The Bad Old Days

By Dorian Fellows

The Bad Old Days begins in London in the late 17th century in one of the most deprived areas outside the city wall.

Since childhood, George Middleton had always aspired to emulate the wealthy men he would admire on a daily basis. With the help of his criminal minded best friend, the dream of a worthy existence gradually begins to materialise. Each progressive step breeds new desires but when he meets the beautiful temptress, Annette Joubert, he’s willing to do anything and everything to have her as his own. It soon becomes apparent that sustaining a successful life is not as easy as acquiring one. This fact, in turn, shows him that no matter how desperately he tries, past misdeeds can never be truly undone. His conscience is tested to its limit as he finds himself trapped within a way of life he created in ignorance, the struggle to keep his wife’s love, and some simple truths that stir his moral compass.

• Language: English
• Publisher: LUNADOR PROSE
• Release date: Dec 2, 2015
• ISBN: 9780993501418

Book preview

George

Prologue

George Henry Middleton was born in the summer of 1676 and raised in Whitechapel, no more than a half mile east without the London Wall. Ten years earlier, a great fire had decimated the majority of the walled city. By this time, the renovations, although still ongoing, had been a success. The once rural hamlets that lay to the north and east were now splayed with the provisional buildings erected for the more privileged victims. Those buildings were eventually sold off to various landlords who converted them into one-chamber homes for a few fortunate families out of the thousands left impoverished. The constant din and stench from the throng of people, numerous breweries, tanneries and slaughterhouses at every turn, took some getting used to.

George was of English descent, with brown hair and bright blue eyes that stood out like luminous orbs. He was one of the fortunate infants not to be afflicted with any of the deadly diseases that were almost as common as a friendly greeting. The blessing of good health remained with him and he steadily developed, both mentally and bodily.

His father, also named George Henry and commonly called Harry, would occasionally find work on the quays but was primarily a bare-knuckle prize-fighter. He was sponsored by a syndicate of merchants who entered him into regular bouts. Being one of the top fighters, he earned more than most of his peers, but still had to scrimp and save to make ends meet. This was solely due to his penchant for liquor, gambling and bawds. It is fair to say that he thoroughly enjoyed the benefits of being one of the few local idols. His strapping shoulders, chest and arms were impressive, but it was his consuming affability that was his most distinguishing trait. He would take his young son with him whenever possible and loved to introduce friends and admirers to his darling offspring.

Grace Middleton was ignorant to her husband’s frivolous indiscretions and, being a devout Anglican, she would never dream that he could partake in such debauchery. Whereas the tall, brawny Harry was the haphazard, pleasure-at-all-cost type, the diminutive Gracie was the complete opposite. She was a sententious woman, but also compassionate and always willing to do everything in her power to protect her loved ones. She raised her family as Anglicans and tried her best to encourage daily prayer and weekly worship in the parish church. However, their lack of interest meant she would be lucky if they were in attendance as a family four times a year: Good Friday, Easter Sunday, Christmas and then Epiphany. Her prudent nature gave her the air of an aged woman and the tribulations of life were etched on her face, giving her the appearance of one much older than her years.

The family was completed by their beloved little Thomas, or Tomboy, born four years after George. Doted on by all, he grew to be an endearing, blond-haired, blue-eyed boy; cheery and green with innocence. He was the mirror image of his father in charm and character. The brothers were also very close and almost as soon as Thomas was able to walk, he would follow George to beg within the city wall. Even on some day-long wanders that were not very fruitful, they would always find enjoyment in each other’s company.

