Tag Archives: writing

Religion, Romans, stories

Groundhog Day vs. Imbolc: Spring’s Weather Predictions

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I know I’m a bit late with this, and it would have been better last week, but I already had a post scheduled. 

I was struck with the similarity of the US Groundhog Day with the ancient Celtic festival of Imbolc. 

It happens on the same day, more or less, and is the harbinger of spring. And just as the groundhog gives a weather forecast, so does Imbolc.

I think it’s probably easiest for me to describe Imbolc in an extract from my book, Vengeance of a Slave, where Ailbert and his sister, Awena, take part in their very first Imbolc after their escape from slavery under the Romans.

Soon it was Imbolc, the time when the young lambs began to be born. The villagers had much preparation to do, for they invited the goddess, Brigid, into their homes to bless them, and they prepared special food for this day. Awena, was delighted when the villagers chose her to help carry the image of Brigid around the village. 

She helped to clean the house with enthusiasm, sweeping out all the old rushes and piling them up outside ready to be lit into a bonfire. Ailbert laughed at her enthusiasm saying he had never thought of her as a domestic type. 

She stuck her tongue out at him in response. “It’s important everything is ready for Brigid.”

“What about the gods we worshipped in Londinium? Have you forgotten them? Jupiter, Juno, Venus and the rest?”

“They’re gods for the Romans.” She shook her head. “They’ve no use for the Britons. Only if we become Roman Citizens will they care for us, and that’s not going to happen. We’re now Britons and we must worship the gods that care for the Britons.”

She carried on sweeping while Ailbert continued walking towards the sheep pens to see if any lambs had been born. 

He met Madoc on the way and the boy told him in excited tones that one of the ewes had gone into labour and the lamb, or hopefully lambs would arrive very shortly. Ailbert quickened his steps towards the pens in the hope of seeing the actual birth. Being a house slave in Londinium he had never been present at the birth of any of the animals owned by the dominus and domina.

They arrived in time to see the ewe pushing out what turned out to be the first of two lambs. Ailbert frowned. He had not expected blood. The little lamb lay on the ground, wet, and the mother turned to look at him, for it was a male lamb. Ailbert watched as she began to lick him clean. The second lamb was born soon afterwards and she repeated the process. The lambs staggered to their feet and immediately began suckling. 

Ailbert smiled. He had witnessed a wonderful thing. New life being brought into the world and he ran off to tell Awena and Gwen the first lambs had been born and Imbolc was due to start.

At sunset that evening, the unwed girls carried the image of Brigid around the village. The villagers had made a crude image of reeds and the girls visited each house in turn, walked three times round it and then asked for admittance for Brigid. Each house opened the door and let the image and girls in. They gave them food and each householder added a decoration to the reed image.

For some weeks before, the women and girls had been busy making Brigid crosses out of reeds, and one hung over the door of each house.

As it was winter still, it soon got dark. Each household put out newly made clothes, and food and drink for the goddess. They also made a bed for her in the house, just in case she decided to visit. 

They ate and drank the foods made for this special day. They had a kind of porridge made from the starch left in the husks of the oats, soaked out and left to ferment. It tasted sour to Ailbert and Awena but they ate their share as it would have been discourteous to do otherwise.

The next morning, Gwen looked carefully at the ashes that she had raked smooth the evening before, to see any disturbances that might indicate that Brigid had visited in the night, but they were as smooth as they had been when they all went to bed.

Gwen led the way outside to be met with a frost on the ground and an overcast sky. “Ah! That’s good. A cold, miserable day means that the Cailleach is still asleep and not gathering wood for fires to keep her warm through the next cold spell.” She turned to the young people who frowned and looked at each other. Ailbert shrugged his shoulders. 

“Cailliach is winter personified. If today is bright and sunny, then she can come out and look for firewood and so keep herself warm for longer. If it’s cold and miserable, or rainy and stormy, then she’s asleep and will soon run out of firewood, so Brigid can bring the spring sooner.”

They, along with the rest of the village, made their way to the well. Here they walked round it in the direction of the sun and prayed to Brigid to bring health and prosperity. They gave offerings of strips of cloth and a few coins to the goddess.

Singing and dancing followed, as well as eating and drinking, and the day passed quickly, darkness coming early at this season, half-way between the winter solstice and spring equinox. Tired and happy with the prospect of a good season to come, the villagers retired to their beds.

Here’s the blurb.

Forced to watch his father’s crucifixion and separated from his mother, orphaned six-year-old Adelbhert’s life forever changes when he is sold into slavery in Britannia.

Years of servitude fill his heart with malice and he resolves to escape, determined to rescue those he loves and deliver retribution to the Romans who wronged him.

But as new allies shed light on old perspectives, Adelbhert begins to question his path. Will he find true freedom, or allow his vengeance to consume him?

And a review:

D. Peach

Ailbert keeps a running list in his head of all the reasons why he hates the Romans—they crucified his father, stole him as a child from his mother, and enslaved him. As he grows into his teenage years as a slave, the list gets longer. With the help of a network of Britons, he escapes, determined to exact his revenge, but not everything is as clear cut as he once thought.

The plot is straight forward, and though there are some tense moments, battling and mortal danger isn’t the point of the tale. This story has a strong moral message about the nuanced nature of people and how they treat and judge each other. Ultimately, it’s about a young man’s growth and the events that change his perceptions as he matures.

The pace is moderate with some repetition, but I was engaged throughout. The historical details seem well-researched, adding to the authenticity of the story. Point-of-view focuses on Ailbert for most of the book, with occasional shifts to other characters, and all main and secondary characters felt believable to me. Ailbert is particularly well-rounded and likable as the story centers on his thoughts and experiences.

Recommended for YA and adult readers who enjoy coming of age stories, historical fiction, and adventure.

If you want to read more about Ailbert and Awena, and how they escaped from being Roman slaves, click on the button below.

The book is available in ebook and physical book from your favourite online book store.

Get my copy now.

Do you enjoy historical fiction? What is your favourite era to read about?

Let us know in the comments.

book release, book reviews, fantasy, novel

Review of Tale of The Season’s Weaver by D. Wallace Peach

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OVERVIEW:

Ms Wallace Peach has done it again. This is a wonderful book.

BLURB:

“Already the animals starve. Soon the bonemen will follow, the Moss Folk and woodlings, the watermaids and humans. Then the charmed will fade. And all who will roam a dead world are dead things. Until they too vanish for lack of remembering. Still, Weaver, it is not too late.”

In the frost-kissed cottage where the changing seasons are spun, Erith wears the Weaver’s mantle, a title that tests her mortal, halfling magic. As the equinox looms, her first tapestry nears completion—a breath-taking ode to spring. She journeys to the charmed isle of Innishold to release the beauty of nature’s awakening across the land.

