by Valerie Wood
She gave a sudden grin. ‘We certainly do, Tully.’ Bridget realized just where her best interests lay; he’d always looked after her, had Tully, and he had never made advances. ‘Come on then,’ she said. ‘Let’s you and me tek a look.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Mikey and Sam walked all the way into London and towards Oxford Street where Mikey hoped they would be in time to catch Ellie as she was leaving work; but the emporium was closed with a notice on the door to say it would be open to attend to any needs the following day.
‘My legs ache,’ Sam complained. ‘I’ve done a deal o’ walking today.’
‘I’d offer you a piggyback if you weren’t so big,’ Mikey joked. ‘This time next year you’ll be as big as me.’
‘Our William’s only small,’ Sam said, ‘and he’s ever so skinny, even though Mrs Goodhart feeds him well. He still lives in their house, you know. He’s never had to live rough.’
‘He’s been lucky, hasn’t he?’ Mikey remarked.
‘Yeh,’ Sam agreed. ‘He’s like one of her own. That’s what she said, anyway.’
They continued towards Trenton Square and soon it was almost dark.
‘Where’ll we stop the night, Mikey?’ Sam asked. ‘We can’t go back to the lodging house.’
‘We’ll have to kip down in a corner somewhere,’ Mikey said.
As they’d walked from Regent Street they had seen groups of children hanging round street corners or in shop doorways. Many of the shops had closed early or not been open at all as it was Boxing Day and the youngsters had taken advantage of this, claiming their pitches earlier than usual. They looked cold and hungry, Mikey thought; most of them were barefoot and dressed in thin ragged clothing that would do nothing to keep out the sharp wind.
‘Spare a penny, mister.’ A boy of about seven approached them. His face was blue and pinched with cold and his nose was running with thick yellow mucus. He wore boots without laces that were far too big for him.
Mikey put his hand in his pocket, drew out a penny and gave it to him. The boy touched his forehead and scooted away. Sam objected. ‘You might need that penny. He’s wearing boots!’
‘I think he needs it more,’ Mikey murmured. ‘And the boots are not his. They’re probably tekken it in turns to wear them. And he’s not wearing socks or stockings.’
Mikey knew what it was like to wear boots on bare feet, when the leather rubbed on a heel or toe and made a weeping blister.
Sam was silenced, then said in a small voice, ‘Yeh, I know. Mrs Goodhart once give me a pair o’ boots. They lasted me for ages until I grew out of ’em.’ He bit his lip. ‘Then I cut the toecaps out.’
They arrived at Eleanor’s lodgings and knocked on the door. There was an aroma of something meaty and fatty. Sam licked his lips. ‘I’m hungry,’ he said. ‘I’ve not eaten since this morning.’
‘I’ve not eaten since yesterday,’ Mikey whispered in return. ‘But what a blow-out! Enough to last me a week.’
The door was opened by Liza, who was wearing a white bonnet on her red curls and said in surprise, ‘Back already? Or can’t keep away!’
‘I’m sorry to bother you, Mrs Bertram.’ Mikey felt his face flushing at her innuendo. ‘But I need to speak to Miss Eleanor.’
‘Then you’d better come in,’ she said. ‘And your young friend.’
‘This is Sam.’ Mikey introduced him and Sam took off his cap.
‘Ah! You’re the young lad wiv a brother, who went out for Christmas dinner? Miss Eleanor’s in her room,’ Liza said. ‘I’ll pop up and tell her.’
Mikey and Sam stood and waited. Mr Bertram was sitting at the table, pinning a piece of cloth.
‘Working today then, Mr Bertram?’ Mikey said to make conversation. ‘No rest for ’wicked!’
‘That’s right, young man, and how lucky I am to have work. There’s many a tailor hard pressed to sew as much as a button on.’
‘It’s a nice piece o’ cloth, sir,’ Sam said. ‘Is it for a rich gen’leman?’
‘Not rich and not a gentleman,’ Mr Bertram replied. ‘But a man worthy of his salt; a man who’s earned a good suit for his Sunday best. A tradesman; a grocer.’
Sam looked impressed. ‘I should like to own a suit like that one day.’
