by Rebecca King
“Clarence should be doing this,” she sighed despondently as she slowed her pace until she came to a complete stop.
In reality, if she was completely honest with herself, she knew this last-ditch attempt to win her father’s favour was a complete waste of time and had to wonder why she had even bothered to try. It had been a long time since Clarence had been a guardian figure; a guiding light she could look up to and turn to for words of wisdom or sage advice. Of late, he had been so surly and offensive that she could hardly talk to him at all. When he did speak to her he made his disgust of her clear in many ways. Not only that but he had indicated on more than one occasion that she was nothing more than a burden to him and he would be glad to be rid of her, even though she did most of the chores and was more of a housekeeper to him than a daughter. Over the years their relationship had become so fragile that they often exchanged harsh words and were barely civil when they were together. Poppy had, of late, taken to spending as much time in the kitchen away from him as she could, mainly because it was one of the rooms in the house he deemed to be beneath him. She knew he would leave her alone in there, and he did, until he wanted something.
Theirs had long since ceased to be a father and daughter relationship, and had turned into more of a master and housekeeper one that Poppy hated, but had no option to endure until the opportunity arose that allowed her to head off on her own.
“Well that opportunity is here now,” she snorted as she strained hard to listen for the sound of trickling water. She thought she had heard it for a moment there, but couldn’t be entirely sure. “As soon as this bag is handed over, or what is left of it, I am going and you can stay,” she growled with a glint of unladylike steeliness in her gaze.
As far as she was concerned, Clarence had made a complete hash of his life, and had seemingly taken to trying to ruin hers too. It was his latest exploits had driven them out of their comfortable house in Cumbria, to the seedy streets of London.
“I have had enough of making excuses for you, Clarence,” she declared miserably.
It felt as though all she had done for the last several months was try to find excuses for his awful behaviour. She had turned a blind eye to him coming home at all hours of the night, more often than not drunk. She had ignored the waning bank balance that was never refurbished with even a solitary copper and was now so perilously close to being completely empty that she wasn’t sure where the money was going to come from to purchase the coaching tickets for their return to Cumbria if they handed all over their money over. She had been unceremoniously dragged into dealing with the huge debts he had run up gambling, but as far as she was concerned, this was the last straw.
She had some money secreted away. There was enough to purchase herself a ticket back to Cumbria and buy the odd meal or two along the way without making a dent in the larger sum she had set aside to purchase accommodation while she found suitable employment once there. She didn’t have enough to buy a ticket for Clarence as well, or feed and accommodate them both even if she was inclined to remain with him, which she wasn’t now.
Until she could find some way of raising the sticky issue of leaving without incurring his wrath like she usually did, she had to allow their dire circumstances to dawn on the dratted man and hope that he would throw her out. She knew that if she told him she was going to leave he would demand to know how she intended to fund herself. The last thing she could do was tell him she had money put aside. If she did that, she had little doubt that he would bully her into handing it all over, and would then promptly spend it on his excesses. More and more of late she had been the one left to worry about where the food was coming from; how the butcher was going to get paid; and how they were going to survive the foreseeable future. Clarence, meantime, spent more and more of his time in his cups, oblivious to the world. He didn’t seem to care what happened to either of them today, tomorrow, next week, next month, or even next year.
When he had arrived home the week before last, in his cups yet worried to the point of hysteria, Poppy had been horrified to learn that he had spent the night gambling as well as drinking. Unfamiliar with poker, he had quickly gambled away the family home and now owed someone a considerable amount of money too. She had been shocked to learn the amount Clarence now owed, but had been even more stunned to learn that they had to repay the creditor in London of all places.
“We have to go to Peter,” Clarence had insisted at the time.
“Your cousin hates you,” Poppy had immediately countered. At that moment she could fully appreciate why.
“Yes, but I am not going to be the one to ask him. I wouldn’t ask that great buffoon for anything. You, however, will.” The calculating look in Clarence’s eye had warned her he knew exactly what he was doing, and that worried her.
