‘LOOK, SEE? SEE the pictures in the clouds? It’s a cat and horse dancing a jig! Tha sees it, don’t thee?’ asked Pip hopefully.
The small boy followed her finger towards the darkening sky and squinted at the scudding mist. He sucked noisily on the thumb planted firmly in his mouth. Moments later, he turned his huge blue eyes, shiny with miserable tears, towards her. He shook his head. ‘Hungry, Pip. Terrible hungry.’
His pitiful cries tore at her. Careful not to put her feet into the stagnant pools of human filth which filled the stinking floor of the communal privy they were crouched in, she eased her stiff legs out from under herself and wriggled her cold toes to coax some life back into them. Then she wrapped her arms around the tiny boy by her side and drew her shawl more tightly around them both. He snuggled into her thin chest and within seconds, the bodice of her ragged dress was soaked with his tears.
‘Hungry. Hungry!’
Pip shushed him softly. ‘Quiet, lad, else owd Betty will hear and we’ll be for it then. Didn’t she warn only last night what she’d do if she found us sheltering in here again?’
‘Ram her clog up our arses and kick us into next Sunday, Pip.’
A wry smile touched her lips. ‘So you see, you must be quiet, like. Try to sleep and in t’ morning, we’ll go and hang around Mr Hoggart’s bakers, see if we can’t persuade someone to take pity on us and buy us a stale bun. What d’you say to that? But it’s late, now, so you must sleep. That’s it, you keep close to me for warmth, there’s a good lad.’
Half a minute later, the boy’s voice cut through the gloom again: ‘Can’t sleep. Too hungry to sleep. Guts like that, Pip.’ He clenched and unclenched his small fists in imitation of his cramping stomach. ‘It hurts. It hurts.’
Before Pip could soothe him, a second lad sitting apart from them nearest to the broken door cut through the youngster’s whimpers. ‘Go to kip, Bread, for Christ’s sake. There’s nowt to be done till morning so just you shut up.’
Pip cast him a frown. ‘Don’t be harsh with him, Simon. He’s only a babby. He feels it more than us. And will tha stop calling him Bread? I told thee from the start, I’ll not address him by that. It’s an altogether stupid thing to call a body. His new name’s Mack. Call him Mack.’
The dark-haired boy turned his scowling face away and flicked his shoulders in a shrug. ‘Aye, well. Bread, Mack, call him what you will. I ain’t mithered. Just keep him bloody quiet, will thee? He’s getting on my nerves.’
Silence fell and the three children settled down for another long, cold night stretching ahead.
The Sunday late hours were empty of sound and for this, they were grateful. Weekends were the devil’s own holidays; the drunken, raucous goings-on of the slum dwellers once their wages were in their eager palms was a battle the children endured with quiet grimness week in, week out. Weekdays were not so bad. Folk had to be up early for work the following day and generally the narrow, cobbled streets and lanes were free of drama.
Soon, Mack’s breathing steadied into a regular rhythm and Pip released a soft sigh of relief. This life was hardship enough at her and Simon’s ages – though just how old the lads were, she couldn’t rightly say, had never asked – but for the small one beside her, it was torture. Only this morning, she’d had to bite back tears when she’d attempted to check Mack’s feet. He’d been having trouble with them for weeks and when he’d stumbled, wailing in pain and unable to take another step, she’d knelt before him to investigate. The rotten remnants of his old boots, she’d soon discovered, had seemed to become one with him. She’d tugged at the crumbling leather but his screams had halted her attempt and, heartsore for this poor child she’d come to love as a younger brother, she’d had no choice but to leave them be. The boot looked to have fused to his bare flesh and, short of tearing the skin from the bone, there was little she could do. He’d have to try and ignore the pain, and she’d told him so.
