London, 1864 (part 1)

London, 1864

Water streams off the girl’s head and into her eyes in endless rivers; she had stopped trying to wipe it away hours ago. The effort was too much for her in her exhausted state, her body weak from days without proper rest and food. As she stumbles down the alleyway, only a single thought runs through the girl’s mind:Can’t let them find me. Can’t let them find me.She would be sent right back there if anyone caught her, right back to the orphanage.

‘Orphanage’ was a generous word for that place, implying that that was where parentless children were taken care of until they were adopted. The truth was much more depressing. Few children were ever adopted, and never the ones like the girl, themisfortunates. No one wanted a mute child.ater streams off the girl’s head and into her eyes in endless rivers; she had stopped trying to wipe it away hours ago. The effort was too much for her in her exhausted state, her body weak from days without proper rest and food. As she stumbles down the alleyway, only a single thought runs through the girl’s mind:Can’t let them find me. Can’t let them find me.She would be sent right back there if anyone caught her, right back to the orphanage.

At least, that’s what the girl had heard Mrs. Burton say to the factory manager. As matron of the shabby, overcrowded orphanage in a particularly poor district of East London, Mrs. Burton was not exactly known for her motherly ways. Many of the children, the girl included, suspected the only reason the old women even did the job was for the free labor. With the girl however, fourteen years had been more than enough.

“She’s an odd one, that girl,” Mrs. Burton had said. At the time, the girl had not known whom the matron was speaking with, but it must have been someone important. She had ordered the front parlor room, which was usually reserved for meetings with perspective adoptive parents, to be thoroughly cleaned and aired out. A few of the older girls were tasked with washing up the old china and serving tea, though not the girl.

Some of the younger children had whispered about a new adoption taking place, something that hadn’t occurred in years, but the girl knew better. No, Mrs. Burton was up to something, something that involved the girl, and the girl was determined to find out what.

While the rest of the children made themselves scarce, not wanting to embarrass themselves before their potential family, the girl had stationed herself outside the parlor door with a broom in hand, pretending to sweep the hall. It had been difficult for the girl to understand Mrs. Burton at first; the matron’s desperate attempts to hide her thick cockney accent gave the effect that she was talking with marbles in her mouth.

“I always suspected she was rather simple, ya’ know? There’s just somethin’ not quite right about her in the head,” she said. The girl bristled at the slight, though it was nothing she hadn’t heard before. Even the other children had always considered her as lacking in intelligence. Thinking her to be deaf or too slow to understand them, they talked rudely of her behind her back and practically yelled in her face when they spoke to her directly, exaggerating every syllable to make sure she heard. She was shunned, excluded. An outcast. It hurt the girl to be treated this way, especially because it was far from accurate. However, being shoved out of the way and excused from chores Mrs. Burton deemed to challenging for such a simple girl to handle, did have its advantages at times.

“Must’ve been barely three or four years old when she was brought to me. Some old priest down the way had found her wandering around in just her nighties and a burn on the back o’ ‘er hand.”

Instinctively, the girl touched the scar on her hand. The images of thick smoke and harsh flames it brought to mind made her shudder. This was the first she had ever heard of her coming to the orphanage and she was enthralled. Was it possible Mrs. Burton knew where she came from, even knew her name? After years of being referred to as just “the girl”, the prospect of finally discovering her name was invigorating. Abandoning all pretense of sweeping, the girl leaned in closer and placed her ear to the door.

“The priest didn’t know her name, said she hadn’t spoken a word. ‘Must be in shock,’ he said. Dirty Catholics, whadda they know? Anyways, I tried talking to her for hours, but I couldn’t get anything outa ‘er either. She just sat there and stared at me. Hasn’t made a single sound since then. She’s a mute, that girl is,” said Mrs. Burton.

The girl’s heart sank. She was nothing more than a nameless, parentless nobody.

“That won’t be a problem, will it though, sir?” Stuck in her own dark thoughts, the girl had almost missed Mrs. Burton’s words. “Her being mute I mean. She knows her letters and can communicate just fine. And she can hear just like anybody else, just can’t talk none. There might not be a whole lot goin’ on in that head o’ hers, but she can follow instructions and do simple tasks. I’m sure she would be just fine in your factory. One of your hardest workers in fact, wouldn’t even complain.” Mrs. Burton gave a hearty laugh that set the girl’s teeth on edge.

