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Copyright © Emma Hornby 2018
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For my grandma, who had more than a little of Cook May in her. And my ABC, always x

For each man knows the market value

Of silk or woollen or cotton …

But in counting the riches of England

I think our Poor are forgotten.

Adelaide Procter, poet and philanthropist

Chapter 1

December 1860

‘LOOK, SEE? SEE the pictures in the clouds? It’s a cat and horse dancing a jig! Tha sees it, don’t thee?’ asked Pip hopefully.

The small boy followed her finger towards the darkening sky and squinted at the scudding mist. He sucked noisily on the thumb planted firmly in his mouth. Moments later, he turned his huge blue eyes, shiny with miserable tears, towards her. He shook his head. ‘Hungry, Pip. Terrible hungry.’

His pitiful cries tore at her. Careful not to put her feet into the stagnant pools of human filth which filled the stinking floor of the communal privy they were crouched in, she eased her stiff legs out from under herself and wriggled her cold toes to coax some life back into them. Then she wrapped her arms around the tiny boy by her side and drew her shawl more tightly around them both. He snuggled into her thin chest and within seconds, the bodice of her ragged dress was soaked with his tears.

Pip shushed him softly. ‘Quiet, lad, else owd Betty will hear and we’ll be for it then. Didn’t she warn only last night what she’d do if she found us sheltering in here again?’

A wry smile touched her lips. ‘So you see, you must be quiet, like. Try to sleep and in t’ morning, we’ll go and hang around Mr Hoggart’s bakers, see if we can’t persuade someone to take pity on us and buy us a stale bun. What d’you say to that? But it’s late, now, so you must sleep. That’s it, you keep close to me for warmth, there’s a good lad.’

Half a minute later, the boy’s voice cut through the gloom again: ‘Can’t sleep. Too hungry to sleep. Guts like that, Pip.’ He clenched and unclenched his small fists in imitation of his cramping stomach. ‘It hurts. It hurts.’

Before Pip could soothe him, a second lad sitting apart from them nearest to the broken door cut through the youngster’s whimpers. ‘Go to kip, Bread, for Christ’s sake. There’s nowt to be done till morning so just you shut up.’

Pip cast him a frown. ‘Don’t be harsh with him, Simon. He’s only a babby. He feels it more than us. And will tha stop calling him Bread? I told thee from the start, I’ll not address him by that. It’s an altogether stupid thing to call a body. His new name’s Mack. Call him Mack.’

The dark-haired boy turned his scowling face away and flicked his shoulders in a shrug. ‘Aye, well. Bread, Mack, call him what you will. I ain’t mithered. Just keep him bloody quiet, will thee? He’s getting on my nerves.’

Silence fell and the three children settled down for another long, cold night stretching ahead.

The Sunday late hours were empty of sound and for this, they were grateful. Weekends were the devil’s own holidays; the drunken, raucous goings-on of the slum dwellers once their wages were in their eager palms was a battle the children endured with quiet grimness week in, week out. Weekdays were not so bad. Folk had to be up early for work the following day and generally the narrow, cobbled streets and lanes were free of drama.

Soon, Mack’s breathing steadied into a regular rhythm and Pip released a soft sigh of relief. This life was hardship enough at her and Simon’s ages – though just how old the lads were, she couldn’t rightly say, had never asked – but for the small one beside her, it was torture. Only this morning, she’d had to bite back tears when she’d attempted to check Mack’s feet. He’d been having trouble with them for weeks and when he’d stumbled, wailing in pain and unable to take another step, she’d knelt before him to investigate. The rotten remnants of his old boots, she’d soon discovered, had seemed to become one with him. She’d tugged at the crumbling leather but his screams had halted her attempt and, heartsore for this poor child she’d come to love as a younger brother, she’d had no choice but to leave them be. The boot looked to have fused to his bare flesh and, short of tearing the skin from the bone, there was little she could do. He’d have to try and ignore the pain, and she’d told him so.

No, a life on the streets wasn’t one they endured easily. Yet what was the alternative? The workhouse? Her lips tightened in determination. Never, never. She’d sooner finish her days all bone and frozen to the marrow in the gutter than pass through those doors. They all would. That place with all it stood for was the scourge of the poor’s nightmares. Man or woman, old and young, fit or weak – each knew how easily their fortune could change and the prospect of the poorhouse could be upon them in the blink of an eye. They would take these grey, filth-ridden cobbles any day, thank you very much.

Pip looked over the top of Mack’s fair hair towards Simon. His face was in shadow, hiding the worry she knew would be in his eyes – was always there for this boy they both fretted over, however much Simon tried to hide it. She nodded. ‘Aye. Best get some shut-eye ourselfs. We want to be up and out of it afore sunrise, else we’ll be for it. Betty will have a blue fit if she happens upon us when she comes to empty her chamber pot in t’ morning.’

‘I’d like to tip a pot of piss over her ugly bull head as she did to me. See how she’d like that, rotten cow.’

