by John Patrick
Mary and Samuel followed Fran into a narrow, dingy alleyway. It was a tight single-file squeeze between the timber walls and the piles of rubbish. At the far end it opened into a small filth-ridden yard, kept in shadow by the overhanging buildings. At the far side was a rickety wooden door. Fran strode up and banged on the door. It nearly fell from its hinges.
'Don’t know why I bother.' moaned Fran. 'She ain’t gonnna hear me. She's deaf as this bloody doorpost, she is.' She pushed the door open and walked inside. 'Mother Munro, you in there?'
There was no reply. It was dark inside the room. The three of them stood and squinted for a moment as their eyes adjusted. They could make out a small wooden table with the remains of a candle in its centre and a single chair alongside. Against one wall was a bed at ground level and alongside that a wooden bucket for a toilet, crawling with fat flies. In front an empty fireplace was a rocking chair with its back facing them. The chair contained a body wrapped in a blanket, with the head poked out of the top and slumped to one side.
'Mother Munro, is that you?'
'Is she dead?' asked Samuel, edging back towards the exit.
Fran stepped forward and put a hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle shake. The body didn’t stir.
'Mother Munro, are you alright?'
Mary put her hand to her mouth. The room stank of mice and urine. Flies buzzed around her face. 'Aunty Fran, let’s go. Please.'
Fran shook her again. This time there was a cough and a splutter and the old woman sat forward with a jerk. Her long scrawny fingers seized Fran’s hand, her claw-like nails digging into the flesh. 'Who’s that? What are ye after?'
Fran pulled her hand back but the nails dug deeper. 'Mother Munro. It’s me, Fran. I’ve come to see you.'
'You’ll not seize me!' she cast off the blanket and tried to jump to her feet but her old joints were crippled with arthritis and it was as much as she could do to stand. She turned to face the three of them, her back bent like a wilting flower. 'Who is it, what d’ye want?' she screeched 'I’m no afraid o’ ye!' She leant forward to steady herself on the arm of the chair. It rocked forward and with it she started to fall. Fran reached out and caught her. The old woman struggled feebly to escape.
'You let go o’ me or so help me I’ll turn ye all te haggis!'
'MOTHER MUNRO,' Fran bawled the words into her ear. 'IT’S ME, FRAN.'
The old woman tried to straighten up but her back refused. She craned her neck up as far as she could in order to scrutinise the face before her. 'It’s a what? A man d'ye say? What man? Yer noo talkin' sense!'
'Oh for heaven’s sake! Mary, open that window. Let’s get some light in here.'
The wooden shutter was wedged tightly in place. Mary pulled and tugged until finally it flew open. Startled rodents scurried for cover.
Mother Munro held her wizened old hand across her face. 'Och, that’s tee bright.' She peered from between her fingers. ‘Fran, is that ye?'
'It is Mother Munro. It is.'
'Why d'ye noo say dear? You child, close up that window and door, you’re letting the cold in.' She turned back to Fran and gestured towards the table. 'Have a seat noo. An' tell me, what brings y'all here te see an ould woman like me?' She cast a quizzical old eye at Fran. 'Don’t take me wrong, I love t'see visitors, but there's noo many come here withoot good reason.'
St Giles in the Field was home to the worst of London's slums. In the upmarket parts of town, most people had fled or gone into hiding, leaving the streets almost deserted. In the overcrowded slums, there was nowhere else to go, nowhere to hide and no choice but to go on with life as best you could. The well-to-do were terrified of the place, blaming the slum-dwellers for every robbery and murder that happened for miles around. As far as they were concerned, it was a filth-ridden den of criminals and prostitutes and should be avoided at all costs. Now that plague had arrived, it was even more reason to keep away. So this was one place that Wooldridge, with his expensive suits and manicured appearance, would not be inconspicuous. In the pre-dawn half-light, he had managed to tail Mary and Samuel, sneaking unnoticed as far as Fran's house. Then, as the sun rose, so did the people of St Giles, and suddenly his fine clothes and shiny boots were like an ice cream van at a children's playground. A small crowd gathered around him, some just curious, others with less innocent intent. He was forced to take refuge in the church, staying hidden until they finally lost interest and moved on. By the time he returned to the house, Fran, Mary and Samuel had gone. Luckily for Wooldridge, Matthew and Isaac were easily bought, and for a conjuring trick and a farthing, he quickly learnt where Fran, Mary, Samuel and the stone were headed. Now he was trying to walk briskly in the direction of Mother Munro's alleyway, but he'd drawn attention again. Children walked a few paces behind, shouting names and laughing at his tall black hat and smart boots. Their numbers grew again until soon a small crowd followed him. Wooldridge ignored them, hoping they might become bored and drift away, but there was no chance of that. Behind the children, two men followed at a distance, trying not to be noticed, biding their time.
