Alley Urchin

by Josephine Cox

  The torrent of emotion created by Nelly’s simple delight engulfed Emma, moving her also to tears of joy. ‘It’s been a long time, Nelly,’ she murmured, holding her son fast on one arm and stroking Nelly’s bent head with her free hand, ‘but yes . . . at long last, we’re going home.’ These two devoted friends clung to each other. They cried a little and laughed a little, and the hardships they had endured fell away.

  Outside, it was growing ever dark and on this June evening there was a wintry nip in the air. But in the room where Emma’s son had been born, there was warmth of a human kind, there was sunshine and hope. Soon there would be a new dawn, when long cherished dreams might be realised.

  ‘You can count on me. All will be well taken care of in your absence, Emma.’ Silas Trent looked around the ship’s cabin, then, satisfied that Emma and her son would be comfortable on their long sea voyage, he swung the two large tapestry bags up on to the bunk. ‘Nelly’s beside herself with excitement,’ he laughed, ‘I’ve just left her examining every nook and cranny in her cabin . . . there isn’t a dial that she hasn’t twisted, or a cupboard or drawer that she hasn’t investigated.’

  ‘Leave her be . . . she’ll soon tire of it and come looking to see what I’ve got that she hasn’t!’ Emma’s laughter was light-hearted and, with her son in her arms, there shone from her lovely eyes a peace which Silas Trent had not seen there before. ‘If the weather is kind to you, Emma, you should arrive in Liverpool on or about the 16th of September. If our information was correct and Marlow receives the message I sent to the Navigation pub, he should be waiting when you disembark. God speed, Emma. And don’t concern yourself about matters at this end.’ He smiled broadly, saying, ‘Now that you’ve made me a full partner . . . I wouldn’t dare let you down.’

  ‘You won’t let me down, I know that,’ she told him warmly, adding, ‘or you would never have been made a full partner!’ Emma had no qualms where Silas Trent was concerned, because she knew him to be a man of integrity and honour.

  ‘All the same . . . that fellow at the bank has his beady eyes on my every move!’ he laughed, wagging a finger at Emma.

  ‘And so he should!’ Emma chided with a smile. ‘After all, where would we be without the darling man?’ Of a sudden, Emma grew serious, as she asked, ‘Has your wife promised to come out?’

  ‘Not yet. Martha’s ties with home are too strong for her to let go, I’m afraid.’ There was disappointment in his voice, and a sorry look in his dark eyes, ‘I haven’t given up though. Edward has expressed the wish to come and see me before he pursues his own career . . . I’m counting on him to persuade his mother that her place is here with me.’

  ‘And are you so sure you don’t want to return to England . . . to be with her?’

  ‘I’ve already made it clear to Martha that I’ll never go back.’ Here he leaned forward to kiss first the child, then Emma. ‘She knows that I love her, and would welcome her here with open arms. She also knows that my mind is made up . . . Australia is the place I want to be. It’s my home now, and my future is here. If Martha loves me, she’ll want to share my life, and that means breaking away from her parents long enough at least to give this country, and me, a chance to prove ourselves.’

  ‘You’re a good man, Silas Trent.’ Emma knew no better. ‘Martha is a lucky woman.’

  ‘Martha is not made of the same stuff that you are, Emma . . . unfortunately!’ There was anger in his voice as he turned and walked to the door, ‘But I love her. I always have.’ When he had stepped out of the doorway, he looked back at Emma. The smile had returned to his craggy, moustached features and his brown eyes were twinkling, ‘Take care of young Bill. I’ve no doubt he’s got the makings of a sailor in him.’ He gave a chuckle and a wink, then was gone and Emma was left staring at the oak-panelled door.

  Of a sudden, the door burst open to reveal Nelly’s bright excited face. ‘Cor, bugger me, gal!’ she cried, rushing into the cabin and tugging at Emma’s arm. ‘Ain’t we posh, eh? Quick, gal . . . let’s get topside and wave at the folks on the jetty!’ Before Emma could resist, she found herself being propelled out of the cabin, along the dark narrow gangway outside, then up the short flight of steps which took them to the upper deck. Here there were crowds of people all milling in one direction, towards the railings, from where they could see the jetty below.