Poppy had snorted and taken to pacing backward and forward in front of the fire as she tried to figure out a way to get them out of the sticky mess without having to traipse to London to do it, or beg money from their cousin.
“I am not going to do your dirty work for you,” she snapped, inwardly outraged at such a notion.
“Well then, we are out of a home and have no money to feed ourselves with. I have a bit put aside for emergencies.” The shifty look that had swept over his face had warned her she wasn’t going to like what else was to come - and she hadn’t. “I have enough to get us to London. It will have to be cheap, but we can rent somewhere for a month; long enough for you to make the journey to see Peter and secure us the necessary funds to get this house back. Tell him I have been unwell and have no money coming in; or tell him you want to set out on your own. I don’t care what you tell him. We have to get our hands on that cash, and Peter is the one to give it to us.”
Poppy hated to admit it but he was right. She detested the thought of having to go cap in hand to anyone, but had no choice if she wanted to continue to live in the house she had been born and raised in. If there was one consolation throughout all of their troubles it was that if she had to go and beg for money from anyone she would much prefer it to be Peter than anyone else.
“So we go to London and ask Peter for some money,” Poppy repeated thoughtfully. “We don’t need to rent somewhere for a month though. We can stay at a coaching inn overnight. That should be considerably cheaper.”
“No!” Clarence had all but shouted before he slumped back into his chair, clearly regretting his outburst.
Poppy had turned to study him with a frown. Deep in her heart she knew there was something he wasn’t telling her but she wasn’t entirely sure that she wanted to know what it was.
“We will rent a house for a month,” he had persisted.
“But I don’t want to stay in London,” Poppy had protested.
“You will do as I say, girl,” Clarence had snorted disparagingly, and then launched into a tirade of just how ungrateful and spoilt she was.
That had been several days ago now. It had been with great reluctance that she had packed a few meagre belongings into a bag and left the home she loved to set out on a journey that had taken her straight into the very depths of Hell. The hovel was one step above living in the gutter. As far as she was concerned, life couldn’t get any worse.
“It has. You are stuck out in an isolated park at the crack of dawn struggling not to freeze to death,” she sighed with an indignant sniff. “Arrogant oaf,” she whispered, inwardly so coldly furious with her sire that she knew that if there was time she would have gone back to the ramshackle dump they had taken up residence in, hauled him bodily out of bed, and frog-marched him across town, night-rail and all, to make this farcical assignation himself. “I mean, if the creditor wants the money, why didn’t he just come and knock on the door like a normal person? Why all of this subterfuge? He pushed the note under the door so he knows where the house is,” she grumbled, cursing the strangeness of folk.
Lost in thought, she absently wandered from one path into another and kept walking, increasingly oblivious to her surrounding
s as she contemplated why she was there.
It’s the last time I help you, she promised Clarence silently.
Her fingers clenched protectively around the rolled up bank notes in her pocket. This relatively small amount of money was her future now, but was it enough? Should she take more out of the bag for herself? She should hand any of it over?
Peter warning that she should use it for herself and not allow Clarence to get his hands on it still rang in her ears. At the time, the harshness in her normally mild-mannered cousin’s instruction had alarmed her. She had nodded her agreement without thinking because she had not wanted to offend him while he was willing to help her. Although she had never asked either Clarence, or Peter outright, she wondered what Clarence had done to her cousin to bring about such acrimony, but then at the moment had enough problems of her own without probing into historic discord. Whatever had gone on between the two of them, deep inside she knew she should heed Peter’s rather ebullient order.
She felt a little guilty that the right amount wasn’t in the bag she was about to hand over to the stranger she was going to meet anyway. At some point Clarence was going to find out and then all Hell will be let loose. He would almost certainly try to bully her into going back to Peter’s for more money, and that was something she was definitely not going to do.
