THE DEPRIVED... Chapter 2... Part 14.

A continuation of my book

Once alone Mary gave way to the need to cough, bringing up the phlegm and gasping for breath. Calming herself she crept back down the stairs and collected Beth and Sam, urging them to hurry up the stairs and be as silent as they could.
“Bolt the door.” said Mary.
Beth bolted the door before joining her mother and Sam as they stood in its centre and stared round at the tiny space.
“At least we have a bed to sleep on.” said Mary as she took the blankets and began to lay them out.
“We can manage just as well here as the last place!” cried Beth, injecting a positive note into her voice.
Sam moved to stare out of the broken window, totally disinterested.
“Of course we will manage.” agreed Mary, though her mind was not in agreement as she sat on the bed.
There was no fireplace or anywhere to warm food and so the family sat and ate what they had in a raw and cold state.
“I shall be going out tonight and see what money I can earn.” remarked Mary.
“Why won’t you let me and Beth go to work while you stay at home?” asked Sam, coming away from the window to stand in front of his mother.
“We can both get work in the tanning factory or in the cesspits. Why can’t we go?” he demanded.
“I say not Sam, because it is up to me to earn the money. Your father did not want you or Beth to go and do the work which would kill you off at an early age.” Mary reminded him.
She began to cough convulsively so that Beth slapped her hard on her back till she could breathe easily again.
“The work is killing you!” shouted Sam, returning to the window and staring out, his arms folded.
“Please be quiet!” Mary whispered fiercely, her eyes on the door. “You’ll have us all thrown out. Please be quiet.”
Sam shrugged.
“When I go out, I want you both to get into bed and stay there. Don’t make a noise and I’ll be back as soon as I can. I will earn some money for food and we can eat.”
Mary unbolted the door and peered out down the dark stairwell. No noise came from the doors on the ground floor. Mary opened the door and whispered to Beth.
“Bolt the door after me.”

Mary crept down the stairs and out into the street. The smog and fumes had lost day to the night and even the new dawn could not begin the day as light was only glimpsed through the gaps between the Wharves and the glimpse of early river traffic. It was a Godforsaken walk of dark walls and unhappy alleyways and Mary would have been happy to have the heat of God in her heart, except she had no memory of God or anything else. The only thing on her mind was to earn enough for the rent and to put food in the mouths of her two children. She stopped now to hold onto the damp of the warehouse wall and cough, gasping for breath and spat out the congestion which was brought up from the pit of her lungs, to spit it out and lifting the hem of her shawl she wiped away the phlegm and blood that stuck to her lips. Gathering her strength Mary pushed herself upright and continued her slow tread through the wall of Wharves which gave some protection against the driving rain and muffled the eerie sounds of the klaxons and hooters of the small cargo boats and barges which sailed a slow road up and down the cross-tides of the murky River Thames.

 

The small dark-skinned sailor had been rough with her, forcing her against the wall and penetrating her with hard and crude stabs and having wasted himself then spat in her face as he shouted at her in a language she did not understand.
“Where’s my money!” she had cried.
The sailor then short-changed her, throwing two old coppers at her and walking away, leaving Mary to cry in her pain and to scrabble in the dirt, seeking the two pennies. Breathing heavily, Mary reached the cobbles of Cable Street and sat down in the doorway of the bread shop. From within she could hear the sounds of early morning baking and the shouts of a man, then a loud smack followed by the cries of a child. Leaning her back against the door, Mary lifted the hem of her skirt and drew out the little cotton bag she had made for herself from an old handkerchief. Undoing the button-hold she drew out the money and holding her palm low to catch the thin light which shone beneath the threshold of the door she moved the money slowly round in her hand, her lips moving as she counted it.
“Four-pence."
Mary carefully put the money back into the purse and did the button up before lifting the hem of her skirt and secreting the purse away in the tuck of her drawers. She cursed softly, feeling the blood which still ran down the inside of her thighs and rubbed at it with both hands before pulling her skirt down.