Understanding suddenly dawned on the girl of the nature of this conversation. Mrs. Burton was selling her, sending her away to work in some factory. Looking through the keyhole, the girl was able to make out the matron’s companion, whom she determined to be the factory manager. About middle-aged, the man greatly resembled a thickly whiskered walrus in his modest brown suit. Taking a gulp of tea, the man nodded and in a booming voice, he said, “Yes, yes. She’ll do. It’s not like it takes geniuses to sew linens, eh?”

The two laughed, all the while the girl’s eyes burned with hate. The matron and the other children had always treated her differently, as if she was stupid and useless. Normally, the girl was able to brush it off, but to hear it said in such plain terms hurt. Her muteness had nothing to do with her intelligence—why couldn’t they understand that?

Grabbing his coat and hat from the chair, the factory manager stood. “I’ll be back for the girl in the morning. Make sure she’s ready.”

“Of course, sir. And our agreement still stands? I’ll be recievin’ a cut of all her wages?”

“Yes, Mrs. Burton.”

“Wonderful. Pleasure doin’ business with you, sir.”

Unable to listen to her life being traded away like a pair of candlesticks a moment longer, the girl dropped the broom and ran. Catching her breathe in the alleyway behind the orphanage, she sank to the ground with her head in her knees. Thoughts raced through her head at a dizzying rate, one after the next after the next.

A plan, she had thought suddenly. What I need is a way out of this. Sitting up straighter, the girl began to think. That man was coming for her tomorrow morning, which meant she had to leave tonight if possible. Getting out would be the easy part, though what she would do after that the girl had no idea. Having no money of her own to speak of, she knew she needed to find work, preferably as a maid if she could. Yes, this was a good plan, a plan that would set her free.

That night, after the others had fallen asleep, the girl had gotten to work. Donning all the clothes she owned and gathering her few measly possessions, the girl crept down the stairs to the kitchen where she stole the last of her supplies: a small book of matches, a knife, an old tin cup, an apple, and a few one-pound notes from Mrs. Burton’s stash. It wasn’t much, but the girl figured it would be enough to get her wherever she was going. Placing all her things in a napkin, she tied it around her waist beneath her skirt like a gypsy purse, the knife she tucked into her boot. And in the dark of night, she made her escape.

It hadn’t taken long however for things to go horribly wrong.

The girl fell then, catching her hands on the uneven cobblestones. Her head whirled, and she gave a wet cough.Pneumonia,she thought. With great difficulty she stood, heartbeat pounding in her ears. Her knees shook, threatening to collapse beneath her.Can’t let them find me. Have to keep moving. Falling to her knees in a puddle, she crawled to the other side of the alley. The girl’s too short dress and ripped stockings were suddenly soaking wet, and she began to shiver uncontrollably. The cold seeped into her bones, awakening her mind and allowing her to think clearer.

Focus.

What she needed was shelter—a pile of old furniture she could climb into would do, if only to keep her dry. Food was next on her list of necessities, though it would most likely be nothing more than garbage scraps. Her main issue however was water, which was seemingly ironic considering it was currently falling from the sky in great sheets. Having lost the cup she had taken with her from the orphanage while running, it had been a little over a day since she had had anything more to drink than the few raindrops she caught on her tongue. But the girl knows better than to drink from a puddle she found in the alleyway

There had been a boy a couple days back—a gangly little sewer rat, all arms and legs, no older than eight—who had drunk a few inches of sludgy water from a rusty bucket out of desperation. Within hours, he was vomiting uncontrollably, incoherent with a burning fever. The girl found him dead in the gutter the next morning. If only she still had that cup.

Were those footsteps she heard? The police, she thought, they’d found me. Terror sweeps through her body and causes her to freeze.

Focus.

How had she gotten here? Looking around, all the girl could see was grey. Grey walls, grey stone, and the endlessly grey London sky. None of it looked familiar to her, but perhaps that was a good thing. At least she wasn’t moving in circles. But the girl couldn’t deny the fact that she was lost, and had been since leaving nearly six days ago. Cursing her stupidity, the girl leans her head back against the wall and closes her eyes. How could she have been so naïve to believe she could have done this, that she could survive on her own?

Her muteness, which was supposed to be her blessing in disguise for finding a position as a maid, had instead had become her curse. Unable to communicate and express her interest in a position, the girl had been thrown out of no less than three houses on her first day. Each day after that offered the same results. What’s more, the money she had taken had not been enough to cover a room in any boarding house and had only paid for enough food to last her a couple days. Forced to sleep on the streets, the girl was now a dirty and disgusting mess.