No, a life on the streets wasn’t one they endured easily. Yet what was the alternative? The workhouse? Her lips tightened in determination. Never, never. She’d sooner finish her days all bone and frozen to the marrow in the gutter than pass through those doors. They all would. That place with all it stood for was the scourge of the poor’s nightmares. Man or woman, old and young, fit or weak – each knew how easily their fortune could change and the prospect of the poorhouse could be upon them in the blink of an eye. They would take these grey, filth-ridden cobbles any day, thank you very much.
‘Is he asleep?’
Pip looked over the top of Mack’s fair hair towards Simon. His face was in shadow, hiding the worry she knew would be in his eyes – was always there for this boy they both fretted over, however much Simon tried to hide it. She nodded. ‘Aye. Best get some shut-eye ourselfs. We want to be up and out of it afore sunrise, else we’ll be for it. Betty will have a blue fit if she happens upon us when she comes to empty her chamber pot in t’ morning.’
‘Owd bitch, she’s nowt else.’
‘Aye, well.’
‘I’d like to tip a pot of piss over her ugly bull head as she did to me. See how she’d like that, rotten cow.’
Carefully, so as not to disturb Mack, Pip felt the air in the darkness until her fingers brushed the coarse material of Simon’s jacket. She pressed his shoulder. ‘Get some sleep, lad.’
Simon brought his knees up closer to his chest and pulled his too-large cap low over his eyes. His teeth began chattering; cursing quietly, he folded his arms around himself tightly.
‘Shuffle up here against me and Mack. You’ll be warmer that way.’
After a moment’s silence, he answered her gruffly. ‘Nay. I’m all right.’
Pip smiled to herself. Within minutes, the older lad’s even breathing matched Mack’s and just as she knew he would, as he did each night, Simon snuggled closer in his sleep. His head found her shoulder over Mack and she brought her shawl around him, encompassing the three of them beneath the woollen folds.
A chink of grey moon winked down from the inky sky through the holes in the roof, as though watching over them like a caring mother. Suddenly, soft brown eyes and hair to match, framing a pale face, flitted like fog through Pip’s mind, bringing to her chest a drum of pain. With a small sigh, she closed her eyes.
The morning of Christmas Eve had not yet touched the wintry sky with light when the three children slipped through the tumbledown door and into the bitter coldness of Lomax Street. Sounds of movement, as folk began to rouse for the day in Betty’s lodging house adjoining their shelter, had trickled through to them moments before and, rubbing the sleep from their eyes, they had wasted no time in scrambling up to melt away undetected.
In less than an hour, the streets were teeming with people and carts and despite the poverty which was their lot, the people of Manchester seemed to have a slight spring in their clogged step this day. Early festivity hung in the sharp air and passing folk greeted each other with more nods and smiles than usual, their normally pallid faces ruddy with cold, their breath hovering in white clouds around their shawl- and cap-covered heads.
Sprigs of dark green holly dotted with ruby berries adorned shop doors and windows, and even the harnesses of horses passing by, and a thin sprinkling of powdered frost had settled on the stones of the roads. The temperature looked set to plummet further later and the droves of women who would venture out to Smithfield Market tonight to grab knocked-down vegetables and, if they were lucky, a small chicken or goose for the following day’s fare, would be blue with cold by the time they returned, shivering, to their hearths.
But at least they had a fire to go home to. At least they had a family, a place to lay their head of a night, a sense of belonging. For Pip, Simon, Mack and countless others, Christmas was the same as any other day – stark and empty. Though it did differ ever so slightly from every other day of the year in one sense: it served to heighten their awareness that they were not like the fortunate plenty who, though they suffered terrible hardships themselves in this chimney-choked, smoke-clogged, sad-coloured industrial city, at least had each other. To be alone in the world was the most destroying reality of all.
Mind, I’m not alone, am I? Pip reminded herself, glancing left to right at the two boys walking either side of her. A smile touched her lips. Not now. Not with these lads of mine. Life wasn’t worth the bother not a few short months past but now – now it is. Now, I face the days easier. And the nights, too … Aye, the nights. They were the worst.
