures that sometimes showed up in the very early morning near the Gin Palace, carrying large bags. At the time she'd though they were simply coalmen on early morning rounds, as nothing was reported stolen in the neighbourhood (beyond the usual wallets, purses and handkerchiefs) but now she wondered. On the other hand, shutting down a gang of criminals who weren't above beating merchants who failed to pay 'protection money', especially when that gang was slowly moving its reach west towards Cheapside, was a good thing in Mrs Crawford's books.
Mrs Brown, the landlady of the Cheapside Gin Palace, had been grumbling about losing Jenny because Madame Vastra was out and taking the girl with her. Personally, Mrs Crawford thought it was a smart move for Jenny; the child was a good influence on her shadowy mistress, and the woman had opened up considerably over the last few weeks. Heavens, the woman had even nodded at Mrs Crawford herself just now; for Madame Vastra that was as almost as surprising as a hug and a kiss on both cheeks!
Mrs Crawford remembered hearing that the woman had moved into the Gin Palace last fall. She'd not seen her for weeks, and then only as a shadowy glimpse in the evening or the morning. No one called her 'Madame Vastra' then; they knew her name was Vastra; obviously a foreigner, but no title. Not even if she was a Miss or a Missus or a widow. Certainly she never bought anything at the local shops; although Mrs Brown said that she did buy gin. Mrs Crawford occasionally wondered what on earth the woman ate!
It took Jenny's arrival in March to sort things out, making sure both Madame's name and status was quietly known to the area, and making sure her tiny household was properly provisioned. Although Mrs Brown grumbled that the gin purchases had dropped off considerably.
And if Madame Vastra and Jenny had anything at all to do with shutting down the Black Scorpions, bank robberies or no, she would be happy to keep her peace. Mrs Crawford hoped they would keep their custom with her shop; they paid their bills, and it wasn't that far to Paternoster Row. The walk would do George good. Decent customers who paid promptly and didn't ask for credit were so very hard to find!
"I'd best be off, I want a word with the constable on patrol," said Palmer as he set down his mug of tea. Inspector Abernathy stood as well, waving to Madame Vastra and Jenny as he left with Palmer.
"You don't really think Jenny killed anyone, do you?" Abernathy quietly asked Constable Palmer once they reached the street and where well out of earshot.
"Doubt it. But there's some strange stories starting to float around about how the Black Scorpions came to an end. It all collapsed for them after we made that raid to rescue her. And those two thugs went to Jenny directly when they were too scared to try and turn themselves in to the police station. Seems to be a lot of 'coincidence' if you take my meaning."
"Yes, but they went to Jenny because they hoped you or I were around. They were at the Gin Palace looking for us!"
Constable Palmer considered Abernathy for a moment out of the corner of his eye, and then shrugged.
"Still, I think I'll have a word with the constables on the St Paul's beat. Young Jenny's been in more scrapes in the last month than any girl I've ever met, and it would be best if someone kept a sharp eye on her."
"That makes sense. I'd like to make sure someone with Scotland Yard keeps an ear open when they're outside the City, if I'm tied up on other cases. I'll have a word with one of our sergeants."
Palmer pulled out his notebook, nodding at the thought. "Who would that that would be, sir?"
"Sergeant Gregson. He's a bit dull sometimes, but he has some promise, I'm told. Might make inspector eventually."
Without giving a great deal of detail, Madame Vastra brought James Thackeray up to date on their misadventure at the Grosvenor Hotel. "Jenny is making arrangements for some new clothing for me; she believes that will help. I believe, however, that something smaller in the way of a hotel might suit us both better."
"That's a sound plan," replied James. "I guess when you travelled before, your husband or staff made all the arrangements?"
"My staff?" Vastra cocked her head, remembering. "Yes, actually, I was rather spoiled, I suppose." Vastra shook her head, remembering her unit's highly efficient and rather eccentric logistics officer. "Anything we needed tended to simply appear. We quickly learned not to ask too many questions."
"Jenny will be like that someday," a new voice joined them. "She's starting to show a talent for it. What's needed, she'll find a way to make get it or make it." Madame Vastra looked up, to see Mrs Crawford joining them. "In the meanwhile," Mrs Crawford continued, "I might be able to help a little. Jenny mentioned that you're invited to Wimbledon to see the finals for the Rifle Matches?"