But human hunters have defiled the enchanted forest and slaughtered winter’s white wolves. Enraged by the trespass, the Winter King seizes Erith’s tapestry and locks her within his ice-bound palace. Here, where comfort and warmth are mere glamours, she may weave only winter until every mortal village succumbs to starvation, ice, and the gray wraiths haunting the snow.

With humanity’s fate on a perilous edge, Erith must break free of the king’s grasp and unravel a legacy of secrets. In a charmed court where illusions hold sway, allies matter, foremost among them, the Autumn Prince. Immortal and beguiling, he offers a tantalizing future she has only imagined, one she will never possess—unless she claims her extraordinary power to weave life from the brink of death.

In the lyrical fantasy tradition of Margaret Rogerson and Holly Black, D. Wallace Peach spins a spellbinding tale of magic, resilience, and the transformative potency of tales—a tapestry woven with peril and hope set against the frigid backdrop of an eternal winter.

STORY:

Erith is the Weaver of the Seasons. She has inherited the job from her immortal, Charmed (magical) mother who decided to follow her mortal husband into the underworld on his death.

The young Erith is unconfident of her abilities, being only half Charmed. She doubts her magic is sufficient to weave the seasons.

It is winter, and human hunters entered the Charmed forest in pursuit of a stag. They killed some of the Winter King’s creatures, and now he is out for revenge.

Erith has to travel to the magical Isle of Innisholm to spread her magical tapestry, woven by her with her mother’s magic threads. At the equinox, the spreading of Spring’s tapestry will enable the change from winter to spring to take place. The Winter King will relinquish his throne to the Spring Princess.

Or will he?

Intent on punishing the humans, he captures Erith and destroys her tapestry, insisting she weaves only winter. This will cause the death of all living things, and eventually, as there is no one to believe in them, and to pass on their stories, the immortal Charmed, themselves.

Who can Erith trust? The Charmed courtiers? The Spring Princess? The Autumn Prince? The Summer Queen?

CHARACTERS:

Erith is full of doubt. She is very young to have this responsibility thrust upon her. We can understand how she feels. She is alone in the world.

She feels anger at her mother for leaving her to perform this task alone. This anger is mixed with love for her mother.

She is a character we can relate to. I think everyone has felt, to some degree, what Erith feels.

But she must find the courage from somewhere to stand up to the Winter King.

The Winter King is a typical depiction of winter. He has icy blue eyes and long white hair. His personality is cold and ruthless. He has little empathy for the humans he is destroying by his refusal to allow spring to arrive. Even when his actions are impacting his own people he will not relent.

The Spring Princess loves pastel colours. She has blonde hair and wears a dress with spring flowers on it.

She is slightly insipid, I thought, and does not have the courage to stand up to Winter King. She seems to think he’ll relent and all will be well.

The Summer Queen dresses in bolder colours than the Spring Princess, as befits a summer day. She doesn’t stand up to the Winter King, either, and doesn’t seem too bothered about what is happening.

The Autumn Prince is the only one of the season’s royalty who is on Erith’s side. He does all he can to help her, even if she doesn’t always appreciate it.

There are lots of other characters, many of whom are Charmed. I especially liked Erith’s hospet, a small, goblin-like creature who, in exchange for clothes and food, keeps the house clean and tidy.

WRITING:

Ms Wallace Peach writes like the Weaver of the title. Her prose and word choice weave magic, just as Erith weaves magic into her tapestry.

Her descriptions are beautiful. I could picture the cold beauty of Winter with the glittering ice and snow, and with Erith’s visit to the realms of the other Seasons’ rulers on the Isle of Innisholm, the delicate loveliness of Spring and the bountiful colours of Autumn.

I found no grammatical errors, nor typos.Definitely one to read if you are a fan of fantasy, and maybe even if you are not. The writing alone is worth it.

I give it 5*.

My ranking of books. In order to get a particular number of stars, it is not necessary to meet all the criteria. This is a guide only.

5* Exceptional. Wonderful story. Setting well drawn, and characters believable–not perfect, but with flaws. Will keep you up all night. No typos or grammatical errors.

4* A thoroughly enjoyable read. Great and original story. Believable setting and characters. Very few grammatical errors or typos.

3* I enjoyed it. Good story. Characters need some development. Some typos or grammatical errors.

2* Not for me. Story not very strong. Unbelievable and flat characters. Setting not clearly defined. Many typos or grammatical errors.

1* I hated it. Story almost non-existent. Setting poor. Possibly couldn’t finish it.

Poetry, Winter

Discover Haikus & Poetry Inspired by Winter

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I am currently reading D Wallace Peach’s latest book, The Season’s Weaver. It deals with a world plunged into perpetual winter. I will be reviewing it shortly.

It made me think of a Haiku I wrote. It’s still winter, and although we have no snow here, at least not in the south of England where I live, I know there is a lot of it in the US where many of you live.

Here is the Haiku.

Gently, silently
Throughout the night the snow fell.
A monochrome world.

And some more I wrote that you can find in my Miscellaneous Thoughts poetry book.

SNOW

Flakes drop gently down,
Turning all the land to white.
A magical sight.

Nothing can be seen.
Earth and sky blend into one
In the blizzard’s rage.

Waking in the dawn,
Mysterious light shines in.
It snowed in the night.

If you are interested in reading more of my poetry, you can go to a page where you can Miscellaneous Thoughts from your favourite online retailer by clicking on the link or the book cover in the sidebar..

It is available in different formats from ebooks to physical books.

Please leave a comment. Comments are GOOD.

book reviews, novel, stories

Miira Tahn: A Sci-Fi Journey Through Life and Death. My Review of the book.

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OVERVIEW.

This is an omnibus of three books, but it reads as one. I would not be able to say where one book ends and the next one begins. As a result, I would recommend reading the omnibus rather than an individual book.

BLURB

Because I couldn’t find the omnibus on Amazon to copy the blurb, here are the blurbs for the three books in the series.

In 2101, the average life expectancy is one hundred and ten. Miira Tahn, last Lady of Dhurai, is dying at just fifty-two. Faced with a slow, agonizing death, her only hope is Innerscape, a virtual paradise in which the Residents inhabit beautiful, digital bodies indistinguishable from the real thing.

Or so the brochures say. But even Eden had a snake, and once inducted, the Residents of Innerscape can never again return to the real world. If anything goes wrong, they’ll be lost in the dark forever.

Yet for Miira Tahn, even a tenuous hope is better than the fate that awaits her.

‘…sometimes you just have to close your eyes and jump…’

‘Miira’ is the first book of the Innerscape cyle and corresponds to Episode 1 of the original series.

