A Very Peculiar Plague Read Online Free PDF

and so beautifully dressed that Jem couldn’t help admiring her. As a thief, he had learned how to judge the value of every glove, shawl, watch, purse, hat and handkerchief that he spied on the street, so he knew that Miss Eames was always well turned out. Even now, she wore very superior garments. Her white blouse was made of fine lawn worth at least one shilling and sixpence a yard. Her shiny little boots had been made to measure, and she had trimmed her blue skirt with the very best silk velvet.
    ‘Come in, please,’ she said, retreating into a tiled hallway. ‘We have finished our tea, but Mary will make you a new pot. And there’s plum cake, if you’d like some.’
    Jem’s stomach growled. He had eaten only one slice of bread and dripping all day, so the prospect of plum cake made him feel suddenly faint with hunger.
    ‘But what about their feet, Miss?’ the maid protested, from behind Miss Eames. ‘They’ll dirty the carpets . . .’
    Miss Eames frowned. Before she could reply, Alfred said quickly, ‘We ain’t fit to come inside, Miss, it being so wet. I only stopped by to tell you summat you ought to know. It seems as how Jem were in Whitechapel, earlier, and passed one o’ them shopfront theatres they got there—’
    ‘ Mr Bunce! ’ An excited scream cut him off in mid-sentence. Jem realised that the singing had stopped, and was about to ask why when Birdie McAdam burst into the hallway, all glossy gold ringlets and rustling petticoats. She flung herself at Alfred, who stepped back and caught one of her outstretched arms.
    ‘Mind, lass – me trousers is muddy,’ he warned. ‘You’d not want to ruin yer pretty clothes.’
    ‘Come and have some tea!’ Birdie cried, then turned to Jem. ‘Come and have some cake!’
    Jem glanced pleadingly at Alfred, who shook his head and murmured, ‘We cannot stay. We ain’t fit for no parlour tea.’
    ‘Then eat in the kitchen!’ Birdie exclaimed. By this time she was tugging at Alfred’s hand, which looked very large and dirty next to her own. Jem couldn’t believe how clean Birdie was. Her hair gleamed like brass; her silk ribbons were as shiny as silver plate; she had the pinkest fingernails, the whitest neck and the most highly polished boots he’d ever seen.
    She’d also grown a little since their last meeting, and was talking differently. More like a lady, he thought.
    More like Miss Eames.
    ‘Calm down, Birdie, you mustn’t screech,’ Miss Eames chided. ‘What did I tell you about receiving visitors?’
    ‘Mr Bunce ain’t no visitor, he’s family,’ Birdie rejoined. Then, seeing Miss Eames purse her lips, she quickly corrected herself. ‘He is no visitor, I mean.’
    ‘Miss, if that boy comes in, he’ll have to wash his feet,’ the maid interposed. She pointed an accusing finger at the brown footprint that Jem had already left on the chequerboard floor. ‘Either that or we put down some drugget.’
    ‘No – please – we ain’t here to cause trouble.’ Alfred crumpled his hat with one hand as Birdie hauled on the other. ‘We came to deliver a message, and will go directly when we’re done.’
    ‘But don’t you want to have a chat?’ Birdie asked in a plaintive voice. ‘Don’t you want to hear all my news?’
    ‘Why, of course I do, lass. That goes without saying . . .’
    ‘Birdie, let Mr Bunce deliver his message!’ Miss Eames spoke sharply. ‘You mustn’t hound people like that – it is not polite.’ Turning back to Alfred, she said, ‘What seems to be the problem, Mr Bunce? Is Ned unwell? I notice he isn’t with you.’
    ‘Ned’s good. This ain’t about Ned.’ Alfred hesitated, as if unsure of how to begin. Finally, however, he cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and launched into a full explanation. ‘Fact o’ the matter is, somebody’s bin using Birdie’s name . . .’

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    When Miss Eames heard Alfred’s news, she was furious. ‘No freak-show manager is going to steal