It was the unbearable hunger that had been gnawing at her for days that made her do it. That and the smell. In a daze the girl had stumbled upon a small market, alive with the sounds of people and scents of food. Stopping on a street corner, the girl’s eyes were immediately drawn to the meat pie vendor across the way. Steam rose from the cart in delicate tendrils, the air carried the smell of cooking meat to her nose. Everywhere she looked, she could see people with the meat pies, eating them and enjoying them and being full. What she wouldn’t give to be full, to make her stomach stop grumbling and cramping. Without thinking, the girl crossed the street and stopped next to the cart. The crowd had been thick, the vendor turned away helping another customer. Slowly, her hand reached out, her eyes resting on a small meat pie on the corner of the cart. Just as the girl’s fingers brushed the side of the pie, a large fist wrapped itself around her wrist. It was the meat pie vendor.

“What do ya think yer doin’ there, girl?” A vein pulsed at the vendor’s temple. “Tryna steal from me? You little thief!”

Frantically, the girl shook her head and pulled at her wrist, trying her best to break free. Eyes darting, she looked for a way to escape.

“Oh no you don’t,” spat the vendor as he looked around, “Let’s see how the police handle a little rat like you.” Having spotted a police constable in the crowd, the man gave a sharp whistle. “Oi! You there! We got ourselves a thief over here.”

Her heart beat fiercely in her throat as the vendor dragged her down the street. She could feel her knife, its blade cold against her ankle, but it was too far away for her to grab. Using all her strength the girl fought against his grip at her wrist, but he was too strong. If he could just loosen his hold on her, just the tiniest bit… A plan suddenly emerged, one that just might work. They were twenty meters away from the constable, then ten. It was now or never.

Digging her heels into the ground, the girl grabbed the man’s arm, pulled it towards her, and bit down. The vendor howled, tugging and fighting her off. But the girl clamped down and held fast, only releasing the arm when she tasted blood. As she let go, the vendor swung at her, his fist connecting painfully with the side of her face and she fell to the ground. When the girl looked back up, the meat pie vendor stood a few paces away, his chest heaving as blood dripped down his fingers. The crowd was frozen in shock—and so was the police constable. This was her chance. Springing to her feet, the girl dashed to her left towards an alley.

“Stop!” Behind her, the constable began to blow his whistle, its shrill tweeting penetrating the air. Hands reached for her, clutched her skirt and pulled her hair as she ran but none could catch her. The girl felt her gypsy purse, containing only the cup and two matches, slip from her waist and fall to the ground. Now she had nothing.

As she dove into the empty alley, the rain started to fall. Steady at first, it had soon escalated into a constant downpour in which the girl twisted down the backstreets of London. For hours it seemed she had run. Even now, as she sat huddled against the wall, paranoia and fear would not let her rest. Every sound in the sound in the night was an approaching footstep, ready to snatch her where she sat; every stir of the wind was Fate breathing down her neck.

Eventually, the rain slowed to a trickle then stopped. Shivering, the girl pulled her knees to her chest, laid down her head, and closed her eyes. For what felt like the first time in days, the girl slipped into darkness and fell asleep.

***

“Well, well, well. Look who we have here.”

“Whatcha got there, Will? Looks like a drowned sewer rat if you ask me.”

“Nah, mate. I think it’s a girl.”

The rough voices of men talking over her slowly woke the girl up. The sky had darkened somewhat, it must have been close to dusk. While she had slept, the girl must have laid down and curled up on her side. Opening her eyes, all she could see of her attackers was their feet; there were three of them, and from the looks of the fine shoes they wore, they were generally well off. Carefully, as not to make any movements, the girl reached for the knife concealed in her boot.

“A girl, you say? Think she’s dead?”

Heart pounding in her chest, the girl watched through tiny eye slits as a large hand reached for her. Just as it brushed her arm, the girl leapt to her feet and backed against the wall, wielding the short kitchen knife like a sword. Cursing, the owner of the hand scurried backwards. The sudden movement caused the girl’s vision to swam, tilting the world in dizzying directions. The violent coughing fit, wet and hacking, that racked her body spoke of the days she spent in the cold and rain.

“She doesn’t look so good, Will. I think she’s sick.”

The voice sounded worried, hesitant. Looking up, the girl saw the three men clearly for the first time. They were perhaps only a few years older than the girl, making them to be in their early twenties at the most. That and the obvious quality of their fine clothing, well-tailored suits and silk cravats, were the only similarity they all shared. The man standing closest to the girl stood in the center of the three and was clearly the group’s ringleader; with his wind swept dark hair and mischievous eyes, he held himself with an air of authority. If the girl had to guess, this was the man the other two referred to as Will. His lackeys by comparison, one on either side, were as different as two sides of a coin. The one on the left, a real mountain of a man, leered at her, his ugly mouth twisted into a grimacing smile. On Will’s right, however, was the complete opposite of the brute; tall and wispy, his spectacles sown in the setting sun. While his companions stared at the girl aggressively, his expression was filled with concern and apprehension. Most likely, this was the voice that had just spoken.

