The Peculiar Pets of Miss Pleasance Read online

  The child sneered up at her, and the Copper standing slightly behind him said, “Go on.”

  “Found yer bird,” the child muttered.

  “Found it and tried to make a pretty penny, more like. Thought it might belong to you, miss. Have you had any thefts?” He stared down at the child almost hungrily, as if hoping for a reason to take the scamp into the station.

  Frannie knelt and held out her arm. The crow gladly hopped to her, rubbing its beak gratefully along her sleeve. Even if it had been stolen, she wouldn’t have turned the poor ragamuffin over to the Coppers for what passed as interrogation these days.

  “Not stolen. There was a fire last night, and I began freeing the animals in case the Brigade couldn’t stop it in time. Would you brave gentlemen care for some biscuits as a reward for returning him?”

  “Money’d be better,” the child grumbled, but the Copper thumped him on the head and said, “That’s awfully kind of you, miss.”

  Frannie set the bird on its perch by a fresh bowl of seed and hurriedly fetched some ladyfingers from the parlor, along with some of the lemon drops she kept around for her customers’ spoiled children. The Copper regarded the shop with narrowed eyes as he nibbled his biscuit, and Frannie was relieved when he yawned and moved toward the door. When he stepped outside, she slipped the candy and a coin into the child’s hand and whispered, “A copper for any more pets you bring. Pets, mind. Won’t pay for nuffin’ wild. Spread the word, eh?”

  The child’s eyes went bright as he nodded craftily. The candy and the coin had already disappeared.

  Once they were gone and the raven settled back in, she set to work upstairs, mopping up the water and dumping the ruined bedclothes and rug and singed curtain scraps out the broken window. She knew well enough that they would be snatched up within moments by the less fortunate. There were plenty of people in London who had nothing and wouldn’t mind the burn holes. Studying what was left of her room, she tallied up what she would need to make it livable again. Money was tight, and she’d have to visit the secondhand shops. It had been years since she’d had anything like new.

  When she went downstairs for the parlor broom, she found a disheveled but dressed Casper steadily going about her chores. He was halfway through scooping out the puppy bin, his face a decided shade of green.

  “You’re alive, then,” Frannie said sharply.

  He glared at her, the whites of his eyes as pink as pickled eggs. “Did I dream it, or was the shop on fire at some point in the night?”

  “Ah, yes. It was, actually. You did your part to save dozens of animal lives by turning over in bed and knocking over a parrot. Well done. You’re on your way to earning your keep.”

  “I’ll pay for the room.” She raised her eyebrows. “When next they pay me.”

  “Don’t drink it away this time.”

  “I didn’t drink it away. I have an unusual . . . condition. It requires a special medicine that’s very expensive, and—”

  “Don’t. Just don’t.” She held up a hand and went back to sweeping.

  He looked properly chastened and set to scooping up bedding with renewed vigor as corgis tumbled all over the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt. She noticed an inked mark on his forearm, a raven with a key, but she was too scandalized at seeing a man’s skin during daylight to ask about it.

  “You don’t know any carpentry, do you?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Outside of music and puppy wrangling, I’m utterly useless. Sorry.”

  “No other skills whatsoever?”

  He looked down, and she couldn’t help noticing again the smeared marks of rouge on his chest. “Let’s just say I use my hands for softer things.”

  She snorted and raised an eyebrow at him. He was so much like Bertram that it was almost ridiculous. Pretty and spoiled. Casper finished with the puppies and stood, and she put a glass bottle in his hand.

  “The kittens in the basket need to be fed. There should be enough here to fill all their tummies. They’ll make a mess right after, so make sure to put them in their bin of hay.”

  He looked at the creamy milk and laughed. “Not the kind of bottle or cathouse I’m used to, but I think I can do that much. Are you leaving?”

  “I’ve things to replace, after the fire. I’ll lock the door. Don’t open it for anyone.”

  “You don’t trust me to sell animals?”

  Looking him up and down, she said, “This establishment is called Needful Creatures, not Pathetic Mutts. Have a bit of pride, man.”

