Hope - Lesley Pearse [94]
When she woke that morning she had been absolutely determined to provide a meal for the three of them, but now she was here in Bristol’s most prestigious street, within sniffing distance of Slater’s Pies, her nerve had gone.
Normally at eleven in the morning this street was full of cabs, carts and carriages with hundreds of people thronging the pavements. But the bitterly cold weather had made the town quiet for over a fortnight, and now snow was expected later today only a few people had ventured out. Betsy said that made it an ideal opportunity for Hope to try her hand at a snatch and run.
‘It’s sinful that the rich stuff their bellies while people like us starve,’ Gussie pointed out. ‘As for Slater, he ain’t even gonna miss one when he’s got that many!’
They hadn’t eaten for three whole days and all Gussie and Betsy’s usual avenues of opportunity to get food or money seemed to be closed to them. The extremely cold weather had delayed ships, and windows and doors normally left open were now shut. All the owners of food shops and stalls around the quayside were being extra vigilant. Daily they woke to find icicles hanging inside the window of their room, and there wasn’t a scrap of wood lying around anywhere that they could burn on the fire. They couldn’t even go into an ale house to get warm without money.
Hope felt obliged to do something to help out. Her friends had provided her with food and a roof over her head for two months now, and although she’d paid her way to a certain extent by helping them with scavenging, it didn’t seem right to take a share of food they had stolen without ever taking the risk herself.
Both Gussie and Betsy were far too bedraggled to attempt entering Slater’s, which catered for the gentry, but Hope still looked tidy enough to pass for a servant out getting her mistress’s order.
‘You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,’ Betsy said. She looked worried now, along with being pinched with cold. ‘We’ll think of something else.’
If either of them had insisted she do it, or belittled her for being such a prude, Hope might well have backed away. But they’d become her new family and they were the kindest and most generous people she’d ever known. Betsy’s teeth were chattering, the thin shawl around her shoulders was no protection against the icy north wind, and Gussie had a bad chest. Last night Hope had heard him coughing his very lungs up. He didn’t look at all well, his face was chalky-white and his chest rattled, yet these two who had grown up without any of the advantages she’d had were prepared to share anything they had with her.
‘All right, I’ll do it,’ she agreed reluctantly. ‘Go away; wait for me at the top of St Nicholas’s steps.’
For a moment they just looked at her in silence, their expressions reminding Hope sharply of how Nell used to look at her when she wasn’t convinced she could really manage something on her own. But then Betsy slapped her on the shoulder and smiled. ‘Be brave and quick. Don’t run when you get it; that just draws attention to you. But if someone chases you, go like stink and dodge in and out of the alleys.’
Gussie just grinned weakly, but the way he fiddled nervously with his muffler suggested he wasn’t entirely happy to see Hope joining the ranks of criminals.
Once her friends had walked off up Wine Street in the direction of Corn Street, Hope crossed the street and went down towards the pie shop.
Slater’s Pies was unique, not only for the dark green and gold frontage or the splendid mahogany counters, but because it had a reputation for making the best pies in the West of England. Just looking in the window was enough to make your mouth water: game, chicken, beef or pork pies arranged on green and white checked cloths, the shiny golden-brown pastry glinting under the gas lights.
Hope always stopped to look at them when she passed. She loved the cleanliness of the shop and the delectable smells, and she admired burly Mr Slater in his sparkling white overall