“So?” asked Will. “It’s not like we need her to have a perfect bill of health.” He took a step towards her, face gleaming and eyes hungry. The rough stone wall bit into the girl’s back. She was trapped.

“What’s your name, girly?” he asked, voice gruff. He continued to advance on her. Shaking her head and placing her hands over her mouth, the girl did her best to pantomime her condition.

The Mountain laughed. “What’s the matter, love? Cat got your tongue?” he taunted

“I think she’s a mute,” said the wispy boy, “She doesn’t talk.”

Will just smiled. “A mute, eh? Guess that means you won’t be able to scream either.”

The girl shook. Images of what he would do to her flew through her head. How could she have been so stupid, falling asleep in the open? Glancing around, she cursed herself for not realizing where she was sooner. The general lack of garbage in the alley, though there was still some in the corners, the height of the surrounding buildings and the overall cleanliness of the bricks should have been her first clues, but the arrival of these well-dressed men made it obvious. Through all her running earlier, all that mindless twisting and turning she had done believing she was being chased; the girl had ended up in one of the wealthier districts of London.

Focus.

Will continue to taunt her, sidling closer and closer. A quick look at her surroundings revealed three possible exits: straight ahead was the entrance the men had come down, most likely leading to a street, but that would involve getting past all three of them; on her right was the back alley she had already used originally, blocked only by the wispy boy with his worried face; when the girl looked left, she could see lights that indicated another street was just beyond. Going right would be easiest, but she was bound to get lost again. It would only be a matter of time before Will and his friends caught up with her. The left was probably the girl’s best option, as it would allow her to get lost in the crowd; these were men of propriety, they weren’t going to chase her in public. Her only obstacle in this would be avoiding the Mountain. The alley was narrow enough, he could probably reach out and grab her as she ran past without even moving. What she needed was a distraction, something to hold his attention while she escaped. A plan took form in her mind, and though not the best, perhaps it would still work as it had with the meat pie vendor.

Taking deep breaths, the girl stilled and bowed her head, seemingly submissive. Will smiled—he was enjoying this. He was right in front of her now, his sour breath warm on her face. As he reached out, his hand brushing her shoulder, the girl’s grip on her knife tightened. It was now or never. With as much ferocity as she could muster, she plunged her knife into Will’s thigh. Though not the sharpest blade, the knife sank into the muscle all the way up to the hilt. It took a moment for the pain to register on Will’s shocked face. Blood welled and he screamed. Clutching the wound, he fell back and onto the ground, both companions racing to his side. This was it. With the alley to her left now clear, the girl darted to the side.

“You bitch, get her!” yelled Will.

The girl felt the air move behind her as a hand whipped towards her, grasping at her hair. The fingers tangled in the knotted strands and yanked at her scalp. With a sudden burst of speed, the girl surged forward, the pain of her hair being ripped out bringing tears to her eyes.

The lights ahead of her grew closer. Adrenalin rushed through her veins. She was almost free. The girl ran.

She exploded onto the street and skidded to a halt. The girl’s sudden appearance cause a group of women to squawk and a carriage to swerve. All around her people stare. She could only imagine what she must look like, dirty, wet and sickly, probably with blood on her clothing. So much for getting lost in the crowd. On either side of her the street is lined with shops and people, but across the way were houses. Big houses, with gardens. The girl could hear footsteps now, pounding ones, coming from the alley behind her. She needed to make a decision.

Without thinking, the girl tears across the street, somehow avoiding being run down by any carriages. People call out for her to stop, but she barely hears them over the frantic beating of her heart. Hopping a short fence, gardens begin streaming by on either side, and houses too. One, two, three, four, five. By the seventh house, the girl’s energy starts to fade, her breaths coming out as gasps. Her head swims and her feet drag in the dirt. Falling to her knees, she uses the last bit of energy she had to crawl towards the house before her. Just as she reaches the steps, black dots dancing in her vision, the girl collapses.

In those last few moments before unconsciousness, lying there in the grass with her head lolling to one side, the girl sees visions of another girl in the garden, much younger than herself. Like a ghost, the child dances through the plants, singing a song as she examines each delicate flower. A woman appears behind her, the young girl’s mother, and smiles. Reaching out her hand, the mother says something to her daughter and together they walk away.

How sweet, thinks the other girl, the one lying in the grass, as darkness slowly overcomes her.

***