Folly (20 page)

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All about him the day was starting; merchants called and laid out wares, an ice cart chinked by; a pair of chimney sweeps, still with clean morning faces, were playing swordfight with their brushes.

And there, in front of him, shuffling awkwardly and using both hands to lug a full basket of pies, was the old man, Pie Peter. A familiar face in all the whirl of London!

"Hello," said James. Whiffs of meat and pastry inspired him to speak. "Could I help carry your basket?"

"Clear off," said the pieman. "Gutter thief."

"I'm not a thief, I swear," said James. "Look, I'll pay for a pie." He flipped open his jacket and pointed to the five gleaming buttons he'd kept to the inside. Pie Peter raised furry eyebrows.

"All right, then," he said.

"Have you got a knife?" said James. He mimed cutting off a button.

The trade was made. The first bite of pie left him dizzy with joy. By the time he'd finished, he thought he might be sick, packing in so much so fast. Pie Peter picked at his teeth while he watched James eat. That made James sicker.

"Do you know where there's a house near here that's covered in birds?" said James. "Carved birds?"

Pie Peter spat out a bit of the pick he'd been digging his teeth with. He signaled with his head, off to the left.

"Brunswick Square," he said. "You want another pie?"

Not a chance of that. James hurried away, his feet burning to take him straight to where he was going.

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MARY 1878 Telling How It Seemed Like the End

Miss Kaye passing on, sudden like that, were as woeful a thing as ever happened since my own mam's deathbed. Dr. Dode came and agreed that she were dead and gone. I helped Miss Angela wash and dress her, though I'd just done it while she were living a few hours before. How quick a person goes from chattering under the shining sky to being a body with nobody home.

She were laid out on her own bed, tidy and elegant as she always were. Johnny, however, forgot his sunny self and now were in the spirit of mourning. He wailed as if his little soul could not bear to lose Miss Kaye. Miss Angela went about tongue-clicking and head-shaking and shoulder-hunching, most anxious to have him quiet. I tried to nurse and tried to keep him shushed but there were

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tasks at hand, what with the blinds being lowered, which alerted the neighbors, who began to stop in, and Miss Kaye's room needing to be put straight all around her before visitors could visit. Johnny fussed as if there were a misery contest and he were set on winning. Of all days!

A tall chap came, wearing a tall black hat and a mourning band around his arm, which I suppose were his everyday apparel, him being in the burying trade. The funeral were set for three days on and she'd be lying there with us till then.

While the baby finally napped, I took a cup of tea up to Miss Angela in her room, where she were shifting through a small heap of garments on the quilt.

"I'll be in black for six weeks," she said, "being a niece. I've got the dark bombazine from when Papa passed on, though I'll have to let it out some...." She were only thinking aloud, not asking advice, or I'd have told her those seams weren't wide enough to expand as much as she'd require, with her fondness for buttered bread.

"But I'll need a dress by tomorrow," she said. "Which do you think is more becoming, Mary? The blue or the russet?"

"The blue, miss."

She lingered on the decision but agreed at last. "Take the russet, then. Go to Robinson's Mourning Warehouse in Regent Street. They can dye it black overnight and deliver here tomorrow. And select mourning cards as well. I shall need two dozen with a half-inch border."

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"Yes, miss. But Johnny's sleeping, miss."

"Leave him here. And hurry back."

Only when I hustled in an hour later, he were clamoring like a fiend, kicking in his basket, and Miss Angela were cross-eyed with being irked so. It were quite a while longer before he'd settle down to nurse.

Evening came and Miss Angela wanted only broth and toast. Her face were gray with the weight of things and I were right sorry for her until she spoke.

"I must inform you, Mary, that there is no longer a position for you here. My aunt was a charitable woman, but I am not so inclined to provide shelter for ... for a bastard baby."

My face prickled hot. "I nev--!"

She cut me off with a wave. "Naturally you would object. However, this is now my house. I am mistress here and you will leave tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? But ... Miss Kaye! The funeral!"

"You'd not be welcome there in any case. I will pay your wages until the end of the month as my aunt would have wanted, bless her giving soul."

The end of the month were four days away so Miss Angela were not being excessive generous.

"Could I not stay until Saturday, miss? There's a terrible lot of preparing ... and if you're paying me?" My head were swarmed with panic.

"No, Mary, you may not. I have listened to the mewling of your spurious child until I thought I should go mad!"

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"But where will I go?" Tomorrow! "How will I find a position? I have ... Johnny ..."

"These are questions that you should have considered before you surrendered to immorality. I am really only helping you by sending you on your way. Perhaps now you'll do what you should have done to begin with. Lose the child somewhere. Good night."

She turned herself around, holding the chair against her bum and turning it with her. There were no mistake about the interview--and my good fortune--being at an end.

It were resolve alone that carried me from that hour through the days that followed. There were no more fairytale old ladies arriving in carriages. There were no forgiveness from wicked stepmothers. There were no second chances at marrying the handsome prince or the other one, disguised as a frog. It were early autumn and not dead winter, which is why I am alive to tell the tale.

I began where I'd left off before meeting Miss Kaye, seeking refuge in churches, no matter which saint were on the door. I now were clearly fallen, however, as I had you in my arms, and a woman's folly allows for little kindness even from God. Details will not enhance the tale, and remembering won't change the end. All my fears were laid out true before me. You were sickly, I were sicker. One morning I awoke to utter silence, worse by far than hungry whimpering. I shook the blanket in alarm and only then did you startle faintly....

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My choice were finally this: Go to the workhouse, taking you with me, where death were likely, and, according to Nut, horrors were certain. Or forsake you, my only precious boy, at the Foundling Hospital, where you might be raised up not knowing how your mother tried, nor how she loved you enough to say goodbye.

