Emily's Penny Dreadful Read Online Free PDF

saw the lady (even though she wasn’t a proper lady
because of the swearing) for the first time. She was thin and grey
and wiry, like a strip of tough bacon.
      “ You don’t
remember?”
      “ I know the
address,” said Miley. “It’s number 37 Long Street.”
      “ But you don’t know
the way back to Long Street, do
    you?”
      Miley did not
answer. The lady smiled a small, grim smile. “No, of course you
don’t,” she said. “Not by
    yourself. You lost your way in the dark and
stormy night, didn’t you?”
      “ What on earth is
happening down there?” called
    the man from the top of the second
staircase. “Hurry up!”
      Miley thought he
sounded rather brutish as well as ruffianly.
      The lady ignored
him. Good!
      “ I left my parapluie
behind,” said Miley. “And my Hippo Bank. And my coat and
shawl.”
      “ Tut, tut. So many
things to be without. Such a pity,” said the lady. She held the
latest match up to Miley. It was a long, straight, skinny match.
Its light was bright and hot. And stinky.
      “ It hurts my eyes,”
said Miley. “And it gets up my nose.”
      “ You’d better come
along with me then,” said the lady. “This cellar is no place for a
little girl as refined as you to sleep in. The truckle bed belongs
to our night watchman. He sleeps there during the day.”
      The lady with the
match took Miley’s hand (actually she grabbed it rather than simply
taking it, but Miley
    didn’t want to believe that
anyone would take her hand in such a rough fashion) and bustled her
back down the Inward Goods Only stairs.
      On the way to the
opposite set of stairs the fifth match
    burnt out and the lady lit a sixth one,
saying ‘damnation’ again under her breath. Miley managed to cover
one ear so all she heard was ‘da’ which nonetheless upset her
greatly as it reminded her immediately of her Papa whom she and her
sister often called ‘da’ because ‘da’ rhymed with ‘Papa’.
      “ Such a waste,” the
lady said. “You’ve caused me no end of trouble tonight. That’s six
matches I’ve spent on you young lady.”
      “ My name’s Miley,”
said Miley. “And I’m nine.”
      “ There’s no need to
repeat yourself,” said the lady.
      They reached the top
step and entered a room where the man had lighted an oil lamp. The
lady did not have to waste more matches, although she might not
have been too happy about having to waste her oil supply
instead.
      “ Here is our
intruder,” she said.
      If the lady looked
like a piece of bacon the man
    looked, in Miley’s opinion, like an
undercooked pork pie. And she didn’t like pork pies. He was pale,
short,
    roundish and somewhat greasy. Without doubt,
a ruffian and a brute to boot, Miley decided.
      “ Can you take me
home now?” Miley asked.
    “ Please,” she added, polite
as girls and ladies ought
    always to be.
      The lady and the man
looked at one another. “In the morning,” the lady said. “First you
will have to pay for the matches I’ve had to use up, as well as for
your bed and breakfast. Altogether that will cost you at least one
penny.”
      “ But that’s
dreadful!” exclaimed Miley. “You know I don’t have any money with
me. I left it behind, just like my parapluie and all.”
      Miley was rather
ashamed at how her voice quivered and quavered. She really should
have done her best to disguise her fear but, in the circumstances,
that was not easy.
      “ What was that ‘p’
word?” said the man.
    “ Parapluie,” said Miley.
“Some people call it an umbrella,” she explained.
      “ I haven’t come
across that word in any of my
    newspapers,” said the man.
“Interesting.”
      He took a small
notebook from the table.
      “ How do you spell
it?” he asked.
      “ I T,” said
Miley.
      “ No, no, no! I mean
the umbrella word!”
      “ Oh, sorry,” said
Miley. “It’s P A R A P L U I E. I’m a good speller, you know. The
best in my class. Now
    that