Carefully, so as not to disturb Mack, Pip felt the air in the darkness until her fingers brushed the coarse material of Simon’s jacket. She pressed his shoulder. ‘Get some sleep, lad.’

Simon brought his knees up closer to his chest and pulled his too-large cap low over his eyes. His teeth began chattering; cursing quietly, he folded his arms around himself tightly.

After a moment’s silence, he answered her gruffly. ‘Nay. I’m all right.’

Pip smiled to herself. Within minutes, the older lad’s even breathing matched Mack’s and just as she knew he would, as he did each night, Simon snuggled closer in his sleep. His head found her shoulder over Mack and she brought her shawl around him, encompassing the three of them beneath the woollen folds.

A chink of grey moon winked down from the inky sky through the holes in the roof, as though watching over them like a caring mother. Suddenly, soft brown eyes and hair to match, framing a pale face, flitted like fog through Pip’s mind, bringing to her chest a drum of pain. With a small sigh, she closed her eyes.

The morning of Christmas Eve had not yet touched the wintry sky with light when the three children slipped through the tumbledown door and into the bitter coldness of Lomax Street. Sounds of movement, as folk began to rouse for the day in Betty’s lodging house adjoining their shelter, had trickled through to them moments before and, rubbing the sleep from their eyes, they had wasted no time in scrambling up to melt away undetected.

In less than an hour, the streets were teeming with people and carts and despite the poverty which was their lot, the people of Manchester seemed to have a slight spring in their clogged step this day. Early festivity hung in the sharp air and passing folk greeted each other with more nods and smiles than usual, their normally pallid faces ruddy with cold, their breath hovering in white clouds around their shawl- and cap-covered heads.

Sprigs of dark green holly dotted with ruby berries adorned shop doors and windows, and even the harnesses of horses passing by, and a thin sprinkling of powdered frost had settled on the stones of the roads. The temperature looked set to plummet further later and the droves of women who would venture out to Smithfield Market tonight to grab knocked-down vegetables and, if they were lucky, a small chicken or goose for the following day’s fare, would be blue with cold by the time they returned, shivering, to their hearths.

But at least they had a fire to go home to. At least they had a family, a place to lay their head of a night, a sense of belonging. For Pip, Simon, Mack and countless others, Christmas was the same as any other day – stark and empty. Though it did differ ever so slightly from every other day of the year in one sense: it served to heighten their awareness that they were not like the fortunate plenty who, though they suffered terrible hardships themselves in this chimney-choked, smoke-clogged, sad-coloured industrial city, at least had each other. To be alone in the world was the most destroying reality of all.

Mind, I’m not alone, am I? Pip reminded herself, glancing left to right at the two boys walking either side of her. A smile touched her lips. Not now. Not with these lads of mine. Life wasn’t worth the bother not a few short months past but now – now it is. Now, I face the days easier. And the nights, too … Aye, the nights. They were the worst.

The horrors involved with destitution were only too real. The bleak outdoors, during both the sunlit and twilight hours, were no place for the vulnerable, particularly children. Threats and abuse were commonplace. Dogs, traffic, not to mention harm posed by the elements, to name but a few of the dangers. Then there were the older kids, and sometimes adults with tendencies to turn vicious with drink, who thought nothing of lashing out at them with words, also clogs and fists, for no other reason than that they existed – even as they huddled in doorways, sleeping. Or they would wake – indeed had more than once – to find they had been spat or urinated on. Such mindless cruelty made no sense to them.

She took Mack’s hand, then motioned to the small baker’s up ahead. ‘Aye, look. We’re nearly there, lad. And see, there’s a few kindly looking wenches by the door. You remember what to do?’ she added through the side of her mouth as they drew nearer.

Mack nodded and, from necessity and practice, instantly developed a perfect rolling limp. Sticking out his bottom lip, he set it quivering expertly.

Simon, with his usual scowl and hands thrust deep in his trouser pockets, held back. Catching his eye, Pip flushed, sensing his disapproval. Using Mack to garner sympathy didn’t sit easy with him and she shared his sentiments completely, but there was nothing else for it. The youngster reaped better results – his size and obvious need was enough to melt most hearts.

‘Spare a penny, missis?’ Holding out a hand palm upwards, Mack thrust it towards the women in turn, whimpering to each as he did, eyes brimming with tears, ‘Please? Please? Please?’

Pip caught their sorry stares and pitying sighs but it was clear they wouldn’t be in luck. These women looked almost as much in need as they themselves. Their ragged shawls and patched, discoloured skirts looked as though they would crumble to dust from their persons should a strong wind blow their way. Nonetheless, she stepped forward – it didn’t hurt to make sure.

‘Please, me and my brother, here, ain’t eaten for days. We’re poor orphans and shall perish if we don’t put summat in our bellies soon.’

‘Eeh, lass …’ The tallest of the women looked over them with a shake of her beshawled head. ‘I’ve a houseful of my own back there in the same boat.’ She jerked her chin in the general direction of a row of smoke-blackened houses up the street. ‘They’re wanting, an’ all, and if I can’t feed my own, I sure as bleedin’ hell can’t feed youse.’ Her companions murmured agreement and her eyes softened. ‘Sorry, lass, lad.’

