So this one started small and I think it’s got more story in it than I originally thought. It’s about a 17-year-old boy living in the slums of London just outside of Saint Katherine’s docks in 1838. He does his best to make his way, but when a shiny bit o’ coin distracts him, his day devolves into more than he bargained for. This Part One, look out for Part Two next week 🙂
A salty breeze swirled up and around Henry Scott as he sat along the bridge near Saint Katherine’s docks, blowing his wavy brown hair this way and that while filling his head with all the possibilities held across the sea. This was his favorite spot in London. Yes, the smell was something wretched in the docks, but here, just outside along the Thames, the salt air purified his blighted existence if even just for a moment. He envisioned himself on one of those boats. One day, he’d tell himself. Until then he’d dream of adventures in far off lands.
Deckhands trying to navigate the narrow river shouted at each other as seagulls cawed overhead, begging for any scrap of food that might be available. They were only the noisiest beggars in a city filled with a starving, homeless population thanks to the newly finished docks. “Progress,” they said, “is what is needed to move into a new era of revolution!” What they really meant was, “We must purge the slums to make room for more wealth to enter the city.” All the while, the Tower of London presided over the disparity from its lofty throne next door. What did 11,300 poor people mean to a growing empire? Henry thought to himself. One more reason to get out of this hellhole.
Henry Scott, at only 17 years of age, found himself among the privileged few whose house wasn’t demolished in the name of progress, instead, he and his older sister Evie lived just north of the docks in the newly overrun slums. Tuberculosis and malnutrition were part of daily life and the rumors of cholera breeding in the docks didn’t bode well for any of them. They did their best though, Evie took jobs where she could find them, although Henry never asked where, and he himself worked at the docks whenever they’d have him.
The call-on bell rang in the distance, the sign that it was time to line up and hope he could find the promise of a day’s pay. He ran through the crowds of dockworkers and merchants already setting up their stalls along the quay. Splashes of red and green caught his attention and caused him to slow his pace. Apples. Henry’s favorite. It’d been years since he’d seen such fresh delicious fruit. He casually walked over to the merchant, inspecting the goods.
“Good morning, young sir,” said the merchant, “can I tempt you with some delicious fruit for breakfast. I’ll give you a first sale of the day price, only one sovereign for five of your choice.” The merchant cocked his head and raised his eyebrow as if to tell Henry that this was the best deal he was going to get. Henry wasn’t buying. Not only did he not have twelve pence to his name, let alone a pound, but he knew that a single sovereign would buy a whole bushel of apples anywhere else.
“Oh, sir, I would love to, but, ya see, me poor sister is sick and I have to send all me monies to pay for her doctor bills.” His sister was in fact not sick, but Henry was always one to con a con. He turned to leave, but his foot caught the leg of the display, sending apples rolling off and down the dock.
“Oh, sir! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.” He meant too.
“That’s alright, son, no harm, no foul,” replied the merchant as the pair of them picked up the few apples that had rolled away. All except the one Henry pocketed in the ruckus.
“Best of luck to ya, sir!”
Henry waited until he was out of sight before indulging in the stolen sphere of sweetness. The snap of the skin, the burst of juices, the flavor of good memories flooded Henry’s senses. That last time he’d had an apple was his 14th birthday, his Mum had saved up to make an apple pie. Evie knitted him a new scarf and even his father had carved two wooden practice swords from driftwood so they could practice together. It was one of the last times his family had all been together.
Henry felt that familiar tightness forming in his throat. Not here. He shook away the thought of his family. He had somewhere to be, the worker line was already growing. A shout curtailed his attention from the line for a second time.
“Hey! Give that back!”
A group of older boys was hassling someone about something, again. It was the same group every day. Henry had known them back in school. That is until his Dad was laid off, when Henry had to quit school to start helping out the family. He never much cared for the lot of them though, ‘ruffians and thugs’ as Evie called them. Now, who are they picking on today, wondered Henry.
