THE DEPRIVED... Chapter 2... Part 20.

A continuation of my book.

Mary stood at the broken street door and listened. She could hear the drunken voice of Silas Jenkins shouting at someone behind the closed door and crept swiftly past, hurriedly climbing the stairs.
“Beth! Beth, it’s me!” Mary whispered fiercely.
Beth hurried to the door and drew back the bolt, allowing Mary in before shooting the bolt back again.
“Sit on the bed with Sam.”
Beth sat alongside Sam as Mary allowed the potatoes to fall onto the bed.
“Hurry up and eat them while they are still warm.” said Mary.
She joined the children on the bed and the three of them ate the potatoes hungrily, stuffing the food into their mouths and swallowing without taking notice of the burnt skins. Mary allowed Beth and Sam to share the remaining potato and sat by the window on the stool, coughing and spluttering and bringing some of the potato back up into her mouth and spitting it out of the window.

The sun had given into the evening darkness and allowed the swirling mists to creep into the room.
“I have to go out now.” said Mary softly. “Bolt the door after me, Beth. Remember please not to open the door to anyone while I’m away.”
Mary rose from the stool, not daring to look at the faces of the children as she left the room and pulled the blanket tight around her shoulders. She waited until she heard Beth slide the bolt home on the inside before creeping carefully down the stairs and out into the street.

 

In Commercial Road stood the water trough, there by the roadside so that the big shire horses which pulled the heavy dray carts through the streets could stop and drink. Often it also served as a paddling pool for the street urchins and even a toilet for those who cared little for the well-being of others. Mary stopped and cupping some water in her hands she drank before splashing some on her face and gasping at the coldness before drying her face on the blanket.
The working girls turned their backs on her as she made her way through Cable Street, some even hissing and calling for her to hurry and leave. She took her time, leaning against the wall to cough then moved on, making her way down to the darkness of the Wapping Wall before reaching the dockside.

The Tugboat Inn was a small public house which was tucked quaintly between two dockside Wharves and ghosted a glow of gaslights from small windows that lit and reflected the cobbles in the street. Mary stationed herself in a doorway opposite, her eyes fixed on the door of the pub. It was not raining although the air drew up the damp from the River Thames and misted it to run down walls and give the cobbles a slippery shine. The lone policeman who walked the street carried his truncheon and kept to the middle of the street, aware of the side alleys from which any cutthroat might jump out. His eyes took in every dark corner with jumpy nerves and he was glad of the light thrown from the windows of the public house. He stopped to peer into the window before continuing to make his way up the street. Mary had watched the policeman, flattening herself against the wall as he looked through the pub’s window then breathed a sigh of relief as he walked on. She settled herself once more to wait, trying to contain the cough which rose in her throat.

The sailor had drunk rum and through the fuddled haze of drunkenness he struggled to understand the need to report back to the small cargo boat. He understood the need to report back otherwise the skipper would pick up another deckhand from those who clamoured the dockside for work, leaving for Norway to pick up another cargo of timber. Lurching out into the night the sailor managed to stagger away and making it some yards up the street until his mind lost itself to the drink so that he backed himself against the wall and hung there, the brain refusing to function and his only calling was for sleep.
“Let me help you.”
Mary had watched the sailor stagger away and leaving the doorway she followed him, now crossing the street to take him by the arm.
The sailor tried to open his eyes to the voice while his mouth loosed itself into a smile. Even in his drunken state the scent of a woman brought urges so that his arms rose round Mary’s neck and she had to summon up all her strength to hold him as he leaned against her. He tried to kiss her before his eyes closed and he lost the struggle to retain sense before falling to the ground where he lay in an untidy heap against the wall. Mary stood still at first before looking around her and then quickly knelt to begin rifling through the man’s pockets. She found a two shilling piece and some coppers along with some foreign change and a seaman’s clasp knife. In his inside pocket Mary found a silver St. Christopher, first kissing it before replacing it back into the mans coat.
Leaving the seaman lying there, Mary hurried away and only stopped in an alleyway to get her breath. Lifting her skirt, she drew out her purse and opened it to put the money in except to leave out a shilling piece before returning the purse to her thigh under the garter. Straightening her skirt she walked swiftly away and made her way back down the route which took her to the Viaduct arches.