Lady Lightfingers Read Free

her.
    â€˜How did you really get this money?’ Alice insisted.
    Celia modified her earlier lie. ‘It dropped from someone’s pocket when he gave me thruppence, and I put my foot on it. He was as drunk as a lord and said I could have it for my trouble. It was a good poem, worth every penny, and one that took me a whole week to learn – the one Lord Byron wrote about walking in beauty. The toff said it reminded him of his true love, who he was parted from, and so did I. Then he tried to kiss me.’
    â€˜You didn’t fall for that man-talk, did you?’ her mother said, her anxiety all too apparent. ‘You’re old enough to know about men and their ways, and don’t need to gain experience the hard way, like I did. Get the ring on your finger first, and make sure he’s an honest man. Women are easily duped.’
    Celia did know about men. In this part of London you learned quickly if you wanted to survive – and she did intend to do that. She knew what her mother had to do on occasion to keep food on the table, and how much she hated it. Celia was learning other skills of survival, but they didn’t include accommodating the appetites of men.
    She snorted. ‘Do donkeys fly? There were others waiting to relieve him of the purse if I hadn’t planted my foot on it. That’s why I was marked myself, I reckon.’
    Celia grinned. Her explanation had been accepted. She must have inherited her father’s skill where lying was concerned. Or perhaps her mother chose to believe her because they were in need.
    Her smile faded as a second thought intruded. Watch out, Jackaby Laws, I’m only fifteen at the moment but I’ll soon be grown-up. If I ever run into you I’ll find some way to relieve you of the money you took from my mother and grandfather. When I do, my mother will be able to hold her head up again and so will her children.
    Lottie called out and her mother sighed. ‘Look after her, Celia. I’ll go out and buy some milk and bread, and some pies and fruit. We’ll eat like princesses tonight.’
    â€˜I’ll go if you like.’
    â€˜Not if you’re marked. He’ll be hanging around where he last saw you, waiting for you to emerge.’
    â€˜You can’t miss him; he’s wearing a red kerchief, and there’s a ned in his belt. I haven’t seen him round here before, and I spotted him easily. What about the watch? Shall I try and sell it?’
    â€˜You must find some way of giving it back to the gentleman, but don’t get caught, Celia. I couldn’t bear it if you were put in prison or transported to the other side of the world and I never saw you again. And get rid of that ring at the same time. It’s too noticeable.’
    It was a pretty trinket with a green stone in the middle, surrounded by small, creamy pearls. It fitted her middle finger perfectly.
    Lottie came in and climbed on to her lap, her eyes widening when the watch began to chime. Celia held it to Lottie’s ear. She was three years old, and she had light-blue eyes and soft, brown, curly hair, the same as Alice, so she looked as though she belonged to them. Celia had darker eyes. Cornflower blue.
    Celia could remember cornflowers in the fields when they’d toured with the Wentworth Players. She resembled her father, her mother had told her. His eyes had been the same colour, as was his hair – dark brown, almost black. Not that Celia had ever met him. He didn’t even know of her existence – not yet! But one day she’d find him, even if it took the rest of her life.
    As for Lottie’s parentage, it was a mystery. Her mother had found her as a newborn baby, abandoned amongst the rubbish on the riverbank. She’d been left for the tide to carry away, something that was a common practice. She’d probably been born there and left where she was dropped.
    At first, Alice had intended to ignore the child, but her