by Livi Michael
I scratch myself. ‘I wanted to leave the fair when we got to Ancoats – I'd had enough. But Annie… well, she wanted to stay. And they wanted to keep her.’ I shoot him a defiant look. Naturally I'm not going to tell him about selling her for a shilling.
‘You left her then?’ he says, leaning forward.
‘She wanted to stay!’ I tell him, and he sinks back.
‘You shouldn't have left her,’ he says.
You can talk, I'm thinking, but he says, ‘When was this?’
‘I dunno,’ I say. ‘A few weeks back.’
‘Only I was with Honest Bob three weeks ago, in Ashton. And she wasn't there then.’
I stare at him. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘She wasn't there. And no one said anything about her, either.’
‘She must've been. She'd be skulking in one of the wagons.’
Travis shakes his head. ‘We had to clear all the wagons out. Order of the lord of the manor. They're a bit suspicious about wool smuggling thereabouts.’
I feel my head reeling as I take this in, then my face flushes.
‘What's he done with her?’ I say angrily, and I get up and pace about. He might have sold her like Barney Bent-nose tried to sell us. Honest Bob'd do anything to get his shilling back. Then I think, Or maybe she ran off, looking for me, and I sink down on a box with a groan and cover my face.
‘Don't take on, lad,’ Travis says.
‘Don't take on?’ I say, looking at him sideways. ‘I don't know what's happened to my sister! I might never see her again!’
Suddenly I'm hit by the full awfulness of what I've done. It seems like the most important thing in the world to see Annie again.
Travis nods. ‘You'll have to find Honest Bob,’ he says.
I look at him blankly.
‘Well…’ he says. ‘They were heading for Ancoats, same as always. They'll be there now I should think. For Lammas.’
22
Lammas
He's hardly said the words when I'm out of the door. He calls something after me but I don't listen. Lammas is a big time for markets and fairs. It's not Lammas till the end of the week, but they'll all be gathering. I'll find Honest Bob and make him tell me what he's done with Annie.
It's a hot, wet day. Steam rises from puddles as I splash past and the streets are crowded. I bump into a bloke with a barrow and he shouts after me but I take no notice. All I can hear is my mother's words: Take care of your sister, Joe.
I will, I promise her. I'll find her and take care of her forever.
But I can't find Honest Bob. When I get to the field where the fair was there's a crowd, and wagons, and my hopes soar, only to be dashed again when I realize it's not the same one. There's a man on a box with long silver hair selling pills that'll cure horses and mend your love life. I elbow my way through the crowd asking everyone if they've seen Honest Bob and his travelling fair. Some take no notice; others tell me to push off. When I try to ask the fair folk I'm chased off by two rough-looking men with clubs. Then I go up and down the streets of Ancoats, asking in all the inns and alehouses and gin shops if anyone's seen Honest Bob. One or two know of him, but they don't know when they saw him last, or where he might be. At last, as the light draws in, I make my way back, limping and footsore. Worn out.
Nell and Abel are in the shop with Travis. Abel's found him a crutch and he's trying to walk. I go straight past them and fling myself down on a box in the corner.
‘Where've you been?’ says Abel.
Nell says, ‘What is it, Joe?’
I can't speak.
Travis asks, ‘Didn't you find him?’ and I shake my head.
‘Find who?’ says Abel.
The whole painful tale comes out then. Travis tells them about Honest Bob and I tell them about looking everywhere for him, and Annie.
We all sit around looking at one another. ‘You mustn't give up, Joe,’ Nell says. ‘I've never given up on Sarah and Ned. We'll find her, won't we, Abel?’
Abel says nothing. I look at Nell. I have to tell her.
‘If we find Annie,’ I say, ‘you'll find them too.’
Fear and hope spring into her eyes. ‘What do you mean?’
It's a hard thing to say. I say it slowly. ‘Annie's not like… other folk. She could always… see things and… hear them.’
They look at me blankly.
‘In the workhouse – she could see… not just the people there but… the people they brought with them.’
More blank looks. This is hopeless. I don't know how to explain.
‘Once she saw a man, with a girl clinging to his neck. Turns out he'd strangled his niece. And when we were all sick, she saw the ones who died.’