The building they lived in had been raised in haste, for a banker who had lost his Lombard Street home to the fire. It was a brick structure of three storeys and on each floor, wooden slabs partitioned some of the larger chambers to half its size. Their dreary chamber was on the ground floor and was insufferably hot during the summer months and freezing cold in the winter. In the corner, where a shallow hearth had been dug, was their main source of heat and was also where Gracie prepared hot meals. With only one pot and a kettle, she made do and was adept at ventilating the chamber despite the lack of a decent flue. In the opposite corners were two mounds of straw and a stack of neatly folded garments along the back wall. The centre of their home was taken up by a square plank of wood balanced on four pegs that was a makeshift table, surrounded by four wooden stools. Compared to the other eleven homes in the building, the Middleton’s was kept relatively tidy and was swept and swabbed as often as possible.

Mostly, it was Gracie who stayed at home while Harry would likely be found in his local tavern. If she was not reading her bible to her sons or teaching them how to write, they would be left idle to do as they pleased. Gracie disliked her boys mixing with the other children, but it would have been impossible for them not to mingle. There were three orphans who lived on the top floor that she more or less raised as her own. Despite not being at all friendly with their deceased mother, her godly humility bound her to care for the hapless children. The youngest girl was closest to Gracie but the boy was a ruffian influenced by his wilful older sister. Even so, she still believed she had raised George well enough to not be as unrestrained by scruples.

Hearing about the easy pickings the other boys often boasted about was pure temptation to George and he often went along with them. Although he chose to beg rather than steal, he knew his mother would be equally mortified by both sinful acts. He was the first of the young boys to own a pair of tattered old boots, which he had found, but he would always have to keep them a secret from his proud mother.

Tobias Asquith, more commonly known as Toby and more so Squiffy, had lived on the third floor in the same building as the Middletons since his birth. He was an orphan before he was six years old and was too young to remember his murdered father. From all the tales of misdeeds and delinquency he often heard about, Squiffy knew he had inherited the same audacity he was always scolded for.

His sister Elizabeth was three years older than him and he could not have wished for a better influence to follow. She was the wax that held them together when they found their mother dead one morning, a mere twelve months after giving birth to baby Mabel.

Even before his mother’s passing, Squiffy had taken to the city’s streets and was involved with a group of local cutpurses. He soon mastered the skills of the craft and would rarely return home without some form of reward. Any coinage was kept by Elizabeth and she would see that the regular bills were paid accordingly. She would often run errands for a Jewish bakeshop a few yards from home. The small community of mostly Spanish Jews would keep to themselves, but had accepted Elizabeth wholeheartedly. Along with the not so stale bread, she would be given fresh eggs and milk either for free or a nominal fee on most mornings. She learnt to count at a proficient level and also gained some valuable insights into the business world from them. It was she who recognised the potential income they were effectively losing out on, due to her brother giving most of his earnings to his superiors. So, following her advice, Squiffy recruited some of the boys from their building into his own band of rascals. George often trailed behind them, but Squiffy knew all too well the tight leash on which Gracie held her son was rarely tested. Instead, he and his three disciples began a reign of pilfering, always well out of sight of his former employers. Encroaching on their territory would certainly have garnered a severe beating, or worse still. For this reason, they would carry out their exploits either along the more northerly highways, or more often on the south side of the river.

George and Thomas had been with the gang all afternoon and followed them over the bridge into Southwark. They began on Long Southwark, making their way down Long Lane and then on to Bermondsey Street. George always admired how the boys were able to act with such stealth. They would pick various items from the persons of the passing seamen and merchants in particular. So far, they had managed to remove a silk handkerchief and a tin-backed watch from a fob. Both items would most certainly fetch at least two or three shillings on Peticote Lane, Squiffy reckoned.

George had managed to beg a ha’penny in farthings and was feeling smug. You lot see here; in a few years I’ll be earnin’ a regular wage, I will.

Oh, hark at this one. Doin’ what, beggin’? one of the lads said, as the others scoffed at George’s childish candour.

I dunno, but you ain’t gonna catch me in the Clink, or in the stocks. That’s what yous’ll likely be endurin’, George replied.

Hark at high and mighty, Squiffy chimed in. I reckon you’re just scared, Harry-boy. Scared of what your auld dearest’ll have to say.

