by Ruthie Lewis
They walked to the far end of the schoolroom. The brick arch next to them began to vibrate a little as another train approached. ‘It’s gang trouble,’ he said quietly. ‘I had a delegation around early this morning, telling me to close down or they would burn me out. They said I had ten days to pack my bags. Then they were coming back. I damned their eyes, of course – oh, do pardon my language – but I reckon they mean it. I’ve closed the school and sent the children home, just in case. I don’t want to put the little ones in danger.’
Grace’s heart sank once more. ‘Was it the Bull Head Gang?’
‘Yes, and no. According to the locals at the King’s Arms, some of the Captain’s men have turned against him. The Captain has grown drunk with power, it seems, and his men are resenting his high and mighty ways. A faction led by someone called Long Ben and his son, Jake, are rebelling against him.’
Grace nodded. ‘Ben Wilson,’ she said. ‘I know him. Go on.’
‘It was Long Ben’s men who came around to threaten me today. They’re trying to carve out their own territory. But why close me down? Why not just ask for protection money, like the Black Crows did?’
‘Wilson has a particular hatred of schools,’ Grace said. ‘Do you remember the boy I told you about, the one taken by the gang? It was Long Ben’s son.’
‘And if he threatened me, he might well threaten you as well,’ Mr Ringrose said soberly. ‘Once again, it seems, we’re caught in the middle.’
‘What will you do?’ Grace asked. ‘Earlier, you said we should wait for an opportunity.’
‘And I think one may have come,’ he said. ‘The community are fed up with the gangs, the violence and the killing. I think it’s time to get the people behind us.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘First of all, I’m going back to my pals at the King’s Arms and ask them for help. I think I can get enough volunteers together to help protect the school. If we can stop Long Ben quickly, it will show his followers how weak he is. And I reckon the Captain will step in, and crush them.’
Grace shuddered. ‘And then we’ll be at the mercy of the Captain again,’ she said. ‘Honestly, of the two of them, I am not sure which is worse.’
‘Well, Long Ben is the man threatening me right now,’ said Mr Ringrose. ‘And if he makes a move towards you, Mrs Turneur, let me know at once. If your own neighbours can’t or won’t help, I’ll bring my friends from Bermondsey.’
Grace nodded. ‘Thank you for seeing me, Mrs Turneur,’ he said, and there was no hesitation or diffidence now, but a calm authority in his voice that she had never noticed before. ‘I shall take my leave now. But have a care for yourself. I fear we live in perilous times.’
*
After Mr Ringrose departed, Grace rejoined the children and Radcliffe. The books and slates had all been tidied away. She put the baby into her basket and they fetched their coats and made ready to depart. Just as they did so there came another knock at the door, softer and quieter this time, almost timid.
‘Who is it?’ Grace asked.
‘It’s me,’ said a girl’s voice. ‘Mary.’
‘Oh, good heavens,’ Grace said, and flung the door open. Mary stood before her, grimy and ragged as ever with her matted hair falling over his face. Her brother was slumped on the ground by her feet, his eyes closed.
‘He’s sick,’ Mary said, and Grace could hear her desperation. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
Swiftly, Grace knelt beside the boy. His arms and legs were like sticks and his belly was distended. His little face was sunken, and his eyes were dull and seemed to have trouble focusing. ‘When did you last eat?’ Grace asked.
‘Three days ago,’ said Mary. ‘We’ve been hiding. Didn’t dare go out.’
‘Three days!’ Grace gasped. ‘What happened?’
‘I tried to steal some bread and nearly got caught. They set the traps after us. We been holed up ever since. I don’t know what to do,’ she repeated. ‘He’s never been this bad.’
‘Take him inside,’ Grace commanded. ‘Then, wait here and I will bring you food.’ She saw the wary look come back into the girl’s eyes. ‘Please, Mary, stay here. Don’t run off. I can’t help you if you do.’
After a moment Mary nodded, and she took her brother under the arms and helped him stumble to his feet and go into the schoolroom. Picking up the baby’s basket once again and summoning the children and dog, Grace hurried back to Bell Lane.