The three children huddled by the roadside for a while in silence, looking this way and that, eyeing all who passed, alert to any opportunity. Should a slightly better dressed body cross their path, Pip and Mack would hold out a hand, the practised beseeching slipping from their cold lips, but today it didn’t seem to be doing the trick. Tears dripped down Mack’s grubby cheeks when again their begging, this time of a pair of working men, yielded no result, and biting back tears of her own, Pip drew him against her.

‘Don’t fret, now, there’s a good lad. Someone will surely—’ She broke off with a frown as she glanced left at the older boy. Simon was staring intently at a boot mender’s across the road, and following his gaze, Pip shook her head. His attention was on an elderly man counting coins in his hand. When he returned them to his trouser pocket, Simon’s eyes swivelled to meet hers, and again Pip shook her head. Since she’d joined the lads’ company, she’d put a stop to that right away. She’d been raised to know stealing was wrong. Begging was one thing – at least they were asking and folk had the chance to decide whether to part with their brass. To take it from them without their knowledge was just plain wicked. Hungry or not, she wanted no part in that kind of thing.

Simon made to move forward and she clutched at his sleeve. ‘Nay, lad. Please, not that. Summat will turn up, you’ll see. Not that. It’s wrong, Simon.’

He turned blazing eyes on to her. ‘Aye? You think, d’you? Does it favour that folk are tripping over theirselfs to hand over a copper or two? Wrong – huh! Don’t talk to me about wrong. This here?’ He motioned to the three of them with an angry flick of his hand. ‘This is wrong. Frozen stiff? Stomachs twisting with hunger? Bowing and scraping to every passing bastard without so much as a glance in return from most, never mind owt else. Nay. I’ll get us some brass, my way. It’s seen me through this far, ain’t it, and kept that one alive the past year, an’ all,’ he added, nodding down at Mack.

‘But … that’s not what good people do! And you’re a good person, Simon. You are, I know it.’

For the briefest moment, his dark eyes softened. Then the hardness returned to them and his lips tightened. ‘Good people stand no chance against a world so bad. The sooner tha realises that, Pip, the better for thee.’ He freed his arm from her hold and crossed the cobbles.

Watching helplessly, filled with sadness as Simon closed in on his victim, Pip barely registered Mack speaking. The deep-voiced answer, however, caught her attention immediately. She turned, hope fluttering in her breast, to face a tall, slim gentleman. And a gentleman he clearly was. The cut of his cloth, tall black hat and shiny gold-tipped cane spoke volumes of his wealth. Yet it was the interest in the pale green eyes as they assessed the youngster that set her pulse racing with excitement. He hadn’t ignored Mack’s plea, hadn’t flapped a clean and manicured hand in dismissal before strolling on his leisurely way. He’d stopped to listen, and he was smiling.

‘A penny, you say?’ the man asked in a soft, articulate voice. He reached out a hand and touched Mack’s chin in a slow caress, and his gaze deepened further. ‘I think I can do better than that, boy.’

Mack’s eyes were as big as saucers. His mouth spread in a dazzling smile. ‘You mean it, sir?’

‘I do. However …’ The man patted his breast pocket with a click of his tongue. ‘I appear to have left my purse in my carriage. It must have fallen out during the drive and will be lying on the seat as we speak, you mark my words.’

‘Don’t take on so, young one. This small problem is easily rectified. What say you come along with me while I collect it? My driver is waiting but a street away, after all.’ He held out a hand, smiling when Mack responded eagerly, and closed his slender fingers around the tiny ones. ‘Come. You deserve a few shillings, I think.’

Shooting Pip a joyous grin, Mack trotted off happily. With a smile of her own, she followed but after a few short steps, the man turned to look at her. His face showed surprise, as though he’d only just noticed her existence.

‘Oh. I see.’ He cast her a tight smile. ‘No need for you to trouble yourself, girl. The boy and I shall collect the money ourselves. We shan’t be long.’

She hadn’t time to respond; before she could utter another word, he guided Mack through a dark and narrow alleyway up ahead. Pausing by the mouth of the opening, she watched the figures walk away. Of their own accord, her teeth moved to chew at her lower lip. Slowly, her excitement was beginning to wane and for reasons she couldn’t fathom, a feeling of foreboding trickled through her. But she was being daft, wasn’t she? He was a gentleman and he’d spoken kindly. He was going to give them a few shillings – aye, at least, he’d said – and they would be all right, then, wouldn’t they? They could buy some grub and a hot drink, and Mack would stop crying for a while. And they would even have the pennies for a kip in a lodging house tonight instead of the cold flagstones they usually called their bed. Then why did she have this queer rolling in her stomach, as if something was amiss?

Pip whipped around to find Simon behind her. A relieved breath escaped her. ‘Simon. I don’t know … Something doesn’t feel – feel right, and …’

‘What d’you mean?’ He flicked his gaze down and around. ‘Where is he? Where’s Bread?’

