The Long Walk Home

by Valerie Wood

  About the Book

  Two children – one poor, one wealthy – escape the privations of nineteenth-century Hull to make their fortune in London

  Young Mikey Quinn, scavenging on the streets of Hull, is thrown into prison for stealing a rabbit from the butcher. His chief accuser, a well-to-do lawyer, has a daughter, Eleanor, whom he badly mistreats. When Mikey is released he finds that his mother has died and his brothers taken into the workhouse. Determined to find a better life for his family, he walks all the way to London to seek his fortune.

  There he finds that the grim realities of city life are even worse than they were in Hull, and comes under the evil patronage of the sinister Tully, first encountered when he was in prison. But he also meets Eleanor again, and between them they face the dangers of London and gradually make a new life for themselves. Together they have to face journeying back to Hull – the long walk home.

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  About the Author

  Also by Val Wood

  Copyright

  THE LONG

  WALK HOME

  Val Wood

  For Chris Buckle

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  The author is pleased to acknowledge the useful background information that she has gleaned from the following two books: John Hollingshead, Ragged London in 1861, Dent, Everyman Classic 1986, and Edward Gillett and Kenneth A. MacMahon, A History of Hull, Hull University Press 1989.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Hull 1852

  He ran; swift as the estuary tide, spry as the breeze which rocked the barges and lashed the cracking canvas sails; full gallop like a gypsy horse escaped from its harness and bidding for glorious freedom.

  One rabbit slipped from his pocket to be caught up by other grasping hands, but its mate was clutched even tighter, the blood-matted fur sticky on his fingers.

  Voices shouting; the butcher waving his arms. ‘Stop him! Stop thief!’ A crony, ‘Go on, Mikey,’ giving away his name.

  A woman stopped to watch, her fingers clutched to her mouth, a tenseness in her stance urging him on. A man took a tentative step towards him and then thought better of it.

  But still he was caught. The tall gentleman in black coat and top hat put out his arms and Mikey ran straight into them. From beneath the man’s armpit, which smelt faintly of sweat and spice, he looked at the young girl who had prevented his escape. If it hadn’t been for her he would have swerved and got away, but she was standing so close to the man that he could not have done so without knocking her over.

  They stared at each other, she from sea-blue eyes, he from dark brown. Mikey gave a sudden grin as he thought of how he might look from her standpoint, with only his face showing beneath the man’s armpit; but she tossed her fair head in a haughty gesture, turned up her nose and darted out the tip of her pink tongue.

  A constable came rushing up, his baton swinging, followed by the butcher brandishing a cleaver. ‘What’s all this then?’ the officer asked no one in particular but expecting an answer from someone.

  Mikey wriggled. ‘I’m choking,’ he gasped. ‘Let me out.’

  ‘I’d say you will choke, my lad.’ The gentleman eased his grasp on Mikey’s neck. ‘One day you’ll swing from a rope if you don’t mend your ways.’

  Mikey saw the girl grow pale and put her hand over her mouth. He shook his head to reassure her. No, he wouldn’t.

  ‘Pinched two rabbits from outside my shop, Mr Kendall,’ the butcher complained. ‘How am I expected to make a living when these young ruffians are forever stealing?’

  ‘Not me, mister.’ Mikey shook himself like a young dog when the gentleman released him into the constable’s firm grip. ‘I’ve never pinched owt from you afore.’

  ‘Haven’t been caught, more like,’ the butcher retaliated. ‘I’ve seen you about looking for mischief.’

  ‘Well, ’evidence is here.’ The constable pointed to the rabbit. ‘I’ll have to confiscate it,’ he told the butcher. ‘It’s proof of theft.’

  The butcher put his hands on his hips, the cleaver glinting dangerously. ‘That’ll be ’last I’ll see of it, then. Some copper’ll have a nice rabbit pie. I might as well give it to ’lad!’

  The gentleman broke in. ‘He has to be taught a lesson.’ He wagged a finger at Mikey. ‘He must learn that he can’t get away with such misdemeanours. Society would break down if we allowed it.’

  The girl pressed her lips together and from wide blue eyes stared anxiously at Mikey, but said nothing.

  The butcher turned away. ‘Tek it then, and him as well.’ He glared at Mikey. ‘And if I should see you within a mile o’ my shop’ – he waved the cleaver – ‘you’ll be sorry.’

  ‘I am sorry!’ Mikey said hastily. ‘It’s just that my ma—’

  ‘Come on!’ The constable reached into his pocket and brought out a pair of handcuffs. ‘No excuses. We’ve heard ’em all before. Your ma’s dying, your da’s done a runner and you’ve nowt to eat in ’house!’

  I don’t think she’s dying; at least I hope not. But she is poorly, Mikey thought, glancing over his shoulder at the girl as he was led away. She too turned her head as the man put his hand on her shoulder and ushered her across the road. She looked frightened, he thought, and winked at her to reassure her.

