“Tell me, Miss Bentley,” Percival said, “What was it like to live on the streets? Was it really that much better than your apprenticeship?”
With the pies baking in the oven, there was nothing else that Tiffany needed to do. So she gladly sat down and began to explain.
“The night I ran away, I didn’t have any real idea what I was going to do. Mrs. Bentley had beaten me with her hairbrush, then had locked me up in Father Bentley’s retiring room because it was the only room in the house that had a lock on it. What she didn’t know was that Father Bentley had been teaching me how to keep accounts in that room, and I had a better idea of what was in it than she did. He always kept a spare set of clothes there, as well as extra keys, and he also had the few things that were with me when I was adopted.”
“What were those things, Miss Bentley?”
“A Tiffany’s wooden apple crate with their company name burned into the wooden side, a baby blanket, the gown I wore, and my birth father’s old clasp knife.”
“So I dressed in Father Bentley’s spare suit. It was a little big, but that meant that the suit jacket neatly disguised the little bit of figure that I was starting to develop. I opened the cupboard where he kept my things, and took out the clasp knife, blanket, and gown and put them in my pocket. I think I had some idea of using the knife for protection.”
Percival nodded. “Go on.”
“I had not been on the street more than an hour when this tough came up to me, and demanded my coin. I started laughing, because I hadn’t any. When he wanted to know what was so funny, I told him my story. I was so lucky, because that was Samuel.”
“Samuel?” Michaels asked.
Tiffany nodded. “My big brother of the street. When he realized who I was, because everyone knew Father Bentley, he took me under his wing and showed me how to survive on the streets. He found me some clothes that wouldn’t stand out so much, and introduced me to a used clothing dealer who was always on the lookout for quality stuff to sell. It hurt to part with Father’s coat and breeches, and even more to give up the gown and blanket, but the new clothes were a better fit. I kept the knife, of course.”
“You still have it?” Percival asked.
“Indeed, I do. I sleep with it under my pillow. It is a wicked looking thing when it is opened out. Closed up, it doesn’t excite much attention.”
“It is a clasp knife?” Michaels asked.
Tiffany nodded. “Yes. Not a spring knife or cutler from one of the makers in Sheffield, but something very like.”
“Amazing,” Percival put in. “So what became of Samuel?”
“Samuel was truly kind of heart. He had grown up on the streets and was in the habit of looking out for the littles on our block. He just added me to the gang, taught me how to lift a purse, snitch a piece of fruit, and when to go on by because it was too risky. In the end, it was his kind heart that got him caught.”
“Do go on,” Percival said.
“He befriended a stoolie. He just managed to figure it out before he introduced the fellow to the rest of us, and managed to yell, ‘Run!’ before he was taken up by the Watch.”
“Then what happened?” Michaels asked.
“I was the oldest, so I took over as the leader. Davy knew other ways than stealin’ for us to make money, so we did that most times. Lisa had a beautiful voice, and she would sing and we would collect money in a hat. Tommy knows how to clog, so sometimes he did that or we would all sing while he clogged. But Lisa was the best.”
“You say, ‘was’,” Percival put in.
“Lisa got sick, and couldn’t sing a note. Lost her voice completely for three days. She needed medicine, and we all needed food. So Davy and I took to the rooftops. That’s when you and McClellan caught us. Guess I’m not much for the top story milling lay.”
“Top story milling lay?” Percival looked puzzled.
“Oh, when you climb onto the roof of a house and pick the lock on a window or door to get in.”
“Interesting,” Percival chuckled. Then he asked, “So these are the people you are feeding?”
“My Lord, I am sorry. I guess it is sort of stealing. But I could not eat good food and see food thrown out without doing something for my own.”
“I can see where that would have been beyond hard,” Percival commented pensively. “Technically, it is theft, but since you were giving it in my name, we shall call it charity. I think I might exact a penalty, however, for neither telling me nor asking.”
Tiffany froze, alarm written plainly across her face.
“Nothing too dreadful,” he reassured her. “Just something with which you can help me. My friends and I are organizing the construction of an orphanage. I would like for you to spend some time going over ideas. I’ve seen a few orphanages that are already established, and they seem like grim, joyless places.”
Tiffany relaxed. “I would be glad to do that, My Lord. It scarcely counts as a penalty at all.”
