Street Child. Berlie Doherty

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СКАЧАТЬ Jim whispered.

      “Was it a lovely meat pie, all hot and full of gravy?”

      “I don’t know.” Jim’s throat was as tight as if he still had a piece of pastry stuck there, refusing to be swallowed. He looked at Emily, who had her lips set in a firm line, and at Lizzie, who was sitting now with her head bent so her hair dangled across her face, hiding it. He looked at his mother, white and quiet.

      “I bought it,” he burst out. “It was Ma’s last shilling, but I bought the pie.”

      He heard Emily give out a little sigh beside him.

      Mr Spink nodded.

      “No money.” He nodded again, and for a moment Jim thought he’d done the right thing to tell him that the pie had cost him Ma’s last shilling. Mr Spink put out his sweaty hand and took the purse from Jim. He pushed his fingers into it as though it was a glove puppet, and then he dropped it on the floor and jabbed at it with his stick. He took out his silk handkerchief and flapped it open, wiped his hair and his face with it and then had a good blow.

      “Oh dear,” he said. He blew his nose long and hard. Jim stole a glance at Emily, but she wouldn’t look at him. “No money, no rent.” Mr Spink blew his nose again. “No rent, no room, Mrs Jarvis.”

      “We’ve nowhere else to go,” said Jim’s mother, so quietly that Mr Spink had to stop blowing his nose and bend towards her to listen.

      “Ma,” said Jim. “Couldn’t we go back to the cottage? I liked it better there.”

      Mr Spink gave a shout of laughter, and for a moment again Jim thought he’d said the right thing.

      “Your cottage! When you came crawling to me twelve months ago you was glad of this place, make no mistake about it. But if you like a cottage better, find yourself a father, and let him pay for one. Can you do that?”

      Jim shook his head. He swallowed hard. His throat filled up again.

      “We’re quite happy here,” Jim’s mother said. “Give us a little longer, and we’ll pay our rent. The girls can help me.”

      Mr Spink flapped his handkerchief again and stuffed it in his pocket.

      “I’ve made up my mind, Mrs Jarvis. I’ve a family wants to move in here tonight. There’s eight of them – don’t they deserve a home, now? And what’s more – they can pay me for it!”

      He swung his steaming cape back over his shoulders and strode out of the room, and they listened in silence to the sound of his cane, tap-tap-tapping on the floor outside the next room. Jim watched with a cold dread as his sisters moved slowly round the room, gathering up their belongings. They had no furniture, though they had seemed to have plenty when they piled it high on the cart the day they left their cottage. But it had all been sold, piece by piece, and what hadn’t been good enough to sell had been broken up and used as firewood.

      “Get your horse, Jim,” Emily said, indicating the wooden horse that Jim’s father had carved for him two Christmases ago. “And Lizzie’s boots. You might as well have them. They’re too small for Lizzie now.”

      He picked them up. The boots were too big for him to wear yet, but he folded his arms over them and stuck the wooden horse between them. The children stood by the doorway clutching their bundles, while Mrs Jarvis tied her bonnet and fastened her shawl round herself. She moved slowly and quietly, as if all her thoughts were wrapped up deep inside her and she was afraid of breaking them. At last she was ready. She looked round the bare room. The snow had stopped, and sunlight came watery through the window.

      “Ma …” said Emily.

      Mrs Jarvis looked down at her daughter. She was pale and strained. “I’m coming,” she said.

      “But where can we go?”

      “I’ll find us a home,” her mother said. “Don’t worry.”

       Chapter Three

       ROSIE AND JUDD

      Mrs Jarvis used up a lot of her remaining strength that morning. She led the children away from the slums where they had lived for the past year and down street after street until they came to a much quieter part of town, where the houses were big and stately. She leaned against some railings to rest. Emily sat down next to her, anxious for her mother.

      “Now you’ve got to be good,” Mrs Jarvis said to them. “I’m going to take you to the house where I used to work, only you must be good. Promise me now?”

      “Ma! Course we’ll be good,” Emily said.

      Mrs Jarvis nodded. “Yes. You’re always good,” she said. “That’s one thing I did right, anyway.”

      In the window behind them a finch sang in a tiny cage. It only had room to hop from the floor of its cage to a little perch, and down again, hop, hop, hop, up and down.

      “Listen to that bird,” said Jim.

      “They only sing when they’re on their own,” Emily told him. “He’s singing for a friend.”

      “Poor little thing,” said Lizzie. “Trapped in a cage.”

      “We’d better go on,” their mother said. “I’m going to take you to see the only friend I’ve got in the world. Rosie, she’s called. You’ve heard me talk about Rosie at the big house?”

      The children nodded. It was a long time since their mother had worked in his lordship’s kitchen, but she still had stories to tell them about it.

      “And if Rosie can’t help us,” she sighed, “nobody can.” Emily helped her up again and they moved slowly on, pausing as the carriages swept past them.

      When they reached the big house at last, Mrs Jarvis was exhausted and sat down on the steps to rest again. The children gazed up at the tall building.

      “Is this where we’re going to live?” asked Lizzie.

      “It’s too grand for us, Lizzie!” said Emily. Even though she was only ten, she knew that families like theirs didn’t end up in houses like these.

      Jim’s eyes were fixed on something he could see on the top steps, just by the front door. It was an iron boot-scraper, and it was in the shape of a dog’s head. The huge snapping mouth of the dog was wide open, so people could scrape the mud off their boots in its teeth. “I’d never put my foot in there,” he said. “Not even with Lizzie’s boots on, I wouldn’t. It’d come snarling down at me and bite my toes right off.”

      When their mother was rested she picked up her bundle again and led the children down some steps to the basement of the house. She sank against the door, all strength gone.

      “Be good,” she murmured to them. She lifted the knocker.

      They heard rapid footsteps coming. Mrs Jarvis quickly bent down СКАЧАТЬ