A Handful of Sovereigns

Midson

One

‘Will we have to go to the workhouse, Maggie?’

Fifteen-year-old Maggie Paige shot a startled look at her younger brother before answering quickly, ‘Of course not, Charlie, whatever gave you that idea?’

The young boy shrugged his thin shoulders, his white, pinched face giving him the appearance of a boy much older than his eight years. The sight of the desolation in her brother’s eyes caused Maggie’s heart to lurch painfully inside her breast. Putting out her hand she said softly, ‘Come here, love. Come and give me a cuddle.’

When the small arms wrapped themselves around her neck she swallowed hard, warning herself not to break down. The tears she had been holding in check all morning would have to wait a little longer, for now she had to be strong. Looking over his shoulder to where her sister stood by the door, she said gently, ‘Put the kettle on, Liz, and when the tea’s ready we can make a start on those sandwiches I made this morning.’

Lizzie Paige looked across the room at her sister, her eyes still red from crying and shook her head slowly.

‘I’m not hungry, Maggie.’

Fighting down a feeling of irritation Maggie strove to keep her voice steady.

‘I know you’re not, Liz, but we have to eat. We’ve had nothing since last night, and the last thing we need right now is for one of us to get ill.’

For a moment Maggie thought that Lizzie was going to start an argument, and prayed silently. ‘Not today, please God, not today.’ She felt her body slacken with relief as Lizzie walked slowly past her and into the scullery.

Shifting her weight slightly she leaned back against the horsehair sofa pulling Charlie with her. Stroking his hair gently she closed her eyes and thought back over the past week. Was it only a week? Could their carefree, happy lives have been so drastically changed in such a short space of time? She felt the tears begin to seep between her closed eyelids and swallowed noisily.

The first victim of the diphtheria epidemic that was running rife in the East End streets had been old Mr Blackstone in the basement flat. His sudden death had caused no more than slight ripples of alarm to run through the four-storey house in Bethnal Green, where they lived in the top two rooms. There was always some disease breaking out due to the blocked-up, overflowing sewers that were part and parcel of living in this area of London. Illness and disease were common occurrences that the people accepted with resigned endurance. Apart from taking the precaution of boiling their drinking water, her mother hadn’t taken any notice of the danger in their midst.

Then, a week after Mr Blackstone’s death, ten-year-old Billy Simms from the second floor came home from school complaining of feeling unwell, and within 24 hours he was dead. The other residents in the building had felt the first stirring of panic at the news of the young boy’s death, and their fears had soon become justified. Like a fire out of control, the disease had caught hold and swept through the large, overcrowded house, indiscriminate in its choice of victims.

Maggie hadn’t been surprised when the fever had claimed her dad, for he had always been sickly, spending more time at home than he did at the docks. Nor had it come as any surprise when her four younger brothers had succumbed to the sickness, for like their dad they had no constitution. But when her mum, that strong, single-minded woman that they had all looked to for guidance and strength had taken to her bed and quietly died, the shock had nearly been the end for the three of them. They had all loved their dad and brothers, but not with the fierce, almost worshipping feeling they’d had for their mum. Without her presence they were like a ship without its helm, floundering helplessly and without direction in a sea of pain and grief.

‘Tea’s ready,’ Lizzie muttered sullenly as she walked past Maggie and Charlie. Banging the teapot down on the green cotton tablecloth she pulled out a chair and slumped onto it dejectedly. Maggie looked at her sister’s dispirited face and felt the weight of responsibility bearing down heavily on her shoulders. Although Lizzie was two years older than her, Maggie knew that it would fall to her to see that the three of them stayed together.

Giving Charlie a gentle nudge she said kindly, ‘Come on, love, let’s get some grub down us, it’ll make us all feel better.’

Charlie hesitated for a moment. He wasn’t hungry, in fact he felt sick, but he must do as Maggie told him. From now on he must be very good, because if he was bad, then his sisters might send him to the workhouse. The very thought of that grim building was enough to send the bile rushing up into his throat. He felt the sweat break out on his forehead as he fought to keep from being sick, but it was no good. The days of grief and nights of fear he had endured this past week had accumulated until his nerve-racked system could take no more; when his stomach lurched he cast a beseeching look at Maggie before jumping down from the table and rushing into the scullery.

‘Well, so much for making us feel better,’ Lizzie said, her voice scathing as she watched the retreating figure of her brother.

