THE DEPRIVED... Chapter 2... Part 19.

A continuation of my book.

The market place in Whitechapel had begun to close by the time she got there and Mary walked through the market, seeking out one of the barrows which held just the last of its products, seeming old and soiled.
“A penny?” said the stallholder. “I can give you some cabbage and some spuds which aint gone off yet. Here you are, Missus, you can have this turnip along with two tomatoes and that’s it.”
“Is that all I’ll get?” asked Mary. “Just a couple of measly potatoes and other stuff which has not yet gone mouldy?”
“Look here woman, if me gear aint to your liking, why don’t you go down to the arches off Viaduct Street. That’s where all the vagabonds and thieves live. Go there and beg!”

 

The arches off Viaduct Street was not a single arch but a span of arches which carried the new-found railway tracks overhead. The largest arch to its centre sat back deep with its far wall bricked up so that it was sheltered from the wind and damp fog which could suddenly darken the day. The main arch was the home of the vagabonds and homeless, its occupants standing round fires like a ramshackle army of lost faces. Some roasted potatoes and turnips over the fires, pilfered from Spitalfields Market and squatting on their haunches and eating before the vegetables were half cooked. The smoke from the fires swirled and soured the atmosphere even more so that it was hard to see deeper into the opening than the first couple of yards. Mary watched the camp for a while, seeing the women who huddled against the walls of the arches and then making a decision she walked up to the first knot of women, a smile stretching her gaunt face. She turned away, to cough then spat before walking forward again.
“What do you want?”
The woman who spoke sat with the others, her eyes suspicious.
“I want to buy some food for my children.” Mary answered.
“We aint got enough for ourselves or our babies.” replied the woman and Mary turned, following the pointed finger to see a crowd of children further on, laying on a bundle of rags.
“How much money is it you have, Missus?” asked one of the women, standing up.
Her stance seemed threatening, even more so as she stood in front of Mary while other women began to get up from the ground.
“So? How much have you got to spend, eh?”
Mary shook her head and started to turn away.
“Come on then? How much have you got, Missus?” said another woman who also barred her way.
This seemed to rouse the rest of the women and they all began to rise, crowding round Mary and beginning to pull at her clothing.
“What’s going on there?”
The women parted quickly to allow a man through. He was tall and rangy, balding to the front with a hooked nose and sharp grey eyes. In his hand he carried a thick wooden club which he pointed out against the women so they sat down once more against the wall of the arch.
“She wants to buy food and says she’s got money.” said the first woman, beginning to rise and pointing at Mary.
The man raised his club and the woman sat down again. He turned to Mary, his eyes fierce.
“How much money have you got then?” demanded the man.
His accent was heavy with Irish brogue yet the lilt had a whisper of Cockney to it which proved the man had lived in the East-End for many years. Mary did not answer, her eyes wide and frightened by the rabble of women who watched her closely.
“She said she had money and we want it.” said the first woman.
The crowd began to rise and crowd round Mary again.
“Let her alone! Get back you load of w****s! If you touch her I’ll break your heads. Get down!”
His shout was so loud that men around some of the nearer fires looked up, to meet the fierce grey eyes of the man who raised his club once again. Grumbling loudly among themselves, the women sat down again. With a last glare at the seated women, the man took hold of Mary’s hand.
“Come with me.” he said, his voice now much softer and she allowed him to lead her deeper into the arches to where a fire burned.
“Me name’s Kilpatrick.” said the man. “This is me very own fire. And don’t none of you forget that!” he shouted, turning round to look back at the women first then to stare at the men who stood around the other fires.
“Thank you, Kilpatrick.” said Mary.
“Ah now, lady. Don’t you be thanking me for the service. I only saved you from that rabble as to sell you what you’re after, providing of course you have the money.”
“I have a penny for some food.” replied Mary, taking out the copper and showing it to him.
“I’ll let you have four potatoes for a half-penny.” he said as he undid his shirt and showed Mary some potatoes hidden there.
“I’ll give you this penny if you roast them for me.”
He took the coin.
“You sit here beside the fire while I cook the potatoes.” he instructed.
Mary sat close to the fire as Kilpatrick pierced the four potatoes on pieces of wood and placed the sticks close into the fire. No more words were spoken until Kilpatrick took down the roasted potatoes and blew out the flames which had set fire to the ends of the sticks.
“Lift your skirt up.” he ordered.
Mary stood up and lifted her skirt, collecting the potatoes in its fold.
“Thank you, Mister.” said Mary quietly and rose, beginning to walk away.
“Me name’s Kilpatrick.” said the man without looking up. “And I’m always here except when I’m on a trip up the markets. If you want anything then call on Kilpatrick. I’m at your service”
This time the man did look up and smiled broadly. He had large white teeth, like a wolf.
“Thank you, Mister Kilpatrick. I’ll remember.” said Mary as she hurried away.
“It’s only Kilpatrick!” came the loud voice behind her.