She pointed to where the two shapes had almost disappeared in the distance. ‘There were a gentleman. And – and he promised to give Mack some brass, told me to wait here—’ She gasped as, with a growled curse, Simon charged past her and set off at full speed down the entry. ‘Simon, wait! What—?’

Hot on Simon’s heels, Pip gasped again as he threw himself at the flabbergasted gentleman, sending his tall hat bouncing to the muck-strewn ground. ‘Let go of his hand, Bread. D’you hear me? Do as I say – let go of it, now!’

‘What is the meaning of this?’ Blustering with fury, the man held on tighter to Mack. ‘You young street monkey, I’ll dash your brains out!’ With his free hand, he raised his cane and brought it down across Simon’s back. ‘You dare to behave like that to one of your betters? I’ll knock you back into your place, my boy. I will, all right!’

The change in the man’s demeanour had Pip rooted to the spot in shock. Venom now screamed from the once kind eyes and spittle had formed at the corners of his twisted mouth.

The blow had stolen the wind from Simon’s lungs; coughing and groaning on his hands and knees, he raised his head. ‘You get on out of it or so help me, I’ll do for you,’ he brought out breathlessly. ‘I know your game, all right. I’ve come across enough of your sort in my time.’

The man, though still stiff-lipped with anger, blanched at Simon’s words and Pip was filled with confusion. Just what had Simon meant by that? She herself had sensed something was afoot, it was true, but hadn’t been able to put her finger on why. Simon, however, seemed to know exactly what was going on and she could tell he was correct in his guess; the man’s face confirmed it. When the lad staggered to his feet, she turned to him with a frown. ‘Simon?’

‘Nay, Simon.’ Mack stuck out his chin in a pout. ‘I want to go with the gentleman. He’s going to give me brass and I’m hungry. I want to, I want to!’

The older boy’s eyes never strayed from the man’s. ‘Let him go,’ he repeated through gritted teeth.

After a long hesitation, throughout which the man glared down on Simon with such fury in his eyes it seemed he would pounce and murder him on the spot at any moment, he released the youngster’s hand. Mack made to grasp it again but he thrust him away towards Simon and Pip. He stooped and lifted his hat. Then he pointed a long, pale finger at Simon. ‘I never forget a face,’ he murmured. ‘You’ll do well to remember that.’ He struck the ground with the tip of his cane, turned on his heel and strode off.

When he’d disappeared, Simon visibly sagged. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

‘I hate you, I hate you!’ Mack beat at Simon’s chest with his small fists. ‘You sent the kind gentleman away and now we’re still hungry and it’s all your fault!’

Simon caught the child’s shoulders and shook him none too gently. ‘Enough, d’you hear? We don’t need brass off divils like that.’

Simon flashed Pip a withering look. ‘I don’t think, I know. Christ sake,’ he added quietly when she frowned, still in confusion, ‘do I really have to spell it out? Some folk have an appetite for young flesh. Like to do things … touch where they shouldn’t. He were one of them.’

‘Aye. By hook or by crook, they’ll do owt for a taste of it. They … hurt people, and think nowt of it so long as they get what they’re after.’

She studied his face for a moment. His eyes were empty of emotion, his mouth set as though in stone, and sadness filled her. She opened hers to ask if he spoke of this from experience but, as though sensing her intention, Simon swung about and made for the street again. She and Mack followed in silence.

As though matters were not bad enough, moments later the leaden clouds decided to release a steady drizzle of rain. Stamping their feet to coax some warmth into them, they looked about. Already it was late afternoon and the sky was losing its light. Not that much sun ever did manage to penetrate the thick blanket of noxious smoke from thousands of industrial and domestic chimneys. This, coupled with the winter months, seemed to encase the residents in perpetual gloom.

Designed to tempt Christmas customers, the surrounding shop windows were a feast to the eyes if, for the three of them at least, nothing else. Pip tried not to look but it was impossible. Saliva filled her mouth and her stomach growled in response. Plump birds for those with extra brass to spare, and cheap offcuts of meat and sheep heads for those who didn’t, winked back from behind the thin panes. Big and small loaves, wheels of cheeses, brown and white eggs and colourful vegetables, fruit and figs and nuts and sweet pastries … She wrenched her gaze away with a low moan.

‘I feel queer, Simon.’ Mack gripped the older lad’s arm to stop himself from stumbling. His face had turned a worrying shade of grey and his eyes were glassy. ‘Need to … sit down.’

Without a word, the older lad supported him across the cobbles and eased him down to the ground to lean against the cold bricks of a towering warehouse. Mack closed his eyes and Simon glanced around with narrowed ones.

‘It’s the hunger, that’s all, Mack,’ Pip told him soothingly, stroking the top of his head. ‘The dizziness will pass.’

‘Aye, and it’ll be back soon enough.’ Simon’s gaze now held an expression of desperation. Again, he scanned the street from end to end in search of opportunity. ‘We can’t go another day without grub. We need brass.’

