The Ragman's Daughter Read online

  THE

  RAGMAN’S

  DAUGHTER

  ~ ~ ~

  ELIZA LAWLEY

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  Copyright © 2019, Eliza Lawley. All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are purely the work of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.

  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  More Victorian Romance books by Eliza Lawley

  The Runaway Maid

  The Flower Girl

  Girl from the Workhouse

  The Dressmaker’s Christmas

  Chapter 1

  Briar Walker curled up into a tight ball under her thin, grey knitted blanket as she tried to block out the sounds of her papa stumbling into the room. She whispered a silent prayer, hoping that he would soon collapse onto his dirty, bare mattress and pass out. In the meantime, she just needed to avoid catching his attention.

  Jasper Walker was a mean drunk, and Briar was often on the receiving end of his rages. At six years old she’d taught herself how to mend her own bleeding lip, and now, at the age of nine, she was old enough to nurse him back to some semblance of sobriety.

  She heard him mumbling to himself as he staggered through the room. Briar curled up tighter, hugging her knees to her chest and pulling the blanket around herself. She held her breath, wishing she was invisible.

  Some nights it seemed as though he forgot she was there. Those were the best nights. The nights she went to sleep, a little cold, but with no tears or pain.

  Sadly, it was not one of those nights.

  “Hidin’, are we?” he growled. His words slurred as he neared her bed. Reaching under her blanket, he grabbed her arm and yanked her up. “Where’s the whiskey?”

  Her heart raced as fear hummed through her.

  There was none.

  Not because she didn’t wish for there to be. She took great care in making sure there was always a bottle stashed away because it made him fall asleep faster. Today, however, she’d not been able to get any. They simply didn’t have the money.

  “Papa, I’m sorry, I couldn’t afford—”

  His thick calloused palm connected with her cheek; his accuracy sharp, despite his inebriated state.

  “Stupid girl,” he spat. The smell of old liquor coated his breath and wafted over her. She resisted the urge the gag. “Can’t you do anythin’ right?”

  Briar bit her lip as she fought to hold back her tears. Her cheek throbbed and she briefly wondered if he had left a mark this time.

  She wouldn’t let him see her cry, though. She just wouldn’t.

  When she was sure she could speak without sobbing, she looked back at him and murmured, “It wasn’t my fault, I swear it.”

  His dark eyes narrowed. “It’s always your fault. Everythin’ is your fault, y’hear me? No whiskey… y’mother… everything!”

  Briar shuddered at the disgust in his voice as he once more laid the blame for his beloved wife’s death at her feet.

  Her mother, a sweet and kind young woman, or so she’d been told, had died in childbirth. Before then, her papa had been a respectable man with a proper occupation. Some say he was the manager at one of the finest gentlemen’s outfitters in all of London. But when her mother died, she’d taken more than his heart with her.

  When he’d lost his love, he’d lost his kindness. His compassion. His ability to walk away from a bottle. Jasper Walker’s life had fallen into ruin. His excessive drinking had cost him his profession and their home. They’d been forced into a tiny room in a crumbling tenement just off of St. Mary’s Street, where he barely scraped a living together as a rag-and-bone man on the streets of Cripplegate.

  And all of this calamity, he blamed on his only child, Briar.

  Briar, who’d been nothing but a helpless babe in his arms, oblivious to the tragedy of the world around her. She knew it was outrageous for him to think their lot in life was in any way her doing, but if she dared to point it out, she’d only face another beating.

  Instead, she cast her eyes downward to hide her sorrow and shame. “I’m sorry, papa. I’ll do better tomorrow.”

  He narrowed his eyes and glared for several long, hard moments, and she feared her apology wouldn’t be enough to appease him. At length, however, he released a snort and dropped her arm.

  “Ungrateful,” he muttered, turning away from her. “Everythin’ I do for the girl, and she can’t even bring back one measly bottle.”

