by Anna King
Their breakfast finished, Micky looked at the currant buns longingly then shook his head. He’d save them, and the rest of the bread for later. Not trusting himself to resist the delicious treat, Micky carefully put them back in the paper bag. Conscious that Molly was staring at him anxiously, he gave her a playful nudge and grinned. ‘All right, I’ll stay. You go back ter sleep, then later on, I’ll take yer down the market. The bloke on the fish stall said he might ’ave some work fer me. Yer might as well come along.’ Pushing his face close to hers he laughed, adding, ‘Maybe someone might even give you a job, if we’re lucky, then we could stay together all the time.’
The enormity of his words banished the smile from his face, yet the words had the opposite effect on his sister. Her pretty face lighting up, she breathed wistfully, ‘Wouldn’t that be wonderful, Micky? D’yer think that might happen one day?’
Micky averted his eyes, not daring to meet his sister’s gaze for fear she might see the desolate look on his face. Adopting a lighter mood, he said, ‘Look, seeing as how I ain’t gotta go back ter the bakery today, why don’t we get some sleep? I don’t know about you, sis, but I could do with another couple of hours’ kip.’
Her eyes stretching wide with happiness, Molly squealed, ‘Oh, yes, Micky. I’d love ter go back ter sleep.’
Less than ten minutes later the young girl was fast asleep. Lying close by her side on top of a soiled mattress they had found in the ruins along with three equally filthy blankets to cover them against the cruel winter months, Micky stared up through the broken roof waiting for daylight to break. His mind, as always when there was nothing else to occupy it, returned to the reason he and Molly now found themselves in such dire circumstances. Blinking to hold back tears that threatened to flow, Micky angrily brushed the back of his hand across his eyes. Bleeding hell! He was going soft. It was lucky Molly hadn’t seen him like this. In her eyes, her brother, at the grand age of fourteen, was almost a man. Composing himself, he rested his arm against the back of his head and let his mind wander.
This time last year he and Molly had been at home; home being a modest two-bedroom house in Hoxton. Their parents, like the majority of people living in the East End, had always had to struggle to make ends meet. Their father, a big, gruff man they had both idolised, had worked down the docks. His wage had varied from week to week, but Annie Masters had always boasted she could make a penny stretch further than any other woman in the street. They had been poor, but never hungry or cold, their mother had seen to that. It was only now that Micky realised how much their parents had gone without in order that he and Molly didn’t suffer. Now they were both dead, their deaths occurring with such alacrity that Micky still couldn’t believe he’d never see either of his parents again. Shifting restlessly he carefully turned so as not to disturb Molly who, now her mind was at peace and her belly full, was deep in slumber.
The last time they had seen their father he was going off to work. He had never returned home. One of the managers from the docks, accompanied by a policeman, had called at the house, their grave expressions giving no need for words. There had been an accident involving a crane down at the docks and their father had been killed.
Annie Masters had never been the same after her husband’s early demise. In order to earn a living, she had found a cleaning job. But her health had never been good at the best of times, and she too had died. For the two children who were still grieving for their father, the death of their mother so soon after losing their father had sent them into shock.
Yet further tragedy was about to strike.
Micky, who had just finished school, had imagined himself capable of looking after his sister once he had found a job, but the authorities had thought otherwise. Despite anguished protests, the two children had been taken to the workhouse by two grim-faced officials. Molly had been content enough to have some kind of stability, but Micky, independent by nature, had kicked his heels in protest against their new environment, his agile mind looking for the first opportunity to escape the oppressive building. The children had been in the workhouse for three months before the chance of getting out was presented to them. Due to a severe winter, a good deal of the staff had taken to their beds with influenza, their misery resulting in a severe shortage of staff. Micky, who had been biding his time, had quickly seen the diminished staffing arrangements as a stroke of luck, and had lost no time in taking advantage of the situation. With the remaining staff struggling to keep order, it had been relatively easy to simply walk out of the workhouse with their meagre possessions tied up in a small bundle. They had walked for what seemed an age, with Micky expecting to feel the hand of the law on his shoulders at any second. And when he had realised they were free at last, Micky had been ecstatic. But he hadn’t taken into account his little sister. Molly, excited at first, had soon become fretful as the early January evening began to draw in.
