The Orphans of Bell Lane

by Ruthie Lewis

  ‘And maybe one day he will have them,’ said George. ‘Sara said they’ve taken him away. That means he’s still alive, lass. And while there’s life, there’s hope. Remember?’

  ‘But I’ll never see him again,’ said Grace.

  ‘Don’t be too certain of that, neither. Now, dry your eyes, lass. We’ve got work to do.’

  Grace looked up at him. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We’ve got to rebuild your school. You’re not planning on giving in to these bullies, are you? Because if you are, you’re not the Grace Perrow I know.’

  ‘No,’ said Grace, taking the rather grimy handkerchief he gave her and blowing her nose. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘That’s more like it,’ said George cheerfully, and he turned and scooped up Daisy and tickled her. She giggled and the mood lightened. He is right, Grace thought. I must get on with things. Jimmy was one child; there are twenty others depending on me.

  Yet Jimmy had touched her heart in a way that none of the others, save for her own family, had ever done. She vowed she wouldn’t give up on Jimmy and one day she would find some say to help him, but in the meantime she was more determined than ever that the Ragged School would succeed.

  *

  The first step in rebuilding the school was to write to Mr Raikes at the Ragged School Union and see what help he could give. He arrived a day later, bringing with him a box of reading materials and some slates and chalk and slate pencils to replace the ones that had been broken. The latter was a particular relief. She had been thinking she would need to approach the Clares again, but that would mean telling them what had happened and she did not want to do that. They – and Mela – would only worry for her.

  ‘You say this damage was done by one of the local gangs,’ said Mr Raikes. ‘Have you reported it to the police?’

  ‘No, sir. My brother-in-law doubts it will do any good. The police here seem powerless to stop the gangs.’

  ‘Let us try all the same,’ said Mr Raikes firmly.

  They rang the bell at the police house in Rotherhithe. A skinny young constable with bad skin opened the door and ushered them into the foyer. He listened to Grace’s account of the damage to the school, shook his head dubiously, and then disappeared into a back office. They heard the faint murmur of voices.

  Another officer came out, an older man with greying hair, clapping his blue helmet onto his head. ‘I am Sergeant Bates,’ he said. ‘What’s all this about a school?’

  Grace explained again. The sergeant looked bored. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘And what do you expect us to do about it?’

  ‘We expect you to do your duty,’ said Mr Raikes. ‘This is a clear case of criminal damage, and the identity of the perpetrators is known. Will you arrest them?’

  ‘Arrest them?’ The sergeant’s expression changed. ‘Arrest the Bull Head Gang? Have you lost your wits?’

  ‘I assure you I have not,’ said Mr Raikes. ‘This outrage must not go unpunished.’

  The sergeant puffed his cheeks and then exhaled sharply. ‘Outrage,’ he repeated. ‘Hardly that, is it? A few books damaged, a few slates broken, that’s all. And my men are overstretched as it is. Sorry, can’t help you. If you want to keep people out of your school, put a lock on the door.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Mr Raikes. ‘If you will not take action, Sergeant, I shall have to go over your head.’

  The sergeant’s eyes bulged. ‘Over my head?’ he repeated. ‘How dare you come in here and speak to me like that? Get out, now, both of you!’

  Outside in the street a little watery sunlight was leaking through gaps in the clouds. A brewer’s van splashed past, the horses hock deep in mud. ‘What now?’ asked Grace.

  ‘I shall write to the local division commander of the Metropolitan Police,’ said Mr Raikes, ‘and I shall also ask Lord Shaftesbury to have a word with the commissioner.’ He sighed. ‘However, I doubt that any good will come of it. My threat was an empty one, and Sergeant Bates knew it. The situation is clear.’

  ‘And what is the situation, sir?’

  ‘Bates is frightened. He was full of bluster, but I could see the fear in his eyes. And that means one of two things. Either he is frightened of the Bull Head Gang, who are threatening him, or he is colluding with the gang and is afraid it will come to light. Or both,’ Mr Raikes concluded. ‘Either way, even if his superior officers do put pressure on him, he is unlikely to take action.’

  Grace digested this. ‘Everyone has been telling me the police wouldn’t help,’ she said. ‘Now I understand why. Can anything be done?’