Desperate to find a version of reality she can live with, Miira Tahn sets out to explore the digital world of Innerscape, but along the way she discovers there are other worlds open to her as well. The HUBs connect Innerscape to every location in the virtual universe, and some, like the gaming world of the Shogunate, prove to be a lot of fun. Back in Innerscape, however, a darker game is unfolding. Someone wants the Burned Man silenced, but only the AI knows which body is where, and it’s immune to threats. People, however, are so much easier to manipulate. Caught in a web of intrigue and deceit, Miira and her friends become pawns in a game where losing means death.

More alone than ever, Miira Tahn clings to the bonds of friendship, yet even there, nothing is quite what it seems, not even her own memories. Driven to search for answers out in the real world, she uncovers the one truth that can tear apart the tissue of lies surrounding the Burned Man. But is she strong enough to face the consequences? And what of the powerful people who would prefer the truth to remain safely buried? In Nabatea, the past finally collides with the present as Miira risks all to save a good man.

STORY

Miira Tahn is a  Refugee (with a capital R). She is old and severely disabled and so she has come to Innerscape. Here, her useless body is immersed in a tank and she is given an avatar of her young self. Now she, along with many others, inhabits a virtual world.

People from the real world can enter a tank and also enter Innerscape and interact with the avatars of the patients.

Miira forms a relationship with a young doctor, an expert in Innerscape. When it appears he has committed several murders, she finds it hard to believe the man she knew could do such things.

There is a mystery behind the killings, though. It appears that Miira is a possible intended victim, along with a mysterious man known as Alex Tang. 

This summary is quite difficult to write without giving away too much, so I’ll stop there.

CHARACTERS.

Miira Tahn is a likeable character. At first, she is rather staid, but her meeting with a young man, Jaimie, helps her. He introduces her to the world of virtual reality gaming, which she, surprisingly takes to.

Jamie Watson is an 18 year old who almost died 10 years previously in an accident. He is full of energy, somewhat brash, and is a perfect foil for Miira.

Kenneth Wu is the young doctor whom Miira finds herself drawn to. He is understanding and kind, and seems to reciprocate Miira’s feelings.

Peter MacAlistair is the CEO of Innerscape. He is devious and has something to hide.

These are the main characters, but there is a plethora of others. In fact, I found it difficult to remember who was who a lot of the time. Something of a downside.

WRITING

I didn’t come across many, if any, grammatical or spelling errors. 

However, I did find it slow going at the beginning. When the mystery kicked in, though, I got interested, and quite immersed. I was anxious to know if Miira could clear Kenneth’s name, and how their relationship would develop.

Having said that, though, I was left a little disappointed. Some things that had seemed important were left ‘in the air’.

We found out who Alex Tang was, and why ‘someone’ wanted him dead. He was a whistleblower, but we never found out what whistle he had blown.

Miira is a Refugee, but we weren’t told what she was a Refugee from (and why it needed a capital letter). It did seem important, and seemed to be linked to what the whistleblower had said, but no clear statement about it.

Someone in the government was involved, but it wasn’t made clear who, how or why.

Because of the slow start and the loose ends, I feel I can only give it;

3*

My ranking of books. In order to get a particular number of stars, it is not necessary to meet all the criteria. This is a guide only.

5* Exceptional. Wonderful story. Setting well drawn, and characters believable–not perfect, but with flaws. Will keep you up all night. No typos or grammatical errors.

4* A thoroughly enjoyable read. Great and original story. Believable setting and characters. Very few grammatical errors or typos.

3* I enjoyed it. Good story. Characters need some development. Some typos or grammatical errors.

2* Not for me. Story not very strong. Unbelievable and flat characters. Setting not clearly defined. Many typos or grammatical errors.

1* I hated it. Story almost non-existent. Setting poor. Possibly couldn’t finish it.

This is the first Scifi book I’ve read in a while. On the whole I enjoyed it, but for the comments I made in the review.

Do you enjoy Scifi? What is your opinion of books that leave loose ends?

announcement, book release, fantasy, novel, stories

Horselords has been released

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I heard this morning that the fourth novella in the Wolves of Vimar prequels is not available. This one tells the story of Davrael and Kimi; how they met and how they come to be in Grosmer.

BLURB

For all her life, Kimi has been taught that the Wanderers, as the nomadic tribes are known, are violent thieves.

But they are not a threat, and she hopes to have the life of a Settled Horselord, raising horses like her parents. When her family’s horses are stolen, everything changes. Kidnapped by violent tribesmen and threatened with a forced marriage to the chief’s son, she is terrified of what the future will bring.

Fearing for the lives of her father and brothers, will Kimi be able to escape and return home?

Here is a short excerpt.

CHAPTER 1

Ullin, the silver moon, was high in the sky when Kimi heard a gate creak. She shot up in her bed as she heard voices speaking in quiet tones. Horses whinnied and hoofbeats sounded, gradually disappearing into the distance.

She leapt from her bed and ran to the window of her small bedroom. There, in the silver light of the moon, horsemen drove a herd of horses across the plains. 

She covered her mouth with her hand as she gazed through the window overlooking the corral where the family kept their best horses–the same animals that were now disappearing over the horizon.

In her haste, Kimi tripped over her nightgown and crashed against her parents’ bedroom door. The door flew open and banged against the wall as she stumbled into their room. 

Gasping, she righted herself. “The…the horses have been stolen.”   

Her parents sat bolt upright in their bed. “Are you sure, Kimi?” her father called after her as she sprinted to her brothers’ room. He came out of his bedroom pulling on his traditional horselord leathers. 

Kimi grabbed her brothers and pulled them from their beds, not giving them a chance to get dressed. 

“Of course I’m sure. The gate creaked, then hoofbeats. I saw them galloping over the plains.”

Eighteen-year-old Olias looked at his sister, a slight frown wrinkling his forehead. “Are you sure they didna jump the gate? Or break it? Did ya see any people?”

Kimi stared at her brother. “I’m not that stupid, Oli. The gate was open. Unless the horses have developed hands, someone did it for them.”

“By Zol’s balls.” Her elder brother, Yeldin, swore as he sprinted back to his room to get dressed.

“The Wanderers!” Her father turned to her mother as she came out of the room they shared. “It must be one of the tribes of Wanderers, thieving scum that they are.”

The family was one of several settled folk living close to The Barrier, the range of mountains that cut off the Western Plains from the rest of the continent of Khalram. 

Once, the Settlers had been Wanderers themselves, following the herds of wild horses that roamed the plains. Several generations ago, some of the people decided they could rear better horses if they had more control, so they settled in one place. 