The crowds cleared enough to reveal a runt of a lad, five stone if he was one, and at thirteen could hardly reach the top of a horse if his life depended on it. But somehow the young Barnaby had wiggled his way into a soft spot in Henry’s heart and lodged himself there for good.
Henry took one last look at the call-on line, hoping he had time to fix the Barnaby situation and get in line while there was still work to be had.
He raced across the docks, jumping from one post to another, just in time to watch as one of the older boys slammed Barnaby down on the wet concrete.
“Right, well that doesn’t seem like a very fair fight, lads,” called out Henry as he landed at the entrance of the alleyway. “Why not pick on someone a little closer to your own size?”
“If it isn’t the mother robin, himself?” said the leader of the pack. He wasn’t a particularly bright boy, Stephen, but what he lacked in intelligence he made up for in sheer size and strength. He looked as if his father had been part horse, his face didn’t hurt the resemblance either. “Here to protect your little baby robin, are you, Henry?”
Stephen, flanked by his two cohorts, set his eyes squarely on Henry. He’d have to make a good show of force before things escalated too quickly. Henry laughed in the jolliest way he could muster.
“Robin? That’s a good one, Stephen. Could make a stuffed bird laugh, ya could.”
“Huh?” Stephen questioned. “What are you on about then?” Stephen stepped forward as if to attack, but Henry popped him square in the jaw sending the boy flailing backward. His foot tried to find purchase but instead found a freshly dropped dung, further adding insult to injury. Stephen reached for his now bloody nose.
“You’re going to regret this, orphan,” he said running away. “You can count on that!” His two cowardly cohorts quickly followed his lead and scampered off after their not-so-fearless leader.
“Wow, thanks, Henry. You saved me from a right batty-fang, ya did,” Barnaby said as Henry lifted up from the same position he’d been laying in during the whole exchange. “How’d you always manage to be where’s I need you when I needs you?”
“Damfino, ‘Nab. How come you always manage to need me bein’ places, huh? Can’t a man catch a break every once in a while?” Henry patted Barnaby’s hat back on, rustling his ruddy hair in the process. “You good though? I gotta get back in line.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Oy! Can I come?”
“‘Nab, you can barely lif’ yourself, how you gonna lif’ sacks onto a boat?” Henry asked breaking into a run back towards the line, leaving young Barnaby on his own once again.
• • •
“Sorry, lads, that’s it for the day,” called out the harbormaster. Henry had missed another day’s work. That was the third payday he’d missed in a week, he dreaded to picture the look of reprehension Evie would have waiting for him if he came home empty-handed again.
“Damned this wretched city!” cursed a rather portly man from Henry’s left. “How many days must we delay before departing, Etto? I’m due back in Philadelphia by the first of September. What do they expect me to do, flap my arms like one of these God-forsaken pigeons all the way back to America?”
America? That word piqued Henry’s interest. He’d dreamed of being able to visit the newly formed United States of America, but he’d never actually met an American yet. And yet in front of him stood two. The first man, the portly one, looked completely out of place in Saint Katherine’s docks. He had one of the finest coats Henry had ever seen outside the Tower. He had a dark wool tailcoat, almost white trousers without a stain on them, and a bright purple vest that looked like it was straight out of the Queen’s cabinet. Then he even managed to wear the biggest necktie seen this side of the pond, clearly, this man was not at all accustomed to the stifling heat of London in July. His face was so red that it looked to be scaring off his hair as it was silently running away from his face leaving the front of his forehead completely bare.
The other man though, he was a sight. Almost two meters high, easily 15 stone and skin as dark as night. He looked like something right out of a pirate story, a dark leather waistcoat with the sleeves cut clean off. His belt was just a bit of fabric tied thrice over but he carried himself with a dignity and dexterity that proved he probably knew how to handle to two short swords at his belt with ease should the need arise.