"You are correct," Vastra replied. The invitation from the Green Jackets had arrived that morning while Jenny was out. Sergeant Parker delivered it; Vastra was relieved to see him, and that Private Taylor hadn't sauntered into the Gin Palace, with his eyes that sometimes saw too much.
"One of my cousins and her husband run a small inn near Wimbledon," explained Mrs Crawford. "Usually they're booked up with the matches, but she had several last minute cancellations. If you send her a telegram first thing in the morning, she can likely fit you in, and be glad of the business. It's a nice little place, not fancy, but clean and the cook knows her trade. Go for a few days or a week, and get both of you out of the London heat for a holiday! Stop by my shop tomorrow and I'll give you her direction."
Vastra glanced over at James, who nodded. "Sounds ideal. They're likely to be gentler on Jenny as well; the staff at the big hotels can be tough on young servants if they're still learning their business."
"Jenny's not my servant, she's my assistant," grumbled Vastra. "Very well, then, I'll send a telegram and a letter in the morning."
On the way upstairs, Mrs Brown pulled Jenny aside to speak to her. While Vastra couldn't hear what was said, she thought Jenny looked surprised, and then… thoughtful? Human expressions were still hard for her. She'd check with Jenny when she was in the room, but she was pleased that she was at least learning to read Jenny's face a little bit.
After the door was safely closed, and Vastra had removed her hat and netting, she asked, "What was that about?"
"Nothing really," shrugged Jenny. "Mrs Brown really wants me stay that's all. Made me a nice offer too. She'd rent me this room for half the usual rent for a year if I stay on as the full-time cleaner. But I still told her 'Thank you, but no.'" Jenny shook her head. "I'd rather stay with you."
Vastra nodded. "Good choice. Now, I want to review the today's lesson with you…"
The next day, after sending off a telegram and a letter to the inn at Wimbledon, Vastra tracked down Mrs Brown in her tiny office. She scowled fiercely at the other woman, and warned her, "While I agree that she is an excellent worker, I do not appreciate your efforts to hire away Jenny from me."
"'I don' 'h'appreciate yer h'efforts' to make off with one of the best cleaners I've ever had!" replied Mrs Brown.
Vastra scowled at Mrs Brown, and growled, "I saw her first!" She eyed Mrs Brown, considering whether eating the woman would solve the problem. More likely, she admitted to herself, it would only give her indigestion. She never did like pickled foods, and Mrs Brown was probably mostly gristle anyway.
"Jenny is quick to learn and works hard at what she does. Being employed as a cleaner was good for her. But now it is time for her to learn if she can do more than that. I believe I can teach her more skills than she would learn here. And armed with that possibility, she has made her own decision." Vastra nodded stiffly at Mrs Brown, and turned to leave. "I expect that she will continue to decide a great deal for herself in the future. Jenny is quite clever, for one of her kind."
"And much misery may that bring you someday, you cold-hearted toff!" Mrs Brown growled quietly at Vastra's retreating back. "'One of her kind,' indeed!"
Mrs Brown had no way of knowing that Madame Vastra meant 'for a human.' No human, in Vastra's eyes, could ever be as intelligent as one of her people.
Vastra returned to the room to find Jenny wearing her 'sewer clothes', with her cloth mask nearby. The girl was reading over her notebooks, and Vastra recognized the sections dealing with the Scorpions' finances.
"What are you doing?" asked Vastra.
"Trying to work out if there's any Scorpion money left to steal, ma'am."
"Why? Not that I disagree with the idea, but I understood we were no longer robbing banks to keep the authorities from suspecting us, and to minimize the chance of killing someone, either by accident or on purpose. "
Jenny hesitated a minute, sizing up Madame Vastra. Madame simply gazed back at her, and Jenny discovered that lizards didn't need to blink as often as she did.
"I think I may need some money ma'am… to pay for…something that's going to change my life…"
"How much do you need?"
"Not sure. Might be somewhere between twenty and forty pounds. Haven't quite worked up the nerve to ask yet."
