The Bad Penny: A gritty, heart-wrenching historical saga from Lindsey Hutchinson

By Lindsey Hutchinson

If you're born with nothing you have to make your own luck.

When Jared Johnson first meets Clarice Connaught he saves her from the hands of her father, who is brutally beating her in the street. Never one to walk past someone in distress, Jared doesn’t hesitate to help. But who is this girl and what is her story?

Jared Johnson started with nothing. At just twelve-years-old he was orphaned and homeless, but eight years later, Jared is a success. Running McGuire’s Rag & Bone Yard and surrounded by friends, all Jared needs now is to find the perfect girl to settle down with.

Nothing has come easy for Clarice but still she has dreams of a grander life and the finer things. And if her father isn’t willing to provide them then Clarice will do anything to find someone who is.

Jared and Clarice have one thing in common – they are survivors – and in Queen Victoria’s Birmingham you need your wits about you to keep the wolf from the door. But Clarice isn’t everything she seems, and like a bad penny that always shows up, she brings more trouble for Jared and his friends than they could ever have imagined…

Lindsey Hutchinson, the top 10 bestseller, Queen of the Black Country Saga, is back with a page-turning and heart-warming story perfect fans of Katie Flynn, Val Wood and Lyn Andrews.

What readers are saying about Lindsey Hutchinson:

‘I have read most if not all of Lindsey Hutchinson’s books having read a lot of her mother’s as well. She is a super storyteller and seems to be able to write about a multitude of subjects and obviously does a lot of research into her books.’

‘I loved this book, such a heart-warming read to the end.’

‘The Ragged Orphan was a consuming read that brought history to life under the masterful pen of Lindsey Hutchinson.’

‘This book will make you cry in places and laugh in others and like me once you finish a chapter you will want to just hurry on to the next chapter to discover more about Jared and the other characters.’

‘Such a cosy book that is gently and easy to read but will keep you wanting to go back to it.’

‘Absolutely loved it I couldn't put it down great story great characters ad tears in my eyes at times really enjoyed it.’

• Language: English
• Publisher: Boldwood Books
• Release date: Sep 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9781801626934

Lindsey Hutchinson

Lindsey Hutchinson is a bestselling saga author whose novels include The Workhouse Children. She was born and raised in Wednesbury, and was always destined to follow in the footsteps of her mother, the multi-million selling Meg Hutchinson.

Book preview

1

BIRMINGHAM, 1894

The scream echoed along Erskine Street, rising above the cacophony of pedestrians’ tramping feet and the rattle of cartwheels.

The piercing sound jolted twenty-year-old Jared Johnson from the reverie of enjoying his lunch of bread, cheese and ham. Twisting towards the direction of the noise from his seat on the cart, his eyes scanned the people in search of the woman whose howl came again.

A girl he guessed to be about his own age was sobbing as she tried to fend off the blows being rained down on her by an older man. The contretemps was taking place on a patch of stubby grass at the front of the old house.

Jared threw down his food, leapt from the cart and raced towards the melee, his hobnailed boots loud on the cobblestones. Skidding to a halt with a screech, he vaulted the rickety old garden gate to land squarely on both feet.

‘Stop that!’ he yelled, pulling the girl away from her assailant before standing in front of her like a shield.

‘What the…?’ the man gasped.

Jared stood six feet tall with broad shoulders, the rippling muscles in his arms visible beneath his rolled-up shirt sleeves. A shock of shining dark hair hung loose to reach his collar, and eyes so dark they appeared to be black glared.

‘Bugger off and mind your own business!’ growled the man who was in trousers and a vest, braces hanging loose.

‘Not when I see a lady in distress. You should be ashamed of yourself for striking a poor defenceless girl,’ Jared returned.

‘I’ll ’ave you know that’s my daughter!’

‘I don’t care if she’s the Queen of England, I cannot condone hitting a woman!’ Jared subconsciously turned his body slightly to the right, his left foot forward in a solid bare-knuckle fighting stance, ready to raise his fists should the need arise.