There had been mistrust between the Wanderers and Settlers ever since. 

Kimi’s mother emerged from the bedroom. “It don’t matter who it is, Har. They’re getting farther away every minute.”

 “A Wanderer’s allus a thief. It’s bred into ’em,” her father lectured, as he strode down the stairs and out of the door. Looking back, he called, “Get dressed, and quick. Pick up your weapons and come wi’ me. We’ve some horses to get back.”

Kimi ran to her room and dressed in leather trousers like her father’s, and a fringed leather jerkin. She opened a cupboard and took out a fleece-lined jacket. This she donned over her jerkin. Once dressed she rushed out with her brothers to join their parents at the corral.

Her father was inspecting the gate as they approached. He stood and beckoned them to follow as he strode to a second corral. “You were right, Kimi. Someone let ’em  out,” he called over his shoulder. “No sign of ’em breaking the gate. Let’s go after ’em.”

The family caught five horses from a second corral, put bridles on them and leapt onto their backs. 

Kimi rode her piebald mare she named Magpie. She patted the horse’s neck. “We need to be quick, girl, if we’re to get your friends back. Pretend you’re the winter wind.”

The Horselords did not use saddles. They considered the use of a saddle and bit to be an insult and enslavement of their beloved horses. The animals responded to reins attached to a noseband, as well as their riders’ knees. 

Kimi and her older brothers, alongside their parents, cantered westward across the plain following the tracks of their animals. They all carried bows, and the men were armed with knives. 

It was winter, and snow covered the ground. The thieves had taken around twenty of the family’s best animals and they left plenty of signs of their passing in the snow.

After the family had ridden for a couple of miles the tracks split into three. 

Kimi’s father pulled his horse to a halt. “They want to confuse us so as we don’t know which way to go. We need to split up to find ’em.”

Kimi’s mother pulled her horse nearer to her husband. “Don’t you think we’d be better off stayin’ together? We dunna know how many there are.” She glanced around her family. “There might be too many for two of us to take on alone.” She turned and looked at the three tracks. “P’raps we should go after one group and get those horses back. At least we’d have some of our stock.”

“Those’re our best animals.” Kimi’s father shifted his seat on his horse. “We need to get ’em all back. If we allow thieves to get even one, they’ll spread the word we’re easy and keep comin’ back till we’ve no horses left.”

Kimi gripped her reins and her lips trembled. She made up her mind to speak. “Stop!” Her voice sounded loud in the silence of the night. “We can’t waste time arguing.”

“She’s right.” Twenty-year-old Yeldin sidled his horse nearer to his sister. “We must get after ’em quick.”

They took a vote and all three young people voted with their father and the group split into three.

Kimi found herself with Yeldin. They followed one set of tracks to the southwest. The light dusting of snow made the passage easy to follow.

“D’you know how many are in this lot?” Yeldin gazed at the tracks left by the passage of many horses. 

Of the siblings, Kimi was the best tracker despite being the youngest. She dismounted to study the prints left behind. “Nine or ten p’raps, but how many are ours and how many are ridden by the thieves…” She shrugged.

Yeldin smiled at her. “Well, little sis, they took twenty horses. If each group has the same number, then there’ll be six or seven animals in each. That’d be no more’n three riders. We can take ’em on. Let’s get going.”

Kimi’s stomach turned over as Yeldin mentioned taking on the thieves.

Yeldin smiled, and Kimi knew he realised her fear. “You’ve got your bow. You can shoot from a distance. No need to get close.”

They rode for two miles until they spotted movement on the horizon. “There they are,” Yeldin called from ahead. “I’ll circle in from the east and you approach from the west.”

Kimi nodded, pulling Magpie around and galloping in the direction Yeldin indicated. Guiding her horse with her knees and heels she readied her bow, nocking an arrow as she rode.

A small copse appeared. Kimi slowed her gallop as she rode past. She would round this small stand of trees and double back. By now she would be past where the thieves were and she and Yeldin would take them by surprise. True, there were only two of them, but surprise would give them the advantage.

But she was not prepared for the three mounted warriors who came from the stand of trees. 

If you want to find out more, here are some links.

UNIVERSAL BOOK LINK: https://books2read.com/u/31XQ0a

This will take you to a page where you can reach the bookshop of your choice.

AMAZON: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DSXZYC82

APPLE BOOKS: https://books.apple.com/us/book/horselords/id6740480997

BARNES & NOBLE: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/horselords-vm-sang/1146825732?ean=2940180987600

GOOGLE BOOKS: https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=dTo-EQAAQBAJ

RAKUTEN KOBO: https://www.kobo.com/ebook/horselords-1

If you want to read any of my other books, simply click on the image in the sidebar.

Did you enjoy this extract? Does it make you want to read more?

christmas, serial, short story, stories, Winter

Goldie’s Journey: From Hardship to a Warm Home. (Goldie and the Beare Family Part 7)

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Image by V.M.Sang using Bing Image Generator.

Picture shows a well-dressed Victorian woman with small blonde girl and a slightly older boy walking along a snowy street. A ragged man and boy watch them pass.

Goldie could not believe what was happening. This must be a dream, and soon she would wake to hunger and cold, not to mention fear of Mr Smith. 

She sat on a small stool before the fire. Warmth. Lovely warmth. Even with no clothes on, she felt warm. Warmer than she ever remembered.

This was a beautiful house. She had never been inside a house like this. It was clean, with furniture that was not broken or torn. Thick curtains that would keep out the cold. Clutching Jacob Rabbit to her naked chest, she stood and wandered to feel them. Soft. Almost as soft as Jacob.

“Is this real?” she whispered to the rabbit.

The door opened and Mrs Beare came in. 

Mamma, she said I was to call her.

“I’ve borrowed these clothes from the vicar’s wife, Emily. She has a little girl about your age. Come and let me help you to dress.”

I’m Emily again. I have my proper name back.

Mamma dressed her in what looked like expensive clothes. She had always worn clothes passed on to the poor by richer folk. They had been worn out in places, and the fabric thin.

Mamma held up a white dress. “Arms up,” she said. 

When Emily complied, she dropped the dress over the child’s head. “Now turn around so I can do up the buttons.”

When the buttons were fastened, Mamma tied a blue ribbon around her waist.

The dress was not as long as Mamma’s. It came halfway down her calves. A hint of the frill around the legs of her bloomers peeped from below.

Mamma picked up a brush and teased out the tangles from her golden hair. “I can see why they called you Goldie. And you have a soft natural curl to your hair. It will be easy to fashion.” She held Emily at arm’s length. “You are exquisite. Now let us go and eat dinner before Mrs White has a fit.”

They left the sitting room and entered the dining room. 