  Anger bubbled in her belly at his words, but she kept her mouth sealed in a tight line. Let him say what he wants. At least his words don’t leave bruises, she thought.

  Briar waited until he crossed the room and collapsed face-first onto his mattress before she lay back down on hers. Staring up at the damp and mould on the ceiling, she listened to his snorts and snores and wondered if she would sleep tonight. With a sigh, she rolled over to rest with the tender side of her face to the cool air and hugged her grey blanket. Her cheek continued to pulse with heat, but the worst of the pain had subsided. By morning, she imagined it would be nearly as good as new.

  She watched her papa sleep and she tried to do the same, but deep down, in the darkest recesses of her heart where she kept all of her secrets locked away, a tiny part of her hoped that in the morning, he wouldn’t wake up.

  The rising orange sun cast long shadows in the dirty alley when Briar stepped outside, her papa not far behind her. Their tenement was situated in a poor Cripplegate neighbourhood, with rickety buildings and filthy bare-footed children running in the streets. While Briar had never known a different life, her papa had, and the very sight of it soured his already bad mood on most mornings.

  “Move along, don’t dawdle,” he snapped. He was sober for the time being, but Briar knew it wouldn’t last. The first coin they made, he’d take straight to a pub.

  She hurried down the building’s steps before he swatted at her, wanting so badly to kick his shins. They set off along the street together, keeping an eye out for old rags and other such cast-offs that they could salvage and sell. Briar hated scavenging for such scraps. They would often dig through the garbage, or heaps of ashes to find old clothing, or worn blankets and the like. It was smelly, disgusting work, but her papa forced her out with him. Anything they found would be thrown into the greasy bag he wore over his shoulder. A bag that had become almost as much of a permanent fixture as his bottle.

  Each day, they walked for miles, picking through rubbish and collecting anything that might have value. If Briar didn’t move fast enough or complained about her aching feet, her papa would reach out and idly smack the back of her head and call her lazy. She absently rubbed at her cheek as she walked, glad that it was only a little sore from the night prior.

  As the morning light broke through the filth and grime of the streets, the quiet part of the day gave way to the rumbles of waking families, the banging of pots and pans and screams of babies as they cried out in hunger.

  Briar liked the earlier mornings. She preferred the quiet. She could think straight and relax somewhat, even though her papa was close behind her. There was no-one to see her rummaging through the rubbish on the side of the streets, and she could explore and hunt without shame.

  “Pay attention. Check that pile there,” her papa ordered his voice like a whip.

  Briar spotted a small mound of ashes close to the wall of a house they were passing, and obediently hurried to it. She carefully brushed her fingers through the heap, wishing her papa would let her use his hooked stick to dig. He never allowed her to borrow it, and she had no choice but to pray there was nothing sharp concealed in the ashes.

  At first, it seemed there was nothing to be found. She huffed in frustration, but then she pushed the last layer of ash aside and something glinted in the sunlight. It looked like some type of coin or tiny medallion. Glancing over her shoulder to make sure her papa was out of sight; she pinched the piece between her fingers and picked it up. With narrowed eyes, she studied it. It was a little green button with intricate gold-coloured designs painted on its surface. Rubbing it clean of soot, she admired it for several moments, deciding it was too beautiful to be sold to an unappreciative merchant. Tucking it into the small pocket in her skirt, she stood and clapped her hands together to shed them of grey, ashy filth.

  “Find somethin’ child?” her papa barked from a little way down the street.

  Briar schooled her features so as not to give anything away. “No, papa. Nothing to be found here.”

  He gnashed his teeth in frustration and returned his attention to his own pile of refuse. Briar released a breath of relief. When she returned home, she would hide the button with her other treasures behind an old brick in the tenement’s wall in the alleyway where no-one would find it. She had begun gathering a little hoard the moment she realised that her papa hated her. If the day came that he cast her off for good, or that she found the courage to run away, she would have her small stash to fall back on.

  She would not die out on the cold London streets.