The horrors involved with destitution were only too real. The bleak outdoors, during both the sunlit and twilight hours, were no place for the vulnerable, particularly children. Threats and abuse were commonplace. Dogs, traffic, not to mention harm posed by the elements, to name but a few of the dangers. Then there were the older kids, and sometimes adults with tendencies to turn vicious with drink, who thought nothing of lashing out at them with words, also clogs and fists, for no other reason than that they existed – even as they huddled in doorways, sleeping. Or they would wake – indeed had more than once – to find they had been spat or urinated on. Such mindless cruelty made no sense to them.
‘Bun, Pip? You promised. Bun?’
She took Mack’s hand, then motioned to the small baker’s up ahead. ‘Aye, look. We’re nearly there, lad. And see, there’s a few kindly looking wenches by the door. You remember what to do?’ she added through the side of her mouth as they drew nearer.
Mack nodded and, from necessity and practice, instantly developed a perfect rolling limp. Sticking out his bottom lip, he set it quivering expertly.
‘Good lad. Come on.’
Simon, with his usual scowl and hands thrust deep in his trouser pockets, held back. Catching his eye, Pip flushed, sensing his disapproval. Using Mack to garner sympathy didn’t sit easy with him and she shared his sentiments completely, but there was nothing else for it. The youngster reaped better results – his size and obvious need was enough to melt most hearts.
‘Spare a penny, missis?’ Holding out a hand palm upwards, Mack thrust it towards the women in turn, whimpering to each as he did, eyes brimming with tears, ‘Please? Please? Please?’
Pip caught their sorry stares and pitying sighs but it was clear they wouldn’t be in luck. These women looked almost as much in need as they themselves. Their ragged shawls and patched, discoloured skirts looked as though they would crumble to dust from their persons should a strong wind blow their way. Nonetheless, she stepped forward – it didn’t hurt to make sure.
‘Please, me and my brother, here, ain’t eaten for days. We’re poor orphans and shall perish if we don’t put summat in our bellies soon.’
‘Eeh, lass …’ The tallest of the women looked over them with a shake of her beshawled head. ‘I’ve a houseful of my own back there in the same boat.’ She jerked her chin in the general direction of a row of smoke-blackened houses up the street. ‘They’re wanting, an’ all, and if I can’t feed my own, I sure as bleedin’ hell can’t feed youse.’ Her companions murmured agreement and her eyes softened. ‘Sorry, lass, lad.’
With a bleak smile and a nod, Pip shepherded Mack around and away.
The three children huddled by the roadside for a while in silence, looking this way and that, eyeing all who passed, alert to any opportunity. Should a slightly better dressed body cross their path, Pip and Mack would hold out a hand, the practised beseeching slipping from their cold lips, but today it didn’t seem to be doing the trick. Tears dripped down Mack’s grubby cheeks when again their begging, this time of a pair of working men, yielded no result, and biting back tears of her own, Pip drew him against her.
‘Don’t fret, now, there’s a good lad. Someone will surely—’ She broke off with a frown as she glanced left at the older boy. Simon was staring intently at a boot mender’s across the road, and following his gaze, Pip shook her head. His attention was on an elderly man counting coins in his hand. When he returned them to his trouser pocket, Simon’s eyes swivelled to meet hers, and again Pip shook her head. Since she’d joined the lads’ company, she’d put a stop to that right away. She’d been raised to know stealing was wrong. Begging was one thing – at least they were asking and folk had the chance to decide whether to part with their brass. To take it from them without their knowledge was just plain wicked. Hungry or not, she wanted no part in that kind of thing.
Simon made to move forward and she clutched at his sleeve. ‘Nay, lad. Please, not that. Summat will turn up, you’ll see. Not that. It’s wrong, Simon.’