Maggie looked up swiftly, her hackles rising at the tone of her sister’s voice. Her eyes raked over the small, plump figure dressed in the navy skirt and blouse with their mother’s black fringed shawl draped round the hunched shoulders and she felt her anger abating. Getting to her feet she asked mildly, ‘Pour me out a cup of tea, would you, Liz? I’d better see if Charlie’s all right, then we’ll have to talk about what we plan to do now that Mum and Dad have gone.’

‘What do you mean, have a talk? There’s nothing to talk about that I can see. We’ll just have to carry on like before but on less money, that’s all there is to it.’

Maggie stared at her elder sister in amazement. Was she being deliberately obtuse, or did she really think that their lives wouldn’t be affected by the death of their parents. But then hadn’t Liz always been the same? As far back as Maggie could remember, her sister had seemed to glide through life with her eyes closed to the problems of those around her. Only when she herself was directly affected, did she make an effort to stir herself, and it was this attitude that had been the cause of many a row between the two of them. With a resigned sigh she pushed back her chair and went in search of her brother.

Charlie heard her coming and tried valiantly to get to his feet, but the effort was too much and with a quiet groan he slumped back down onto the cold stone floor.

‘Oh, Charlie, oh you poor love,’ Maggie cried, her heart wrenching at the sight of the crumpled figure.

Bending down she put her arms under the thin legs and lifted him from the floor. Holding him tight against her breast she carried him into the front room and laid him down on the mattress in the far corner, then, kneeling by his side she took hold of his clammy hands and said urgently, ‘Charlie, you won’t end up in the workhouse, I promise. I’d never let that happen to you. I love you, you silly ha’pence, and I’m going to look after you. Now try and get some sleep, there’s a good lad.’ Pushing back a tendril of damp hair from his forehead she took one last look at his ashen face before pulling the thin blanket over his trembling body.

‘What’s the matter with him?’ Lizzie asked as Maggie sat down at the table. Picking up a sandwich from the plate in front of her Maggie made a studious effort at eating in order to play for time before answering. Glancing sideways to where Lizzie sat, her fingers drumming impatiently on the table, Maggie was alarmed at the feeling of dislike that rose inside her at the sight of her sister. They had never been close–they didn’t even bear any resemblance to each other. Whereas Maggie was tall and slender with dark brown hair and eyes, Lizzie had always been on the plump side with fair, mousy hair and pale blue eyes, the image of her late father, while Maggie and Charlie had inherited their mother’s striking looks. This fact had been a bone of contention with Lizzie since the day she had started to take an interest in herself; and that interest had started very early in her life. The two girls had fought and argued as children, and growing into adulthood hadn’t softened their attitude towards each other. Maggie’s mind ran swiftly down the years, recalling all the petty grievances and squabbles, and felt a growing sense of dismay. There was no loving, understanding Mum now to intervene between them and restore order. Maggie had to admit to herself that she didn’t like her sister; she loved her, but she didn’t like her. She also knew that if it wasn’t for Charlie they would probably go their separate ways, but until he was old enough to look after himself they would have to bury their differences and try to create a stable environment for him to grow up in.

Pushing away the half-eaten sandwich she took a deep breath and said quietly, ‘What’s wrong with you, Lizzie? How can you sit there and ask what’s the matter with him? He’s only eight years old and he’s just seen his mum and dad and brothers buried. How do you expect him to act? The poor little sod thinks we’re going to put him in the workhouse, he’s half out of his mind with fear and if you weren’t so wrapped up in yourself you would have noticed before now.’

Maggie heard her voice rising and saw the flash of anger cross Lizzie’s face. Anxious to avoid an argument she reached out and grabbed the plump hand tightly, saying, ‘I’m sorry, Liz, I shouldn’t have said that. Please, don’t let’s fight, I know we haven’t always got on, but we have to forget the past and pull together now. If only for Charlie’s sake, let’s try and be friends, eh?’

Lizzie squirmed uncomfortably on the chair, her face a mixture of confused emotions while Maggie held her breath waiting for an answer. When she felt the hand within hers tighten she expelled a silent sigh of relief.

Lizzie remained silent for a few moments, then clearing her throat loudly she said awkwardly, ‘All right, I’m prepared to try to if you are. So what do you suggest we do now? How are we going to manage without Mum and Dad’s wages? I know Dad was more out of work than in it, but he did bring some money into the house, and Mum could sometimes earn as much as fifteen shillings from the washing and ironing she did for the big houses up Hackney and Aldgate way. I know I just said we could carry on like before, but I was just talking for the sake of it. We’re never going to be able to manage on our wages, are we?’

