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JAMES 1888 What Changed Things
Walter rushed into the dormitory on a Sunday afternoon. The boys had two hours all of their own on Sundays after chapel, so James was lying on his bed, particularly not reading the Bible.
Walter always panted slightly, like the Peeveys' old dog Toby, waiting under the table for a lump of gristle.
"I have to tell you ..." Huffing.
"What?" James rubbed the lump in his cuff out of habit, checking on the lemon drop that he carried around with him. Thanks to the ladies at Sunday dinner, he was ready to pay for anything he needed. Walter saw, and got notions straightaway.
"What'll you give me?"
"What could you know that I don't?" said James.
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"There're girls arriving today."
"Well, I know that. I've got a window, haven't I?"
"From Kent," Walter said. "From Homefield."
Ah. That was news to James. He eased the sweet out from the hem of his sleeve and handed it over, not too fuzzy. Walter popped it straight in, smirking, never a boy to keep money in the bank.
"What are you going to do?" Walter said. "Wait! Wait for me!"
But James was already in the corridor, not wanting Walter to follow. Alone, he'd be better at sneaking. It was best--but also risky--to watch Reception Day from the main stairs. They didn't like bigger boys scaring the newcomers, so there were rules to keep them out of the way. But the officers and the matrons were busy and distracted, so James was soon stationed behind the railing, watching, wondering how he'd know Rose. It was four years since he'd seen her baby face screwed up and wailing. He'd jounced away down the road in that old cart, Mama Peevey's arm trying to keep James's little self from bouncing right off the seat, James looking back till there was nothing to see but dust.
James didn't need to know Rose, for there was Mama in the doorway. She ... she seemed ... shorter, rounder, to James, but as big as a dream. He jumped to his feet, her name falling out of his mouth without thinking.
"Mama!"
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She twisted her head around, peering, eyes maybe straining after stepping in from the day to the shadows of the grand entrance. She was wearing the same Sunday dress he knew, gray with a blue stripe. It was Sunday, after all, but a Sunday dress from Homefield seemed olden, faded, in London.
All this in a tenth of a moment, seeing Mama stare around, awkward. Her confusion made James remember how this place had looked to him all that time ago: as posh and foreign as Buckingham Palace. And there was Rose, hidden behind Mama's skirt.
"Mama!" called James again. "Rose!" He flew down the stairs.
"Jamie!" Mama Peevey let go Rose's hand and moved toward him. James was swallowed, caught up in her dear, familiar arms. He had long ago darned up that place where tears might come from, as neatly as the toe of a sock. But Mama's hug tore all his knots apart, and he was gushing hard.
"That's enough now." It was Mr. Byrd growling, the rotten, meddling chaplain, usually called the Turd amongst the boys. "There'll be none of this here today. You, boy! Nelligan, is it?"
Mama let go of James. She looked at Byrd and fetched up Rose's hand again.
"You're not to be here, not at all." Byrd's hand clamped James's shoulder, pulling him back from Mama, just as Rose thought to hold on.
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"James?" cried Rose. James would wager five lollipops she'd been hearing his name all her life, James this and James that: You'll be with James when you go to London. There'll be big brother James to look out for you, lovey, nothing to worry about. When you go to live with James at the Foundling, Rosie ...
And here he was--the real thing. The real James, being yanked away before she'd even said hello-and-how-do-you-do. Mama was protesting, "Excuse me, sir, that's my boy, Jamie...."
"Not anymore, madam," Mr. Byrd said. "He's one of ours now and he's in the wrong place. It is precisely this sort of scene that we try to avoid, you understand. Think of the upset. Think of the little girl."
A circle of newcomers had arrived while James wasn't noticing: terrified foundlings, and frowning foster parents.
Pushed along by Mr. Byrd toward one of the office doors, James suddenly stopped, wishing he could dig in his heels, imagining that the marble floor was a muddy rut outside the Peeveys' front door. The hand on his shoulder became heavier, pushier.
"I only want to see my mother," said James. "How can it hurt to see my mother? I haven't seen her in four years!"