  ‘I very much doubt it,’ said Mr Raikes. ‘Knowing about police corruption is one thing, finding evidence of it and persuading the authorities to act is very much another. I am sorry, Miss Perrow. I fear this is not the outcome you were hoping for.’

  ‘No,’ said Grace. She thought again for a moment. ‘Perhaps . . . Perhaps it doesn’t matter. The gang were angry because I was teaching a particular boy, Jimmy Wilson. His father has now sent him away.’ She stopped for a moment, wondering where Jimmy was and fighting back another rush of emotion. ‘Perhaps now they will leave us alone,’ she said.

  ‘I fear that is unlikely,’ said Mr Raikes. ‘I have seen these situations before. The local gangs dislike our schools, and resent their presence. They see us as interfering outsiders, and are opposed to the influence we gain over the children, the boys in particular. They regard the boys as their property. If we educate these poor lads, they will leave home to look for better jobs and new lives, and so will be out of the clutches of the gangs.’

  ‘But why?’ asked Grace. ‘What do they want with the boys?’

  ‘Put brutally, they are cannon fodder,’ said Mr Raikes. ‘The younger ones serve as watchers and lookouts, or are set to work as petty thieves and cutpurses. The older ones engage in armed robbery, large-scale theft, blackmail and a host of other crimes. Of course, many come to bad ends. They are killed in fights, or die of drink and disease, or less frequently, are arrested and put in prison. The gangs need a steady supply of boys to fill up their ranks. That is why they see our schools as a threat. Education is the enemy of poverty, and poverty is the close ally of crime.’

  ‘They are soldiers,’ Grace said, remembering what Mary had told her.

  ‘Just so, Miss Perrow,’ said Mr Raikes sombrely. ‘And they come to the same end as so many soldiers do, a sudden death and a nameless grave. Believe me, it gives me no pleasure to say this.’

  He turned to look at Grace. ‘What will you do now?’

  ‘Carry on,’ said Grace, still thinking of Jimmy. ‘I have come too far to turn back now.’

  ‘Then I salute your courage,’ said Mr Raikes.

  *

  That night Grace spoke again to George. ‘We must make the school more secure. Can we brick up the archway, and put in a door with a lock?’

  ‘We would never afford the bricks,’ said George. ‘But we might get some timber for free.’

  ‘Oh? Where?’

  George grinned at her. ‘This is Rotherhithe, lass. Forty ships a day come into the Surrey Docks, from Canada and Russia and Norway, laden with timber. There’s warehouses stacked with the stuff. Go to one of the importers and ask if they’ll donate some from their stocks. Try Mr Gould at Five. He’s said to have a good heart. He might be willing to listen.’

  Grace thought about this. ‘And if he does, what then?’

  ‘Me and Mickey will get some of the lads together. We can knock up a wall one Sunday, and make a door too. And see if that ironmonger will give you a lock.’

  George’s employers would not give him time off work, so Grace went alone to find Mr Gould. She had never been down to the docks before, and when she walked through the gates, she stopped for a moment and looked around in wonder.

  Behind her lay Limehouse Reach on the Thames, crowded with shipping. Ahead were the Surrey Docks, great ponds carved out of the boggy land bordering the river and connected to it by canals. There were ships ev
erywhere; mighty three-masted sailing ships, smaller coasters and hoys, wooden-hulled steamers with smoke trickling from their funnels. Close at hand a tugboat, its funnel belching more smoke, slowly drew another ship through a canal towards Lady Dock. Logs floated in booms, enclosed by chains to keep them from drifting in front of the ships, and she watched men running across the logs, heavy iron hooks in their hands. She expected them to slip and fall between the rolling logs, but their feet were nimble and they never once stumbled.

  A wagon pulled up, the driver looking at her in surprise. Unaccompanied women did not often come to the docks. ‘Can I help you, ma’am?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. Can you direct me to Acorn Pond?’

  ‘You mean Five?’ the driver asked. A few years ago the owners of the docks had renamed some of the ponds, giving them surprisingly delicate names, Lavender Pond, Lady Dock and the like, but the men who worked here still referred to them by their old names. Timber Pond Five was now called Acorn Pond.

  ‘It’s the next one along,’ said the driver, pointing. ‘What are you wanting there, ma’am?’