As the crowd grew larger, the children became braver. They threw small stones at his hat to try and knock it off. They pulled his coat tail and then ran before he could grab them. People were stopping to watch and laugh. Wooldridge gritted his teeth. He was getting close to the alley now and he didn't want all this attention. He stopped dead; then span around to face them. The children were startled. They backed away. Wooldridge smiled reassuringly then crouched down and waved them in. They looked nervously at each other. Wooldridge reached into his pocket and pulled something out. Curiosity brought them closer. Wooldridge held out his hand and opened his clenched fingers. He held two coins. 'Children, come in, quick, don’t be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you. Who'd like to earn some money?'
Their anxieties evaporated. They rushed in close and gathered around Wooldridge.
'I have two half pennies here. I’ll give you one now and one when the job is done.'
'Why? What you want done mister?'
'What we got to do?'
Hands reached out for the coins but Wooldridge pulled them away. He pointed along the street.
'See that stall there, the one selling fruit?'
'Yeh, so what?'
'Well, that woman sold me bad food last week. Made my poor baby really sick, nearly killed her. What do you think about that?'
The children shrugged.
'Well that's why I need your help boys. That's what I want to pay you for. She nearly killed my baby and when I told her she just laughed! I need you boys to teach her a lesson. Do you think you’re up to it?'
'Yeh, course!'
'If you're payin'.'
'Yeh, bitch. Bet she done it on purpose.'
'We'll teach 'er fer ya!'
'Good, boys, good.'
'It's gonna cost ya though, if you wan' us to beat 'er up. Wha' if 'er 'usband turns up? It's a dangerous job!'
'Yeh, it's gonna cost yer!'
'No boys, you don't need to hurt her. I all I want you to do is go knock over some of her baskets, you know, give her a hard time. Use your imagination. The bigger the fuss the more I pay. Is that a deal?'
'Is that it? Yeh we can do that!'
The prospect of being paid for simple mischief was too good to miss. Hands reached forward to grab the coin.
Wooldridge rose back to his feet. 'OK, you there.' Wooldridge pointed to the oldest, a boy of around 12 or 13 years. 'I’m putting you in charge. Here's half your money. When the job is done I’ll meet you all at the front of the church steps for the rest of your pay.'
The children dashed off eagerly towards the stall. Wooldridge stayed put and awaited the calamity. Across the street, the same two men continued watching Wooldridge with hawk-like eyes.
Shouting and swearing came from up the street. There was a crash and the stall turned over. The children darted in circles around the poor woman, taking turns to run behind her and pull her apron as she chased hopelessly after the
m in turn.
With the attention elsewhere, Wooldridge slipped quietly into the alleyway.
The old woman was back in her rocking chair, the blanket covering her skeletal figure and keeping out the cold that only she felt.
'Samuel, go on, show it to her' urged Mary.
Fran nodded her approval.
Samuel pulled out the red stone and held it aloft for Mother Munro to see.
Her wrinkled old face glowed red and a broad grin exposed a single lonely tooth. 'Och, I never thought I’d see the day again. It’s true. It really is here. Let me touch it.' She stretched out her finger tips and gently stroked the stone as if touching the face of a new born child. 'After all these years.' Her eyes filled with tears.
'What is it Missus, do you know? Is it magic?' asked Samuel eagerly.
'What was that boy?'
'Do you know what it is?' shouted Samuel slowly.
'Aye, o' course I do, I know very well.'
'Well,' asked Samuel impatiently 'what is it?'
'Aye, well if ye’ll sit down and be quiet boy, I’ll tell ye all ‘boot it.'
Samuel and Mary knelt on the grubby wooden floor at her feet.
Mother Munro’s gaze remained fixed hypnotically on the stone in her left hand. She began to recount her tale in a soft distant voice, as if talking to the stone itself. ‘Way back in the mists of time, many long centuries ago, there was a brave knight. He came from a land far away, known as Scotland. It was the time of the great Holy Crusades and the feeble English pleaded with the brave knight to come join them on their quest. Y'see, his courage was famous across the whole country, and they say even Richard the Lion Heart himself begged him to come. He agreed te goo, but no for the king's sake. No, not one bit. Ye see, he was a holy man and he was answering God’s call.' Her eyes were still locked on the glowing red stone. Mary and Samuel shuffled closer to catch each of the weakly spoken words. 'Noo, at that time the Holy Land was held by the evil Godless Saracens. Wicked, wicked people.' She shook her head with contempt. 'When the pilgrims went to the holy sites, the Saracens would capture and murder them, burn their babies and rape their women. So the Scottish knight gathered together the finest soldiers and footmen he could find and set sail for the Holy Land. They rode across Europe fighting the good fight as they went. And after every victory, more men flocked te join them.' Mother Munro paused for breath. It was rare to have visitors, especially ones interested in what she had to say. She loved to tell a tale and she was more than capable of filling any gaps in the stories. She took a deep breath and went on: 'Finally they came te the walls of a great city. They knew they were outnumbered with a hundred evil Saracens to every brave Scotsman. But God was with them. They fought withoot rest for twenty days and twenty nights until, with God's help, they won a great battle. And so then they killed every single Saracen, everyone except fer their king.'
