These were Rob 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 most
of the small frame working men 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 Mum 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 seed-case
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. 'She's your mother?'
He nodded.
'She's taken labor 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 off 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.
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