"We have rules, Nelligan, and you have broken the rules."
"James!" Rose's shriek was newly urgent. Mama leaned on her awkwardly, then staggered to one side and
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slumped to the ground. Other foster parents hurried over, crowded around, hiding her from James.
At once, he had sparks in his fists. He pounded at Mr. Byrd's waistcoat, ducking at the same time, trying to sneak under grabbing hands. Mr. Byrd caught James's wrists and wrenched them with a furious twist. He leered into James's face, puffing with hot and oniony anger.
"You have just qualified for a room to yourself." His grip bit into James's neck, not allowing another glimpse of Mama or Rose. James was yanked, stumbling, down back stairs to a door that he had never seen. Mr. Byrd flung it open, flung James through it, and flung it shut again. With the click of a lock, James was alone and in such darkness as would make an owl entirely content.
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ELIZA 1878 Follows Mary
There was no question that Mary was sneaking off somewhere more often than Thursday half days. One afternoon, Eliza tied on her crossover shawl and dashed out on Mary's tail, only to fall over a secret she hadn't come close to guessing at.
You could have knocked Eliza over with a dustcloth, she was that gobsmacked to see Mary meet up with Mr. Tucker and another fellow, in Maiden Lane. She was a canny one, that Mary! She'd kept it hid from Eliza, and from Bates--oh! Wouldn't Bates be peeved! Eliza laughed out loud right there. Ha! Here was the best kind of proof that Mary wasn't the girl for Bates. She had more than one pot on the boil, and Eliza hadn't been fooled for one minute, had she? How the devil did Mary get herself met
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up with Mr. Tucker? And weren't they all polite, bowing and nodding back and forth? It clearly hadn't progressed past how-de-dos, but things were like to move quickly where Mary was concerned, Eliza would be the first to say.
She didn't linger but raced back to Neville Street--skipping, almost, tickled! And wondering what pudding there'd be for tea.
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MARY 1878 Telling About a Shift in the Wind
Lordy, I'd been girding against him not showing his face but there he were. Never did a heart dance as mine did right then.
"Caden!"
"Hello there," he said.
I could have flung my whole self at him, but his voice alarmed me, being something I had not heard before, and that were standoffish. I saw there were another chap beside him with a look on his face of watching me close.
"This is Jacob Vickers," said Caden. "Jacob, I'd like to introduce Miss Mary Finn."
Miss? Mr. Vickers bowed slightly.
"Hello." I nodded, polite but peeved. "Are you new
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with the company?" Not giving a rat's tooth, just wanting my boy to myself.
"Hey," I whispered to Caden. "Can we have a minute alone? I've only got that much. I'm meant to be buying thread for Miss Hollow."
Caden glanced at Mr. Vickers. Mr. Vickers looked away and whistled no song at all but a noise like an old drawer.
"Go to the pie wagon at the corner," Caden told me. "I'll meet you there in five minutes."
I fretted at the corner, watching for Caden, wondering should I find a shop to buy the thread or wait? What if I missed him?
"Pins!" I heard the cry. "Needles and pins!"
There were a peddler girl right there, with all manner of ribbons and laces, buttons and threads. I bought what Miss Hollow wanted, so that were done. I wished I h
ad a penny of my own, to buy a pretty.
At last I saw his cap with the bright blue band, hurrying through the hundred, nay, thousand other caps that bobbed along the street that morning. How did this funny, lovely boy become mine, out of all the boys in London?
"Only one minute," he said, panting and flushed.
"Time for a kiss?" I said, trying for saucy.
"Always that." He swooped in and kissed me, the barest, quickest, softest kiss, which I now know to have been his last.
"Have you kept our secret?" I asked him, linking my arm through his.
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"Didn't I promise you?" he said.
We took a turn about the square.
"Did you think about me?"
"How could I not?" His chin lowered. "Mary." He looked down, looked up, touched my hair. "You don't ... I need to know ... you're not angry ?"
"Angry?"
"I've done to you what I should kill a man for doing to one of my sisters," he said, now looking away.