'What, even the children?' interrupted Mary.
'What child?'
'Did they murder the children and... babies?'
'No murder girl. These were Godless people! They joost did what they had te. Noo don't interrupt again. Where was I?' She thought for a moment. 'Oh yes, the king. Now, our Scottish knight was a good man and he took pity on the king and said he would free him if he praised God and ended his evil ways. The king saw the light and did just that. He was so grateful he gave the knight a stoon, a beautiful red stoon. He said it was the petrified heart of a holy man from a thoosand years before. He said this stoon held great power to save the sick and te ward off evil. The knight was unsure if he should believe the old king so he took it oot te his injured soldiers, still dying aroond the battlefield. He did what the king told him. He drew the stoon three times aroond the top of a vessel and then bathed it in the water within. The soldiers then drank from the vessel.'
'Did it work?' shouted Samuel excitedly.
'Did it work? Aye, 'twas was a miracle! One by one each of the soldiers was cured.'
'So is this that same stoon?' asked Samuel.
'Well, yes and noo. Ye see, word of the stoon spread like a raging wild fire and the knight knew that everyone would want it. So he cut a small piece from the stoon and had it fixed te a groat and chain and gave it as a gift te his brother. But the rest of the stoon he hid away. He secretly had one of his knights, a close and loyal friend - or so he thought - sneak it back te Scotland. But the temptation was too much. This man had seen what the stoon could do and he decided te keep it for himself. So when he got back home he made up a lie that he'd been robbed on his way through France. But our brave knight knew that wasn'e true. He challenged him te a duel and won. He killed the thief.'
'So he got it back?'
'Just a wee minute boy, have some patience.' She held the arm of the chair and took some more deep breaths. 'And noo, he didn’e get it back.' She stopped to cough. 'You see before the duel, the thieving knight had hidden it away very carefully, and even as he lay dying he refused te say where it was. The knight searched high and low, year after year for the stoon but he couldn’e find it and in the end he went te his grave a bitter and angry man, still not knowing where it was.'
'What about the other bit of stone, on the chain? Why didn't he use that?'
Mother Munro looked back blankly.
'What about the other bit?' shouted Mary.
'Aye, well that became famous over the whole o' Scotland and saved many a man and his beast. But when the knight asked for it back the brothers fell out and never spoke again.' Mother Munro stopped and coughed feebly, holding her chest, her blood-shot eyes almost popping out of her skull-like face.
'So where is it now?' asked Samuel.
'A minute child. Let me catch my breath.'
'You need to rest,' said Fran with concern, 'we should come again later.'
Mary and Samuel groaned.
'What was that?' barked Mother Munro
'We’ll come again later. You need rest.' Fran mouthed the words slowly, her voiced raised loud enough for the neighbours to hear.
But Mother Munro was having none of it. 'Noo, I’m fine dear. Ye need to know these things. Sit there and listen till I’ve finished. Now where was I?'
'The stone was hidden.' replied Samuel eagerly.
'Well ye’d best goo outside then young man. You canna be deing that in here.' Mother Munro looked at Samuel earnestly.
'No, the stone was hidden.' Samuel shouted back.
'Oh, yes the stoon. Well ye see, it was hidden.' She spluttered again then went on. 'And, like I said, he never did find it. Then a hundred years te the very day from when the knight died, a young shepherd boy was oot with his flock. Noo, at that time, a great sickness had befallen the cattle and sheep in Scotland. The crops had failed, the animals were dying and the people were starving. The young shepherd was drawn te a red glow from within a cave. He climbed inside and there was the stoon. He took it te his father who'd heard the legend. His animals were dying too and his family were hungry. So he bathed the stone in water and gave it te his beasts. In just a few days they were all cured.'
'Wow!' marvelled Samuel, looking at the gem in awe.
'Now, ye can imagine that as soon as word got aroond, everybody wanted that stoon and the man spent his days deing good deeds, going from farm to farm curing his neighbour's beasts.'
'Imagine that!' Mary enthused 'Being able to save all those animals. Everyone would be so grateful.'
'Well… aye. At first he did de it from the goodness of his heart, but soon he grew tired of all the travelling from farm te farm and he saw the chance te make himself some money. Te begin with he asked for just a little, but greed grows fat when it’s well fed, and as his fame spread, demand grew and so did his price until almost nobody could afford it. People became angry watching him grow rich from their misery and it wasn'e long before they turned on him. They took the stoon and left him dead amongst his riches with his throat slit from ear to ear.' She mimicked the slicing movement with her bony finger and one-toothed grin. 'Since then its wher
eaboots have been kept a secret. It's been passed silently from hand te hand. People would hear a rumour, a wee whisper of where it might be and who might have it but it would never be seen. People were scared that they too would be murdered and robbed.'
'Did you ever see it?'
'Aye, once, when I was but a wee child.'