Maggie shook her head despondently. ‘Not while we stay on living where we are. The first thing we have to do is find somewhere smaller, we can’t afford to pay the rent here. First thing tomorrow I’ll start looking for another place. Mr Abrahams said I could have a few more days off while I sort things out; he’s been very good.’ As the image of her kindly employer appeared in her mind she found herself smiling fondly. Her mum had got her the job in the dusty, overcrowded book shop when she was thirteen, and for the past two years she had happily run the dilapidated, untidy shop whilst old Mr Abrahams had whiled his time away sitting outside the front of the shop in his wicker chair, puffing contentedly on his smelly pipe and chatting with anyone who happened to pass by.

Maggie knew she had been lucky to get such an easy, pleasant job, and had often felt guilty about Lizzie having to work in the matchbox factory in Bow. Conditions had improved slightly since the massive walk-out at Bryant and May in July, when 672 women had downed tools in support of a young girl unjustly sacked. This unbelievable action had led to an all-out strike, during which time Lizzie had been in her element. Every day she had gone down to the factory and taken her place in the picket line holding aloft her makeshift banner, retailing with relish the horrific conditions to the throng of curious bystanders who gathered to witness the historic event. For the first time in her life she had felt important, and although her wages had been sorely missed until strike pay had been organised, it had been almost worth the extra hardship to see her happy for a change.

‘What do you mean, somewhere smaller?’ Lizzie’s voice shrilled loudly, cutting into Maggie’s reverie. ‘How much smaller were you thinking of? We’ve only got two rooms and a scullery as it is, if you think I’m moving into something even smaller you’ve got another think coming. Now you listen to me, Maggie, I…’

‘No, you listen,’ Maggie hissed back. ‘You earn nine shillings a week, I only get five and sixpence. The rent here alone is twelve bob, and that’s without food, coal and money for clothes and shoes; you work it out. And as for this place being too small, it was big enough for the nine of us for years, wasn’t it?’

The two girls glared at each other, their short-lived friendship gone, swept away on the tide of anger engulfing them both. An uneasy silence settled on the room, and then, her body heaving with rage and frustration, Lizzie leant towards Maggie and said savagely, ‘Oh, yes, it was big enough for nine of us, with Mum, Dad, Harry, Johnny, Jimmy and Ken packed into one bedroom and you, me and Charlie huddled together on a mattress hardly big enough for two people in the same room we use as a kitchen and sitting room. Huh.’ She was on her feet now, her hands resting on the table, her face inches away from Maggie’s.

‘And as for the money we bring home, you could help there by giving up the bookshop and getting a real job. It’s not fair that I should have to slog my guts out in that stinking factory while you ponce around dusting old books pretending you’re someone special. But then Mum thought you were, didn’t she? She didn’t drag you down to the factory when you left school like she did me, oh, no, not her precious Maggie, she wanted something better for you. Never mind that I’ve risked having the jaws eaten out of my head by phosphorus for the past four years working in that hell hole. As long as I brought my wages home that’s all that mattered to Mum.’

Maggie sat rooted to her chair, her eyes wide with pity and sudden understanding of her sister’s animosity towards her over the years. If the positions had been reversed, wouldn’t she have felt the same?

‘Liz, I’m sorry,’ she murmured softly, ‘I had no idea, I just never thought about it–you’ve never said anything before.’

‘What good would it have done to complain?’ Lizzie replied bitterly. ‘The factory’s bad enough, but there are worse places so I kept quiet. But there’s hardly been a day gone by when I haven’t thought of you working in that bookshop while I’ve stood at my bench pasting strips of magenta paper and thin pieces of wood together. I’ve become fast over the years, that’s why I can earn up to nine bob a week. But when I first started my fingers used to be rubbed raw trying to fill my quota, some days, when the foreman was breathing down my neck and I was scared I’d lose my job, I’d work even faster until my fingers bled. I… oh, what the hell.’ Her voice broke, and when Maggie saw the tears spring into her sister’s eyes she pushed back her chair, and going to Lizzie’s side she placed an arm around the heaving shoulders. Gently turning the sobbing girl around, Maggie led her to the sofa and together they slumped down onto the worn cushions. As they sat side by side, their arms closely entwined, Maggie felt a sense of peace and well-being steal over her. But the moment was short lived, as Lizzie, recovered now from her crying spasm and feeling awkward at being in such close proximity with her young sister, quickly disentangled herself from Maggie’s grasp.