  She would not be helpless.

  Chapter 2

  Briar was lucky that week and found another treasure just days later. It was a broken piece of porcelain, maybe the handle of a teacup. Her papa had some coin, at last, having sold several items from their first scavenging, and she waited for him to disappear into a pub.

  She didn’t have to wait long.

  The first establis
hment they came upon, he ducked inside with a satisfied grin. Knowing he would be occupied for hours, if not the rest of the day, Briar hurried back to their building on her own.

  When she reached the alleyway, she ran her hand along the rough wall in search of her loose brick. She felt it shift beneath her fingers and stopped, pulling it from its space. Behind the brick, she had hallowed out a bit more room and had filled it with all the treasures she had gathered. The green button she had discovered just days before sat proudly and shining at the front of the collection.

  Briar stood for a moment and admired her stash.

  It wasn’t quite large enough yet, she knew. Perhaps another few months of sorting through the grime and she might just have enough to keep herself going for a short while, at least.

  Thoughts of escape were on her mind almost daily. If she made her way over to Kensington or Chelsea, then she wouldn’t even need to cross the river, she thought. Perhaps her treasures would be enough to buy her a place in the kitchen of one of the big houses, as a scullery maid. She wasn’t afraid of hard work and at least she’d have a warm and dry room away from her papa. Maybe she’d even make a friend or two.

  She smiled at the thought and was just about to place the broken piece of porcelain into her hiding place when the sound of footsteps reverberated throughout the alley. Whirling, she felt the blood drain from her face. Two girls, identical to each other in appearance, were stalking towards her with wicked gleams in their bright blue eyes.

  Abigail and Agnus Jones were two of the meanest bullies in the neighbourhood. It didn’t matter to them that Briar was three years their junior and half their size. They’d deliver a thrashing to her just for the fun of it.

  Panic roiled in her stomach and she spun back towards her treasures. The brick was still in her hand, and her hiding spot was wide open and visible. Dropping the brick, she reached in and grabbed all her trinkets, stuffing them into her pocket before the twins descended.

  “And what do we have here?” Abigail sneered.

  Taking a deep breath, Briar faced them, fists clenched, readying for the fight that she knew was coming.

  “Why if it isn’t little Briar Patch,” Agnus smirked, flashing yellowed teeth. “What do you have there, Briar Patch? Pieces of garbage, no doubt.”

  “Probably gifts from her smelly father.” Abigail pinched her nose and stuck out her tongue. “I can never tell which is worse, the scent he gets from rolling in the rubbish all day, or from drowning himself in a bottle.”

  “You can’t blame him for being a drunk,” Agnus said with an evil grin. “He’s got such a stupid, ugly daughter, it’s a wonder he hasn’t thrown himself from a bridge already to escape her.”

  Both sisters broke into fits of vicious giggles.

  Briar clenched her teeth as anger and shame burned through her. The sisters continued to shriek with laughter as if they’d made a hilarious joke, and it only fuelled her bubbling rage.

  “Shut up!” she shouted. “Shut up! You don’t know anything about my papa!”

  The laughter stopped. Two identical pairs of crystal blue eyes glared at her, and Briar kicked herself for provoking them. It was a well-known fact among the neighbourhood children; the Jones twins showed no mercy to their victims.

  “I believe Briar Patch needs to be taught a lesson, Aggie,” Abigail hissed.

  Agnus nodded. “I believe you’re right, sister.”

  Before Briar could react, the twins attacked, pouncing on her like a couple of cats after a little mouse. Knocking Briar to the ground, they fell upon her, punching at her face and belly. Instinct and sheer rage took over, and she fought back, kicking, biting, and hitting to free herself from their assault.

  Briar was no stranger to fights. She was one of the smaller children, and so many saw her as an easy target. But she wasn’t anyone’s victim, and she always fought back with animalistic fury.