'Did it save your cows?' asked Samuel.
'What?'
'Did it save your animals?'
'Och, be quiet boy and listen.' she snapped. 'Now, where was I? Oh yes, well, my step-mother had been sick for weeks. Every day she got weaker and weaker. In the end she couldn'e stand, couldn'e eat, could barely even speak. Then one night I was awoken by whispered voices. I peeked from under my blanket and there was my father talking te a strange man holding a bright red stoon. Even though it was the middle of a dark Highland winter's night, the stone still glowed as if the sunlight was on it. I watched him run the stoon around the rim of the cup three times, then dip it in the water and give it te my step-mother te drink. She took the water three times a day for three weeks. Every day she got a little stronger and by the end of the three weeks she was well again.'
'Wow!' shouted Samuel 'It really is magic! It works!'
'Aye, it's true; but saving her life didn'e come cheap. When she was well again the man came back to get his reward. He took away all of our cattle and sheep. Every last one. We were ruined. We tried te survive by growing crops but the Scottish weather is no friend to the farmer and we lasted only one more year before the landlord threw us from the land. I was sent away. I never saw my family again.'
'Here, give me that stone. I know someone who needs a cure.' Fran jumped to her feet and plucked the stone from Mother Munro's spindly fingers. She walked across to a small table in the corner of the room and picked up a pitcher of water. She stroked the stone three times around the rim and then dipped it into the liquid before pouring a cup. She handed it to Mother Munro. 'Drink this. Let's see what it can do.'
'Och, there’s nothing wrong with me ye silly woman. Save it for someone who’s sick!'
'For once do as you’re told, you stubborn old woman.'
Mother Munro cocked a disapproving eye at Fran. She took the cup and gulped down the water. 'There. Happy?'
Wooldridge lurked in a shadowy recess in Mother Munro's alley. Through the partly open door he could hear some of the conversation about the stone and listened with interest. He had wondered why his mistress had been so eager to lay her hands on this small piece of red rock and now it made sense.
In the street, the tumult caused by the children had settled. The poor stall keeper was desperately trying to gather together her spilt wares before everyone finished helping themselves. Wooldridge’s two assailants had been distracted by the chaos. They were furious when they realised that he'd slipped away; but they weren’t about to be that easily beaten. It’s not often that the chicken comes to the fox and they were determined to find him again before he had a chance to escape. They split up and started searching either side of the street, peering into houses and down back-alleys. Finally, one of them reached Mother Munro’s alley. Wooldridge was stood statuesque in the shadows under a lop-sided overhanging slum, his black clothes good camouflage in the gloom. But his shiny black boots poked out and gave notice of his hiding place. The assailant turned to call his friend but then stopped and thought better of it. This over-dressed toff would be easy picking - so why share it? He pulled a knife from his pocket and marched confidently towards the gleaming boots.
'Noo mark my words the three of ye.' continued Mother Munro 'This stoon may have great power to heal the sick but it also turns good men bad. Murder, robbery and misery follow it where so ever it goes. There’s plenty oot there that would kill te have it and then there's those who are joost as keen te destroy it.'
'So why is it in London?' asked Fran.
'Money, of course. A man by the name of William MacDonald sent it here in the hands of his son Madadh. He heard ‘boot the plague o’ London and saw a chance te get rich. His plan was te charge the wealthy folk a fortune for the use of the stoon in return for saving their lives. He told Madadh to guard the stone with his life and God help him if he returned te Scotland withoot it.' She gestured the cut throat again. 'I wouldn’e want te be holding that stoon if he finds it.'
Fran and Mary sat silently pondering Mother Munro’s words.
Samuel wasn't intimidated. 'Well he won’t find it.' he announced defiantly. 'I’ll make sure of that.'
'Well that’s all very well for you to say but what if…' A muffled scream from outside stopped Mary in mid-sentence.
Fran and Mother Munro exchanged anxious glances.
'I think ye’d best be on your way.' said Mother Munro 'If people 'roond here know aboot this stone ye’ll be getting a lot of attention. Perhaps ye should leave it with me, for safe keepin'.'
Samuel frowned and pushed the stone back into his pocket.
'Well then, ye'd best be prepared for anything, young man. Now go, whilst ye still can.'
In the alley Wooldridge dragged the corpse of his attacker back into the shadows and hid again. Mother Munro’s door opened and Fran, Mary and Samuel stepped out. Wooldridge allowed the long slender blade to slip from his sleeve and into his right hand again. He pressed himself deeper into the shadows and waited.
At the church, Wooldridge’s team of child helpers were getting restless. They had been waiting for the rest of their pay but Wooldridge hadn't shown up. They'd gone to great lengths to make sure the stall keeper suffered and now they wanted their reward. Eventually they gave up waiting and set off angrily to find him.
