Luck Be a Lady Read Online Free PDF

matter how many times the school board rounded them up, they slipped free. “You see Mrs. Hollister hereabouts of late?”
    â€œNo, sir.”
    It was her job to investigate truancies for the school board, and force children back to school. Should that fail, the new laws gave her the right to summon parents before the board, where they would be fined an amount they could not spare.
    â€œHo!” Nick yelled. “You lot!” He strode forward, and one of the children, Tommy Ferguson, took note, calling the others’ attention in a hurry.
    They clustered into a panicked herd at Nick’s approach. “Who’s keeping you out of school?” he said. Sometimes a newcomer, not grasping the way of White­chapel, made the mistake of pulling his child from class in order to earn. Then, sure as dominoes toppling, the likely suspects followed suit, bunking with glee.
    â€œIt’s a holiday,” Tommy Ferguson said, brazen as brass.
    Nick eyed him. “Does your ma know you for a liar?”
    The boy winced. His ma, Mary Ferguson, was as broad-beamed as a ship, and didn’t spare a smack for sass. “Don’t tell her, sir! I’ll go!”
    â€œTake the rest with you. Five minutes, Tommy. If I see a single one of you in the road, it’s your mother I’ll be speaking with next.”
    Tommy had a talent for leadership. With gasped apologies, he harried the pack down the road, making them scramble.
    â€œWho’s the little one?” Nick asked Johnson. A small girl, more bedraggled than the rest, was barely keeping up, her bare heels kicking as she trailed around the corner.
    â€œNew to the street,” Johnson said. “Mother’s a fur stripper. Don’t know the dad.”
    â€œShe had a beggar’s bowl under her arm. And no boots.” There was no call for that. He’d seen to it that the Whitechapel vestry covered the school fee for parents who could not pay it, and supplied the boots that the law required schoolchildren to wear. “You speak with her mother. Go gentle, though. She may not know there’s help for her.”
    â€œAye. I will.”
    Satisfied, Nick straightened his hat. Nothing else looked amiss. Brisk business at the cookshop on the corner, women hanging the washing out the windows—he grinned at Peggy Malloy’s coy greeting—and men making smart progress toward their destinations, no loitering in sight.
    Once this quarter of Whitechapel had looked different—violent, ugly, choked with rubbish. But now it boasted orderly streets, solid tenements, quiet nights, and schools with no seats to spare.
    He frowned. He’d been feeling restless of late, uneasy for reasons he couldn’t quite place. Everything was going very well—so well, in fact, that he’d left off with petty crime entirely. His legitimate businesses were turning a far handsomer profit, to say nothing of his gambling palace. But contentment too closely resembled carelessness. And carelessness always led to a fall.
    Perhaps this was where it started: some upstart toff from St. Luke’s.
    â€œDo this,” Nick said. “Gather Malloy and the rest of the boys. I’m calling a meeting.”
    Johnson nodded. “At Neddie’s?”
    â€œNo, we’re done with bloody business for a time. I need a proper meeting.” Nick bared his teeth in a smile. The Municipal Board of Works shaped the entire city. One seat was reserved for Whitechapel, but he rarely tasked his man to attend the meetings. Malloy lacked the allies required to sway the board’s decisions, and most of the votes didn’t interest Nick anyway. He had no care for matters in Southwark or Clerkenwell; the East End was his territory, no farther.
    But perhaps it was time he did take an interest. Bringthe board into line, and while he was at it, address the question of water in Whitechapel—these competing companies had been sabotaging their