Chapter 3

JIMMY WOKE TO find that the sky was growing light. All around him was silence; it seemed that it was still too early for the market traders to have arrived, which must mean that a stealthy trip to the Court was perfectly possible.

Jimmy wriggled out of their warm little nest with great caution, managing not to wake his little sister. He smoothed his hair back from his face with both hands and picked up the canvas bag with its burden of clean but unironed linen, trying to make as little noise as possible. Mo looked comfortable and he had no wish to wake her, so he gently replaced the clothing he had disturbed the previous night and watched with satisfaction as she gave a little mew of pleasure and snuggled down.

He padded along the crisp pavement, wishing he had had the forethought to borrow an article of warm clothing from Mr Theaker’s stock, but as the sky gradually lightened he broke into a run; exercise was warming, he decided, and by the time he reached the Court he had forgotten the icy temperature. Now that he was back, hovering outside No. 4, he realised that he had no idea how to find out what had happened to Cyril. He had no intention of banging on the door and demanding to know whether his little sister had killed Mrs Huxtable’s precious son, and thought that if he hung around someone who was working an early shift might appear and tell him how things stood.

He had decided last night not to give Aunt Huxtable the money from the tearoom, but now that he was actually on the spot he realised that this might not be a good idea. Aunt Huxtable was a vicious and vengeful woman and would be only too happy to tell anyone who would listen that he had stolen it. He would keep the sixpence which she had promised him, but he tucked the rest of the cash well down amongst the linen, and propped the bag and its contents against the door. On the top step, he bent his head to listen. Cyril had a resounding snore which had often kept Jimmy awake for hours, but now there was no sound from the silent house. Jimmy frowned, then looked quickly at the parlour window which overlooked the Court, relieved to see no drawn blinds, which was the usual way of indicating a death. Perhaps Cyril had simply closed the bedroom door.

Tentatively, Jimmy tried the front door handle and was pleasantly surprised to find that the door swung inward at his touch. For a moment he stood there, still listening, then slid quietly into the cold kitchen. Had he and Mo been there the night before they would have made up the fire and then damped it down with ash, but it appeared that either Mrs Huxtable had not bothered with the mundane task, or Cyril really had been more badly hurt than Jimmy had imagined. Perhaps even now he was in hospital, and if so, Jimmy thought apprehensively, he would have to steer clear of the scuffers and anyone else who might be interested to know how Cyril came by his injuries. But he was quickly reassured by a peculiar gobbling noise and a couple of groans, which proved that Cyril’s fall had not been fatal, for Jimmy knew those sounds all too well. Cyril Huxtable had indeed shut himself into his bedroom, or perhaps his mother had shut the door in order to get some sleep herself. In any case, Jimmy would be able to re-assure his sister that, far from being dead, Cyril was merely, as usual, the worse for drink.