Alley Urchin (12 page)

For the remainder of the journey back to his grandfather Crowther’s house, young Edward Trent thought of little else but the girl, Molly. A pretty girl with a pretty name who, he felt sure, he would meet again. The thought cheered him a great deal, and when his mother angrily prodded him and instructed, ‘Sit up straight, Edward . . . I will
not
have you slouching when you think nobody’s looking!’ he stiffened his back and straightened his shoulders with a smile on his face. His mother was trying to make him feel miserable again, just like she always did when she was in a mood. But she couldn’t make him feel miserable
this
time. Not when he had in mind a small, impish face with black laughing eyes and hair as dark as midnight. Molly – he would remember the name well.

‘We did well, Molly, me little flower!’ Old Sal gave a hearty chuckle and roughly grabbed the girl to her bosom where she rocked her for a moment, before thrusting her away. ‘Now then . . . where we gonna hide ’em eh? Like as not, that hoity-toity lady will be spelling out both our descriptions to the bobbies at this very minute! They might come swooping down on us at any time!’ Of a sudden she was frantic, rushing from one side of the miserable room to the other and flinging objects aside, then lifting up boxes and peering beneath. ‘Oh gawd!’ she moaned, swinging round and fixing her bloodshot eyes in a stare on to the girl’s face. ‘We’ve had it
this
time . . . I feel it in me bones, Molly darlin’ . . . they’ll catch us fer sure this time!’

‘No, they won’t,’ replied the girl, taking the old one by the hand and leading her to a battered old stool, where she eased her down on to it. ‘They’ll not catch us, old Sal . . . ’cause we’ll move house, like we’ve done afore!’ She smiled up at the old woman with bright, wide-awake eyes and a look of mischief on her heart-shaped face and, for a fleeting moment which caught Sal Tanner unawares, Molly’s dark eyes and black, unruly hair touched a memory in her old heart. A precious memory of another child who used to look up at her with the same bright smile and the very same love shining from big, black eyes. Strange, she thought now, how much this lovely child reminded her of the little lad she had had to raise when their parents had suffered a tragic death. Where was he now, her brother Marlow? Had he gone to foreign parts and made his fortune as he said he would? And had he forgotten the sister he’d left behind? Sal would never believe such a terrible thing, not of Marlow, who had always been as straight and loving as a day was long. No! He hadn’t forgotten her at all. ’Twas the
sea.
The sea had claimed him, that was the truth of it! Why couldn’t he have listened to her? How many times had she warned him not to lose his foolish heart to one o’ the gentry? Time and time again she had told him that his fancy for Emma Grady would be the ruin of him! Then when Emma wed Gregory Denton and it seemed like the best thing to Sal, Marlow had nigh wasted away, pining for what could never be his. Oh, the fool . . . the bloody fool. Aye, ’twas his love for Emma Grady that had driven Marlow Tanner to travel the seas and, though the poor lass met a worse fortune at the hands of her own guardian, Caleb Crowther . . . old Sal couldn’t help but hold Emma Grady partly to blame for the loss of her fine brother.

‘Allus wanderin’ . . . wanderin’ about like lost souls we are, Molly darlin’, but we’ll outwit the buggers, an’ that’s all as matters, eh?’ She was laughing now, having shaken the past away from her thoughts and brought her concentration to matters at hand. ‘Get yer stuff together, gal,’ she said. ‘Let’s be off . . . afore the sods come creepin’ up on us like a plague o’ rats, eh?’

In no time at all, Molly had collected the few things that she and Sal could call their own . . . two chipped enamel mugs, a small oil lamp – which also served to boil a pan on – a box of candles, two best china plates purloined from a fancy store in Manchester, together with two sets of cutlery, a wooden-handled bone comb, two grey blankets and the clothes they both stood up in. After wrapping the articles in one of the baskets, Molly slung it over her narrow shoulders and presented herself before old Sal. ‘That’s it,’ she said, ‘there ain’t nothing else worth carrying away.’

‘Travel light, that’s the best thing ter do, me darlin’,’ chuckled Sal, ‘then yer can tek ter yer heels if needs be, eh?’ She tousled the girl’s short, unkempt hair. ‘Mek towards the canal, up by Angela Street,’ she said, shuffling towards the door. ‘Happen the landlord at the Navigation might slip us a glass o’ some’at strong . . . some’at ter warm the old bones.’ Then, with a crafty wink, she added, ‘Like as not, we’ll find us a buyer there, fer the purse and watch. I’m surprised that gentry woman only had two guineas in her purse though . . . still, it’ll keep us fro’ starvin’ fer a while, I suppose.’