He turned blazing eyes on to her. ‘Aye? You think, d’you? Does it favour that folk are tripping over theirselfs to hand over a copper or two? Wrong – huh! Don’t talk to me about wrong. This here?’ He motioned to the three of them with an angry flick of his hand. ‘This is wrong. Frozen stiff? Stomachs twisting with hunger? Bowing and scraping to every passing bastard without so much as a glance in return from most, never mind owt else. Nay. I’ll get us some brass, my way. It’s seen me through this far, ain’t it, and kept that one alive the past year, an’ all,’ he added, nodding down at Mack.
‘But … that’s not what good people do! And you’re a good person, Simon. You are, I know it.’
For the briefest moment, his dark eyes softened. Then the hardness returned to them and his lips tightened. ‘Good people stand no chance against a world so bad. The sooner tha realises that, Pip, the better for thee.’ He freed his arm from her hold and crossed the cobbles.
‘Spare a penny, kind sir?’
Watching helplessly, filled with sadness as Simon closed in on his victim, Pip barely registered Mack speaking. The deep-voiced answer, however, caught her attention immediately. She turned, hope fluttering in her breast, to face a tall, slim gentleman. And a gentleman he clearly was. The cut of his cloth, tall black hat and shiny gold-tipped cane spoke volumes of his wealth. Yet it was the interest in the pale green eyes as they assessed the youngster that set her pulse racing with excitement. He hadn’t ignored Mack’s plea, hadn’t flapped a clean and manicured hand in dismissal before strolling on his leisurely way. He’d stopped to listen, and he was smiling.
‘A penny, you say?’ the man asked in a soft, articulate voice. He reached out a hand and touched Mack’s chin in a slow caress, and his gaze deepened further. ‘I think I can do better than that, boy.’
Mack’s eyes were as big as saucers. His mouth spread in a dazzling smile. ‘You mean it, sir?’
‘I do. However …’ The man patted his breast pocket with a click of his tongue. ‘I appear to have left my purse in my carriage. It must have fallen out during the drive and will be lying on the seat as we speak, you mark my words.’
‘Oh!’ The child’s face fell. ‘Oh, sir!’
‘Don’t take on so, young one. This small problem is easily rectified. What say you come along with me while I collect it? My driver is waiting but a street away, after all.’ He held out a hand, smiling when Mack responded eagerly, and closed his slender fingers around the tiny ones. ‘Come. You deserve a few shillings, I think.’
The boy squeaked excitedly. ‘Aye?’
‘Oh, at least.’
Shooting Pip a joyous grin, Mack trotted off happily. With a smile of her own, she followed but after a few short steps, the man turned to look at her. His face showed surprise, as though he’d only just noticed her existence.
‘Yes?’
‘I …’ She blinked down towards Mack. ‘He’s with me, sir.’
‘Oh. I see.’ He cast her a tight smile. ‘No need for you to trouble yourself, girl. The boy and I shall collect the money ourselves. We shan’t be long.’
She hadn’t time to respond; before she could utter another word, he guided Mack through a dark and narrow alleyway up ahead. Pausing by the mouth of the opening, she watched the figures walk away. Of their own accord, her teeth moved to chew at her lower lip. Slowly, her excitement was beginning to wane and for reasons she couldn’t fathom, a feeling of foreboding trickled through her. But she was being daft, wasn’t she? He was a gentleman and he’d spoken kindly. He was going to give them a few shillings – aye, at least, he’d said – and they would be all right, then, wouldn’t they? They could buy some grub and a hot drink, and Mack would stop crying for a while. And they would even have the pennies for a kip in a lodging house tonight instead of the cold flagstones they usually called their bed. Then why did she have this queer rolling in her stomach, as if something was amiss?
‘Mack.’ The whisper fell from her lips and her chest constricted. Mack!
‘What about him?’
Pip whipped around to find Simon behind her. A relieved breath escaped her. ‘Simon. I don’t know … Something doesn’t feel – feel right, and …’
‘What d’you mean?’ He flicked his gaze down and around. ‘Where is he? Where’s Bread?’
She pointed to where the two shapes had almost disappeared in the distance. ‘There were a gentleman. And – and he promised to give Mack some brass, told me to wait here—’ She gasped as, with a growled curse, Simon charged past her and set off at full speed down the entry. ‘Simon, wait! What—?’