 Mr Beare’s eyes opened wide. “I can’t believe this is the same little girl that was asleep in Harold’s room. She’s beautiful.”

Emily smiled and cast her eyes down.

Jane had set a fourth place, and when all four were seated, Mrs White entered carrying a platter on which sat a large goose. She was followed by Jane with a tray of dishes. The pair placed their burdens on the table.

“I’m sorry about the soup, Ma’am,” Mrs White said. “There was not enough to feed you all.” She glared at Emily.

Emily felt her face heating.

“That is all right, Mrs White. It wasn’t your fault,” Mrs Beare replied.

Emily squirmed in her seat and kept her eyes down. It was her fault there was not enough soup.

Mr Beare, Papa, carved the goose and served everyone.

There were potatoes, and a sauce made from some kind of green fruit. Mamma said they were gooseberries, so called because they were served with goose. Another dish had sprouts, and yet another had carrots.

After eating all these delicious foods, Emily had never felt so full in her life. She thought of the thin gruel she had eaten at Mr Smith’s, and grimaced.

After Jane cleared the remnants and dirty crockery, Mrs White returned with a plum pudding. She placed it carefully on the table and Mrs Beare served each of them. 

When they finished eating, Harold looked at her, and took a deep breath. “It’s Christmas, Mamma. We had our presents, but Emily hasn’t had anything.”

Emily grinned. “Yes, I have. I have a new home and family. That’s the best Christmas present ever.”

“But I want to give you something.” He pulled Jacob Rabbit from under the table. “You are now my little sister. You love Jacob, and so I’ll give him to you.”

His parents smiled.

After eating, the family repaired to the sitting room, Emily clutching Jacob Rabbit to her chest. Mamma sat at the piano and played Christmas carols, to which they all joined in singing. After a while, Papa got out the dominoes and they played until Emily ‘s eyes began to close.

Jane had made up a bed for her in her very own room. As she lay, her eyes closing, she believed this was the best day ever.

*****

Mr Smith stomped around the sparse loft room. “What d’you mean, no one’s seen ’er? She can’t just disappear.”

Jack spoke quietly. “P’rhaps she ran away after you beat ’er.”

“Then she’ll be ‘idin’ somewhere.” He turned to the other children. “All of you. Go out and search. Look in every corner, every empty ‘ouse, ware’ouses; everywhere you can think of.”

A few weeks later, Jack went up to Mr Smith, cowering. “I seen Goldie.”

Mr Smith grabbed the boy. “Where? Why didn’t you bring her back?”

“Couldn’t. She were with a well-to-do lady. Dressed nice, she were. Lady were ‘oldin’ her ‘and, like she were her mother or summat.”

Mr Smith sank into his chair. “Couldn’t be ‘er. A girl what looks like her. That’s who you saw.”

Jack shook his head. “Was ‘er a’right. Saw me, she did. Shook her ‘ead at me. Rekernised me for sure.”

“Well, we’ve searched for ‘er for weeks now. We need to get back to business. There’s no money coming in while you are all out searchin’. If that were Goldie you saw, she’s lost to us.”

The End

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Finding Family: The Journey of Emily the Orphan. (Goldie and the Beare Family: Part 6)

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Mrs Beare looked at the child, who had cowered away at the mention of the orphanage. She frowned. “What is it, child? Surely the orphanage is better than your Mr Smith?”

“Ma said it was a bad place. When I were bad, she said she’d send me there.”

Mrs Beare put her head on one side. “So you have a mother?”

“No. She went to heaven. Annie found me and took me to Mr Smith. She said I’d be one of her girls when I’m old enough.”

Mr Beare strode into the room. “That settles it. She must go to the orphanage. We cannot allow her to become a fallen woman.”

His wife sat on the bed with an arm around the little girl. She turned to her. “What’s your name?”

“Mr Smith calls me Goldie.”

“But what did your mother call you? Can you remember?”

 Mrs Beare had to lean forward to hear the whisper.

“Emily.”

“Well, Emily, tell me what you did for Mr Smith.”

“Begged. He said I’m pretty so people’ll feel sorry for me and give me more.”

“Emily, I will not let you go to either Mr Smith, or the orphanage. I have an idea, but I need to talk to my husband about it.” She stood. “Stay here. Harold, come along with us. Bring a toy to play with, but leave Jacob with Emily.”

“But, mother…”

Mrs Beare frowned. “Don’t argue, Harold. Do as you are told.”

He handed his rabbit to Emily with a sullen look, and followed his parents. “What if she runs away with him?”

“We will be outside the room. She will not be able to leave without us seeing her. Go and take your train into the sitting room until we call you.”

Mr Beare stood, head cocked to one side. “What is it, Grace? What’s going on in that head of yours?” He laughed. “I can’t see what alternative there is to the orphanage.”

“Oh, but there is, Albert. You know how I…we…wanted more children, but none came after Harold? Remember our prayers, asking God to help us? We thought that He had decided we should have no more children.”

Mr Beare nodded.

“Well, I think He has answered our prayers after all.”

“You mean… .” He looked at the bedroom door.

His wife nodded, a smile covering her face. “Yes. Emily. I think that God has sent her to us, both in answer to our prayers and to help her, too. I think we should adopt her.”

Mr Beare frowned and shook his head. “I’m not sure, Grace. Adopting a street child? She’s a thief. She entered our house and took things.” He gazed at his wife. 

“She took an opportunity that presented itself. She only did it from fear of this Mr Smith. She’s a beggar, not a thief.”

“It’s a big risk, Grace. Suppose Mr Smith still has some influence over her?”

Mrs Beare sighed. “If she’s living here with us I do not see how Mr Smith, whoever he is, can get to her.” She held onto her husband’s arm and gazed into his eyes. “Please, Albert. You know how I long for another child, especially a little girl. And here God has provided us with one. Are you going to reject God’s gift?” She opened her eyes wide and smiled at him through her eyelashes.

“You know I can’t deny you, especially when you look at me like that.” He bent and kissed her. “I won’t reject God’s gift, either.”

If it had not been unladylike, Mrs Beare would have jumped up and down.

“You realise we’ll have a difficult job getting her civilised?”

She grinned. “Yes, but I like a challenge.”

On entering the room, Emily was huddled in a corner of the bed, holding Jacob the rabbit tightly. She stared at Mrs Beare with wide open eyes.

Mrs Beare sat next to the little girl. “How would you like to live here with us, Emily?”

Emily frowned. “You want me to be a maid here?”

“No, no. I…we want you to be our little girl. Our daughter. We want to adopt you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will live here with us. We will give you clothes and food. You will go to school. You will have toys. You will have everything our son, Harold, has. He will be your brother.”

