THE DEPRIVED... Chapter 2... Part 25.

A continuation of my book.

At last Kilpatrick had returned, carrying a large sack of tarry-blocks on his back and setting them down he began to build up the fire, kneeling and blowing at it till the flames burst through. Once the fire was stirred he placed a tarry-block on top which soon bubbled and hissed into a bright flame.
“Tonight we shall eat like them as have royal blood flowing in their veins and that’s the truth.” said Kilpatrick, rubbing his hands.
Mary moved closer to the fire with her hands out to collect the warmth. Beth laughed at the way the tall man spoke, as if he could not make up his mind as to whether the Irish Brogue or the East-End Cockney directed his speech. She liked this tall strange man and trusted him. Sam, on the other hand sat back from the group, his dark eyes watching Kilpatrick with obvious distrust while his small hands played with the whittling knife. Whether Kilpatrick sensed Sam’s distrust or not, he did not let it show as he rose and turned to look at Sam before speaking to Mary and Beth.
“I shall be going up to the market now. It’s early and I can get some fine vittles at this time. Not your offal but some good roasting meat along with potatoes and cabbage as will liven the young ‘uns up. Missus, I can promise you we shall dine tonight and pray for better prospects in the time ahead. What do you all say to that?”
“I do hope so.” replied Mary fervently. “For my children’s benefit I do.”
Kilpatrick had left, again promising not to be long.

Sam wanted to go wandering and Mary begged him to remain by the fire but he slipped away when Beth was making up a bed so that Mary could lie down in front of the fire.

“What you got?”
The boy who stood in front of Sam was not that much taller or bigger in frame but he smiled evilly with a self-assurance which caused Sam to stand still, saying nothing. The boy was now joined by two others who seemed to come from hidey-holes in the walls.
“Come on, empty your pockets!” demanded the boy.
One of the other boys began to pull at Sam’s clothing.
“Give me your coat!” he ordered.
“Leave him alone!”
Beth stood beside Sam with Kilpatrick’s thick club in her hands.
“Whooo-Hooo” began to shout the Mudlarkers as they scattered back to their hidey-holes.
“I wasn’t afraid of them!” Sam asserted but allowed himself to be led back to the fireside.
“Kilpatrick told you those Mudlarkers were vagabonds and thieves.” said Beth.
Sam sat down, fury drawing his face to a thin scowl.

It was not long after that Kilpatrick arrived back at the arch and true to his word he arrived with a large metal bucket and some tins which were fashioned into cooking utensils along with some roasting pork, potatoes and an assortment of vegetables. Beth and Sam moved back from the fire, to sit with Mary against the arch wall and watch as the tall man began to cook the dinner over the fire. Once preparation was done Kilpatrick took the bucket up to the horse-trough and returned with a bucket of water, pouring some into the pot and setting it over the fire. He worked with a sureness, building a spit and roasting the meat with a fine eye.
“There, it’s all the ready for eating.” he said, inviting Mary, Beth and Sam to join him at the fire.
“And there’s plenty more come the next few days.” said Kilpatrick.

 

That night the tall man and Mary shared the watch, sleeping for a while and then being wakened, to sit alert for the wandering Mudlarkers and others who roamed among the sleepers and ready to steal what wasn’t watched. Mary knew that Kilpatrick took most of the watch, his sharp grey eyes piercing the fog of smoke from the fires and busily keeping the fire burning.
“Now you see why them as live here, the sharp ones has got their backs to the wall.” he told Mary. “That way none of the vagabonds will attack as they can’t surprise others from behind.” he explained. “Them as set up camp in the open is not for lasting long or else they has to put up a good fight to keep what is theirs by right.”

The day had watered its grey into London’s East-End and those who lived were happy to see the light. Kilpatrick was up and had dished out some warm soup which Mary drank, sitting with the children against the arch wall, the sacking keeping them warm. Kilpatrick had then risen and left. He was talking to the man he had bought the gin from earlier and it was as they were sharing a mug of hot tipple between them that one of the Mudlark children, his face animated with news, came running into the arch.
“There’s a lark! There’s a lark!” he was shouting as he dodged in and out among the fires.
His shouts seemed to have a startling effect as children and adults alike poured out from the pockets of inlets within the walls so that the whole floor of the archway seemed to hum and throb like a bee hive which had come alive as the bees were told of the location of sweet nectar.
“What’s happening?” asked Mary as Kilpatrick ran to the fireside, picking up his wooden club.
“There’s a lighter-ship run to the wall by yon Tower and everyone’s in a bust to see what’s to be taking there!” he shouted.
“Can I go?” asked Beth, alive to the excitement.
“Come along with me, Beth.” cried Kilpatrick, snatching at her hand and pulling so that Beth ran with him, joining the mob who hurried out of the arch and towards the Docks.
“Be careful!” shouted Mary after them.
“Where’s Beth going?” asked Sam who had fallen asleep but awoke to the noise in time to see Beth hurrying with Kilpatrick to join the throng.
“Don’t worry, Sam. She’s gone with Kilpatrick down to the dockside.” said Mary. “You stay in the warm with me.”
“I didn’t want to go anyway.” grumbled Sam.