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couldn’t be said for Miss Eames – who gasped and looked mortified when she realised what she’d just said to him.
    Before she could beg his pardon, however, the cab came to an abrupt halt.
    ‘Whitechapel Road,’ boomed the cabman. ‘All out for Whitechapel Road.’

6

THE IMPERSONATOR
    Mr Lubbock was still on his box outside the penny gaff. His voice had become a little hoarse. His silver lace was damp and bedraggled.
    ‘Now exhibiting! The best show in London!’ he bawled at a couple of factory girls who were hovering nearby. Then he spotted Miss Eames, and his eyes lit up. ‘Walk in, Madam, walk in! A Menagerie of Mythical Beasts! Curiosities from the farthest corners of the world!’
    Miss Eames approached him. ‘Are you the manager of this establishment?’ she asked.
    ‘I am indeed!’ Mr Lubbock’s fat, red face split into an unconvincing smile. ‘Josiah Lubbock, at your service.’
    ‘Well, Mr Lubbock, I should like a word.’ Glancing at the nearby costers, Miss Eames added, ‘In private.’
    ‘A private viewing, Madam? Why, certainly! It will cost a little extra, of course – especially since you’ve brought some companions with you . . .’ Mr Lubbock winked at Birdie, but apparently didn’t know what to make of Jem and Alfred. He shot them an uncertain look. ‘Let us say . . . ninepence? Or a shilling if you wish to touch the exhibits?’
    ‘We are not here as patrons,’ Miss Eames replied crisply. ‘Kindly admit us, for I’ve no wish to discuss this matter with you in public.’
    The showman’s smile faded. He cleared his throat as his gaze raked the surrounding street. Then he said uneasily, ‘Perhaps after the show, Madam . . .?’
    ‘ Now , Mr Lubbock. Or I shall return with my solicitor.’
    ‘We ain’t debt collectors, if that’s what’s worrying you,’ Jem added, just in case it was. And then Birdie stepped forward.
    ‘If you don’t let us in, I’ll stand here and tell everyone I’m Birdie McAdam. Unlike that false Birdie you got in there.’ She pointed at the picture of the little girl cracking the whip, as a gathering crowd of rough youths and hatless young women listened with great interest. ‘Don’t try and say as how I ain’t the genuine article,’ Birdie went on, ‘for I’ve clear proof I am. Why, this here is Alfred Bunce the bogler, who can vouch for me!’
    There was a murmur of surprise from the growing crowd of spectators. Alfred winced. Mr Lubbock jumped down from his box (more nimbly than Jem would have expected) and mumbled, ‘We’d best go in. After you. Mind the step.’
    Miss Eames sniffed. She allowed him to push open the door to his shop, then briskly marched in ahead of him. Birdie followed close on her heels. But when Jem tried to follow Birdie, Mr Lubbock flicked him aside with the bamboo cane.
    Alfred grabbed it and said, ‘This boy is with me. Don’t raise yer hand to him.’
    Mr Lubbock apologised. He sounded shaken. Muttering something under his breath, he quickly herded his unexpected visitors into a long, narrow vestibule that contained an unmanned ticket booth and several glass cabinets full of preserved specimens. A doorway at the far end of the room was hung with blue plush. A trickle of light filtered in between all the bills and placards that covered the window.
    ‘We’d best talk here,’ he remarked, locking the front door behind him. ‘It’s more private.’
    ‘What’s a . . . a “ja-cul-us”?’ Birdie suddenly asked. She had been inspecting the handwritten sign on one of the display cabinets – and all at once it dawned on Jem that she was actually reading it. Birdie McAdam had learned to read! He couldn’t have been more astonished.
    ‘A jaculus is a small, mythical dragon,’ Miss Eames explained, stopping next to Birdie. ‘This, however, appears to be a lizard with bat’s wings attached to its shoulders.’
    ‘A remarkable discovery, is it not?’ Mr Lubbock began to mop his temples with a dirty