Friday, September 1
First thing I did the next morning was check my pocket. All safe.
I sold the rope and the few copper nails I’d managed to find to a rag shop for a penny. Then I was on my way—me and everyone else. Our feet tapped out the rhythms of a new day: the slap of bare feet on cobblestones, the clomp of hard leather boots, the brisk click of ladies’ heels. It seemed a wonder that the cobblestones weren’t worn down flat.
By the time I reached a little warren of streets near Field Lane, it was seven. The streets were already shimmering with heat. I slipped round to the back of a small house and knocked softly at the kitchen door.
“So it’s you.” A large, red-faced woman opened the door a crack and peered at me. “Got it?”
“Mrs. Miggle, I do,” I whispered, looking over my shoulder. I shifted from one foot to the other and fished inside my pocket. I wanted her to invite me in—now. The smell of warm, fresh biscuits and coffee enveloped me, sending an actual pain through my stomach. I was that hungry.
She held the door open and I slid in. Now was the time to say it.
“Leastwise, I have half,” I said, holding out the money.
Mrs. Miggle snapped it up, quick as a frog snatching a bug. Before I knew it, the shillings had disappeared into some hidden place in her vast skirts. I reached into my other pocket and drew out the penny I’d gotten that morning. “And here’s payment for the ragged school.”
Mrs. Miggle took that too, then folded her arms across her wide body and glared down at me. “So where’s the rest? Where’s the other two shillings?”
I wondered if she had ever smiled. Mrs. Miggle couldn’t be more than thirty, yet she seemed as stern and hard as if she’d had all the softness rubbed away years before.
“I’ve been easy with you, young man, on account of I have such a big heart, but I have much to bear.” She leaned so close I could see tiny hairs sticking out of her upper lip. “Much.”
“Yes, ma’am. I do realize that, and I am grateful for your kindnesses,” I said quickly. “And if, just this once, you could give me until next Friday, I swear I’ll have the four shillings for next week, and the two I still owe for this. Plus a penny for the Field Lane Ragged School fee.”
I cast my head down, forced a tear out of one eye, and did my best to look forlorn. It sometimes worked, even for someone as hard-hearted as the formidable Mrs. Miggle.
“All right. No need to pull that pathetic act on me.” Mrs. Miggle couldn’t be fooled. She turned away to take the kettle off the stove.
“How is he, ma’am?”
“ ’E’s just fine,” she said shortly, measuring out some tea. “Goin’ to the ragged school every day, like we agreed. But ’e grows, you know.
“Boys have an awful habit of doing that, whether you want them to or not,” she went on in a complaining whine. Mrs. Miggle had a high voice, like a fiddle that wasn’t tuned. “I can’t be expected to get ’im new shoes and clothes. Not on what you pay for ’is keep. I got real lodgers to worry about.”
“I know, Mrs. Miggle. I’m working on getting more money for the winter,” I assured her. “I’ll get him a new pair of shoes, and a coat too. But there’s time yet.”
I paused, wondering how to put what I wanted to say next. “Mrs. Miggle,” I began. “You haven’t … you haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary of late?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Like what?”
I licked my lip and tried to sound casual. “Oh, just someone nosin’ around, maybe one of my old mudlark pals.”
“You’re not in trouble for thievin’, are you, boy?”
“No, ’course not,” I said quickly. “It’s no matter. Can I … can I talk to him?”
She went to a back room off the kitchen, no larger than a cupboard. I followed, peering in past her at the small sleeping boy.
“Henry, lad,” called Mrs. Miggle. “Your big brother’s here to see you.”
“Henry,” I said softly. “Wake up. It’s me.”
I went to sit on the edge of the narrow straw mattress. Henry startled upright, a hint of fear in his face until he realized it was me.
“Eel! Did you come to take me away?” he whispered, his dark eyes darting toward the kitchen. “Mrs. Miggle … she’s mean.”
I frowned. “As mean as him?”
“Nothin’ like that.” He rubbed sleep from his eyes. “Just a bit rough.”
“Mrs. Miggle is an honest woman,” I told him.
Though even as I said it, I wondered: was she? For now, she was content with the four shillings a week I paid for Henry’s room and board. But if Fisheye found out where Henry was, would Mrs. Miggle be happy to hand him over for one large sum?
A lad like Henry was worth a lot to Fisheye. Henry could be made to steal and run simple cons. With his sweet face and high voice, he could bring in money by begging, especially if he was taught to cry. I couldn’t let Fisheye find my little brother, no matter what.
Henry dressed and went to sit on a low stool in the kitchen, where Mrs. Miggle gave him bread dipped in bacon grease and a cup of milk. She must’ve been feeling more kindly toward me than she let on, because I got some bread too.
“It’s just the crust,” she said, not willing to admit she had a soft heart somewhere inside.
Henry didn’t want me to leave. “Will you walk me to school, Eel?”
“Not today,” I told him as Mrs. Miggle gave me a cup of water (her generosity did not extend as far as milk). I couldn’t take the chance of our being spotted together.
“My time’s up anyway. I’ve got to go now, Henry.” I finished gulping down the cool water and patted the top of his head.
“Wait!” Jumping up, he scrambled back into his little cupboard of a room and came back with a slip of paper, folded once and crumpled.
He grinned, which made his dark eyes sparkle like coal in sunlight. “Go on, Eel. Open it.”
I read it out loud while my little brother sat and giggled beside me.
I gave him a hug. I was glad to see that his bones weren’t sticking out the way they had last winter. Mrs. Miggle might seem rough, but she wouldn’t let him starve. “You keep at your writing, Henry. Mum would be proud.”
I left soon after, tucking the note into my pocket and patting it as I walked away. It was like a promise for comfort later, I thought, almost like having a small meat pie wrapped in paper waiting at the end of a long day.
I’d forgotten about my birthday. It was about to be the worst one anyone could imagine.