Nell's pale face goes even paler, but no one speaks.
‘When we left Bent Edge Farm she said there were two children following – boy and girl. The boy had light hair and a mark over his face – here.’
I pass my hand over my face. Nell claps a hand to her mouth and moans.
‘What's this nonsense, lad?’ Abel says roughly.
‘It's true,’ I say. ‘That's why Honest Bob wanted her. She could see folk round all the people at the fair. She could see their ghosts!’
There's a stunned silence. Even Travis looks shocked. Nell starts to rock herself. ‘Not Ned and Sarah,’ she says. ‘Not my babies!’
Abel puts his arms round her. ‘Watch what you're saying!’ he says angrily.
‘It's true,’ I say again, though I've learned by now that no one believes you when you're telling the truth. ‘She kept seeing them following us all the time – in the forest and at the market. They kept whispering to her – telling us where to go.’
‘That's enough!’ says Abel.
But Nell whispers, ‘What did they say?’
I shake my head. I can hardly bear to look at her stricken face.
‘I don't know,’ I say. ‘I didn't believe her. I didn't want to believe her.’ I shut my eyes. It comes to me that I'm just as bad as all the people who never believed me. If I find you, Annie, I'm thinking, I'll never doubt you again.
‘If this is some cock and bull story –’ Abel begins, then he tails off, comforting Nell, who's moaning now, tears running down her face. ‘See what you've done?’ he barks at me. ‘With your superstitious nonsense and lies?’
He looks like he might strike me, but unexpectedly Travis says, ‘I believe him.’
Abel stares at Travis. ‘Then you're a bigger fool than you look.’
But Travis doesn't back down. ‘There was something strange about that little maid,’ he says slowly. ‘Oh, I saw nothing to say that she could see… what he says. But there was something about her… not quite there. Like she was one of the fairy folk.’
Abel snorts.
‘She had a way of looking at you,’ Travis goes on, ‘like she knew what you were thinking. Once or twice she definitely did know – read my thoughts before I spoke them.’ He looks at Abel levelly for a moment, then turns to me. ‘You say she wanted to stay with the fair?’
I shake my head, as miserable as I've ever been. ‘I left her there,’ I say very low. ‘She wanted to come with me.’
Then, as I see the look in their eyes, I burst out, ‘You don't know what it's like – she was always weird, like nothing on this earth. We couldn't go anywhere – everywhere we went she scared folk to death. They all thought her a witch or a changeling or something worse. She didn't fit in. The fair was the one place where she seemed to fit! And I – I'd had enough!’
There. I've said it. I fling myself back against the wall and kick my heels on the floor.
Silence. Then Nell stretches out a trembling hand towards me. ‘Joe,’ she says. ‘If we find her – could she tell me what happened… to my babes?’
Abel makes an exasperated sound, but I nod. ‘Yes,’ I say heavily. ‘Yes. She could.’
‘Then we must find her. Oh, Abel, we must!’
There's a hard, cold look in Abel's eye that's h
ard to take. ‘Is that what you want, Joe?’ he says.
I stare back at him. ‘I want to find Annie,’ I say.
Abel's eyes glitter. ‘And it suits you to have us all go off on this wild goose chase?’
Suddenly I see what he's saying. I leap to my feet. ‘You think I'm making all this up to get you to help!’ I shout at him. ‘I don't care if you help me or not! And I don't care what you think. I'm going!’
Travis catches my shoulder. ‘Hold on a minute, lad.’ He draws himself up and looks at Abel, and Abel looks back like they're measuring each other. ‘If you'll wait till the morning, when my foot's better, I'll come with you.’
Still angry I shake him off, but Nell says, ‘We'll all look.’
She's standing too and her voice has gone cold and hard. ‘You've helped me before, Abel, and you've no cause to help me now. But if there's any chance – any at all – of finding out what happened to Sarah and Ned – I have to find out!’
And Travis says, ‘If we find the little maid you'll soon know whether the lad's lying or not.’
Abel looks from one to the other of us. Suddenly his shoulders sag. ‘Well, if that's what you think,’ he says to Nell, ‘then I'll stand by you. I always will. But how do you expect to find her? She could be anywhere. It's like looking for a pin in a haystack.’