Micky too had become increasingly anxious as the darkness closed in around them, his earlier euphoria deserting him as stark reality set in. Alone, cold and hungry, without any money, the two children had quickly found themselves at the mercy of the elements. With Molly crying with fear, cold and hunger, Micky, who was close to tears himself, had become desperate. Then their luck had changed. Just as Micky, worn down by Molly’s pitiful cries, had almost decided to go back to the workhouse, they had stumbled on the derelict house. With no light to guide them the two children had felt their way through the pitch-black house, stumbling time and time again as their feet tripped over unseen objects scattered throughout the crumbling building. Guided by touch alone, Micky had found a mattress and a pile of blankets, the filthy condition of their find not becoming apparent until the following day when the morning light had flooded their new dwelling. Even then, they had been so glad to have somewhere to stay, the appalling condition of the house had seemed a palace.
Molly, worn out by the eventful day, had quickly fallen asleep on the heavily soiled mattress. And Micky, bone-tired himself, but knowing that if he allowed himself the luxury of sleep, he and Molly, who hadn’t eaten since the bowl of lumpy porridge they had consumed that morning in the workhouse, would wake up ravenous. As tired as he was, Micky knew it would be better if he went out now, while it was still early evening. While Molly slept, Micky crept out of the building, his weary footsteps trudging towards the market in Well Street where, hopefully, he could earn enough money to buy some sorely needed food.
He had managed to earn a couple of shillings by running errands and helping to clear away the stalls for several market traders. He had also been given a bag of ripe apples and pears for his hard work. Knowing the effect such food could have on an empty stomach, Micky had decided to buy a loaf of bread to supplement the impromptu supper. Once again, his luck held, guiding his footsteps towards the bakery at the top of Morning Lane.
There he had met the baker’s wife, a lovely young woman who, sensing his need, had refused payment for the bread, insisting she was going to throw it out anyway due to the lateness of the day. Micky had known the young woman was just being kind. Yesterday’s bread was always sought after by women eager to buy a loaf or some cakes at half price.
Beside him, Molly stirred restlessly, throwing off her covering. Gently, so as not to disturb her, Micky pulled the blankets up around her neck, thinking as he did so how horrified his mother would have been to see her beloved children living in such filthy surroundings.
If only that was all he had to worry about! They could survive the way they were living for quite a while. At least, he could; he wasn’t so sure about his sister. It would be better once summer came. And he didn’t know how long the house they were occupying would remain standing. Why this house alone had escaped being demolished Micky didn’t know. But what he was sure of was that, sooner or later, when the council decided what it planned to do with the vacant plot of land, they would waste no time in removing the last remaining house. In the meantime, he had to work and work hard if he wanted to get them into
some kind of home where they would be safe. His plans were somewhat hazy, his mind closed to the pitfalls ahead, but one thing he couldn’t shut from his mind was the man. His lips tightened, his arms automatically going around the small innocent form lying beside him as he thought about the stranger.
He had turned up ten days ago. At first Micky had feared he was an official come to take him and Molly back to the workhouse, but the man had been quick to reassure Micky that that was not his intention. The man, who had introduced himself as Kenneth Wells, had gone out of his way to be friendly to the two orphans, and for the first time since running away, the children had begun to feel safe. He had begun by bringing food and making the children feel as if they had found an ally – and Micky hadn’t been too proud to admit that they needed an adult in their lives. Every day the man would turn up, always bringing some treat with him, usually food, his manner genial and sympathetic to their plight. A week later, when the children had become comfortable in his presence, the man had sent Micky off on an errand. The youth, not having any reason to distrust their new-found friend, had gone off willingly. On his return, he hadn’t noticed that his normally bubbly sister was very quiet, almost subdued. The next day, when Micky, a florin clutched tightly in his hand, prepared to go off on another errand, Molly had grabbed his hand, her eyes imploring him not to go. To his everlasting shame, when Molly had needed him most, he had let her down. But something had nagged at him until, cursing himself for a fool, he’d raced back to the building. The sight that had met his eyes would remain with him until his dying day. Closing his eyes tightly, he tried not to remember the vision of the man holding Molly on his lap. His dear, sweet Molly, her tiny frame rigid with fear as the man slobbered over her face, while his hands…Oh, God! Those hands. Hands that had been stretched out in friendship and been gratefully accepted, had turned into vile, despicable instruments fondling and groping the young, innocent child Micky had left in his care.