“Not go back to Mr Smith?”

“No.”

“And have a rabbit to cuddle, like Jacob?”

“Yes. And other toys, too.”

Mr Beare entered, looking severe. “You’ll have to be good, though. No more stealing.”

Emily put her hand in her pocket and drew out the brooch she had taken from Mrs Beare’s jewellery box. 

She held them towards Mrs Beare. “Sorry. Mr Smith would beat me if I had nothing to give him.” She hung her head as tears filled her eyes.

“You will call me ‘mother’, or mamma, if you prefer, and Mr Beare you will call ‘father’ or ‘papa’. But first we must get you clean and see to those wounds.”

Mrs Beare called Jane and told her to prepare a bath. When the hot water had been poured into the metal bath set before the fire, Mrs Beare washed Emily’s hair and gently sponged her back. Her clothes she gave to Jane with instructions to wash them, and to dry them as quickly as possible before the range. She then plastered a salve on the raw switch marks.

“What are we going to dress you in? You can’t walk around naked. It is indecent.” Mrs Beare thought for a minute. “Wait here, Emily, I won’t be long.” She left the room and sought her husband.

As she crossed the hallway, Jane rushed up the stairs.

“Ma’am, Mrs White says the dinner is ready, and will be spoiling.”

“Oh, Jane, tell Mrs White I’m sorry. We shouldn’t be too much longer. Try to keep it hot, please.”

Jane dropped a curtsey and went back down the stairs. 

Mrs Beare entered the dining room. “Albert, we can’t have Christmas dinner with Emily with no clothes. The vicar has a little girl about the same size as Emily. I’m sure his wife will not mind lending us an old dress of hers.”

Mr Beare rose and tapped his pipe on the side of the fireplace, where a fire blazed. “And you want me to go and ask.”

“Yes, please. She can’t put her old clothes back. Not only are they ragged, but they were filthy, so I had Jane burn them.”

“And I suppose I’ll have to ask for some underwear, too. All right. I’ll go straight away.”

Mrs Beare reached up and kissed him on the cheek, then returned to the sitting room and Emily.

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A Child in Need: The Story Behind the Burglar (Goldie and the Beare Family Part 5)

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Image created buy V.M.Sang using Bing AI Generator

“The door’s not closed.” Mr Beare frowned as he mounted the steps. He turned to his wife. “How come you didn’t close it behind you? I know you were in a hurry, but it is not like you to be so careless.”

His wife followed him into the house, pulling the hatpin from her hat and removing it. She hung it on a hatstand by the door. “Jane was behind me, Albert. She must not have pulled it closed properly.” She went to the top of the stairs leading to the basement and called the maid.

Jane curtsied from the top of the stairs. “What did you want, Mistress?”

“When you came out of the door to go to church, did you close it properly behind you?”

“Oh, Mistress, I really don’t know. I was rushing, see. I’m sorry if I left it.”

Mr Beare hung his cloak and hat on the stand. “You should be careful, Jane. There are all kinds of undesirables around these days. If someone had noticed, they would have been able to walk right in and help themselves.”

Tears trickled down Jane’s face. “I’m sorry, sir.” She curtsied again. “It won’t happen again. I’ll be extra careful in future.”

Mrs Beare placed a hand on her husband’s arm. “It’s partly my fault, Albert. I told Jane to come through the front door instead of the basement. We were late, and it would have taken her a few more minutes to go down to the kitchen and use the servant’s door.”

Mr Beare nodded and smiled at Jane. “Well, let’s forget it, shall we? Go and get changed into your uniform.”

Harold, Mr and Mrs Beare’s eight year old son came out of the sitting room.

“Mamma, someone has opened one of the sweetmeat bags.”

His parents rushed in and Harold pointed to the open bag on the roof of the Nativity scene.

Mr Beare picked it up. “Only one eaten, it seems.”

A scream came from the kitchen, followed by the sound of running feet.

“Oh, sir, I’m sorry. So sorry. Someone’s been in the house. They took a bite from a mince pie.” Jane held out the evidence. “I’m sorry for leaving the door open. Please don’t dismiss me.”

“No one is dismissing anyone,” Mrs Beare said. “So far nothing has been taken or damaged except one sweetmeat and one bite of a mince pie. Go back to the kitchen and see if anything else has happened.”

“We’d better be certain nothing else has been taken, Mary,” Mr Beare said. “First let us see if anything has been taken from down here, then we can go upstairs and check.”

It was Harold who noticed the missing spoon in the dining room.

“That’s odd. They only took one small spoon. Look at all the other silver they could have taken.” Mrs Beare drew her brows together.

As they pondered this, Jane came rushing back. She panted before she managed to speak. “They’ve drunk the soup, Ma’am. I went to heat it up, and there was only a little bit left.”

“Let’s inspect upstairs,” Mr Beare said, striding to the staircase. “Jane, go back to the kitchen and help Mrs White finish the preparations for the meal.”

Jane curtsied and left.

The family ascended the stairs. Mr and Mrs Beare went into their bedroom and Harold went into his. 

Mrs Beare inspected her jewellery box and frowned. She turned to her husband. “The moon brooch you gave me is missing, but nothing else. The burglar only took one spoon and one piece of jewellery.”  

Harold ran into their room. “Mamma, there is a girl asleep on my bed.”

Mrs Beare straightened. “A girl?”

Harold nodded. “Yes. And she’s got Jacob.”

All three went to Harold’s room. Peering through the open door, they saw Goldie fast asleep and hugging Harold’s rabbit.

Mrs Beare’s eyes softened. “But she’s so little. Is she the burglar?”

“It would seem so, my dear. She’s obviously a beggar or a vagrant. We need to notify the police.”

The little girl woke, looked at the three people in the room and leaped to her feet, throwing the rabbit to the floor.

Harold dived for his toy, shouting “Jacob!”

The girl ran for the door and tried to duck under Mr Beare’s arm, but he was too quick and managed to grab her. He wrapped both arms around her, and as he did so, she screamed again. 

“It hurts. Please, it hurts.”

“Don’t hold her so tightly, Albert.”

“I’m not. It shouldn’t hurt her.”

The girl was crying now. “Please don’t get the police. I’ll give back what I took. Just give me some money. Only a little money, or Mr Smith will beat me again.”

Mrs Beare took the child’s hand and prized her away from her husband. “But it does hurt her.” She knelt beside the weeping child. “Where does it hurt? Did Mr Smith hurt you?”

The child nodded and sniffed, rubbing her hand over her nose, spreading snot across her face.

Mrs Beare took out a handkerchief and wiped it away. “Show me where he hurt you.”

The child turned around. “My back. He hurt my back.”