‘Did you …?’ She had to force the words out through her disapproval. However, Mack was in a hopeless state; she must ask. ‘The owd fella whose pocket you set your sights on …?’

Simon shook his head. ‘I couldn’t get close enough. I think he guessed what I were about.’

Pip gave a sigh of relief, yet it was tinged with despair. Just what were they to do? Not a morsel had passed their lips since yesterday morning – and then but a hunk of dry bread apiece from a driver as payment for watching his horse while he ran an errand. As soon as he disappeared, they had cupped their hands into a rusty pail in the corner of his cart and drunk as much of the cloudy water meant for his beast as they could stomach. It had placated their cramping guts for a short while and the bread kept the gnawing at bay for a time longer, but all too soon familiar hunger had crept back, as it always did. Now, they were nearing breaking point. She herself felt weak; her head hurt and her mouth was parchment dry. Although he didn’t show it, Simon must feel the same. He was bigger than her and Mack, and so too was his appetite.

The gentleman from earlier flashed into her mind and she sighed sadly, recalling the happiness his promise had brought. Yet her hopes of hot food and a warm bed had soon been dashed. Did some people really do … those sort of things … with children? Not that she disbelieved Simon, but still, it was difficult to think on it.

Her eyes swivelled round to the tiny boy huddled on the flagstones and anger sparked in her breast. Simon had said the man would have hurt him. How could anyone think of taking advantage of a child’s desperation to satisfy their own depraved needs? And a gentleman at that. You couldn’t trust anyone, could you?

Not no one, not really. And especially not mams. For mams left you, just as hers had left her. She’d gone and died, leaving Pip all alone. And she missed her, in ways she couldn’t even describe. And these lads; their mams had left them, too. Did they miss them? Pip wondered. They must, surely. Mind, they never mentioned them. As always, Simon kept his feelings to himself, and Mack was likely too young to remember his mam much. Pip didn’t speak of hers, either. What was the point? It hurt and she was gone, for ever. Best not to dwell on things that couldn’t be changed.

‘I reckon our best bet is the market, later,’ Simon was saying now. ‘Whether Bread will be up to the walk, mind … Well, he’ll have to be, won’t he? He’ll not get his belly filled else.’

Pip brightened slightly. Smithfield Market would surely tip up a few of its spoils. Thousands flocked there each week, and Christmas was busier still. Surely someone would take pity on them there? Thoughts of the hot chestnuts, pigs’ trotters and pie sellers had her mouth filling with saliva once more. Or perhaps busy traders might require a helping hand with something? They could earn a penny or two that way. And if all else failed …

She bit her lip guiltily. The heaving, bustling space would be crammed with carts and stalls piled high with every manner of foodstuff you could imagine – if Simon managed to swipe something, then just this once, she’d turn a blind eye. Aye, for Mack, for he needed something in his stomach soon, it was clear to see. He’d only grow sicker otherwise; surely the good Lord would understand?

‘If nowt else, there’ll be plenty of skenning sods falling from the taverns the night,’ Simon continued, as though reading her thoughts. ‘Whether you approve or no, their pockets will be lighter by the time they reach home, an’ all. Needs must, and you don’t get much needier than that,’ he muttered, jerking his head towards Mack, who was still propped against the wall and had fallen into a fitful sleep.

Pip was silent for a moment, then, ‘Happen we can find ourselfs somewhere warm and dry to kip around there? A stable, mebbe?’ she said. A slow smile spread across Simon’s face and she grinned.

‘Aye, well. It was good enough for the Holy Family, eh? Mind, I reckon Bread’s a bit big to pass as Jesus.’

Pip giggled. ‘Mack, Simon, not Bread. Remember? And anyroad, that would make us Mary and Joseph – and we’re not big enough!’

A plump girl of seventeen or eighteen emerged from a confectioner’s up the street, a laden wicker basket over each arm and a small pile of brown-paper packages in her hands, and they watched her idly. When she drew level, she caught them staring and her eyes turned thoughtful. She bobbed her head in a nod.

Pip watched his thin legs skitter across the road. Folding her arms, she frowned. What they spoke about, she didn’t know – Simon nodded several times and turned to point to her and Mack, but he and the woman were too far away for Pip to hear what they were saying. When finally he turned, his eyes were alive with excitement. He ran back to Pip and in a breathless rush, said, ‘That one wants me to carry her purchases home. She’s a maid in a house up Ardwick Green, said as how there would be a few coppers in it for me.’ He motioned to Mack, who had roused and was yawning and rubbing his eyes. ‘Help him along, will thee, whilst I see to her things. Come on afore she changes her mind.’

Pip’s heart gave a flutter of happy relief. ‘Eeh, that’s a bit of good fortune, eh? Is it one of the big residences, aye?’

Already turning back to the road’s edge, he shrugged. ‘Must be if it’s up that end. Just think, happen she’ll take us into the kitchen. I’ll lay it on to the cook, like; if she’s owt about her, she’ll surely find us a plate of summat. Come on!’

