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Mary's Guardian

By Carol Anne Preston

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Lincoln, England, 1775
'Get ya grimy 'ands off me stuff or I'll 'ave ya eyeballs fer marbles.'
The small by pulled his hand back from the scrap of bread as if he'd touched a burning stick. He shrunk into the tattered rug on which he'd crouched, fearful of the snarling face of the girl on the other side of the underpass. She hungrily pushed bread into her mouth and drew her spindly legs around the meager remains of her food.
'Now, Mary,' a deep plea came from the other side of the narrow path. 'It won't hurt you to share with Peter. He's new at this and he's hungry.' William looked with pity at the small boy, now huddled against the cold bank. He saw the thin limbs shaking, his bare feet purple-blue despite the mud that almost obscured any skin colour at all. The night air was frosty, though not as bitter as it would be once the winter set it. They would need more covering by then, William mused, and his mind searched for possible places to acquire extras. The band of children who sought refuge close to him most nights was growing and he felt the weight of their neediness heavily.
'A she-cat, that one,' a voice broke into his thoughts.
'She'll learn, Tommy.' William's attention was drawn to the pair across the path.
'Too late...all gone,' he heard Mary mutter as she shoved the last crumbs into her mouth. She drew some of the rug around her thigh and curled into a tight ball, her back to the small boy beside her.
'It's not so long since her ma died in the workhouse, remember?' William turned to the young man beside him. 'She's frightened, Tommy. You remember how it was for you when you were ten, don't you? You're five years older now...and wiser. She's still got a lot to learn, but she's smart underneath that fear. Give her time.'
'Yeah, well she don't act frightened. She's like a red rag to a bull out on the streets. All that yellin' and jumpin' about. Turns our work into street theatre, she does...and she's goin' to get us all hauled in if she don't calm down.'
'I 'eard that.' Mary drew herself back into a sitting position. She pushed her matted red curls away from her forehead and glared across at Tommy in the fading light. 'I get more'n my fair share out there, I do. More'n you got today.' She screwed her face into a "dare to argue" scowl.
'Maybe,' Tommy sneered. 'But ya made that much noise about it every trap on the block was after us. The rest of us didn't 'ave a chance to get nothin'.
'Too slow is what you are,' Mary taunted, her pixie-like features belying the roughness of her tone.
'Well, t'was Will what got the prize. A silver watch is what 'e got. An' the old codger likely still don't know it's missin'. That's more'n you'll ever get with all ya gran' standin'. Ol' George on that bread cart will 'ave 'is eyes peeled for any of us for weeks, so we'll not get a morsel from 'im for God knows 'ow long.'
'Well, eat ya ruddy watch then, if ya too slow to get bread. An' don't think you're 'avin' some o' mine.' With that Mary dragged more of the rug from the boy beside her and curled herself up again, closing her eyes tightly.
'Enough, Tommy,' William interjected. 'I said let it go. We don't need to be at each other. We've enough enemies as it is. Get some sleep and tomorrow we'll move to the other side of town...find some new pickings. Those traps today almost got a couple of the young ones. They know the look of us a bit too well.'
'Know the look of 'er, ya mean...that great mop o' hair...an' she won't keep the cap on like ya told 'er.'
'She's a girl, Tommy. Girls are different to boys. It's harder for them to keep quiet. Now go to sleep,' William insisted. He needed to think about how he'd get these ten or twelve youngsters through the winter.
'Well, she ought to act more like a boy if she's to 'ang with us.'
'I don't think that's going to happen, Tommy. I don't think that's ever going to happen.'