“I need to take the money and run,” she whispered defiantly, echoing Peter’s exact words to her. Still, she kept walking, more out of curiosity than anything else. She wanted to see this creditor and tell them that Clarence wasn’t prepared to pay the cash. With the money in her hand to provide for her, it didn’t matter if she couldn’t go back to the hovel, so long as she had something to rely on.
“Thankfully,” she muttered several minutes later when it quickly became evident that her instincts were right and the narrow, winding river suddenly appeared through the trees a few feet ahead.
The note hadn’t said where ‘by the river’ exactly, so the best thing she could do was pick a spot and wait. After all, it wasn’t as if anyone could miss her. She was a single woman all alone in the middle of a vast and empty park at a time when most civilised people were still tucked up in their beds. Her mystery assignation would be a fine imbecile indeed if he walked right past her.
“Now what?” she whispered as she stared at the mist that hovered over everything. The smog had fallen thickly last night and still lingered hauntingly over the city this morning. It gave the air an almost expectant feel that just heightened her nerves and made her tremble even more.
Willing herself to remain as calm as possible, she clutched her bag tighter and studied the river. Was she standing on the right side of it? The bank opposite was exactly the same. The idiot who had sent the note hadn’t been all that specific about where to meet exactly so, as far as she was concerned, if anyone had the wrong side, the wrong place etc., it was him.
“He can come to me now,” she groused, hoping that nobody was nearby to overhear her talking to herself.
“Give us a penny, missus,” a small voice suddenly demanded from somewhere in the region of her knees.
Poppy cried out in shock and turned to glare down at the owner of the small voice. Her fingers tightened instinctively on the handle of her bag as she studied the grubby street urchin peering up at her. There was something shifty in those small dark eyes, embellished by an unrepentant grin. Alarm bells rang within her and she took a wary step backward. Something was wrong, she just knew it.
Glancing down the path, she spied something she most definitely didn’t want to see; more of them, and they all appeared to be waiting for their cohort who was now edging closer to her with one eye on her precious bag.
Pick-pockets – great, she sighed.
She didn’t realise they were so blatant in London as to approach people in broad daylight and actually ask for money, but if they suspected her to be an easy target then they were seriously mistaken.
“I don’t have one,” she snapped harshly. She added a glare to her statement when the youngster didn’t appear altogether too perturbed at the refusal. She then lifted her brows snootily to peer down at him – or her - when they merely grinned wider and stayed put. There was so much grime on that oval face beneath the tousled mop of scraggly hair that hadn’t seen a brush for a long time that it was incredibly difficult to tell whether it was a boy or a girl. Either way, they didn’t appear to accept that she wasn’t going to give him – or her – any of her precious supply of money.
“You must ‘av,” the youngster challenged. “What, a nice lady like you, able to dress like that. You must ‘av a penny somewhere on ya.”
Poppy shook her head and sighed. “I said I don’t have one on me.” Her voice dropped several notches in warning but she suspected the youngster wasn’t going to pay the slightest bit of attention. Not when he had several older pick-pockets watching him – or her - and his – or her - credibility was at risk.
“What’s your name?” she asked, hoping to get the urchin’s mind off money.
The youngster shrugged. “I ain’t gonna tell you,” he - or she - chimed.
“So don’t ask me for money, whoever you are,” she replied calmly but firmly. “Go and tell your friends that too.”
She watched the urchin turn around and throw a grin at his friends and wondered whether she should just hit him – or her – with her bag. Unfortunately, the group of youngsters standing just beside the trees were young and lithe. She suspected they would be able to run faster than she could, even if she was prepared to challenge one directly. She had heard of pick-pockets but had never come across one before, mainly because they didn’t tend to inhabit the wilds of Cumbria. Still, although she didn’t hail from London, that didn’t mean she was rich pickings for vagabond children.
The grubby urchin pointed toward the bag in her hand. “What’s that then?”
Poppy clutched the bag tighter. “My clothes,” she lied in a voice that shook a little through a mixture of nerves and cold. “What’s it to you?”
The urchin considered this for a few moments and then shrugged. “I’ll ‘av summat outta that then.”
