“I see.” Her mother eyed her with matter-of-fact precision. “Very well. Très bien, ma chérie. We shall leave you to recover then and we shall have something to eat sent up to you.” She rose and went to the door. “Come, Paulette,” she instructed. “Let us permit your sister to rest. Besides, I wish to spend more time with my beautiful granddaughter. J’ai de si belles filles. Et maintenant une merveilleuse petite fille.”
“I shall join you in just a moment, Maman.”
Lisette groaned inwardly as her mother left and Paulette came in, closing the door behind her.
“What is wrong?” her younger sister inquired.
“I have a headache. You just heard me tell Mother.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I want to know what is really wrong.”
Lisette sighed in weariness. “There is nothing wrong.”
“Weren’t you supposed to meet Henry Brooks this afternoon to fix your engagement ring?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t see you wearing it. What happened?”
“He had to travel to Portsmouth unexpectedly. We shall have to try again another time,” Lisette explained calmly.
“That’s rather odd.”
“I don’t see why you would think so. Henry works quite hard and is very dedicated to his practice.” Unfortunately, he worked to the exclusion of all else. Lisette used to find that quality becoming. Now she had second thoughts.
“What is odd is that I thought I saw Mr. Roxbury bring you home in his carriage.”
“He did,” Lisette admitted with reluctance, knowing she still looked as if she had been thoroughly kissed.
Narrowing her eyes, Paulette gave her a suspicious look. “How did he come to escort you home?”
“We ran into each other near the jewelry shop. It was very cold so he offered to drive me home in his carriage.”
“Is that all?” she insinuated. “Nothing else happened?”
Lisette hated that Paulette had correctly assumed that something had occurred that afternoon, but she was not about to admit anything. She rose from the bed, her heart pounding. “Don’t you have anything better to do than spend your time looking out windows and listening to conversations that don’t concern you?”
Her sister turned up her pert little nose. “Fine. I hope you feel better. And I hope you don’t do anything to jeopardize your engagement to Henry.” With that, Paulette left the room.
Trembling, Lisette sat back down upon her bed. Something had to be done. She simply could not go on like this any longer.
21
The Hopes and Fears of All the Years
Monday, December 15, 1873
Tom’s day was not going well. The one purse he’d managed to pinch was empty! Not a shilling to be had. The foolish gent he’d spotted must have gambled all his money away, for he had certainly looked prosperous enough in his finely cut cloth coat and silk top hat.
Tom had been hanging around Victoria Station for days, but it hadn’t been as good a place to pinch as he’d hoped. People seemed to be warier of their surroundings when they traveled and he’d managed to pinch only one other wallet. And there was not much in it to brag of. In fact, Victoria Station had been rather disappointing all around. Just like his whole day. He was tired and hungry.
And he was cold. Colder than Tom ever remembered being before. The wind seemed to cut right through his thin body. Pulling his threadbare jacket more tightly around him, he trudged back home, knowing it was time he would be leaving the shoemaker’s and his mother would be expecting him about now. She still had not found any permanent work, but had been doing some piecework at home. It did not bring in half the money she’d earned at the dress shop, and he watched as she grew more and more despondent about their living situation.
Old Mrs. Framingham, learning that Madame La Fleur had let his mother go, had been harping on them about their weekly rent, threatening to cast them out if they were so much as a day late paying her. As bad as their little garret room was, Tom and his mother were still better off than most and had no wish to be forced from their lodgings to a poorer location. Old Framingham, for all her grumbling, at least kept the building in decent shape and they had access to some relatively clean water, which was not the case for some other buildings in the area. No, they had no desire to leave their tiny attic home, unless it was to move to a much-improved residence.
Which, of course, was Tom’s plan all along.
He still had his stolen money savings, which they could use if things became desperate, and they would quite shortly. He was in a quandary about how to use the savings without arousing his mother’s suspicions as to how he had come by all that money. She was bound to ask questions, and he was quite certain that she would not like his answers. No sir. Tom still had those three pounds, although they weren’t hidden safely under the floorboard anymore. Since his mother was home all day, he lived in mortal fear that somehow she would accidentally find them.