My bruvva ain’t scared of nuffin’. Thomas was not about to let his idol’s valour be besmirched.

Keep quiet you little runt, Squiffy said. I seen more beggars catchin’ clouts and toes up their behind than you can fink of.

The other lads chuckled and one agreed, Too right. I’d rahver chance picking off a nobbler than have ‘em palm down their scraps.

George looked on with a forced smile, but he was far from amused. There was truth to what the boys were saying; his mother’s wrath was the thing he feared above all.

Squiffy’s keen eye for opportunity was alerted to the unmanned stall in front of a tavern. He spotted the grocer glancing around to make sure it was clear to leave his fruit and vegetables momentarily vulnerable. In seconds, Squiffy and his boys promptly seized the moment and ran the dozen or so yards to the stall. George and his brother looked at each other and, without a word, galloped after them. The grocer emerged just in time to see the boys disperse with his stock and could only shout threatening obscenities in response.

Out of breath, but still highly amused, George and Thomas sat on some empty barrels, gorging on the dried fruit they had managed to steal.

See the face on that fella? Thomas struggled to talk through laughter and a mouth half-full. If he woulda caught Squiff, he woulda trounced him! I knew you wasn’t afraid to pilf.

Course not, George said confidently. Just be sure not to say nuffin to…

George’s attention was taken by an older man emerging from one of the alehouses and looking the worse for wear. The man looked around in an attempt to find his bearings. When he noticed Thomas, he was instantly rapt. As the man staggered towards the boys, his unfastened coat flapped slightly to reveal a small pocket of coins hanging from his belt. George’s eyes flashed in anticipation of the good chance of generosity. There must have been a good few shillings in there, judging by its swell.

Spare any coinage, m’lord? George asked in his sprite tone, but the man’s lecherous grin made him feel uneasy. He instinctively stepped in front of his brother.

Hallo there little one, the man said sluggishly, constantly adjusting his feet to maintain a steady balance. What a sweet boy you are. What is your name, child?

He’s called Tom, George said, while Thomas cowered behind him. We’d be awful grateful for anyfin’ you could spare us, m’lord. We ain’t had a bite in days.

Would you like to perform a service? the man asked abruptly, the wrinkles on the sides of his sallow mouth giving him a devilish likeness.

Depends what you have in mind, m’lord. George’s even tone betrayed his fear, but he could feel his heart pounding, as if it wanted to burst out of his chest.

I would like for him to fondle me, so, the man caressed the front of his breeches in demonstration, his gaze falling on the terrified Thomas. And I want to touch him, also.

As far back as George could recall, both his parents had warned him to run if ever he were propositioned by anyone. That’s exactly what he had done on the three separate occasions it had happened to him within the city wall; but this time was different. Perhaps it was because he was accountable for his brother that nullified the fear and he was able somehow to suppress the panic. He took a swift glance around as the mill of people continued indifferently, oblivious to the sordid proposal on offer. He spotted a discreet passage between two buildings.

I say, m’lord, a quick fondle’ll cost ya free shills. George said as firmly as possible.

I have nigh on ten shillings, the man blurted, visibly excited at the prospect of Thomas. How much time will that permit me, boy?

Ten shillins! Erm; oh, no m’lord, it’ll be free shillins. You touch him and he’ll touch you an’ all.

The man thought for a moment and then said, Very well, three shillings it shall be.

Let’s go down there, George pointed towards the passage, but you got just a minute, mind. And I’ll take the coinage beforehand an’ all.

Thomas was stood watching, wide-eyed in fear, until the reassuring wink from George subdued his anxiety somewhat.

The man eagerly ripped the pocket from his waist and loosened the cord on it with drunken grasps. Suddenly, George snatched at the small purse, but the inebriated man was alert enough to react and he whipped his arm back. With his other hand and almost in the same motion, he collared Thomas, just as George took a couple of premature steps to flee.

You little bugger! The man gasped as Thomas whimpered in terror.

