The Ragged Orphan

Lindsey Hutchinson

Description

When 12 year-old Jared Johnson’s little sister dies, just hours after his mother breathes her last after wasting away so her children could eat, he knows he is on own.

Desperate to avoid the workhouse, he does everything he can to survive the inhospitable streets of Birmingham. Jared is blessed with the gift of the gab and soon attracts the attention of the King of the Tatters, Toby McGuire. Recognising a kindred spirit, Toby soon has Jared out on a cart hustling for rags.

Jared loves driving his horse Bess, shouting ‘any old rags’ as loud as he can, and it’s not long before he’s thriving. But being successful can bring you enemies as well as friends. Toby knows that Jared is destined for bigger things – provided his big mouth doesn’t get him hurt first…

The top 10 best-seller is back with an unforgettable story about an unforgettable boy. Heart-breaking and heart-warming, fans of Katie Flynn, Val Wood and Lyn Andrews will fall in love with this latest page-turner from Lindsey Hutchinson.

What readers are saying about Lindsey Hutchinson:

‘Couldn't put this book down. Brilliant story with many sad bits, but lovely happy ending. I would thoroughly recommend this book.’

‘What a fabulous book from Lindsey again. She never disappoints. Read in 2 days it really is unputdownable! Can’t wait for the next one as I know it will be another cracker.’

‘It's a while since I didn't want a book to end. I absolutely loved this story as I have all of this author's books. She can't write fast enough for me, every book has been as lovely as the last and as usual I can't wait for the next.’

‘Oh my goodness, I fell in love with each and everyone of the characters, except Edith, am glad to say she got her just rewards. Lindsey, you make them so loveable and real. Read it in 2 days. Brilliant!!!’

Sujets

• Classiques
• Tous les classiques
• Mashups
• Siblings
• 19th Century
• World Literature
• Historical
• Women
• Coming of Age
• Inglaterra
• Reino Unido
• Friendship
• Historical romance
• Sibling
• General officer
• Victorian
• Historical fiction
• Woman
• United Kingdom
• The Women
• Black Country
• City Life
• Great Britain
• General
• Sagas
• Family Life
• Romance
• England
• Saga
• Fiction
• Royaume-Uni

Informations

• Publié par: Boldwood Books
• Date de parution: 24 février 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781801626842
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE RAGGED ORPHAN


LINDSEY HUTCHINSON
For my husband, Paul, who so patiently explains to me why, in my stories, a thing can’t be done, then comes up with a perfect solution.
CONTENTS



Author’s Note


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51


More from Lindsey Hutchinson

About the Author

Sixpence Stories

About Boldwood Books
AUTHOR’S NOTE

It is well known that the women of the Black Country used to swear like troopers. They drank gin mostly, as it was cheaper than Porter, and a lot smoked clay pipes.
I have endeavoured to keep the expletives to a minimum, but for the reader to have a flavour of the character, there have to be some. It is not my intention to offend anyone.
Also, for readers not familiar with the Black Country use of the English language, I will explain a little by giving a short example:
‘Is Doris in?’
‘No, her’s gone down the market.’
This is not my lack of education but is simply how people of the region speak, and I hope it does not detract from the reader’s enjoyment of the book.
Mo-shíorghra! (pronounced heer graw) is Irish for my eternal love or my soulmate.
Sláinte (pronounced slaan-sha) means health, as in your good health.
Mavourneen means my darling.
Cailín or colleen means girl.
1