"You wouldn't kill anyone," I scoffed. "And what if your sister were as happy as I am and you went about punching him in the nose?"
That laugh cheered us both up.
"Look, there!" he said. "The pin girl. I want to buy you something, for ... I should say, as a token...."
"I just bought Miss Hollow's thread from her."
"It's good luck, then," he said. "Close your eyes and wait for me."
Of course I did, with the tunes of Covent Garden calling and singing around me. Then he were back, taking my hand.
"No, no, keep your eyes shut," he whispered. He held my palm open, placed something there, and curled my fingers around it.
"I'm going now," he said.
"Caden!" I stomped and opened my eyes. "It weren't enough!"
"No, no," he said. "Shut." He laughed. "Count to ten
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before you look at your treasure. I'll see you Thursday next and we'll have all the time in the world. I've got to go back now or they'll put me against the wall and shoot me."
I shut my eyes. His lips brushed my knuckles. I counted seven before I looked for his cap amidst the crowd. He must have run, because there were no glimpse of him. Would he be teased by his mate for having a sweetheart so brazen as to come looking for him?
I unfurled my fist to see a bright silver button, edged with tiny pinprick dots that resembled the finest lace on the hem of a petticoat. I squeezed it tight with such a smile that the pin girl waved at me as if she knew she had been part of a lovers' afternoon.
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JAMES 1888 In the Dark
James punched the damned door after Mr. Byrd had locked it, but it hurt and he knew hitting it was stupid. Doors do not open because you punch them.
What had happened to Mama? Was she ill? Had she died up there on the floor while he was being dragged away by the Turd? James blushed, hot with mad, knowing he was thinking bad words, but they were easy to think: The big, stinking Turd . How could he not let James see his mama?
James kicked the door, but that hurt too. And it didn't sound like the door, just gave a dull pft . It was a brick wall, cold to touch. He'd got turned around in the dark, tears fogging his eyes. He would not cry. Mama was sick, or something worse. He rubbed his eyes hard, needing to
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see better. Ah, there, the slightest line of light, like a single golden hair laid across the floor, showing the bottom of the door. He didn't remember a light burning, but there must be one in the corridor out there.
James reached for the door and then traced his way around the tiny, empty room with his fingertips. He couldn't quite touch both sides of the room at the same time, but nearly. He swayed from side to side with his fingers outstretched, pushing himself off one wall to meet the other. It must be a closet. He rocked harder, mustering enough momentum to greet the walls with flat palms, back and forth, back and forth, breath jagged, till finally he stopped.
"Mama," he whispered. Utter silence. He held his breath. The room was so small and dark and quiet he might have had his head in a sack.
Then, footsteps!
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MARY 1878 Telling How the Cat Came Out of the Bag
I were in the privy and I were puking, like every morning then. The door yanked open and Eliza caught me, not with my skirts up, as would have been shame enough, but with my head in the hole, letting loose my breakfast. Though I hadn't been up to much in the way of breakfast and that had been her clue.
"Aha!" she cried. "I knew it!"
I wiped my mouth and glared at her, wishing I'd brought a cup of water as I'd remembered to the day before.
She only smirked. "You're having his baby."
She said it as fact. The proof were in the rank smell lingering, making a lie utterly useless.
I nodded ever so slight, squeezing my eyes shut
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against the truth. But there were some relief in hearing it spoken loud and clear like that, in having someone know. Eliza could help, maybe.
"You're a worse slut than ever I realized," she said.
"What?"
"You come along with your little angel face, blinking your big green eyes, meanwhile waggling your scrawny bum at every man in sight, never considering how other people have got plans of their own ..." And she began to cry, as if me being knapped were somehow her heartache!
"What, Eliza? What are you saying?" It were more than confusing.
"It's not as if you love him!" She were weeping and furious, like a child mad for his share of pudding. "For you it's some kind of--of what? A game? I'm the one who loves him!"
Loves who ?