Pip highly doubted this but nonetheless nodded. The promised brass would be welcome enough. Aye, more than welcome; she could almost taste the grub that they would be able to buy. Mack leaned on her heavily and she supported him with an arm around his shoulders.

Luckily, their destination wasn’t such a distance off. It lay just across the River Medlock, which formed a boundary between it and Manchester proper. It was where the most powerful and important men in the city lived, the rich factory owners and cotton merchants, she knew that much, but she’d never ventured across before; had no reason to. Besides, folk of her ilk were not welcome in vicinities in which the genteel made their homes. Should a police officer spot them loitering around streets such as those, they would be accused of being up to no good and hauled away quick smart. They had a good excuse today, though. The maid, here, would back them up should the need arise.

The female in question surveyed them with undisguised distaste as they approached, and Pip felt herself flush with shame. They must look a dreadful sight. Their clothes and bodies were filthy, their hair lank and matted, and all of them were far from bug free. And it was evident that wasn’t all they had going against them when the maid held a hand to her nose with a shudder of revulsion.

He held out his arms and the woman relieved herself of the baskets with a thankful grunt. She then plonked the packages into his hands, turned and with a flick of her head, barked, ‘Well, come on, then, and hurry up about it. This way.’

Chapter 2

THEY PASSED ALONG London Road in silence, the maid walking a few steps ahead. Pip’s eyes travelled the length of her, and her own ragged appearance in comparison struck her acutely still. From the neat hat, adorned with sprigs of artificial winter berries, perched atop the clean brown hair, down to the trim jacket, pinched in at the waist, and long, dark skirts with no tears or patching in sight, which swish-swished as she moved – to Pip’s eyes, she looked glorious. Black-booted feet peeped out from beneath and their small heels met the frosty flagstones with a gentle click at each impatient step.

Pip was certain that it must be wonderful to be a domestic, wear clothes and boots such as those and live in a fancy house with meals on tap – and a regular wage into the bargain. Oh, she wanted to be a maid, she did. She opened her mouth to address the woman, ask her how girls went about being taken on, but thought better of it. Her stiff back and earlier reaction to them set her in an intimidating light. Pip knew she wouldn’t take too kindly to being spoken to by a vagrant like herself. Happen Simon would know? He knew about most things; she’d ask him later, she determined with a nod.

Lost in thoughts of the three of them one day soon working side by side in a beautiful home – surely there would be positions for the lads, too? – Pip was brought up short when Simon suddenly halted in front of her. His breathing was heavy and twin spots of colour stained his cheeks. His heavy cargo, coupled with his weakened strength due to lack of sustenance, were taking their toll.

‘Shall I help?’ she asked, holding out her free hand, but he shook his head.

Wincing, he stretched his back muscles then sighed when the maid, turning and seeing he’d stopped, snapped at him to get a move on. He straightened, gritted his teeth against the pain, and continued along.

By the time they had crossed the river over Ardwick Bridge and reached the corner of Tipping Street, Simon looked as Mack had earlier: pallid faced and fit to collapse. Here, with obvious reluctance, the servant allowed him to pause briefly to catch his breath. He readjusted the baskets’ handles over his arms and they were off once more, their tired feet tripping over themselves to match the strides of the maid as she passed on through Downing Street.

They emerged into a broad and leafy road. Now, it was Pip who stopped dead in her tracks. Despite the relatively short distance from the slums of Ancoats they had just left, it was a cavernous difference, as though stepping into a whole other world.

Like the affluent areas of Higher Broughton and Cheetham Hill to the north, the attractive spot of Ardwick, situated about a mile south-east of the centre of the city, was a fashionable and wealthy suburb. With each passing second, the very air itself had seemed to shift. A clean-smelling breeze drifted in to wrap around their lungs like a silken shroud. Pip drank it in greedily in great gulps and gazed about.

Differing shades of green had replaced the uniform grey she was used to. The bricks of the magnificent Georgian terraces, as yet unmarred by chimney smoke, were not soot-blackened red but retained their bold hue. No damp and decrepit dwellings here. No mills belching out their noxious filth on these privileged few. Such businesses were to the owners as to the workers they employed: their bread and butter. However, that didn’t mean they desired to live near their premises – far from it. They wouldn’t soil their lungs with the pollution they created – unlike their less fortunate workers who, ironically, lived and toiled in such conditions to make their masters the vast wealth which enabled them to enjoy this luxury.

Most of the better class rarely came into contact with ‘lowers’. Conveniently, they took the shortest route to their businesses of work each day and back again, bypassing the squalor of the other world and all it entailed, blissfully ignorant and blind to it all.

Another striking change here was the sound. Birdsong took the place of the crash and din of daily life that was Pip’s home. More notably, there wasn’t a public house in sight. No gin palaces and alehouses choking every inch. Not a murmur of lewd voices or thud of traffic. No drunken fights in these streets, no beggars and thieves and streetwalkers. Life-worn men with dead eyes and empty pockets, and ragged women sporting the usual Saturday-night black eye – where were they? Or screaming babies, and stick-thin children with jutting cheekbones, claw-like hands forever wanting of a crust? Stray and skeletal cats and dogs that roamed and foraged in the rotting refuse that littered their tumbledown streets? The stench and the horror and the hopelessness?