As he walked the lane, Tom passed a women’s millinery shop and eyed a pair of dainty white lace gloves in the window. Lace gloves like that wouldn’t keep his mother’s hands very warm, he knew, with all those little holes in them, but they were pretty and she would like them. He stood looking at them, wishing he could buy them for his mother as a Christmas present. She deserved nice things, pretty things like lace gloves that wouldn’t even keep her hands warm. How wonderful it would be to surprise her with such a gift, wrapped in a box with a big ribbon for her to open on Christmas morning next week!
He sighed, pressing his face against the cold glass of the shop window.
“Go on now, you filthy little urchin! Get away from here!” The owner of the shop came out and shooed him away. She was a tall, thin woman with a pinched face and a pair of wire spectacles perched on the end of her long nose. “You’ve got no business being here! Now get!”
His chest tightening, Tom glared at her, but moved on. He hated when people dismissed him, as if he didn’t matter. Who was she to tell him to go away? He did have business being there if he wanted to buy something in that shop, like those lacy gloves! And someday he would march right in there and buy those fancy gloves! Yes sir. He wasn’t always going to be living in Saint Giles like the rest of them. Tom was going to move up in the world. He was already smarter than everyone he knew.
Besides, that miserable old shopkeeper didn’t know that Tom had the money to buy those gloves and more with him right now! In a small leather bag tied with string, hanging around his neck, were the three pounds. He figured it was the safest place until he could figure out what to do with them.
The wind blew around him. He shoved his hands in his pockets and kicked at the rubble in the street. He made his way toward the dingy alley where he lived. Dodging with ease between the many wagons and carts that rumbled along the crowded thoroughfare, his eyes scanned the ground. He wished he did have that keen eye for finding coins in the street, like his mother believed, because he sure would like to find a shilling or two now.
“Well, look who it is! Little Tom Tom!”
Tom froze and his eyes darted around at the sound of his name being called. This was not good. Three large boys stood against the side of the building, their mean gazes alight with the prospect of a little fun. Tom recognized them, and even knew their names. They lived a few buildings away from Framingham’s and were always causing mischief in the neighborhood, stealing anything that wasn’t nailed down, upsetting vendor carts, tormenting the little kids, kicking dogs, and generally making themselves despised by everyone. Tom’s little heart began to pound with heavy, rapid beats, thundering against his chest. He had met up with these boys a few times before and he knew without a doubt he was in deep trouble.
“Where are ya going?” Fred Humphries, the shortest one, called.
“The better question is where has he been?” The tallest boy, Jerry Gray, had a hawkish nose and dark beady eyes. He looked even taller than he was because he wore someone’s cast-off and badly batte
red top hat that was more ash-gray than black. At almost fourteen, Jerry was the oldest of the terrible trio. He stared hard at Tom, his eyes glittering.
The three boys had always scared Tom, and he had made it his priority to steer clear of them on a regular basis. Unfortunately for him, today he had walked right into their path, much to their delight.
Tall Jerry continued, “Yeah, that’s what I want to know. Where has the little pisser been? What’s he been up to? And what has he got for us?”
The middle boy, Eddie Poole, pushed himself from the wall and took a few steps toward Tom. He shoved at Tom’s chest, knocking him to the ground. “Where have ya been?”
Tom glared at them as he picked himself up and brushed himself off. “Around.”
“It’s been a while since we’ve seen Little Tom Tom,” Jerry said in a taunting voice. “I think we should check his pockets and see what he’s got for us.”
Tom stepped back, but hadn’t realized that Fred had gone around behind him. The three older boys now surrounded him. For the first time that day he was glad his pockets were empty. Tom had been caught by them a few times before, and it had galled him something awful to have them swipe his pickings for the day. This time, however, he could only pray they wouldn’t notice the little sack of treasure around his neck.
