Opal shook her head incredulously. ‘I don’t even know how you’ve managed to carry it all, let alone earn enough to buy it.’
Charlie quickly turned his head to hide the guilty flush that rose in his cheeks as he pictured the posh gentleman he had stolen from. But then, he was probably so rich that he wouldn’t even miss it, he tried to convince himself. It wasn’t as if he had stolen from someone who was in the same position as he and Opal, after all. The thought made him feel a little better and, dragging a chair up to the table, he began to peel some vegetables and potatoes. He would fry some sausages with them when they were cooked and, with decent food inside her, Opal would be well again in no time, surely.
Chapter Five
On Christmas morning Charlie plucked the cockerel while Opal prepared the vegetables – but despite the feast ahead of them, they were both still miserable.
‘Oh, I almost forgot. I got you a present,’ Charlie said when the vegetables were simmering in a pot on the fire. They had no oven, so he had chopped the cockerel into pieces and that was simmering in a pot next to the vegetables. He hurried away to fetch her shawl, and when he presented her with it, her mouth dropped open.
‘Why, Charlie, it’s beautiful,’ she gasped, as she placed it about her shoulders. ‘But it must have cost a fortune.’
She was peering at him suspiciously again and he felt his cheeks grow hot.
‘I told you, everyone was in a generous mood and it didn’t cost as much as you might think.’
‘Well I’m afraid I haven’t got you anything.’ She reached out and tenderly squeezed his hand as she told him softly, ‘I’m sorry I blamed you for taking the children to the workhouse, Charlie. I know you only did what you thought was best for them.’
He shrugged. ‘That’s all right. I just want to see you get better. You’re all I’ve got left now.’
Yet even as the words left his lips, he saw her glance towards the blankets that the children had slept on and he knew she might never get over their loss, especially so soon after losing their parents. She didn’t even seem like Opal anymore. All the sparkle had gone out of her and her eyes looked dull and haunted. Even so, for each other’s sakes, they made the best of the day and if either of their minds were on loved ones who were no longer with them, neither of them mentioned it.
January passed in a blur of snow and rain. Charlie went off regularly to look for work. The money he had stolen wouldn’t last forever, but come hell or high water he was determined to keep a roof over his sister’s head, albeit a very humble one.
While Charlie searched desperately for work, Opal had started to stand for hours outside the workhouse, questioning every member of staff who left the building about Susie and where she had gone. So far she’d had no success, but still she persisted, unable to accept the fact that she might never see her little sister again. She had lost a serious amount of weight, despite their feast at Christmas, and there were dark circles beneath her eyes. It broke his heart to see her shivering outside the walls, her shawl clutched around her thin frame, and though at first he tried to stop her, eventually he had accepted that this was her way of grieving, so he left her to it.
February blew in with driving rain and harsh winds that rattled the window panes but now that the snow was gone Charlie managed to retrieve quite a few of the tiles that had blown off the roof and into the long grass in the garden, and had made a start on fixing the roof; he had also boarded up the broken window panes.
‘I shall have this place lookin’ a treat come the spring,’ he told Opal optimistically, but she merely nodded, not really bothered what he did to the place.
Finally, March arrived and slowly the ground started to come back to life after the long hard winter. Daffodils and crocuses sprang up amongst the weeds and primroses peeped from beneath the hedgerows.
Charlie still spent a large portion of each day looking for work, but it seemed fruitless. As the weeks wore on, he grew more and more desperate. The money he had stolen was gone now, apart from a few pennies, and the threat of them both having to enter the workhouse was looming like a great black cloud, keeping him awake at night as he fretted about it. He was also growing increasingly concerned about Opal, who, when she wasn’t standing outside the workhouse asking for news of their sister, spent most of her time curled up on her bed.
It was with these worries in mind that he set off one windy day to the town centre. It was market day and as always the place was a bustle of activity. For a time, he strolled amongst the beasts in their pens in the cattle market, before stopping at each stall he came to to ask if there was any work going.