  In this month of August, the sun was at its winter’s height and folks were well wrapped up against the cool breeze. Most of the women wore short flouncy capes over their wide skirts and boaters or peaked bonnets fastened with ribbons. Others were swathed in long fringed shawls which were pulled up right over their heads and caught fast beneath the chin. The men wore tall straight top-hats or trilbies with wide curved brims; their long jackets were dark and severe, as were their trousers. Most of them sported great sprouting moustaches, or beards, or both, and all eyes were turned to the shore as, frantically, they scanned the multitude of upturned faces below, searching for the one which was most beloved and familiar. From one end of the deck to the other handkerchiefs fluttered like flags. There were murmuring voices, people tearful and laughing, and occasionally a loud cry when a loved one was spotted.

  Such was Nelly’s cry now, as she excitedly tapped Emma on the shoulder. ‘There he is!’ she called out, taking off her bonnet and waving it in the air, until the breeze caught it and whipped it away. But Nelly’s enthusiasm was not dampened. ‘Silas! Up here . . . look up here!’ Whereupon, dozens of eyes did as she bid them, afterwards looking away when they saw a stranger, but smiling at the woman’s obvious excitement and being all the more enthused by it. ‘Here, Silas . . . to your left!’ Nelly shouted, and when at last he caught sight of the little group, he snatched off his hat to make a wide circle in the air, his face wreathed in a smile and his eyes playing now on Emma and the child in her arms. Emma saw his mouth move, but such was the din all round that it was impossible to hear what he was saying. Securing her small son in one arm, she waved enthusiastically with the other. She kept on waving, even after the vessel began moving away, until Silas was at first a tiny speck in the distance, then he merged with the others until no one face was distinguishable.

  Long after the other passengers had left the railings and gone in their different directions, and Nelly had taken Emma’s son to the cabin, Emma stood alone, her knuckles stretched tight as she gripped the rail, and her thoughtful grey eyes scanning the horizon as the shoreline rapidly disappeared from her view. The sea is a solitary place, she thought, as a great feeling of loneliness suddenly took a hold of her and her gaze roved across the distance. It was a humbling and terrifying experience to be completely surrounded by deep, dark waters, stretching out from all sides like a glittering carpet that looked solid, yet was not. Emma shivered. She was not a good sailor, though she did love to see the fine ships and the colourful vessels that hustled for space in the docks. There was something uniquely fascinating about it all and now, as the seagulls soared above, calling, and following the ship for as far as they dare, Emma thought how peaceful it was. Her thoughts were back on the shore, as they wandered over the years she had been exiled in this beautiful land of Australia; it was with a shock that she realised how the years amounted to almost half her lifetime! In this land to which she had been forcibly brought, she had suffered indignities and fear; she had known terror and hopelessness, poverty and deprivation. Yet through her hard work, determination and strength of character, she had also achieved a great deal to be proud of, and she was thankful for it. Her long struggle had been an uphill one, but she had never given in.

  Now, as Emma relived those years in her mind, she came to understand how, perhaps even without knowing it, she had sunk her roots deep in this great new land. She had achieved almost everything her heart had desired. Yet if she were to set those achievements against being with Marlow for the rest of her life, the choice was simple: everything she had would be less of a prize than their life together, with the many children who, God willing, would surely fol
low.

  All the same, as the ship sailed further and further away from the shores of Australia, Emma felt a pang of sadness, for she knew in her heart that she would never return. At least, not before she was a very old woman, who might wish to show her grandchildren that part of her life which came about long before even their parents were born! For now though, she was going home – sailing towards her ultimate dream and praying that when the ship came into dock in the port of Liverpool, she would see Marlow waiting there.

  When the tears crept into her eyes, Emma blamed the stinging sea-air, but she knew that it was a memory which had stirred her to tears; the memory of a young boy swimming in the canal, a young handsome lad who teased her and laughed with her, and because of that, was later cruelly beaten until his back lay open. Even then, Emma’s heart had been lost to him, just as hopelessly as it was now. Now that same boy had become a man, and she was a grown woman. But the deep abiding love between them was still as young and strong, indeed, had bound them together over the turbulent years which had cruelly parted them.

