The Cater Street Hangman - Anne Perry [31]
In spite of herself she let her pity overcome her anger.
“A kidsman?”
“A kidsman is a man who picks up children like these,” he went on, “and at first takes them in and feeds them, gives them shelter and some sort of security, a place to belong. Then gradually he prevails on their gratitude by teaching them to thieve, at least to thieve with skill. To begin with they go out with some of the older boys, watching them work, something simple to start with. It used to be silk handkerchiefs when they were more fashionable. Later they graduate to something more subtle; the clever ones even progress to inside pockets, watch chains or seals. A really first-class kidsman will run classes. He’ll hang a row of old coats on a line across the room, a silk handkerchief trailing from each pocket, and the boys will take them one by one to try their skill. Or he might use a tailor’s dummy, with bells sewn all over the coat, to tinkle at the slightest disturbance, or even stand with his back to them himself. Those who succeed are well rewarded, while those who fail are punished. A child with courage, or hunger, and nimble fingers can make himself and his master a good living, until he grows too large or loses the agility of his hands.”
She was horrified, and through her distress for the child she was angry with him for making her look at such things.
“What happens then? Does he starve?” she asked. She did not want to know, and yet she could not bear not to.
“Probably he graduates to being a footpad, or if he’s smart, joins a band of pickpockets, the swell mob—”
“The what?”
“The swell mob—the best end of the pickpocketing business, well-dressed, usually having rooms in a moderate neighbourhood, a mistress, which they pick up when they are about thirteen or fourteen, almost always an older girl. Oddly enough they are very faithful and regard it as a sort of marriage. They work in gangs of three to six, each taking his part in the maneuvering and execution of a robbery. They very often rob women.”
“How do you know all this? And if you know about it, why don’t you arrest them, prevent it?”
He snorted slightly.
“We do arrest them. Nearly all of them spend some of their time in prison.”
She shivered.
“What a terrible life. Surely it would be better to be a sweep. Didn’t you say something about sweeps? That at least would be honest.”
“My dear Miss Ellison, it would take a wiser and considerably more experienced woman than you are to find an honest sweep. Have you ever been up a chimney?”
She raised her eyebrows in disdain as frigid as she could make it.
“You have a curious idea of the occupations of a gentlewoman, Mr. Pitt. But if you need an answer, then no, I have never climbed up inside a chimney.”
“No.” He did not seem in the least perturbed by her tone. He looked her up and down again and she found herself colouring under his gaze. “You would not fit,” he said frankly. “You are far too tall, and far too big.”
She blushed furiously.
“Oh, you have an excellent waist, but,” his eyes went to her shoulders and bust, then on down, “the rest of you would most certainly get stuck in the vertical tunnels, the dogleg bends, and soot would get in your nose and mouth, your eyes, your lungs—”
“It sounds horrible, but not dishonest, except for the sweep, because he gets someone else to do the labour. But as you pointed out, they could hardly do it themselves.”
“Miss Ellison, no professional cracksman robs a house without first obtaining information as to the layout, and where