“Got any bread, miss? Got some cheese?”
“Do you know Jim Jarvis?” Lizzie asked him. “Did a boy come here with his mother, and she was sick and weak and he probably had to help her to walk – did you see them?”
The boy looked puzzled. “A boy and his ma?”
“Did you see them? She’s Mrs Jarvis. Annie.” Lizzie looked over her shoulder anxiously. Rosie had nearly reached her. “He’s called Jim. He’s my brother.”
“Jim Jarvis?” the boy repeated. “Jim Jarvis and his ma?” As if it was part of a nursery rhyme that he was trying to remember.
As soon as Rosie reached them she fumbled in her bag and brought out a hunk of cold pastry that she had saved from last night’s supper. It was meant to keep them going on their long walk to Sunbury. She held it out towards the boy and as she did so, she shook her head very slightly, and narrowed her eyes, and made her mouth into the silent shape of “no”.
“No,” said the boy quickly. “No Jim Jarvis here.” He snatched the crust and ran to join the other children who were being hustled towards the gates by the ancient workhouse porter.
“Stand ’ere and wait till the coach comes,” the old man was saying to them. “And thank the Lord you’re going to a better life. Is that Tip?” he shouted to the boy. “What you eating? Been beggin’, ’ave yer?” He grabbed the boy and dragged him away. “You ’eard what Mr Sissons said! Wait nice and quiet till Mrs Cleggins comes. No begging, no annoying, be’ave like a gentleman! Lost yer chance now, you fool.” And he dragged Tip back inside the workhouse building. The other children clustered together, giggling nervously. A tall, handsome boy grinned and raised his hand as if he was saluting as a smart carriage drew up to the gates. The waiting children cheered and surged forward.
“There you are,” said Rosie. “They’re not there, and nor will you be. It’s no place to live or die, I can tell you that.”
“No, it’s not,” Lizzie agreed. She looked at the grim, soot-blackened building and shuddered, and then turned her back on it. “I don’t want to go there. Not if Jim and Ma aren’t there. Not ever.”
“Lizzie!” a familiar voice shouted. “I’m here! I’m here!”
But it wasn’t Jim’s voice, or Ma’s. It was Emily, running up the lane from the river. “Don’t go without me!”
“Oh lor!” sighed Rosie. “Two of them now!”
“I told you I wouldn’t let you go,” Emily gasped, panting up to them. “I ran and ran, and I didn’t know where to look for you, and then I thought, the workhouse, that’s where they’ll be, and I was right.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve quit that good job,” Rosie said. “Now what?”
“I don’t care what happens now,” Emily said. “As long as I’m with Lizzie.”
“Are these girls for me?” a sharp voice called. Rosie looked round to see that a hefty, ruddy-faced woman was leaning out of the carriage window. “Homeless girls?”
“I suppose they are,” Rosie sighed. “Why do you want to know?”
“Because I’m looking for a pair of strong, healthy girls just like these two.” The woman had a strange, flat accent that was a bit difficult to understand. Lizzie watched her, fascinated, and the woman caught her eye. Her mouth twitched into a grim sort of smile that showed her brown teeth. “Got their papers? Indentures?”
A wagon drew up behind the carriage. “Get in, children,” the woman shouted to the waiting huddle, and with great excitement the children from the workhouse all climbed in.
“And you two.” The woman nodded to Emily and Lizzie. “You can send their papers on. I’m in a hurry.”
“Wait a minute,” Rosie said. “Who are you? Where are you taking these children?”
“I’m Mrs Cleggins,” the teeth clacked. “Of Bleakdale Mill. I’m here to collect homeless children, good homeless children, from workhouses and streets. I look after them, poor little mites. I give them a future! I have plenty of work for them.”
“What kind of work?” Rosie asked suspiciously. But her heart was beginning to lift.
“They’ll be apprentices. Out of kindness of his heart, Mr Blackthorn gives apprenticeships to poor and needy children They’re all going to learn to be textile workers. He gives them a new life! You’re very lucky, I’ve got room for these two today. I think in the circumstances and out of charity Mr Blackthorn will overlook the lack of proper documents. I were promised ten lads and ten lasses from this workhouse, but looks like there’s only eight lasses here.” She clacked her teeth together impatiently, then added as an afterthought, “Probably too sick or died, poor creatures. A life in country might have saved them. Don’t tell me you don’t want these lasses to come!”
“I don’t know,” Rosie said doubtfully. “I promised their mother I’d look after them.”
“Well, they’d have a lovely life with me. Fresh country air, good country food, and a job for life. Make your mind up, I can’t dally all day.”
“They’d get a wage, would they?”
“Naturally. And clean clothes. Oh, put them inside wagon. They’re hardly dressed for this rain. I cannot bear to see them shivering like that.”
“I don’t know what to say.” Rosie turned away. “What do you think, girls?”
Emily sensed the despair in Rosie’s voice. “Maybe we could go there just for a bit, Lizzie, till Rosie finds somewhere for us all to live.”
“Would it be like when we used to live in the cottage, before Pa died?” Lizzie asked. “Would we have a cow and a pig?”
“I think your lasses want to come,” Mrs Cleggins said.
“Do you really?” Rosie asked them. Her heart was fluttering. I’ve no job, I’ve no home, I’ve nothing to give them, she thought. What right do I have to deny them a promising future like this?
“It’s not fair to expect Rosie to look after us both,” Emily whispered to Lizzie. She squeezed her sister’s hand. “We’ll try it,” she said.
Rosie made a choking sound like a strangled cough in her throat. She fumbled inside the bundle she was carrying and thrust something towards Lizzie. “Here, I made this rag doll for my sister’s child. Have it, to remember me. God bless you both.”
She hugged them quickly and then hurried away so she didn’t have to watch them clambering into the wagon. She heard the doors being slammed shut behind them, heard the driver yelling coarsely to the horses to “Gerra move on, will yer!” and the snort and rumble as the carriage and wagon moved away. She turned then, one hand lifted in a wave of farewell, the other clasped to her mouth.
“There you are, Annie. I’ve done my best for your girls. Just like I promised.”
It was dark in the wagon now the doors were closed, with just a piercing of daylight where ropes had been slashed into the canvas to make a roof. The floor was covered with straw, which the workhouse children were flinging about excitedly.
“We’ll have our own horses to ride!” A girl about Lizzie’s age draped a mane of straw across her bubbly curls. “Neigh! Neigh!”
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