These were Robb J's last safe and secure moments of blessed innocence, but in his ignorance he considered it hardship to be forced to remain near his father's house with his brothers and his sister. This early in the spring, the sun rode low enough to send warm licks under the eaves of the thatched roof , and he sprawled on the rough stone stoop outside the front door, enjoying the cosiness. A woman was picking her way over the broken surface of Carpenter's Street. The street needed repair, as did mosy of the small frame working-men's houses thrown up carelessly by skilled artisans who earned their living erecting solid homes for those richer and more fortunate.
He was shelling a basket of early peas and trying to keep his eyes on the younger children, his responsibility when Mam was away. William Stewart, six, and Anne Mary, four, were grubbing in the dirt at the side of the house and playing secret giggly games. Jonathan Carter, eighteen months old, lay on a lambskin, papped, burped and gurgling with content. Samuel Edward, who was seven, had given Rob J. The slip. Somehow crafty Samuel always managed to melt away instead of sharing work, and Rob was keeping an eye out for him, feeling wrathful. He split the green pods one after another and scraped the peas from the waxy seedcase with his thumb the way Mum did, not pausing as he noted the woman coming directly to him.
Stays in her stained bodice raised her bosom so that sometimes when she moved there was a glimpse of rouged nipple and her fleshy face was garish with cosmetics. Rob J. Was only nine years old, but a child of London knew a trollop.
'Here now. This Nathanael Cole's house?
He studied her resentfully, for it wasn't the first time tarts had come to their door seeking for his father. 'Who wants to learn?' he said roughly, glad his Da was out seeking work and she had missed him, glad his Mam was out delivering embroidery and was spared embarrassment-
'His wife needs him.She sent me.'
'What do you mean, needs him?' The competent young hands stopped shelling peas.
The whore regarded him coolly, having caught his opinion of her in his tone and manner. 'Shade your mother?'
He nodded.
'She's taken labour bad. She's in Egglestan's stables close by Puddle Dock. You'd best find your father and tell him,' the woman said, and then went away.
The boy looked around desperately- 'Samuel' he shouted, but bloody Samuel was oof who-knows-where, as usual, and Rob fetched William and Anne Mary from their play. 'Take care of the small ones, Willum,' he said. Then he left the house and started to run.
From the book “The physician” by Noah Gordon.