“You will not,” Poppy snorted, clutching the bag to her chest. “Now, go away.”
Aware of movement along the path, she looked up and heaved a sigh of relief at the sight of a tall, distinguished gentleman sauntering casually toward her.
“Give us a penny then,” the youngster persisted.
“I take it from the tone of your voice girl, that your father doesn’t know where you are or what you are doing?” Poppy demanded, hoping to delay the inevitable until the man drew closer and distracted the youngster. With the man’s protection, they wouldn’t attack – would they?
“I ain’t no girl,” the boy protested, clearly outraged at the misunderstanding.
“Oh, you sound like a girl,” Poppy challenged.
“No, I do not,” the boy cried loudly. “I ain’t no girl.”
“So why do you look like one then?” Poppy glanced up and down the ragged clothing and fought to keep her smile from breaking free when the young boy tugged at his tattered trousers and poked his stick-thin leg out.
“I don’t know where ya come from lady, but round ‘ere boys wear pants.”
“Oh,” she nodded with a glance at the rest of the group. “Well, in your gang, it seems the girls also wear pants,” she mused with a nod toward the group.
The boy frowned at his friends for a moment while he thought about that. Indeed, a girl in pigtails stood at the edge of them wearing a pair of over-sized trousers held securely at her waist with what appeared to be a piece of tatty rope.
“I think you need to distance yourself a little, just so you don’t get misunderstood.” She grabbed his bony shoulder and physically turned the young boy around to face his friends. “Now, run along before I clock you one with this very heavy carpet bag I am carrying, and you have a very harsh lesson in curiosity – and swimming.”
“Swimmin’?” The b
oy peered over his shoulder suspiciously at her and then looked doubtfully at the river, as though he had never seen one before in his life, and the thought of getting wet horrified him.
She nodded meaningfully toward the river. “Swimming,” she declared coldly. “I think you could do with a wash, young man,” she added in her most matronly voice.
She propelled him rather forcefully forward and watched him take a couple of steps and then turn around hesitantly. Her eyes met his for several moments. He lost some of his belligerence beneath the firm look she levelled on him but, unfortunately, that didn’t appear to put him off his task of robbing her. He had been sent to her to empty her pockets, and he clearly didn’t want to surrender the temptation of earning a few bob. Although she didn’t immediately turn around, she was aware of someone approaching from behind, and rather suspected it wasn’t the man she was here to meet. The person walking toward her, step by solitary step, was not much bigger than his partner in crime.
“I know your kind work in twos, but if you think for a second that this lady is a soft target, I can assure you that you are sorely mistaken,” she declared a little more loudly. She knew from the way the figure behind her immediately froze that he was indeed another of the urchin’s friends and clutched her bag tighter in preparation for the imminent attack.
Losing her patience now that gentlemanly help was nearby, she glared at the boy behind her. “I said no, now go away and take your friend with you.”
The urchin glanced at the man and then looked back at his friends who were shifting impatiently, clearly eager to be on their way now that a witness was nearby. Before Poppy could tell him again to leave her alone the lad behind her suddenly lunged for her bag at the same time that the urchin raced toward her.
“No,” Poppy protested as she was seemingly engulfed in grasping hands that pulled at her clothing as well as her bag.
She kicked out at one of the youngsters, who cried out in pain when she caught him on his thigh. Thankfully, he hobbled off clutching his offending limb. Poppy hesitated. She wanted to help him but before she could even try to step forward, the wiry boy behind her suddenly grabbed for her bag again. She clung on for dear life and screamed. Caught by surprise at the swiftness of the assault, she was horrified that the boy nearly succeeded in snatching her valuable bag out of her hands. Determined not to lose so much money she slapped his wrist with her free hand as hard as she could. The audible slapping against his flesh began to leave red marks, but he stubbornly refused to release his hold. Instead, he planted both booted feet and put his weight behind his tugging. In doing so, Poppy began to be dragged along the path by him.