One day he would love to clobber them all, but he wasn’t fool enough to take on three decidedly bigger boys. He wanted to call them the vilest names and curse words he knew, yet Tom knew when shouting off his mouth would only cause more trouble than it was worth. He kept his mouth shut tight.
Fred gave him a hard shove from behind. “Come on, Tom Tom. What have you got for us?”
Tom stumbled forward headfirst into Edwin’s hard chest, his tattered tweed cap falling to the ground. Edwin pushed him back into Fred, amid their taunting laughter. Tom finally managed to stop himself, bracing his legs on the ground firmly between the two large boys.
“I don’t have anything!” he shouted at them. He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and turned them inside out to prove his claim. He sent a little prayer to heaven that the simpletons believed him.
Jerry gave a mock frown. “Aww, gee, ain’t that too sad. Tom Tom don’t have nothing to give us.” His face turned mean and he ordered, “Check his jacket!”
“I told you I don’t have anything!” Tom yelled once again, feeling frantic.
“I told you I don’t have anything!” Edwin mimicked in a falsetto voice. Then he shoved Tom face-first to the ground.
“Well then, you are going to owe us double the next time we see ya, Tom Tom,” Jerry explained, a twisted smile on his hawklike face. “You haven’t given us a gift in some time now.”
With his face pressed in the dirt, Tom lay still on the ground hoping the trio of halfwits would leave him in peace. How he hated these boys! He knew he was smarter than all three of them combined and that they would spend their whole lives living in these slums. But not Tom. No sir. He wasn’t like these lads one bit.
Edwin began to kick at Tom’s legs, with hard, vicious blows from the tips of his filthy boots. Tom spit the dirt out of his mouth and rolled over in a quick motion so he could see where the blows were coming from. Caught unaware by Tom’s unexpected movement, Edwin tripped over Tom’s legs, fell forward, and landed on top of his chest. The force of the larger boy crashing hard onto Tom’s chest knocked the wind right out of him. For a long moment Tom couldn’t see, let alone breathe. When he finally tried to gasp for a breath of air, Edwin had leapt off him, but not before the sharp-eyed boy had noticed the heavy bag around Tom’s neck. Edwin yanked it as hard as he could. The string around Tom’s neck tightened, pulling him up to a sitting position and cutting the tender skin on his neck, before it snapped, setting the bag free.
“Well, well. What do we have here?” Jerry snatched the bag away from Edwin with a gleeful smile.
“Give it back!” Tom cried, struggling to stand on his feet.
“Looks like Little Tom Tom has been holding out on us . . .” Jerry dangled the bag out of Tom’s reach, taunting him.
Tom watched in helpless fascination as his whole life savings, his dreams for a house for his mother, were carelessly tossed from one boy to another while they kept the bag away from him. When Jerry next got his hands on the bag, he held on to it.
“Let’s see what we got in here, boys!” Jerry yelled.
Tom lunged forward to grab the bag from Jerry, but the other two boys clamped down on his arms and held him back. Fury the likes of which he had never experienced roared through Tom’s small body and he shook with rage. How dare these idiots take his hard-earned money! Struggling frantically with Edwin and Freddie, he spit angrily at them.
Watching Tom with amusement, Jerry slowly untied the string, loosening the folds of the worn leather bag that had once belonged to Tom’s father. He was about to pour the contents of the bag into his dirty palm, but then he suddenly stopped. His mouth fell open in awe.
“Jaysus!”
Tom continued to fight to free himself from the hold of Freddie and Edwin, who were loosening their grip as they stared with curiosity at Jerry.
“It’s a bleedin’ fortune in here!” Jerry declared, his beady eyes as wide as they could be. “Where the hell did you get all this?”
With a sudden burst of strength, Tom wrenched free of the two boys, yelling, “Give it back!” as he dove for the bag again.