Getcher hands offa my bruvva! George began to throw punches into the man’s belly, until he released Thomas and the two lads raced away empty-handed in the direction of the bridge.

A two-horse carriage was travelling at speed and narrowly avoided George by inches. He looked back in time to see Thomas run directly into the horses’ path.

The coachman did not even slow down to see the crumpled mess that was once a seven-year-old, loving son and brother; he never stood a chance.

George was in absolute disbelief as he knelt beside the tangled corpse, and felt his bowels churn and grumble. So much so that he did not realise he had urinated on himself. A few people soon gathered and it was when one of them pulled George away that he painfully spewed the bile and undigested fruit onto the ground. He could take no more and ran like never before, tears making it almost impossible to see. He blamed himself, of course, for putting his brother in danger and it took him what seemed like hours of walking, weeping and dry-retching before he arrived home to face his parents.

He had no choice but to tell them that he and Thomas had gone begging over the bridge, a far lesser transgression than the stealing and unashamed courting of a lascivious old man. That would surely have been deemed by his mother as a heinous act of blasphemy. The disbelief and anguish that overcame his parents when he told them was an image that would likely never leave George. He was in no doubt that if it was not for his father’s intervention that night, his mother would have beaten him to death. And, furthermore, if he had told them the whole truth, they would probably both have murdered him.

Harry made George take him to the scene of the incident in order to collect his son’s body for the wake. Gracie was inconsolable, holding on to Thomas’ battered cloth-doll and sobbing to God for appeasement.

By the time they arrived in Southwark, the body was already gone and normality resumed. It was usual for physicians to pay well for a freshly deceased corpse to dissect, so most likely someone had claimed Thomas for a profit. This was the first and last time George saw his father crying actual tears. It was also the last time Harry carried his now only son home, hugging him tightly as they both wept uncontrollable tears.

George was a mute for over a year after the loss, not speaking a word to anyone as he tried to cope with his guilt and heartbreak. On more nights than not, a vivid image of the lifeless body and the sound of thundering hooves would plague his mind, affecting his sleep. It would be several years before the haunting dreams would diminish and, even then, the memory never completely left him.

Gracie also took time to come to terms with the gaping loss, but found solace in the Bible that now never left her side. It was Harry who took it the worst of all, turning heavily to booze and bawds to pacify the burning grief. He was never the same fighter and, after a couple of heavy defeats, he went blind in his left eye. He eventually took up commercial fishing to earn a meagre wage. Throughout the year he would be gone for days on end, sometimes weeks. The following winter he returned after a fortnight with a dreadful cough that got progressively worse. He consequently passed away the following month. He was thirty years old and George was just thirteen years of age. It was a sad time for the two remaining Middletons but it seemed the whole parish was in mourning for a much-loved resident.

George was forced to recover his speech; knowing that it was now just him and his mother. He knew he had to be the man from then on. One of the last things his father told him was to look after his mother if anything should happen to him. He was completely drunk at the time and half asleep on the ground without his local pub, but nevertheless he still made George say the promise aloud.

Every morning before the church bells tolled, Gracie would wake in time to catch the dairy maid for fresh milk, an egg or two and a piece of bread. After preparing breakfast, she would walk five miles to a makeshift factory in Paddington. For ten hours a day and six days a week, she and fifty others would weave, sew and launder mounds of linens for a small pittance. Although it would have been easy for her to find the same sort of work locally, it would have meant working for the French or, worse still for her, the Jews. She had always been dubious of foreigners and she assumed her son shared her views.

On most days, George would wander the city streets, begging and hopefully seeking out work opportunities. He would look on in envy at the distinguished men he aspired to emulate. More often than not, these rich men would inflict violent scorn and derision on their less fortunate contemporaries. George himself had received many clips to his ears and this was another reason he believed his circumstance was by no means admirable.