On the street near Mother Munro’s alley, two more men were searching. They stopped and questioned passers-by and stall holders. Their accents were hard to understand and their kilts drew a little stifled laughter, but most sensed that they'd be wise to keep quiet. Answers the two men didn’t like were met with threats or slaps and on they went to the next person. They had been told the slums would be a good place to find information but so far today all they had heard was of a smartly dressed man looking very out of place in St. Giles. Nothing about any red stone. Still, that man had to be here for a reason and that was worth checking out.
Mother Munro was feeling invigorated by her drink of the magical potion. She rose to her feet to test it out. Perhaps she could straighten that crooked old back that had been bent for many a year. She grunted and groaned and then with a sudden ‘click’ and a stab of pain, the back was straight.
'Wow!' she thought to herself 'It's working already!' She bent forward to test it out a little more. Stiff as a plank. 'Never mind' she thought 'better stuck straight than stuck bent. Wait until Fran sees this!'
Outside, Fran was trying to persuade Samuel to hand over the stone to keep it safe. But after what he'd just heard, he wasn't going to part with it for anyone, not even Fran. He shook his head and kept it in the depths of his trouser pocket.
Mother Munro appeared at the door. 'Och, look at me!' she performed a slow, awkward twirl in the doorway. 'It worked! The stoon worked! I’m a new woman!'
'Look Auntie Fran. I told you it was magic!' shouted Samuel.
'Hush!' hissed Fran. 'We don’t want the whole of London to know it’s here!' she looked around anxiously to see if anyone had heard. At the end of the alley a pedestrian continued wandering by. Was that something in the shadows? She squinted at the gloom. No, just her imagination. 'Come on kids; let's get away from here.'
'Look at me! Look at me!' shouted Mother Munro 'I can do the fling again!' She tried to jump, kick her heels together and dance as she once had, but her feet failed to leave the ground and there was little more than a sway of movement. 'I feel like I'm fifteen again!' she squealed.
Fran shook her head. 'Bloody ‘ell, what was that stuff, gin?'
Wooldridge remained motionless. A couple of rats sniffed around his feet and the bottom of his trousers. One began to nibble at his boot. Wooldridge didn't move. Then a large drip spla
ttered on the top of his head before trickling down his face and neck. The stench was putrid. He leant his head back to look up for the source. Another drip splashed into his eye. He swept it clear and squinted upwards. He was staring at the underside of an overhanging building. There was a broken plank leaving a large hole in the boards above. The space was filled with a face, the flesh mottled, purple and black. A pair of lifeless dark eyes stared coldly back at him. More fluid seeped from the nose and mouth and fell, splattering onto Wooldridge's forehead. Even Wooldridge wanted to scream. He staggered sideways, partly out from his hiding place.
The scraping of boots on dirt echoed in the narrow alley. Fran peered again into the shadows. This time she could make out a pair of legs pressed up against the wall. She'd lived in the slums long enough to know danger when she saw it. She seized Samuel's arm and yanked him back. She gestured to Mary and Samuel to get back inside Mother Munro’s house. They squeezed hurriedly past the old woman who was now leant against the door frame panting.
'What’s up?' asked Samuel, 'I thought we were leaving.'
Fran pulled Mother Munro back from the door and closed it quietly behind her. 'Is there a back way out Mother? Quick, we gotta leave.'
'Heaven's dear, what is the matter?'
'You were right about people chasin' this stone. There's someone there, waiting in the alley.'
The old woman pointed a crooked finger at a shuttered window on the back wall of the house. 'You can climb oot through there dear.' She grabbed Fran's arm and whispered. 'But be careful, that’s where I empty my...you-know-what.'
Fran hurriedly pulled the wooden cover from the window. 'Come on children quickly, Sam, you first.'
She hauled Samuel up through the window and dropped him down. He landed into soft, sticky, foul smelling mud and human waste. He lifted his foot and shook off a turd. 'Oh my God! This is disgustin’!'
'Move Sam, Mary’s comin’ down!'
Mary landed with a squelch and scrambled quickly out of the muck before Fran dropped from the window. Fran slipped and skidded in the mud and then fell onto her hands and knees.
'Oh my Lord!' Fran squealed. 'How can an old woman do so much?' She skidded and slithered back to her feet. 'Come on quick, let’s go!'
The latch creaked and the door opened a fraction. Mother Munro desperately looked around the room for something to use to defend herself. She had no weapon, just the bucket by the bed, still heavy with the last night’s deposits. Wooldridge poked his head inside. With all of her new found strength, the old woman swung the bucket and hurled it squarely into Wooldridge's face, knocking him off his feet and back out of the doorway.
Mother Munro peeped around the door. Wooldridge was lying in the dirt, soaking wet with flies buzzing excitedly around him. She couldn't contain her smirk.
'You old witch! I’ll make you wish you hadn't done that!' Wooldridge jumped to his feet, knife in hand. 'Where’s that stone. Tell me before I slice that evil smile off your face!' He stormed towards her, knife clasped in hand.
