Summer, 1881 — Fox & Son, Knockturn Alley

"I'll sweep the shop," she offered, "or clean the windows—are they meant to look that beige?"

It was day—or rather, night—four of this, but young Rosie-Mae's tenacity had not lessened in the face of multiple rejections. It was the same face behind the shop's counter each night, the one she had first seen a week ago chasing her out of the ginnel just behind the shop. That exchange had been kinder than most that she had endured since abandoning her useless father to his cups and striking it out into the world (well, the sketchy bit of magical London, at any road)—and kindness she could exploit.

Or so she had thought at first. Each passing attempt made her question this certainty, albeit slightly.

"And I shan't be a nuisance and look at me," she said, holding her arms out to either side as she did each evening, "there's scarce any of me to house!"

Jay Fox/Elias Grimstone

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   Jay Fox

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— Schemes are afoot!

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She was still hanging around, then. And, however much a nuisance she was, it had only been six years since he had been lurking about, just the same, so he couldn’t dismiss her as he might’ve liked. And she was younger than Jay had been then, far younger - she looked as though she hadn’t even scraped ten years old.

Having at least a decade on her, her presence was not so worrying in the way some of their more sinister customers might be. She was much too young, as well, to have the slightest idea what he was doing, so Jay had not put away the accounting books, and was still leant over them now, copying entries from one to the other in a cramped, careful hand without sparing the girl a glance.

But, resolutely as he refused to show it, she was a distraction - earnest, eager, chirping - and it was getting progressively more difficult to concentrate. Merlin forbid she stopped in every night from now on.

“It’s not up to me,” Jay repeated as indifferently as every time, though if he did pause in his work to sneak a furtive glance at the state of the windows (they were fairly beige) he was sure it would only cause trouble if she was found here, only for pity’s sake, without Fox signing off. He was the only one here at night, yes... but he needed no more reason to look soft.

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   Aldous Crouch

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She followed his usual refrain with her own: "But it could be!"

Just because he was not in charge did not mean he had no sway—she knew little enough of the world, but she knew enough to understand that power was not so cut and dry as folk made it out to be. Besides, he was the one here for her to appeal to, not to whomever he thought it was up to.

"I know when t' keep my mouth shut," the girl added in a stellar example of doing the exact opposite, "and keep out of trouble."

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   Jay Fox

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— Schemes are afoot!

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He could shoo her off right now, if he wanted. Right this second. Send her out onto the street to mind her own business so that he could actually mind Mr. Fox’s business as he was meant to, and he would be able to spend the rest of the night in silence.

He did prefer silence.

Whatever she said, the girl probably was trouble.

He kept his eye firmly on the page before him in his best impression of indifference, contemplating the situation. Still not looking at her - as if it would excuse him from not kicking her out already, as if he could pretend had just hadn’t noticed she was there - Jay asked slowly, “What’s your name?”

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The child hesitated for a moment, not anticipating the question.

"Imogen," she answered quickly, almost hastily, the name rolling easily off her tongue. She had heard it once and taken a liking to it—and after all, she did not wish to be Rosie-Mae anymore. Rosie-Mae was the sort of girl who had a drunkard father and very little opportunity to set her own path in life. Imogen, though, could go off on adventures, could take the reins, could be something.

Imogen was who she wanted to be, and who she would be.

  

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— Schemes are afoot!

Graphics by MJ —

He’d looked at her without meaning to, tilted his line of sight just up from the counter and the books, caught a flash of something in her face that felt familiar but that he could not explain.

A bead of ink rolled from his quill - payment for his hesitation - and Jay, quite as stoically as before, stuck the quill back in its pot, let his fingers come to rest, contemplatively, on the wood. She seemed quick. Perhaps a little loud, but volume shrank with a person with intimidation, and if she encountered anyone else in Fox’s family, he would expect her to shrink, facing them. (He had, and he’d been here longer. Sometimes he’d even been here first.)

“And where’s home, Imogen?” He inquired, in the same measured tone, in spite of the fact she wouldn’t have been lurking about here if she had any good answer to that. Not that Fox & Son was necessarily a good answer to anyone’s position, either. (Jay did not regret following Mr. Fox when he’d instructed him to, but he didn’t know that he’d recommend it to anyone.) Even if all she did was sweeping, cleaning - if Fox let her stay, he’d survey her, scrutinise her for a different use. Find something much worse for her to do.

Whatever her story, though, he wasn’t sure the girl would believe him if he said go home, if you can.

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"Here," she answered pertly.

  

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Graphics by MJ —

His mouth quirked in spite of himself at Imogen’s quick answer. She had a tongue on her, then, and an impish way about her, a canny little slip of a girl. He could sense that Mr. Fox would like her (for better or for worse). He liked people with wit. And, as Jay had both experienced and observed, the man understood the benefits of taking a child under his wing: the better to teach them skills, mould them as he chose. The more easily he could wield their innocence as a weapon.

He shook his head at her slightly, wishing that she would be warned by it. But if it were this or sleeping out on the street, he knew the lure... And he did feel a pang of pity for her, whatever he pretended.

“Have a start on the windows, then,” Jay said, making his tone stern as if that belied the fact he was giving in to a ten-year-old. “But you’ll be out by dawn if you know what’s good for you.” He’d let her have the shelter from the worst of it during his shift, and watch her in the meantime to see if she would be useful to Simeon Fox, and send her out until he was sure.

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   Aldous Crouch

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Imogen hastened to do as directed, knowing she had won this particular battle but that she shouldn't let her tongue talk her into losing the whole war. With each pass of the cloth on the window, she imagined wiping away her past life—her drunken father, her dead mother. She cleaned away little Rosie-Mae Dawes, until only Imogen remained.

  

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— Schemes are afoot!

Graphics by MJ —