‘Can you look after Edith?’ she asked Albert. ‘If she cries, rock the basket gently. I’ll feed her as soon as I get home.’
The boy nodded, pleased to be given responsibility. Grace went into the kitchen where she found some bread, a couple of cooked potatoes and a sausage, and put them in a basket along with a stone jar of water and returned to the school. She found Joe sprawled on his side, his eyes closed, while Mary sat and watched him, a haunted expression on her own thin face. Grace knelt down beside them and broke off a piece of bread and handed it to Mary, but the girl shook her head. ‘Let Joe eat first. I’ll take what he doesn’t want.’
It took some effort to rouse the exhausted little boy, and when he did sit up he ate slowly, chewing mechanically and from time to time sipping at the water Grace offered him. He ate part of a potato as well as some bread, and half the sausage, and then sat back exhausted.
‘That’s enough,’ Grace said. ‘He mustn’t eat too much after so long without food. Now you must eat, Mary.’
The girl ate, chewing her food like she was barely aware of what it was. Usually a hungry person would eat ravenously, stuffing food into their mouth, but it dawned on Grace that both of them were so exhausted that even something as simple as eating was almost beyond them. She watched them, her heart wrung with pity.
The girl ate the last of the bread and sat for a moment, her eyes closed, swaying with fatigue. ‘Mary,’ said Grace gently. ‘You can’t go on like this. You need a home.’
The eyes opened again. They were, Grace noticed for the first time, a bright and vivid blue. ‘We’re not going back to the workhouse,’ Mary said.
‘No,’ said Grace. ‘A real home, with a family to look after you. If you stay on the streets you will die.’
‘I know,’ Mary said bleakly.
Grace watched her again for a while. She had reckoned Mary to be about ten years old when they first met, which meant she was now perhaps twelve. Joe might be six, though it was hard to tell.
‘If I found a home for you, would you go and live there?’ she asked. ‘Would you give it a try, at least?’
Mary considered this for a long time. ‘No,’ she said finally. ‘If they decided they didn’t like us, they would send us to the workhouse.’
‘Even if I made them promise not to?’ Grace asked.
Mary shook her head. ‘Can’t take the chance,’ she said.
There was no need to ask why Mary was determined not to go back to the workhouse; Grace remembered, all too clearly, the bullying and beatings and hard, unrelenting, dangerous work. ‘Rest here,’ she said. ‘Sleep as much as you can. I will come back in the morning with more food. Don’t run away.’
‘No,’ said Mary. Her voice was full of deep exhaustion. Her eyes closed again. Sorrowing all over again for their lost childhood, Grace let herself out of the school, closing the wooden door softly behind her.
*
‘We’ve got to do something,’ she said to George that night. ‘The poor things are half dead. They must have somewhere to live, where they will be safe and looked after.’
George sat silent for a moment, staring into space, and Grace wondered at first if he had heard her. The melancholy mood had not left him. If anything, it had deepened as the days passed. But then he stirred and looked at her, sitting by the window and rocking Edith in her arms.
‘You have something in mind,’ he stated.
It was Grace’s turn to pause, bracing herself to tell him the idea that had been crowding her mind all afternoon. ‘Yes,’ sh
e said. ‘I was thinking we could bring them here. We could adopt them.’
Again she wondered if he had heard her, but after a moment he shook his head slowly. ‘Wouldn’t do, lass. They’re wild children off the street. Who knows what they might do, or how they’ll behave?’
‘They trust me,’ Grace said. ‘I think I might be the only person they do trust. They didn’t let me down before, when they were sleeping at the school, and I don’t think they’ll let me down now.’
‘What will the other children think? Albert, and the twins?’
‘They already know Mary and Joe, from before. Albert, poor little soul, was very upset when he saw how hungry they were. He’s asked me what could be done to help. I think it will be all right, George. Children are often wiser than we think they are.’
‘All right. Suppose you’re right. We’ve already got four kids to feed. How are we going to feed two more?’