Nell looks at me and I look down. If I knew the answer to that one I wouldn't be here.
Then Travis says, ‘Honest Bob's a drinking man – and I still say he's heading for Manchester. We should check all the pubs and inns hereabouts; wherever the fair's likely to go.’
‘Ardwick Green,’ says Nell. ‘Moss Brook.’
‘Harpurhey,’ says Travis.
‘Collyhurst,’ says Nell.
I look from one to the other. Suddenly it seems there's a plan. ‘We could all take a different area,’ I say.
‘And report back here,’ says Nell.
‘Hold on a bit,’ Abel says. He sits down on the edge of the table and sighs. ‘Look,’ he says. ‘I'm not saying I go along with all this. But you can't go wandering off on your own through all these places at night. You'll get yourselves killed. You're not fit yet,’ he says to Travis, then to me, ‘You're too young,’ and, ‘God knows what'd happen to you,’ he says to Nell. ‘If we're going to do this, we do it in pairs. And,’ he adds, lifting a box of The Poor Man's Guardian to the table, ‘we can take these with us. I'll put an advert in about the girl if you like.’
So that's what happens. Night after night we go selling the paper in all the darkest dingiest inns around Manchester. Sometimes I go with Nell, sometimes with Abel. When Travis's ankle heals he comes out too. Everywhere we go we sell copies and no one stops us because it's legal now, but there's no news of Honest Bob or the fair. We try not to get discouraged, to think that the fair's gone to a different town altogether, but by the end of the week it's hard.
Then it's Lammas Eve. All the streets are lit up and there's banners and flags. People follow torch-lit processions to the nearest fair. There's a big fair off Deansgate and Nell and Travis want to try their luck there. But something keeps drawing me back to Ancoats, though the Blue Locusts are out in full and Abel's wary.
‘There'll be trouble, lad,’ he says. ‘There's always trouble where the fairs are.’
In the end, though, he agrees to come with me.
We follow a procession along the Rochdale canal. There's fiddlers playing and jugglers on a wagon, and a huge cart carrying a wicker man. It's a good job Abel's with me because I can't see a thing above the heads of the crowd, and we're pulled along with them. There's folk wearing masks and banging drums. On Union Street the procession divides, half of it going to Smithyfield Market and the other to the Great Croft. We go from one to the other, but though there's any number of performers and stalls there's no sign of Honest Bob's fair.
Abel takes my arm and steers me towards the main road. It's not easy pushing through the press, and the smell of gin and sweat's overwhelming. But all the pubs are on the Oldham Road.
And there's a lot of them, all crowded. The Briton's Protection, the Cheshire Cheese, the Death of Nelson, the Dog and Partridge and the Wenlock Arms. The crowds spill out on to the street. Gangs of Irish heckle the passers-by, there's a crowd of people round a cock fight, and children on the steps up to open doors or pushing their heads through the railings in front of cellar windows.
Abel's fearless, going right up to the gangs – even the ones that are throwing bottles and stones. Most of them are surprised by this and turn civil; none of them's heard of Honest Bob.
At last, worn out, we come to the Crown and Kettle, at the corner of Great Ancoats Street. I'm parched by now and Abel says, ‘I could do with a drink.’
I follow him inside. There's no benches free so I sit squashed on a stool in the corner. In one corner there's a big group singing and laughing, in another a fight that the landlord's trying to break up. I crane my neck but it's too dark to see.
Abel makes his way over with the ale. ‘Cheer up, lad,’ he says. ‘There's always tomorrow.’
Then just as I'm about to answer there's a voice raised above all the others. ‘So the fair's up and running again and you're all invited. We're a little late, owing to yours truly being detained at His Lordship's pleasure – but none the worse for that. Come and see marvels beyond your wildest dreams!’
I leap up so fast I send my stool spinning and knock Abel's arm so that the ale slops. ‘It's him!’ I shout. ‘It's Honest Bob!’ And before Abel can say anything I'm scrambling past tables to reach him.
Even before I get to him he's turning his grey grizzled head towards me. He's in a fine old mood, raddled with drink and he lifts his arms in greeting. ‘Why, it's Jack!’ he exclaims, ‘The famous disappearing boy! How are you?’
