An Orphan's Journey

by Rosie Goodwin

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Also by Rosie Goodwin

  Welcome to the world of Rosie Goodwin!

  Letter from Author

  Roast Pork Dinner

  An Orphan’s Journey

  The Days of the Week Collection

  Victorian Tales from Memory Lane

  Memory Lane Club

  Copyright

  For a very brave little girl that I am so very proud of Emmy Reid

  14th November 2009–20th November 2020

  xxx

  Prologue

  December 1874

  ‘C

  ome on, girl, your dad will be home wi’ no dinner on the table if yer don’t get a move on, an’ yer know what

  that means!’

  ‘Yes, Ma.’

  Pearl renewed her efforts as she struggled to peel the potatoes, daring to glance across her shoulder just once at her mother, who was sitting at the side of the dying fire with a glass of cheap gin in her hand.

  At twelve years old, Pearl was small for her age, as were all her brothers and sisters. It wasn’t surprising really, as both their mother and father spent most of the small amount of money that came into the house on drink, so they frequently went without food. But at least today they would eat. Once the potatoes had been softened in a pan of water, Pearl would mash them and smear the stale loaf she had managed to get from the baker’s with dripping. It would be a feast, and her mouth watered at the thought of it.

  At that moment, Matthew, Pearl’s youngest sibling, a baby lying in the drawer on the floor next to her mother’s chair, began to whimper and, sighing resignedly, Molly Parker lifted the infant none too gently, roughly yanking aside the dirty blouse she was wearing to allow him to suckle.

  He must be practically drinking neat gin, Pearl thought to herself, it’s no wonder he’s so sickly. But she didn’t dare voice her thoughts. Her mother might be small, but she could certainly pack a punch, which accounted for the many bruises that covered poor Pearl’s arms and legs.

  Molly Parker was only twenty-eight years old, and while she had once been pretty, the hard life she had led, the lack of good food and the countless beatings she had received from her husband meant that now she could easily have been taken for a woman in her fifties. She had married her husband Fred just over twelve years ago and Pearl had been born shortly after. They had been so happy back then, delighted at the birth of their first child – so much so that they had decided to name her after a precious stone. Fred had promised her the world, but all she had to show for their marriage were two downstairs rooms in a terraced house in a courtyard near the docks in the slums of Whitechapel, which they shared with two other families, cockroaches and a legion of rats. After Pearl was born, the children had come with frightening regularity, one a year, although not all of them had survived. Now, with all her dreams knocked out of her, Molly found her only solace lay in the bottom of a bottle of gin.

  Ten minutes later, the potatoes were peeled and after adding salt to the water, Pearl crossed the room to place them over the dying fire, hoping they would cook through before it went out altogether. Yet again the coal store was empty and if her father hadn’t got work on the docks today, they would face another cold night. As she carried the heavy pan, she stumbled and some of the water sloshed across the hard-packed earth floor.

  ‘Mind what yer doin’, you useless little sod,’ her mother growled. ‘Yer neither use nor ornament. Why did I have to ’ave a cripple, eh?’

  Thankfully the infant in her arms stopped her from lashing out, but even so it didn’t stop the flood of colour that poured into Pearl’s cheeks. With her heart-shaped face, shock of silver-blonde curls and striking green eyes she was a pretty little thing, or so people said – but she had been born with one leg slightly shorter than the other, which made her walk ungainly, and her mother never let her forget it.

  ‘Right, now get this place tidied up a bit,’ her mother barked once the potatoes were safely hanging above the flames.

  Pearl nodded, but as she looked about the tiny room she didn’t quite know where to start. Her brothers and sisters sat lethargically on the bare floor, propped up against the walls, scratching at the lice in their hair, looking pale and wan. Pearl gave them an affectionate smile as she lifted a broom to start sweeping the floor.

  But then her mother remembered something and started. ‘Oh Lordy,’ she said fearfully. ‘I just remembered it’s rent day. You’ll ’ave to get ’em all out o’ the way till the rent man’s been an’ gone. I can’t pay him, so we’ll have to pretend no one’s home. That won’t work if he hears any o’ this lot. Go on, away wi’ yer an’ pull the curtains to afore yer go!’

  ‘But, Ma, it’s freezing out there. Davey an’ Maggie have got a hackin’ cough already an’ they ain’t got any shoes,’ Pearl said worriedly, as she stared towards the grimy window.

  ‘Wrap a bit o’ that sackin’ about their feet,’ Molly ordered, pointing to the old sack that had held the last of the potatoes.

  ‘But where can I take ’em in this weather?’

  Molly’s face hardened. ‘Can’t you think of anything for yerself? Take ’em up town an’ let ’em look in the shop winders. They’ll be all decked out fer Christmas and they’ll like that. Now get a move on and less o’ your backchat or you’ll be feelin’ me foot up yer arse!’

