“Got the rent money?”
Tom had the rent money all right. It was right there in his shirt. It just wouldn’t do to tell old Mrs. Framingham that just yet. He flashed her a wide smile. Ladies always liked when he smiled at them. “Ma will bring it home today.”
“She’d better.” The woman reached out to smack Tom’s head affectionately as he passed by.
Tom ducked, missing her hand. “She will. I’ll bring it to you myself.”
“You do that, little Tom,” she cackled at him as he ran inside.
He climbed the four flights to the garret, taking the warped steps two at a time. The sound of Mrs. Greenway’s two little babies screaming and the Johnsons’ mangy hounds barking, as well as the drunken voice of old Mr. Hollister yelling and cursing obscenities at his cheating wife, followed him up the staircase. But these were usual sounds and he paid them no mind. Only quiet would make him worry. Silence in this place would signal that something was terribly wrong.
He fiddled with the key in his pocket and unlocked the door to half the garret. It was a tiny space, even considering it was just for the two of them. The Greenway family on the other side of the wall had eight people crammed in the same-sized space, so he and his mother felt lucky to have so much room. The little garret was neat as could be, sparsely furnished with a few sticks of used furniture. A small table stood before the fireplace with two spindly chairs. A large old trunk was crammed into the corner under the lone round window. The thin pallet he shared with his mother occupied the corner farthest from the one little window, which was broken and stuffed with rags. The garret was brutally cold and damp in winter and sweltering in the heat of summer. In the summer they moved their pallet close to the window and pulled the rags out to catch a bit of a breeze when one would come.
But now it was bitter cold. It was just as cold inside as the December afternoon outside and filled with dark shadows in the late afternoon gloom. Tom lit a stubby tallow candle and pulled the purse from inside his shirt. Turning it upside down, he poured the money onto the cracked wooden table. He loved the noise the coins made as they clattered. In the flickering candlelight, he counted the money three times, just to be sure, because he couldn’t believe his good luck. It had to be a dream. Two whole pounds. He stared at the fortune on the table before him. Two whole pounds!
A smile spread across his freckled face and he gave a little whoop of joy.
He had guessed the toff was loaded, but this was the largest amount he’d ever pinched! He knew just what he would do. First, he would go out and buy some meat pies for supper to surprise his mother. He would set aside some of the money to pay his part of the rent. Then he would save the rest, adding it to his little treasure hidden beneath the floorboard behind the trunk. And perhaps he would take a little extra and buy his mother some new thick gloves for Christmas, to keep her hands warm. She would like that.
As usual, he slid the battered trunk by sitting on the floor and pressing against it with his back and pushing hard with his feet. With the trunk out of the way, he then lifted the warped wooden plank and removed the leather pouch that had once belonged to his father and where he stashed his ill-gotten gains. The bag was becoming heavier and heavier, and a wave of pride swelled within him at the sight. He had accumulated a lot of coins in the last few months.
Picking pockets was a trade he’d begun just last spring, after he quit working for Mr. Rutledge, the shoemaker. It seemed Tom had a good eye for the perfect pocket and always managed to pinch a loaded one. He never stole from people he didn’t think could afford the loss. He had to have standards, after all. He was not a common thief. Not like the gangs that terrorized the neighborhood and robbed from everyone, even the poor, like Mama and him. That’s why Tom kept his money well hidden and never let on that they had any more than anyone else.
If Jerry Gray and the rest of those blighters had any idea how much money Tom had stored under the floorboard, they would tear the house down to get it. He had no doubt of that. They were always trying to recruit Tom to be part of their gang, but Tom just steered clear of them as much as possible.
He patted the bag of money, knowing he now had close to three pounds, a bloody fortune, and fitted the board back in place. He moved to the other side of the trunk and pushed it back on top of the loose board.
When he finally told her about the money he’d saved, his mother would be surprised and so happy she wouldn’t care that he had stolen it. At least he hoped so. He took the remaining amount of money and ran out to the street by going down to the cellar and climbing out the cellar window to avoid old Mrs. Framingham. From the vendor on the corner he bought two hot meat pasties, a loaf of crusty bread, and a small fruit tart. He returned to the garret in the same roundabout manner and set the table for their little dinner feast. His mother would be tired when she came in, and this would cheer her. He grinned just thinking about it. He put some coals on the fire as well, to help take some of the chill out of the attic.
Mama didn’t want him to steal and would be heartbroken to know that Tom had. But he wouldn’t ever tell her. He would say he found a shilling on the street, as he had done before. She always said, “My Tom has the keenest eyes and can spot a coin on the ground a yard away!”
She had warned him to stay away from the gang lads, and he had kept that promise. He had been so good. The first time he stole, it really had been an accident. But he couldn’t help stealing when he knew the money would help them. Mama wouldn’t let him be a chimney sweep’s chummie because she said it was too dangerous, even though Tom was small and spry enough, even at the great age of ten. She wouldn’t let him go to the factories either. There wasn’t much else a small boy could do to earn a decent living. He needed to help his mother.
He was the man of the house now, and he had been for as long as he could remember.