The maid halted before five or six spotless steps which led to a narrow-fronted, three-storey house of red brick with sandstone dressing. Sparkling sash windows, behind which hung thick, dark-green curtains, dotted the exterior. Beyond two grand columns, and beneath a round-headed entrance, stood a pale blue door with a well-polished brass knocker in the style of a lion’s head.

‘This it, then, miss?’ asked Simon, more than a little impressed despite his fatigue.

‘That’s right. I’m sure I can manage from— Ay! And where the divil d’you think you’re going?’ the woman added in a hiss, wrenching him back by his collar as he made to climb the steps. ‘You bold bloody article, yer. The main entrance indeed – huh! Is it a fine gentleman you think you are, now? It’d be the back way for the likes of thee – me an’ all, mind, for that matter. But as I said, I can manage from here, thank you very much.’ With a sniff of disdain, she relieved him of his burden and turned for the rear of the house. ‘Now be gone, all of you. Go on, go.’

‘But … Wait!’ Simon hurried after her. ‘The coppers, miss, remember? You promised me a few coppers—’

‘Ah.’ She halted and a sly glint appeared in her eyes. ‘I did. Mind, that were afore I knew you weren’t up to the job. Took me twice as long, it has, the journey, because of you. Huffing and puffing and stopping every two minutes. I’m dreadful late thanks to thee and will be for it should the master find out. Nay, tha deserves nowt.’

Pip and Mack stared back in open-mouthed horror and disbelief. Simon, on the other hand, turned puce with rage. ‘Why you snidy, rotten piece … I honoured my end of the deal fair and square, and you know it. You planned this from the off, didn’t you? You had me lug that lot all this way and never intended paying up, did you? This you’re spouting, it’s just an excuse so you don’t have to cough up.’

The woman and boy glared at each other. Suddenly, up ahead, the unmistakable clump of a policeman’s heavy boots cut through the darkening street. Simon turned wary eyes in his direction, and the maid gave a smug sniff. Further words were not needed – both knew who had come out of this victorious. The children couldn’t risk her summoning the constable over, and she knew it. She, a neat clean woman employed in a respectable household, and they … Whatever tale she’d have a mind to concoct, the policeman would take her words as truth over theirs any day of the week.

Pip shivered. It would be the worst for them. They would likely be hauled away to the cells, she reckoned – or worse, the workhouse. She willed Simon to back down and come away out of it. To her relief, he seemed to hear her silent pleas. With a last, hate-filled look at the maid, he swung on his heel and walked away.

With a self-satisfied laugh, the maid headed towards the rear of her residence and the traders’ and domestics’ entrance, as she’d earlier mentioned. The urge to run after her and give her a good hard kick on the leg had Pip’s heart banging with the struggle to desist. Just what were they to do, now? Why couldn’t they ever catch a break, just once? Why did the world and everyone in it seem to be against them, constantly against them? she asked herself and tears pricked her eyes. She shot a quick glance ahead and was just in time to see the constable turning off into nearby Rusholme Road, and her despondency lessened somewhat. She gave Mack’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, then she and the youngster hurried after their friend.

Simon led them across the wide roadway to the heart of the neighbourhood facing: Ardwick Green, a private park for residents of the surrounding houses that fronted it. Fenced with cast-iron railings, the oblong enclosure was, to their eyes, a garden of paradise. Gazing through the bars, Pip half expected to glimpse Adam and Eve amongst the foliage; she’d never seen anything like it in her life. This vast expanse of nature and beauty for such a fortunate few!

Like the gardens of the houses, the park was ornamented with shrubs and hawthorn, and planted here and there with tall trees. A large glacial erratic – the boulder looked as if it had been a feature almost from the beginning – stared back at them coldly.

Despite Pip warning that they were not permitted to enter and would be in awful trouble should the constable happen in this direction again, Simon made through the gate. The fight seemed to leave him in a rapid gust. He plopped on to the rotting carpet of leaves beneath a craggy poplar, rested his back against its grey trunk and closed his eyes.

‘It was foul of her to con you like she did, lad, and after you breaking your back carrying that lot up here. Mind, it’ll be all right,’ Pip soothed, addressing his bowed head. ‘Summat will come up, you’ll see. We’ve the market to try yet, remember? Aye, there’ll be spoils to be had there, I’ll be bound.’ He didn’t respond, and she squatted beside him. ‘Don’t fret so, Simon. We must keep trying, is all.’

She’d seen him down once or twice in the months she’d known him. But nothing like this. All strength and hope had abandoned him, leaving his body boneless, to curl in on itself. He looked broken. This latest cruelty was the last straw, it was clear, and Pip didn’t know what to do. Simon was the strong one of the three. He was the decision-maker, the one who picked them up when they were in need of support. To see him like this was more than a little frightening. They needed him, she and Mack. They needed him to be who he usually was. She bit her lip and looked about uncertainly.

