The Forgotten Children

by Anita Davison

  Flora hurried after her, glad to be leaving the chill, dark space beneath the fast-flowing river, hoping Bunny and Inspector Maddox had decided to go to the dockside with his men when she had intimated that was where she would be.

  ‘If the men who took the children are at the dock, how do we get past them?’ she asked as they emerged from the tiny kiosk by the river where a layer of grey-brown mist formed a hazy curtain that hovered mid-river.

  ‘Perhaps we don’t.’ Alice turned up the wick on her lamp. ‘We have no real idea of how many of them there are, so we should keep our distance until the police arrive.’

  ‘If they’ve got Sally, I’m not waiting for anyone.’ Flora set off towards the concrete archway that formed part of the Tower Bridge supports, her lamp swinging.

  ‘Flora, please don’t do anything stupid.’ Lydia hurried to catch up with her. ‘If those men are there you might get into trouble, which won’t help Sally.’

  ‘She’s right, Flora.’ Alice loped along beside her.

  ‘I know that makes sense, but I’m so angry. How can these people think what they are doing could be acceptable. I’m also terrified for Sally.’

  After her burst of angry enthusiasm, their pace slowed as they fell into an uneasy silence along a path that took them past the end of Potters Fields; the slap of waves against the quayside walls from the river beside them.

  ‘The pathway runs out here,’ Alice said, veering through an alley into a cobbled street. ‘This is Shad Thames which comes out again further downriver opposite St Saviour’s Dock. Watch out overhead and mind your feet for muck and spillages.’

  ‘I don’t like the sound of that,’ Flora murmured, following them into a cobbled alley filled with shouts, bangs and clattering of machinery.

  Wharves, storehouses and granaries loomed above them into the gloomy sky on both sides. The alley filled with horse-drawn carts loaded with unknown goods being moved into and out of wide open doors by men in overalls and cloth caps, barely distinguishable from one another. Pallets of dry goods sat piled up beneath the openings ready to be hauled up the side of the buildings on pulleys to the floors above.

  The Hay’s and Butler’s Wharfs loomed above them on either side of the narrow road, between which ran a lattice of spidery walkways high above their heads that rattled and banged as sacks and wooden cases rumbled from one opening to another at different levels. Mingled with the clatter of machinery, rumble of wheels and bang of doors was the occasional whistle of a train leaving London Bridge Station on the other side of the buildings.

  Flora picked her way around piles of hay, horse manure and discarded pallets, narrowly avoiding being mown down by loaded trolleys, while porters called harsh warnings to them to mind their backs. Twice, she was forced against a wall to avoid a load of hessian-wrapped sacks as they swung from gantries above her head. Her nose stung from a mixture of sulphur and silt mixed with the tang of manure, overlaid with the spicy, sweet smell of cinnamon and pepper.

  ‘Is it always this busy?’ Flora buried her nose in a handkerchief to muffle the earthy smells of manure, animal sweat and ancient grease as they passed wide doors designed to accommodate heavy vehicles. An array of metal ladders fixed to the brickwork overhead disappeared through arched openings in the walls, from which gantries hung precariously over the alley.

  ‘The dock workers start early and once the barges are loaded, their work is done, so most of these men are packing up ready to go home,’ Lydia replied. ‘They’ll all be back again at the crack of dawn tomorrow.’

  Flora ducked just in time to avoid a pallet on a tent of ropes that swung close to her head, caught by the figure in a doorway and hauled inside. ‘It’s quite dangerous.’

  ‘Accidents are common, I’m afraid.’ Alice led them through a narrower alley that opened out onto the quayside, revealing the wide expanse of water in front of them. To their right, a smaller stream joined the Thames, bridged by a wooden walkway to a building with the words New Concordia Wharf painted vertically from the roof to the ground.

  ‘We’ll approach from the beach so as to avoid being seen by anyone on the dock.’ Alice paused at an arched opening which Flora would have missed had she not been warned it was there. ‘These are the Horselydown Stairs.’ Alice’s lantern revealed a long flight of shallow concrete steps that dropped to the river. ‘Watch your feet. The bottom six feet is covered with slippery green algae. The tide is on its way in and will rise at least six feet from the bottom in a couple of hours.’