In the street, the gang of children were running in between stalls and pedestrians in search of Wooldridge. If he wasn’t going to pay up then he'd also see the havoc they could wreak. They charged along knocking into people, spilling baskets and crates. They approached the stall owner they’d harassed earlier; she was sitting on the edge of the road on an upturned wooden box, surrounded by what little she’d been able to salvage and wondering how she was going to feed her family. The children had the sense to steer a wide berth, all that was except one of them, a young boy of about six or seven years of age. He hadn’t really grasped what was going on but he was enjoying the ride. The stall keeper saw them coming, saw the group run along the other side of the road at a safe distance, and saw the young child run straight towards her. She waited until he was right alongside and then pounced like a cat, seizing an arm and dragging him in.
'You li'le bastard! You… your family’s gonna pay for all o’ this!' she screeched.
The boy's older brother skidded to a halt and the rest of the gang ran into his back. He turned and approached the woman with trepidation. 'You let ‘im go you old hag! 'E’s only little!'
'Someone’s gonna pay for all o' this. You lot bloody ruined me, you ‘ave!' She twisted his ear as she screamed out the words. The boy began to sob.
His older brother picked up a rock and held it ready to throw. 'You let him go you ‘ear me. Or I’ll chuck this at your ‘ead!'
The stall owner twisted the poor child’s ear again making him howl. 'You chuck what you want ‘cause whatever you do to me, I’ll do to 'im ten times over! You lot gonna have to pay for all this.'
The boy lowered the rock. 'Just let 'im go, you ‘ear? Let 'im go... please.'
'Oh it's please now is it? I didn't 'ear no bloody please just before when you was trashin' me stuff, did I?'
The young boy sobbed.
'Look, we're sorry. We didn't mean you no 'arm. It was that man what made us do it.'
'What? What man? What you talkin' 'bout? You're just makin' lies up now to get off the 'ook. Well it ain't 'appening. You've gotta make this good!' She twisted hard on the child's ear again.
'No, I ain't lyin'! I promise! 'E said you poisoned 'is baby. '
'Who did? What the 'ell are you on about?'
'That toff, what was 'ere before. 'E said you sold him dodgy food and made his baby nearly die. He told us.'
'Dodgy food? Look, my stuff ain't always perfect, but I sure as 'ell ain't sold it to no toff!'
'Yeh you did. ‘E told us. An ‘e got us to mess up your stall to teach you a lesson.'
'I’m tellin’ ya. I bin doin’ this bloody stall for three years an’ in all that time I ain’t sold no food to no bloody toff! How many rich folk you see shoppin’ down ‘ere, ‘ey? You thought ‘bout that you bloody idiots.'
'But… but ‘e paid us. You must ‘ave...'
'Look, them rich folk wouldn’t come down ‘ere to buy their food if I was payin’ them! You gotta be mad! An’ what you mean, ‘e paid you?'
'He paid us to do it. Said ‘e’d give us some money before an’ some after. ‘Cept ‘e never come back to give us the after. So now we're tryin’ to find ‘im.'
'Right, I’m comin’ with ya. We’re gonna find ‘im and make ‘im pay for all o' this. Come on!' She yanked the child's ear and began to march down the street, the rest of the gang close behind. '‘Urry up! I never 'eard such rubbish! Where d’you last see ‘im?'
Mother Munro staggered backwards away from Wooldridge’s knife. She caught her heel on the wooden step, tripped and tumbled to the floor. She felt a crunch and a paralysing pain in her hip. She gritted her teeth. She wasn’t going to show him she was hurting. Not that it would have made any difference if she had; Wooldridge was not one to feel pity. He stepped quickly over her to check the house. With only one room it didn't take a moment to realise that Fran, the children and most important of all, the stone, were gone. He pointed the knife down at the old woman lying in the doorway.
'Where did they go? Where’s that stone? Speak woman or God help me I’ll end your misery once and for all.'
But before he received his answer, a vice-like grip crushed Wooldridge's shoulder. 'Ye’ll nay be dein’ that y’theivin' sassenach bastard!'
Wooldridge was hauled out of the doorway like a rag doll and thrown up against the wall. Madadh MacDonald pressed his dirk to Wooldridge's throat, His wild, bloodshot eyes stared out from between the flaming red hair of his head and his beard. 'I reckon ye might just knoo the whereaboots of a wee gemstoon o' mine.' His expression suddenly fell from anger to disgust. 'Waw, ye reek lik’ jobby, man. Wit ‘ave ye bin dein’, ye sick mongrel?' He held a hand across his mouth and nose.
Wooldridge adjusted his jacket with a little embarrassment.
'An whit ye dane tae that auld wifie? Hey Cormag, gi’ ‘er some hulp.' Madadh nodded to his kilted friend.
'What... what on earth are you saying?' asked Wooldridge in his perfect Engl
ish tones. 'Can't you people speak English?'
Madadh turned back to him and sneered. He held his knife to Wooldridge’s lips. 'Ye’ll nay be speakin’ a word o’ anythin’ if ye dinnae ‘ave a tongue in yer heed. Noo, whit ye ken ‘boot ma stoon?'