A serpent-shaped pond, running the length of the Green, lay in the centre of the grassy promenade, its dark waters glistening silver-jade beneath the early moon. Shuffling across the bank to the water’s edge on his knees, Mack dipped forward and plunged his cupped hands beneath the glassy surface. He drank, repeated the action twice more, then shuffled back to snuggle between Pip and Simon.

Gaslights beyond were brought fizzing to life and the windows of the houses glowed with soft light. The children sat on, the unwanted yet familiar guests of cold and hunger along with them.

The rumble of private carriages and clop of hooves sounded in the distance. Then another carriage, and another; likely relatives arriving to join their wealthy families for the festivities. Doors were opened by uniformed maids, and impeccably dressed gentlemen in tall hats and velvet-collared, broad-tailed coats and matching waistcoats over fine lawn shirts drifted inside the comfortable homes. Close behind were their ladies in wide hoop skirts trimmed with flounces, cloaks in plaid or lined with fur of brown and dark grey secured around their shoulders. Elaborate bonnets tied beneath the chin in wide bows completed their dress, while delicate hands were hidden snugly in matching muffs. Sometimes, a nursemaid followed with their plump, cherry-cheeked charges, immaculate in pale-coloured frocks or breeches. The occasional servant in tow, noiseless in well-trained fashion, took up the rear.

Peeking through the shrubs, Pip watched the elegant processions in wonder. And she’d thought that maid’s attire was special! She shook her head, dumbstruck. Compared to these fine people, her apparel had been as plain as they came. Suddenly, as though the mere thought of the nasty piece in question had conjured her up, there she was, emerging from the direction she’d disappeared in earlier, an empty wicker basket over her arm and a face like thunder. Had she forgotten something when making her purchases and been ordered out again? Pip wondered. Ha – serve her right, too! Mind, the smaller domestic trotting behind her would likely bear the burden of the carrying this time, no doubt.

She nudged Simon. ‘Look who it ain’t. It’s that bad piece.’ As she spoke, the pale blue front door of the house where the maid was employed opened. A gentleman and two ladies emerged.

Following her gaze, Simon’s demeanour changed. The maudlin look left him and cunning from years of necessity returned to his eyes. He rose. Without a word, he strode across the Green. Before Pip had time to catch her breath, he swung through the gate and headed for the two groups – who were almost level with each other now, going their different ways – step purposeful, head high.

To say the maid was surprised was putting it mildly – her face was a picture. Holding Mack’s hand, a nervous Pip watched on from a distance. Just what did Simon plan? Fancy him confronting her like this – in front of her fine employers, too! By, but he was brave. Braver than herself, that was for sure.

With a nervous lick of her lips, the maid looked to the gentleman and ladies, who had halted to turn curious stares on the urchin standing close by. ‘On your way,’ she told Simon quietly, though anger sparked from her eyes. ‘You’ve no business begging around here—’

‘I’m not begging, miss. I’ve come asking on the brass you owe me, is all.’

Her lips bunched in embarrassed fury. ‘Brass? Brass? I don’t know what—’

‘Do you know this … boy, Hardman?’ cut in one of the ladies with a haughty lift of her chin.

‘Nay. Certainly not, Mrs Goldthorpe. I’ve never clapped eyes on him in my life.’

‘Aye, she does.’ Simon nodded. ‘Swindled me out of some coppers, earlier, she did. I lugged a load of purchases for her and she promised—’

‘The only liar’s thee and I reckon your master deserves to know what a black-hearted divil he has amongst his labour force—’

They all jumped at the authoritative voice of the gentleman, whose face had turned a dull purple. He paused to flash a smile and touch his tall hat to an affluent-looking couple walking by, who gazed with undisguised disgust at Simon and horror that he should be in their acquaintance’s company, before addressing them again, his colour higher still. ‘What is the meaning of this outrage? How dare you accost my servants and my family in this manner with your wild accusations! Be gone instantly, you young criminal, before I have you locked in prison.’

‘Sir, she lies!’ But Simon’s protests fell on deaf ears. The gentleman and his lady friends were walking away, although one of the ladies looked back several times as though she wanted to say something until the gentleman, taking her arm firmly, hurried her along. ‘Please, we need the money she promised for grub. Bread’s poorly sick and—’

‘You heard,’ the maid shot over her shoulder as she too made off in the opposite direction, a look of such sly smugness on her face it had Pip’s head swinging in anger. ‘Get gone, you smelly slum rat,’ she finished in a hiss before hurrying on, the young servant in her company running to catch her up.

Slipping out of hiding, Pip and Mack made towards Simon, standing ramrod straight in the road. His face moved not a muscle when she touched his shoulder. ‘Oh, lad. Let’s get out of here, eh?’

‘Aye, I did.’ His eyes were steely, his mouth a mere line. ‘I’ve had just about enough of folk like her the day and beyond. Enough, d’you hear?’

Also by Emma Hornby

THE ORPHANS OF ARDWICK

Emma Hornby

Chapter 1

December 1860

Chapter 2