Molly nodded, thinking what a good job it was that old Sal hadn’t seen her slip a
third
guinea from the purse into her pocket. She didn’t like deceiving Sal in that way, but past experience had taught her that Sal’s fondness for ‘a jar o’ the best’ often left them penniless and hungry. Slipping a few coins away now and then, when they had hit lucky, was Molly’s way of taking care of old Sal. The one thing that frightened the girl more than hunger or not having a roof over their heads, was that the authorities might put her away. And if Justice Crowther had
his
way, she’d be rooted out for sure! Who would look after Sal then? Not the drinking cronies who cadged every last farthing from her to whet their own boozy appetites, that was for sure. And not the folks who laughed at her antics, nor them along the canal who might willingly offer a lift to Liverpool on their barges, but who would not be so willing to offer a bed and board to the likes of Sal, when they knew she could be a real handful while under the influence.

The girl, Molly, had known no other family than the woman they called old Sal, and she loved her with a fierce protectiveness. But, though the old woman would always hold that special place in her affections, many had been the time when Molly had craved to know who her
real
family was. During these times she had asked countless questions, to which Sal would always reply, ‘Yer ain’t got no family but me, child. I’ve telled yer afore how the little people sent yer to me . . . found yer in the gutter I did . . . wi’ that very watch as yer wear round yer neck. Oh, an’ yer must
never
sell that pretty trinket, Molly gal . . . not even if yer close ter starvation! It belongs ter the little folk, d’yer see? Just like
you
do!’

Molly didn’t share old Sal’s eccentric belief in ‘the little people’, mainly because she had seen no evidence of them, and perhaps because she knew instinctively that old Sal was different from most folks, in that she often lived in a strange little world of her own. The watch though, which Sal had entrusted to her, was solid and real to Molly, a link with her past and a pointer to her future, she knew. But whenever she looked at it in secret, she felt afraid. It had always remained a mystery to her.
Who
had treasured it before her? Could it possibly be her own mother, or father; or did it in fact not belong to her at all? Was it instead something that had been dropped by a stranger and come across by Sal, at the same time as Sal had come across the tiny bundle of rags that was Molly?

There were things written on that watch, things that would tell Molly of its background, if only she could understand them. But they might as well be written in Latin for all the sense they made to her, because she had never learned to read. Sal couldn’t teach her, for
she
couldn’t read either. Molly was desperately afraid to show the tiny, delicate watch to anyone else, lest they steal it away forever. No, she must keep it safely hidden inside her vest, touching her skin. At least until she could find a way to master the art of learning words.

‘Come on, young ’un!’ Old Sal had hobbled down the steps that led from the dilapidated house, and now she was standing in the backyard, making frantic efforts to put a lighted match to the baccy in her clay pipe, and loudly cursing when the cutting January breeze snuffed it out. After a while she gave up trying and rammed both matches and pipe into the pocket of her long, grubby skirt. ‘Come on, come on!’ she called as the girl came to the steps. ‘If we don’t find somewhere ter lay us heads fer the night, we’ll freeze for sure!’

‘You go on . . . I’ll catch up in a minute, Sal,’ Molly told her, turning on the top step to secure the door. ‘When it’s quietened down in a few days,’ she called after Sal, who was already shuffling her way out into the cobbled alley, ‘we might be able to come back and get the stool and a few other things.’

‘Aw, bugger ’em!’ yelled Sal. ‘There’s none o’ that rubbish worth coming back fer.’

Molly didn’t agree. There was the stool, a little cupboard she’d made herself out of an orange-box, and that picture of a sailing ship that she’d found aside somebody’s midden. Then there was that old brass clock which had been in this derelict house when they first came here some two months ago. Two months! That was the longest they’d managed to stay in one place and, even though Sal had always told her
never
to look on any place as permanent, Molly had a special feeling for this house; although it wouldn’t be long now before they pulled the street down. The folks had all been moved out long since, and there was talk of a mill being built here.

As Molly closed the door and turned away to follow Sal, she made herself a promise that when it was safe she
would
come back for those things she couldn’t carry now. Oh, but first they had to find somewhere to live and that wouldn’t be easy.