Fran, Mary and Samuel scrambled through narrow gaps between the houses and along dingy alleys until they were well clear of Mother Munro’s house. They made their way back onto the main street, stench and flies travelling with them.
Further down the same street, the stall owner was still dragging the poor child by his ear in search of Wooldridge. The rest of the gang followed just behind.
'So if we find ‘im for ya, d’we get a reward?'
'What? A reward! I'll give some bloody reward, believe me!'
They passed the end of Mother Munro’s alley. Jacob, the oldest in the group stopped and peered into the shadowy passage.
'Hey look at them men in dresses?' he laughed. The others gathered around and jostled to try and see.
'Hey, that’s ‘im, that bloke, the toff. ‘E’s getting’ mugged look! That’s why ‘e ain't come!'
The stall owner pushed her way through. 'That one? Right!' She marched into the alley. 'Oi, you! What you think you’re doin’ payin’ these brats to ruin my stall.' As she got closer she saw Madadh holding his knife to Wooldridge’s face and his kilted friend Cormag attempting to drag the poor wailing Mother Munro back to the comfort of her bed.
'Thank the Good Lord you came!' shouted Wooldridge. 'I came to visit my grandmother and these foreign animals were attacking her and now they’re robbing me! Look what they did to her!'
'Och ye dinne wanna heed his shite.' Madadh turned around and waved the blade at the stall owner. 'Away wi’all o’ yous! We're reet busy!'
The stall owner was hesitant. She wanted to turn and run but her livelihood was wrecked and this man owed her money. Without getting at least something back there would be no food on her table and maybe no roof over her head.
'That man owes me money. He paid these kids to wreck my stall. He's gotta pay for it.' She kept a safe distance back whilst she spoke. The children gathered behind her.
'No, no they got the wrong stall.' pleaded Wooldridge from behind the blade. 'It wasn’t supposed to be you. It was the other one, further down, I’m so sorry.'
'Will yous all shut the hell up!' Madadh was not impressed. 'He haes a stoon as belongs te me an’ it’s worth a lo' more than ya stall. Now ‘way wi’ y’all, reet noo! Goo on! Off!' He waved his dirk in the air and then turned his attention back to Wooldridge.
Meanwhile Cormag had disappeared into the house with Mother Munro. She might have been out of sight but there was no missing her screams and her swearing as Cormag lifted her feeble frame onto the straw bed.
The group of children weren't sure who to believe. But then they really only cared about getting their money and the sight of Wooldridge being mugged didn’t do much for their chances. Jacob picked up a rock and launched it at Madadh. It bounced off the back of his neck. Madadh span around with a withering scowl under his red beard. With one hand he still held Wooldridge by the scruff of the neck.
'Ye dinne wanna de that ya stupid wee bairns. Y’nae tee small for a thrashin’.'
Another child picked up a rock and threw, then another and another. Cormag appeared at the doorway and rocks began to fly at him too. Madadh released Wooldridge and shielded his face with his hands. But the deluge of missiles continued. It was too much to take. Madadh roared with rage and then charged at the children, his long glinting dagger held high in the air, Cormag close behind. The children panicked and ran but the narrow exit from the alley formed a bottle neck and choked their escape.
Wooldridge spotted his chance. He slipped through the open doorway into Mother Munro’s house. He spied the open shutter on the back wall and threw himself head first through the gap. He landed with a soft splat in the foul mud below.
Madadh and Cormag stood behind the children shouting and wailing, Madadh waving his dirk furiously just above their heads. Eventually they all managed to escape. Madadh turned to continue with Wooldridge; but he was gone.
Madadh cursed. He walked into the house and peered through the open window. 'Bastard.' he hissed.
'Och, lit him run' said Cormag, placing a hand on Madadh's shoulder 'a' least noo we ken who we swatch fer.'
'Aye, an' next tim ma dirk'll no stay dry. Cormag, where d’ye drop the wee woman?'
Cormag nodded to the other end of the room where Mother Munro lay quiet and pale on her bed.
'Och, she does ne look very good, Cormag. Whit ye dun te her?'
Madadh walked up to Mother Munro and looked down at her pathetic body. A look of surprise grew across his bearded face.
'Auld Mother Munro. Is tha'... is tha' really ye?' He knelt down by her side.
'Well I’m no the tooth fairy, Madadh.' Mother Munro still managed a wrinkly grin.
'But how... whit... whit ye dein' in this shite hole for God's sake? Nay offence, but I’m noo a lover o’ London.'
'Aye, an’ from what I hear, London’s no lover of you either Madadh. Anyway, it’s a long, long story.' She winced in pain as she tried to shift into a more comfortable position. 'An’ look at you, all big and grown.' A brief smile turned quickly to a frown. 'That beard’s a mess Madadh, an' your hair’s tee long. You really should tidy y’sel’ up.'