Papa had died when Tom was just a little boy. He had been only five years old at the time. If he closed his eyes real tight, he could almost see Papa’s smiling face. His wide green eyes, with crinkles in the corners. His long brown mustache that he let Tom tug on once in a while. He could almost hear his deep voice. But those memories were getting more difficult to recall, becoming hazier and cloudier. He tried hard not to forget Papa. Or Ellie. Back then it had been the four of them. Mama. Papa. Tom and Baby Ellie. Then Papa got sick, real sick with the cholera, and they took him off to hospital and he never came back. Mama had cried for days. Weeks. Months. She cried late at night when she didn’t think Tom was awake. But he was.
Then a year ago Christmas, Ellie had died, too. His little sister caught a fever and died right there in the garret. She was only four years old. He missed Ellie. He hadn’t forgotten her, as he had Papa. Her memory was still fresh and painful. He could still see her sweet freckled face, so like his own, and her long red braids. Ellie had the best laugh in the world, and he could make her laugh so easily. He missed his little sister.
Now it was only the two of them when it had once been four. He and Mama.
Tom had just finished arranging the meat pasties on the chipped china plates with the tiny blue flowers that had once belonged to his grandmother, when he heard the latch on the door and Mama came in. The weary look in her eyes filled him with sadness, and he wished she would smile and laugh as she used to. It had been a long time since he had seen Mama smile a real smile with her eyes.
“I found a shilling on the way home, so I got us some hot supper tonight.”
“Bless you.” Anna Alcott sighed, sitting at the wobbly table and eyeing the little feast he had set for them. “You do have a talent for finding money, my sweet Tom.” She patted his arm.
Relieved she didn’t question him further, he sat beside her and dug into the tasty meat pie. It was a minute or two before he realized that Mama hadn’t touched the food in front of her. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
“I’m not hungry right now. Perhaps I’ll save it for later.” She rubbed her hands together, warming them and massaging her ac
hing joints.
Tom knew her fingers hurt from sewing all day at Madame La Fleur’s dress shop. She had been working there for years now, but the physical toll such labor required had begun to show its effects upon her body. Ten to twelve hours a day hunched over expensive fabric and lace, sewing ball gowns, dresses, and undergarments was taxing. Her eyesight had weakened and her muscles ached. She suffered terrible headaches as well.
“Have a bite,” he encouraged her. “It’s good.”
She nodded, stabbing at the pie with her fork. She nibbled on a small piece and placed the fork on her plate. “It’s delicious. Thank you.”
“There’s bread, too.”
“I’ll have some in the morning.”
“And a fruit tart.”
She shook her head and frowned. “You shouldn’t have spent so much.”
“We have to eat, Mama.”
Her expression softened. “You are a good boy, Tom. And you work too hard for a nine-year-old.”
“I’m ten now. Remember?” He squared his shoulders with pride.
“Yes, that’s right. You are, but you still take on too much for a boy your age.” Her blue eyes filled with regret and sadness.
“I’m almost a man.”
“You may think so, but you’ve got a ways to go.” Mama rose from the table and moved to the thin pallet of blankets that served as their bed. With a heavy sigh she laid her body down, tucking her hands under her head, and closed her eyes in abject weariness.
Filled with an unspeakable helplessness, Tom watched his mother, exhausted from working her fingers to the bone, and wished fervently that he could ease her burdens somehow. He longed to make her smile as she used to. His eyes moved across the room to where the little sack of money lay hidden under the floorboard beneath the trunk. He needed to fill that sack, fill it to overflowing. There had to be a way. Once he overheard some of the lads talk about the trains. Tom thought about Victoria Station and all the fancy people that traveled and how much money they might carry with them on a trip. He might just have to visit Victoria Station.
4
Follow Me in Merry Measure
Tuesday, December 2, 1873
“I promise I will meet your train on Tuesday when you return,” Henry Brooks said as he held Lisette’s gloved hand in his. They stood among the crowd of travelers at Victoria Station waiting to board the train.
“Why, Henry, that would be lovely! Thank you,” Lisette said with a smile of appreciation. Henry’s sandy brown hair was covered by a tall black top hat, and his gray eyes looked into hers. He had never escorted her to the station before, and Lisette had been touched by this show of caring on his part.
“I shall miss having you with me at the dinner party this evening, Lisette, but duty toward your mother and your family comes first. You are a good daughter.”
She gave him a bright grin. “The week shall fly by before we know it!”
He returned the smile and nodded in agreement. “As will this year. You have been so patient with me, Lisette. Next year at this time, we shall be a married couple.” He paused a moment for a bit of a dramatic effect. “We can have our wedding in June.”
“Oh, Henry, do you mean that?” she exclaimed in delight. Lisette had been waiting for this for three long years. At times it had seemed as if Henry would never settle on a date for their wedding.
“Yes. My uncle has decided to retire for good and will let me take over his practice completely. He told me the news just last evening. With what I have saved now, I can afford to buy us a little house. We can start planning our wedding in earnest when you get back, my dear. Something modest, of course.” He squeezed her hand tightly.
“Oh my!” A little thrill raced through her, and she couldn’t stop giggling. “That is wonderful news! I cannot wait to tell my mother and sisters! They will be so pleased.”
