Charlotte’s concern was all over her face. “I’ll bring you something to eat so you won’t have to worry next time.” Then she smiled, lighting Winny’s heart. “I will see you tomorrow, Winny.”
“I love hearing those words,” she replied.
* * *
True to her word, Charlotte began bringing Winny a bit of food every day, whether it was a bun, meat, or a biscuit, and she hid it in their secret spot. Once, she even left Winny a hat and mitts, her own scarf, and a warm, woollen pair of stockings. During school, Charlotte kept up her end of the charade, rarely glancing at Winny, and Winny never made any attempt to speak with her. It was difficult to be so close to her friend and not talk, but they always had their walks home together, which Winny treasured. She was still lonely, but she was no longer alone.
Winny also got along well with Ralph and Jim, who she learned had been at Stepney Causeway at the same time as Jack, Edward, and Cecil, and they told her stories about them she hadn’t heard before. Talking about the boys kept them alive in her mind, and imagining them somewhere near helped Winny overlook the snide comments and insults the other classmates constantly tossed her way.
Despite their taunts, Winny began to feel almost happy at school. She loved learning, and when Miss Burton praised her accomplishments in front of the whole class, she couldn’t stop smiling. Winny had finally found something she was good at, and when she thought about how far she’d had to go to find it, she was proud of herself. Like that heap of stinky old wool that had awaited her months before at the Adams farm, she had transformed, becoming something strong and useful—even praiseworthy. Thinking of that, a small dream began to take shape in her heart. Maybe someday, she might even go to nursing school herself.
As the weeks went by, she spent an increasing amount of time studying, staying up later at night just to squeeze in more. Mistress Adams didn’t complain so long as she got her work done, and when Winny read ahead in her textbooks, Miss Burton brought her more.
She was sitting in the barn one evening, reading a schoolbook by the light of her lantern, when David appeared in the doorway. He rarely came to her side of the barn: they both knew it was safer to keep their distance from each other. Seeing him now gave her a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
“Has something happened?” she asked.
“Mistress Renfrew was here while you were at school,” he said. “She came to see her sister, and I heard them talking. I couldn’t hear everything, but I’m pretty certain she was talking about your friend.”
Winny sat up straight. “About Mary? What did she say?”
“She sounded angry, and she said something about ‘the girl’ being trouble. From the sound of her voice, I thought maybe you should know.”
fifteen JACK
We gotta do something,” Jack said.
It had been four days since Warren had attacked Quinn, and the boy’s poor, torn skin hadn’t healed. Quinn lay on his front, barely breathing, and the noxious smell of sickness rose in a cloud around him. He hadn’t spoken a word since it had happened. Not even Cat could rouse a smile on his pasty face, though she nestled in as close as she could.
“Warren has to get him to a doctor.” Edward was doing what he could, dabbing gently at the mess on Quinn’s back with a wet rag, but it wasn’t helping. It wasn’t enough. “He’s got to.”
“He won’t,” Cecil said. “And don’t tell me it’s in the contract. So’s school, and you don’t see us going there neither, do ya?”
“We have to take him to one then,” Jack said, his heart drumming with new purpose.
Edward glanced up. “To a doctor? How?”
“We gotta run.”
The brothers stared at him, digesting what he’d said, then Cecil looked down at Quinn’s back. “And go where?”
Jack took a breath, remembering his last big idea and its painful result. “Town. We might not have to go all the way, because I saw houses outside of it, and maybe someone…” He didn’t want to sound desperate, but the truth was that there was no one they could trust, no one who wanted them here. He cleared the emotion from his throat. “We got no choice. He’ll die if we stay here.”
Edward dipped the rag into the bucket and squeezed a trickle over Quinn’s back. “We all will.”
Up until now, they had resigned themselves to serving their remaining time at Warren’s farm, but after the attack on Quinn it had become alarmingly clear that Warren could actually kill them. Maybe not outright, but there were a myriad of other ways he could break them.