Vastra cocked her head from side to side, still focused on Jenny. Then she silently reached under the bed without looking, rooted around the cloth covered pile there, and pulled out a small stack of notes. She counted them, and pushed them across the table to Jenny.
"This is sixty-five pounds. More than enough I trust."
"Just like that?" Jenny asked, shocked.
Vastra nodded. "However, try not to make a habit of it." She leaned back a little on the bed and asked, "I don't understand though; you know full well that there is far more money under the bed than I can keep track of. Why didn't you simply take what you needed?"
Jenny looked shocked. "But that's stealing, ma'am!" The girl shook her head. "A fine way that would be to repay you for the lessons and help getting the Scorpions off my tail!."
Vastra looked confused. "You don't want to steal from me, but you're reviewing banks to rob? I will never understand you humans." She cocked her head again. "Why do you need such a large sum of money anyway? Are you in danger? Do I need to eat someone?" Vastra looked almost hopeful.
Jenny smiled and shook her head, although she knew that Madame wasn't really joking about the 'eating' bit. "Well, the banks still have some of the Scorpion's money, but you're right, I should leave well enough alone. As for the rest… it's…. well… I heard you and Mrs Brown talking t'other day. And it sounds like… I need the money for an apprenticeship."
"I thought you were going to stay with me?" Now Madame Vastra almost sounded worried.
"That's just it. Ma'am. When I heard Mrs Brown and you talking, sounded to me like I need twenty pounds at least, maybe more, to pay you for my apprenticeship."
Madame Vastra eyed Jenny for a long moment, finally leaning forward and waving Jenny to do the same. Jenny did, and Madame leaned forward a bit more, to the point that their foreheads were just touching. Madame eyed Jenny up close for a long moment, and gave a tiny little smile.
"You're daft, sometimes, you know that?" Madame growled gently. Jenny leaned back and laughed in delight, hearing the echo of her own words in the teasing.
"I don't want to be paid by you," continued Madame Vastra.
"You don't?"
"No. You keep things clean and organized, both in our living quarters and our work notes. And you share your knowledge of humans with me. That is payment enough. But I do think that twenty pounds is too high a sum to give you for the equipment you will need, despite your knowledge."
Jenny nodded a little. Mrs Brown was paying her fifteen pounds a year for three days work, but Madame was offering her a free apprenticeship. Still, most apprentices had others in the shop or office to help, and she would need some money for food and clothes.
"Don't really need much money, ma'am, but I'll need a bit…"
"Agreed, but something more reasonable, please. Twenty pounds a week is a great sum…"
"Half a mo, ma'am! Did you say twenty pounds a week?" Jenny was shocked. "Whoever heard of paying a maid or an apprentice anything close to that?!"
Vastra blinked in surprise. "Mrs Brown pays you weekly," she explained, "Naturally I believed that I need to pay you weekly as well!"
And once again Jenny remembered that Madame Vastra didn't know very much about either money or humans. "Ma'am, Mrs Brown didn't mean you'd pay me twenty pounds a week. If she thinks you want me for a maid, she means you'd pay me twenty pounds a year!"
"Twenty pounds a year?"
"Yes ma'am. Likely she talked about twenty pounds to try and scare you off! She's still hoping to keep me. Ten or eleven pounds plus room and board would be the most you might pay me, as I'm still really young."
"Mrs Brown thinks you should be paid twenty pounds a year?"
"Well, she says you should pay me that. She wants to pay me less. But yes, Ma'am. I guess it does sound a bit high since I'm not properly trained or anything…."
Madame blinked again, and then shook her head violently. "No! Absolutely Not!"
"No?" Ah well, twelve to fifteen pounds after a year or two as an apprentice was really was more likely anyway. And on the other hand, Madame wasn't going to ask her for an apprentice fee, so that was good…
"No. It is too little money! How will you be able to buy the things you need, such as clothes and weapons for your training, and notebooks and maps for our work?"
This was turning into the strangest bit of haggling Jenny had ever done. It sounded like now Madame wanted to pay her more than Mrs Brown had demanded that Jenny should be paid!