The image had been burned into his brain forever. At the time, his mind had seemed to close down. The next thing he remembered, he was on the man’s back, screaming, kicking and punching with all the strength he possessed. Taken by surprise by the unexpected, ferocious assault, the man had fled. For the next two days Molly hadn’t left her brother’s side, nor had he wanted her to. But they’d had to come back to reality. In order to survive, Micky had to work, and he couldn’t work with Molly alongside him. So he had come up with a plan.
Together they had carried the mattress and blankets to the top of the house. Then they had removed the rickety staircase, the rotten wood coming away easily in their hands. Micky had then attached a rope to the only solid beam left in the upper part of the house, enabling him and Molly to climb up to their new living quarters, and then pulling the rope up after them, thus repelling any unwanted visitors. It wasn’t an ideal solution, but it was the best he could do for now. Judging by the man’s presence outside the house this morning, it was obvious that Kenneth Wells, if that was his real name, wasn’t going to be put off so easily. The only consolation was that Molly, innocent and trusting, simply thought the man only wanted to kiss and cuddle her, like her dad used to do before she went to bed. But even very young children knew what they did and didn’t like. Molly had loved her father dearly and she knew that his loving embraces bore no resemblance to the way that horrible man had slobbered all over her. She had been badly frightened by the man’s unwanted attentions, but fortunately was still oblivious of his true intentions.
Forcing his mind to other matters, Micky thought ahead to tomorrow. The baker’s wife hadn’t said how much he would be paid for the morning’s work, but whatever she offered would be fair. He only wished he hadn’t had to lie to her. Then again, he hadn’t actually lied. She had assumed, quite normally, that Micky had a home and family, and Micky had simply chosen not to enlighten her on that small matter. He wondered briefly how old she was. She only looked about 16, but she must be older than that. Though he had nearly put his foot in it on meeting the baker himself. Seeing them together Micky had naturally assumed the baker was the girl’s dad. Luckily for him, Ellen Mitson had immediately introduced the portly man as her husband.
He had been very pleasant and friendly too. Letting out a soft sigh, Micky tried to get some sleep. If only there was a proper job to be had at the bakery. No matter how menial the work, Micky would jump at the chance of having a regular wage to look forward to. That was his dream. To have somewhere for him and Molly to live without fear. To have their own front door, to sleep once again between clean sheets, to be able to have a proper bath and clean clothes to put on. There were plenty of boarding houses in the East End where he could find a room with no questions asked. All he needed was that elusive job. Flopping onto his side, his face tilted up at the hole in the roof, Micky waited for daybreak. He would give Molly another hour then take her with him around the local factories and shops. There must be somewhere that was looking for a strong, willing boy.
An idea struck him, bringing a smile to his lips. Maybe the baker’s wife knew of somewhere. After all, she said he should look for a job. It was worth asking.
Excited at the notion, Micky closed his eyes, waiting for Molly to wake up. But when, some time later, Molly awoke, she found her big brother fast asleep. Smiling happily, the little girl snuggled against the warm body of the boy who, in her eyes, was her provider and protector. Nothing bad could ever happen to her while Micky was around.
Chapter Three
‘Five bob!’ Micky looked down at the two, shiny half crowns nestling in his blackened palm, his face stretched incredulously. Shaking his head he muttered, ‘This can’t be right, Missus. Not just fer an hour’s work. Yer must ’ave made a mistake.’