With no warning, she slapped me, hard, her whole palm striking my whole cheek, zang! My head snapped under the speed of it and cracked against the doorframe. The thud echoed in my ear while I reeled against the wall. I groped for the hole and puked again, my face and poor noggin popping with pain. I stood up, hoping she'd gone, but she were still filling the doorway, with me a prisoner.
"I need to breathe or I'll swoon," I said. "Let me out." I tried to push past. "You've got it wrong."
Did she think I loved Bates ?
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She snatched at my apron to look under. I swatted her hand away. "I'll puke on you, Eliza, I swear. Let me out!"
She stepped back into the yard, me bursting out nearly on top of her in my rush to find air.
And praise be, Mrs. Wiggins stuck her nose out the kitchen with a scowl on her face hot enough to burn toast.
"I'll have your hides, the two of you, if you're not in this kitchen before my next breath."
Eliza started moving, and I flung my words at her back. "Eliza! You've got it wrong. It's not Bates, for Heaven's sake!"
She stopped dead in her tracks and spun around, me thunking right into her.
"Either you're a liar," she whispered at me, her face up so close I could see into her nose, "and you've got ideas about keeping Bates, or you're no better than a slut from the Sailor's Delight. You might as well have rouge all over your cheeks and a blouse cut down to show off your titties. Which aren't much worth showing, I'll tell you right now."
She clumped under Cook's arm holding the door, while I staggered after, feeling like I'd just been slapped again. Had Mrs. Wiggins heard us? A chill crackled up my spine. Even if she hadn't caught what Eliza had said out in the yard, she'd no doubt be hearing it all by dinnertime.
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ELIZA 1878 Manages Not to Speak
With a roar fighting to burst from her lungs, Eliza managed to cross the kitchen, climb the stairs, and get herself to the nursery sink, where she poured icy water over her wrists and splashed her neck until her bodice and chemise were wet through. Good, I didn't spit it all out to Cook , she thought, because I want to get this right . Eliza wanted to taste every morsel of revenge and not waste a single drop through a silly fit of temper. She'd see the end of Mary Finn ... and so would Bates.
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JAMES 1888 Liberty
&nb
sp; "Let me out!" he yelled. "Right now!"
A burble of words from outside, more than one voice.
"Where's my mother?"
The grinding sound of an old lock. James stepped back. What if Byrd-Turd had brought a strap or a cane? James's legs began to jiggle, waiting, hearing the key sticking. He still tingled to hit Mr. Byrd, but he cared more about seeing Mama. He'd better remember that. He huffed out his breath, ready to be quiet until he'd got what he wanted.
The door opened. It wasn't Mr. Byrd who'd come, it was Mr. Chester with that new nurse, holding a lantern. James didn't mean to whimper, but the noise slipped out, as if he hadn't been brave in there, facing midnight in a closet.
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James sagged toward Mr. Chester, who propped him up and led him into the hallway. The nurse lifted her lamp, shining too bright into his eyes.
"I'm not crying," he said. "Mr. Chester, I'm not . But ... but ... I want to see my mama. She's here. She brought Rose, but something happened ... I ... She ..."
Mr. Chester put a hand on his shoulder, warm, like a mitten.
"She had a little spell. The journey with Rose was a tiring one and she ... Look, Nelligan, you won't be able to see her today. You're lucky we've been allowed to spring you from prison. Mr. Byrd sent me down, hoping you'd listen to sense."
James had promised himself to be quiet. Why was it harder with Mr. Chester than with the Turd?
"No!" Stop it, eyes! No crying!
The nurse crouched down so that her face was close to his. Her eyes were wet too.
"I have an idea." Her voice was soft, a little husky. "Mr. Byrd insists that you go up to the ward now and stay there. Nurse Aldercott is waiting for you. Mr. Byrd wants you to reflect, and to pray ... for control of your temper. But your ... your mama --" The nurse paused and stood up as though her legs might be stiff. She put a hand out to touch James's arm. "She's resting tonight. Mr. Byrd were kind enough to take her in. His sister is caring for her. If you show ... earnest repentance, possibly Mr. Byrd will permit you to visit tomorrow, before your mama sets out
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