She said firmly, ‘I can eke things out. I promise you, George, I can manage. It won’t be easy, but I’ll find a way. I simply cannot bear the thought of those poor little things out on the street, starving.’
‘There’s plenty of homeless waifs in Rotherhithe,’ George said. ‘You can’t adopt them all.’
‘I know that. But . . . I have a connection with these two. I’ve seen them over and over, ever since I first came here. It’s like I’m drawn to them somehow, or they to me. George,’ she pleaded softly. ‘Let me help them.’
George gazed down at his hands for a while, and then suddenly raised one to his mouth, covering a yawn. ‘Lord, but I’m tired,’ he said. ‘I’m going to bed, lass. Let me sleep on it. I’ll give you an answer in the morning.’
His reasons for not taking in Mary and her brother were good ones, and Grace was quite prepared for him to say no. Instead, just before he departed for work the following morning he stopped and kissed her and said, ‘Gracie, you’re about the wisest woman I’ve ever met. You’re even wiser than Rosa, and that’s saying something. If you think we can do it, then go ahead. I trust you.’
Astonished, Grace threw her arms around him and kissed him. ‘George! You are the kindest and best man I know. Thank you. I promise you won’t regret it.’
‘I’ll hold you to that,’ he said, smiling a little.
Elated, worried and nervous all at once, Grace packed a parcel with more food and water and gave it to Albert to carry, picked up Edith’s basket and, with the three children and the dog, made the usual journey to the railway line. Her heart was pounding as they approached the school. Would the two children still be there? Would they come with her? What if they suspected a trap and ran away? She would have lost them for good; they would never again come near her.
Just before they reached the railway arch she stopped. ‘Albert,’ she said quietly. ‘Harry, Daisy, gather round. Now, children, I want to ask you a question. You know Mary and her brother, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Daisy. ‘They’re sick.’
‘Yes, my dear. I want to persuade them to come home with us, so I can make them well. Would that be all right?’
‘They need our help,’ Albert said. ‘They are poor and sick. Mummy, I think we must help them.’
I was right, Grace thought. Children are wiser than we are sometimes. They see what must be done, and not the million and one reasons not to do it.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Harry? Daisy?’
Two bright little faces nodded. They didn’t fully understand what she was talking about, but they trusted their big brother. Grace bent and kissed all three of them, and then drew a deep breath.
When she opened the door she saw a shadow move in the gloom. It was Mary, sitting up quickly, and reaching for her knife. She relaxed somewhat when she saw Grace. ‘I brought you more food,’ Grace said, unwrapping the parcel. ‘Remember, not too much at once.’
The two children began to eat. Grace watched them as she laid out the lessons for the morning, and saw them eating more hungrily now, and less mechanically. They were beginning to recover a little, but they were so thin and dirty. Heavens, she thought. Cleaning them up will be like one of the labours of Hercules. Can I really be thinking of taking them into our home? But she saw Joe’s face as he ate and knew there was no other way. This was a battle she was determined to win.
She waited until the end of the lesson to talk to Mary. Edith had begun to grumble, and Grace picked her up and held her, rocking the baby in her arms as she approached Mary and knelt down on the ground beside her.
‘I have found a home for you, Mary,’ she said. ‘A home with someone you can trust, who won’t send you to the workhouse.’
Mary’s eyes were quietly wary. She waited. Grace drew another breath and then took the plunge. ‘We want you to come and live with us. We can look after Joe, and you.’
She was aware that Joe was regarding her with great intensity. He may not be able to speak, she thought, but he certainly understands. Mary continued to watch her too from behind the curtain of dirty hair, weighing her up, trying to decide if this was a trick.
‘No,’ the girl said finally.
‘Are you certain?’ Grace asked calmly.
Mary nodded. On impulse, Grace reached out a gentle hand and rested her fingers on Mary’s cheek. The girl flinched and shied away, but then gradually she stilled.
‘Think about it,’ Grace said gently. ‘I will bring more food tomorrow, and we will talk again.’