“Paperwork always seems to be the folly of punctuality, Mr. Rush, but don’t worry. I think we’ll be well underway before the week is up.”
“Yes, yes, I’m sure you’re right, Etto. You normally are, my friend, with these sorts of things. I’ll just be happy to be back home. Something about being in London makes me weary that the British won’t just let us leave so easily anymore. Maybe this new Queen will be better.” The man, Mr. Rush as he was called, regarded two small gold coins in his hand. “What say you we go spend a little of this gold on some breakfast?”
“I would normally love to join you, sir, but I have some other matters I need to attend to before we ship out. I shall meet you back at the hotel this evening.”
“Ah, fair enough. And here,” he said tossing one of the coins at him, “at least make sure you eat something today. Can’t have my bodyguard wasting away.”
“Will do, sir.” The man, Etto, placed the coin into a small pocket underneath his cloth belt. That little coin of gold was enough to feed Henry and his sister for at least a week. Henry wanted that coin.
Etto helped his friend into a nearby Hansom cab and then made his way towards the center of town. Henry navigated the small, bustling streets of London, keeping a close eye on the man Etto. He fancied himself a decent enough pickpocket but preferred to wait for the perfect opportunity to present itself.
And present it did.
In one particularly busy intersection, the crowd erupted in screams as an out of control horse and carriage threatened to take out anyone too foolish to move. A woman and her young child stood frozen in the fray. Move, damn you, thought Henry as he watched the scene unfold, bloody move! Henry’s muscles tensed as he prepared to leap into action, but someone beat him to it. Etto was already there and pulling the pair out of the way just seconds before the horse reared its head. The horse slammed its hooves into the exact spot the mother and child had been standing before his master reigned it in.
“Are you okay?” the man questioned. His thick accent coming through with every word, but still, Henry couldn’t quite place it. Is that what Americans sound like now? Henry shook his head in an attempt to bring him back to the present. This was his opportunity.
“I saw the whole thing!” Henry gawked as he ran up to the group, placing his hand ever so subtly on Etto’s shoulder. “You was so fast, sir! Mad as hops it was. Are you’s alright?”
“We’re okay,” responded the mother shakily. “Thanks to this gentlemen.”
“Right hero, he is,” Henry cooed as patted the man on his back, simultaneously grabbing the small coin from the man’s pocket. “I’ll go fetch a doctor, just in case he’s needed.”
Henry slowed to a stroll once he rounded the nearest corner, flipping the coin, lavishing in his success. Henry couldn’t help but imagine all the possibilities that this coin would allow. It wouldn’t get them out of the slum, but they’d have food in their bellies for the week.
“Oy, watch it! Damn dogs,” Henry cursed while nearly tripping over a scurrying pair of mutts.
Henry turned back around and walked straight into the chest of Billy Scamps – the self-proclaimed lord of the slums. At over 16 stone and just shy of two meters, he didn’t have much competition for the title. His loyal following of goons flanked him on either side. Henry was outnumbered five to one. Billy snatched the gold coin midair.
“Well, what ‘ave we here, boys?” He twirled the coin over and around his fingers. “Little Henry’s got a new bit o’ shine.”
“Oy, that’s mine. Give it here, Billy.” Henry tried to jump and grab it before a fist found his gut causing him to double over in pain.
“That’s Mister Scamps to you,” said the owner of the fist – one of Billy’s attack dogs named Joe.
“Whoa, Joe, easy there. Henry’s a friend, ain’t ya, Henry? And friends like to share, don’t they, chaps? Now, where’d ya get this, boy?” Billy bent over to meet Henry’s pain-stricken face.
Henry tried to stand against the pain in his abdomen. He felt like every ounce of air had been ripped from his body and every inhale stopped short from pain.
“I just found it,” he managed to squeak out between raspy breaths.
