to the far end of the kitchen, out of Fancy’s way. It seemed as though they were being swept along on the tidal wave of Augustus’s enthusiasm, helpless and adrift like the flotsam on the Thames. She was beginning to feel that picking pockets was the easy option.
The situation worsened when Lucilla returned with the sheet music and thrust it into Clemency’s hands. She pretended to study the words, but the letters danced up and down in front of her eyes, darting about the page like hundreds of tiny tadpoles. She tried to catch Jack’s attention with a mute plea for help, but he was intent on learning the tune as he listened to Ronnie beating out the rhythm on his drum and humming the melody. With his quick musical ear, Jack picked up the tune within minutes, but Clemency was still struggling to form the letters into words.
Lucilla snatched the song sheets from her hands with an impatient groan. ‘Give it here. I’llshow you what a true professional can do.’ She threw back her head, took a deep breath and gave a stirring rendition of ‘The Ratcatcher’s Daughter’: a tragic tale of a girl who sold sprats in the street, and her star-crossed love for a vendor of white sand. Resisting the temptation to wipe the condescending smile off Lucilla’s plump face with a slap, Clemency knew that she had to listen at least once again in order to remember the words. She sat on her itching hands and forced a smile. ‘That were lovely. Can you sing it again?’
Lucilla stared at her suspiciously and then she tossed her curls so that they bounced around her head like tightly coiled watch springs. ‘Did you hear that, Daddy? The sparrow admits that I’ve got the best voice.’
Augustus puffed out his chest. ‘No doubt about that, petal. Let her hear you sing the ditty once more.’
By the time Tom returned with the second-hand clothes, Clemency had learned the whole of ‘The Ratcatcher’s Daughter’ and ‘The Soldier’s Tear’. Jack had no difficulty at all in picking up the tunes, even though he freely admitted that he could not read music. Augustus did not seem to think the worse of him for this. Clemency could see that Fancy was more than impressed, despite the fact that she was in deep trouble with Mrs Blunt, who scolded her volubly for watching therehearsal when she ought to have been preparing the vegetables for supper. Fancy suffered a clout round the head that would have felled a grown man, let alone a slip of a girl. Clemency could see that this angered Jack, but she thought that Fancy deserved to be taken down a peg or two. Now if Augustus were to give Lucilla a good thumping, it would make her even happier.
The clothes that Tom had bought in the dollyshop smelled horrible, and a shower of fleas spattered onto the flagstone floor when Clemency gave them a good shaking. Mrs Blunt happened to be standing nearby and she cried out in horror. She made Clemency take them outside into the area, instructing her to beat the garments against the wall, and not to bring them back into the house until the last flea had been shaken out. Shivering and inwardly cursing Tom for not examining the clothes, Clemency stood outside in the cold whacking the jacket and breeches against the wall until she was certain that nothing living could have survived. She hurried back indoors and undressed, folding her blouse, skirt and cotton shift neatly, and placing them on the mattress beside Edith, who was lying on her back, snoring. Clemency shrugged on the calico shirt, which did not feel too different from a blouse, but when she pulled on the fustian breeches she shuddered as the coarse material scratched her legs. Having her lowerlimbs encased in material felt strange, and looked even odder as she stared down at them. She felt a blush rising to her cheeks, even though there was no one to see her in this peculiar garb. She took the peaked cap and tucked her long hair into the crown, wishing that she could examine her appearance in a
The situation worsened when Lucilla returned with the sheet music and thrust it into Clemency’s hands. She pretended to study the words, but the letters danced up and down in front of her eyes, darting about the page like hundreds of tiny tadpoles. She tried to catch Jack’s attention with a mute plea for help, but he was intent on learning the tune as he listened to Ronnie beating out the rhythm on his drum and humming the melody. With his quick musical ear, Jack picked up the tune within minutes, but Clemency was still struggling to form the letters into words.
Lucilla snatched the song sheets from her hands with an impatient groan. ‘Give it here. I’llshow you what a true professional can do.’ She threw back her head, took a deep breath and gave a stirring rendition of ‘The Ratcatcher’s Daughter’: a tragic tale of a girl who sold sprats in the street, and her star-crossed love for a vendor of white sand. Resisting the temptation to wipe the condescending smile off Lucilla’s plump face with a slap, Clemency knew that she had to listen at least once again in order to remember the words. She sat on her itching hands and forced a smile. ‘That were lovely. Can you sing it again?’
Lucilla stared at her suspiciously and then she tossed her curls so that they bounced around her head like tightly coiled watch springs. ‘Did you hear that, Daddy? The sparrow admits that I’ve got the best voice.’
Augustus puffed out his chest. ‘No doubt about that, petal. Let her hear you sing the ditty once more.’
By the time Tom returned with the second-hand clothes, Clemency had learned the whole of ‘The Ratcatcher’s Daughter’ and ‘The Soldier’s Tear’. Jack had no difficulty at all in picking up the tunes, even though he freely admitted that he could not read music. Augustus did not seem to think the worse of him for this. Clemency could see that Fancy was more than impressed, despite the fact that she was in deep trouble with Mrs Blunt, who scolded her volubly for watching therehearsal when she ought to have been preparing the vegetables for supper. Fancy suffered a clout round the head that would have felled a grown man, let alone a slip of a girl. Clemency could see that this angered Jack, but she thought that Fancy deserved to be taken down a peg or two. Now if Augustus were to give Lucilla a good thumping, it would make her even happier.
The clothes that Tom had bought in the dollyshop smelled horrible, and a shower of fleas spattered onto the flagstone floor when Clemency gave them a good shaking. Mrs Blunt happened to be standing nearby and she cried out in horror. She made Clemency take them outside into the area, instructing her to beat the garments against the wall, and not to bring them back into the house until the last flea had been shaken out. Shivering and inwardly cursing Tom for not examining the clothes, Clemency stood outside in the cold whacking the jacket and breeches against the wall until she was certain that nothing living could have survived. She hurried back indoors and undressed, folding her blouse, skirt and cotton shift neatly, and placing them on the mattress beside Edith, who was lying on her back, snoring. Clemency shrugged on the calico shirt, which did not feel too different from a blouse, but when she pulled on the fustian breeches she shuddered as the coarse material scratched her legs. Having her lowerlimbs encased in material felt strange, and looked even odder as she stared down at them. She felt a blush rising to her cheeks, even though there was no one to see her in this peculiar garb. She took the peaked cap and tucked her long hair into the crown, wishing that she could examine her appearance in a
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