Chapter 2
Chapter Two
All right… that should be enough time. If Marcus knew where I lived, he would have come here first, rather than following me from Mr. Cosgrove’s bookstore.
Octavia was crouched down in an alley, her eyes trained on the townhouse at the end of the street. Like the rest of the buildings in this street, it was a dilapidated hovel, the type that many might assume was abandoned on first inspection.
Of course, it was the opposite of abandoned. By Octavia’s last count, there were over twenty people living there. They were all young in age, desperately poor, each constantly searching for anything that might bring them hope that this was not all that their lives had amounted to. Octavia included.
Satisfied that she had not been followed, she sprang from the alley and hurried down the street. Then she rounded the side of the townhouse and slipped through the back door.
It was noisy inside, as was always the case; general chatter, babies screeching, young women crying. Octavia ignored it as she climbed the stairs to the third story, hurried down the hallway, and then knocked on the closed door at the very end.
“Who is it?” a young male voice asked.
“Open up, Henry,” she said.
“What’s the password?” he asked her.
She smiled to herself. As was always the case, Octavia had told Henry not to open the door for anyone, herself included, unless they had the password. It was one of the many measures that she had instituted to keep them safe, something she’d managed to do now for nearly four years.
“Redgate,” she said into the closed door. “Now, open up.”
The sound of locks and chains followed her demand, and a second later the door swung open to reveal her eight-year-old brother, Henry, on the other side.
He was small for his age, a natural consequence of being underfed.
But his eyes were the same deep green as Octavia’s, and his hair was the same chestnut brown.
He looked more like their father than their mother; the same long face and severe features, while Octavia’s face was rounder and softer like their mother’s.
Oh, how Octavia loved him.
“Quickly now.” She stepped into the room and closed the door. Then, she proceeded to lock it again.
“What does Redgate even mean?” Henry asked as she checked the locks. “You never said.”
“It doesn’t mean anything,” Octavia said.
“Then why use it?”
“Because nobody is likely to guess it, is why.”
“I guess…”
Redgate was a word that Octavia knew, even if she did not know why. She had vague memories of her mother telling her the word when she was a little girl, but she could not remember what the context was or why her mother would have said such a thing.
Just one of the many memories of my mother that I wish there were more of. Her face… her smile… her laugh… all fading far too quickly so that soon I will have nothing to remember her…
Octavia was nineteen when her mother died giving birth to Henry.
While her father, taken by grief, had died four years later.
Before those deaths, life had been hard, but not unmanageable.
Her father worked, her mother looked after her, and although they were never rich, they were certainly not destitute.
Sadly, Octavia’s mother’s death had broken her father, and he’d turned to drinking and gambling to cover his pain. By the time he passed away, what little wealth they had was a thing of the past, the debts they owed were insurmountable, and Octavia’s only option was to take her brother and run.
But run where? They did not have the money to travel. They had no options outside of London – and very few inside of London, for that matter. For this reason, the past four years had been an exercise in survival, one day at a time, never knowing what might come with the rising sun.
All I need is one chance… one opportunity to give myself and Henry the life that we deserve. As to where that chance might come from… I wish that I knew.
“You were good while I was away?” Octavia asked Henry as she crossed their tiny room. It had just a single bed, one wardrobe, and a brazier which they used to burn coals for warmth.
“I was,” Henry said proudly. “I didn’t let anyone into the room.”
“Good boy.” She sat on the bed with a deep sigh as the tension in her body slowly seeped from her bones.
“Miss. Starke knocked at one point,” he followed up. “Said someone was looking for you.”
Octavia’s eyes widened. “Who? Who did she say it was?”
He shrugged. “She said a man, but did not get his name. She told him to go away, then came to see me. But I didn’t let her inside,” he was sure to add. “I told you I wouldn’t.”
Octavia suspected that this man was made up because if it had been Marcus and his bullyboys, they would not have been sent away by someone as unthreatening as Miss Starke.
Likely, it was Miss Starke’s effort to get into the room, as she had been rather persistent about the money which Octavia owed for rent.
Money that I do not have…
“Why are you back so early?” Henry demanded suddenly, narrowing his eyes at Octavia. “You said you would be late.”