‘Go back to where you came from and leave me to deal with my wench in my own way.’

‘I’m not moving until I have your assurance she will not be harmed further,’ Jared said, aware of the gathering crowd in the street. He could hear the girl sobbing quietly behind him but his eyes stayed on her attacker.

‘Fair enough, you have my word,’ the man said with a greasy smile, his arms outstretched.

‘He’s lying,’ the girl whispered.

‘I’m afraid I don’t believe you, mister,’ Jared said as he raised an eyebrow.

‘Give him a cockaiver,’ a man’s voice sailed out from the crowd, ‘he’s ’ad it coming.’

‘A good pasting is what he deserves!’ a female yelled.

‘He’s a bloody menace, he’s always putting on that gel. She tells us often how he beats her,’ an aged fellow croaked, raising his walking stick and waving it in the air.

‘Hey, old ’un, watch what you’m doing with that thing,’ a young man said as he ducked the swing of the cane.

Jared heard it all but still he watched the brute who had been beating his daughter. ‘It would seem you are not very popular with your neighbours,’ he said with a little grin.

‘Clear off, the lot of yer!’ the man said, throwing out his arm to point up the street.

Jared didn’t flinch at the movement but kept his gaze on the other man’s eyes. They would be the tell, the indicator of fight or flight, and Jared was ready for either.

‘Look, mate, this ain’t got anythin’ to do with you so let’s call it a day and you can be on your way,’ the man muttered, tapping his hands on the sides of his trousers.

Jared drew in a deep breath through his nostrils, expanding his chest further, and exhaled long and slow.

The crowd were waiting a little impatiently to see if the confrontation might spill over into a real good punch-up.

Without turning, Jared asked, ‘What’s your name, miss?’

‘Clarice,’ came the reply.

‘What a pretty name, and are you likely to be safe if I should do as your father suggests and leave?’

‘No, I doubt it.’

‘That’s what I thought,’ Jared said with a nod. ‘So we find ourselves in a stand-off,’ he directed his words to the father.

Jared noted the flash of anger in the man’s eyes and he bunched his fists. This was not going to end well.

In a trice, the father leapt forward but Jared was ready for him. He raised his hands, the left guarding his face, and the right shot out in a jab. His knuckles caught the man on the nose and he staggered back. Cradling his battered proboscis, the man wailed as he saw the blood slipping between his fingers.

The crowd erupted in applause, shouts and jeers, loud as Clarice’s father stared with disbelief at his bloody hands. With a rebel yell and head down, he charged forward, intent on causing bodily harm to the interfering stranger.

Jared saw it coming and at the very last moment he stepped aside, allowing the irate father to hurtle past him. Then he heard a sickening crunch as the man’s head hit the wooden gate post.

A communal ‘Owwww!’ sounded from the crowd, and Jared saw the people wincing as they watched Clarice’s father crumple at the knees.

Clarice whispered, ‘I’ll be for it now.’

‘Clarice, you can’t stay here, it’s not safe. You have to leave – today,’ Jared urged.

‘Where would I go? I have no money – I have nothing!’

The crowd leaned in to listen to the conversation but all took a step back at Jared’s next words. ‘There must be someone who would be willing to take you in until you can find work.’

Clarice laughed but there was no mirth in it. ‘You jest. Look at them.’ She tilted her chin up, indicating the spectators. ‘There’s not one among them who would stand up to him!’ Her finger jabbed in the direction of her groaning father. ‘I’m trapped, kind stranger.’

‘Jared Johnson is the name and I’m the manager at McGuire’s Rag & Bone Yard, pleased to meet you, Clarice…?’

‘Clarice Connaught,’ she replied shyly, hardly noticing the hushed remarks from the crowd. They all knew Toby McGuire, the big Irishman who lived in Ivy Lane and was a force to be reckoned with.

‘Well, Miss Connaught, would you care to take tea with me?’ Jared said, hooking an arm.