Mr Bertram looked at Sam from over his spectacles. He observed Sam’s thin shirt and ragged breeches and the bright yellow scarf, incongruous next to his worn and over-large coat. ‘Then I hope you will allow me to cut your cloth.’
Eleanor came into the room, followed by Liza. Although she smiled at Mikey and Sam, she seemed anxious. ‘Is there something amiss?’ she asked.
Mikey nodded. ‘Summat – something’s come up,’ he said. ‘And …’ He hesitated, unwilling to share his doubts and decision in front of the Bertrams. ‘I need to talk to you.’
‘Take a walk,’ Liza said. ‘Just to the top of the street. Young Sam can have a bowl of broth wiv us. We’ll save some for you,’ she said to Mikey.
Sam grinned. The last thing he wanted was to walk anywhere and the smell issuing from a pan on the fire was irresistible.
Eleanor ran upstairs for a shawl and Mikey held the door for her. They walked in silence until they reached the top of the street, and Mikey halted. ‘There’s no need to go any further,’ he said. ‘You’ll want to get back for your supper. I just wanted to tell you that there’s a change of plan. I’ve left ’firm I was working for and so has Sam.’
Eleanor turned to look at him. ‘So … What are you saying, Mikey?’
‘I’m saying that I’d like to set off for home – Hull, now.’
‘But the weather,’ she said in a low voice. ‘There’ll be more snow. And – and I was to come with you.’
‘I know.’ He too lowered his voice, although there was no one else to hear them. ‘It’s just that I don’t know where else I’d get another job. I won’t be able to work on ’wharves again. Manners has probably been arrested, and I’d have no reference. I mebbe could get casual labouring work but it wouldn’t pay ’rent.’
‘And if you go back to Hull now, what will you do for work there?’ Eleanor’s eyes stayed on him.
‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘But I’d rather be there.’
‘So would I,’ she murmured. ‘If I give notice to Mr Christopher tomorrow, will you wait for me, Mikey?’
He swallowed hard. ‘It’s just that – well, I’m really bothered about ’weather being bad! I’ve been thinking that if you saved up you could travel on ’train and I’d meet you in Hull.’
‘It will take me weeks!’ She was aghast. ‘And you promised.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘You said you’d take me home.’
‘I have to walk,’ he pleaded. ‘Me and Sam can do it, if he decides to come, but it’s such a long way for you. I’ve done it. I know how difficult it is; and I came afore ’bad weather started.’
‘Bridget came with you, didn’t she?’
‘Yeh, but, well, Bridget, she’s not like you. Bridget’s used to hardship, Ellie.’ He put out his hand to hold hers. ‘You’re not,’ he added softly. ‘You’ve had a different life.’
‘I agree,’ she admitted. ‘Even travelling alone on the train and getting work has been a big experience for me. But I can do it. I can! If you’re there with me,’ she added softly. ‘I couldn’t do it on my own.’
He felt his resistance crumbling. His anxieties had been on explaining why he had to leave her behind. Now he knew that he couldn’t.
They made a pact. Eleanor would give in her notice the following day and tell Mr Christopher that she had to return home immediately. She was determined to leave with Mikey, even though she had no illusions about the hardship. The weather had become increasingly cold and Mr Bertram had said there was more snow due. He could smell it on the air, he said, and she believed him.
That night Mikey and Sam slept on the Bertrams’ floor. Liza said she wouldn’t hear of them sleeping outside, and just as well, for the next morning when they looked out there w
as a fine covering of crisp snow.
Mikey walked Eleanor to Oxford Street and said he would wait on the other side of the road. If she possibly could, Eleanor would get word to him about Mr Christopher’s response.
Her employer was late in arriving, it being almost nine thirty when he came breezily through the shop door. He greeted everyone very cheerfully and hoped that they had all had a merry Christmas, and then warned them that they must all prepare to wear their most compassionate expressions.
‘I guarantee that within half an hour we will have our first customer. Deaths are very common at Christmas time, and once the formalities of announcements are decided, then the grieving relatives will descend upon us for their mourning weeds.’
Eleanor was already wearing a sombre face when she asked if she might speak to him before the business of the day began. He smiled at her, but then realized that her expression was an indication of real regret and not a professional one.
