Emily's Penny Dreadful Read online

  “Follow me,” said Bacon.

  Clutching the bowl of gruel Miley followed Bacon. She didn’t feel the slightest bit hungry, not even the

  tiniest bit, but she dipped a finger in the gruel anyway and sucked it. It tasted as horrible as it looked – the

  gruel, that is, not her finger, although by now her finger looked nearly as dirty as the spoon.

  Down the stairs they went, into a kitchen where Pork Pie was sitting reading a newspaper, hunting out the tastiest words for his notebook while eating his breakfast, which looked far, far tastier than Miley’s, and then through some doors into a big space with a wide table and two long benches.

  “This is our little cottage-industry factory,” said Bacon. “This is where you will work today.”

  “All day!” Miley protested. “But it can’t take as long as that to pay back one penny!”

  “Children take longer than grown-ups to earn money,” said Bacon. “They don’t need it as much as

  grown-ups do.”

  Bacon hustled Miley to one of the benches by the big table where some other children were already at work. All of them looked tired and one or two were nearly asleep.

  “Wake up!”

  Bacon’s sudden shout startled Miley. It startled the

  sleepy children as well. They shot to attention. Miley could see how frightened they were of Bacon.

  “Sit there,” Bacon told Miley.

  Miley sat down at the end of one of the benches, beside a boy about her own age.

  “Young Ned, show her what to do.”

  Young Ned nodded. Bacon turned and left him to it.

  “You can call me Ned instead of Young Ned,” said Ned. “It’s quicker to say. This is what you have to do. Put these matches in those boxes.”

  “So this is a match factory!” exclaimed Miley. “I’ve heard about those. My Papa told me all about their horrors.”

  “Well, it’s certainly not a fancy fish restaurant,” said Ned.

  “The work seems easy enough,” said Miley, relieved she didn’t have to dip the matches into white phosphorus. The matches already had coloured tips and the colour was red. Papa had once described to

  Miley the terrible things that happened to people who

  got close to white phosphorus. “Damnable stuff,” he

  had said, before Miley could cover her ears, although she wasn’t sure if ‘damnable’ was as much of a swear

  word as ‘damnation.’ Possibly it wasn’t.

  “That’s the thing,” said Ned. “It’s not easy at all.

  Every box has to have exactly the same number of matches as all the others.”

  “I can count, you know,” said Miley.

  “So can I,” said Ned. “But after you’ve done a few hundred boxes you won’t know if you’re counting in your sleep or in your wake.”

  “‘In your wake’ makes no sense,” said Miley. “It’s not proper English.”

  “Neither does counting matches make much sense, not after a while,” said Ned.

  “A few hundred boxes,” said Miley. “Wow.”

  “A few hundred each day,” said Ned. “After a week . . .”

  He didn’t need to finish his sentence. Miley was horrified. She went from ‘wow’ to ‘ow.’

  “Ned, we must run away,” she said. “All of us.”

  Ned just looked at her and got back to his counting. Miley tried to work out if that look meant Ned thought she was clever or if he thought she was mad.

  Maybe he thought she was both.

  Chapter 10

  “There’s no way we can escape from here,” said Ned.

  “There has to be,” Miley replied, her chin in the air. Ned waved his arm at the factory walls. “Do you think I haven’t tried finding a way out? Can you see a hidden doorway anywhere? And while you’re looking for something that doesn’t exist, you’d better start counting your matches, before she catches you

  daydreaming.”

  Miley picked up a bundle of matches and started counting. She had to admit that Ned seemed right.

  There didn’t appear to be any way out of the factory, other than the way she had come in, which meant going through the kitchen where Pork Pie was eating his breakfast, reading his newspaper and adding to his list of luscious words.

  Miley could picture that breakfast in her mind’s eye. Runny eggs, crispy sausages, oozy tomatoes, small tasty beans, singed toast, steaming tea . . . had she really seen all that or only imagined it? Whatever the truth of the matter, her tummy rumbled and her mouth

  watered.