Blushing to the roots of her hair, Clarice faltered but only for a moment, then she pushed her arm through his. ‘I would, thank you, Mr Johnson.’

The two strode to his rag cart and he groaned as he saw that the pigeons were attacking the lunch he had left in his hurry to help. They flew off as he handed Clarice up into the driving seat. Picking up the reins, he called out, ‘Walk on, Bess, my beauty.’

Clarice gave a little yelp as the cart lurched forward and held onto the side of the bench.

They could still hear the cheers as they turned the corner at the end of the street, Bess leading them to the tea shop.

‘Dad is going to be very cross with me,’ Clarice said.

‘Oh, he’ll be too worried about his aching head to be angry with you,’ Jared answered with a grin.

Clarice threw back her head and laughed fit to burst, her curls bouncing and her blue eyes shining.

Jared’s heart missed a beat as he looked at the dark-haired beauty, and he wondered – could this be what they called love at first sight?

2

The cart halted outside the tea shop and Jared assisted Clarice to alight. Grabbing the oat sack, he hung it over Bess’s neck before turning back to the girl he had rescued.

Holding the door open for her to enter first, he followed her in and they walked to a table in the corner.

‘This is lovely,’ Clarice said as she looked around. The room was snug and welcoming, with tables covered in pristine white cotton cloths. Sunlight shone through the small mullioned windows, casting rainbow colours around the room. Gas lights adorned the walls for use on murkier winter days. Each table held a slim vase containing one flower and a sprig of greenery. Wooden chairs had cushions fastened to the seats and backs; chintz curtains were held aside in swathes by ties of the same material. The whole effect was very tasteful, Jared thought.

Customers chatted quietly as they enjoyed their afternoon tea. A waitress appeared, dressed in a long black dress covered with a white pinafore. Blonde hair piled up neatly was topped with a frilly cap.

‘Good afternoon, what can I get for you?’ she asked.

‘Afternoon tea for two, please,’ Jared answered.

‘Certainly, sir.’ The waitress smiled and strode away.

‘I’ve never done this before,’ Clarice whispered.

‘Done what, been in a tea shop or out with a man you’ve only just met?’

‘Both!’ Clarice’s eyes twinkled as she spoke.

The waitress appeared again with plates and cutlery wrapped in white linen napkins which she placed in front of them.

Clarice watched her go back to what she surmised was the kitchen and a moment later return with a tiered cake stand which held tiny sandwiches of salmon and cucumber, potted paste, jam, and cheese and onion. There were frangipane cakes, little cream horns and scones with butter, jam and cream.

‘Ooh!’ Clarice beamed as she eyed the food.

‘Tea is coming right up, ma’am,’ the waitress said pleasantly.

Clarice nodded, this was how she should be living her life, being called ma’am and taking afternoon tea.

Sure enough, a tray arrived with cups and saucers, teaspoons, milk jug and sugar bowl. Shortly afterwards, two small pots of tea arrived with steam escaping from the little holes in the lids.

‘Enjoy,’ the waitress said and sauntered off to clear a table near the window.

‘I rather think we will, don’t you?’ Jared asked.

Clarice nodded, taking a sandwich and putting it on her plate, her eyes as big as the saucer which held her china cup. ‘Look at me having tea with a complete stranger, but I was so scared of my dad giving me what for that I did rather jump at the chance.’

Jared’s face was a picture of sympathy and only now did he note her thin frame; it could be that this was her natural state, but then again she could be under-nourished. ‘You won’t get fat on that,’ he said with a grin and a nod to the sandwich.

‘I was trying to be posh and wait for you,’ she whispered, casting a glance around.

Jared laughed and took a sandwich. ‘Let’s dig in because I’m starving! Those pigeons finished off my lunch.’

They poured their tea through the silver strainers placed on the cups then set them on the plate set aside for the purpose.