  One of the twins cried out when Briar sunk her teeth into her arm. The taste of copper filled her mouth, but she didn’t release her hold.

  “Let me go!” Agnus screamed. Briar bit down harder.

  Abigail’s fist slammed into Briar’s belly, and she gasped, releasing Agnus.

  “You’ll pay for that, you little beast!” the older girl shrieked as she held her bleeding arm.

  Briar hunched on the ground and bared her teeth, like the animal they claimed her to be. Abigail moved to attack again, but a loud shout startled all three girls and they froze.

  “You there! What are you doing?”

  Spinning on their heels, they spotted a constable at the end of the alley, truncheon raised. As quick as lightning, the twins took off in the opposite direction. Briar scrambled to her feet as the constable began to give chase. She ran after the older girls, cursing them under her breath as pain from her head and stomach slowed her down. Usually, she had no trouble running from trouble, but she was half-limping and her stomach hurt so badly, it was all she could do to stop herself doubling over.

  When she burst out of the other end of the alley, the twins were nowhere in sight, but the constable was closing in on her. She hurried down the street, glancing over her shoulder to see the policeman dash out of the alley behind her, looking left and right, whistle poised in his mouth, ready to blow. Gritting her teeth, she willed her legs to move faster and turned a sharp corner to try and shake him. His pounding feet didn’t waver, and she knew he would catch her once he rounded the turn if she didn’t find a place to hide.

  Her mind was in a panic as she scrambled for a plan…

  Just then, a hand reached out and wrapped around her arm, yanking her off the street and down into another alleyway. She let out a startled cry as her back slammed into something warm and solid, but another hand pressed against her mouth to silence her as she was tugged into the shadows and out of sight.

  “Shush, shhh, I won’t hurt you,” a soft voice spoke urgently at her ear. It was young and male. “Stay quiet until the copper passes, all right?”

  Dark brown eyes wide and wild, Briar’s mind raced as she tried to reconcile what was worse; the police or the stranger at her back. She fought all of her instincts to kick back behind her, scream and run, knowing that to do so would alert the copper to her whereabouts. Deciding to take the risk, Briar slowly nodded her head.

  “Okay, I’m going to lower my hand. Don’t scream…”

  She fought to keep her lips sealed when his palm dropped from her face.

  The two waited in utter silence for the constable to pass by. Briar held her breath when he stopped at the entrance of the alley. The man gazed around, confused, clasping his helmet in hand. He let out a frustrated sigh and scratched his head. Finally, he shrugged, placed his helmet back on his head, and walked away.

  The air left her lungs in a rush as relief swept through her. She’d escaped the police. She’d escaped the twins. But her shoulders stiffened when she remembered she was alone in an alley with a stranger.

  Slowly, Briar turned to face her new threat.

  She blinked, taken aback by the smiling face of a scruffy boy with hair the colour of dark chocolate, who appeared to be not much older than her.

  “Hello,” he said with a tilt of his chin.

  “Hello,” she murmured, suddenly feeling shy and uncertain of herself. Should she be scared? Relieved? She decided at the very least she could be thankful. “I…I’m grateful for your help. If you hadn’t come along, I don’t know what…”

  The boy shrugged with a good-natured grin. “I was just passing by, minding my own business when I saw you. Looked like you were running for your life, so it did.”

  The corners of her mouth curved tentatively as she gazed up at him. “You saved me.”

  He studied her for a moment, his expression soft. “I reckon so. What’s your name?”

  “Briar Walker. What’s yours?”

  “Jack,” he thrust out his hand, “Jack Harris.”

  “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Pleased to meet you, too, Briar. It’s a real pretty name.”

  She blushed and quickly shook his hand. “My papa said I was named after a rose bush. My mama’s favourite...”

  They both stood for a moment, sizing each other up and Briar felt all her blood rushing to her cheeks. She thought that Jack was handsome, despite his dirty clothes and shaggy appearance. His eyes twinkled with curious mischief and she immediately liked him.