"Well," Jenny asked carefully, "how much do you think you should pay me?"
Madame Vastra pulled out a small purse and looked through it carefully. Finally she pulled out a small gold coin. "These are called monarchs, correct?"
"Sovereigns, Ma'am," Jenny replied. "Worth one pound each, or twenty shillings."
"I will give you one of these every two weeks. No less. I was paid that much to be an actor and a sideshow freak. You should be paid that much to do real work! I insist!"
Now it was Jenny's turn to be shocked, "Ma'am, that's twenty-six pounds a year! Honest, that's far too much! You might pay a cook that much or more, but not someone as young as me!"
Madame Vastra shook her head, "Your age does not matter. You can cook, and sew, and write, and do more than that as well. I assure you, you will earn your pay."
That sounded just a little worrying to Jenny.
Madame Vastra glanced down at the small ream of banknotes in her hand, shrugged and offered them again to Jenny. Jenny started to reach for them, and then pulled back, shaking her head.
"Best if I don't take it, ma'am. I'll be too tempted to spend it on geegaws. Ma always said that those with too much money too young get spoiled, and start thinking it's their due. That'd be a bad habit to get into fer one like me."
Jenny watched as Madame Vastra cocked her head back and forth, clearly confused. But she didn't argue, and instead the lizard woman simply shrugged, stood, and opened her trunk at the foot of the bed.
Jenny gathered up her notebooks, and with her mind on that, she didn't see Vastra slip the small stack of notes into the little bag of shillings from Jenny's pay that she left in Vastra's care.
Sooner or later the girl would need new clothes and new weapons, and putting the money back under the bed just seemed foolish to Madame Vastra.
The Mandelstams delivered the cloak on Wednesday afternoon. Old Mirvish's son, Young Mirvish (who despite his name was older than Jenny's Da) brought the trunk, and translated for the couple.
The cloak was very nicely made with straight seams and the seam allowance neither so much that it wasted fabric, nor so little that the seams would easily tear. The stiches were neat and locked down, so even if some tore, the whole seam wouldn't go. Jenny and Madame Vastra approved the cloak, and paid for it and the trunk then and there.
Mrs Mandelstam, who had been sizing up both Madame Vastra and Jenny (and their clothes) with a professional eye, tut-tutted something to Young Mirvish.
"If Madame is pleased with the cloak, Mrs Mandelstam would consider it an honour to be allowed to continue making clothes for her and the young miss," translated Young Mirvish.
Without really thinking about it, Vastra looked up from the lovely cloak, and nodded.
The seamstress pulled out a tape-measure and started towards Vastra. Vastra stepped back, startled and trying not to hiss. Jenny slipped between the two women.
"Here now," said Jenny to Mrs Mandelstam. "Not wise to get too close to Madame too fast. Makes her jumpy."
"Mrs Mandelstam needs to take Madame's measurements," explained Young Mirvish.
'Oh, that's going to be a problem,' Jenny thought. 'Madame hates having people touch her, and Mrs M might figure out Madame's not human.' She took a breath, trying to quickly sort out some reason to avoid the measurements.
"Measure Jenny first," announced Madame Vastra. "She needs a new set of clothes, and I can see what needs to be done."
Mrs Mandelstam nodded once Young Mirvish had translated, and set about quickly measuring Jenny. The girl was not yet full grown, so Mrs Mandelstam knew that measuring her with all her clothes on would not be a problem; the child's clothes would need to have a little room to grow into anyway.
Vastra watched with interest. The woman was quick, gentle and precise. She called out words to her husband, who wrote down numbers in a list. When she was done, she stepped back, and glanced over at Vastra.
Vastra looked from her to Jenny then to the men. Mrs Mandelstam nodded, said something to Young Mirvish, who replied readily, then with a nod to Jenny and a quick curtsey to Madame Vastra, she left the flat. Her husband turned to follow her, but paused, glancing longingly at Jenny's feet.
"Mrs Mandelstam will work on Miss Jenny's clothes," said Young Mirvish. "They will take a few days of work. When they are finished, she will visit your new house, and then, if her work pleases you and you wish her to create some for yourself, she will take your measurements, Madame. Without all the men being present," he added wryly.