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JAMES 1888 The Byrd House

James worried, would he recognize the Byrd house? And then there it was, birds all over it, just as everyone said, looking ready to burst into song. With Mama being right inside, James was ready to burst into song himself. He could almost hear the organ in the chapel with a swelling "Hallelujah" as he climbed the steps in front.

Knocking on the door would be the only way in. Pray that Mr. Byrd was elsewhere, be ready to start running if he answered. Or it might be a servant, who would care about his grubbiness. James glanced down. No help for it. He could use his smile on a servant.

It was the loony Miss Byrd, though, who replied to the taps of the bird-shaped knocker. A woodpecker, James was pretty certain. Miss Byrd, who'd made all the carvings. She leaned on her cane, head crooked as if asking
why?

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"I like your birds," said James.

"Well, now," she said.

"I'm James. I've come to see my mother."

"They've been searching for you," said Miss Byrd. She looked along the street and back at him, noticing the shabby state of his clothing. "Oh, dear me. Come inside. You'll want a bit of a visit before they find you."

Mama Peevey sat on a chesterfield that was covered in blue flowered fabric, so that she seemed to be resting in a garden. Her feet were tucked up under a blanket but she didn't look poorly otherwise. Her smile was as wide as her arms. James sank into her, kneeling on the floor.

"Mama."

"Oh, my dear lovey. Wherever have you been?"

"They locked me up, Mama. That horrible Mr. Byrd, he put me--"

"Shhh! Jamie!"

Miss Byrd was watching in the doorway, and he'd said a bad thing about her brother. But a true bad thing! She shook her head a little and shrugged.

"He used to lock
me
in the closet when we were children," said Miss Byrd. "Only when I was naughty, of course." She limped to the window and peered into the street. "I'll leave you to have a little visit, but those gents from the hospital will be back, I just know it. Or else the cart will come to take your foster mother home." She crossed the room again. "I'll bring you in some tea."

"Now!" said Mama, taking James's hands. "Tell me everything. You've run away!"

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"That's not ... I haven't actually ... I only came to see you," said James. He patted her and realized there was a bump in front. She saw him realizing and smiled some more.

"Yes, Jamie, I'm going to have another baby. In just a few weeks, Lord willing. Lizzy won't have to wait long for company. And I'll have another foundling, to go with this one." She pointed to her belly. "Lizzy will be a big sister again. It was terrible hard on her, saying goodbye to Rose."

"So ... so you're not sick?"

"No, just all done in from the journey, and the upset of you"--she glanced toward the door and finished in a whisper--"of you being dragged off without even a minute together with Rose."

James whispered too. "He's the meanest one. We call him ... Byrd the Turd."

"Oh, Jamie!" She put her hand over his mouth, but he knew she wasn't angry. She was so familiar, even her hand felt the way it should. He blinked against the sting of tears.

"Is it a terrible place?" Her voice soft, worried.

"The food is disgusting," said James. "But ... not so bad in other ways. I like the music. I'll be in the choir next year, and if I keep up with my lessons, I'll be in the band. Mr. Chester says--Mr. Chester is the history master and he was a foundling too--he says he played the clarinet, so that's what I'm going to try. He says I have long fingers, and that's the best for clarinet."

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Mama looked at him with eyes full of ... of sugar. "Rose was sad as sad to leave Lizzy, but she knew she'd have you, we told her that."

Worry rustled in James's head.
That's not true
, he nearly said.
I'll hardly see Rose. She's a girl. You shouldn't have made things up
. Life is harder if you have expectations. That was something he knew from coming here. Rose would learn it too. Mama and Mister would never understand.

"What about Mister?" said James. "Does he miss me?"

"Well, he did, of course, in the beginning," said Mama. "But now he's got used to being just with girls. Oh, he sent you something!" She fussed about under the blanket till she'd found her pocket and pulled out a whistle, cut from a stick.

"That's a fine one!" said James. "Tell him thanks." He played a couple of notes, a tiny memory tootling through. "I miss ... I miss you, Mama. I miss the shop, and Toby, and Mister. I miss Martin. Do you ever see Martin?"

"Oh, he's a wild boy, that Martin!" said Mama. "Last week he stole Lizzy's knickers right off the line and turned them into a flag, of all things!"

Miss Byrd came in, pushing a tea trolley. "If I carry a tray," she said, "we get more tea on the floor than in the cups."

The wheels of the trolley squeaked and wouldn't turn properly. James tried to help but there was a knock on the door and Miss Byrd scuttled out.

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James's stomach whooshed.
Not Mr. Byrd, please not!

"It won't be your Mr. Byrd," said Mama. "He wouldn't knock on his own door, would he?"

"It's the fellow with the cart." Miss Byrd came in. "I've told him to wait right out front. I'll just fetch your shawl and basket."

James helped Mama to unwrap from the blanket.

"I'm nearly as tall as you are, Mama!"

She whispered again. "You could come home with me, Jamie. You've got this far, you could pop right into the cart with me and come home. They'll chase you down eventually, but wouldn't that be a surprise for Lizzy!"

Oh, wouldn't it? He nearly thought so.

"But what about Rose?" And what about Walter? And Mr. Chester? And Full-of-Snot, and the nice new nurse?

"Rose needs you," said Mama. "That's true."

"Do you think ... when I'm big, Mama, could I come to visit you then?"

"I'd be living with a broken heart if you didn't, Jamie."

"Boy! My brother is coming!" Miss Byrd flung open the door. "Go, now! You can leave through the kitchen, but you must go straight back to the Foundling, you promise me? No shilly-shallying!"

"Yes, miss." James hugged Mama one more time, smelling his childhood. Then he ran.