  Looking for an escape route and drooling over an imaginary breakfast, all the while trying to count matches, was not a good combination of activities. Miley had to start over several times before she could keep track of the number.

  “Where do you come from?” she asked Ned, once she had filled her first box.

  “From up the hill,” he said.

  “But that’s the poshest part of town,” said Miley. “I once went to a fancy fish restaurant there, with Mama and Papa and a rich relative. How did you end up working here?”

  “I was kidnapped,” said Ned.

  Miley almost dropped her next lot of matches in fright. “What!” she exclaimed. “That only ever happens in books.”

  “Huh!” said Ned. “That’s all you know. I was out for a walk with my faithful hound, Dulo, when I was set upon by ruffians. Dulo barked like a canine warrior

  possessed. He tried to bite my assailants but they had

  a carriage waiting and bundled me into it, spiriting me away.”

  “That’s dreadful,” said Miley. “Why?”

  “They were going to ransom me for a lot of money,” explained Ned. “What my kidnappers didn’t know was that my father’s business had gone up in flames just the week before.”

  “Up in flames!” exclaimed Miley in horror.

  “It was toast,” said Ned, which made Miley feel hungry all over again. “He had no money left in all the world.”

  “I know what that’s like,” said Miley. “I left all of mine in my Hippo Bank.”

  “Your what?”

  “My Hippo Bank. It’s exactly the same as a piggy

  bank but in the shape of a hippopotamus.”

  “Oh,” said Ned. “I see. I’ve never come across one of those. Well, anyway, because the police were on my trail and getting close, my kidnappers handed me over to the woman who runs this match factory.”

  “Bacon,” said Miley.

  “What?”

  “Bacon. That’s what I call her,” Miley explained. “She looks like a piece of bacon. He looks like a pork pie.”

  Ned giggled. “I suppose they do,” he said. “That’s

  clever of you to see the similarities.”

  “I have ambitions to be a writer,” said Miley. “I’m glad my similes make you smile.”

  “Hmm,” said Ned. “Well, I’ll call them Bacon and Pork Pie from now on as well.”

  “I don’t mind sharing my ideas with you,” said Miley. “I have plenty of them.”

  “You’re very generous,” said Ned. “As well as clever. But I suppose you often get annoyed and suffer from brain-strain?”

  “Why do you say that?” asked Miley.

  “Only because my father says that brain-strain is a writer’s Achilles Heel.”

  “Is a what?” asked Miley.

  “An Achilles Heel. It’s a weak spot,” said Ned. “The sort of thing that causes a person’s downfall.”

  Miley rubbed her head. Her brain was quickly becoming befuddled by counting matches but she

  didn’t think it had ever got strained by making up stories.

  “Achilles was an Ancient Greek hero,” Ned went on.

  “I haven’t got up to Ancient Greek heroes in my

  school reader yet,” Miley admitted.

  “You won’t get a chance, not in this place,” said Ned, which made Miley even more determined to escape The Devil’s Element. She wasn�
��t going to miss out on Ancient Greek heroes just because of Bacon and Pork Pie.

  “Achilles shouldn’t have been able to be killed, since his mother dipped him into the river of immortality,” Ned continued. “Except she held him by his heel, which meant that that part of him never got wet, so he was vulnerable. He was shot in the heel by a poisonous arrow.”

  “What a wonderful story!” said Miley.

  “It is,” said Ned. “Except it wasn’t so wonderful for Achilles. I mean, there you are, thinking you’re going to live forever when, WHAM, you’re shot in the heel by a poisonous arrow. I love reading stories about Ancient Greek heroes but I’ll probably never read another book again, not as long as I live.”

  “You will,” said Miley. “I promise.”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” said Ned. “Anyway, I was telling you what happened to me. After I was handed over to Bacon, the police lost track

  of me. Now no one knows where I am.”

  “I know where you are,” said Miley.