Well that wasn't quite what the problem was, thought Jenny, but it's as good an excuse as any. Ever practical, she asked "Don't the missus need money for cloth and thread?"
Young Mirvish smiled through his dark beard. "No. Mrs Mandelstam now has a commission for a client who pays on delivery and approval without trying to cheat. She will be able to get credit among my people for the materials she needs. Good business for one is good business for many."
Mr Mandelstam asked a hopeful question to Young Mirvish, who looked startled, then nodded. "Would you like to be measured for a pair of shoes to go with your new clothes?" he asked Jenny. She forgotten the husband was a cobbler.
"Yes, she would," replied Madame Vastra before Jenny had a chance to think.
And that settles that, chuckled Jenny, as she sat down in the chair and untied her worn old clunkers.
After the measuring was done and the visitors were gone, Madame Vastra slipped the chair under the doorknob to brace the door closed in case of unexpected intruders. Then she simply lifted the long edge of the bed, tilted it and leaned it against the wall, exposing a pile of loot beneath it, covered by a worn blanket.
"Will it all fit?" asked Jenny, looking between the pile and the chest.
"We'll take as much as possible, and then decide what to do with the rest. We can always bury it. We'll put as much into the new trunk as possible, add your clothes on top, and then I'll repack my chest with as much as it can hold."
"Why don't we just sneak it into the house? We know where we're moving to. Don't need to do it all in one night, just a bit at a time. We could use that tunnel you dug up to the bank near the house."
"That's not a bad idea. But we are running out of time, as we are scheduled to go to Wimbledon tomorrow. Besides, I would have thought you would have had enough of tunnels by now."
Jenny shrugged. She didn't think she was being greedy; it just made no sense to just leave any extra money lying around where it could be found and reported back to the police. Although Mrs Brown was far more likely to just keep it. But she'd tell someone and eventually Mrs Crawford would know and about five minutes after that the whole street would know. Mind, with all the groundwork Madame had done about her fortune, some would likely think that the delivery of the trunk, followed by their departure, meant that Madame money had at last come in.
Worse come to worse, she grinned, she'd see if they could parcel any leftovers up tomorrow morning and send it to the house through the post!
Wednesday evening a note arrived from Doctor Garrett-Anderson. She still wanted to see Jenny and Madame Vastra; however she needed to delay the meeting. Something had come up in Edinburgh (wherever that was, thought Vastra), and she would be absent for several weeks. After some thought, Madame Vastra sent back a note with their new address. Doctor Garett might be a valuable ally if Jenny became sick or injured, and Madame Vastra preferred that Jenny be treated by a female. From what she gathered in speaking with Jenny, many of the so-called medical professionals of this time, who were almost exclusively male, were less than what Vastra considered competent in matters of medicine. Especially as it pertained to the health of the female apes.
They arranged for a coach from Parker's Carriage Company to pick them up at half past one on Thursday afternoon. To their surprise, Sergeant Parker himself showed up to drive them to the small, genteel inn at Wimbledon.
The coach arrived in a flourish of men and horses. Two huge black horses with white, well, Jenny thought they looked like stockings, pulled the carriage. A young street boy grabbed the horses' bridles fearlessly, and held them while Parker climbed down. A young man hopped off the back, and trotted up to the horses holding a weight. He dropped the horse anchor and tipped the ragged youngster.
"Good afternoon, Madame Vastra!" Parker called as he approached and gave Madame a small bow
"Sergeant Parker…"
"Just Mr Parker is fine, milady. We're not at a military event, you see. I'm just the driver you hired for the day."
"Mr Parker, then. It's very good to see you again."
"And a pleasure it is to see you again as well, milady. Heard about your triumph at the Grand Tournament. About time someone told those idiots what was what. They have a wonderful event there, but seemed determined to botch it up!"
Parker and Madame Vastra discussed the aftermath of the Grand tournament as they climbed the stairs, Jenny and Parker's young man at their heels.
Vastra's own trunk was taken down first, and then the men returned for the heavier chest.