  She left him there, barefoot and staring at the bottle as if it was a foreign artifact.

  Frannie returned just before ten. The folding cart behind her was mostly empty. Things seemed to cost more than they once had. The curtains were drab, and the sheets were thin, but they would do. That would have to be good enough.

  The door was unlocked, which set her immediately on the defensive. Two male voices were raised within, which was one more nonbird voice than she could allow.

  “What the blazes—”

  Casper and a familiar-looking man stopped their nose-to-nose arguing and stared at her. They were both covered in kittens and bristling all over like two male dogs that had sniffed each other’s bum and not liked what they found.

  “I told him. I told him I wasn’t supposed to let him in. But that crazy old biddy next door sent him around back,” Casper said.

  The big man leaned back and tried to cross his arms over a wide chest, but he was hampered by a tiny calico crawling up his jacket. He stifled a smile and cleared his throat, and that’s when Frannie realized it was Thom, the fireman from the night before. He looked different out of his uniform and not coated in sweat and soot. His skin still carried the kiss of a sun more fiery than Sangland had seen, but his hair fell to his shoulders in clean waves, and his cheeks were neatly shaved. And she hadn’t met a man in a skirt before—not that it wasn’t a very manly skirt.

  He must have caught her staring at his knees, for he said, “Edinburgh, in case you’re curious. Took to the sea as soon as I could and never looked back. Especially not when a wee cockerel like this one tries to turn me away from an obligation. Speaking of which.” He snapped open an odd, fur-covered bag around his waist, and a parakeet flew out in a tizzy to screech at him from the rafters.

  Frannie could only stare at the little yellow and green bird. “How in Sang did you manage to catch a parakeet in London?”

  A grin lit up his face. “Told you I was good at catching things. Shall we go out and find some more of your wee pets?”

  She stared at Casper, noting that he was fully dressed and clean, at least, his hair brushed and tied back and his boots pulled on. Did she trust him alone at the shop? No. But there was something mighty fetching about the fireman and his strange ways. And the earlier she went out to search for the lost pets, the better the chance of finding them in one piece. Frannie bit her lip and considered. What if someone came in for a kitten or a puppy? Casper didn’t know when they’d been whelped, what their bloodlines were, or what they liked best to eat. She needed every copper she could get from their sale.

  “I’m afraid I can’t this morning,” she said sadly. “I can’t close shop, you know. Especially now that there’s things to replace.”

  His brow creased, and he handed her the calico kitten that perched on his shoulder.

  “There wasn’t much damage, aye? The window and a bit of the bed? Can your lodger not take care of such things?”

  Frannie shook her head, and Thom gave Casper a withering look. The musician had his back turned as he sipped from a flask and missed the entire exchange.

  “I’ll bring the necessary materials,” Thom said. “Will tomorrow morning at dawn suit?”

  “How much?”

  He raised one eyebrow, affronted. “A home-cooked meal would be a fair trade. Nothing but wrappies down at the station, and bad ones at that.”

  She cocked her head at him, but he seemed so earnest. “If I might ask, why are y
ou being so kind to me?”

  Thom gave her a look that seared her down to her toes, a spark lighting unexpected tinder. Looking down and clearing his throat, he extracted a kitten from his boot. “Ye seem like a good-hearted woman, is all.”

  “That might be true. And I could use the help, to be sure. But only if you let me reimburse you.” She plucked the kitten from his hands and stroked its tiny back until a purr started up. “And only if it’s not too much bother. Fighting fires all night must be rather exhausting. And surely you have a family.”

  Thom’s face went dark. “Not anymore. I do a bit of handyman work when I can. Keeps me from brooding.”

  “We mustn’t get too broody,” Frannie said, the corner of her mouth quirking up. “Dawn it is.”

  “An ungodly hour,” Casper tossed over his shoulder.

  Thom snorted. “Ye strike me as an ungodly man, lad. Best buck up and grow a pair.”

  With a last nod at Frannie, Thom left.