Three more days went past. Each day Grace spent a little more time, talking gently with the girl, not pressing her or asking her for reasons for her refusal, just letting her think. On the morning of the fourth day she brought another basket of food, bread and cheese she could scarcely spare from her own larder; but, she knew, the food was slowly nourishing the two children back to something approaching health. She sat the basket down in front of them and straightened, holding Edith on her hip. Joe looked up at her, his face solemn. His eyes were the same vivid blue as his sister’s.
‘I want,’ he said.
Mary stared at him, her mouth open in silent shock. ‘There is plenty of food there, Joe,’ Grace said softly. ‘Help yourself.’
Joe shook his head and stood up. He took two steps forward and seized hold of Grace’s skirt, clinging to the fabric with surprising strength and looking up into her face. ‘I want,’ he said again.
‘What does he want?’ Grace asked.
‘I don’t know,’ said Mary. Her voice was barely above a whisper. ‘I’ve never heard him speak before.’
‘Oh, heavens,’ said Grace softly. She looked down at the little boy, and with her free hand caressed his face. Edith squirmed and wriggled and let out a little cooing noise.
‘I want,’ Joe said again.
And then Grace understood. Joy exploded like a sunburst in her heart, and she wanted suddenly to sing and dance. She smiled at Mary.
‘I think Joe has made his choice,’ she said. ‘What about you, Mary? Will you come with him? Joe still needs you. I think we all do.’
Chapter 15
They must have thought they’d brought a wild animal into the house. I went around every room, sniffing the air, trying to see if there was danger somewhere. I smelled coal and dampness, and sickness too. But I could also smell food, and a strange smell that took me a long time to remember, cuz it had been a long time since I had smelled it. Soap.
‘Time for a bath,’ she said.
She put a cauldron of water on the kitchen floor next to the stove, and she took off Joe’s clothes and asked him to get into it. He put his foot in the water than drew back all confused, cuz it was warm and he wasn’t expecting that, but I told him it was safe and he stepped in and sat down. She scrubbed him all over with a bar of soap and brush, and after a while he started to giggle when it tickled him. I hadn’t ever heard him laugh before, either.
Afterwards she dried Joe off with a towel, then wrapped him in a blanket and put him to bed in the parlour room,. He fell straight to sleep. ‘I’ll find him
some of Harry’s clothes when he wakes,’ she said. ‘They’re about the same size. Now, Mary, it’s your turn.’
She refilled the cauldron with clean water and took off the rags I had been wearing. She took my knife too, and put it away, and I didn’t like being without it. I’d been carrying that knife for as long as I could remember. It was all that stood between me and the world that wanted to hurt me.
But I made myself be calm, and climbed into the water and sat down. The hot water, the smell of the soap, the brush scrubbing my back brought back another rush of memories, and all of a sudden I remembered my mother doing the same thing to me, long ago. So long ago . . . I couldn’t remember her face anymore, or the sound of her voice, but I remembered that same gentle touch, and the feel of the soapy lather on my skin, and I sat still for a moment, suddenly realising all the things I had lost.
‘I don’t know what to do about your hair,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I can get a brush through the tangles and knots. We’ll have to cut it off, Mary.’
‘I don’t mind,’ I said. I really didn’t. It felt like, for the first time I could remember, someone else had taken charge of me. I was used to being the one making the decisions, about looking after Joe. Now I didn’t have to do anything. It felt strange, but I decided I liked it. At least, for the moment.
She cut my hair off short all over my head, and lathered it and then scrubbed me hard for a long time. Finally I stood up and she dried me off with another towel. ‘I feel lighter,’ I said.
‘I’m not surprised. I’ve taken about five layers of grime off you.’
She was right. When I looked at my arm it seemed paler than I remembered. She brought me some clothes, including a dress that was so long I tripped over it. ‘I’ll hem it up,’ she said. ‘This used to belong to the girl next door. Do you remember Rebecca, from the school?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘What happened to her? Why doesn’t she need the dress?’
