Kitty Peck and the Child of Ill-Fortune by Kate Griffin Read Free Book Online

ici .’ The old boy pattered along the first landing, pushed open a door and ushered us into the room beyond. He nodded to Lucca and disappeared, leaving us staring at each other. A log that smelt of sweet apple wood spat in the hearth, a single gas lamp glowed on a cloth-covered side table and candles burned in a couple of wall sconces.
    Lucca took my hand.
    ‘Fannella, I think you should know . . . this house . . .’
    I squeezed his fingers. ‘I reckon I know what you’re about to say. Tell truth, I think I run a couple of these establishments back home. Telferman’s a bit chary on details, but there’s a place up Stepney way that does good business, according to the books. It’s called The Cloister.’ I paused as a thought struck. ‘Carmelites – they’re nuns too, aren’t they? And I reckon I’m the mother superior?’
    Lucca shook his head and twisted the brim of his hat. His face was solemn. He had that look of an owl – well, half of one – that comes on him when he’s worried. ‘It’s been a long time. He will be surprised. He doesn’t expect you.’ He glanced around at the room. ‘And this . . . He will be . . .’
    ‘He will be my brother, Lucca. Nothing changes that.’ Even as I said it I found myself wondering. I was good at closing doors in my head, making sure that things I didn’t want to dwell on stayed locked away. Like I said, ever since I’d learned the truth about Joey I hadn’t liked to take it out and turn it in the light. There were things in his past I didn’t want to give a picture to in my head, not because I was ashamed of him, but because it felt like trespassing – like rummaging around somewhere I had no right to be.
    I busied myself with the buttons on my travel coat and then I fiddled about with the pins securing my hat. It seemed to be caught so I left it.
    The room was done up finer than any I’d seen before. It put me in mind of Fitzy’s dainty office at The Gaudy, only the person who lived here had better taste – and more money.
    I went to the sofa, sat down – perched is more like it – and patted the seat next to me. It was a low couch affair with rolled gilt ends and so many embroidered bolsters I couldn’t get a purchase. There were paintings on the walls – some I didn’t care to look at too closely – a barrowload of scented flowers, lilies this time, arranged in porcelain basins set around the corners and patterned rugs of the Oriental type layered over each other so it was like walking on a mattress.
    I peeled off my gloves. ‘He’ll be here in a moment – and I’ve no doubt that when he comes he’ll know who’s waiting for him. Dapper Dennis couldn’t wait to be off with the news, could he?’ As I rolled the gloves in my lap I noticed that my hands were trembling.
    At first we tried to carry on talking while we waited like this was some everyday social call. Lucca did most of the chat – looking back I think he was trying to distract me. He told me how the smell of lilies always reminded him of his village back home. At Easter, he said, the men took turns to carry a life-sized statue of the Virgin Mary out from the church and around to the three springs on the outskirts that supplied all their water. The statue was decorated with armfuls of lilies and the women and children followed behind with more flowers which they threw over the heads of the men and in front of the statue as it bumped along the pathways and up the hillsides. When I said it didn’t sound like something we’d do in Limehouse Lucca smiled sadly and agreed. He went quiet for a bit and then he started up again, talking about the wallpaper. Chinese hand-painted, he reckoned.
    I didn’t have an opinion on where it came from, but I remarked that I didn’t much like the yellow.
    I didn’t say anything else after that. I couldn’t. My mouth was suddenly dry as a sparrow’s dust bath. My fingers went to the Christopher and the ring at my neck. Every time I heard the