Madadh stroked at his beard self-consciously.
'And how’s your father, Madadh? Is he still as grumpy as he used to be?'
'Aye,' he smiled 'he’s a crabbit auld bastard to be sure.'
'I’d heard you where doon here Madadh. Heard you were lookin’ for the Mother Lee stone. That right?'
'There’s nay keepin' a secret fro' ye.'
'Well when ye walk ‘roond London in a kilt you tend get noticed you daft wee thing. Did your father teach you nothin’? Mind, you MacDonalds were never known for your brains.' she chuckled to herself then winced again as the pain jabbed at her.
'Cormag, grab her a wee drink.' He held it gently to her lips. 'Sorry it’s nay a bit stronger. So de ye ken where it’s at Mother, the stoon?'
'Aye, I’ve seen it.' She sipped gingerly. 'Seen it this very day. Was truly beautiful. I never thought I’d see it again Madadh.'
'Today! So... where is it?'
Mother Munro hesitated then looked earnestly at Madadh. 'You must promise me Madadh; promise me that you’ll no harm them. They didn'e take it from yer man. They’re just wee children, that’s all. If I tell ye, y’must promise.'
Fran arrived back at her home with Mary and Samuel. She opened the door a little anxiously, aware that her three boys had been left to their own devices for longer than she would have liked. She found four-year old William tied to a chair with a rope, a cloth around his mouth as a gag. He was wriggling and rocking, trying to free himself. The other two boys were nowhere to be seen.
'Oh no!' shouted Mary, stepping back from the door. 'He's been here already Aunty Fran!'
'I don’t think so darlin’.' growled Fran. 'Matty, Zac, where the bloody ‘ell are ya, ya little sods! Get ‘ere now!'
The rear door to the slum creaked open and the other two boys crept in sheepishly.
'What you bin doin’ t'yer bruvver, yer li'le sods. I warned ya ‘bout this sort o’ thing. Untie ‘im right now! You 'ear me? Right now! Can’t leave ya alone for…'
'You stink!' shouted Isaac, holding his hand across his face.
'You’ve crapped yourself, ain’t ya?' howled Matthew.
Isaac laughed and pointed. 'Yeh, she's shit herself again!'
'No I have not! I fell over.' replied Fran indignantly, ‘An’ what you mean again. I ain’t never crapped me self in the first place! You rude little sod! I’ll give you what for!' She raised the back of hand ready to swipe at Matthew but he had already stepped back out of reach.
Fran started to untie William. 'Can’t leave ya for five bloody minutes, I can’t.
Matthew looked at Mary with co
ncern. 'What you done to yer leg?'
'What?' asked Mary, absorbed by the mayhem around her.
'Look at yer leg. There’s blood.'
Mary looked down. There was a rip in the bottom of her dress and blood ran down below her knee. Dark red stains surrounded the torn cloth.
'Oh, no! Mum’ll kill me!' She lifted up the dress to reveal a gash just above her knee.
'Oo, that’s nasty that is.' added Matthew. He grabbed the piece of cloth Fran had just removed from around William's mouth and took it to Mary. ' ‘Ere, wrap this around it.'
'Thanks' said Mary, a little surprised by his concern.
'That’s right, you’d ‘elp ‘er, but I bet you wouldn’t bother if it was your old Mum, now would ya?' Fran snatched the cloth from Matthew's hand.' ‘Ere darling, let me do it for ya.' She sneered at Matthew as she wrapped it around the wound.
'I don’t feel good.' moaned Isaac, his face turning grey. 'I'm gonna spew.'
'Well get outside, quick!' shouted Fran but too late. Yellow liquid splattered onto the floor and wall.
William was now free. He ran towards Mary, skidding through the vomit. 'That’s mine. Give it back!'
Fran was at the end of her tether. She threw an arm out to stop William, but in that moment, her frustration gave her more strength than she needed. She shoved him away, sending him tumbling into the wall and thumping his head into the bare wood. For a moment the room was silent, the other children open-mouthed. Then William began to scream. Blood was coming from his nose and a graze on his cheek.
'Now look what you made me do!' Fran shouted at Matthew.
'I ain’t done noffin’.' replied Matthew defiantly.
'Come ‘ere sweetheart, ya Mum’s sorry.' Fran reached out to her son but William jumped to his feet and stomped off to the other side of the room.
Matthew took the cloth from the floor and placed it on Mary’s wound. 'You better watch that Mary,' he added 'my mate Ash, he 'ad a cut like that, an’ e was dead in a week.'
'Thanks Matt.' said Mary with a troubled smile.
Matt gave her a grin, satisfied with a rare good deed.
'You two better be gone.' Fran gave up on trying to reconcile with William, now hiding under the table. 'Be careful. Don't forget to go 'ow I told ya or you'll get stuck at them road blocks.' She opened the door. 'Be quick, go on. Get away from this place.' She gave them both a kiss on the top of the head and pushed them on their way.
Chapter 21