“How can we carry him?” Cecil asked. “He can’t get up. Can’t walk.”
“We’ll take the door off the bunkhouse and use it like a sled,” Jack said, a plan growing in his mind. “We can lay all our blankets on top to keep him comfortable. Whoever’s not pulling carries the trunks.”
“You strong enough?” Edward asked, eyeing Jack’s side.
“I’m all right,” he said, though the pitchfork wound did hurt when he moved. At least his skin looked nothing like Quinn’s.
Cecil’s brow lifted. “So you’re saying we’re leaving for good.”
“We have to,” Edward said. “There’s no coming back from this.”
“We’ll go tonight,” Jack told them. “There’ll be a good clear moon.” He knew the brothers were afraid. He was too. But he was also riding a wave of conviction that he hadn’t felt in some time. “It’ll be all right. We survived the streets of London, and we’ve managed this. We can do it.” His gaze went to Quinn. “We have to.”
* * *
The moon was almost full, and its cold light flooded the fields. The white glare against the snow helped the boys move quickly along the road, but it also meant there was a greater risk they could be seen. The worst part of the trek was the cold. Every tattered blanket they had was layered over Quinn, and Cat did her part by curling up tight between his shoulder and his neck. Quinn and the sled were heavy, but the boys’ muscles were solid, their hands calloused from work.
They’d agreed not to talk until they were a long way from the farm, but the farther they got, the more exhilarated Jack felt. He could see it in his friends’ expressions as well.
“We did it,” Cecil whispered. “We got out.”
“He could come after us still,” Jack warned quietly. “Or he could find us in town. We have to be watching.”
“Thank you,” Quinn said, soft as fresh snow. He hadn’t said anything for days, and the sound of his voice brought tears to Jack’s eyes.
“Never you mind,” Edward told him gently.
“That’s what friends do for one another,” Jack said.
Quinn’s eyes cracked open, and Jack saw the corner of his mouth lift in his lazy half smile. “Friends,” he murmured, then he sank back to sleep.
After a while, they caught sight of a few scattered houses, and though it was late, they spotted a candle in one window. What were the chances the person behind that glass might be willing to help?
“Take Quinn down to the ditch there,” Jack said. “I’ll go to the door, see what’s what.”
Cecil squinted at the house. “I don’t like you going alone.”
“They won’t want a crowd at their doorstep,” Edward replied, jaw set. “But neither of you is going. I can run faster than both of you.”
Their eyes followed Edward as he crossed the road and approached the house. He hesitated at the door, his hand poised to knock, and moments later it opened. Jack couldn’t see who was behind it, and Cecil crouched beside him in the ditch like he was on springs. He’d be on the doorstep quick as lightning, defending his brother if anything went wrong.
“What’s he saying?” Cecil whispered.
“I don’t know, but he ain’t been chased off.”
The longer Edward stood there talking, the more Jack dared to hope.
“It’s all right, lads!” Edward called across to them. “Bring him over!”
When an elderly couple stepped outside to greet t
hem, Jack nearly wept to see the kindness shining in their eyes. After going so long without seeing a friendly face, he almost hugged them both, the little boy inside him craving their goodness. But he wasn’t a little boy anymore, and he never would be again. Out of habit, he forced the need back, behind the wall he’d built in his heart.
“Welcome,” the man said. He was stooped and grey, but when he noticed Quinn’s covered body, he moved quickly to the side. “Bring him inside.”
“Come in, come in, let’s get you warm,” the woman agreed.
Jack felt a quiet thrill, hearing their British accents. It wasn’t the same as the boys’ Cockney, but it sounded a lot more like home than anything else had in a long time. They followed the woman upstairs to a room, where they carefully unloaded Quinn onto a bed then folded back their tattered blankets. Her husband leaned in close and studied Quinn’s back.
“He’s a doctor,” Edward whispered to Jack.
Jack blinked. “He’s what?”