Jared Johnson sat on the floor next to the small truckle bed, holding the hand of his younger sister. Maisy’s fever had raged for days and she had coughed so hard he thought she might bring up a lung. His legs had gone numb from being in the same position all night, but he didn’t move even now.
Maisy’s eyes fluttered open and Jared smiled in the grey light of dawn. ‘I’m here, kiddo,’ he whispered. He watched the little girl as her eyes closed again and he could no longer hold back his tears. Instinct told him the end was near and he gently squeezed her hand.
An hour later, Jared saw his sister take her last rasping breath. He watched her chest, waiting for it to rise again, but it didn’t. ‘Maisy!’ he called. ‘Maisy, please don’t you leave me as well!’ Knowing she wouldn’t answer, that she would never speak to him again, Jared laid his head on the edge of the bed and cried until he could barely breathe.
Eventually, he let go of her hand and leaned forward to kiss her cooling brow. ‘Sleep well, kiddo, until I see you again.’ Dragging himself to his feet, he waited while he felt the pins and needles in his legs and feet. When his circulation was working again, he stamped his feet on the bare floorboards, seeing the dust motes fly up before floating lazily down again.
Steeling himself, Jared lifted Maisy with the utmost care and carried her to his parents’ room. He laid her next to his lifeless mother and covered them both with the dirty sheet. It was the best he could do, for he had no money to see them buried.
Making his way downstairs, silent tears rolling down his face, the sound of his boots loud on the bare wooden steps, Jared sat on a kitchen chair and stared out of the window. Now what? Even at twelve years old, Jared knew he wouldn’t be able to afford to stay in the house, so where could he go? He raised his brown eyes to the ceiling, his dark hair falling away from his forehead, as he relived the last few weeks. His mother had stopped eating to ensure her children would be fed. Starvation had robbed him of his mum and fever had taken his sister, and Jared felt the anger build inside him. He had begged his mum to share what little food they had equally, but she had refused. He knew she was behind with the rent, and she had warned him they could be evicted at any time.
‘You need to take care of Maisy now, Jared,’ his mother had croaked.
‘ I will ,’ he had promised, and he had tried. He had bathed Maisy’s forehead and tried to feed her the potato soup he had made, but it was all in vain – he could not save her.
Suddenly it all became too much for him and Jared cried like his heart was finally breaking. A myriad of emotions flowed through him; bitterness at his father for leaving when Maisy was four and he was six; anger at the world that no one had lifted a finger to help. Sadness sliced through his heart at losing his family so cruelly, while guilt gnawed at him for being unable to prevent their deaths, as well as survivor guilt for being the one left alive. Fear settled on him about where he would go and how he would try to stay alive. He could always continue to scavenge, but finding somewhere safe to sleep could prove a problem.
Pulling his emotions under control with great difficulty, Jared thought about the city he lived in. Birmingham was in the heart of the Black Country and was known as the city of a thousand trades, and yet there was no work to be had anywhere. On the days he had walked the miles to the market hall to scavenge, he had seen the men standing in the bread line. Little groups of the out of work idling about on street corners in the vain hope someone might offer them a job, but each time Jared passed, he noticed the line lengthening. How could this be? In the third largest city in Great Britain, why were so many unemployed?
Jared brought his thoughts back to his own plight, the immediate one being where he should go. He realised then that he should let his neighbour know his family had passed away. She could then inform the parish, who would organise paupers’ funerals so at least his mother and sister would be laid to rest. However, if he remained here, then he would almost certainly be forced into the workhouse. An involuntary shiver took him as he considered that prospect. No matter what happened, he would not go into that place. He’d heard the stories of folk accepting the ticket from the Relieving Officer and, having entered, they had never been heard of again.
With a sigh, Jared knew he had to make a move. Grabbing an old jacket from the nail hammered into the back door, he slipped it on. He had outgrown his own and even though this one was big on him, he buttoned it up. He’d grow into it. With a last look around, Jared said a silent goodbye to his family and his home before stepping out into the cold morning. He pulled the flat cap from his pocket and slapped it onto his head. Striding across the communal back yard, he walked to the house next to his and banged on the door.
Looking up at the woman who answered, he said sadly, ‘They’ve gone.’
‘Oh, lad, I’m so sorry,’ the thin woman replied sympathetically. ‘Leave it with me, I’ll sort it out. But what will you do now?’
‘I don’t know, but I’ll manage,’ Jared answered. ‘Thanks, Mrs Spittle.’
The woman nodded and watched the boy walk through the ginnel and out onto Watery Lane. Jared looked right then left, trying to decide which route to take. It didn’t really matter, for he had no destination in mind. It was his rumbling stomach which decided it for him. He would head for the market hall to see if he could scavenge something to break his fast.
Jared, his hands in his trouser pockets, fell into a steady rhythm as he traversed the streets. There was a low-lying mist and a chill bit the end of his nose. With a sniff, he increased his pace in order to beat off the cold.
Smoke spiralled and puffed from domestic chimneys, mingling with the mist, making it look like a dirty grey blanket had been hung across the street. Cart wheels clattered and a horse’s hooves rang hollowly over the cobblestones before the cart disappeared from view.
Listening carefully for traffic, Jared sprinted across the road into yet another thoroughfare. Birmingham’s streets were like a rabbit warren and anyone not familiar with them would soon find themselves very lost. Jared, however, knew exactly where he was going.
He stopped short as a front door opened and a yelping dog flew across his path, followed by a woman’s foot. ‘Bloody animal!’ the woman yelled. ‘I’ll teach you to piddle on my clean floor!’ Jared couldn’t help a tiny smile coming to his lips as the door slammed shut, before he continued on his way.
The weak sun struggled to lance through the mist, giving it an eerie yellow tinge as Jared trudged on. Coming to the Bullring, he wondered what it must have been like in years gone by when bulls were tied to an iron ring on Corn Cheaping green. It was there they were baited before being led away to be slaughtered. He was glad the barbaric practice was no longer allowed, but it was this very thing that had given the place its name.
Passing the fish market, Jared wrinkled his nose at the smell, which saturated the air around him. Stepping into the huge building of the market hall which held 600 stalls, Jared breathed easier. The place never failed to amaze him, no matter how many times he visited. The noise was deafening, with vendors calling out their prices. Barrow boys yelled for folk to shift their arses to allow them through.
Wandering down the first aisle, Jared took his time, there was nowhere he had to be. The loss of his family stung again and he felt tears prick the back of his eyes. Struggling to be brave, Jared knew the hardest thing he would ever do would be to live without his mum and sister.
Giving himself a mental shake, he pushed through the throngs of people, each one searching for a bargain. Jared’s eyes flitted between the stalls and the floor. He needed to know wha