Granny Bennett had enough pay now to be able to give Pip pocket money each week. When he went to the markets, he looked for traders selling fabrics, and haggled to buy rolls of cotton, linen, and silk. Then he was able to use the sewing machine to make new clothes for himself and Granny – in black, because although the mourning period for Pip's mother had passed, they were still in mourning for Pip's father. If he had lived, Pip and Granny Bennett would have been in a dreadful state by now, but as Pip said, they were mourning the man he might have been.

Mr Smedley and Madame Fontaine had their own parlour, and in the evenings they would invite the more superior servants to join them for a dish of tea, and perhaps a game of whist. Mrs Bennett was often invited, in deference to her age, and was glad to show herself in her simple black silk dress, her white hair twisted into a neat bun.

On the evenings Mrs Bennett was out, Pip designed clothes in his sketchbook, or drew pictures, because they sold art supplies at the markets too. He often took his sketchbook around Camden to draw the castle, temples, brooks, bridges, streetscapes, and the crowds walking by him. Passersby were quite interested to see his work, and once a man peered at a small painting he was doing, and said, ''Extraordinary. I'll give you a silver coin for that.''

After that, Pip often sold his own postcards on the street, and easily found buyers for them. Most of the money he made was used to buy more art supplies. He wasn't making much of a profit, but he hoped that one day he could make enough money from his art to be able to purchase an apprenticeship in tailoring, and make clothes for a living. Then he could support Granny in her old age, and she could finally have a rest.

It was clear that working in the kitchen was taking its toll on Granny. She was exhausted by the end of each day, and began to complain that she ached in winter, even though the palace was well heated, and Pip tucked extra blankets over her, rubbing her bony hands and feet to warm them as best he could. Granny Bennett sometimes spent her day off in bed, recovering from the week in order to get through another, and Pip had to stay mousy quiet while she slept.

''The spring gets into my old bones," she said one evening about a year after they had come to Camden. ''I've never felt the same since I passed ninety-nine."

'''Ninety-nine? How old are you, Granny?" Pip asked.

''I'm as old as my head, and a wee bit older than my hair," said Granny, pursing her lips. ''And in future, remember a gentleman never asks a lady her age."

''I'm sorry, Granny," said Pip.

''Ah, you're a good lad," said Granny, ''and getting to be so nice looking. I tell you laddie, there's many a fine lady – aye, and many a fine gentleman too – who will want you when you're a bit older. But mark me well. Those ladies and gentlemen will offer you rich gifts in exchange for a single night, but never be tempted by that, my laddie."

''Why's that, Granny?"

''You hold out for a promise of something more lasting," said Granny solemnly. ''For at the hour you were born, the Watchman and the Maiden were both rising over the horizon, a sure sign you will meet your true love one day."

''How do you know that?" asked Pip. ''Were you there when I was born?"

''Bless you, I was the one who delivered you!" said Granny Bennett. ''And I looked into the sky and saw the twin stars of double fortune meeting under the protection of the Great Bear. That told me that one day you and your true love would be joined in holy union, but only if you had kept yourself entirely for them – even your lips must never touch someone who isn't your true love."

''But Granny, I kiss you on the cheek," said a puzzled Pip.

''Oh laddie, I'm not talking about giving your old Granny a peck on the cheek, or greeting a dear friend with a kiss, or kissing the hand of a lady when you meet her," said Granny Bennett, vexed with herself that she'd introduced a topic that Pip was too innocent for. ''I mean a special kind of intimate kiss on the lips."

''Like Papa gave Mama sometimes?" said Pip, beginning to understand.

''Exactly so," said a relieved Granny Bennett. ''And you may think Granny is a mite too old-fashioned, but laddie, I know what happened to a girl named Agnes McGinty. Oh, she was the prettiest thing."

"Prettier than Mama?" asked Pip jealously.

"Ah, your Ma was a lovely lady, fair as a lily. But Agnes was a wild rose, bonny and pink-cheeked, with red lips, and a smile filled with mischief that drove men mad. She had the pick of any man she wanted, but the men she chose didn't treat her with kindness. Oh, they gave her silver and gold and jewels and fine clothes, but that's cold comfort to a warm heart."

"Granny ... is your name Agnes?" asked Pip with big eyes.

"Bless you laddie, I was never much to look at, that's why I had to learn to cook and clean," said Granny Bennett. "No, I was plain old Jeannie Campbell. Agnes was my sister."

"But then her name would have been Agnes Campbell," Pip objected.

"Well you see, her mother Malina was my father's second wife, he'd been widowed many a long year by then. Agnes was just a wee bairn when her Dadda, Dougal McGinty, passed away, and not much more than that when her Ma married my Dadda. And I remember Malina showing us her bonny bairn, the wee Agnes, and saying she'd been born a lucky bird. Proud as punch she was, for they say lucky birds are always blessed with beauty."

"What does that mean - a lucky bird?"

"That's an old name for someone born under the twin stars of fortune."

"But they didn't bring Agnes any luck," said Pip doubtfully, worrying at his bottom lip.

"She was a wild young bird that wanted to soar through the sky too soon, she was all on fire with the joy of life," Granny said, rather as if she admired Agnes for that. "I was ten years or more older than she. But I loved her dearly, laddie, and it broke my heart seeing how she was used. They passed her around, from one to another, as if she was nothing."

Granny Bennett dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, and went on. "The thing you have to understand is that not one of those men loved my Agnes. Can you fathom that? A girl pretty as a rose and warm as summer, and yet the only person who ever cared for her was her ugly stepsister. She came to grief, poor Agnes, but if she'd only kept her lips for her true love, the twin stars would have brought her happiness to the close of her days."

