O Night Divine A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,206

port. Look lively, or ye’ll be walking the plank!”

The three children paused as they passed the toy shop, giving the window display one last envious look before they linked arms and walked slow enough so Pip could keep up. Kit walked a pace behind, looking at the way ahead, mindful of the shadows where trouble might lurk.

It gave him the chance to observe all the Sim children together. Their clothes were more worn than he first noticed. Their boots, he did not doubt, were the very definition of “down at heel”. It was clear there was very little money for fripperies, let alone regular, hearty meals.

Not enough good, fresh food affected a man in more ways than simply hunger. He knew from his own experience of the positive effects a fresh supply of oranges had on the rates of scurvy on his crew.

Rickets?

The thought occurred to him out of the blue. Was that the thing that ailed Pip? The boy didn’t have a club foot or any other obvious physical deformity that accounted for his limp. Kit wasn’t sure whether the condition could be treated, but seeing the family had a good meal for a few days was something he could do.

Pip’s body couldn’t keep pace with his enthusiasm. He stumbled and his ever-patient brother and sister slowed even more to accommodate him.

Kit kept his senses attuned. They were now out of the bustle of the market, where newly installed gas lamps had given the square a festival atmosphere. Here, in the residential streets, they relied on the yellow-orange glow from lamps on the outside of buildings and whatever light spilled through windows.

He measured the risk. They could keep their slow pace and risk encountering a footpad, but at least he would have his sword hand free. Or he could carry Pip. They’d all reach the cross street sooner, and he could find a hack. He could ease the ache in his leg and see the children home warm and safe.

The latter thought won out and he invited Pip to ride on his shoulders once more. The lad did so with glee. But the child was not the only weight on his shoulders, so he asked the question.

“The streets aren’t safe to walk alone at night, so what were you three children doing out on your own?”

“Susan and I always meet Peter after he’s finished his work at the bakery,” said Pip.

“I clean all the pans and trays,” Peter added. “It’s a good job, and Mr. O’Dell lets me take home some of the day-old bread. He’ll have me as an apprentice after Christmas, then we’ll always have fresh loaves every day, and a cream cake on Sundays.”

“Father works as a clerk for a moneylender. He’s a miserly man who pays little and makes Papa work long hours,” Susan joined in. “Sometimes, Mother works in the kitchen of one of the great houses, so I keep house at home. And Pip is great company. He’s become very good at his reading, so he will read me stories while I work. Mother says when I’m a little older I can get a job as a scullery maid in the house where she works. But one day, I want to be a lady’s maid and help keep her fine clothes and jewels!”

Kit thought he’d gotten over his long-held self-pity, but its tentacles had buried themselves deep. And these children had showed him how much of it still lingered. Whatever these children lacked, they were rich in other ways – they were a family with laughter and love as their wealth.

He pitied anyone who would prefer cold coin to this.

Chapter Six

The hack dropped them at the street the children indicated. Kit was hit by an odorous assault to his nose by dung and urine from the stabled horses in the mews. He hoisted Pip onto his shoulders once more and let Peter and Susan lead the way home. They rounded a corner and the stench eased.

Tightly packed terraced houses, dozens of them, wide enough only to accommodate a door and a single window on the ground floor, lined the cobbled street. Each house rose three stories to a single tiny dormer window set in the sloping roof.

It was too dense with fog to see the night sky above. Kit imagined that even during the day, the lane would not see direct sunlight. Was it any wonder Pip was so poorly when he was even denied fresh air and sunshine?

Sounds and smells of domestic