  ‘I’m looking for the offices of Mr Gould.’

  ‘Aye, that’s where you’ll find him. Go along the line of warehouses, and his office is in the second one from the end.’

  Grace thanked him and walked towards Acorn Pond and the row of brick warehouses. George, she knew, was hard at work not far away, building similar warehouses at the huge new pond the company planned to call Canada Dock. The cold air was full of the scents of freshly cut wood, hot oily tar and the resinous scent of pitch all underlaid with coal smoke. Men hurried around her, pushing handcarts or carrying enormously heavy stacks of wooden planks and beams, and she wondered at the strength needed to lift such massive loads. Some of them turned and stared as she went past, and she could feel their gaze follow her as she walked past the long row of warehouses. A pack of dogs ran along the waterfront, chasing each other and barking.

  Gould & Co.’s warehouse was one of the largest. Its doors were open and men were bringing in cargoes from two big steamships moored opposite, not just timber but also wooden barrels of pitch and bales of furs wrapped in canvas to protect them from salt water during the voyage. The spices of the tropics and exotic goods from the east all went to the London Docks north of the Thames; the commerce of the northern lands came here to the Surrey Docks.

  Mr Gould’s office was a small, rather plain brick hut next to the warehouse. A secretary in black frock coat sitting behind a desk looked up as she entered. ‘Yes?’ he asked abruptly.

  ‘My name is Grace Perrow,’ Grace said. ‘I wish to see Mr Gould.’

  ‘Have you an appointment?’

  ‘No.’

  The secretary clicked his tongue in annoyance. ‘Very well. Wait here.’ He rose and went through an interior door into another office. A couple of minutes later he returned. ‘This way, please.’

  Mr Gould was tall, with broad shoulders that stretched the seams of his frock coat. He had a rather hard, weathered face, and Grace wondered if he had once been a sailor. He laid down the sheaf of papers he had been studying and rose to his feet as she entered. ‘Mrs Perrow,’ he said abruptly. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘It’s Miss Perrow,’ said Grace, dropping a curtsey.

  Mr Gould looked horrified. ‘A single woman, walking around these docks on her own? What the devil were you thinking of? Have you no care for your reputation?’

  ‘I do,’ said Grace, ‘but I also needed to see you, sir. The matter is urgent.’

  Mr Gould pondered for a moment. ‘Very well,’ he said, his voice sharp. ‘You may have two minutes. I am a busy man.’

  If he had a kind heart, Grace thought, he was taking care not to show it. She explained about the Ragged School, the attack by the Bull Head Gang and her desire to build a stronger wall to make the school safe. ‘I came to ask if you might donate some timber, sir, for building works. Our funds are very limited, you see. If you help us, you will be making a great contribution to the cause of education in Rotherhithe.’

  ‘Education,’ said Gould. ‘Do you think the people of Rotherhithe really want education?’

  ‘I’m certain they do, sir.’

  ‘In that case, why are they attacking your school?’

  ‘It’s the gang, sir, the Captain and his men. They were behind this, I know it.’

  ‘And the Captain pretty much owns Rotherhithe, young woman. And the bits he doesn’t own yet, he soon will. You’ve made a bad enemy there. You really think a few bits of wood can make your school safe?’

  ‘It’s the best I can do, sir,’ Grace said.

  ‘It’s utter nonsense. The Captain makes short work of any who stand in his way.’

  Grace was quiet for a moment. ‘Do you know him, sir?’ she asked.

  Gould made a sharp barking noise which Grace realised was laughter. ‘Know him? Not personally, no. I’ve never seen his face. But my men have crossed swords with him, many times. He steals from my warehouses, every damned week. His gang have infiltrated the dockers, and probably the night watchmen too. The Captain’s merry pranks have cost me thousands, and things are getting worse. And now, you expect me to give you my timber out of charity.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ said Grace after a moment. ‘I did not wish to trouble you. I will make enquiries elsewhere.’

  ‘No, stay a moment.’ Gould sat down again, and Grace could see he looked tired. ‘Why are you doing this?’ he asked. ‘I meant what I said. The Bull Head Gang won’t give up, and no matter how strong you make your wall, it won’t keep you safe. Why put yourself in harm’s way?’