‘I’ll do anything,’ he told the stallholders, but their answer was always the same, and as he fingered the few sparse pennies he had left in his pocket, his spirits sank.
The money he had left was scarcely enough to buy them food for more than another couple of days at the most, especially as, now that the little bread oven had stopped working, Opal couldn’t even bake their bread anymore; she was too steeped in misery to care anyway, and he was having to buy that from the baker.
What would become of them? He stared gloomily down at the ground and for a moment he was so despondent that he didn’t even see the fine leather wallet lying at his feet. His first instinct was to snatch it up and run like the wind, but then his conscience took over. It had clearly fallen from the pocket of a well-dressed gentleman who was perusing the goods on the stall and Charlie was still feeling guilty about the last wallet he had stolen. He would have to return it to its owner before someone else stole it. He stooped to grab it but as he made to stand up someone caught him by the back of the collar and almost lifted his feet from the ground.
‘Here, let go o’ me,’ he protested loudly, as the well-dressed man directly in front of him turned to glare at him. At the same time his stomach sank as he saw that it was a constable who had hold of him.
‘Is this your wallet, sir?’ The constable snatched the wallet from Charlie’s hand and the gentleman nodded.
‘It is indeed, constable. Well done. No doubt this little thief would have made off with it had you not seen him with it.’
‘But it was lyin’ on the ground,’ Charlie protested loudly. ‘All I was doin’ was pickin’ it up to hand it back to you!’
‘Picking my pocket more likely.’ The man’s eyes reminded Charlie of those of the dead fish he had just seen lying on a slab in the fishmongers’.
The constable handed the wallet back to the man, keeping a firm grip on Charlie. ‘Don’t worry, sir, I’ll see as this little mongrel gets locked up good an’ proper. Then when the rest o’ the magistrates visit next week he’ll be up afore you all.’
Charlie’s gut twisted. Magistrate! Now he really was in trouble, but the irony of the situation was that this time he was innocent.
‘It dropped out of his pocket, I tell you,’ he protested, as the constable began to haul him towards the police station. ‘I was just goin’ to give it him back.’
‘Aye, o’ course you was, son,’ the constable replied cynically. ‘That’s what they all say. It’s just a shame fer you that yer chose to steal from Mr King. He’s one o’ the magistrates an’ he don’t take kindly to thieves. I reckon it’ll be a long time till you get a chance to steal again.’
Charlie’s heart was beating like a drum and his cheeks were burning with humiliation and frustration as he noted people stopping to gawp at him. Soon he stopped struggling – the constable was clearly as strong as a horse – and eventually the police station loomed ahead of them.
The policeman hauled him inside and once they reached the desk he told the sergeant there, ‘Caught this young ’un red-handed trying to steal Magistrate King’s wallet. I’ll stick him in the cells, shall I, till the magistrates visit next?’
The sergeant nodded. ‘Aye, you do that, Sid.’ Then, turning his attention to Charlie he told him, ‘I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes, lad, not for all the tea in China, an’ that’s a fact. Magistrate
King’s been known to send men to prison for stealing a loaf of bread, let alone his wallet. But anyway, we’d best take some details.’ He paused to lick the end of a pencil then barked, ‘Name?’
Charlie’s shoulders sagged. ‘Charlie Sharp.’
‘Address?’
‘Rapper’s Hole.’
The sergeant frowned. ‘Rapper’s Hole? But I thought all the dwellings left standin’ there were derelict.’
Charlie flushed. ‘They are, but me an’ me sister had nowhere to go when we were turned out of our cottage when me mam an’ dad died, so we ended up there. We had me little bother an’ sister with us as well, but they were both poorly an’ we couldn’t afford to get a doctor to them so we put them in the workhouse just before Christmas. It was supposed to be just till we could get them back, but when we went to visit me little brother had died an’ they’d let some couple take me little sister.’
The sergeant’s face softened somewhat. Poor lad, it sounded as if he’d had a rough time of it, and he was only about the same age as his own son. Of course, that didn’t excuse what he’d tried to do, but he supposed sometimes desperate times called for desperate measures.