  Pearl quickly wrapped the children in anything she could lay her hands on, including tying some torn sacking around their feet. Then she herded them towards the door. There was no sign of her other sister, Eliza. Just a year younger than Pearl, her sister was prone to daydreams and spent much of her time wandering around the streets. It meant that Pearl usually ended up doing most of the work in the house, but even so, Pearl loved her dearly, and worried about her when she was gone. For though Pearl was pretty, Eliza was turning into a true beauty, with her oval face, bright-gold hair and green eyes, and Pearl knew there were unscrupulous people in Whitechapel who would love to take advantage of her beauty. Now Pearl just hoped she didn’t turn up at the house at the same time as the rent man – otherwise her mother would give her a clout round the ear.

  Once they were outside, Pearl quickly shepherded her siblings through the twisting alleys that led to the docks, te
lling them encouragingly, ‘We’ll take a look at the ships first, shall we? You’ll like that.’

  None of her siblings looked very enthusiastic and Pearl couldn’t blame them, but she fixed a smile on her face and urged them along until they came eventually to the docks, where ships of all shapes and sizes were bobbing at anchor. Some were being unloaded of their cargo by burly seamen, while others were being loaded as the sailors nimbly leapt over the ropes with barrels on their shoulders. There were also a number of ladies with pockmarked, painted faces wearing low-cut dresses standing against the walls, hoping to entice the seamen who had just returned from long journeys to part with some of their hard-earned wages.

  Three-year-old Davey was whimpering with the cold by then, so after a time Pearl led them towards the city centre.

  ‘I’s ’ungry, Pearl,’ nine-year-old Amy told her sister gravely.

  Pearl squeezed her hand reassuringly. ‘Never mind, pet. Mr Grimley will have been an’ gone soon an’ then we can go home an’ get you all some dinner,’ she said, trying to ignore her own rumbling stomach.

  Mr Grimley was the rent man and much dreaded by his tenants. As Lil, the woman who lived on the floor above them, had once commented to Molly, ‘I reckon that man ’as got a swingin’ brick fer a heart. He chucked the Freemans out on the bloody street in the snow last year ’cause they couldn’t pay the rent, but how were they supposed to when Bill Freeman had broke his leg unpackin’ cargo at the docks? The poor sods promised him they’d catch up just as soon as ever Bill got back to work but he wouldn’t have a bar of it an’ out they went wi’ her ready to drop her babby any minute an’ another two little ’uns not even out o’ bindin’s.’

  Pearl shuddered as she remembered, and prayed the same fate would not befall their family.

  Soon, they came to a main road and as they strolled along the children gazed in awe at the smartly dressed people walking to and fro. The women wore fur stoles or thick capes and pretty bonnets, while the men sported top hats and heavy greatcoats.

  ‘Is they rich, our Pearl?’ eight-year-old Tom asked.

  Pearl smiled dreamily, trying to imagine how it would feel to be dressed in such fine clothes. ‘I suppose they must be – but look at this window ’ere.’

  They all stopped as one to stare at a display of toys. There were wind-up train sets, dolls with pretty china faces and all manner of things to catch the young ones’ attention.

  ‘It must be nice to be rich,’ Tom commented enviously, and the little sea of pale faces crowded about Pearl’s dull brown skirt nodded in agreement. They were still standing there, gazing into the window, when a smartly dressed lady carrying a number of loaded shopping bags paused to smile at them. She was wearing a thick navy-blue woollen cape with a fur-trimmed collar and a beautiful bonnet with feathers that bobbed and danced in the breeze.

  ‘Are you hoping for Father Christmas to bring some of them to you?’ she asked kindly.

  The children shook their heads in unison. ‘Nah! Christmas Day is just anuvver day to us; we won’t get nowt,’ Tom told her sadly.

  The smile slid from the woman’s face, and after rummaging in her purse, she produced a shiny silver sixpence, which she held out to them.

  Pearl frowned. They might be poor but she still had her pride. But before she could refuse it, Tom’s hand had snaked out and grabbed the coin.

  ‘Fanks, missus!’

  ‘You’re very welcome. Why don’t you go to the cart at the end of the road and get yourselves a nice plate of hot faggots and peas? It’ll warm you all up.’ And then, without another word, she hurried on her way, feeling that she had done her good deed for the day.

  ‘Can we?’ the children piped up, as the kind lady was swallowed up amongst the crowd. Their mouths were watering in anticipation and Pearl didn’t have the heart to refuse them.

  ‘Well . . . it is nearly Christmas so I s’ppose we could,’ she answered uncertainly. Usually when their mother sent them out begging, they had to hand over anything they were given to her, but then it was only spent on drink, as Pearl knew only too well, and the children had precious few treats.

  Ten minutes later, they were sitting on the wall surrounding a frozen fountain, tucking into their feast, and Pearl couldn’t help smiling to see them looking so happy. But all too soon they had licked the plates clean and it was time to move on.

  As they continued along the street, admiring the displays in the shop window, feather-soft flakes of snow began to fall, and Amy started to whimper again. ‘I can’t feel me ’ands, Pearl. They’ve all gone blue. Can we go ’ome now?’

  ‘Nor me,’ Davey piped up.

