It had been such a blessed relief to find the window open that I hadn’t given a single moment’s thought as to what sort of room I was leaping into. Now, though, as I began to catch my breath, I turned my head to take stock and saw that I was in the bedroom of a child. Which was not a disaster in itself, except that the child in question was in current occupation of the bed and looking directly at me.
He was the palest creature I had ever seen. About my age, with a wan face and hair the colour of bleached straw, propped up against enormous white feather pillows, his waxen arms draped limply over the smooth linen sheets. I tried to smile reassuringly and had opened my mouth to speak when I realised that there was nothing I could say or do to make the moment seem normal; what was more, the policeman would be upon us at any minute, and really, it would be best if neither of us were to say anything.
I lifted my finger to my lips to implore the boy to silence, aware that he held my fate in his hands, and then he spoke: ‘If you come any nearer –’ his vowels were so crystal-sharp that they sliced through the room’s thick, stale air – ‘I shall call for my father and you will be on a transport ship to Australia before you can utter even the hint of an apology.’
Transportation was about the only thing worse than the workhouse, and I was trying to find the words to explain to him how it came to pass that I had arrived in his room through a rooftop window, when I heard another voice; the gruff, embarrassed tones of a man above me at the window saying, ‘My apologies, sir – Little Master – There was a girl I was chasing, you see: a young girl running away from me.’
‘A young girl? On the rooftop? Have you gone mad?’
‘Not at all, Little Master, she climbed you see, like a monkey, straight up the ladder—’
‘You expect me to believe that a young girl outran you?’
‘Well, ah, er … yes, sir.’
‘And you a grown man?’
A slight pause. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Remove yourself from my bedroom window this minute or I shall call out at the top of my lungs. Do you know who my father is?’
‘Yes, sir, but I … You see, sir, there was a girl …’
‘This. Minute!’
‘Sir. Yes, sir. Very good, sir.’
There was a scuffling noise on the roof, followed by the sound of something heavy sliding along tiles, and then a diminishing yelp.
The boy turned his attention to me.
It was my experience that when there was nothing to be said, it was best to say nothing, and so I waited to see which way the wind was going to blow. He regarded me quizzically before saying, finally, ‘Hello.’
‘Hello.’ With the policeman gone, there seemed little point in remaining crouched and so I stood. It was my first opportunity to look properly at the room and I am not ashamed to say that I was powerless to stop gawping.
I had never seen anything like it. The room was a nursery, with a slanted roofline and shelves lining the walls from floor to ceiling, upon which sat an example of every toy I could have thought to name. Wooden soldiers and skittles, balls and bats and marbles, a remarkable clockwork train engine with carriages containing little dolls, an ark with pairs of each animal under the sun, a set of spinning tops in different sizes, a red and white drum, a jack-in-the-box, and a rocking horse in the corner keeping a cool eye on things. A Punch and Judy set. An elaborate doll’s house that stood as tall as I did on its plinth. A spinning hoop and stick that had the shining look of items that had never before been used.
As I conducted my inspection, my eyes alit upon a tray on the foot of his bed. It was covered with the sort of food I had glimpsed through the windows in Mayfair but never even hoped to sample for myself. My stomach became a knot and perhaps he noticed me staring because he said, ‘You would be doing me a great favour were you to eat some. They are always trying to feed me, even though I’ve told them that I’m rarely hungry.’
I did not need to be told twice.
The food on the tray was still warm and I ate it gratefully, perched on the very end of his quilted bed. I was too busy eating to speak, and as he was inclined to do neither we watched one another warily across the tray.
When I was finished, I patted my mouth with the napkin, the way Mrs Mack always did, and smiled cautiously. ‘Why are you in bed?’
‘I am not well.’
‘What’s the matter with you?’
‘There seems to be a degree of uncertainty in that regard.’
‘Are you going to die?’
He considered. ‘It is possible. Although, I haven’t to this point, which I take as a positive sign.’
I nodded in agreement but also encouragement. I did not know this strange, pale boy, but I was glad to think that he was not at death’s door.
‘But how rude of me,’ he said. ‘Forgive me. I don’t have many guests.’ He held out a fine hand. ‘I was named for my father, of course, but you shall call me just plain Joe. And you are … ?’
As I took his hand, I thought of Lily Millington. Inventing a name was by far and away the more sensible thing to do and I still cannot say why I told him the truth. An irrepressible urge started deep down inside my stomach and then rose, growing in pace and solidity until I could resist it no longer. ‘I was named for my mother’s father,’ I said. ‘But my friends call me Birdie.’
‘And so shall I, for you arrived on my windowsill just like a bird.’
‘Thank you for lending it to me.’
‘Not at all. I’ve often had cause, lying here with nothing much else to look at, to wonder why the builders wasted so much material in making it so wide. I see now that they were wiser than I gave them credit.’
He smiled at me and I smiled back.
On the table beside him was something that I had never seen before. I felt emboldened by his kindness and picked it up. It was a disc with pieces of twine attached to two opposing edges; on one side was drawn a canary, and on the other side a metal cage. ‘What is this?’
He indicated that I should hand it to him. ‘It’s called a thaumatrope.’ He held one of the strings and then rotated the disc so that it wound tightly. Holding both strings, he then pulled them away from one another so that the disc began to spin rapidly. I clapped, delighted, as the bird suddenly flew into the cage.
‘Magic,’ he said.
‘An illusion,’ I corrected.
‘Yes. Quite right. It is a trick. But a pretty one.’
With a final glance at the thaumatrope, I thanked him for the lunch and told him that I had to go.
‘No,’ he said quickly, shaking his head. ‘I forbid it.’
The response was so unexpected that I could think of nothing to say. It was all I could do not to burst out laughing that this pale bedridden boy thought he might be capable of forbidding me anything; it made me sad, too, because in three words he had exposed himself so plainly, both his wishes and his limitations.
Perhaps he also glimpsed the absurdity of his order, for his tone lost its bravado and he continued, almost desperately, ‘Please. You must stay longer.’
‘I will be in trouble if I stay out after dark.’
‘There’s plenty of time until sunset – two hours at least.’
‘But I haven’t done my work. I’ve nothing to show for the day.’
Pale Joe was confused by this and asked what sort of work I meant. Did I mean schoolwork, and if so where were my books and slate and where did I intend to meet my governess? I told him that I did not mean schoolwork, that I had never been to school, and I explained to him about my omnibus route and the gloves and the dresses with the deep pockets.
He listened to this account with widening eyes and then asked me to show him the gloves. I sat closer to him on the edge of the bed, pulled them from my pocket, and arranged them on my lap, acting the part of the little lady in her carriage. ‘You see that my hands are here,’ I said, nodding at the gloves, to which he agreed. ‘And yet,’ I continued, ‘what is this?’
He gasped, because without appearing to alter my position I had slipped my actual hand beneath the covers to tickle his knee.
‘And that is how it works,’ I said, jumping off the bed and smoothing my skirts.