Far From Home: The sisters of Street Child. Berlie Doherty

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      Emily opened her eyes, startled awake. Surely she’d heard Lizzie’s voice? She felt across the hearthrug for her, then scrambled to her feet. Lizzie wasn’t there! She heard her voice again, footsteps outside, someone running, someone dragging her feet as if she was being pulled along. She groped for the door, helplessly pressing the latch, but it had been firmly locked.

      “Lizzie! Lizzie!” She banged on the door with her fists. “Wait for me!”

      A light flared behind her, and she turned to see a woman holding up a candle, her nightdress white as a spectre’s, her eyes deep and dark in her pale face, her cheeks high and gaunt with deep hollows. Her grey hair hung in long strands round her shoulders.

      Emily screamed, and the spectre stepped forward and put a bony hand on her arm. “Hush, girl! Do you want to bring the whole household down here?”

      It was Judd’s voice. Emily shuddered with relief.

      “Please let me out, Judd. Something’s happened to Lizzie. I think someone’s taken her away.”

      “Nothing’s happened to Lizzie,” Judd hissed. “She’s with Rosie Trilling.”

      “She can’t be! Not without me!”

      “Be quiet! If you must know, Rosie has given up her job. For your sake! You must stop this noise. Upstairs won’t take kindly to being woken up in the night by your ranting.”

      “I don’t understand! Rosie wouldn’t leave me here. I’m not staying without Lizzie. Let me out!” But Emily could see that Judd had no keys dangling from the waist of her nightgown. Where had she hidden them? She rattled the latch again, helplessly, uselessly.

      “Stop that! I think you know very well what I mean. Rosie has been dismissed, to put it plainly. Gone, gone, and taken the girl with her.”

      “But where’ve they gone?”

      “She’s taken Lizzie to try to get her a job in Sunbury with her own sister, and let me tell you that’s a long long walk from here, and then it’s back home for Rosie, back to an evil grandfather and a wretched life as a coster-girl.”

      Judd turned to go back to bed, lifting her candle to light her way to the other door, and Emily just caught the glint of something bright in her hand. She knew it was the door key. She ran in front of the housekeeper and tried to snap the key out of her hand. Judd shouted in anger and tried to force her away, and in the tussle she dropped the candle. There came the sound of hurried footsteps on the stairs, the glow of another candle, and a tall woman came into the kitchen. Her hair hung in a long plait over her shoulder, and with one hand she clutched to her throat the ends of a black velvet shawl flung over her nightdress. With the other she held the candle high.

      “What in the name of the Lord is going on here?”

      Her voice made the pans vibrate on the shelves, the glasses tremble in their locked cupboard, the cutlery jitter in the drawers. Emily recognised her as the older of the two women who had stepped out of the carriage that morning: the Crabapple, mistress of the house. Dithering behind her now were two old ladies, cackling and whooping with excitement, and the Lazy Cat. Her eyes were alight with scorn. “Gone!!” she sighed.

      The Crabapple turned to her. “Is this anything to do with you?”

      “Not me, no, ma’am. I know nothing about it. Something about two girls who were dragged in from the streets. Friends of that Rosie Trilling. I don’t know what they were doing here in your house, ma’am.”

      The Crabapple advanced towards Emily, thrusting the candle under her face. “Who are you?”

      “She’s Emily Jarvis. She’s the new cook,” Judd said, bending to scoop up her candle.

      “The new cook?”

      “I can cook,” the Lazy Cat muttered.

      Her Aunt Judd shot her a knowing glance and signalled to her to go back to her room. “Rosie Trilling has gone, like you told her to, ma’am.”

      “Please don’t blame Rosie,” Emily begged. “She was trying to help me.”

      “So we need a new cook,” Judd went on. “And this is her.”

      “The new cook?” the Crabapple said again. “This child?”

      “Please, miss, I want to go,” said Emily bravely.

      “You want to go?”

      “She wants to follow her sister,” Judd said with a snort, as if it was the most ridiculous idea in the world.

      “Then go!” said the Crabapple. “I don’t want street girls in my house. Go.”

      The two Dearies whooped gleefully. The Lazy Cat, lingering in the doorway, smiled to herself.

      “Unlock the door, and let her go,” the Crabapple said to Judd. “Out, girl. Out. I’ll have no charity children here.”

      Without a word, Judd stalked over to the back door and unlocked it. Emily bundled up the rug she had been sleeping on, snatched her boots, and scampered through the door, across the yard, and up the outside steps to the street.

      Below her, the servants’ door was slammed shut and locked.

      

      Dawn was beginning to break with a grey, steely light. The street was deserted, except for the lamplighter tramping towards the main road, stretching up his long pole to extinguish the street lamps. Emily ran to him, her bare feet slapping the cold stones.

      “Wait, oh wait! Please, mister, have you seen a woman and a girl coming this way?” she panted.

      Saying nothing, the lamplighter just pointed to where an early mist was coiling up in smoky wreaths from the direction of the river. Emily ran on to the Thames and along the bank, calling, “Lizzie! Lizzie! Lizzie!” She had to find her. Would they have gone this way, or that? “Lizzie! Rosie!” Her voice echoed off the old boat sheds. People were beginning to move, horses were being fastened to their carts, beggars uncurling from their sleeping-holes. Costermongers trudging out of their cottages, their trays loaded with breakfast shrimps to sell to the early-morning workers; street children crept like rats out of the shadowy arches of bridges to scavenge what they could. But there was no sign of Lizzie and Rosie.

      “Which way? Oh, which way?” Emily gazed round in despair.

      “’Ere. You’re lost, ain’tcha?”

      A boy was sitting in the gutters, with a string of shoelaces in his hand. He was dressed in the tattered clothes of a street child, barefoot and dirty, with tangled hair.

      “Don’t know yer way back home? Cos like, I know these streets inside out and upside down, I do, and I can take you anywhere you wants to go, and maybe your ma and pa would give me a penny or a farving for finding you, or maybe not, I don’t care.” He grinned up at her. “Why don’t you sit down for СКАЧАТЬ