Jerry saw him coming and swung his fist with a sickening crack into Tom’s face, sending the smaller boy to the ground once again. Sprawled on his back, seeing stars and wincing at the pain in his jaw, Tom knew immediately that losing all that money hurt much worse than being punched in the face.
Whooping with glee, the three boys took off running, leaving Tom forgotten in the dirty alley.
He gingerly rose from the grime, rubbing his chin. He should cry from the pain in his face, but he’d be damned if he’d let those three morons make him cry like a baby. No sir. He retrieved his fallen cap and placed it on his head, still blinking back the stinging tears behind his eyes. He was more angry anyway. Angry at the boys for stealing his savings. Angry at himself for being so stupid as to carry the money around with him in the first place. It would have been safer at home, even if his mother had found it. She’d have been mad, but at least he still would have had the money.
Now it was gone. He had nothing. No savings. No house for him and his mother.
Now he would worry about things just as much as his mother did.
Wiping at his nose with the back of his hands, Tom straightened his shirt and jacket against the biting wind and brushed as much of the dirt off him as he could. It was time to head home, as if he’d just come from the shoemaker’s.
When he finally made it up to their cramped little garret room, she was waiting for him. Mama sat at the little table, wearing her same worn-out blue wool dress, with a gray shawl wrapped around her shoulders for warmth. There was some sewing on the table in front of her, and two tallow candles burned in a dish, giving off a dim light. It was difficult for her to sew well with such little light, but they could barely afford to burn the candles.
In the flickering light, he could see that she had a decidedly serious and worried expression on her thin face.
“Where have you been, Tom?” she asked quietly, not moving.
His heart pounding, he stood before her, but he could not meet her eyes. He took off his tattered cap and held it in his hands. “Coming home from Rutledge’s.”
“No, you haven’t.”
His heart dropped to his feet and he hung his head, twisting his cap in his hands. More afraid now than he was with the gang boys, he began, “Mama . . .” and then stopped. He did not know what to say. She knew.
“I went to see you at Mr. Rutledge’s this afternoon.” Her voice was cold. “That man laughed at me and told me that you haven’t worked for him in months. He said that you ran off one day after stealing three pairs of boots from him. He said I owed him
money to replace those boots.”
Tom’s head snapped up and he cried in outrage. “I never took anything from him!” That fat blighter was accusing him of wrongdoing? Tom’s face grew red.
“He said you did.”
“He’s a big old liar. I didn’t take anything from him. I never would do such a thing. Besides, he would have come after me if I’d stolen his stinkin’ boots.”
She stared at him hard, weighing his words. “Don’t lie to me, Thomas. I can’t bear it.”
“I didn’t steal from him. Mama, I swear I didn’t.” He stood unmoving, dreading what was coming next. “I couldn’t work for him anymore. He beat me, he . . . he . . .”
She paused, considering his explanation and eyeing him carefully. “Well, I believe you did not steal from Mr. Rutledge. But you have been lying to me . . .”
“Yes.” He nodded, his chest tightening. The sting of tears burned behind his eyes for the second time that night. “I’m . . . I’m sorry. I couldn’t work for him, though. I just couldn’t.”
She sighed heavily, her eyes full of a terrible sadness. “What have you been doing all this time I thought you were working for Mr. Rutledge? Where have you been getting the money?”
Tom wiped a hot tear from his eye with the back of his hand. Stupid tears.
Her voice grew frightfully low and tinged with a sense of dread. “Please tell me you have not joined one of the street gangs.”
“No, Mama, I swear to you that I haven’t,” he pleaded with a desperate need for her to believe him. He was nothing like those boys. Nothing. “I’ve done everything you told me. I’ve stayed away from those lads just like you said.”
Anna Alcott rose from the chair and came to him. She lifted his chin with her fingers, forcing him to face her, to look her in the eyes. She paused, and concern suddenly edged her voice. “What happened to your face?”
“Nothing.”
She ran her fingers gently over the blossoming purple bruise on his jaw. “Tom?”
It Happened One Christmas Page 18