‘And just where is this cottage?’ the sergeant asked. ‘I dare say we could get word to your sister, else she’ll think you’ve deserted her.’
‘It’s off Haunchwood Road, quite close to a small copse,’ Charlie muttered dispiritedly. He dreaded to think what Opal would say when she heard what had happened but there wasn’t much he could do about it now. The worst thing was knowing that although he hadn’t intended to steal the wallet today, he had been guilty of theft before Christmas, so he supposed he was due what was coming to him.
‘Right, get him down to the cells, constable,’ the sergeant ordered. Then, addressing Charlie, he told him in a gentler voice, ‘We’ll bring you some dinner down presently.’
‘How long do you think I’ll be here?’ Charlie asked.
The policeman shrugged. ‘The magistrates are due in the town sometime next week and you’ll appear before them then.’
Charlie allowed himself to be led away down some steep, well-worn stone steps where he saw a row of cells in what appeared to be a large basement. Two of them were occupied – one by a drunk who was singing loudly – but the sergeant led him to one in a far corner, telling him, ‘I’ll put you in here. Fred Tollet is in that one and he’s drunk as a skunk.’
Charlie glanced around at what was to be his home for the next week. The cell was tiny with a bucket in one corner and a wooden bed with a straw mattress covered by a thin grey blanket standing against one wall. The walls were bare brick and damp with one tiny window set high up and it was so cold that his breath hung on the air. Charlie had to fight the urge to cry as the cell door slammed shut and was securely locked. His spirits were at a very low ebb as he thought of Opal. He had let her down yet again, and he would never forgive himself for that.
Later that afternoon, the sergeant who had arrested Charlie picked his way across Rapper’s Hole until he spotted a cottage in the shelter of a small copse. This must be it, he thought, as he walked down the weed-strewn path that led to the front door. He rapped on it and soon it was opened a fraction and a pair of frightened brown eyes stared out at him.
Opal’s heart sank as she saw the policeman standing there and she wrapped her shawl more tightly about her.
‘Y-yes?’
‘Are you Miss Opal Sharp?’ When she nodded the policeman removed his helmet. ‘Then might I have a word with you, miss? It’s concerning your brother, Charlie.’
He saw the fear flare in her eyes as she held the door wider for him to step inside. He glanced about and was surprised at what he saw. Although basic, the room was spotlessly clean, as was the young lass standing in front of him. ‘I’m afraid I have bad news,’ he told her as gently as he could. As he explained what had happened, her head wagged from side to side and her hand flew to her mouth.
‘N-no, there must be some mistake,’ she cried tearfully. ‘Charlie would never steal!’
And yet even as the words left her lips, she was remembering the money he had come home with before Christmas.
The constable looked uncomfortable as he shuffled from foot to foot.
‘The worst of it is it was Mr King the magistrate’s wallet I caught him with,’ he told her. ‘And as you probably know, he’s not a man to be messed with.’
Opal stood as if turned to stone; she had led a sheltered life until the death of her parents but even she had heard of how strict Magistrate King was. It felt as if her whole world was collapsing around her yet again. First she had lost her parents, then Jack and Susie, and now Charlie!
‘When will he be tried?’ she eventually managed to ask in a small voice.
‘Sometime next week. And now if you’ll excuse me, miss, I really should be going . . . I’m sorry to be the bearer of such bad news.’
With that, the sergeant replaced his helmet and left, leaving Opal to stare sightlessly after him.
The next morning, bright and early, she was at the police station. ‘May I see my brother, please?’ she asked the constable on the desk. ‘His name is Charlie Sharp.’
‘Ah, the young chap that was arrested yesterday.’ He eyed the girl thoughtfully. Her clothes were little more than rags, although they were clean, and she was as thin as a rake, with deep dark circles beneath her eyes. But even so, it was clear that sometime in the near future, she was going to blossom into a beauty. ‘By rights I’m not supposed to allow him any visitors till he’s been up before the magistrates,’ he told her. ‘But seeing as you’ve come a good way, I’ll allow you ten minutes. How would that be?’