  “That’s of no use to me, or the constabulary,” said Ned, “but I suppose you meant it kindly.”

  “Have I been kidnapped, too?” said Miley. “Bacon said I had to work for her and then I could go home.”

  “I reckon you’re here to stay,” said Ned. “Like the rest of us.”

  Miley wanted to cry but she managed to put on a brave face. “I’m not staying here,” she said. “There must be a way out. I’ll find it, no matter how long it takes. And I bet Bacon has an Achilles Heel.”

  “Those are brave words,” said Ned. “Just like the words of a Ancient Greek hero. Good luck, Miley. You’ll need it.”

  Chapter Six

  As Emily paused in her writing to stand up and stretch, Sibbie barged into the room.

  “Are you still at it?’ she said. “You’ve been in here nearly all of Saturday and half of Sunday already. Mum and Dad think you’ve run away, you’ve been so quiet!”

  “Ha, ha, not funny,” said Emily.

  “Show me!” Sibbie demanded, reaching out for Emily’s exercise book.

  “No! Go away!”

  “Please yourself,” said Sibbie.

  “I will,” said Emily.

  “Maybe I’ll sneak in and read it when you’re not here,” Sibbie threatened.

  “You wouldn’t dare,” said Emily.

  “Maybe,” said Sibbie. “Or maybe not. Not that I care about your silly story, anyway.”

  “It’s not a silly story. It’s a dreadful one,” Emily said.

  “It’s silly. Very, very silly,” said Sibbie. “I’m right, you’re wrong,” she chanted as she barged out again.

  One part of Emily wanted to stop writing for the day

  but another part wanted to carry on.

  The part that wanted to carry on, won.

  Chapter 11

  “Do you have a piece of string?” Miley asked Ned.

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “How long is it.”

  Ned fished in one of his pockets and pulled out a piece of string about an inch long.

  “Is that all?” said Emily.

  “What did you expect?” said Ned. “And why on earth do you want string anyway?”

  “I thought if it was long enough I could tie a stone to one end, throw it up to one of those high windows and climb out. Then I could find the police and bring them back here to rescue you and all the other children.”

  “You’re mad,” said Ned. “String is too thin. You’d fall and break your neck. Rope is what you need, and even then it would be far too dangerous.”

  Ned was right. He was always right it seemed.

  Chapter 12

  From her vantage point on the bottom-hard bench of the factory, Miley carried on searching for ways to

  escape The Devil’s Element but, apart from the string

  idea, she couldn’t come up with a single escape plan. Not that she had very much time for planning.

  If she wasn’t busy counting matches and putting them into match boxes – which she was busy doing most of the time – she was either eating (not much at all because it tasted too horrible) or sleeping (not long enough at all).

  However, one night, Miley forced herself to stay awake. Bacon always woke them up at first light so sleep was really important but Miley had decided that a night search was far more important than sleeping.

  When the factory clock struck midnight, Miley slipped from her bed and went out into the corridor. Apart from that very first night, when she had slept in a room of her own, Miley now slept in a dormitory with the three other factory girls. Their names were Dorothy (Dot for short), Isabel (Issy for short) and Bibsie (Bibi for short.)

  Dot, Issy and Bibi were fast asleep. Bibi was snoring. She didn’t know she snored and no one was brave

  enough to tell her because Bibi had a short temper. Bibi was good at flicking matches at people who

  annoyed her. Her aim was deadly and a flicked match hurt the skin. Despite her fear of Bacon, Bibi was rather reckless with her matches, which made Bacon sizzle angrily, and that made Bibi even more annoyed. She took her annoyance out on the other girls. Miley didn’t blame her. If she’d had a temper as bad as Bibi’s then Miley knew she would also have become a reckless match flicker.

  Bacon never locked the door of the dormitory. She knew that the children would be far too exhausted to go anywhere, even if they thought there was somewhere to go. But that didn’t really explain why Bacon had locked Miley’s door that very first night.