Occasionally, he walked the short distance to Billingsgate where he would assist the fishmongers. Or he might venture along the quays where he sometimes helped the men loading and unloading cargoes. Harry had been well known in these parts, so whenever George was recognised, a warm acknowledgement usually followed. It was around this time that he underwent a sprout in growth; the continual exertion he was becoming accustomed to was also giving him a defined figure for his age.

Another place he would find a lot of joy, in terms of tangibles, was at the various market places, public houses and inns around the Shoreditch area. There was limited opportunity to earn coinage, but for food he would help the proprietors with heavy lifting, cleaning and other jobs that needed to be done.

At fifteen years of age, he was finally rewarded with an apprenticeship in a family-run coffee house. There he would work every day of the week and the opportunity to learn everything involved in running an establishment. His main duties were generally assisting throughout the busy days and this would be anything from manual labour to running errands back and forth. The weekly sixpence he earned gave him a sense of pride and he would try to behave accordingly. He enjoyed treating himself whenever possible, from a pair of well-heeled shoes and a couple of thick woollen jerseys to several linen shirts, breeches and a French-cut fustian jacket that he adored. He had a good understanding of the importance of making the best first impression possible when forming unions in business. At least twice a week he made sure he had the penny needed to visit his favourite bath-house in nearby Clerkenwell. By this stage in his life, George’s overall hygiene and appearance had become almost an obsession.

Things were certainly looking up and he hoped to keep the apprenticeship without mishap for the contracted six years. He could only imagine the amount of coinage he might have saved up by then.

Squiffy was a couple of years younger than George and they grew closer after Thomas’ death. He often sat with George during the silent period, doing all he could to break the spell he was under.

The two best friends were very different characters, to say the least. Squiffy was a typically boisterous lad, causing trouble for no apparent reason other than to amuse himself. He was overtly inquisitive and would always find things of intrigue wherever he went. Often, he would accompany George in the early mornings and wander the city, as George had done, looking for any opportunities. There were not too many nights when he did not return home with miscellaneous spoils such as exotic foods and trinkets. Over time it progressed into more valuable items; liquor, tobacco, even royal game from the parks. He would share whatever he could with his neighbours, showing the consideration that was a big part of his being. His constant industry was a massive influence on those around him and made it easy for his lead to be followed.

George also earned a reputation of his own, as a charming, sedulous and honest lad. For someone as young as he was, he had an excellent rapport with people of all stock. His thick, town-dwelling accent became less pronounced from literally rubbing shoulders with a variety of prosperous people.

By his late teens he had grown into a strapping young man. Combined with his captivating blue eyes and well-carved features, he was considered quite the eligible bachelor. Naturally, he would always try to take full advantage of this whenever and wherever possible.

A New World

The twilight sky was star speckled and the full-moon reflected off the Thames’ surface like a shimmering jewel. George was perched on a bobbing wherry, trying his utmost to stave off the malicious winds gusting into his exposed face. Sailing back from the south bank, he was supposed to have been on an erotic encounter with the coquettish scullery maid he had dazzled outside his workplace a few days before. After waiting for what seemed like hours, cowering in the cold, she had failed to appear.

The majority of George’s free time was spent in the company of females; whether it was one of the many damsels and spinsters he attracted, or a local bawd or two whenever the coinage could be spared. It was fair to say that, with the combined qualities of his charm and bright blue eyes, his options were considerably more varied than those of his immediate peers. Yet, he always hated travelling across the Thames, especially at this time of year, when the water was icy and the breeze even worse.

There ya go, Harry-boy, the wherryman said, as his small boat bumped against the north bank below the Wool Quay. Home at last.

Good man, George said through gritted teeth. I only got ha’penny for you; is that sound?

That’ll do nicely, lad.

Attempting to shake the numbness from his fingers, George tentatively produced the two farthings from his hanging pocket and placed them into the wherryman’s damp palm.

Gawd bless ya, Harry-boy.