  Flora’s lower belly tightened, one hand on the metal handrail, and her lantern held out in front of her over a long flight of shallow steps made smooth and indented in the middle from generations of feet.

  At the bottom, Alice turned to the right and led them along a shingle foreshore that opened out into a wide beach of greyish-brown mud and sand.

  A wooden jetty ran from the quayside into a pier where an inlet flowed into the main river Thames; a footbridge linked the Shad Thames wharves to Mill Street side, where more rows of wharf buildings and warehouses lined the inlet which had once housed Charles Dicken's famous “Rookery”.

  When Flora had first heard about Swifty’s barge, she had consulted a map, from which she recalled that the inlet was once part of the notorious Rookery which Charles Dickens wrote about so vividly.

  The quay lay deserted, with no sign of any policemen. Even the clamour from the wharf buildings sounded a long way away, possibly because they were at least ten feet below Shad Thames. Rows of flat-bottomed barges tied to mooring posts on the pier rocked gently against their ropes like horses eager to start a race.

  ‘Most of those are open, so I’ll wager it’s that one. The one with the long cabin on the deck.’ Lydia pointed to a black-hulled boat at the end of the pier that bore the name The Bermondsey Boxer in red letters.’

  ‘Which pretty much settles it,’ Alice said nodding. ‘I’m willing to bet they won’t arrive until it’s time to leave for Tilbury. They won’t be hanging about here or risk being seen.’

  ‘I hope you’re right, though what do we do if the gang are on board with the children?’ Lydia said. ‘We don’t even know how many of them there are. Swifty, Brodie and Ruth Lazarus are a safe bet, but there could be others.’

  Flora groaned inwardly as Alice and Lydia went back and forth, debating. Were the gang there on the barge, and if not, did they have time to get the children off before being discovered? Were the children there at all? There was also the chance she had miscalculated and Bunny had not been able to persuade the Inspector to come to the docks? She shook her thoughts free. No, Bunny knew she was coming here. He wouldn’t leave her.

  ‘We cannot afford to wait.’ She made up her mind. ‘If the children are alone, we either take the Bermondsey Boxer back upriver ourselves, or we get them off and hide them until the police get here.’

  ‘We cannot operate a barge!’ Lydia gasped. ‘Thames watermen have years of training before they know how the currents work. I’ve no idea how to start up an engine, let alone navigate this river.’

  ‘What do you suggest?’ A combination of fear and panic made Flora’s voice rise. ‘I’m not going to stay here and watch them take those children, or Sally downriver.’ She wrestled the lantern handle from Lydia’s hand, adjusting the valve so the flame guttered out.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Lydia snapped.

  ‘We need to leave these here, or we’ll be seen by anyone who walks onto the pier.’ Flora did the same with her own lamp, reached for Alice’s and tucked all three into the base of the quay wall. ‘We’ll come back and fetch them later.’

  ‘You think working in the dark will make this easier?’ Lydia asked, bemused.

  ‘There’s still some daylight left, so we’ll use the fog to our advantage.’

  ‘Even if the children are there, where are we going to take them?’ Alice waved an expansive arm toward the river. ‘We’re out in the open with no vehicle of any sort.’

  ‘We could use that row
ing boat.’ Flora nodded to where a dinghy tied to a mooring post had slewed to one side on the shingle.

  ‘Which won’t be big enough for seven children and three adults. Four, if Sally is on board. Not only that, we couldn’t move fast enough on the river. They would catch us in minutes.’

  ‘If they see us.’ Flora chewed her lip, silently acknowledging she was right. ‘We could hide them in the Horselydown Stairs, or take them up to the quay. We might be able to get as far as Tower Bridge before the gang notice they are gone.’

  ‘We’ll have to get them off the barge first,’ Alice sniffed. ‘And we don’t even know if Swifty and his men are already here.’

  ‘I know, but the longer we stay here second guessing ourselves, the more chance they will get away,’ Flora said. ‘I’m banking on the fact we are dealing with thugs, not master criminals and they won’t think that quickly.’

  ‘Then there’s the tide,’ Lydia said. ‘See that metal ladder up to the pier. If we time it right, we can use that instead of walking all the way round the quay, which would leave us more exposed.’