“Yes, dear,” the woman said sweetly. “You’ve come to the right house, haven’t you? I am Mrs. Cogan, and this is my husband, Dr. Cogan. You’re very welcome here.”
“This boy’s been beaten badly,” the doctor said, his voice grave, then his gaze went to Jack’s side. “You’re hurt as well.”
“I’m all right, sir.”
“Let me see, lad. I’ll tell you if you’re all right.”
Jack lifted his shirt, watching the doctor’s expression. He felt the man’s warm fingers press around the hole in his side, and he held his breath so he wouldn’t make a sound.
“What’s this from?” Dr. Cogan asked.
“A pitchfork,” Edward answered for him, his tone bitter.
“Who did this to you boys?” Mrs. Cogan asked softly. “Where is it you’ve been living?”
Jack met his friends’ eyes. Should they tell? What if she reacted like the policeman had and defended Warren at their expense?
“Your wound is clean. It’ll heal over time.” Dr. Cogan let Jack’s shirt fall back into place and looked him in the eye. “Whoever it was who did this, we will not tell him you are here. You have our word.”
Edward nodded at Jack.
“We’re Farmer Warren’s Home Boys,” he said.
Mrs. Cogan lifted a soft hand and placed it on Jack’s cheek. “You poor, poor lads. I can’t imagine.”
He drew away, tears springing to his eyes at the simple gesture.
She smiled sadly. “We don’t know Mr. Warren personally, but if he did this, he shouldn’t be trusted with a dog, let alone a child. You did the right thing coming here. My husband will do what he can for your friend, and I will do what I can for you. Come with me. Let me get you something to eat and then we shall figure out the next step.”
After she’d gone downstairs, the three of them stood in the corridor outside of Quinn’s room, and Jack felt his friends’ uncertainty as if it were his own. Quinn was as safe as he could be here, and they were out of Warren’s reach for now. He wanted to believe he could trust the Cogans, to feel certain that Warren wouldn’t come for them, but trust was a difficult thing to come by. But if these people were genuine, what then?
For the first time, Jack dared to think about the future.
sixteen WINNY
Winny pulled her scarf as high as she could, her teeth chattering against the wind. In the school, the stove would be burning, and Miss Burton would have the students pull their desks closer to it to keep warm. Winny could have been there as well, but today she was not going to school. She was going to see Mary. After what David had told her the night before, Winny couldn’t wait another day. Heart pounding, she’d headed out for school as usual that morning, but as soon as she knew Mistress Adams wasn’t watching, she turned the opposite direction and ran as fast as she could. Now she only hoped she would remember the way to the Renfrews’ and be able to find it through the blizzard. If all went well, she’d be home at the usual time, and Mistress Adams need never know she’d gone.
With the wind and the added burden of a fresh blanket of snow from the night before, Winny’s walk to the Renfrews’ took almost three hours, and by the time she arrived at the farm, she felt frozen to the bone. But she couldn’t stop now. She’d come all that way for a purpose, and she moved swiftly toward the hut in the woods where Mary had said she lived.
“Mary,” she said, knocking on the door. “Are you in there?”
When there was no reply, she gripped the door handle and pulled, but it wouldn’t budge. A ripple of concern shivered through her, and she circled the building, searching for a window. There was none. She returned to the door and pounded on it this time, glancing nervously over her shoulder at the farmhouse, fearing Mistress or Master Renfrew might hear her.
“Mary, if you’re in there, open the door. It’s me, Winny.”
The wind was the only response.
Where was she? Winny’s mind painted the most awful pictures—what if Master Renfrew had beaten her badly enough that she’d had to go to the hospital? Could they have sent her back to Barnardo’s? Or to another farm? That would be good for Mary, but how would Winny ever find her?
There was only one way to find out the truth. Holding tight to what courage she had, Winny bowed her head against the cutting wind and made her way back up the hill, to the main house. At her knock, Mistress Renfrew opened the door, a puzzled look on her face. Behind her the house glowed a warm gold, and Winny smelled what she thought was beef soup.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Mistress,” Winny said, pulling her scarf down.
