THE DEPRIVED... Chapter 2... Part 15.

A continuation of my book.

The smell of fresh baked bread began to whisper itself out from beneath the door of the bread shop and Mary rose to tap lightly on the door. The noise inside stopped and in the silence Mary knocked a bit louder.
“Who is it?”
The voice was deep and guttural, muffling its way through the door.
“I want to buy a loaf of bread.” called Mary.
“It’s not ready yet.” came the answer. “Come back at six o’clock.”
“Please. I need to buy some bread. My children are hungry. I have money.”
“Sell her some bread, Joseph.” came a woman’s voice from behind the door.
“Shut up, woman!”
This was followed by an argument which ended with a loud slap.
The women screamed.
“You’ll do that once too often, Joseph. One day I will leave you!”
“Go on then, woman! Here’s the door!”
The door was suddenly thrown open, nearly knocking Mary off balance. She squinted into the light to see the big burly Baker with his coat covered in flour. He held a small thin woman by the arm as she struggled to break free of his grip.
“Look! Do you see how he treats me? He’s a bully, that’s what he is!”
“What do you want?” shouted the Baker at Mary, releasing his wife’s arm.
“I want to buy some bread for my children.” said Mary.
“Go away from my door!” shouted the Baker. “You smell rotten and I don’t want the likes of you stinking up my establishment. Go away!”
With that the Baker slammed the door shut, to continue shouting at his wife.
Mary gathered up her skirts and moved out into the drizzling rain.
“Hoi!”
Mary stopped, turning as the door to the Baker’s shop opened and the small woman came running out, followed by a torrent of abuse from the Baker.
“Here.” said the Baker’s wife, holding out a small loaf of bread. “It’s stale but only a couple of days old. Soak it in some water for a while. It’s eatable, just break the mouldy bits away.”
“Go on, woman. Give all my bread away. Go on, give it to that charity case!” shouted the Baker, coming out of the door and grabbing his wife by the arm and dragging her back into the shop.
The door slammed shut and the row heated up within.
“Thank you.” whispered Mary at the door.
She tucked the loaf of bread into her shawl and began to walk, stopping every now and again to stretch a hand out and lean against a wall to gasp air into her lungs then cough as the phlegm welled up into her throat. She spat it out each time before moving away and continuing to make her way through the dark and dismal streets.

 

At 13 Berner Street, nestled between the two lodging houses, sat Old Ma Kelly’s gruel shop and offal business. Her main customers were the Night-Girls, ladies of the night who would stop between their hours of business and stand out in the street with cold hands gripped around the mugs of hot gruel as they laughed and gossiped about the clients and their ponces, who loved them or beat them, sometimes both.
At this time, edging towards a grey morning and with the night’s business nearly over the two Night-Girls stood on the street outside the window of Old Ma Kelly’s place, each holding a jar of bitter ale in one hand and a mug of hot gruel in the other, sipping in equal amounts as they chatted.
Mary watched the girls from the doorway of the left-hand lodging house and waited till they finally finished their drinks and went off arm in arm down the street back towards their homes where the men waited to count out their night’s earnings.

 

Old Ma Kelly was a large bustling woman, rich with Irish blood, with red cheeks, a happy temperament and she took no chances.
“It’s a risky business.” she would tell the girls. “The devil’s about in these quarters each dark night and I only open up to help you poor dears who are took down to this level. That will be an ‘alf-penny’ in copper, dearie.” she would break off as she served another

customer before continuing.
 “But it aint for the likes of me to have a bad word about what business you girls do. God knows, I used to do the same as well as you’ve heard me speak of at times. That was till me sainted Harry, bless his soul, set up this little business and saved me organs from dropping out the soles of me boots.”

Old Ma Kelly never came out of the door but rather she served her gruel and home-made beer through the open window into the street, leaning out and always taking the money first. As she more than once told Constable James Harridan, who always stopped on his nightly round.
“You has to be a clever-clogs in this day and age, Constable. It don’t beckon any good to a willing soul to go round at such times with a good and easy heart.”
Constable James Harridan always agreed with Old Ma Kelly and always received a free tipple, which came from the goodness of Old Ma Kelly’s heart. Constable James Harridan would then pull his cape tight to his neck and move on, swinging his truncheon as he walked off into the dawning light.

Old Ma Kelly had leaned right out of the window, peering through the light and seeing no-one to serve was about to shut her front room window and finish for the night when she heard the coughing and peered out to see Mary move away from the shadows. For a minute Old Ma Kelly stepped back into the room, ready to pull the window shut then stopped in her movements as the light from the window fell across the way to make out the tired figure of Mary.