The Spring Bride Read Online Free PDF Page B

you, after all.
    And Jane was a survivor.
    London, 1804
    A fist thumped on the door. Hard. Three loud thumps. With every bang the door rattled. “Come on, little girl, open the door!”
    Silence. Jane didn’t move. Besides, she wasn’t a little girl anymore. She was six.
    â€œI know you’re in there, little girl.”
    She scarcely dared to breathe.
    â€œI’ve got a bag of sweeties for you. Just open the door and you can have them.”
    Sweeties? She loved sweets, had only tasted them a few times in her life, but she still didn’t move. Mr. Morrison, the landlord, frightened her, sweets or no.
    Besides, she was not to open the door to anyone, Abby had said. Not to anyone. Only Abby.
    Outside in the hallway, Mr. Morrison’s voice lowered. There was someone with him. Jane crept closer to the door and pressed her ear against it.
    â€œShe’s in there, I know she is. And alone—her sister works at the bakery and won’t be back for hours.”
    â€œThen get that bloody door open. I ’aven’t got all day.”
    Jane froze. She knew that voice, low as it was. It was The Man.
The Man
. She started to shake. The Man had tried to take her before. Oh, where was Abby? She bit on her knuckle and stared at the door.
    The first time he’d just grabbed at her in the street, but Abby was there and she’d pulled Jane back and The Man had gone away.
    The second time she’d been playing in the street with the other children, and a boy had come eating an orange, not a boy she’d seen before, but he’d come right up to Jane and given her a piece, and oh, it was delicious, so sweet and juicy and the boy had said a man was giving out oranges to children for nothing, just go around the corner.
    Only when Jane had gone around the corner, it was The Man—and he was waiting for her. He’d thrown a bag over her head and would have stolen her away, only she’d screamed and the other children—Mama called them street urchins, but they were Jane’s friends—had rushed up in a group and attacked The Man, and he’d dropped Jane and she’d escaped and run home to Mama, and safety.
    But Mama was dead now, and Jane was alone.
    The knock on the door came again, softer this time, and Mr. Morrison said, trying to sound friendly but she could tell he was cross, “Now don’t be foolish, girl. You know me. Nobody’s going to hurt you.”
    A key scraped in the lock and the handle turned. Shivering, Jane watched it like a snake. Last month Mama had made Abby put a bolt on the door. Mr. Morrison didn’t know about the bolt. But was it strong enough to keep out him and The Man?
    The door rattled, but stayed shut. Mr. Morrison swore.
    The Man had come here once when Mama was alive. Mama had been expecting Mr. Morrison, come about the rent, and had told her to hide in the wardrobe like a little mouse and to keep the door closed and not to move or come out—no matter what she heard—until Mama called her.
    It was Mr. Morrison, but he’d brought The Man with him. Jane had seen him through a crack in the wardrobe door. She’d listened as he told Mama he could give Jane a good job and a good home and plenty of food and he’d pay Mama ten pounds for her—ten pounds! But Mama got angry and started coughing and telling The Man to get out and that he wasn’t to lay a finger on either of her daughters, but The Man had said he didn’t want the other one, only Jane.
    He told Mama she wasn’t long for this world anyway, and that sooner or later he’d get Jane. And if not him, that someone else would get her, that Jane was worth good money in the right hands, and if Mama sold her to him now, she could buy medicine for herself and food for her other daughter.
    Mama had called him a filthy procu-something, and told him to get out! Get out! And to stay away from her daughters! The more angry and upset Mama got, the more