Whilst they ate and drank, Jared tried to ease Clarice’s nerves by telling her his story. He explained how his father, Tim, had left searching for work when he was a small boy. He’d returned after many years, having spent a stint in jail for accidently assaulting a policeman who was trying to break up a fight. In the meantime, Jared’s mother had died of starvation and his sister had succumbed to sickness. He told her all about him setting himself up as a rag and bone man and how he had poached the notorious Mr McGuire’s territory.

‘I’ll bet he didn’t take that too well,’ Clarice said.

‘Actually he was really good about it. He gave me a job and now I’m his manager. I’m usually in the office but occasionally I like to take old Bess out on a round.’

‘Luckily for me,’ Clarice said a little sadly.

‘Clarice, you know you can’t go back there,’ Jared said.

‘I know, but…’

‘Where’s your mum?’ Jared asked.

‘Died years ago giving birth. The baby died as well.’

‘I’m sorry to hear it,’ Jared sympathised.

‘There’s just me and Dad now. The big I am John Connaught!’ Clarice spat the words with disgust. ‘He has a job at the brick works and spends most of his wages in the boozer. He’s a nasty drunk so when he goes out at night I go to bed and lock my door.’

‘It’s not much of a life for you, though,’ Jared said. ‘Why was he hitting you?’

Clarice shrugged. ‘He won’t let me go out to work. I asked yet again and he got angry. I don’t suppose I could get a job anyway.’

‘I have to admit there’s not much going in the way of employment. The bread lines are getting longer by the day,’ Jared confessed.

Finishing her tea, Clarice said, ‘Thank you, Jared. I suppose I’d better get back now.’

‘Clarice, you can’t! He’ll beat you again – if he gets really angry, he could kill you!’ Jared said in a harsh whisper.

‘What else am I to do?’ she asked, tears glistening on her dark lashes.

‘I know we’ve only just met, but do you trust me?’

Clarice nodded at the young man who had saved her from a severe beating.

‘Right, well, come with me then, I have an idea.’

Jared paid, giving the waitress a tip, then outside he removed Bess’s nose bag. Clarice climbed up onto the driving seat. When he joined her, she asked, ‘What do you have in mind?’

‘You’ll see,’ Jared replied with a warm smile.

‘Jared…’

‘You’ll have to come home with me.’

‘I can’t do that! People will talk.’

‘They won’t if you were my housekeeper. I could pay you a little if you tidied around a bit and did the shopping and suchlike. You’d be safe then away from your father.’

Resting a hand on his arm, Clarice said, ‘No, Jared. I have to go back – please. It’s nice of you to offer but I can’t. I’d be talked about something rotten and then I’d get a reputation as a harlot.’ Having tea with this man in a public place didn’t mean she should go to his home. He’d been kind enough, but he could be a murderer, and worry etched her face.

‘But…’

‘It’s for the best. I thank you for what you did for me and for the afternoon tea, but I really must return home.’

With a loud sigh, Jared nodded, he could see the determination in Clarice’s blue eyes. ‘All right, but only if you promise to leave if your father strikes you again.’

Clarice gave him a nod.

‘You can always find me at McGuire’s yard if you need help.’ With that, he clucked to Bess and they travelled back to Erskine Street in worried silence.

3

Arriving back at Erskine Street, Jared climbed from the cart and helped Clarice onto the ground.

‘I’m not happy about leaving you here,’ he said quietly.

‘I’ll be all right. Dad will be at work now and I’ll be in bed when he gets home,’ she answered.

Jared felt himself to be on the horns of a dilemma. Should he just go and leave the girl to her fate, or should he insist that she come with him?

Clarice made the decision for him when she said, ‘Thanks, Jared. Maybe I’ll see you again sometime.’

‘I hope so,’ he said with a forced smile. He watched her enter the house before going back to his cart and hauling himself onto the driving seat. He sat there a moment to ensure there were no more sounds of argument coming from within the house, then he picked up the reins. ‘Come on, Bess, I think she’s safe enough for now.’

Obediently the old mare walked on and the cart rattled down the street, away from the prying eyes of the neighbours.