“You found it? Don’t sell me a dog, boy!” Billy picked Henry up by the collar one-handed, lifting him off the ground. “Who’d you knick this off of? Where there’s one coin to be had, there’s probably more.”
Henry may have been a pickpocket, but he wasn’t about to let these thugs go after what seemed like a decent enough fellow. “I swears it, I just found it.”
“Joe.” Billy released his grasp and let Henry tumble to the ground. His body hit the slick stone street – hard. He felt a searing pain in his gut as a boot gained purchase in the same spot as had the fist. Joe continued his assault on Henry as he writhed in pain, the taste of metal filling his mouth, his vision getting fuzzy.
“Stop!” a voice bellowed out of the darkness that was attempting to swallow Henry whole. The next few moments were a blur. Shouts, grunts, and slams were all Henry could hear until there was nothing but quick footsteps. He opened his eyes to see the group of five men, including Billy, scamper off down the alley. A pair of feet stood in front of Henry’s face as he was lifted back to his feet.
“Are you okay, boy?” The thick accent was unmistakable. It had to be Etto. Henry regained his footing and regarded the man who’d just saved him. No wonder he made short work of them, Henry thought to himself. He’s huge.
“I’m good. Thanks for that,” Henry responded as he flinched and grabbed for the wall to catch himself.
“Where do you live? We need to get you home so you can rest.”
“I can get there on my own, thanks.” Henry’s knee gave out again almost sending him toppling as Etto reached out and grabbed his arm.
“Just point, son, we’ll get you there.” Etto looked deep into Henry’s eyes as if trying to determine his home by sheer intuition.
“Fine. It’s not far, right up this way.” At least Billy had taken Etto’s coin that Henry knicked, that would’ve been a hard explanation and the walk home even more awkward.
• • •
The pair of men walked up the stairs to Henry’s small hovel of a home. Each step creaked something awful under the combined weight. Shouts filled the hallway – the Smiths were at it again, they fought on the daily and the whole building knew why thanks to the paper-thin walls. The Fitzgerald baby cried from the second floor, it hadn’t stopped for the last few days which was never a good sign, even Henry knew that much. They opened the door to Henry’s apartment.
“Henry, is that you?” shouted Evie from the back room. Henry’s overprotective big sister. Of course, she’d be home now, Henry thought to himself.
“Yea, it’s me, sis,” he called back. “And a friend, so be decent!”
“A friend, what do you mean–” Evie stopped dead in her tracks in the hallway as soon as she laid eyes on the pair. “Henry! What did you get yourself into now?”
“Oh it’s fine, Evie, just a bit o’ cops is all.”
“Henry James Scott. What did I tell you about that accent? You’re not a street thug, don’t talk like one.” Evie was adamant that no matter what station in life they fell to, she wouldn’t let the education her parents had worked so hard for fall to nothing.
“Evie, I told you. If I talk prim and proper on the street I’ll get taken for all we’re worth.”
“And what do you call getting thrashed in the street? What would Mum and Dad say?”
“Well they ain’t here, are they?” He regretted them the moment the words left his mouth. Evie stood taken aback, Henry knew he’d gone too far.
“No. They aren’t. But what they taught us is, and it’s all we have left so don’t throw it away so casually.”
“I’m sorry, Evie,” Henry said sullenly, feeling suddenly too small for his own clothes.
“Now, who’s your friend?” she questioned, turning her attention to Etto who’d up to this point had remained silent through the sibling exchange. She reached her hand out in greeting, “I’m Evelyn Scott.”
“Etto, ma’am,” he said shaking her hand.
“Well thank you, Mister Etto, for bringing my wooden spoon of a brother back to me.” She turned to Henry, “and I imagine I have him to thank for saving you from getting two black eyes this time?”
“Yes,” Henry responded pathetically. “I could’ve taken ‘em though,” he continued knowing full well that he would’ve been a goner if it weren’t for the man who’s coin he’d appropriated for himself. The same coin that had gotten him into the scuffle in the first place.