‘Well now,’ she said gruffly, ‘I’d better get back to work. If I hurry, I can still get an afternoon’s work in. Like you said, we’re going to need all the money we can get now.’

‘But, Liz, we haven’t had a proper talk yet,’ Maggie’s voice rose in alarm. ‘There’s such a lot to be sorted out–can’t you take the rest of the day off?’

Lizzie was already pulling on her heavy black shawl, her face impassive as she made for the door. ‘We need the money,’ she repeated dully. Maggie stood watching her for a moment, then with a quick bound she was across the room, her hand clutching at the plump arm.

‘I’m going to go and see Mr Abrahams tomorrow and tell him I won’t be able to work for him any more.’ The words tumbled out breathlessly while her mind reeled in shock at the enormity of what she had said.

Shaking her head impatiently she carried on, ‘You’re right, it isn’t fair to expect you to carry on in a job you hate when I’m so happy in mine. I thought maybe I could take over Mum’s job. Her customers will still want their washing and ironing done, and that way I can stay at home and keep an eye on Charlie. He needs one of us to be around right now. You know how nervous he is, and he’d hate coming home from school to an empty house. And… and if I can persuade Mum’s customers to let me do their laundry for them, then maybe we can stay here after all. What do you think, Liz?’ Her hand tightened on Lizzie’s arm, her voice pleading for some kind word, however small–but she was disappointed.

Shrugging her arm free, Lizzie opened the door, then turning her head slightly she said tersely, ‘If you’re waiting for a pat on the back, you’re out of luck. It’s about time you found out what hard work’s really like, you’ve had it easy for far too long. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m late for work.’

When the door was slammed in her face Maggie stood for a long moment staring in hurt silence at the stained wooden panels, and then her mood changed swiftly to anger. Her fists clenched into tight balls, she stormed across the cracked, lino-covered floor and into the bedroom that had belonged to her parents and younger brothers. Ignoring the brass bedstead and the bare, stained mattress she sat instead on the long wooden ottoman at the foot of the bed. Placing her fists between her knees she rocked her body back and forth all the while muttering, ‘The cow, the nasty, spiteful cow. How could she know how hard I’ve worked?’ What about all the times she had had to carry heavy boxes of books from the big houses down to the shop? And how about when she’d had to haggle a price for the books, some of which were fit only for the rubbish tip, while the so-called better-classed ladies and gentlemen had treated her as if they were bestowing a great favour in allowing her to take their prized possessions away.

As for the shop itself, why, she had run it single handed since she started. Her duties included serving the customers, keeping some kind of order among the thousands of old, dusty books, making sure the accounts were kept up to date as well as making Mr Abrahams countless cups of tea and cooking his meals for him. Then when she came home, she’d always helped Mum with the never-ending pile of sheets and soiled undergarments that littered the tiny scullery.

Liz had never helped at home, nor had she ever looked after the children or cooked a meal. Once she had finished her day at the factory she had considered her work done for the rest of the day and had spent the evenings lolling about on the sofa reading some cheap magazine.

Raising her eyes she looked at the bed and whispered, ‘I tried, Mum, I tried to be friends with her, but without you here to help us it’s impossible. I thought for a while back there when she was upset that maybe we could bury our differences, but the truth is we don’t like each other and we never will.’

‘Who are you talking to, Maggie?’ Charlie stood in the doorway rubbing his eyes, his Sunday shorts and pullover rumpled where he had been sleeping in them.

‘No-one, love, just thinking out loud. You’d better get out of your good clothes and then if you’re feeling better you can have something to eat.’

‘Has Liz gone out?’ he asked, his eyes moving around the room, and Maggie was quick to note the relief in his voice as he realised his elder sister was obviously not at home. Getting up from the ottoman Maggie took his hand and led him from the room. Later, when he had finished a bowl of soup and a sandwich, she ordered him back to bed, and he went without a murmur.