Gently, Mrs Beare pulled the ragged dress away from the child’s shoulders. She drew a quick breath. There, across the child’s back were three long welts. The remains of blood traced their path. 

She turned to her husband. “This child has been brutally beaten until she bled.” She stood her fists opening and closing. “We cannot allow her to return to such a man.”

“You’re correct, dear. I’ll contact the man in charge of the orphanage. They’ll take her if I ask him. I have influence.”

Mrs Beare looked at the child, who had cowered away at the mention of the orphanage. She frowned. “What is it, child? Surely the orphanage is better than your Mr Smith?”

“Ma said it was a bad place. When I were bad, she said she’d send me there.”

Mrs Beare put her head on one side. “So you have a mother?”

“No. She died. Annie found me and took me to Mr Smith. She said I’d be one of her girls when I’m old enough.”

Mr Beare strode into the room. “That settles it. She must go to the orphanage. We cannot allow her to become a fallen woman.”

Will Goldie be sent to the orphanage she so dreads?

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Finding Warmth at Christmas: (Goldie and the Beare Family part 4)

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Image by V.M.Sang and Bing AI generator.

Picture shows a small ragged girl sitting in front of a fire in a Victorian sitting room. There is a Christmas tree in the window.

The next day was Christmas, so Mr Smith told them. People would be feeling generous. They would be walking the streets visiting friends and relatives after Church. “Go and make the most of it.  Beggars, look pathetic, and pickpockets, be sneaky.  Merry Christmas, and good pickings.”

As the children descended the stairs, Jack tapped Goldie on the shoulder. “Mr Smith put me on pickpocketing. Go to my old spot by the church. Should do well today.”

Goldie trudged through the snow and leaned against a wall. She thought the church looked pretty with the snow on the roof and spire. Snow coated the ancient yew trees.

She looked at the gravestones. They look as if they’re wearing white hats.

The bells began to ring, calling the worshippers to Christmas Mass. Shortly, doors opened along the street as families made their way to the church. Everyone called “Merry Christmas” to their neighbours, and children laughed in anticipation of the presents to be opened later.

No one noticed the small girl, shivering by the church wall.

The door of a house opposite the church opened. A man strode out, followed by a boy of about eight. 

The man turned back. “Hurry. We’re going to be late.”

“Just fixing my hat, dear.” A woman came out pulling on a pair of gloves. She turned back. “Hurry, Jane. You must not be late for church. Not today, on the birthday of Our Lord. Has Mrs White left already?”

A young woman rushed out pulling the door closed behind her. “Coming, Mrs Beare. Yes, Mrs White is probably already in the church. She has everything ready for dinner, so she went ahead.”

They passed Goldie without giving her a single glance. She watched them enter the church, and soon heard singing; beautiful Christmas carols.

The sky looked leaden. The wind blew the snow into little heaps in corners and at the base of walls. Goldie looked at the houses lining the street. 

I bet it is warm inside. I’d love to go into one, just for a few minutes, to get warm.

Her teeth started chattering as an extra strong gust of wind swept along the street. As she watched, the door to the house where the Beare family lived swung slightly open.

Goldie’s eyes popped. The maid must have failed to close it properly in her hurry when she left.

Could I? Should I?

Goldie sprinted across the street.  Has God done this so I can get warm? Looking around, and noticing the street was empty, the little girl slipped through the door. She pushed it so it looked closed, and gazed around.

She found herself in a narrow hallway with stairs climbing on the right. A small table stood at the bottom of the stairs with a vase containing dried flowers. 

Doors opened on the left and right. Goldie picked the left one. It opened onto a large room filled with warmth from a fire damped down behind a metal fire guard.She ran to its heat and held her hands out to it with a blissful smile. 

As the cold seeped out of her bones, she gazed around the room. Three chairs faced the fire. One had large arms and wings on either side of the back.  

That one would swallow me up.

The second chair was closer to her size, and with no wings it might be more comfortable.

Gentleman and ladies’ chairs. Too big for me.

The third chair looked like a child’s seat. Much smaller than the others, and placed right in front of the fire where she could warm her feet. She sat in it and held her feet out to the warmth of the fire.

In the window stood a large tree. The family had decorated it with wooden ornaments, all different shapes and brightly painted. She also spotted some little bags hanging from the branches. A large star decorated the top.

How pretty.

Below the  tree was a scene with little figures. There was a man and a woman gazing at a  baby lying in a crib filled with straw. At one side, three more men, one with a lamb over his shoulder, knelt before the baby. On the other side, three men carrying elaborate boxes with a camel behind them had their eyes on the baby. A donkey and cow completed the scene. 

Over the fireplace was a large mirror that someone had decorated with holly. The glossy, green leaves contrasted with the bright red berries. Branches of green rested on other surfaces and gave a sweet scent to the room. 

Goldie crept towards the tree. She longed to taste the sweets hanging there. She reached out her hand, but pulled it back. After standing there for a few minutes, she pulled a bag from the tree and opened it. Taking out one of the sweets, she popped it into her mouth. Sweetness burst over her tongue. She had never tasted anything so sweet, and she was unsure if she liked it. She spat the sweetmeat out and threw it into the fire, dropping the bag on the floor, where the other sweets tumbled out.

On the mantelpiece, a clock ticked. How long would the church service last? When she’d sat outside before, it had seemed like a very long time.

It’s only just started. I can stay here for a bit longer. Then I can go and get money when the people come out.

She gazed around the room and decided to explore the house. 

Rising, Goldie crossed the hallway and entered a room with a large table in the centre. It was set for three people with crystal wine glasses and silver cutlery. In the centre was  a bowl with holly and ivy. 

She picked up a silver spoon and popped it into her pocket. 

Mr Smith will be pleased. He might even give me extra food like he did when I got some silver coins. These people won’t miss a little spoon.

That would be worth more than she could collect by begging. 

On leaving the room, she sniffed. The enticing smell of food drew her to the stairs leading to the basement. Her stomach growled. Maybe she could find something to eat down there before going upstairs. Careful, in case there was a servant who had not gone to church, Goldie crept slowly down.

The stairs led into a kitchen with a range at one end and a scrubbed wooden table in the centre. A cupboard stood opposite the window and on it were some pies and a large cake. Goldie picked up one of the pies and bit into it. 

“Ow! That’s hot.” She placed the pie back on the plate and peered around. There on the top of the range was a copper pan with soup in it. She felt in her pocket and fished out the spoon she had taken from the dining room. Dipping it into the pan, she first blew on it, then took a sip. 

“Mmm. Delicious.” She continued eating until her stomach felt full.

