CHAPTER 1
London—December 1820
Lucy’s stomach rumbled noisily as she sat on the cold, uneven wooden floor of the boardinghouse. Jem sat to her left. Boy sat on her right. The three children awaited instructions from Driskell. Or rather, Mrs. Driskell. Even at six years of age, it hadn’t taken Lucy long to understand that Mrs. Driskell was the true power in this household. She barked and everyone followed her orders, from her husband to the lowest member of their band of thieves. Mrs. Driskell wasn’t any kinder to the working girls in the house. Lucy still didn’t understand exactly what they did for work but she knew it involved taking their clothes off and making lots of noise.
She could hear the girls hollering sometimes. The men, too, who went into the upstairs rooms with them. Walking down the hallway late at night, Lucy could hear the squeaking of bedsprings and wondered why men paid Mrs. Driskell to let them jump on the beds with naked women. Jem, who was two years older than Lucy, said the men did more than jump on the bed but he wouldn’t tell her exactly what went on. She’d heard Driskell talking about jumping a woman’s bones once but she didn’t see how that might work. Asking Boy was no good. He was ten but never said a word. No one knew his name, which was why he was called Boy. He could understand what was said to him but he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—talk. Jem said Boy’s father had cut out Boy’s tongue but Lucy didn’t believe that because she’d seen Boy stick his tongue out at Mrs. Driskell when the woman’s back was turned once. She’d giggled, something she couldn’t remember doing in a long time. Mrs. Driskell had wheeled and beaten Lucy senseless.
She didn’t even think of giggling anymore.
Driskell came shuffling in, his face red from either the cold or his drinking. Probably both. Lucy knew all about drinking because her papa had sipped strong spirits all day long and far into the night. He’d told her it was because he was sad that her mama and baby brother died. Papa must have loved them very much because he drank an awful lot. Driskell smelled like her father did. When both men drank too much, they went from being happy to sad to downright mean, the liquor spilled the drink down the front of their clothes. Lucy hated the smell of alcohol and how it made men act.
It made her wonder where her father was now. She supposed he had decided he hurt too much to love her and that’s why he’d sold her to Driskell and his wife. Sometimes, Lucy saw her father coming out of a tavern while she and Jem and Boy did their work on the streets. Once, she even thought he saw her but he quickly turned away and she decided she’d been mistaken. Then a few weeks ago, she’d seen him lying at the mouth of an alley. His eyes stared at the sky and he had blood all down his front. She’d hurried away, not telling Jem or Boy that the man was her father and he was now dead. She didn’t really miss him, though. She didn’t miss Mama, either, because she couldn’t remember her. It didn’t matter. Driskell had told her he was her new papa now and Jem and Boy were her brothers. The work they did helped them stay a family.
Even if Lucy knew it was wrong.
Jem and Boy were already living at the boardinghouse when she arrived. Boy had given her a sad smile and a hug after Driskell introduced her. Jem hadn’t been as trusting but he’d come around and now was protective of her. It was Jem who had told her they used to work with another girl, Becky, but she worked upstairs now for Mrs. Driskell. Jem had promised Lucy that when the day came and the Driskells wanted Lucy to work upstairs instead of out on the streets, they would run away together. He told her bad things happened to the girls upstairs and he didn’t want it to happen to Lucy. She asked if Boy could come with them. Jem had said he would think about it.
Mr. and Mrs. Driskell kept whispering and then finally Mrs. Driskell said, “Fine. Just make sure they bring back more than they did last night.”
Lucy’s stomach growled noisily and Mrs. Driskell glared at her. She shrank into herself, trying to become as small as she could. She wanted to say she couldn’t help it. That she was hungry. She was always hungry. The three children never got enough to eat. They supplemented the meager fare they received at the house when they were out on the streets. Stealing an apple from a cart or stall. Digging through the trash for something edible that had been discarded before being totally finished. If they didn’t scrounge, they wouldn’t survive.
“We’re working a new part of town today,” Driskell told them after his wife stormed from the room. “You three are becoming known. It’s time to cover new territory.”
Driskell then put them through their playacting. They had several stories they used, pretending different kinds of situations. All them ended one way—stealing from their mark. Jem had told her they followed the Rule of Three, where three pickpockets ganged up against a single mark. Lucy hadn’t known the name of what they did. She was never the one to do any of the stealing herself. Her role was to distract whatever mark Driskell chose for them. He would follow them along the streets and, by now, they knew every signal he gave, immediately understanding who should be approached and what story should unfold. Sometimes, Lucy would pretend she was lost and begin crying. Or that she’d just been separated from her mother and she was trying to catch up to her. Sometimes, Boy would play her brother and pretend to be hurt as Lucy cried and asked passing strangers for help.
Jem did all the real work. While Lucy and Boy distracted the mark, Jem moved in and took whatever the mark had in his outer coat pocket. Jem dipped his hand into a man’s pocket and kept the pocket open by spreading his fingers wide, then used his forefinger and thumb to retrieve what was of value. At times, he would remove the entire pocketbook itself. Or if a woman was their target, whatever she might carry in her reticule. Driskell told them it was merely a game and how they earned their keep but Lucy had known from the beginning that it was stealing. And that it was wrong. Still, she was just a little girl and a dutiful one who did what she was told. If she didn’t, the Driskells might sell her again, as Papa had. She didn’t want to be separated from Jem or Boy—so she’d do whatever Driskell ordered her to do.
“Go put on your clothes,” the older man barked.
The trio pushed to their feet and went to where Mrs. Driskell kept their special clothes. These were nice outfits and made the children not only blend into the crowd better but made the marks more willing to approach them. If Lucy and her brothers had been dressed in their usual rags, she doubted any of the finely-dressed men and women would give them a second glance, much less stop and offer them help.
She faced away from both boys and Mr. Driskell and lifted her threadbare dress from her body. She could feel Driskell’s eyes bore into her back and she dressed as quickly as she could, pulling on the fine dress, stockings, and shoes and tying the pretty blue cloak strings around her neck. She wished she had gloves because winter had already hit London, bringing a biting cold to the early December air.
They left the boardinghouse, Driskell having told them where they were going. He trailed them at a discreet distance from the other side of the street.
As they walked, Jem took her hand and said, “I think we’re going to need to leave soon. Maybe even tonight.”
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