The wherryman steadied the boat as George braced himself before lunging out and onto the frozen mud; his teeth still chattering vigorously. He had already decided to run the relatively short distance to the shelter of home and immediately began a brisk jog towards the Aldgate.

There were dozens of moored ships, of varying shapes and sizes; their masts creaking hauntingly in the wind. Not a soul was in sight and the quays were ominously quiet, which George put down to the weather. He was about to clamber up onto Lower Thames Street when he caught sight of something that halted him in his tracks. With a ruffled brow, he squinted to get a better view of what he thought was the back of a woman’s head swaying rhythmically through the open porthole of a merchant ship. Even though he was still shivering, and the ship was a distance away, his current state of frustration compelled him to take a closer look.

The wharf was dead silent as he crept towards the moored ship. Moonlight was all that prevented a pitch-black night. He could just about make out the moans and the dull grunting of a man obviously in a very pleasurable state. George stood back and stood on his toes, moving his head to get the best vantage through the distant porthole. The sandy-haired strumpet appeared and disappeared in rhythm, but most importantly to George’s blood-rushed member was a glimpse of her bouncing bosom.

As he glanced around to make sure he was completely inconspicuous and alone. He untied the string holding up his breeches and was about to begin pleasuring himself. His hands were so cold they almost felt as if they belonged to a stranger. The thought thrilled him and he smiled before looking up in time to see the woman’s head disappear from view. He waited for a long moment, but she failed to reappear.

At this point, George remembered that his last coinage had gone to the wherryman, and he finally conceded that it was not going to be a night for licentious activity of any form. Pulling his breeches up and struggling to tie a proper knot, he cursed everything: the cold weather, the greedy wherryman, the wench he was supposed to meet, and now this misfortune.

There’s someone lurkin’ out there! The strumpet’s exclamation came from within the cabin.

George moved cautiously to the side of the ship so that he was completely obscured from above. He leant out and looked up at the cabin and saw a man’s incensed face appear at the porthole. He instantly recognised him as Mickey Cooper, the same man who, ever since George could remember, would try to make his life miserable, constantly taunting and haranguing him each time their paths crossed. It was just the other day that Cooper had seen George working and given him a vicious boot up the backside. That was followed by a scathing rant about George’s father, who apparently was being remembered far too fondly than he deserved. The two men had been prize-fighting adversaries and Cooper’s hatred was transferred down to George. Nowadays, Cooper was used as a general maintenance worker and errand runner along the quays. George loathed this man like no other, and was waiting for the day he was big enough to exact a violent reprisal. As for tonight, his priority was to remain out of sight for fear of any further damnation.

There ain’t a soul in sight, Cooper said, satisfied that the yard was still empty. You must be hearin’ fings ...

He was cut off as a hollow crash preceded a thud which George felt, as much as heard, as the hulking ship trembled ever so slightly. He quickly stepped back to resume his position, but could only see the dim shadows dancing on the bulkhead. The strumpet seemed to be rummaging around within and it compelled George to make his way to the ship’s brow.

In a matter of moments, she had already mustered a small sack full of Cooper’s and the ship’s property, before making for the gangway and a hasty exit. Her eyes widened in surprise when she saw George but it was momentary. She gave him a coy smile as she calmly sidled past him. His marvelling at her shrouded shapeliness was all the distraction she needed to make her escape toward the direction of the bridge. He had never seen her before and watched her leaving, hoping to one day have an opportunity to be with her in a more intimate setting.

A thought came to him and he was annoyed that it had failed to cross his mind until that moment. He had heard numerous tales of Squiffy and company ransacking moored ships and supply cabins. This was also the perfect opportunity to repay Cooper, for he would certainly receive the harshest sanction from his superiors.

George moved speedily up the brow and through the gangway, on deck and into the passageway where the cabin was. Cooper lay cold, with fragments of a shattered ornament scattered on the floor around his gashed head. George approached him cautiously to take a closer look and, once satisfied that he was still breathing, he began to search for anything the strumpet may have missed. He looked again at Cooper; it was one of a pair of lanterns the strumpet had used as a weapon. Finding nothing, he picked up the other lantern and made his way down the long passageway, below deck and to the hold.