  Taking her thin shawl from about her shoulders, Pearl wrapped it about him. The snow was coming down thicker now, and within seconds Pearl’s shoulders were soaked to the skin and her teeth were chattering as she led the children back the way they had come. Whether Mr Grimley had called or not, she couldn’t keep them out in such weather any longer.

  They had only just turned into the grim courtyard that led to their home when their mother’s raised voice came to them.

  ‘So where the bleedin’ ’ell ’ave yer been all day if yer didn’t get taken on to work?’

  ‘In the Mermaid!’ they heard her father’s sullen voice answer her.

  ‘Oh ar! An’ what did yer use fer money then? It’s funny that yer can find money fer drink, yet I have to ’ide from the bleedin’ rent man!’

  ‘The landlord put it on the slate fer me, so stop naggin’, woman, else you’ll feel the back o’ me ’and!’

  ‘That’s it, yer cowardly bastard, ’it a woman,’ their mother screeched. ‘But think on afore yer do ’cause I may as well tell yer there’ll be another bleedin’ mouth to feed in a few months’ time!’

  As they tentatively approached the door, the children heard their father groan. ‘Oh no! You are kiddin’ me, ain’t yer? That one there is only five months old, fer God’s sake. The way yer turnin’ ’em out we won’t be able to move in ’ere soon. An’ there’s only Pearl who’s old enough to work as yet, not that anyone ’ud want ’er wi’ that gammy leg of ’ers.’

  ‘Well, if yer didn’t keep demandin’ yer rights when yer come in pissed up of a night, there wouldn’t be another on the way, would there?’ their mother screamed back. ‘An’ it’s ’ardly my fault that Pearl is a cripple, is it?’

  They heard a dull thud then and the sound of something overturning, followed by a sob from their mother.

  ‘Dad’s hittin’ Ma again,’ Tom whispered fearfully, shrinking into Pearl’s side.

  Pearl was smarting from what she had just overheard, but some of the smaller children were crying now and she urged them ahead of her, keen to get them out of the biting cold.

  ‘Don’t worry. He’ll fall asleep in a minute; he allus does when he’s had a drink,’ she soothed.

  Sure enough, when they entered the kitchen, they saw that their father had stormed off into the other room that served as a bedroom, while their mother sat crying on the floor.

  ‘Lousy swine. He’ll ’it me once too often an’ I’ll swing fer ’im one o’ these days, you just see if I don’t,’ she muttered, as Pearl helped her up.

  The children had huddled together on the floor in one corner for warmth and after flashing them a reassuring smile, Pearl went and lifted the pan of potatoes from the fire and carried it across to the large wooden draining board that stood next to the deep stone sink. Unfortunately, their mother had let them boil dry and some of them had stuck to the bottom of the pan, but thankfully she was able to salvage most of them. Not that the children were hungry for once, but she wouldn’t tell her mother that.

  It was six o’ clock before their father emerged from the bedroom to ask blearily, ‘What’s fer dinner, then? I’m starvin’!’

  Molly glared at him but remained silent as Pearl carried a plate of cold mash and bread with dripping across to him at the old rickety table.

  ‘I’m sorry it’s cold but the fire’s gone
out an’ we’re out o’ coal so I had no way o’ keepin’ it warm fer you.’

  Some of the younger children had already drifted off to sleep on the itchy hay mattresses that were spread along one wall, but the older ones sat silently, afraid of drawing attention to themselves.

  Their father fell on the food like a man who hadn’t eaten for a month. Then he rose and snatched his coat from the back of the door.

  ‘You lots is goin’ to ’ave to pull yer socks up if yer wanna eat,’ he growled. ‘So, first thing in the mornin’ I want yer out on the main streets beggin’. All the toffs will be doin’ their Christmas shoppin’ this week an’ they’ll no doubt dig deep in their pockets . . . Do you ’ear me?’

  The only light in the room was from a cheap tallow candle on the table and the children stared back at him fearfully as the shadows flickered over his face.

  ‘Yes, Dad!’ they said in unison.

  Satisfied, he stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him.

  Eventually they all fell asleep, until there was only Molly and Pearl left awake. It was then that Pearl dared to ask, ‘Did I hear yer aright, Ma? That yer goin’ to ’ave another baby?’

  Molly hugged herself as she rocked back and forth and nodded dejectedly. Pearl felt a stab of pity for her. The gin bottle was empty now and the thump she had received from their father had caused a large purple bruise to form across her chin and right cheek.

  ‘Don’t worry, we’ll manage some’ow.’ She reached out to stroke her mother’s arm and, in a rare affectionate gesture, Molly patted her hand.

  It was only when Pearl had gone to bed and Molly sat alone listening to the tick of the tin clock on the mantelpiece that she considered a suggestion Lil from upstairs had put to her the week before. At the time it had seemed so preposterous that Molly had waved it aside, but now she was at the end of her tether and she knew that she must give it some serious consideration.

  She couldn’t go on like this.

  The very next morning, just as their father had insisted, the younger children were sent begging, and once they had gone Molly told Pearl, ‘Go an’ collect yer things together, girl. Yer goin’ on a little holiday.’