‘How many names have you got?’ says Abel, behind, but I'm not listening.
‘Honest Bob!’ I yell, tripping over the leg of a stool and grabbing someone's coat to save me. ‘Where's the fair? Where's Annie? What have you done with my sister?’
Honest Bob laughs in my face. ‘Now, it's a little late for showing concern,’ he says.
‘Where is she, you filthy blagger?’ I yell.
His face changes. He turns and addresses the crowd. ‘This boy's so concerned for his poor sister, he sold her to me for a shilling!’ he says, and everyone's eyes swivel towards me.
‘I didn't know it was a shilling, you b*****d!’ I shout, aiming a punch at his back, but Abel catches my arm.
‘No need for that,’ he says, then he speaks to Honest Bob. ‘The lad's just trying to find his sister,’ he says. ‘We'd be grateful if you'd tell us what you know.’
‘What I know?’ says Honest Bob, raising his arms again in mock surprise. ‘All I know is, she's gone.’
‘Gone where?’ I yell at him. ‘If you've got rid of her I'll –’ But Abel's holding me back again.
Honest Bob just looks at me with a sneering grin. ‘It's a terrible sad story,’ he says, suddenly solemn, and he presses his hands together as though in prayer. ‘And I'm awful sorry to be the one to tell it to you – but your sister's gone lad. Gone –’ and he raises his eyes to heaven, ‘to a better place than this.’
Part III
Journey's End
1
Fight
For a moment I can't speak, like I'm winded. Then I catch the look in his eye. ‘You lying get!’ I howl, and launch myself at him. I lower my head and butt him in the stomach, driving all the air out of him and he topples over, crashing into the table behind.
Next thing there's chaos. Table collapses and the tankards fly. Men leap up swearing. A huge bloke with black shaggy hair rears over Honest Bob who's sprawled across the broken table. He seems to know him.
‘You!’ he roars. ‘You stole my mule!’ And he grabs Honest Bob by the throat and shakes him till he rattles. ‘I'll kill you, you thieving hound!’
‘No – I will!’ I yell and grab his arm. Big bloke knocks me off like a fl
y. Then Abel taps him on the shoulder and he turns round, surprised, and Abel throws a beautiful punch, landing right on his jaw.
Then everyone's pitching in and the landlord's elbowing his way through. ‘What's going on?’ he shouts, and someone lands him one as well.
Somehow, in all the confusion, Abel's hauling me off. ‘NO!’ I yell, kicking. ‘Let me get at him!’
Then I see that he's shoving Honest Bob with the other arm, out the back door. We run across the yard together and turn the corner on to Great Ancoats Street, Honest Bob swearing like a trooper the whole time.
‘What've you done with my sister?’ I shout at him when we stop.
Honest Bob's surly, breathing hard. ‘By 'eck, lad,’ he growls. ‘I should leather you!’
‘I think you've got a few questions to answer first,’ says Abel, very cool. ‘Or do you want to go back in there?’
Honest Bob growls and spits. Then he looks at me again. ‘Your sister's alive and well,’ he says grumpily. ‘Or alive at least, when I last saw her. I took her to the infirmary.’
My mind races. ‘What – in Piccadilly?’
‘We couldn't do anything with her,’ he says. ‘After you left she wouldn't speak or eat. She fell ill. Flo wouldn't leave her, but even she could see she needed help. She wouldn't come out of the wagon. Just turned her face to the wall.’
Sounds like Annie.
‘So you left her?’ Abel says.
‘What else was I supposed to do?’ says Honest Bob. ‘I've a fair to run. She wasn't working – and Flo wouldn't work either, just sat by her side. And no one knew where you were,’ he says to me.
My anger boils away. It's my fault, not his.
‘When was this?’ Abel asks. Honest Bob runs his fingers through his grizzled head. ‘Two… three weeks ago, maybe. I kept her all that time,’ he says as if that makes him a hero, ‘but she was pining away, wouldn't eat. She needed a doctor; even Flo could see that. So when we got back to Manchester I took her to the infirmary – and left her on the steps.’
He glares at us defiantly.
‘On the steps?’ I say, mad all over again.