‘My dear Miss Kendall,’ he said. ‘I fear some misfortune has come upon you. How can I help you?’
‘I regret to inform you, Mr Christopher, that for personal reasons I must return home to my native Yorkshire at the earliest opportunity.’ Eleanor didn’t have to pretend anxiety, as she most certainly felt it. She did not want to be left alone in London without relative or friend. ‘I realize that I must serve notice, but trust that you will understand my position and grant me leave to depart as soon as possible.’
‘I am so sorry to hear it,’ he said with genuine concern. ‘Of course you must return. Leave at once if you feel the need. Can I help you with booking a rail ticket or other transport?’
‘You are so kind,’ she said tearfully, and felt conscience-stricken that she wasn’t being totally honest. ‘But I must return to my lodgings to collect my belongings and then depart by the quickest and cheapest route.’
Mr Christopher nodded gravely. ‘We shall miss you. You have proved to be an asset. You will no doubt be able to acquire other employment when you arrive home? In fact,’ he said quickly, ‘allow me to write a reference immediately in case you should need one.’
Whilst Mr Christopher was writing a recommendation, Eleanor went to fetch her coat, hat and shawl from the cloakroom. By the time she returned, he was standing in the shop with the letter in his hand.
‘Although it is not the normal procedure, Miss Kendall, I feel that I must at least give you a day’s wages. You came in this morning when a lesser person might have left without that courtesy and I appreciate that.’ He handed her a coin, which she took graciously, and dipped her knee.
‘I am very grateful to you, Mr Christopher, and thank you very much, not only for your kindness but also for granting me the experience of working for you.’
He bowed his head and opened the door for her. The bell jangled and as she stepped outside a carriage drew up; the coachman wore black crape hatband and armbands; a man and a woman, both in dark clothing, descended from the carriage and came towards them. Mr Christopher bowed again to Eleanor and then turned to greet the potential clients, ushering them inside.
Eleanor saw Mikey across the street and glanced towards him but made no acknowledgement. A little further along she crossed over and slowed her step to allow him to catch up with her.
‘Is it done then?’ he murmured in her ear. ‘Can you leave?’
‘Have left,’ she said. ‘Mr Christopher has even given me today’s wages. Wasn’t that generous of him?’
‘Certainly was,’ he said, shortening his stride so that he walked beside her. ‘Is it enough for you to pay for a train fare?’
She gave a low laugh. ‘No, it is not.’ She turned to face him. ‘Only enough for the long walk home.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Sam said that he would like to visit his brother William before making a decision about going to Hull with Mikey. ‘If he wants me to stop here, then I will,’ he explained, ‘and I’ll try again to become a shoe-black boy.’
Eleanor told Liza that she was leaving to go home, but assured her that she would pay for the week’s lodgings.
Liza was visibly upset that she was leaving, and when Eleanor asked her if she would tell Marie, she wiped her eyes and said that she would.
‘You catching the train then, Miss Eleanor? I ain’t never been on a train. One of my relatives had her house knocked down for the railway lines. She got rehoused, though, in one of them mansion flats. Very nice it is.’
Eleanor avoided answering the question directly, but asked her if she could supply them with some food for the journey. It’s so cold that I’ll need to travel in all of my clothes, she thought. Coat and shawl, hat, gloves, two pairs of stockings and warm bodice and undergarments. Then she thought of Mikey and Sam. They had turned up wearing only shabby coats and trousers, and although Mikey carried a knapsack on his back it was so flat that she was sure it was empty.
‘We’re going to Whitechapel first to see Sam’s brother,’ she told Liza. ‘Then we’ll leave tomorrow.’
Mr Bertram was listening as he sewed at his cloth. ‘So you’ll have to come back into London to catch the train,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you wait here until they come back?’
‘I want to talk to Mrs Goodhart,’ she said. ‘I have to ask her something.’
Which was true up to a point. An idea had been niggling at her and she needed to talk it through. Mrs Goodhart was the one who could help her.
When she brought down her bag with her belongings in it, she saw the dismay on Mikey’s face, though he said nothing in front of the Bertrams. He took it from her and they said their goodbyes, Eleanor promising to write as soon as she could.