When she was sure Charlie was asleep she settled herself on the sofa, her elbows resting on her long faded serge dress, her hands cupping her face as she stared into space. All of a sudden she felt deathly tired, and would have liked nothing better than to crawl under the thin blanket with Charlie, but if she slept now she would be awake half the night. Also she was determined to make Liz sit down and talk about their future. There was such a lot to be sorted out. The brass bedstead would have to be disposed of. It seemed a waste, but six people had died in it. Although Maggie knew that if the diphtheria had been going to get the three of them, it should have done so by now, she wasn’t about to take any chances. She had already burned all of her dad’s clothes and those belonging to her brothers, but her mum’s clothes she had boiled thoroughly and packed away in the ottoman. There had been nothing sentimental about her decision to keep her mother’s clothing–she had done so for purely practical reasons. Who knew when she or Liz would be able to afford any new clothes? And by new she meant the second-hand garments her mum had bought them off the stall down the market, as not one of the family had ever owned anything brand new. The only thing she had to get rid of now was the bed, and that shouldn’t prove too difficult. There was many a family who would take it off her hands, even when they knew her reasons for getting rid of it.

Glancing at the mantel clock she was surprised to see that it was nearly six o’clock. Liz would be home in a couple of hours, and then the battle would resume where it had left off. Knowing if she stayed on the sofa she would probably fall asleep, she dragged herself to her feet. Clearing the table quickly, she carried the dirty crockery into the scullery and placed them in the wooden sink. Taking her time she began to wash each item, and when that was done she got down on her knees and slowly scrubbed the floor in an effort to pass the time until Lizzie came home.

Two

By ten o’clock Lizzie still hadn’t returned home. Maggie’s mood had changed from fear for her sister’s safety to anger at what she thought to be inconsiderate behaviour, then back to fear. She didn’t know what time she had finally fallen asleep on the worn sofa, but when she awoke, cold and cramped, her first instinct was to hurry over to the bed, praying to see the short, plump body lying beside Charlie. Peering into the gloom her heart sank at the sight of the empty space beside the inert, silent form of her brother. Biting her lower lip anxiously she pulled her brown woollen shawl from the peg behind the scullery door and, careful not to wake Charlie, she crept from the room and down to the communal lavatory. Holding her breath against the stench of the tiny closet she quickly relieved herself and hurried back up the bare, wooden stairway.

Once back in the flat she stripped herself to the waist and lathered the top half of her body with the thin bar of carbolic soap. Her teeth chattering wildly, she swiftly dried herself on the threadbare grey towel before setting about the business of getting a fire going in the living room grate. Ten minutes later, with a bright roaring fire heating the still dark room she reluctantly pulled herself away from the warmth of the flames to make the morning pot of tea.

‘Charlie, Charlie, come on, wake up, love,’ she said softly, her free hand shaking the thin shoulder. Charlie woke slowly, his eyes opening with a supreme effort. Blinking rapidly he gave a huge yawn before asking tiredly, ‘Is it time to get up already, Maggie?’

‘No, no, it’s all right, love,’ she reassured him, ‘but I have to get to the shop, and I didn’t want to go without telling you. Here, sit up and drink this tea while it’s hot. I’m sorry there’s no milk, I’ll bring some home with me tonight.’

Placing the tin mug carefully in his hand she stood up, adding, ‘You can stay in bed if you want, you might as well have the rest of the week off school, but you’ll have to go back on Monday.’

Without waiting for an answer, she picked up her own mug of steaming black tea from the table and between quick gulps, she spread a thick layer of pork fat on two slices of bread for Charlie’s breakfast.

‘There’s a piece of paper on the floor, Maggie.’ Holding the thin blanket over his shoulders, Charlie bent down to retrieve the small scrap of paper. Laying it on the table, he asked timidly, ‘Can I use the pot this morning, Maggie? I’ll empty it when I’m dressed.’

Maggie nodded absently, then walked over to the fire so that she could read the short note by the light of the leaping flames. Quickly scanning the page she felt her face relax and a smile come to her lips.

Dear Maggie

Sorry I was so late home last night. I stayed late at work to earn some extra money, and I’m leaving early so I can walk instead of getting the horse-bus, every little bit helps. See you later.

Liz

‘What is it, Maggie?’ Charlie asked curiously as he came back to the table.

‘Nothing important, love. Just a note from Liz. Now look.’ She waved a finger under his nose, ‘I’ve got to go now. You bring your breakfast over to the fire and keep yourself warm. And don’t forget to empty that pot, mind.’

Charlie moved over to the fire, his eyes following his sister as she wrapped her shawl over her head and around the top half of her body, her fingers deftly tying the edges into a small knot at the back of her waist. He wished she didn’t have to go back to work, he didn’t like being on his own, but he mustn’t say anything. Remembering how he had felt yesterday he swallowed hard and looked into the fire. The fear of the workhouse was still with him and he had to make a conscious effort not to plead with Maggie to stay home. He knew she loved him now, but she might change her mind if he became a nuisance.

