A Very Peculiar Plague Read Free Page A

saw Alfred’s face lengthen. ‘What about poor Florry?’ the barmaid continued. ‘There ain’t no one else to care what befell her – she hadn’t a single relation to mourn her passing. And you say you’ll not punish the beast that ate her up! For shame , sir!’
    Alfred winced. ‘Miss Lillimere—’ he began.
    ‘How much do you charge for your services?’ she demanded. ‘What is your fee, Mr Bunce?’
    Seeing Alfred hesitate, Jem answered for him. ‘Six shillings for each bogle and a penny for the salt.’
    ‘I’ll pay you eight shillings.’ Mabel stood up suddenly, startling Alfred, who blinked and dropped the match that he’d just plucked from his pocket. ‘Eight shillings down and as much grog as you can drink.’
    Jem laughed. ‘Blimey,’ he crowed, ‘ain’t that the plum in the pudding!’ But a glare from Alfred quickly wiped the smile from his face.
    ‘Well?’ said Mabel. ‘Will you help, Mr Bunce?’
    ‘I told you before, I ain’t got no ’prentice—’
    ‘What’s wrong with the boy?’ Mabel interrupted, pointing at Jem. ‘He’s spry enough.’
    ‘He’s untrained,’ mumbled Alfred. ‘I need Birdie. I can’t kill a bogle without Birdie.’
    ‘But she never comes here no more!’ Jem was stung by Alfred’s lack of confidence in him. ‘And even if she did, that Miss Eames wouldn’t let her so much as soil her clothes, never mind dodge a bogle.’ Before Alfred could object, Jem exclaimed, ‘ I can be your boy! It ain’t so hard! Didn’t I see it done on that navvy’s job, last summer? All I need is a looking-glass and a bit o’ nerve!’
    ‘Please, Mr Bunce,’ begged the barmaid. ‘I’d not ask if I weren’t going mad with the strain of it. A bogle downstairs – why, it don’t bear thinking on! How am I to work in such a place?’
    Alfred sighed. He had retrieved his match and struck it against a wall; now he was drawing on his pipe as he lit it. Puff-puff-puff. For a moment his face was obscured by a cloud of smoke.
    Finally he rose and flicked his burnt match into the fireplace.
    ‘Aye, very well,’ he rasped. ‘You’ll want me there now, I daresay?’
    ‘As soon as ever you can,’ the barmaid replied happily. And Jem took advantage of her mood, edging up to her with his hand outstretched.
    ‘Tuppence, Miss?’ he softly reminded her.
    She flashed him a narrow, sideways look, but paid up without protest. Alfred, meanwhile, was on his knees, fishing around under the bed. He soon produced an old brown sack, which Jem recognised with an inward shudder.
    The sight of it brought back horrible memories.
    ‘You’ll do exactly as I say, lad. Exactly ,’ Alfred insisted, turning his head to fix Jem with a grim look. ‘Is that clear?’
    ‘Yessir.’
    ‘Don’t you take yer eyes off me. Not for one instant. And when I move, you move. Or you’ll pay the price, make no mistake.’
    Jem nodded. He had always favoured the idea of being a bogler’s boy, because bogling was such a flash occupation, like smuggling, or highway robbery. People respected boglers. Unlike a grocer’s boy or a crossing-sweeper, a bogler’s apprentice could walk down the street with a swagger in his step – not to mention a steady wage in his pocket.
    Of course, a pickpocket could attract just as many admiring stares, if he was walking down the right street, in the right part of town. Jem knew how that felt. But he also knew he’d been fooled into thinking that all those respectful glances were a tribute to his own skills – when in fact Sarah Pickles, his employer, had been the important one.
    ‘What’s me own cut o’ the fee, Mr Bunce?’ Jem asked, smothering a sudden pang of rage at the thought of Sarah Pickles. ‘How much did Birdie get for a job?’
    ‘She got what she deserved,’ Alfred said shortly. ‘As you will.’
    Then he started to lay out his equipment, unwrapping his spear and testing the hinges on his dark lantern. Watching him, Jem felt slightly unnerved.