No longer feeling in the mood for more trading, Jared led the horse back to the yard, oblivious to the noises of the busy streets.

He was greeted at the gates by the two big burly brothers Bobby and Dicky Cavenor, who were the guardians of the yard as well as Jared’s bodyguards. As the cart came to a halt, Jared called out, ‘Everything all right?’

‘Yes, Boss,’ they chorused.

The brothers stood sentinel at the gates to deter any would-be troublemakers and had been bodyguards to Toby McGuire. Now they protected Jared with the same love and respect. They watched as the cart rolled through into the yard where it was met by the sorters.

‘What’s up with him being back so early?’ Bobby asked.

‘I dunno, but summat ain’t right,’ Dicky answered.

A moment later, a whistle sounded, summoning them to the office.

‘P’raps we’ll find out now,’ Bobby said, raising his eyebrows as they strode across the yard.

Climbing the steps to the office, they knocked on the doorjamb and walked in.

‘You called, Boss?’ Dicky asked.

Jared nodded. ‘What do you know about a bloke called John Connaught?’

‘He’s a nasty piece of work from all reports,’ Bobby said.

‘Lost his wife years ago,’ Dicky added.

‘He’s got a daughter called… erm.’ Bobby scratched his head as he searched his mind for the name.

‘Clarice,’ Jared provided the answer.

‘Yeah, that’s it,’ Bobby said with a frown. ‘Why are you asking about John?’

Jared held up a finger then said, ‘Firstly, is there anything else you know about the man?’

‘I’ve heard he likes a drink,’ Dicky answered.

‘He puts me in mind of Ned Watkins,’ Bobby said.

Jared sighed. Ned Watkins was father to Seth, who shared Jared’s house. He was a drunken bully who had beaten Seth half to death one night because he wanted Seth’s money for beer. The money in fact had belonged to McGuire; Seth had been stealing little and often to add to his savings so he could get out from beneath the yoke of his tyrannical father. Ned had spent that money and left his son in a very sorry state. It was McGuire who had rescued Seth and taken him into his own home with help from the Cavenors. Ned Watkins had then fallen out with his best friend and, after picking a fight outside a pub, had been pushed and cracked his head on the wall. He had died even before the police arrived.

The recollection made Jared shiver as he sat behind the desk.

Bobby repeated his question, breaking Jared’s thoughts. ‘Why do you want to know about John, Boss?’

‘I met him today and we had a bit of a to-do,’ came the answer. Jared went on to explain the circumstances in which he had met Clarice and her father, and that she had insisted on going home after Jared had taken her for tea.

Now the brothers sighed. ‘Oh, shit!’ Bobby said eventually.

‘I have a feeling history is about to repeat itself,’ Jared mumbled.

‘Let’s hope not,’ Dicky said.

‘In what way?’ Bobby asked.

‘Ned Watkins had battered poor Seth to within an inch of his life when you and Mr McGuire rescued him, remember? I’m praying the same won’t happen with John Connaught and his daughter.’

‘Oh, I see what you mean now,’ Bobby said sheepishly.

‘Okay, thanks, both,’ Jared said and watched the big men nod then leave the office to return to their posts on the gates, muttering together as they went.

Jared’s mind then returned to the pretty Clarice and he knew he would be worrying about her for some time to come.

Later that afternoon, the tatters rolled in one by one and Jared stood in the yard to greet them. Here they came: Dan, Sam, Johnny, Paul, Tom and Seth – his friends.

Dan Freeman lived alone in Miles Street; he was an orphan too. Johnny Baker had flaming red hair, a twin sister and was a bit of a joker. Paul Clancy was the eldest of five children with a father unable to work because of the coal dust in his lungs. Tom Brooks, once a sorter then promoted to tatter, lived with his older sister and her husband who had taken care of him when their parents died. Sam Jenkins, mild of manner, lived in Bromley Street with his over-protective mother. Then there was Seth, Jared’s housemate.

When Jared had been on the rounds, they had all formed a firm bond which continued despite his rise in status to become their manager. Jared had