‘’Ere, you get away from him, you filthy bastard, yer!’
Hot on Simon’s heels, Pip gasped again as he threw himself at the flabbergasted gentleman, sending his tall hat bouncing to the muck-strewn ground. ‘Let go of his hand, Bread. D’you hear me? Do as I say – let go of it, now!’
‘What is the meaning of this?’ Blustering with fury, the man held on tighter to Mack. ‘You young street monkey, I’ll dash your brains out!’ With his free hand, he raised his cane and brought it down across Simon’s back. ‘You dare to behave like that to one of your betters? I’ll knock you back into your place, my boy. I will, all right!’
The change in the man’s demeanour had Pip rooted to the spot in shock. Venom now screamed from the once kind eyes and spittle had formed at the corners of his twisted mouth.
The blow had stolen the wind from Simon’s lungs; coughing and groaning on his hands and knees, he raised his head. ‘You get on out of it or so help me, I’ll do for you,’ he brought out breathlessly. ‘I know your game, all right. I’ve come across enough of your sort in my time.’
The man, though still stiff-lipped with anger, blanched at Simon’s words and Pip was filled with confusion. Just what had Simon meant by that? She herself had sensed something was afoot, it was true, but hadn’t been able to put her finger on why. Simon, however, seemed to know exactly what was going on and she could tell he was correct in his guess; the man’s face confirmed it. When the lad staggered to his feet, she turned to him with a frown. ‘Simon?’
Ignoring her, he addressed the man again. ‘Let him go.’
‘Nay, Simon.’ Mack stuck out his chin in a pout. ‘I want to go with the gentleman. He’s going to give me brass and I’m hungry. I want to, I want to!’
The older boy’s eyes never strayed from the man’s. ‘Let him go,’ he repeated through gritted teeth.
After a long hesitation, throughout which the man glared down on Simon with such fury in his eyes it seemed he would pounce and murder him on the spot at any moment, he released the youngster’s hand. Mack made to grasp it again but he thrust him away towards Simon and Pip. He stooped and lifted his hat. Then he pointed a long, pale finger at Simon. ‘I never forget a face,’ he murmured. ‘You’ll do well to remember that.’ He struck the ground with the tip of his cane, turned on his heel and strode off.
When he’d disappeared, Simon visibly sagged. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply.
‘I hate you, I hate you!’ Mack beat at Simon’s chest with his small fists. ‘You sent the kind gentleman away and now we’re still hungry and it’s all your fault!’
Simon caught the child’s shoulders and shook him none too gently. ‘Enough, d’you hear? We don’t need brass off divils like that.’
‘Divils like what? What d’you think he intended, lad?’
Simon flashed Pip a withering look. ‘I don’t think, I know. Christ sake,’ he added quietly when she frowned, still in confusion, ‘do I really have to spell it out? Some folk have an appetite for young flesh. Like to do things … touch where they shouldn’t. He were one of them.’
‘You mean …?’ Colour rising, she shook her head slowly.
‘Aye. By hook or by crook, they’ll do owt for a taste of it. They … hurt people, and think nowt of it so long as they get what they’re after.’
She studied his face for a moment. His eyes were empty of emotion, his mouth set as though in stone, and sadness filled her. She opened hers to ask if he spoke of this from experience but, as though sensing her intention, Simon swung about and made for the street again. She and Mack followed in silence.
As though matters were not bad enough, moments later the leaden clouds decided to release a steady drizzle of rain. Stamping their feet to coax some warmth into them, they looked about. Already it was late afternoon and the sky was losing its light. Not that much sun ever did manage to penetrate the thick blanket of noxious smoke from thousands of industrial and domestic chimneys. This, coupled with the winter months, seemed to encase the residents in perpetual gloom.