Putting the spoon back in her pocket, she returned to the hall and then climbed the stairs to the landing. The first room she entered was a large bedroom overlooking the street. She peeped out of the window. No one about. They’re still in church. Good.

The bed was huge, and covered with a red counterpane. Opposite it was a dressing table. 

There was a glass tray on the top, and a pair of glass candlesticks, one on each side. A small box decorated with painted roses stood in the middle of the tray. She lifted the lid.

A brooch took her eye. It sparkled with what she thought might be diamonds and was in the shape of a crescent moon. She slipped it into her pocket. Mr Smith would be so pleased with her that he would never beat her again. 

She heard a voice in her head. Her mother’s voice. We might be poor, but we are honest. Taking things that belong to someone else is wrong.

She took the brooch out and stared at it.

Ma wasn’t goin’ to be beat if she didn’t take something. She had a job in the mill.   She put it back into her pocket

I wonder if there is anything in the next bedroom?

She made her way across the landing and into what was obviously a child’s bedroom. A small bed with a blue counterpane stood opposite the door, and on it was a fluffy rabbit with a blue bow around its neck. On a chest of drawers Goldie noticed a toy train. Blue curtains hung at the window, tied back with a blue cord.

Goldie yawned. The warmth and the soup filling her stomach made her sleepy. What a lovely rabbit. She picked it up and cuddled it. It was soft and warm. She stroked its fur, burying her face in it. The rabbit seemed to want her to cuddle it more so she sat on the bed and leaned back, holding the toy close to her chest.

Slowly her eyes closed.

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The Struggles of Goldie: A Tale of Hunger and Survival (Goldie and the Beare Family part 3)

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Image created by V.M.Sang using Bing AI image generator.

They had not eaten all day, and Goldie’s stomach growled. She crossed the room to where Annie stood with a cauldron. As she approached, Annie lifted a bowl and spooned some of the contents of the cauldron into it. She handed it, along with a spoon and a slice of bread, to Goldie.

Goldie looked into the bowl. There was what looked like a piece of fat and a few carrots floating in a greasy liquid. She sat on her mattress and spooned some into her mouth. It tasted like it looked; a greasy, watery liquid with very little sustenance. But she was very hungry, so she wiped the stale bread around the bowl and forced the meagre repast down. When she had taken the bowl back to Annie, she lay on her pallet. Still hungry, she fell asleep.

The next few weeks were the same. She went out with Jack and sat next to him on a pavement somewhere richer folk would pass. He told her that Mr Smith was very pleased with the money they were making. Soon he was going to let Goldie go out on her own. 

She shivered at that thought. Yes, Jack had taught her the things to say, how to say it and what to do, but the thought of being out there on her own made her tremble. What if she was no good at begging? She had seen enough to know that Mr Smith would make no concessions for a novice. She had been lucky so far and had not been beaten, but if she did not make enough money, she would certainly feel the switch.

She crept out on her first day. Where to go? It was not Sunday, so it was no good going to a church. The shops. Yes. She would go to the shops. Sometimes people bought food for her from one of the stalls. 

I hope Mr Smith doesn’t find out about the food. I don’t think he’d understand.

She sat on the pavement and shivered. Winter was on the way. Her clothes had become even more ragged in the weeks she had been in Mr Smith’s ‘employ’, as he called it. She was permanently hungry, and getting even thinner than she had been when she first started ‘working’. A tear formed in the corner of her eye. Her stomach rumbled. It did nothing but rumble these days.  Mr Smith and Annie gave them enough food–just. How she longed for a full stomach. Or a fullish one would be enough.

Here comes a kind-looking woman.

Goldie let a tear fall. “Missus, a coin please. I’m so very hungry.”  That’s true. “I have no home. No one to feed me. Please. Just a farthing.” She held out her hand. 

The woman walked past, drawing her skirts in as she did so.

Not kind at all.

The next three people passed with barely a glance at her.

A man threw a penny in her direction. It struck her on the arm. She rubbed it and went to pick up the penny. 

As she did so, she heard the man say to his companion, “I don’t know why these beggars are allowed where decent people live.” He glanced at Goldie. “But one has to do one’s bit. I give alms as the Church says we should.”

I bet he’s never been hungry.

The men disappeared around a corner.

A costermonger pushed his barrow along the street. He had fruit for sale.

I wonder if I have enough to buy an apple. She looked at the few pennies, halfpennies and farthings she had collected. No. I don’t want to be beaten.

That evening, after eating the thin gruel Annie provided, Mr Smith came to her mattress. She cowered. What had she done?

“I knew you would be good. Folks are sorry for a pretty little girl. That was a nice haul you got today.” He stared at her with his eyes narrowed. “You must do the same tomorrow. Make them feel extra sorry for you. Mebbe you can get some silver coins. Threepenny bits, tanners or even a shilling. You work on ’em. Here.” He handed her a bowl and spoon. “Some extra as a reward.”

Goldie stared at the gruel, then, dipping her spoon into it, she gobbled the foul stuff. 

That night she slept badly. She shivered, and not only from the cold. What would Mr Smith do if she did not get any silver coins? Would he take the switch to her?

The next day her fears were realised. It was cold, and snow began to fall. The middle classes stayed at home, except for the men rushing to work, and rushing home again. 

Goldie pulled her shawl closely around herself, but it made little difference. People were too anxious to get home out of the snow to think about the little girl on the street corner. She dragged her feet on her way home.

“You must have spent some of the money.” Mr Smith’s eyes blazed. “You can’t have only got this much.” He tipped the two pennies and one farthing onto the table.

“It snowed.” She began to cry. “Everyone hurried past.”

“Well, I don’t believe you.” Mr Smith reached for his cane. “You spent some.”

That night she felt the switch for the first time.

Swish “One.” Swish. “Two.” Swish. “Three. I’ll be lenient and stop at three, but if you spend any more of my money, you will get the full six.” He leaned the cane against the wall and left.

Sobbing, she lay on her stomach. Her back burned. She reached around and her fingers came away bloody. She had not had anything to eat. Mr Smith had refused to allow her any gruel. 

A shuffling made her turn. One of the other children, a girl of nine, crouched by Goldie’s pallet. 

She held a bowl half full of gruel. “I knew he wouldn’t feed you tonight so I saved some of my food for you.”

Goldie sat up and passed her hand over her eyes. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you giving me your food?”

“Mr Smith is a bad man. He treats us bad. But it’s better than the streets. Lots die in the cold out there. Lots get other horrid things done to them. Lots become cripples. I like you, so I give you some food.”

Goldie had not heard this girl say so much before. She had always been quiet. 

She took the bowl. “Thank you.” She put it to her mouth and drank the thin broth. Although it did not satisfy her hunger, the empty feeling went away a bit.