"Now look at that!" said Parker, tapping one of the shipping labels with a finger. "That's Russian, that is! Remember seeing it when I was in the Crimea." He peered at it closely. I can even recognize this bit! Looks like 'Sevastopol'! They call this writing sir-ill-ick, I think," he said to Jenny.
"The Russian Cyrillic alphabet," nodded Madame Vastra, even though she'd only heard the Doctor mention it a few times. She was very please, Jenny's purchase, besides being practical for carrying their fortune, added a nice touch to the story of Madame Vastra's new identity.
Parker and his assistant heaved the money chest up between them. By the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, both men were panting. "Your trunk seems awfully heavy ma'am. Not carrying any bodies about, I trust?" asked Parker.
"Not this time," replied Madame Vastra in a deadpan voice. Parker guffawed, grinned at her, and strained to finish loading the heavy chest
Jenny made a note to herself to ask Madame about that comment, and then mentally erased it again. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer.
Soon Mr Parker appeared in front of them again, and waved them towards the coach.
"All set, Madame Vastra! Just need to get you and Jenny aboard."
"Excellent Mr Parker. We are ready as well."
"Very good, milady!"
With the chest safely loaded onto the coach, Jenny waited patiently for Mr Parker to hand Madame in. Then he gave a hand to a surprised Jenny to help her board, folded up the steps, closed the door, and climbed to the seat beside the driver. The coach rocked a moment as the man holding the horse boarded at the back, and then they were off to Wimbledon!
Author's Notes:
"Most children here get at least a few years schooling, even poor ones like me!" – The Elementary Education Act 1870established the foundations of English elementary education. After 1880 attendance was made compulsory for children until they were 13 years old, with various exemptions.
On Monday 27 June 1881, near Brighton, a man covered in blood staggered out of a first class train carriage. Mr Percy Lefroy told a ticket collector he'd been attacked, and described two men. He said that he'd been hit on the head and remembered nothing more. The collector saw no one else get out of the train compartment but did notice a piece of watch chain hanging from Lefory's boot. Lefroy claimed he'd put the watch there for safety.
Lefroy went to the local police station where he made an official complaint, and then to the local hospital. The doctor wanted to detain him but Lefroy insisted upon returning to London for an important engagement, although he had just arrived in Brighton from London. He offered a reward for the capture of his assailants. Back at Brighton station Lefroy was searched and two counterfeit coins were found in his possession. He denied all knowledge of these. In spite of obvious inconsistencies and highly suspicious circumstances, neither the Brighton Police, nor the railway police considered it necessary to detain Lefroy. He was permitted on a London train, escorted by detective George Holmes {yes, really!}.
Meanwhile, the carriage where the assault took place was examined. Three bullet marks were found and there was blood everywhere, along with signs of a fierce struggle. The railway line was searched and in Balcombe Tunnel, railway staff found the body of an elderly man; retired corn merchant Isaac Gold. Gold had been shot and stabbed. A knife smeared with blood was found near his body. He had been robbed of his watch and chain and a considerable sum of money.
News of the discovery was passed along the line and Holmes received a telegram from Brighton not to let Lefroy out of his sight. Meanwhile, Lefroy complained that he wanted to change his clothes and talked Holmes into escorting him to a boarding house kept by a relative. When they arrived, Holmes waited outside. Lefroy left the house and disappeared. A countrywide search was begun. The Daily Telegraph made newspaper history by publishing the portrait of a wanted man for the first time.
The inquest on Gold's death opened on 29 June, returning a verdict of wilful murder against Lefroy. The railway company offered a large reward for information leading to his arrest. The public was very interested and Lefroy was found on 8 July at a house in Stepney. He'd kept the blinds down in his room all day and gone out only at night.
At Lefroy's trial, evidence was given by a number of witnesses including Holmes, the booking clerk who issued a ticket to Lefroy, the guard of the train, the ticket collector at Preston Park, and by a woman who saw two men struggling violently in a train as it passed her cottage. The jury found him guilty after ten minutes deliberation. Lefroy (whose real name was Mapleton) was hanged on 29 November, 1881.
Now you understand a little more about the challenges in policing that the Great Detective is working with.
Sergeant Gregson: Sherlock Holmes fans will recognize the name as a young Inspector Gregson.