She gave him a grateful smile, which totally transformed her pale face, as he called a constable from the next room.
‘Take this young lady down to see Charlie Sharp,’ he instructed him. ‘But no more than ten minutes, mind.’
The young constable led her towards the cells and she followed meekly, her heart in her mouth. Charlie was sitting dejectedly on his bed, his head bowed, and when he looked up and saw her he flushed guiltily.
‘I wasn’t going to steal it, Opal – the wallet, I mean. It was on the floor and I was going to return it, I swear,’ he told her in a choked voice.
‘Well, it’s done now, isn’t it?’ she answered dully.
‘Perhaps if you were to go an’ see Mr King he’d listen to you,’ Charlie said desperately, as he gripped her cold hands through the bars of the cell.
‘I suppose I could try . . .’ Opal didn’t see that it would do much good but she had to do something. ‘Perhaps the sergeant would give me his address? But how are you? Are they feeding you?’
‘Of course, but it’s you I’m more worried about,’ Charlie told her truthfully. Feeling in his pocket he removed the few pennies he had left and pressed them into her hand. ‘It’s not much but it should feed you for a couple of days . . .’ His voice trailed away and tears pricked at the back of his eyes. He had never felt so useless in his life.
‘Don’t worry about me.’ She squeezed his cold fingers as footsteps sounded on the concrete floor behind her and the young constable appeared again.
‘Sorry, miss, but your time is up.’
Charlie clung to her hand for a moment longer, and Opal felt as if her heart was going to break in two, but then, taking a deep breath, she drew herself upright.
She was the only one who might be able to help Charlie now and that’s just what she intended to do!
Chapter Six
As Opal stood at the end of the path leading to the smart house in Swan Lane, her heart sank. This was the home of Mr King, the magistrate who Charlie was accused of stealing from. The sergeant had taken a lot of persuading before he finally gave her his address because, as he had pointed out, it was highly unethical. Even so, Opal was hoping to play on the man’s sympathy – if he had any, that was. Her hopes weren’t particularly high, as she had heard what a harsh man he could be,
but what other choice did she have?
The house was magnificent: three storeys high with windows that shone in the weak March sunshine. They were covered in snow-white lace curtains and the door was painted a bright, cherry red with a rather splendid brass door knocker in the shape of a lion’s head. The walls were of huge, gleaming white stone. A far cry from the hovel she and Charlie were having to live in, she thought, and she wouldn’t have minded betting that just one room in this place would be almost as big as the whole of the cottage put together. For a moment, her courage wavered. The man would no doubt send her off with a flea in her ear if what she’d heard about him was correct, but then who else would plead Charlie’s case for him if she didn’t?
She was very conscious of her old, worn clothes and down-at-heel-boots; but suddenly she felt her mother’s presence, and she remembered her saying, ‘Just remember, my love, you’re a chip off the old block; you can do whatever you set your mind to.’
Pulling herself up to her full height, she smoothed her drab skirt, took a deep breath and ventured up the path. A tub of daffodils, their bright yellow trumpets opening to the sun, stood at the side of the door and she found herself staring at them as she lifted her hand to the knocker. She could hear the sound it made echo inside the house, and soon she heard footsteps approaching the door. It was opened by a lady in a plain, light-grey bombazine gown trimmed with black braid. She wore a chatelaine about her waist from which numerous keys dangled, and her dark hair was twisted into an elegant knot on the back of her head.
Opal felt the woman’s eyes travel down her before she asked politely, ‘May I help you?’
Opal gulped. ‘Er . . . yes . . . please. I was wondering if it would be possible to have a word to Mr King?’
The woman’s eyebrows rose. ‘Do you have an appointment to see him?’
Opal shook her head, as tears sprang to her eyes. ‘No . . . but if he would just be kind enough to give me a few moments of his time, I would be very grateful. It’s about my brother and quite urgent.’
The Winter Promise Page 4