  Perhaps there was an escape route, which none of them knew about. That was what Miley was hoping for, and counting on.

  Miley was too scared to venture out into the darkness of the factory by herself so she crept into the boy’s dormitory down the corridor. There were two

  other boys besides Ned. Their names were Athol and

  Charlie. They were younger than Ned and younger than the girls as well.

  Miley knew that Ned slept closest to the door of the

  dormitory because the other boys felt safer that way.

  “Ned,” she whispered, “are you awake?” She shook Ned as she asked her question.

  “Are you awake, Ned?” Miley repeated.

  “I am now,” grumped Ned. “What do you want?”

  “I’m looking for a way out,” said Miley.

  “You won’t find it in the boys’ dormitory,” said Ned.

  “Of course not,” said Miley. “I know that. Will you come with me?”

  “If Bacon catches us . . .” Ned did not finish his sentence.

  “Bacon snores louder than Bibi,” said Miley. “Listen. Can you hear her?”

  “I always thought that was water grumbling in the pipes,” said Ned.

  “No, it’s definitely Bacon,” said Miley.

  “It must be late,” said Ned. “Or early. We should sleep while we can.”

  “We must escape if we can,” said Miley.

  Ned sighed. “Oh, all right. I’ll come with you.”

  Chapter 13

  They trekked through the corridor. They stepped down the rickety staircase that led from the dormitories to the factory floor. They walked across the factory floor towards the kitchen. Moonlight glimmered and shimmered down onto them from the high windows.

  “That’s where Pork Pie always sits,” said Miley. “With his newspapers. He’s either reading or eating. Sometimes both together”

  “Pork Pie is Bacon’s guard as well as her husband,” said Ned. “The kitchen really is the only way out of the factory. The way you came in, remember? Through the Inward Goods Only door, into the night watchman’s cellar, up the other staircase into the kitchen. All those doors will be locked and, even if they weren’t, the night watchman will be waiting and watching outside.”

  “I feel certain it’s not the only way out,” said Miley. “What if there’s another door that we haven’t seen

  yet, and what if that one is unlocked?”

  “Fat chance,�
�� said Ned.

  “When you came here, where did you come in?”

  asked Miley.

  “I don’t remember,” said Ned. “I was trussed up in a sack, like a giant potato, and couldn’t see a thing.”

  “That must have been ghastly,” said Miley.

  “It was,” said Ned, with a shudder.

  They kept their distance from the kitchen and looked everywhere else instead. But Ned was right. There was no sign of a door in any of the match factory walls. Just bricks on three sides and one side piled high with large boxes into which the smaller match boxes were packed.

  Just then both Miley and Ned heard a noise. Actually, they stopped hearing a noise.

  “Bacon’s not snoring any more,” said Ned.

  “That means she’s awake,” said Miley.

  “Quick!” said Ned.

  They scuttled like night spiders across the factory floor, past the kitchen, up the stairs, into the corridor, back to their beds. Just as Miley pulled the thin, buggy

  sheet over herself she heard footsteps outside her

  dormitory.

  In the moonlight from one of the escape-proof windows she saw Bacon peering into the room. The

  woman looked puzzled. Had she heard something or had she not? . . . that was what Miley guessed Bacon was thinking.

  Bacon seemed to stand there for ages but at last she went away. Miley heard her opening the door of the boys’ dormitory and then closing it again.

  What a lucky escape, thought Miley. If only they had been able to escape the factory as well as elude Bacon. Then she fell asleep and had a dream.

  “You’ve given up,” she said to Ned in the dream. “But I’ll never give up.”

  “Those are heroic words,” said Ned. “But that’s all they are. Words.”

  “Words matter,” said Miley.

  Ned grunted in Miley’s dream. (He never grunted much in real life.) “You can’t eat words,” he said. “They don’t help you sleep. You can’t make a rope out of words and climb out of a window with them. Words are a waste of time in a place like this. See what good