“Why, you’re my sister’s Home Girl! What are you doing here? Is everything all right with Florence?”
Winny blinked, then realized that was her mistress’s name. “Yes, she’s fine. I’m… I’m looking for your Home Girl, Mary.”
“Does my sister know where you are?”
“No. It’s only, I need to see Mary—”
Mistress Renfrew narrowed her eyes. “She’ll be gone for a while now.”
“For a while? When is she coming back?”
“In the spring.”
Winny felt as if she’d been slapped. “The… the spring, Mistress? I don’t understand. Why?”
“I should have known,” Mistress Renfrew said, folding her arms. “I never should have said yes to this scheme all over again. Boys are one thing. At least they’re useful. But letting a cheap piece of garbage like that into my farm—”
“What happened?” Winny cried. “Where is she?”
The woman leaned forward, her round, judging face so close to Winny’s she could feel her hot breath. “Listen, girl. Your friend is a whore. Just like all your mothers. Got herself pregnant with one of those Home Boys, and I won’t have that.”
Pregnant. The news hit Winny like a kick to the stomach, and for a moment, she couldn’t breathe.
“That can’t be true,” she stammered. Mary hadn’t mentioned any Home Boys when she’d seen her before, and as far as Winny knew she’d never been interested in anyone but Edward.
“It’s not me who’s a liar,” Mistress Renfrew replied. “Now get out of here before my sister starts wondering where her own little slut has run off to.”
And with that, she stepped back into her warm house and slammed the door, leaving Winny open-mouthed in the cold.
All the way back to the Adams farm, Mary’s words rang in Winny’s ears. He comes after me something bad. No Home Boy had done this, Winny was convinced. It was Master Renfrew. She knew it to the bottom of her soul. David had warned her about him, saying how he liked pretty women, saying he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Winny already knew he had beaten Mary, and now she was certain he had done more.
At her first sight of the Adams house, Winny broke into a run and didn’t stop until she reached the sheep barn, where she collapsed in the straw, sobbing. Where was Mary now? In a strange place, alone and pregnant with her master’s child? Winny had never felt so helpless in her life.
“Winn
y? Is that you?” David asked, coming into the barn. “You’re home early.”
Winny turned to face him, hot tears rolling down her face.
He was instantly at her side. “What’s happened?”
“It’s Mary,” she said. “She… She—”
She couldn’t force the words past the swelling in her throat. He knelt and wrapped his arms around her, and though his coat was covered in ice, she buried herself in it. When she could breathe again, she pulled away and wiped her face with shaking hands.
“After you said you’d heard Mistress Renfrew talking about Mary, I went to see her instead of going to school. I had to. But she wouldn’t come to the door, so I went to the house, and… and she’s … she’s gone! Mistress Renfrew says she’s…” Her breath caught. “She says she’s gone to have a baby.”
He closed his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Winny.”
“I knew something was wrong when I saw her, but I… I never thought she might be pregnant, and now they’ve sent her away, and she’s on her own somewhere, and I can’t get to her—”
“Anywhere away from that farm is the best place for her,” David assured her. “No one can hurt her now.”
“But if only I’d known! Maybe I could have—”
“You couldn’t have done anything, Winny. You couldn’t have stopped it. Master Renfrew always gets his way.”
“Mary told me he wouldn’t leave her alone.”
“What’s going on here?” a terse voice demanded from the doorway.
At the sight of Mistress Adams, Winny and David shifted farther apart from each other. Winny held her breath as she strode toward them.
“You’re supposed to be in school, not out here, luring the Home Boy.” Her eyes burned. “I let you go to school. I feed you. I gave you boots. And now I find you hiding out here doing absolutely nothing.” She took a step closer and glared pointedly at David. “Or perhaps worse than nothing.”
The Forgotten Home Child Page 13