  “What’s with that guy?” Casper asked. “Barging in here like he can fix everything?”

  “What’s wrong with you?” She advanced on him, waving a gloved finger in his face. “Sleeping through a near tragedy, useless to help clean up the mess. Call yourself a man?”

  Casper’s lips pulled back, and he let out a warning hiss that drove her blood cold. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about me,” he said, low and deadly. “Where I came from or what I am. Don’t you dare compare me to some beefcake sailor who pretends he’s a gentleman so he can slip under your skirts. Here’s my week’s rent, by the way. If that agreement still stands?”

  He held out a paper tube of coins, and she took it numbly. Of all the things she’d expected of Bertram’s doppelgänger, rage and riches weren’t on the list.

  “This is too much.”

  “Keep it. Money is one thing I don’t lack.”

  “Then why were you kicked out by your last landlord?”

  “I—”

  The rage fell from his face, and he simply looked like a lost little boy. One hand went unconsciously to the pocket where she knew he kept his flask. He recovered quickly and flashed his dimples. The practiced grin didn’t reach his eyes.

  “Let’s just say my illness took me poorly. I had a fit. But I’m better now.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I will be.”

  The coins filled Frannie’s fist, far more than what she’d asked. She couldn’t toss him out now. Perhaps having a lodger wouldn’t be so bad, if he made a habit of actually paying extra. So long as he didn’t discover the hidden door in her closet, and so long as he kept to himself and didn’t have any fits, it might work out.

  “You must be very talented,” she murmured.

  He glanced up at her, mouth open in surprise. “You’ve honestly never heard my music? I thought everyone in London went to musicales and balls and shows. I assumed that was why you rescued me that day. Because you recognized me.” She shook her head, and he muttered, “Of course. The resemblance to your brother.”

  “I don’t go out,” she said. “My parents didn’t approve of public displays.”

  He smiled his charming smile, but with feeling this time.

  “Would you go out for a good reason? I’m playing the Vauxhall this Friday night, and it’s kind of a big deal. I’ve been challenged by an upstart little twerp who thinks he invented the harpsichord. We’re going to have a duel.”

  “A duel?” Her hand went to her throat, her heart dropping to her feet and her entire body going numb.

  “Of course. Dueling pianos. One stage, two instruments, two master musicians.” He must have noted her going nearly rigid. “Oh, honey. You didn’t think I meant a duel—with swords? No way. I’m a lover, not a fighter. Most of the time.”

  Frannie took a long, deep breath, feeling the blood rush back into her extremities. That’s all it took—a single word—to send her right back to that day in the park. To the red blood against sooty snow, to a cruel laugh, a sneer, and a dark, twirly mustache that had made her forever hateful of facial hair. She hadn’t been back there since. Hadn’t been much of anywhere, other than her usual errands, all of them to unthreatening shopkeepers and along walkways safe from the city’s dandies and devils.

  “You really should come. My contract stipulates a box for my use, and I’ll put your name on it. You can bring your friends.”

  Frannie snorted. “What friends? Maisie next door? A basket of kittens?”

  “It’s a box, darlin’. Bring the entire shop, if you can keep the parrots quiet.”

  “I’ll think about it,” she finally said.

  But she knew the sort of person who lurked around Casper’s innocent little musicales, and she didn’t ever want to see that mustache again. Was it better to seem a coward or come face-to-face with the man who’d ruined her life?

  6

  Her coin had more than done its work. Three more street urchins arrived that day bearing lost and confused birds. One brought half of a dead parakeet and a hopeful smile, but Frannie sent him away with her secondary order: they only counted if they were whole and alive.

  The kittens were brightening up, so she settled them into a bin, glad to be relieved of the basket for the first time in a week. On a whim, she gave them a bit of mushed-up fish and milk to see if they were ready for real food, and they fell to it like thieves. One less thing to worry about. All in all, business was going well, and by the end of the day, she’d paired city folks with animals they considered magical, pocketing a decent bit of coin in the process.