The batten that held the hatch firm did not take much of George’s strength to prise off. He climbed down the ladder and was faced with what he estimated to be hundreds of crates, all different shapes and sizes, stacked over head-height. Setting down the lantern, he picked up a crate under each arm and made his way awkwardly back topside. He began to wonder if there was time to go home and then return for more booty. The problem was that to reach home and back, with these hefty crates, would likely take up to half an hour. It ain’t worth the risk of Cooper waking, he thought, as he scrabbled off the ship and away.

He had not yet left Lower Thames Street when he happened to catch sight of something he knew in his heart was destiny. It was a wooden handcart, disbanded and with one of the two wheels detached. Nothing that an effort of brute force couldn’t fix, he thought. In a matter of a few moments, the cart was on its rickety way. The battle now would be trying to suppress fear from overwhelming him.

It took several trips up and down the ladder before he managed to fill the cart with as many crates and smaller boxes as possible. His back ached and his arms were like string; he even had to leave one box in the gangway, unable to find the strength. He poked his head in on Cooper, stirring in a stupor, and made a hasty retreat.

Even though the exertion had warmed him, the sweat soaking through his undershirt had chilled and his teeth began to chatter again as he set off towards the Aldgate. It was a difficult task, in the dark, trying to keep the heavy cart balanced so the wheel stayed in place. He had to go forth slowly but surely; he was by no means safe from detection.

What cheer, Harry-boy? a linkboy called, jovially. Blind me; ya master’s gettin’ every ounce o’ ya worf, ain’t he?

Save your sorrows for them in need, George replied with a forced smile, trying his best to appear normal. There’s many’ll do this for half my fee.

The linkboy chuckled knowingly and said, Need a glim?

George had not lessened his heaving, but thought for a moment and said, I do if I’m honest, John-boy. The misfortune that I ain’t got a farvin’ humbles me to no end.

The linkboy turned to pause for thought. He said, I’ll ‘scort you up the gate. ‘Tis the least I can do for a keen squire who don’t overlook his kinsmen.

George showed his amusement at the lad’s subtle quip. Not so subtle that George understood he would have to spare coinage the next time they met. It would be wise to get as much for his money as possible.

George motioned towards the linkboy’s torch and said, Put that somewhere and come get a hold of this.

With the torch propped between the crates and John-boy the torchbearer’s assistance, they reached the Aldgate in almost normal time. As he continued along, the few passers-by who did pay him attention, greeted him with apathy. No more than ten minutes later he arrived back home and was met by Squiffy who had seen him, from his window, approaching from afar.

What’s all this then, H? Squiffy asked, naturally assisting to unload the cart.

I come across a windfall down the wharves, George said, breathing heavily. I’ll have to store it at yours so my auld dearest don’t busy herself.

Yes, o’ course; but you know Bess’ll be askin’ questions, Squiffy said, inspecting the hoard, disbelief growing. Gawd in heaven; what’s got into you, boy?

George shrugged and silently basked in the knowledge that he had awed Squiffy. They began to unload two crates at a time, taking them up to the third floor and into the Asquith home. They were elated on discovering seven crates of tobacco, four boxes of coffee and two of sugar; all lucrative commodities and in very high demand.

Squiffy’s eyes bulged as he realised the magnitude of George’s heist. Where’d you say you come across it?

George smiled and said, ‘Tween Wool and Galley quays there.

They must’ve stocked for voyage. His disbelief turned into a grin. You’ve gone and done it now, H; we’re rich!

Mabel was lying still on the mattress of straw and under at least four woollen blankets, watching. She knew that if Gracie were to find out whatever it was her son had done, there would be hell to pay.

How’d you come across all this then, Harry-boy? Mabel was serious but could not resist amusing herself by startling the two young men.