They had waited so long to marry, delaying until he had enough money to support her. It seemed he had finally amassed enough to satisfy himself that he could properly take care of a wife. She had never seen Henry’s sweet face so alight with happiness. His eyes twinkled at her, and he smiled broadly beneath his neatly trimmed sandy mustache and beard.
The train whistle blew with a pronounced shrillness and steam billowed around them. In an impulsive gesture, Henry leaned down and brushed her cheek with the lightest of kisses.
“Henry!” she squealed, pleased by his sudden display of affection. Henry had never kissed her in public before. In fact, he was so proper, he had rarely kissed her at all.
“Now, hurry before the train leaves without you. The porter has already taken your bag inside and your seat is in the first-class compartment in this car right here,” he instructed her as if she had not been there when the porter took her portmanteau. As if she had not taken the train to visit her mother a dozen times before without his help. Yet she knew it made Henry happy to take care of her, so she nodded obediently.
“Thank you,” she said as she ascended the steps of the car. “Good-bye!”
He waved to her as he watched her board the train. Lisette entered the car and found her seat in the elegant first-class compartment. There were no other passengers but herself, which she was pleased to notice.
“Is there anything else I can do for you, miss?” the barrel-chested porter inquired, popping his head in the compartment to check on her.
“No, thank you. I’m just fine.”
“Let me know if you need anything then. Good afternoon, miss.” He nodded politely and left, closing the door behind him.
Just as she’d settled herself on a dark green velvet seat, the train emitted another ear-splitting whistle and jolted into motion. She pulled back the dark velvet curtains and peered out the window, but Henry had already gone from the platform. He would never waste time standing there when he had work to do. Pretending her fiancé was watching her departure, she gave a little wave with her fingers anyway as the engine chugged with slow determination away from the station.
Lisette relaxed and loosened the ties around the neck of her black velvet, white fur-trimmed cloak, setting aside her matching fur muff. Still brimming with surprise over Henry’s announcement, she kept her eyes on the window. It was her favorite part of traveling. Watching the landscape change as the massive train sped through the countryside, seeing all the buildings and the houses and the roads and the people, and wondering about all the different lives and what was happening with them fascinated her.
She especially wondered about the people and what their stories were. Were they happy or sad? Was there a life-and-death emergency happening somewhere? Was it another routine day in their lives? Endless stories abounded while she watched from the train window.
Now there was a nicely dressed woman standing on the platform, holding the hand of a little girl with long dark curls. The little girl was crying. Were they just saying good-bye to someone on the train, her father perhaps? The woman stood stoically, no expression on her hardened face.
Then she caught the eyes of a small boy with a tattered tweed cap covering most of his red hair. The ill-fitting jacket he wore was too thin to keep him warm during the winter. He had an angelic face with a serious, world-weary expression, and his large blue eyes locked with hers. He stood there by himself, watching the train. Who was with him? Was he lost? Where did he live? She could tell by his clothing he was a street urchin. But what worried her more was that he seemed to be alone and this pulled at her heartstrings. She offered a smile through the train window but he did not smile in return. Fascinated, Lisette could not take her eyes off the child as possibilities of his circumstances flitted through her head.
It was then that the door to the compartment flew open and a man entered. A bit disappointed that she would have to share the compartment but lost in her musings, Lisette barely glanced away from the compelling scene outside the train window as the man continued to stand at the doorway.
“Miss Hamilton?”
Her heart raced as soon as she
heard his voice. The little boy forgotten, with slow anticipation she faced the gentleman who had just entered the compartment.
“It is you.” He stared at her, a wide grin on his incredulous face.
“Mr. Roxbury!”
Surprised she found her voice so swiftly, Lisette wondered what in the world had happened to allow this man of all men to be on the same train with her. He stood above her, his face clean-shaven and his warm smile melting her into a million pieces. He wore a black top hat, but the golden edges of his blond hair were visible beneath. His tall and very masculine presence seemed to take over the entire compartment and she found it difficult to breathe. Especially when he turned the force of his blue eyes on her.
“What a wonderful surprise to see you,” he continued with carefree ease. “You aren’t traveling all the way to Brighton, are you, Miss Hamilton?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Well, this is a most pleasant coincidence, for I am as well. It seems we are sharing this compartment and will be traveling together today.” He sat upon the seat across from her and let out a sigh of relief. “That was a close one. I almost missed the train!”
“Well, I am very glad that you did not miss it.”
“Now that I see you, I am even more thankful I did not miss it. It’s lovely to see you again, Miss Hamilton.”
For a moment Lisette thought she might very well faint from a combination of panic and delight. Quinton Roxbury was so very male. His tall muscular form filled the space, his long legs almost touching hers. There was a magnetic energy about him and it made her giddy. The man sent shivers down her spine simply by looking at her. And now he was sitting with her in a confined space for the entire duration of the journey to Brighton.
They were on a train heading to the seaside on an overcast day. Together. Alone. How wonderful that she had decided not to travel by carriage after all! That wild thought made her sit up straighter.
It Happened One Christmas Page 3