  ‘Because they kidnapped one of my pupils,’ Grace said quietly, ‘and forced him into the gang. I can’t save that boy, not now, but I’ll do whatever it takes to protect the others.’

  The timber merchant studied her for a moment. ‘How old are the kiddies at your school?’

  ‘The youngest is five, sir. The eldest is thirteen.’

  Gould nodded slowly. ‘I never had a proper education,’ he said. ‘I went to sea when I was a boy, same age as some of your pupils, and spent ten years before the mast. What little I learned about reading and writing and numbers came from a priest at the seaman’s mission. It wasn’t much, but it gave me a chance to get a shore job. Then I started night classes, and finally made something of myself. I articled as a clerk, saved some money, and built my own business.’

  He paused. Grace waited to see what he would do next. ‘I’ve got kiddies the same age as yours,’ he said. ‘And unlike some others, I do understand what education means. Also, you’re about the only person in Rotherhithe who has the courage to stand up to the Captain. I think you’re mad but . . . well. Good for you.’

  Mr Gould nodded suddenly. ‘All right, Miss Perrow. You’ll have your timber. Tell me how much you need, and where you want it delivered.’

  *

  Walking back along the waterfront towards the gates, Grace had the sudden feeling that she was being followed.

  She stopped and turned quickly. A pair of brown eyes regarded her at a distance of about twenty feet, warily but not without hope. The eyes belonged to a dog. At least, Grace assumed it was a dog, although it resembled no breed she had ever seen. It was not particularly large, about the size of a spaniel, with a rough matted coat that was a patchwork of different colours ranging from black through brown, several shades of grey and finally to dirty white. Each of its legs was a different colour. It had a long shaggy tail and upraised pointed ears, and a long pink tongue lolling out of its mouth.

  Satisfied the dog was no threat, Grace walked on. She heard the pad of its footsteps, following her, and turned again. ‘Go away,’ she said.

  ‘Grrr-af!’ said the dog, and wagged its tail.

  ‘Go away,’ Grace repeated, fluttering her hands. ‘Shoo!’ She turned and walked towards the gates, and again it followed her. Every time she halted it stopped too, always about the same distance away. But as soon as she moved on, it
followed her again, out through the gates of the docks and all the way back to Bell Lane.

  Outside the house Grace stopped again. The dog stopped too. ‘What am I going to do with you?’ she asked.

  ‘Grrr-af!’ came the response, accompanied by another wag of the tail.

  Albert, coming out of the house, heard the bark and ran up to Grace, seizing her hand. ‘Oh, look, Auntie Grace! A dog!’

  Harry and Daisy came rushing out too. ‘He’s a nice dog,’ said Daisy. ‘What is he doing here?’

  ‘He followed me home,’ said Grace.

  ‘Why did he do that, Auntie?’ asked Harry.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Grace.

  Albert let go of her hand and walked forward towards the dog, kneeling down and putting his face close to the animal. ‘Careful!’ Grace said in sudden alarm. ‘Oh, do come back, Albert! He might bite you!’

  Far from biting, the dog opened his mouth and unfurled his pink tongue and licked Albert’s face. Albert giggled. ‘He likes me,’ the boy said.

  ‘He’s our new friend,’ said Harry happily. ‘Can we keep him, Auntie? Oh, can we? Please?’

  Those were exactly the words Grace had been hoping not to hear. Her heart sank. But she looked at the appeal in the three small faces, and knew this was an argument she could never hope to win.

  And so it was that by the time George came home for the midday meal, the dog was ensconced in the kitchen chewing on a bone from yesterday’s stew, his fur drying after a long bath and firm scrubbing to rid him of fleas. ‘I have no idea what we’re going to do with him,’ Grace said. ‘But I’m afraid if we turn him out in the street, the children will go with him.’

  ‘I told you we should get a dog,’ George said, bending to ruffle the dog’s fur between its ears. ‘Hey there, boy. You’re a good boy, aren’t you? Shall we keep you?’

  ‘Yes!’ chorused three small voices.

  ‘But what on earth will we feed him?’ Grace asked.

  ‘Looks like he’s doing pretty well already,’ George said. He grinned at her. ‘Come on, Grace. He’ll protect you and the nippers, and he’ll be good company too. What shall we call him, kids?’