  Emma looked up at the great expanse of sky above her. She watched the small puffy clouds scurrying in and out of the blue pockets, she saw how beautiful and serene it was. Something deep within told her that beyond the sky that she could see, some almighty force was at work. She murmured a small prayer of gratitude for having come so far, and she asked that the thought of revenge against her old enemies might not drive her too hard. Above all, she asked for Marlow to be waiting for her, and that they might be blessed with a new life ahead. Her deepest regret was that they had been robbed of seeing their first-born grow up to be a woman.

  ‘Are you gonna stand there all day, Emma, gal?’ Nelly’s abrupt interruption surprised Emma from her thoughts. ‘The lad’s flat out exhausted for now,’ she said, adding with a shake of her tousled head, ‘but there’ll be blue murder when he wakes up, screaming fer his tit . . . and his mam’s out here star-gazing!’

  ‘Go on with you!’ Emma laughed out loud, coming towards the steps which would take them down to the cabin. ‘Perhaps we’ll have a minute to unpack before young Bill Tanner demands his supper!’

  As Emma followed the chattering Nelly along the gangway, there was a song in her heart and a spring to her step. When the ship gave a gentle roll and Nelly, laughing, said, ‘This is the life, gal! Rolling about like a drunken sailor, and not a tot o’ bloody rum ter show fer it!’ her heart was flooded with laughter, and she felt fortunate to have such a friend by her side.

  Nelly, too, had suffered bad times, thought Emma, but, thank God, she had emerged without lasting damage. Certainly, her liking for the opposite sex was beginning to return, if her behaviour on the jetty earlier this morning was anything to go by. She had taken a real fancy to what Silas had called ‘a rough-looking bloke with a koala bear on his shoulder’. It was only when the fellow got carried away by Nelly’s amoroua attentions that he proudly drew a snake from his jacket pocket. Nelly had turned all shades of green, before making a hasty retreat behind Silas and Emma, saying in a wounded voice, ‘Did y’see that bloke pestering me? . . . I’ve a bloody good mind ter report him to the authorities!’

  Part Four

  England 1877

  New Hope

  Joy and grief were mingled in the cup; but there were no bitter tears:

  Charles Dickens, Oliver Twist

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘Your father is a fool. You are not going to Australia . . . I forbid it!’ Caleb Crowther slammed his clenched fist on to the desk, rose from his seat and, with a look of thunder, he fixed his piercing blue eyes on his grandson’s face, saying in a threatening voice, ‘While you and your mother choose to live under my roof, you will do as I say. Your father deserted you both, as far as I’m concerned, and this . . .’ he snatched a letter from the desk and crumpled it in his fist,‘ . . . this is what I think of him and his letter!’

  ‘Excuse me, sir. My father did not desert us.’ Edward Trent met his grandfather’s stare with a forthright expression. ‘He’s worked hard over the years to build a future for me and my mother. He wants us there, with him . . . and, if anything, it is we who have deserted him! I’ve disappointed my father by choosing a career other than the sea . . . but he hides that disappointment and gives me great encouragement in my chosen profession, even though it means we remain far apart. As for my mother, he begged her on his last voyage home to return to Australia with him. She refused, and since then, my father has written many letters, pleading with her to join him, but still she refuses. No, sir . . . it is not my father who has deserted us, but the other way round in my opinion. You have seen the letter which I received only this morning, arranging for me to visit him in Australia before I embark on my studies. I owe him that much . . . and if I may say so, sir . . . I intend to go, with or without your blessing.’ The whole time that he was speaking, Edward Trent kept his dark green eyes intent on his grandfather’s face, and even though the older man continued to test him with a challenging stare, the young man never once flinched or hesitated in his defence of the father he loved.

