in Jem’s dream she was trying to lure him out from beneath the bed with a plate of jam tarts, as Sarah waited behind her, axe in hand.
Then Jem felt something coil around his ankle, and realised that a bogle had broken through the floorboards . . .
‘Aaaah!’ He woke with a cry and sat bolt upright.
‘Nightmare?’ asked Ned, who was perched on a nearby stool, tying his boots.
Jem nodded, dry-mouthed. It was still very early. Alfred lay snoring on the other side of the room, under a pile of coats and blankets. Ned hadn’t lit the lamp because a pale-grey wash of light was leaking through the window.
‘You’ll need to stoke the fire,’ Ned observed. ‘ And empty the bucket.’
‘I know,’ rasped Jem.
‘What was the dream about?’
‘None o’ yer business.’
‘I’ll wager it had bogles in it.’
Jem scowled. It irritated him that someone who’d been scouring mudflats for a living only six months before should suddenly look so prosperous and respectable. Despite his missing teeth and scarred hands, Ned knew how to present himself. His mop of dark curls was always neatly combed, now. His square-cut face was always buffed clean, and every tear in his shirt had been expertly mended. He wore new boots, a new cap, and a new blue coat with three brass buttons.
He’d even become more talkative, thanks to long days spent selling fruit off the back of a barrow. And though he was barely eight months older than Jem, he was already much larger.
Jem couldn’t help feeling that he’d been outstripped. That was why he reached for his own new boots, which he thought much finer than Ned’s. But before he had a chance to pull them on, someone knocked at the door. Rat-tat-tat-tat.
Ned glanced over at Alfred, then asked Jem, ‘Is he expecting company?’
Jem shrugged. Ned sighed and went to answer the door, which swung open to reveal Josiah Lubbock. The showman had abandoned his purple topper and silver lace; instead he wore a plain tweed lounge suit and a bowler hat.
‘Good day to you!’ he said cheerfully. ‘Am I right in thinking that this is the residence of Mr Alfred Bunce?’
‘Uh – yes,’ Ned replied.
‘But he’ll not want to see you ,’ Jem added.
‘Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure of that,’ said Mr Lubbock. ‘Not until he hears my proposal.’ He began to shoulder his way past Ned as Alfred stirred and coughed on the other side of the room.
‘Here!’ Jem jumped up. ‘What d’you think you’re doing? No one asked you in!’
Ignoring him, the showman addressed Alfred. ‘Mr Bunce, I have a proposition. If you allow me to accompany you on your next job, and bring at least one paying customer with me, there’ll be a ten-shilling fee in it for you.’ Mr Lubbock removed his hat as Alfred sat up in bed, unshaven and bleary-eyed. ‘People pay handsomely to watch dogs kill rats,’ Mr Lubbock went on, ‘and would pay even more to see you kill a bogle.’
Alfred hawked and spat. ‘How in the devil did you find me?’ he croaked.
‘Why, I heard Miss Eames give your address to the cab-driver, yesterday.’ Mr Lubbock seemed completely unfazed by all the bits of paper dangling overhead. Even Alfred’s dishevelled, red-eyed, half-dressed condition didn’t appear to trouble him. He simply ploughed on, oblivious to Jem’s scowl, and Alfred’s coughing, and Ned’s sudden restlessness.
‘I must go or I’ll be late,’ Ned murmured to no one in particular, then slipped into the hallway and shut the door behind him.
Mr Lubbock didn’t so much as pause to take a breath.
‘Since then I’ve been sounding the market, Mr Bunce, and I can assure you that there is an audience for bogle-baiting. One naturalist of my acquaintance – who originally came to me expressing an interest in my preserved griffin – has promised to stump up a whole pound for the privilege of a ringside seat.’ Before Alfred could do more than yawn, Mr Lubbock added, with an ingratiating smile, ‘I thought it only
Then Jem felt something coil around his ankle, and realised that a bogle had broken through the floorboards . . .
‘Aaaah!’ He woke with a cry and sat bolt upright.
‘Nightmare?’ asked Ned, who was perched on a nearby stool, tying his boots.
Jem nodded, dry-mouthed. It was still very early. Alfred lay snoring on the other side of the room, under a pile of coats and blankets. Ned hadn’t lit the lamp because a pale-grey wash of light was leaking through the window.
‘You’ll need to stoke the fire,’ Ned observed. ‘ And empty the bucket.’
‘I know,’ rasped Jem.
‘What was the dream about?’
‘None o’ yer business.’
‘I’ll wager it had bogles in it.’
Jem scowled. It irritated him that someone who’d been scouring mudflats for a living only six months before should suddenly look so prosperous and respectable. Despite his missing teeth and scarred hands, Ned knew how to present himself. His mop of dark curls was always neatly combed, now. His square-cut face was always buffed clean, and every tear in his shirt had been expertly mended. He wore new boots, a new cap, and a new blue coat with three brass buttons.
He’d even become more talkative, thanks to long days spent selling fruit off the back of a barrow. And though he was barely eight months older than Jem, he was already much larger.
Jem couldn’t help feeling that he’d been outstripped. That was why he reached for his own new boots, which he thought much finer than Ned’s. But before he had a chance to pull them on, someone knocked at the door. Rat-tat-tat-tat.
Ned glanced over at Alfred, then asked Jem, ‘Is he expecting company?’
Jem shrugged. Ned sighed and went to answer the door, which swung open to reveal Josiah Lubbock. The showman had abandoned his purple topper and silver lace; instead he wore a plain tweed lounge suit and a bowler hat.
‘Good day to you!’ he said cheerfully. ‘Am I right in thinking that this is the residence of Mr Alfred Bunce?’
‘Uh – yes,’ Ned replied.
‘But he’ll not want to see you ,’ Jem added.
‘Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure of that,’ said Mr Lubbock. ‘Not until he hears my proposal.’ He began to shoulder his way past Ned as Alfred stirred and coughed on the other side of the room.
‘Here!’ Jem jumped up. ‘What d’you think you’re doing? No one asked you in!’
Ignoring him, the showman addressed Alfred. ‘Mr Bunce, I have a proposition. If you allow me to accompany you on your next job, and bring at least one paying customer with me, there’ll be a ten-shilling fee in it for you.’ Mr Lubbock removed his hat as Alfred sat up in bed, unshaven and bleary-eyed. ‘People pay handsomely to watch dogs kill rats,’ Mr Lubbock went on, ‘and would pay even more to see you kill a bogle.’
Alfred hawked and spat. ‘How in the devil did you find me?’ he croaked.
‘Why, I heard Miss Eames give your address to the cab-driver, yesterday.’ Mr Lubbock seemed completely unfazed by all the bits of paper dangling overhead. Even Alfred’s dishevelled, red-eyed, half-dressed condition didn’t appear to trouble him. He simply ploughed on, oblivious to Jem’s scowl, and Alfred’s coughing, and Ned’s sudden restlessness.
‘I must go or I’ll be late,’ Ned murmured to no one in particular, then slipped into the hallway and shut the door behind him.
Mr Lubbock didn’t so much as pause to take a breath.
‘Since then I’ve been sounding the market, Mr Bunce, and I can assure you that there is an audience for bogle-baiting. One naturalist of my acquaintance – who originally came to me expressing an interest in my preserved griffin – has promised to stump up a whole pound for the privilege of a ringside seat.’ Before Alfred could do more than yawn, Mr Lubbock added, with an ingratiating smile, ‘I thought it only
Similar Books