  Flora saw she was right. The waterline had crept forward several feet since they had arrived, the rowing boat that had been beached a few minutes ago was a foot underwater at the bow end.

  ‘Then what are we waiting for?’ Lydia hitched her skirt and set off across the beach, her boots crunching on shingle.

  Flora followed, the heels of her boots sinking into loose shingle that soon turned to wet, sucking sand littered with scraps of drying seaweed and stones. The sour silt smell grew stronger and the soot-filled mist made her cough. She held her scarf over her mouth with one hand, and with the other hitched the hem of her coat out of rivulets of water that crept across the beach.

  Hampered by her long skirts and petticoats, Flora’s feet slipped on the narrow rungs as she climbed, though she tried not to look down at the water that lapped the pier supports beneath her. She emerged onto the pier and turned to help up a sprightly Lydia, followed by a more tentative Alice.

  While Flora hauled on the rope that anchored the barge to the pier to prevent the boat moving, Alice hitched her skirt in one hand, and dropped onto the narrow deck of the Bermondsey Boxer, landing with a soft thump, followed a second later by Lydia.

  Before she followed, Flora checked the quayside and the river, but the shore lay silent and deserted, with only an occasional wail of foghorns in the distance. No lamps split the falling light, nor did any running feet cross the quay to stop them.

  Flora took a deep breath, gathering her courage for what they might find and dropped to the deck where Alice was crouched, her head on one side and one ear pressed to the wooden cover.

  ‘I can’t hear anything.’ Alice whispered as she twisted the metal catch that held the hatch shut. Slowly, she slid the cover open.

  Flora clenched her teeth in anticipation of a screech of wood that might alert someone below, but the hatch moved without a sound on well-oiled runners, revealing a short flight of wooden steps that led to the dimly-lit main cabin.

  ‘Wait here a moment, and if you hear me shout, make a run for it.’ Alice turned sideways, stepped down onto the top step and ducked through the hatchway.

  Flora braced for a furious shout or even a scuffle, but silence reached them from below, apart from Lydia’s nervous breathing beside her, the slap of water against the hull and a series of gentle clunks as the barges alongside them bumped hulls and bounced away again.

  ‘Anything there, Alice?’ she whispered, impatient.

  She reappeared at the bottom of the steps, her wide smile in evidence. ‘The children are here. Isobel is too, but there’s no sign of Annie, I’m afraid. They’re sleepy, but seem well enough.’

  ‘Thank goodness.’ Flora scrambled forward, her hands braced on the edge of the hatch as she lowered herself onto the short flight of wooden steps. She pushed aside her disappointment that Annie Sims wasn’t among them, aware there was nothing she could do about that.

  Below her, the cabin opened out into a comfortable sitting area. Instead of the cold, dark and damp space she had expected, a row of burning oil lamps hung from hooks set between each of four shuttered windows on either side which made the space cosy. The walls were painted a deep sunflower colour and the floor had been laid with grey linoleum, which quickly became slippery beneath her wet boots. A low door sat at the far end, beside it a pot-bellied stove with a metal chimney that took a crooked path through the barge roof.

  Upholstered benches lined one side of the cabin on which the children sat or lay, head to toe in a silent row. Wide eyes in youthful faces stared at them, initial confusion turned swiftly to growing interest as they stretched and eased upright, their knees drawn up to their chins.

  ‘No sign of Sally, I’m afraid,’ Alice whispered.

  Flora nodded, but couldn’t trust herself to speak.

  ‘Don’t fret, Flora, we’ll keep looking.’ Lydia crept closer. ‘You mustn’t lose hope. She’s still alive somewhere. I know she is. Sally’s a strong person.’

  ‘We’d better get started.’ Flora cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders. ‘We don’t have much time.’

  Alice crouched beside a tow-headed boy who had emerged from a blanket at the far end of the bench, his eyes wide and alarmed. He looked about six but could have been older.

  ‘Who’re you?’ he demanded, though his voice was tinged with fear.

  ‘It’s Albert isn’t it? Albert Fletcher? Don’t you remember me? I’m the matron from the hospital.’