Well, you know what it sounds like, Tulip, George said with a smug grin. I found ‘em, din’t I?

I’d love to see you explain that to Gracie. The image that came to her made her giggle. Get that fire blazin’ again, Tobe.

Almost as soon as George had finished an elaborate account of his adventure, Elizabeth walked through the door, startling them all momentarily. Her languid eyes widened in amazement at all the crates taking up most of the space. She could hardly contain her genuine excitement, almost producing tears of relief.

Blind me, Bess; you look like you seen the Almighty, Mabel said with pleasant surprise. It had been a while since she had seen such joy in her exhausted sister.

We’re finally bein’ blessed wiv a bit a good fortune, Elizabeth said wishfully, before a scowl came when she noticed George in the shadows. What you doin’ up here?

It was almost as if Squiffy could see what his sister was thinking and he said, ’Tis his goods, so you can get down off ya high horse for starters.

Yours? Elizabeth said in astonishment to George. Well, well, whatever will muvva dearest say?

George winced at the thought and snapped, Keep your voice low, you dolt!

Come now, you two; enough of that! Squiffy intervened with authority. Harry-boy done a touch of muckin’ and he’s come up with what looks like a fortune. Let’s get our heads on and reckon the best course we can to shift it.

Well, no doubt we’ll be the ones doin’ the muckin’ now, so I say we split the prize up the middle, Elizabeth replied. He gets half, and us free the uvver half.

You sound wiv that, H? The tone of Squiffy’s question was more assertive than hopeful.

George paused for a moment before answering, How much d’you fink we’d muster?

A good twenty-five, firty quid, no danger, Squiffy guessed.

George paused again before pledging, As you like; if you can get firty for ’em, I’ll give yous fifteen pound.

That’ll mean if we get forty then we’ll take twenty, Elizabeth quickly added.

George gave her a haughty look and replied, You get me forty and you’ll get twenty, Bessie. You don’t need to be a Jew to work out what an half is.

According to Squiffy, the best option would be to sell the tobacco, in small portions, to the seamen on both banks of the river. Elizabeth would take the coffee and sugar to her baker, who would most certainly give her a fair price. Two crates of coffee would be designated to George’s workplace without charge. He hoped it would soften the blow of terminating his apprenticeship with immediate effect, and still with a whole two years remaining. In the four years George had been employed, he had managed to save nineteen shillings. It was easy to see that being the head boy of a coffee shop was far from the best way to sustain the financial growth that was imminent.

After everything was sold, an enormous total of £42 11s had been accrued. A skilled and successful artisan would expect to earn a similar amount in a yearly wage. None of them had seen anywhere near as much in their lives and because of that it became a daunting prospect for them all. Despite Elizabeth’s protests, Squiffy did not care to quibble the values of a pound sterling and a guinea. He happily accepted nineteen guineas and a shilling, which amounted to exactly twenty pounds sterling.

That evening, George treated the Asquiths to a hearty meal in a local inn. As the cold evening drew in, Elizabeth and Mabel left George and Squiffy who followed up with celebratory drinks in a nearby alehouse. The fact that he would have to explain this sudden stroke of fortune to his mother had eluded his thoughts thus far. It was the next morning, huddled against the cold and asleep without his home when he was reminded.

What a state you are, Gracie said when she opened the door on her way to work, clearly disgusted. Like father, like son. I’m not even gonna question where you’ve been all hours.

Please Ma, not so loud, he said feebly. My head …

She gave him a sharp kick to his thigh. You’d best get yourself up and about or you’ll be late for work.

He tried to sound as indifferent as possible when he said, No work no more.

What d’you mean, no work no more? She was beginning to get even more annoyed. Don’t tell me you’ve been given the boot! You have, ain’t ya?

Course not! He raised his voice impatiently.

Then what?

Well, me and Squiffy–

She interrupted, "Oh, I should’ve known he’d have