Designed to tempt Christmas customers, the surrounding shop windows were a feast to the eyes if, for the three of them at least, nothing else. Pip tried not to look but it was impossible. Saliva filled her mouth and her stomach growled in response. Plump birds for those with extra brass to spare, and cheap offcuts of meat and sheep heads for those who didn’t, winked back from behind the thin panes. Big and small loaves, wheels of cheeses, brown and white eggs and colourful vegetables, fruit and figs and nuts and sweet pastries … She wrenched her gaze away with a low moan.
‘I feel queer, Simon.’ Mack gripped the older lad’s arm to stop himself from stumbling. His face had turned a worrying shade of grey and his eyes were glassy. ‘Need to … sit down.’
Without a word, the older lad supported him across the cobbles and eased him down to the ground to lean against the cold bricks of a towering warehouse. Mack closed his eyes and Simon glanced around with narrowed ones.
‘It’s the hunger, that’s all, Mack,’ Pip told him soothingly, stroking the top of his head. ‘The dizziness will pass.’
‘Aye, and it’ll be back soon enough.’ Simon’s gaze now held an expression of desperation. Again, he scanned the street from end to end in search of opportunity. ‘We can’t go another day without grub. We need brass.’
‘Did you …?’ She had to force the words out through her disapproval. However, Mack was in a hopeless state; she must ask. ‘The owd fella whose pocket you set your sights on …?’
Simon shook his head. ‘I couldn’t get close enough. I think he guessed what I were about.’
Pip gave a sigh of relief, yet it was tinged with despair. Just what were they to do? Not a morsel had passed their lips since yesterday morning – and then but a hunk of dry bread apiece from a driver as payment for watching his horse while he ran an errand. As soon as he disappeared, they had cupped their hands into a rusty pail in the corner of his cart and drunk as much of the cloudy water meant for his beast as they could stomach. It had placated their cramping guts for a short while and the bread kept the gnawing at bay for a time longer, but all too soon familiar hunger had crept back, as it always did. Now, they were nearing breaking point. She herself felt weak; her head hurt and her mouth was parchment dry. Although he didn’t show it, Simon must feel the same. He was bigger than her and Mack, and so too was his appetite.
The gentleman from earlier flashed into her mind and she sighed sadly, recalling the happiness his promise had brought. Yet her hopes of hot food and a warm bed had soon been dashed. Did some people really do … those sort of things … with children? Not that she disbelieved Simon, but still, it was difficult to think on it.
Her eyes swivelled round to the tiny boy huddled on the flagstones and anger sparked in her breast. Simon had said the man would have hurt him. How could anyone think of taking advantage of a child’s desperation to satisfy their own depraved needs? And a gentleman at that. You couldn’t trust anyone, could you?
Not no one, not really. And especially not mams. For mams left you, just as hers had left her. She’d gone and died, leaving Pip all alone. And she missed her, in ways she couldn’t even describe. And these lads; their mams had left them, too. Did they miss them? Pip wondered. They must, surely. Mind, they never mentioned them. As always, Simon kept his feelings to himself, and Mack was likely too young to remember his mam much. Pip didn’t speak of hers, either. What was the point? It hurt and she was gone, for ever. Best not to dwell on things that couldn’t be changed.
‘I reckon our best bet is the market, later,’ Simon was saying now. ‘Whether Bread will be up to the walk, mind … Well, he’ll have to be, won’t he? He’ll not get his belly filled else.’
Pip brightened slightly. Smithfield Market would surely tip up a few of its spoils. Thousands flocked there each week, and Christmas was busier still. Surely someone would take pity on them there? Thoughts of the hot chestnuts, pigs’ trotters and pie sellers had her mouth filling with saliva once more. Or perhaps busy traders might require a helping hand with something? They could earn a penny or two that way. And if all else failed …
She bit her lip guiltily. The heaving, bustling space would be crammed with carts and stalls piled high with every manner of foodstuff you could imagine – if Simon managed to swipe something, then just this once, she’d turn a blind eye. Aye, for Mack, for he needed something in his stomach soon, it was clear to see. He’d only grow sicker otherwise; surely the good Lord would understand?