  Crows and owls were quite popular with magicians, scholars, and daimons, while the rich families lined up for kittens and puppies. The middle class had to settle for creatures small and bright—parakeets, dragon lizards, canaries, and the occasional tortoise. She would take almost any unbludded animal her vendors could deliver still breathing. Over the years, she’d seen dozens of the expected creatures, not to mention rare and exotic pets such as spotted mice, dodo birds, living monkeys, snakes, and, once, a patchy leopard cub she’d spruced up and taken to the zoo for an enormous profit. After coaxing her new charges into excellent health with her father’s secret lore, she sold them fairly quickly. That was one reason she never got too attached to her creatures: they never stayed.

  Except Filbert. He rode in her pocket all day, even for the morning’s errands. She’d held herself aloof for so long that it felt odd to have someone constantly around, even if it was just a kitten.

  After closing shop for the night, she went up to the attic and brought down the ancient dress form and sewing kit. The old dress from the back of her closet felt strange in her hands, the shimmering indigo fabric light and fresh and crisp compared with her mother’s old tweeds. She’d thrown out all her bright dresses right after Bertram’s funeral, except for this one. Considering carefully the fashions she saw daily on her customers, she made a few changes to the design, moving the ruffles and ribbons around and including a pocket for Filbert. She had spent far too much on this dress, back when Bertram had been alive and the shop had still been in the good part of town and they had barely been able to keep the cages full, so quickly were the animals sold. And although she wasn’t sure why she hadn’t tossed it out with all the others, she was glad to have at least one thing in the closet that wasn’t brown. No one wore brown to the theater.

  Once she heard the back door close behind Casper, she set the dress aside and crept downstairs for her final check that all was in place. The pet shop was warm and rustling, comfortable. She lived in fear that a bludrat would find its way in and massacre her world, despite the tight-as-a-drum design of the room. She couldn’t have traps, of course, since a curious kitten could fall victim all too easily to one of the huge, crude affairs meant to crush bludrats in one snap.

  The shop was tidy, most of the creatures sleeping. A secretive smile came over her face as she realized that with Casper gone, she could finally sneak through the hidden door in her closet. She had business to atten
d to on the roof, after all.

  Hours later, as she prepared to drag herself inside and into bed, her eye was caught by a movement on the next roof over, down on Maisie’s building. Frannie’s row house had the tallest façade on the block, but there were decorative windows in the brick to encourage proper air flow. She could easily see what occurred on all the other roofs, which was mostly nothing. She glanced over, hopeful that perhaps the last of her clever crows had found its way home, but the shadow was gone. Strange that anyone or anything else would be about on the roof, in the milky light of the moon. She waited a while longer until a yawn nearly cracked her jaw, then finally went inside and gave in to sleep.

  When Thom arrived the next morning, Frannie was sweeping the shop for the third unnecessary time. His knock was soft, and the first rays of the sun barely painted him pink when she unlocked the door and shyly let him in. Thom was wearing a different skirt this time—a kilt, she reminded herself. Her curiosity had been piqued by their last conversation, and she had looked up Edinburgh in her atlas to brush up on what little she had been taught about Scotland. For a country that was bloody close, things up north were terribly strange, and men with bare knees were the least of it. Compared with the native creatures of his homeland, bludrats attacking his skin must have seemed but a minor inconvenience. He certainly didn’t seem concerned about his shocking state of undress.

  Clad all in grays and browns, he almost melded with the dreary stones and fug of London. His eyes were the lone bit of nature, warmly hazel. He grinned at her, and when he spoke, his voice was soft enough to keep from riling up the still-sleepy creatures.

  “Ready to do some work, lass?”

  “I am. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  In response, he shrugged amiably and scratched his chin. He looked remarkably awake and tidy for someone who’d been fighting fires all night, but she handed him her flask anyway.

  “Bit early for whiskey, aye?” he said, but then he smelled it and murmured approvingly. “Coffee.” He sipped it. “With goat milk?” He drew back to look at her, and she smiled smugly.