  ‘The devil you say!’ Caleb Crowther stormed round the desk and came to a halt only inches away from his grandson, who believed for a moment that he was about to be physically struck. Instead, he was surprised to see a devious smile uplift the other man’s face as he said in a goading manner, ‘So . . . you intend to go with, or without, my blessing, do you?’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, but yes . . . I do. My first duty is to my father.’

  ‘Hmh!’ Caleb Crowther’s unpleasant expression grew even more devious. ‘And do you intend to go with, or without . . . my money?’

  ‘I have money of my own. A regular allowance sent from my father,’ Edward Trent reminded him.

  ‘Indeed you do . . . you do!’ agreed his grandfather, still smiling as he stepped towards the desk, where he eased himself back on to its edge, his eyes drilling into the young man’s face. ‘And . . . as I understand it, your mother is trustee of this money?’

  ‘She is, yes, sir.’

  ‘Then you won’t go, I’m afraid!’ Caleb Crowther’s smile broadened as he watched the puzzled look come on to his grandson’s handsome features. ‘You see, Edward . . . you might be prepared to go off to the other side of the world . . . with or without my permission, but my daughter, Martha, is another matter. Like the dutiful woman I have raised her to be, she will do nothing without my permission.’

  Edward Trent’s heart sank within him. What his grandfather was saying was sadly the truth. He had his daughter exactly where he wanted her and if he instructed that Edward’s money was not to be released, then nothing would persuade her to go against her father’s word.

  ‘May I go now?’ Edward asked, trying not to let the disappointment show in his voice. ‘It seems our conversation is at an end.’

  ‘Oh, look here, Edward,’ Caleb Crowther knew well enough that, as always, he had won the day. The boy would stay here, in Breckleton House, until the day he would leave for London and his studies. That was as it should be! But it did not please him to be at odds with his only grandson, whom he admired as a likeable and worthy young man. ‘Please understand that I’m doing this for your own good. Who knows what dreadful accident could befall you on such a long and arduous journey? It really is foolhardy and selfish of your father even to suggest it!’ Rogues and ruffians abound everywhere . . . waiting to pounce on such innocent fellows as yourself! Have you both so easily forgotten how you were set upon and almost killed by such people?’ He waited a moment before continuing, ‘Well, let me tell you, Edward, my boy, that I will not forget so quickly! That urchin girl who had you secreted away will not elude me forever, believe me.’

  ‘The girl did me no harm, sir. I told you that, the very moment it all started coming back to me. She was the one who found me . . . she saved me from drowning, and afterwards, she returned me safely to my grandmother.’

  ‘Of course she returned you! Half-dead . . . and for a price!’
Caleb Crowther could not contain his rage at the girl who had escaped him that night, when he thought he had her safely in his clutches. Like always, when he was made to think of it, his reason became impaired by his fury at being so easily outwitted by an alley urchin, and, if he suspected right, by the offspring of Marlow Tanner and his own sinfully begotten daughter, Emma Grady!

  ‘You have it wrong, sir,’ insisted Edward Trent, ‘the girl is innocent of everything. Her only crime, if indeed there was one, was in asking the price of a friend’s funeral . . . someone she dearly loved, and who otherwise would have been buried in a pauper’s grave. I ask you, sir, how can that be a crime?’

  ‘Don’t be so gullible, boy! She’s no better than the worst rogue who might roam the streets. But I have her face imprinted here.’ He tapped his temple, before going on with conviction, ‘She won’t escape me for ever, make no mistake of that!’

  ‘Why do you hate her so? I’m no liar, sir, yet you will not believe me when I tell you that this girl committed no crime against me. She only did all she could to help me. Have you another reason for wanting her put behind bars?’

  When Caleb Crowther realised the way in which his grandson was looking at him, and even questioning his true motives for wanting the girl put out of the way, he grew more cautious. ‘Leave such matters to me,’ he said abruptly. ‘Now you may go. Ask your mother to come and see me . . . about better investing your allowance. I was wrong to let her handle it in the first place. Put all nonsense about going to Australia out of your head. In less than a year, you’ll be immersed in your studies. Until then, you can better prepare yourself, and perhaps find time to become more involved in the day-to-day running of a textile business . . . which, I might remind you, will no doubt be your own one day.’