Twelve Days
by Charles Lacey
Chapter 4
Monday 16th December
David left after breakfast to catch the Underground railway to Charing Cross, whence he would take the train to Sevenoaks, near which town his family lived. At the same time my sister Emily, with Jane for company (our servants were really more like family members than domestic staff) went to the shops in Knightsbridge to buy Christmas presents. Mamma and the girls were very fond of Messrs. Harrod's 'department store'. I could never see the attraction, but then I never took any interest in 'fashion'. Clothes, as far as I am concerned, are merely there to preserve modesty and keep warm. Charlotte was occupied with some mysterious business involving Mamma, which left me at a loose end. As usual when short of occupation, I descended to the kitchen. Mrs Huntly was happy to let me stir the Christmas pudding, not forgetting to put in the lucky threepenny bit.
Papa came home that afternoon with exciting news: the river had frozen quite over. Well, the night came, and it was very cold indeed. Well, of course nothing would suit us but that we should go skating. We begged Papa for permission. He hummed and hawed for a few moments before saying "Yes. I tell you what, we'll all go."
Of course, the girls set up a lot of excited chatter over that. It must have taken them half an hour at least to decide what to wear. But that's girls for you. Mamma decided to stay at home where it was warm, as she had some mending to do. But the rest of us set off after dinner. My friend Arthur was there again and we greeted each other enthusiastically. The river was frozen hard, and Arthur and I were – I confess it – showing off a little with our skating. During this we suddenly heard a great commotion a short way off, but took no notice as we were making some quite complicated figures together on the ice.
Then I heard Papa calling me. He sounded anxious, which was unlike him. We skated over, and saw him with Emily who was soaking wet and shivering, and – to my astonishment – the same beggar boy we'd seen before. He looked like a drowned cat, poor fellow, with water running down his ragged clothing and his hair lank and dripping, plastered to his head. Charlotte was standing with her arm around Emily's shoulders. She'd given Emily her overcoat and had Emily's in her hand, dripping water.
"Oh, Christopher," said Papa, "The ice gave way, and Emily fell into the river. I was too heavy and too slow to cross the ice to save her, but this brave boy jumped into the water without any fear and drew her out."
"It was easy enough," said the boy, and I noticed again how nicely he spoke. "You see, sir, I'm a good bit lighter than you, if you'll forgive me saying so."
"Of course, of course," said Papa heartily, "and we are more grateful to you than we can say. Now, we must get Emily home and out of these wet things as quickly as we can." He felt in his pocket, and realised that he had come out without any money. He asked Arthur and me whether we had any. I had the shilling which I'd intended to give to the boy anyway, and Arthur ninepence.
"No, no," said Papa, "That's not nearly enough."
He turned to the boy.
"Where do you live?"
"This time of year, sir, just under the arches, over yonder."
"What, what?"
"Yes, sir. It's not too bad, if you wrap up well."
"But, my poor boy…"
I whispered in Papa's ear.
"Of course, Christopher, the very thing."
He turned to the boy.
"Come with us. We will find you a warm place to sleep, and something hot to eat."
The boy tried to protest, but it was a very half-hearted protest. Just then a Hansom cab came by, which Papa hailed.
"I'll get Emily and Charlotte home in this. Christopher, do you make your way home quickly, and bring our friend with you. When you get home, take him straight to the kitchen and ask Mrs Huntly to give him something hot to eat and drink."
We made but slow progress on the way as the boy was lame – we later found that it was from frostbite – and his shoes were, like everything else he wore, in tatters. I took off my overcoat and put it around him. I still wore my jacket and linen, plus a woollen comforter, but I was soon shaking with cold. What that poor boy had had to bear in this bitter weather I could scarcely begin to imagine. I tried to begin some conversation with him, but he was shivering so violently that it was difficult to make out what he said. But I did elicit the information that his name was Tracy.
Eventually we arrived, and I took Tracy to the kitchen via the area door. Mrs Huntly was, as you can imagine, mighty surprised to see me there in company with a wet and ragged beggar-boy. But, like the good soul she was, she heated up some of the soup left over from dinner, and gave it to him with two or three slices of bread and butter. While he was eating, Mamma came down. Papa had, of course explained what had happened, but I could see that she was very much taken aback to see such a grimy ragamuffin sitting at our kitchen table. But her natural kindness as well as her gratitude to him for rescuing Emily took over her distaste and she said, "Sissons, when this poor lad has finished eating, please find him a warm place to sleep tonight. And Christopher, do you look through your old clothes and see what you can spare for him to wear."
By now I was becoming rather drawn by Tracy. We'd encountered plenty of beggars, of course we had. But they all spoke with the rough accents of the East End, and addressed us as 'Guv'nor'. Tracy was different. Just how different, we were to discover.
So Tracy intrigued me doubly. The poor chap was painfully thin, but fine-boned and would, I thought, have been remarkably handsome given a little more flesh. And where had he come from, who were his people and why had he been reduced to begging?
I sat with him for a while in the kitchen while he made short work of a bowl of Mrs Huntly's ox-tail soup and several slices of bread and butter, followed by the remains of the sultana pudding we'd had at dinner. Again I noticed, well, inconsistencies in his behaviour. He knew how to handle a knife and fork and didn't shovel the food into his mouth. He even used a napkin correctly. His accent, too, was definitely that of an educated youth. But he shied away instantly from any kind of personal questions. The only information he was prepared to part with was that he was London born and bred, and had until recently slept in an old warehouse in Rotherhithe with his 'mates'.
On the half-landing leading to the top floor of the house, above my bedroom, there was a box room. It was filled with all the clutter that a large and busy house accumulates, but it had a spare mattress, an old flock one that had been on my bed at one time before it became too lumpy. Jane made up a bed on this for Tracy and, when he had thanked Mrs Huntly most politely for the food (and when I had discreetly shown him the way to the outside privy), I took him up there. As I'd promised, I then went down to my room, looked out some clothes of mine which were worn but still good but which I was outgrowing, and took them up to the room where Tracy was sleeping. Jane had found him some sheets which had been sides-to-middled and which were now really too worn to use as anything but dust-sheets, and a couple of blankets; Tracy was already fast asleep. I put down the clothes quietly where he could find them in the morning, and tip-toed down to my own room which was on the half-landing below.
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