  ‘Matron,’ he slurred the word. ‘Yeah. Didn’t recognize yer wivout that funny ’at.’ He yawned and his head slumped back against the seat, his eyelids drooping.

  Flora recognized him from the photograph in his uncle’s sparse sitting room with its surly occupant. Would he be happy to be returned there, or had he been told he was going somewhere much better?

  ‘Flora,’ Alice’s urgent whisper told her it wasn’t the first time she had tried to get her attention. ‘We’ll have to wake them up, there are too many to carry. Lydia, you stand on the steps and Flora and I will pass them up. Can you manage two of them?’

  Lydia answered with a curt nod before climbing back through the hatch and onto the deck.

  A small girl started to whimper and a boy protested, but quieted again when Alice spoke gently to them.

  ‘It’s a game.’ She tugged the boy to his feet. ‘We’re going up as quietly as we can. Can you do that?’ she said, coaxing a girl with pre-Raphaelite hair into a sitting position.

  ‘Are those blokes out there?’ Albert directed a quick look towards the hatch and away again. ‘They said we was going on a big ship.’

  ‘The men who brought you here told you that?’ Flora asked.

  ‘Yeah. The one with the squint and this big bloke who brought us food in the tunnel. And the nurse lady.’

  Somehow Flora didn’t think he meant Brodie, who had been described as a stocky man, so this was probably another person she had to worry about.

  ‘Was Sister Lazarus here with you? Or earlier, in the tunnel?’ Flora asked, unsurprised when Albert returned her gaze, his eyes empty. ‘Never mind. All you need to know is that we’re getting you out of here.’

  A girl of about seven sat with her back pressed into the bench seat, staring at them with wide, frightened eyes beneath a mass of dark ringlets.

  ‘What’s your name?’ Flora asked gently, so as not to alarm her.

  ‘That’s Isobel,’ Albert replied for her. ‘She don’t talk much, but she cries a lot.’

  ‘A lot of people have been worried about you.’ Flora reached out to brush the hair from the child’s forehead, her throat prickling with emotion when Isobel flinched away from her touch. ‘You don’t need to be frightened.’

  Her wool coat had lost a button and smelled of stale food and a more earthy smell on which Flora didn’t like to speculate. A grubby blouse lay beneath a delicately embroidered pinafore which was clearly expensive. Her heeled
boots looked new, but although the soles were barely worn, the uppers were badly scuffed from her sojourn underground.

  Two boys began a minor squabble at the end of the seat, their trousers halted at half-mast, while a third’s flapped over his feet. Two girls perched on the edge of the seat, their feet swinging, skirts and cardigans ending before they reached ankles and wrists; as if their clothes might have been made for someone else.

  ‘Gather them near the steps and pass the first two up to me.’ Lydia poked her head through the hatch, then back again. ‘The coast is clear.’

  ‘Is the monster coming?’ asked a girl with vivid blue eyes who had gravitated towards Alice.

  ‘What monster?’ Alice asked, exchanging a look with Flora.

  ‘The bloke said the monster would come out of the tunnel and get us,’ a boy slightly taller than the others replied. His attractive green eyes were fringed with thick lashes and a smattering of freckles crossed his nose.

  ‘There’s no monster.’ Alice finished fastening the bigger boy’s ill-fitting jacket and gave him a shove towards the steps. ‘And you aren’t in the tunnel now.’

  Flora silently condemned whoever had left them alone in a dark tunnel with tales of non-existent monsters; unless they meant themselves.

  Alice ushered the children towards the hatch, where the boys nudged each other and muttered as they became more responsive. Isobel hung back, one hand gripping the folds in Flora’s skirt.

  ‘That’s me foot.’ Albert aimed a light punch at a larger boy who had shoved past him to be the first up the steps.

  ‘Hey!’ Another cradled his arm in the opposite hand and glared at a girl next to him. ‘You pinched me.’

  ‘Well get outta the way then,’ the girl shoved him backwards, hard.

  ‘Hush!’ Flora’s fierce whisper had little effect and her frustration grew that they had no sense of urgency, though she baulked at reminding them the men were coming back. ‘I would have thought they would be terrified by being down in that tunnel.’