****

Mary blew hurriedly at the red curls that flopped over her eyes and peered around at the bustle of shoppers and browsers at the market. Some jostled and shoved at each other playfully, some stood in serious conversation, exchanging gossip and tales of woe. Others picked over wilted vegetables and argued with sellers for cheaper prices. Across the lane Mary could see Dan Mercer and two or three of the other boys who were part of their group as they passed a barrow of carrots and beans. She noted what evaded the seller's eye; a pocket of beans for one of the boys, a bunch of carrots slid under the coat of another. She had to admit they were fast; a distracting thrust of one arm, the flash of nimble fingers on the other hand and the boys were past the cart and no one the wiser for their prize. But she was as good, she mused, edging close to a cart where a pile of fresh eggs lay begging. A short, fat man behind his display, scowling at his customer who insisted on pushing aside the cabbages on top to get to the fresher ones underneath. She was about to pluck an egg from the pile when William sidled up to her and quietly spoke in her ear.
'The traps are out, Mary. We're moving on.' With that he walked on, no hint of his concern in his easy lope. With a sideways glance he gave the same message to boys on either side of the lane and Mary watched as one by one the boys emerged from the huddles in which they'd concealed their activities and followed William. She cast a quick look behind her. Two policemen were trudging up the hill towards the market, their truncheons swinging. Half out of breath aleady, she noted, inwardly mocking, and turned back to the eggs that were so white and inviting. Her pockets were already bulging with sweet smelling bread but she was sure she could fit in and egg or two around it. As he small pale hand reached towards the pile a large hairy fist grabbed her wrist. She pulled back, shocked at the vice like grip, and looked up into the dark glaring eyes of the seller.
'Gotcha,' he bellowed at her across the cart, drawing the attention of those milling close by in the market and also that of the two policemen.
The rest happened so fast that Mary's head spun with panic. She wrenched her hand free and tried to run. Just then, a few of the local buyers, resentful of the young larrikins that hunted on their streets, fouled her getaway and she found herself pushing through billowing skirts, baskets and sharp-ended parasols. Suddenly another hand grabbed at her - this time a familiar one - and she looked up into the anxious eyes of William. Around him two or three of the other boys tried to help shepherd her through the crowd. She could sense the firm hold of William's hand as she moved slowly, half dragged, tripping and pushing off the arms of those who would bar their way. Mary was barely waist high to most of the crowd now. The shouting and cursing around her almost obscurred the sound of her own frustrated squeals. But despite the desperate efforts of the small band to escape, the tangle of legs and arms grew thicker around them until the way was completely blocked. When Mary looked up again, the faces looming down were cruel and harsh. The shrill scream of a whistle pierced the air and seemingly out of nowhere four more policemen pushed aside the crowd and grabbed at the boys' arms.
'Got you lot, now,' one of the policemen snarled, wielding his truncheon above their heads.
William held back two of the boys who jumped up to fight off the policemen. 'No, lads,' he said firmly. He seemed to know it was a lost cause.
But Dan Mercer was not to be held. He struggled and shouted, his cursing no doubt heard from one end of the lane to the other. And as Mary and the boys watched in horror, one of the policemen laid into the boy's thin back with his truncheon, pounding him into the ground until he was lying still and quiet except for diminishing low groans.
'For mercy's sake,' William pleaded, his voice breaking, 'the boy'd half dead with hunger already.'
'Shut up,' a voice behind William snapped. 'Or you'll be next.'
When the policeman had satisfied his rage he stood back from Dan, his chest heaving. He glared around at the small troop of youngsters, most now visibly shaking, stunned into silence. His sneer dared them, even invited them, to take Dan's place. Mary's chin rose defiantly and she hissed into the face of the officer who held her shoulder. He immediately shook her so brutally that she was sure the others would hear her teeth rattle. Instinctively she turned to William and in his eyes she saw a deep sadness and a pleading for her to be still.
'Sorry,' she whispered, her own eyes dropping. Remorse wasn't something she was familiar with, and she felt shame stirring in her heart. She saw that not only herself, but William and the others, were now also in trouble.
She shuffled close to William's side, her movements overlooked as the policemen manacled the boys' hands behind their backs and then hoisted Dan's limp body onto one of their shoulders.
'You came back,' Mary mumbled, in that instant realising that this fact was no surprise to her.
No one in her life had been there for her as William Douglass had been this past year.
Acknowledging her attempt at gratitude, his tired smile hid a deep fear that the efforts he made in saving these youngsters had now come to an end, possibly costing the life of Dan Mercer.

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