  His da! No, he hadn’t done a runner. He’d gone to sea and the ship never came back. Lost somewhere in the fishing grounds in search of cod. That had been nearly four years ago, when Mikey was ten, and his mother had struggled ever since to work and feed her family. Mikey was the eldest of her four children; after him came his brothers Ben and Tom, and his sister Rose. He was old enough to work if only he could get a job. But not at sea. His mother refused to let him go. ‘I’ve lost one man,’ she’d told Mikey. ‘I’m not going to lose another.’

  ‘You’ll spend ’night here,’ the charge clerk sitting on a tall stool in the Blanket Row police station told him. ‘Then in ’morning you’ll be up before ’bench.’

  ‘My ma’ll worry about me,’ Mikey said. ‘She’s not well. She’ll expect me home.’

  The clerk shook his head. ‘You should’ve thought of that afore. Name?’

  ‘Quinn. Mikey.’

  ‘Michael Quinn.’ The clerk began to wr
ite, his pen scratching in the ledger.

  ‘Not Michael,’ Mikey said hastily. How many times did he have to tell people that? ‘It’s Mikey.’

  The clerk gazed at him from over his wire-rimmed spectacles. ‘Irish, are you?’

  ‘No. Hull. Born and bred. My grandda was Irish. My father’s father.’

  His father had told him the tale many times. Mikey’s grandfather had settled in Hull, married a Hull girl and had three children. He had lived there for fifteen years, never out of work, until one day the authorities swooped, rounded up all the Irish migrants and sent them home to an uncertain future. His wife and children had escaped the net as they had been born and raised in the town, but Mikey’s grandmother, bowed down by the shame and the poverty, died in the town’s workhouse, leaving her children to fend for themselves.

  Mikey’s father had vowed that his own children would never suffer as he had done. He was a sober man who saved his earnings as a trawlerman, not wasting them on drink as many of his fellow fishermen did, yet the sea had taken him, leaving his wife and children in the kind of poverty his own mother had suffered.

  ‘Can I get a message to my ma?’ Mikey pleaded. ‘She won’t know where I am.’

  ‘How old are you?’ the clerk asked.

  ‘Thirteen, sir.’

  ‘Did anybody see you being brought in? Any of your pals? If they did they’ll tell her.’ He frowned at Mikey. ‘She’ll know you’re in bother, I’ll be bound.’

  Mikey shook his head. ‘She won’t. I allus look after ’little ’uns while she’s at work.’

  The constable, who had been listening idly, grunted. ‘I thought you just said she was sick. Now you’re saying she’s going to work.’

  ‘Yeh! She has to work even when she’s sick.’ Mikey stared uncomprehendingly at his accuser. If his ma didn’t work then they didn’t eat. That’s why he’d pinched the rabbits. He’d thought that if he could bring home some supper she could take the night off from her work at the cotton mill where she cleaned the thick dry dust off the machinery and the floors: dust that clung to her throat and chest and had given her the cough which kept her awake at night.

  ‘Well, there’s nowt I can do about it.’ The clerk continued to write. ‘Where do you live?’

  ‘Back of Whitefriargate, sir. Winter’s Alley.’

  ‘Mm. Well, you’ll not catch me going down there after dark otherwise I might have offered. Besides, it’s not my job to run errands for prisoners.’

  ‘Am I a prisoner?’ Mikey was shocked. He’d get a walloping from his ma. She would no doubt have cooked the rabbit if he hadn’t been caught but she would be horrified to know he was branded a prisoner.

  The clerk put down his pen. His fingers were ink-stained. ‘Don’t you realize that you might be locked up for a long time? You’ve been caught stealing somebody else’s property. If ’magistrate wants to make an example of you he might lock you up for a month. He could even transport you to Australia.’ He looked sternly at a quaking Mikey. ‘If you keep up this life you might even be hanged! What would your ma do then?’

  Mikey blinked. He felt like crying, but he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t let anybody see how scared he was. He bit hard on his lip. ‘She’d be upset,’ he said in a small quivery voice. ‘And she’d be right mad at me.’

  ‘Well, all you can hope for is that ’butcher will drop ’charges. You’d better tek him,’ the clerk told the constable. ‘Put him in cell number two. Somebody’ll keep an eye on him in there.’

  He was given a shove in the back which propelled him into a small barred cell. There was no place to sit, no bed or chair, just a metal pail in the corner and a narrow window set too high for him to see out. He slid down on to the floor and bit on a broken fingernail as he considered his position. Stealing the rabbits had been sheer impulse. He’d seen them hanging outside the shop. The butcher had had his back to him as he served a customer and Mikey had jumped to grab them. The hook attaching the rabbits to the wall had fallen to the ground with a clang, alerting the shopkeeper to the theft.

  Don’t suppose he knows what it’s like to be hungry, he thought. I’m hungry now and I’ll miss my supper. Breakfast had been gruel, dinner a slice of bread and dripping, and he’d had nothing since.

  He got up and called through the barred door. ‘Is anybody there? Hello. Hello!’

  A constable strolled towards him. ‘What’s this racket? What do you want?’

  ‘Can I have a drink o’ water?’

  The officer scowled at him. ‘What do you think this is? You’ll get a sup o’ water later and if you’re lucky a slice o’ bread.’ He turned away and ambled back the way he had come.