‘If nowt else, there’ll be plenty of skenning sods falling from the taverns the night,’ Simon continued, as though reading her thoughts. ‘Whether you approve or no, their pockets will be lighter by the time they reach home, an’ all. Needs must, and you don’t get much needier than that,’ he muttered, jerking his head towards Mack, who was still propped against the wall and had fallen into a fitful sleep.
Pip was silent for a moment, then, ‘Happen we can find ourselfs somewhere warm and dry to kip around there? A stable, mebbe?’ she said. A slow smile spread across Simon’s face and she grinned.
‘Aye, well. It was good enough for the Holy Family, eh? Mind, I reckon Bread’s a bit big to pass as Jesus.’
Pip giggled. ‘Mack, Simon, not Bread. Remember? And anyroad, that would make us Mary and Joseph – and we’re not big enough!’
‘’Ere, happen three wise men will visit us in the night bearing gifts.’
‘Eeh, I hope they fetch grub,’ she breathed dreamily.
‘Aye, a couple of cakes or a nice chop.’
The children cast each other a soft smile and lapsed into silence once more.
A plump girl of seventeen or eighteen emerged from a confectioner’s up the street, a laden wicker basket over each arm and a small pile of brown-paper packages in her hands, and they watched her idly. When she drew level, she caught them staring and her eyes turned thoughtful. She bobbed her head in a nod.
‘You, boy.’
Simon touched his chest. ‘Me, miss?’
‘Aye, you. Come here.’
Pip watched his thin legs skitter across the road. Folding her arms, she frowned. What they spoke about, she didn’t know – Simon nodded several times and turned to point to her and Mack, but he and the woman were too far away for Pip to hear what they were saying. When finally he turned, his eyes were alive with excitement. He ran back to Pip and in a breathless rush, said, ‘That one wants me to carry her purchases home. She’s a maid in a house up Ardwick Green, said as how there would be a few coppers in it for me.’ He motioned to Mack, who had roused and was yawning and rubbing his eyes. ‘Help him along, will thee, whilst I see to her things. Come on afore she changes her mind.’
Pip’s heart gave a flutter of happy relief. ‘Eeh, that’s a bit of good fortune, eh? Is it one of the big residences, aye?’
Already turning back to the road’s edge, he shrugged. ‘Must be if it’s up that end. Just think, happen she’ll take us into the kitchen. I’ll lay it on to the cook, like; if she’s owt about her, she’ll surely find us a plate of summat. Come on!’
Pip highly doubted this but nonetheless nodded. The promised brass would be welcome enough. Aye, more than welcome; she could almost taste the grub that they would be able to buy. Mack leaned on her heavily and she supported him with an arm around his shoulders.
Luckily, their destination wasn’t such a distance off. It lay just across the River Medlock, which formed a boundary between it and Manchester proper. It was where the most powerful and important men in the city lived, the rich factory owners and cotton merchants, she knew that much, but she’d never ventured across before; had no reason to. Besides, folk of her ilk were not welcome in vicinities in which the genteel made their homes. Should a police officer spot them loitering around streets such as those, they would be accused of being up to no good and hauled away quick smart. They had a good excuse today, though. The maid, here, would back them up should the need arise.
The female in question surveyed them with undisguised distaste as they approached, and Pip felt herself flush with shame. They must look a dreadful sight. Their clothes and bodies were filthy, their hair lank and matted, and all of them were far from bug free. And it was evident that wasn’t all they had going against them when the maid held a hand to her nose with a shudder of revulsion.
‘Mother of God, you lot stink summat awful!’
‘’Ere, miss, I’ll take them,’ Simon said, his tone flat.
He held out his arms and the woman relieved herself of the baskets with a thankful grunt. She then plonked the packages into his hands, turned and with a flick of her head, barked, ‘Well, come on, then, and hurry up about it. This way.’