"Is Agnes ... dead?"

"Aye, for many a long year," sighed Granny Bennett, wiping her eyes. "And there's not a day goes past that I don't miss her."

"But you married Mr Bennett?" Pip prodded.

"Yes I did, bless his soul. And you'll never hear me say a word against him," said Granny Bennett piously.

But as she never said a word in his favour either, or anything about him, I cannot tell you whether he was old or young, handsome or plain, witty or dull, rich or poor, good, bad, or indifferent. He married a woman named Jeannie Campbell, and he died, and that is the biography of Mr Bennett.

*********************************************

The morning after Granny Bennett had told Pip the story of Agnes, he woke up and found Granny cold in their bed. Thinking she needed another blanket and a hot cup of tea, he tried to rouse her, until he realised with horror she had died in her sleep.

He didn't dare wake Mr Smedley or Madame Fontaine, but timidly knocked on the door next to his own, which was that of Mrs Talbot, Madame Fontaine's assistant. She answered the door wearing a quilted dressing gown, her grey hair loose and not yet pinned into a bun for the day.

"Mrs Talbot, I think Granny is dead," Pip gasped out.

Mrs Talbot came and examined Granny Bennett, and covered her in a plain white sheet, telling Pip not to fret himself. She called both Mr Smedley and Madame Fontaine, and the latter said she would take care of the funeral arrangements.

Mr Smedley looked at Pip, who was terrified, with tear-streaked cheeks.

"You can stay here until the funeral, Pip. We're not going to turn you out before poor Mrs Bennett is in her grave. And I will call the palace lawyers to look into your grandmother's affairs. She may have left you well provided for, or given instructions naming your next guardian."

The day that Pip went to see Granny Bennett buried in the plot for palace servants, it rained. Pip thought Granny would be pleased, for she always said happy is the corpse rained upon, the tears of heaven helping to wash away the tears of the mourners all the faster. 

Pip was in the room, rubbing his wet hair with a towel, when Mr Smedley arrived with two solicitors that he introduced as Mr Snatch and Mr Grabham.

"Now, Mrs Bennett left all her worldly possessions to her grandson, Pip Lenoir," announced Mr Snatch, "and she had managed to amass a goodly amount. Not a fortune, by any means." Here he gave Pip an accusing look, as if he suspected him of expecting millions.

"No, not a fortune," agreed Mr Grabham. "But more than two hundred gold coins, held in the Bank of Lindensea on Broad Street. Enough for a boy such as yourself to set himself up with an apprenticeship, and perhaps hire rooms in a respectable boarding house."

"Mrs Kipling has an excellent one on Great Temple Street," interjected Mr Smedley.

"The trouble is with the wording of Mrs Bennett's will," said Mr Snatch with a thoughtful expression. "She says she leaves all to her grandson Pip Lenoir, but our investigations have shown that Mrs Bennett never had any children, so how could she have a grandson?"

"She told me that Pip was her grandson by adoption," Mr Smedley said. "The son of her adopted daughter."

"Can you produce your mother's adoption papers?" Mr Grabham asked Pip.

He shook his head. "After my parents died, Granny said to tell people I was her grandson, in case anyone tried to take me away from her."

"Oh dear," said Mr Snatch silkily.

"Looks like a clear cut case of child kidnap and fraud to me," said Mr Grabham.

"I promise you I had no idea," said Mr Smedley, looking shocked and self-righteous. "I took Mrs Bennett at her word, otherwise I would never have permitted her to have this boy live here."

"I think Granny really did think of me as her grandson," Pip said in her defence.

"Oh dear," said Mr Snatch sadly.

"It looks very much as if this boy took advantage of an old woman going weak in the head, convincing her he was her grandson in order to get his hands on her money," said Mr Grabham.

"We could prosecute, and have him charged," Mr Snatch said. "A prison sentence is likely."

"We can take this boy to the castle dungeons right now to await trial," Mr Grabham said.

Pip's face turned dead white, and he looked as if he might faint.

"That seems a bit harsh," said Mr Smedley. "We've all grown fond of Pip here.  I could offer him a job in the palace kitchens as a cinder boy. Do you think you could take care of the fires, Pip? Make sure they never go out?"

"Yes, sir," said Pip. "Would I ... have a room at the palace?"

"Dear me, no," said Mr Smedley. "Cinder boys sleep in the kitchen, as they need to tend the fire every hour of the day and night."

"Do I get paid?" asked Pip dolefully.

"Twelve copper coins a year," said Mr Smedley. "But with prospects for advancement. If you were promoted to pot boy, you would receive substantially more, and be given a room. Shared with others, of course. And all your meals and uniforms are supplied."

"Well, if everyone is satisfied with that, we'll be on our way," said Mr Snatch. There was no need to send Pip to prison if he was to be useful to the palace.

"What happens to Granny's money?" asked Pip. "I mean, if I don't get it, where does it go?"

"As an unclaimed estate, it will go to the Palace Treasury," replied Mr Grabham. "Once we have deducted our fees, that is."

Pip reflected that two hundred gold coins would make almost no difference to the palace, yet it was enough to completely change his life, and give him a future. Now he had nothing, not even a bed for the night, and almost no hope that things would ever change.

Pip quickly learned to hate the heat of the kitchen, being constantly covered in ash, his hair and skin often singed from the fire. He tried not to cry himself to sleep at night, because Granny Bennett had always told him that would spoil his pretty eyes.

END OF PART ONE