Berlie Doherty - Far From Home - The sisters of Street Child

“Don’t daydream, Em’ly,” Rosie said. “There’s never time for that. Judd will be waiting for me to hand back her purse so she can count out her change. I have to account for every farthing spent, so don’t go mooning over bits of ribbon.”

“It wasn’t for me,” Emily said. “For Lizzie. Or Ma.” Her voice trembled. She ached when she thought about Ma, all her prettiness gone, thin as a helpless bird that had forgotten how to fly. Be safe, Ma!

As soon as they arrived back at the Big House and hung up their cloaks behind the door, Judd flounced downstairs with the Lazy Cat to inspect the meat. She nodded to show she was satisfied, then tipped out the contents of the purse and counted the coins. “You got a bargain,” she muttered. “You shop better than you cook, I’ll say that for you. Now, before you start the meal, I want logs chopping and more coal fetching to the upstairs fires. The chimney’s drawing fast today. We don’t need a kitchen girl, Rosie Trilling, we need a fine strong boy. I keep telling Mr Whittle that, but he doesn’t want to be told how to spend his money.”

Emily’s hopes fell. “I can chop wood,” she offered, but Judd just snorted. “You’re little more than a twig yourself. Rosie’s the strong one. She can chop, you can carry, and I want it done now. What happened to the other child?”

And it was at that very moment that Lizzie had dropped the breakfast tray down the stairs. The clatter of china splintering from step to step made all three of them jump like rabbits. Judd pulled open the kitchen door to find a heap of broken china, gobs of butter and cutlery on the bottom step and a heap of crying child on the top one. The Lazy Cat stood behind her, smirking with delight.

“Rosie Trilling, you will pay for the breakages out of your wages,” Judd said, very quietly. “And make no mistake about it, these Jarvis girls will have to go.”

She lifted her black skirt clear of the mess of broken breakfast remains and swept on up the stairs, followed by her grinning niece. They stepped over Lizzie without even looking at her.

“Come on down,” Emily called up to her sister. “I’ll sweep up the bits. Come on down, Lizzie.”

Lizzie crept down the stairs, hiccupping. She wouldn’t look at Rosie. She wouldn’t look at Emily, who was still flushed and bright from her visit to the butcher’s. She had let them both down. She had let Ma down. She ran past them both and opened the kitchen door into the fluster of the hen yard. The back gate was open ready for a delivery of milk. She ran up the steps and into the road and, blind with tears, straight across the path of the milk cart. The horse reared up in fright, and the woman driving the cart was nearly tipped sideways onto the muddy street.

“Stupid girl! Stupid child!” the woman shouted. “You nearly killed Lame Betsy! And my horse! You nearly lost me all my milk!”

Lizzie ran on till she came to a row of black railings and clung to it, exhausted and frightened. Behind her, she heard a bird singing in a cage. She remembered now pausing in that very place with Emily and Ma and Jim on their way to the Big House. Was that only yesterday? Ma had told them she was taking them to the only friend she had in the world, to ask for help. She had asked them to be good and they had promised her they would. And what had Lizzie done? She had broken china that Rosie would have to pay for, and she had nearly killed the milk woman.

She sank down and curled herself up with her arms round her knees, not knowing what on earth to do next. Maybe she should find her way to the workhouse, and ask to be taken in. Everybody said it was a terrible place, and that there was no hope left for anyone who went there. But what if Ma had been taken there with Jim? She might find them there, be able to stay with them. Surely that would make it bearable, if they were there. And if she wasn’t at the Big House being a nuisance, Judd might take pity on Emily and let her stay on and help Rosie, and everybody would be happy. How would she get there, and was there more than one? She had no idea. If she stayed here long enough, someone might scoop her up and take her to the workhouse anyway. Or if they didn’t, she could beg. She watched a filthy, ragged boy approach a woman, hold out his hand to her, then touch his mouth to show her he was starving. The woman walked past him as if she couldn’t see him.

I still haven’t had my breakfast yet , Lizzie thought. But I’m not starving, not like him. Not yet. What must it be like to be like him, to have nobody to look after you, no mother or father, nobody? Nowhere to live? And the streets are full of starving children, that’s what people say. Like vermin, they are. Rats.

She sank her head into her arms. She could hear the whinnying of passing horses, the clop and clap of their hooves. London was busy around her, everyone was going somewhere, but she had nowhere to go. Then she heard a woman’s voice, shouting, “Girl! Girl! You!” She looked up, and there was Lame Betsy the milk woman limping across the road, waving her arms to force the carriages to make way for her. She wore a large black boot on one foot, and a much smaller one on the other, and as she walked she dragged the muck of the road behind her with her lame foot. Lizzie scrambled up to dart away, but Lame Betsy grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her to sit down again on the low wall in front of the railings. Then, with a huge harrumphing effort, she sat herself down next to her.

She let her wheezing breath steady a bit, still holding tight to Lizzie’s arm to stop her from running off. “I want to know,” she said, “why a young girl like you was dashing across the road like that as if she had no eyes to see with and no ears to hear with.” She glared at Lizzie. “Seems to me like you’re in trouble. Is that right? Really big trouble.”

“I am. I broke two cups and saucers, and two tea plates and a teapot.”

The milk woman let out a sigh like the blurt a horse makes through its nostrils. “And that’s enough to make you nearly kill Lame Betsy, is it? And her horse, and yourself? Is it?”

Lizzie shrugged. She thought it probably wasn’t.

“So is you running away because you’s frightened?”

Lizzie bit her lip. Yes, she had been frightened of the two Dearies. She was frightened of Judd. She had been terribly frightened when she had dropped the tray down the stairs; she could still hear the echoing shriek and clatter it had made, the terrifying din of shame. But that wasn’t everything she was frightened of, and she couldn’t find the words to tell Lame Betsy any of it, so she shook her head.

“Let me tell you something. You only run away when things are so bad that you can’t go on living in that place no more. I should know. When I was your age I ran away from a dad what beat me, and a ma what drank herself senseless. Is it that bad for you?”

Lizzie shook her head.

“And if you go back to that place, is there no one there what’d be glad to see you? Cos if you just glance over the road, you’ll see two people coming along what seems to be looking for someone. There’s a cook from a big house who I just happens to know is the kindest person on God’s earth, and she’s got a person with her who’s pretty enough to be your own sister.” Lame Betsy let go of Lizzie’s arm. “You’ve got a choice, girl. You can carry on running, or you can go and tell them you’re sorry for what you did.” She grabbed a railing and hoisted herself up. “Me, I’ve got to go and find Albert before he trots home all by himself with no milk delivered.”

As soon as Lizzie stood up, Emily spotted her across the traffic of wagons and horses. “She’s there, Rosie! She’s safe!”