“I’m sure you would’ve, son.” Etto turned to Evie, “you’ve got quite the bricky brother, ma’am.”
“That he is,” Evie responded.
“I’ll be on my way then,” Etto said, turning to leave.
“No, please, stay for lunch,” Evie pleaded as she reached out and grabbed his arm. “Feeding you is the least I can do to thank you for saving Henry.”
Henry hoped he’d decline. He wanted this man out of his house, the longer he stayed the more likely it was that the coin would come up in the conversation. Etto looked down at Evie’s hand on his arm, then to Henry before finally meeting Evie’s gaze.
“That would very nice, Miss Scott, thank you.”
Damn, Henry thought.
“Oh, please, call me Evie. Everyone else does. Right, I’ll get to lunch then. Henry, try not to get into any more scuffles while I’m not looking.”
“Thanks, Evie, I’ll try.”
Henry found a comfortable spot on the single bed that made up ‘his room’ in the small space. He left the wooden chair for Etto. He tried to recline and close his eyes to detract from any conversation that Etto may want to start.
“So about my coin.”
Damn it all, Henry thought.
“Right, you knew about that then?”
“You’re not that good, son. Why do you think I was there in that alley? Felt you knick it, but needed to get that mother and child situated first before following you. I would like it back now.”
“Yea, well I don’t have it anymore. Got this nice shiner instead,” Henry responded pointing to his swollen eye. He hoped that would elicit some sort of sympathy for his case.
“Ah. Then how do you intend to pay me back?”
“Pay you back?” Henry exclaimed before immediately switching to hushed tones. “With what? I have nothing, as you can see.” He showcased the derelict apartment filled with rags for blankets and pillowcases filled with straw. The few trinkets they did have held only sentimental value. Even most of the wooden furniture had been sacrificed to the stove for warmth last winter.
“I have some business I need to attend to this evening. I could use an extra set of eyes and since you don’t seem to have a problem with the gray areas of morality, you could work your debt off and we’ll call it even.”
Henry considered the proposition. What could he say to it, he did owe the man, twice over if you count the alley rescue. And having already proved himself a thief, couldn’t balk at a little gray area business. But there was a difference between a little pickpocketing and true crime.
“I don’t want any trouble, sir. I’m just trying to get through life here.”
“No trouble to be had. I just have some things that I need to bring back to America and there may be some people that aim to prevent that.” Etto leaned forward on his knees, staring down Henry. “I don’t want to cause you or your sister any trouble, but I do need help and if you find yourself in a position to do so, I’d be appreciative. Meet me at the Prospect of Whitby tonight at dusk.”
“I–”
“Lunch is ready, gents.” Evie walked into the room carrying three plates of sandwiches, interrupting the conversation. Her timing was impeccable as always.
The trio enjoyed a quick lunch, Evie and Etto exchanging stories the whole time. Henry could barely get a word in edgewise, not that he wanted to. His mind raced with ideas of what this man could possibly need Henry’s help in. He seemed like a decent enough fellow, saving that mother and child and all. And he did say that Henry would only be an extra set of eyes. How much trouble could you get into for just being a lookout, Henry questioned to himself.
“Thank you so much, Evie. Lunch was a delicious break from the day, but alas I should get back to my business,” Etto said as he made his way to the door.
“The pleasure was all ours, Etto. And thank you again for helping my brother. It means a lot, to both of us,” Evie replied while shoving Henry in the arm.
“Ow. I mean, yes, thank you, Mister Etto.” Henry didn’t particularly care for the way Evie was looking at the man. Her eyes traced his frame like she was looking at a fresh apple pie.
“You’ve a lovely home, Evie. And maybe we’ll see each other around, Mister Henry,” he grasped Henry’s hand and pulled it ever so slightly towards him. Henry could feel the strength of the man as he squeezed just a bit too hard. Henry got the message. He’d be there tonight, fear be damned.