‘Where’s your little people
now,
Sal?’ Molly called out as she ran after the bent and ragged figure. ‘If you’re so pally with ’em . . . ask ’em to find us a place to live!’ She lapsed into a fit of giggles when back came the answer, ‘Don’t be so cheeky, yer young bugger! Ye’ve got more tongue than what the cat licks its arse with!’

When the girl caught up with old Sal, she hitched up the cumbersome bundle to a more comfortable position across her shoulders and slipped her small hand into that of the woman. ‘I wish we could have stayed here for a while longer,’ she said wistfully, ‘I liked it here.’

‘Aw, bless yer ’eart, luv,’ replied old Sal fondly, squeezing tight the small fingers clutched to hers. ‘We’ll find us a place, you’ll see.’ When she glanced down, it was to see a more contented look on the girl’s face. What would she do without the lass, Sal thought as they trudged along towards Angela Street and the canal. The young ’un had been such a companion to her, such a comfort, and she loved the bonny lass, even if at times she were a right little sod! All the same, never a night passed that Sal didn’t thank the little people for bringing her such a treasure. In the same prayer when she gave thanks, old Sal whispered a more fervent one, asking that young Molly should never be parted from her because the very thought of such a thing sent her straight for the gin bottle!

Chapter Five

At half-past four on a sultry July afternoon, Molly straightened up from her labours, wiped the sweat from her eyes with coal-smudged fingers, and leaned the shovel against the black, shiny mound of newly delivered coal. ‘I think my back’s broken,’ she laughed.

‘I’m not surprised, young ’un,’ chuckled the thin, wiry fellow who had been working alongside. ‘By! You’ve done the work o’
ten
your size, an’ that’s the truth on it. Call it a day . . . here.’ He propped his shovel against the gas-lamp nearby, then he dipped his fingers into the pocket of a grubby cord coat which was lying beside it. ‘Tek your wages and get off home,’ he said, counting out a number of coins from the pocket, and placing them in Molly’s outstretched hand. ‘Wash that coal dust off your face an’ all . . . I’m blowed if yer don’t look like one o’ them dark wandering minstrels.’ His face creased into a grin as he regarded her more closely. She’s a grand little worker, he thought, a feeling of hopelessness surging through him. He might have offered the poor little bugger a home on his barge. But she’d only grow up to be a woman. And he couldn’t abide women, not at any cost! Give him a dog every time . . . they were less trouble.

Molly was more than glad to call it a day because there wasn’t an inch of her body that didn’t hurt. The sight of those four shilling pieces resting in the palm of her hand made her feel good inside. They were worth all the coal shovelling, and wouldn’t Sal be pleased, she thought. ‘Thank you kindly, Mr Entwistle,’ she said, her mucky features breaking into a happy smile, and her small even teeth appearing brilliant white against the dark background.

‘Bugger me, if you ain’t flashing like one o’ them there beacons!’ chuckled the little fellow. ‘You’d give anybody a real fright if they wuz to meet you down a dark alley, an’ that’s a fact!’ He was still chuckling as Molly put away her shovel on the barge and went on her way, whistling a merry tune.

‘’Ow much did ’e pay yer, gal?’ Sal wanted to know. ‘An’ don’t expect any tea, ’cause I ain’t got no money!’ she grumbled, before Molly could answer her question.

‘We shall both have us tea,’ Molly retorted goodhumouredly, ‘because Mr Entwistle paid me
four whole shillings.’

‘Four
. . . Well, the mean old sod!’ Sal had been sitting on the bank with her cumbersome skirt drawn up to her knees and her legs dangling towards the canal water some three feet further down. In a minute she was scrambling up to confront Molly with a look of disgust on her face. ‘Ye mean ter tell me as the bugger had yer working all day . . . an’ only paid yer
four
shillings?’ She shook her fist in the air and took Molly by the shoulder. ‘You come wi’ me, lass,’ she exclaimed, beginning to propel the girl at a smart pace towards the ramshackle wooden hut which they had commandeered as a home. ‘Get thi’ face washed an mek yerself look respectable, ’cause we’re gonna have a few words with your Mr Entwistle!’ She gave a loud hiccup and excused herself most profoundly. ‘I ain’t been drinking, neither!’ she bluntly informed the amused Molly. ‘So don’t think I
have
!’ Whereupon she promptly lost her footing and grabbed at Molly for support.