‘It’s too heavy, isn’t it?’ she said, as they walked away. ‘I’ve brought too much.’
Mikey nodded. ‘Cumbersome more than heavy. When we get to ’Goodharts’ we’ll transfer what you need into my knapsack.’
It was late and dark when they reached Whitechapel, and extremely cold, and the Goodharts had locked up for the night. Outside their door and along the wall of the old building were shifting, murmuring heaps of clothing.
‘What is it?’ Eleanor whispered as Mikey knocked on the door. ‘Not rats?’
‘No,’ he answered. ‘Onny human ones. Children,’ he said. ‘Boys waiting for ’morning, when they’ll be let inside.’
Although she had known that the Goodharts couldn’t accommodate all the boys who asked for shelter, it was the first time she had seen them in such droves, sleeping rough with not so much as a blanket between them.
‘I feel so guilty,’ she told Mrs Goodhart. ‘Coming indoors when there are so many outside.’
Mrs Goodhart shook her head. ‘It is a terrible situation and we do what we can, but it is never enough. However, my dear, you may take comfort in the fact that we can only offer you a chair and not a bed, for we are quite full up.’
‘It’s not the first time I have spent the night sleeping on a chair,’ Eleanor was able to say quite honestly and not a little proudly, feeling that she could identify with suffering even if only in a small way.
The next morning snow was thick on the ground. Many of the boys outside were so cold that they couldn’t move. Mikey and Sam helped Mr Goodhart bring the worst affected inside, whilst Eleanor made soup under Mrs Goodhart’s direction and then helped to feed the younger boys and those whose fingers were too cold to hold a spoon.
Eleanor felt hot tears running down her cheeks. Never again will I grumble about petty things, she vowed. I have never seen such suffering. And they are all so young! They do not deserve this.
‘Why have they been abandoned?’ she asked Mrs Goodhart. ‘What has happened to their parents or grandparents? They surely can’t all be orphans!’
‘Many of them have left their homes to seek work or fend for themselves because there is not enough money to feed and clothe the whole family. Others have left because they have been beaten or ill treated.’ Eleanor could see the despair in Mrs Goodhart’s face. ‘We are helpless!
What we do isn’t nearly enough,’ she said in a low but angry voice. ‘All over this city, children are starving and running amok. They are at the mercy of men who exploit them and then leave them to die. We need money to feed and clothe them, and educate them to expect something better from life.’
‘Who can help?’ Eleanor asked her. ‘Surely it shouldn’t be left to individuals like you and your husband and others like you?’
Mrs Goodhart gave a cynical grimace. ‘We pray to God for guidance,’ she said, ‘and that He will send that guidance to the men in power.’ She swallowed hard. ‘If it were not for my husband’s strong faith, enough for both of us, I would have lost mine long ago.’
There wasn’t time for any more discussion then, or even for Sam to speak to his brother about the intended journey, for they were all kept busy feeding the boys and building up fires to try to get them warm. For some it was almost too late and Mikey drove Mr Goodhart’s horse and trap to take three boys suffering from frostbite in their fingers and toes to the neighbouring workhouse infirmary.
When they did finally discuss their intentions, it was too late to travel, for night was almost upon them once more and snow was falling heavily.
‘You can’t travel in winter,’ Mrs Goodhart said incredulously. She indicated Eleanor. ‘This child is not fit for it. Perhaps you can,’ she said to Mikey. ‘But even so it will be difficult.’
‘I am not a child, Mrs Goodhart,’ Eleanor answered primly. ‘I am – have been – a working woman.’
‘That doesn’t equip you for walking two hundred miles in snow and ice, or even rain and fog,’ the parson said wryly. ‘It would be more sensible for you to wait until spring.’
‘That’s what I said,’ Mikey cut in. ‘But I don’t have a job now and Ellie doesn’t want to be left behind on her own.’
‘I have an idea,’ Mrs Goodhart said quietly. ‘If you agree, it would benefit everyone.’
They all looked at her expectantly. Mikey hoped it meant that they could stay there until the better weather. Although he thought he could survive the journey home, he was convinced that Eleanor wouldn’t and it was bothering him more than he would admit.