  Mikey slid back into his corner and hunched into himself. It was cold in here, colder even than outside. He put his hand on the wall and felt the damp. What can I do? What’ll I say in ’morning when I go before ’magistrate? I’ll have to plead guilty, I expect.

  He heard voices out in the corridor which led to the front office. He could hear a girl’s voice. Did they keep women in here as well? This wasn’t the proper prison. The proper prison where prisoners were sent to serve their time was in Kingston Street near the Humber bank. There was a treadmill there, so he’d heard, and a yard for breaking stones which were used for road building.

  ‘Somebody to see you,’ the clerk called through the door. Now that he was out from behind his desk and off his stool, he was revealed as a small fat man with an agitated scurrying walk. ‘Don’t take long,’ he said, as Mikey peered through the bars. ‘You’re not supposed to have visitors.’

  Mikey stood on tiptoe. ‘Bridget! What you doing here?’

  ‘I saw ’em catch you. I ran to tell your ma.’

  Bridget was his sister Rose’s friend, though at fifteen she was older than both Mikey and Rose.

  ‘What did she say? Was she mad at me?’

  ‘Aye, she was. She said you had to plead guilty and say you were very sorry and you’d never do such a thing again. She sent you this.’ Bridget thrust a slice of bread, wrapped in brown paper, through the bars. ‘There’s nowt on it,’ she said. ‘No dripping or owt.’

  ‘Oh, thanks, Bridget. You’re a pal!’ He bit hungrily into the bread, not noticing the disdainful curl of her mouth.

  ‘Sure I am,’ she said. ‘Who else would come here, begging to see you?’

  Mikey lifted his head and saw the flash of Bridget’s green eyes. She was very sharp, prone to temper and harsh words. Mikey’s mother said it was because of her Irish mother. But Bridget was also full of charm and gaiety when she had a mind to be.

  ‘Nobody I can think of,’ Mikey answered, his mouth full of bread. He would owe her now; there would be a payback time. ‘Will you tell Ma that I’ve to stop here tonight and go before ’magistrate in ’morning?’

  She nodded. ‘I told your ma that I don’t think they’ll hang you, not for a pair o’ rabbits. But how would you feel if they sent you to Australia?’

  ‘I shan’t have a choice, shall I?’ Mikey fingered his neck and wondered if hanging hurt. What if the rope wasn’t tight enough and you were left dangling, half alive, half dead?

  ‘I heard about somebody going to Australia but they died on ’ship afore it got there.’ Bridget put her hand on her hip and would have continued but for a shout from the constable telling her to clear off home.

  Mikey was glad to see her depart. He felt worse now than before she had come, and how did she know about somebody dying on the way to Australia? Who had come back to tell? ‘She’s mekking it up,’ he muttered. ‘She’s allus telling tales about summat.’

  He spent a cold uncomfortable night on the floor, although he was given a thin blanket and a slice of dry bread and a cup of water. He barely slept, and when he did drop off his sleep was punctuated with nightmarish dreams of hangings and pitching ships on heavy seas.

  As dawn was creeping through the narrow window, the door of his cell was abruptly opened and a man flung inside. Mikey sat up and put his hands to his hea
d, bemused for a few seconds as to where he was and where were his brothers who shared his bed.

  He gazed at the intruding stranger, who had landed in the opposite corner of the cell and was glaring, bleary-eyed and hostile, at him. ‘Who are you?’ the man grunted. ‘Nivver seen you afore.’

  ‘Quinn,’ Mikey muttered. He didn’t like the look of the newcomer at all. He had an angular face, a long nose and wild black hair. He looked aggressive and seemed the worse for drink.

  ‘Quinn? What sort o’ name is that?’

  Mikey shrugged. ‘Dunno. It’s mine. Onny one I’ve got.’

  ‘Onny one you’ve got! Haven’t you got another?’ The man continued to glare, menacingly, Mikey thought.

  ‘Mikey,’ he said. ‘That’s my first name.’

  ‘Hm!’ His cellmate considered, his eyes keen. ‘I’ll call you Quinn.’ He leaned across the floor and grabbed Mikey by the wrist. ‘You can call me Tully.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  Tully! Mikey shrank back against the wall. He’d heard of Tully. It was a name to be feared. Robber. Murderer. Embezzler. Every crime that was not resolved was attributed to Tully. Mothers of disobedient children threatened that they’d send for Tully if they didn’t behave, but as far as Mikey knew no one had ever set eyes on him. He was a threatening shadow of a bogeyman, and now he was sharing Mikey’s cell.

  He leaned towards Mikey, still holding him by the wrist. ‘Got any poppy?’ he whispered.

  Mikey shook his head. ‘Got no money either,’ he said in a hoarse voice.

  Tully let go of his wrist in an impatient gesture. ‘Damned peazans. Good for nowt.’ He sniffed and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. ‘What you in for?’

  ‘Stealing rabbits from ’butcher.’

  ‘A pair?’

  Mikey nodded. ‘I dropped one. Somebody else picked it up.’

  ‘Careless,’ Tully growled. ‘The trick is to keep tight hold of ’em by their necks. Which butcher?’

  Mikey described the shop in the Market Place. ‘Don’t know his name.’