Stretching his lips into a smile he said loudly, ‘I’ll be all right, I can look after meself.’

Maggie smiled fondly at him, then bending over she kissed him lightly on the cheek, saying, ‘I know you can, love. See you later.’

When she had gone, he sat for a long while, his breakfast forgotten as he stared at the tall, black shadows that seemed to dance on the walls from the reflection of the fire. He wished that Maggie had lit the gas lamp before leaving, even though he knew it would soon be light. Closing his eyes tightly he leant his head against his knees and waited for the dawn to break.

When Maggie reached the second floor she hesitated a moment before knocking on the door where the Simms family lived. Within minutes Ethel Simms, a slovenly but amiable woman in her mid-40s stood before her, a broad smile spreading over her grimy face at the sight of her young neighbour.

‘Why, ‘ello, Maggie, you off back to work then?’

‘Good morning, Mrs Simms, yes, I am. That’s why I knocked. You see I’ve left Charlie on his own and I was wondering if you’d keep an eye on him. I don’t like leaving him just now, you know, after what’s happened, but I don’t have any choice.’

Ethel Simms looked closely at the young girl and sighed heavily. Then folding her arms across her ample chest she said sadly, ‘I know, love, I know. We’ve all suffered, and you’re not the only ones who’ll miss yer mum. She always ‘ad time to stop and ‘ave a chat wiv me, and many’s a time she ‘elped me out when money was short, even though she didn’t ‘ave much ‘erself. She was well-liked was yer mum, but Maggie, love, I know it’s none of me business, but Charlie ain’t a baby no more. My Billy, God rest him, ‘e took care of ‘imself almost from the time ‘e could walk, and ‘e was more ‘elp to me than that lazy bugger I married. Went up West every day after school ‘e did to clear the ‘orse’s muck from the roads, ‘and ‘e ‘anded over every penny wivout me ‘aving to ask him.’

Stopping for a moment to wipe her nose on her sleeve, she gave a loud sniff before adding sombrely, ‘I still can’t believe ‘e’s gorn. Strong as a bull my Billy, it don’t make sense that a boy like that could be taken while some like…’

Maggie bowed her head for a brief second before raising her eyes to meet the woman’s anguished gaze.

‘Like my Charlie you mean? Oh, it’s all right, Mrs Simms, there’s no need to feel embarrassed, I’ve wondered the same thing myself. Look at my mum, she never had a day’s illness in her life, but it never did her any good, did it? But if it’s too much trouble, about Charlie I mean, just say – I won’t be offended.’

She watched as Mrs Simms gave her nose another swipe at her sleeve, trying to keep the disgust from her face.

‘Don’t you worry, love, I’ll keep me eye out for ‘im. You get off to work and if…’ Her words were cut off by the sound of a child’s piercing wail coming from somewhere inside the room. Maggie used the distraction to make her escape. With a last shout of thanks to the already retreating figure, she carefully concentrated on descending the darkened stairway, her mind thinking over what Ethel Simms had said.

It was true that some children of Charlie’s age worked after school. There were plenty of the poor mites working at the matchbox factory where Liz worked, sometimes until ten or eleven at night, and Maggie knew that if it wasn’t compulsory to send children to school, many parents wouldn’t bother. Not like her mum. She had been very strict on education, refusing to let any of her children work before they left school, even though she had been sorely in need of the extra money they could have brought in before her two daughters had finally left school. She’d made them speak properly too, always pulling them up if they dropped their aitches, much to the amusement of their father. As he’d often pointed out, schooling hadn’t done much for Lizzie when the time had come for her to start work. His remarks had always been made without malice, he being perfectly content to leave the upbringing of his children in his wife’s capable hands.

The blast of cold air from the open porch made Maggie pull her shawl even tighter around her slender body. Before stepping, out onto the pavement she looked up at the dark stairway, her mind picturing Charlie already counting the hours until she returned home.

‘Oh, stop it,’ she told herself sternly, ‘Mrs Simms is right. He’s not a baby, and he’s going to have to toughen up sooner or later. It might as well be now.’ Pushing aside the feeling of guilt that threatened to overcome her, she bent her head against the cold and left the building.

A slight flurry of snow was just beginning to fall as Maggie hurried down Old Ford Road. If she kept up this pace she should reach Petticoat Lane in another 20 minutes. For some unknown reason she was anxious to reach the shop and see Mr Abrahams. A nagging feeling of disquiet had been