Octavia grimaced with both shame and guilt. On her way home tonight, she had done much thinking about her and Henry’s future, and while a decision had been reached, she still did not know if it was a good one.
Sadly, she knew too that she had no other choice. Such were the difficult decisions one in her position was forced to make.
“Henry, there is something we need to speak of.” She patted the spot beside her on the bed.
Henry must have seen the sadness in her eyes because he dropped the facade of accusation and crossed the room until he sat beside her. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Who said something is wrong?”
“You did,” he scoffed. “I can tell.”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Octavia could not help but smile with pride at her younger brother.
She had done her best to educate him, to teach him the ways of this world as she knew them.
And while she could only do so much with what she had been given, she saw in Henry someone who was smart for his age, wickedly perceptive, and just as kind.
If only he had a chance in life… imagine what he might become.
“How old are you again?” she asked as if she had forgotten. “Fifteen? Sixteen?”
“I’m eight!” he giggled. “You’re being silly.”
“Right, eight…” She nodded her head. “Which means that you are old enough to be told the truth. Although if you are old enough for such things, I expect you to be just as mature in your reaction to them.” She raised an eyebrow at him.
“I can be!” He puffed his chest out with importance. “I can be mature.”
“I know it.” She wrapped an arm around her brother and pulled him into a tight hug. “Do you remember what we’ve always spoken about?” she began as she held him close. “Running away from here. A new life for both of us.”
“I do.”
“Well… I’ve been thinking, what’s say that we run away tonight? Why put off for tomorrow what we can do right now?” Octavia pulled away and held Henry by the arms as she looked at him, doing her best to appear excited rather than terrified.
“Right now…” Henry looked confused. “But how? You said we needed money. You said… You said that… that we might not be able to for years yet.”
“Let me worry about that.”
“But –”
“Henry, do you trust me?” she cut him off. A raised eyebrow, again in an effort to appear far more confident than how she felt.
“You know I do, Octavia.”
“Then trust me,” she said softly. “What I need is for you to pack our things. And quickly. Everything we own, forget nothing.”
He snorted. “That won’t be hard.”
“I’m going to step out for an hour. No more, I promise. When I come back, you'd best be ready, because our new life awaits.”
“Go where?” he asked, panic coloring his tone. “Where are you –”
“You said we needed money, yes? When I come back, we will have more than enough to leave this place behind and never look back.”
Henry did not look at all convinced, and for that she did not blame him. But Octavia had been looking after her brother now for close to four years; he trusted her completely, so when she gave him an order, he did not question it. She was his rock, just as he was hers.
Octavia jumped up from the bed and hurried to the wardrobe. There, she opened it and crouched down to the bottom drawer. Inside were mostly old rags and a few items of clothing, but tucked away was the single most important thing that Octavia owned.
It was wrapped up in a pair of socks, and when she pulled those socks out, she held them to her chest. Inside was their ticket to a new life, and while the idea of parting with it brought her tremendous sadness beyond which she could bear, it also brought hope.
I know I promised never to part with this, Mother, but you must know that I have no choice. I deserve a better life than this, and Henry deserves a better life. I just pray that you can forgive me…
“And where did you say that you got this from?” Mr. Tibit narrowed his eyes at Octavia, the accusation behind them clear. His eyes were beady, his thin lips were pressed together in judgment, and Octavia saw in him a man who would need a lot of convincing.
“It is a family heirloom,” she said without blinking.
“A family heirloom?” Mr. Tibit kept his eyes narrowed. “And whose family exactly?”
“I do not like what you are implying.”
“As I do not like being sold stolen goods.”
“Stolen!” Octavia cried. “I did not steal this. It belonged to my mother, and if you do not want it, I am sure that there are a dozen other pawn shops that I can take it to, where they won’t question its origins. Just as they won’t insult my character.”
Mr. Tibit was the owner of a pawn shop where Octavia often sold various bits and pieces that she had come across and was able to sell for quick coin.
Over the years, she had parted with dozens of pieces of jewelry left to her by her mother and her father, always painful for her to part with, but always necessary.