Ellen, her own face a picture of happy satisfaction, smiled. ‘There’s no mistake, Micky. That’s the amount my husband paid the coalman – until I offered the job to you.’
Two bright blue eyes stared out of the blackened face in bewilderment. ‘But yer said you always had ter shift the coal by yerself.’ His voice, still quivering with excitement at the money in his hand, now held an accusation. ‘Did yer just pretend yer had ter shift the coal yerself, just so yer could give me the money? ’Cos, like I told yer before, Missus, I ain’t taking no charity, not even from you.’
Finding herself on the offensive, Ellen shifted guiltily. ‘Now, Micky. It isn’t quite like that. It’s true I did lie, and I’m sorry for that, but that money in your hand is money you worked hard for. You’re entitled to it. I’ve always resented the money my husband insisted on paying the coalman, a man who owns his own business, when there are many people who, to my mind, need the work and the money more than he does.’
Micky held Ellen’s gaze, his need for the money wrestling with his conscience. Slowly his fingers closed over the coins. He would be mad to throw it back, especially when he and Molly needed it so much. But he hated being treated as a charity case. It was only for Molly’s sake that he was prepared to swallow his pride and take the money. But instead of feeling a sense of worth for a job well done, Micky felt cheated somehow. Not only because of the money, which was almost a full week’s wage for some men, but because of the young woman who had given it to him. He had thought they could become friends. He had wanted to please her and had thought he was helping her by taking on the job. Now it seemed she only felt sorry for him. To her, he, Micky, was just another street urchin, and he was surprised and somewhat bewildered by the unfamiliar emotions swirling inside his chest.
‘Micky?’ Ellen was staring at him anxiously. They were both of the same height, and, with his entire face blackened with coal dust, the only way the young boy could be recognised was by his eyes. And for the first time, Ellen was struck by their bright, almost cobalt blue. For a few seconds they stared at each other, the boy and the young woman. No words were spoken. Ellen appeared to be mesmerised by the boy’s unflinching stare. Then a jolt rippled through her body bringing her sharply back to her senses.
G
ood Lord! What was happening to her? First she had made a fool of herself in front of Ted Parker, now she was being intimidated by a mere youth.
‘I’ll be off then, Missus. Thanks… yer know…’ Micky nodded at his closed palm. ‘It was kind of yer.’
Ellen gulped. ‘I wasn’t being kind, Micky. The job had to be done, and I thought you deserved the work. Call by tomorrow, and I’ll see if there’s anything else needs doing.’ Regaining her composure, Ellen gave a small laugh. ‘I hope you told your mother the nature of the job you had lined up for today. Goodness, you look as if you’ve spent a morning up a chimney. Go on now, get yourself home. I expect your mother will have a hot bath waiting for you.’
Micky nodded, his eyes now averted. He wished he could tell Mrs Mitson the truth. But even if she seemed very young, she was still an adult, and might turn him and Molly over to the authorities, thinking she was doing it for their best interests.
‘Yeah, you’re right, Missus. I’d better be off.’ Micky hesitated, his thoughts jumbled. Then he asked hopefully, ‘I was wondering if yer knew of anyone that wanted a young lad for regular work?’ Giving a nervous laugh, he added, ‘Like yer said yesterday, now I’ve left school I should be looking for a permanent job.’
Ellen thought hard. There was nothing she would like better than to take the boy on permanently, but there simply wasn’t the work. It was only a small bakery. In fact they were overstaffed since she had begun working in the shop. Arthur and Agnes could run the business perfectly well between them, as they had done for many years before she had arrived. As Agnes was always pointing out to her.
Then a thought struck her. Walking slowly with Micky to the door she said quietly, ‘I can’t think of anyone off hand, Micky, but I’ll certainly ask around.’ Conscious of Agnes’ curious stare, Ellen continued. ‘Look, let me have a word with my husband, and we’ll see what we can do, though I can’t promise anything.’