Fallen Grace - Mary Hooper [23]
Grace didn’t reply, for she didn’t think it was right to encourage Lily in such thoughts and she’d stopped believing in Papa long ago. Besides, even with what she’d pawned she hadn’t managed to put aside their rent money for the following week and was more concerned about that than about a man whose very existence was in doubt.
When Mrs Beale had gone, Grace looked around the room. What else could she pawn to keep them from starving? Could they manage without shoes? She sighed. Some folk did – the youngest Cartwright boy, a lad of about six, seemed to have neither shoes nor clothes of his own, since he only appeared outside when one of his brothers was indoors. Once, sent by his mother to beg a slice of bread from Grace, he’d appeared at their door wearing no more than a shabby shawl tied around his waist. After some thought, Grace decided that their petticoats and the last pillow could be pawned if absolutely necessary, but not their shoes.
She glanced at the two small white cards still standing on the shelf above the fireplace. She loathed the thought of asking for charity, but she would if she had to. Anything to help prevent them from being taken to a workhouse. And she knew there were even worse fates than that: recently she hadn’t been able to prevent herself from looking with awful fascination at the sad young women who plied the oldest of trades in the slum that was Monmouth Street . . . those girls with matted hair, sores, bruises and utterly wretched expressions. Oh, pray that God hadn’t deserted her and Lily entirely and that that didn’t become their fate.
x
While Grace was speaking to Mrs Beale, Lily was standing with Alfie Pope watching a conjurer perform in a paved square off Oxford Street. The square held a good amount of people, for it contained several popular shops, two best-quality fruit stalls and a small swingboat of the type you might get at a fair. Just then it also contained the Magnificent Marvo, and it was in front of him that most of the crowd, including a dog and a man, were gathered.
‘Look, see that dog?’ Alfie hissed. ‘The beagle dog?’ He took Lily’s arm and pointed to the small brown and white hound waiting patiently beside its owner in the cobbled square. ‘It’s lost, see. All you gotta do is pick it up and take it to that fence over the back where my brother Billy is. He’ll take the doggie off you and see it gets to its rightful ’ome.’
Lily frowned. She was tired and, after a day looking for bottles on the streets and earning only a penny, was anxious to get back to Grace. ‘Are you sure it’s lost?’ she said to Alfie. ‘That man’s got it on a lead.’
‘That’s not its real owner,’ Alfie said, running a grubby hand through his shock of black hair. ‘It’s been nicked. See, its real owner wants it back and is off’ring a reward. A big reward.’
Lily’s eyes gleamed. ‘Did it say so in the newspaper?’
‘Exactly,’ Alfie said.
‘So why don’t you take it?’ Lily asked.
‘’Cos the cove’s going to be on the lookout for anyone gettin’ too close to his nice new doggie,’ Alfie explained diligently. ‘He’d be suspicious of me, but he won’t ’spect an helegant young gel like you.’
Lily beamed at him.
‘You can easily cut the doggie’s lead an’ –’
‘Cut the lead?’
‘Yup. I got a sharp knife here,’ said Alfie. ‘Cut the lead, pick up the doggie and you’ll be orf before he knows it. Then you just goes to that fence over the back there and gives him to Billy and he’ll give you a shillin’.’
‘A shilling!’ Lily’s eyes gleamed.
‘Sure! Easiest money you’ll ever earn. ’Ere’s the knife.’ He pressed a small penknife into her hand. ‘Off you go now. Look smart.’
Lily didn’t hesitate, for in all her life she had never before had the opportunity of earning a shilling. She concealed the penknife in her hand, slipped around the corner into the square and went to stand beside the dog in the heart of the crowd. Everyone was intent on watching the magician who was bringing out innumerable silk handkerchiefs from the sleeve of his jacket, colour upon