A Sister’s Sorrow. Kitty Neale

      ‘As we discussed, I will require six weeks’ rent in cash,’ Mrs Preston said, holding a white handkerchief to her nose.

      ‘Yes, that’s fine. We’ll take it,’ Sarah replied, and counted out the money.

      Mrs Preston took the cash and wrote a receipt which she handed to Sarah, saying, ‘In future, Mr Terence will collect your rent, due fortnightly. I don’t normally visit the properties myself, but Mr Terence is unavailable today. If you cannot pay, you will be evicted. I am not a charity, and I will not tolerate any sob stories.’

      ‘I understand,’ said Sarah, noting that the woman was looking down her nose.

      With that, Mrs Preston handed Sarah the keys and walked off in a haughty manner. Sarah closed the room door, then turned happily to Tommy. ‘This is ours. This is our new home.’

      ‘But where are the beds?’

      ‘All in good time, we’ll make do for now. Anyway, who cares about beds and stuff? No more sheds for us, we’ve got our own home.’

      Sarah was pleased to see Tommy smile, and felt proud of herself for providing a home for him, though she was worried that the rent she’d paid had left her with very little money.

      ‘Can we have something to eat now? I’m so hungry that my belly thinks my head has been chopped off.’

      Sarah laughed. ‘I’ll tell you what, how about we put this old blanket on the floor, go and get some food, then come back and have a picnic?’

      ‘Yes,’ Tommy said with delight, ‘can we have cake?’

      She fumbled the remaining coins in her coat pocket. They’d eat like kings tonight, but tomorrow would be a different story.

       Chapter 11

      The next day, Sarah sat on a bench in a churchyard close to the Thames. She liked it there. It was quiet and tranquil, which gave her time to think clearly.

      ‘I’m bored, can we go now?’ Tommy asked.

      He’d been wandering around looking at the headstones, but now sat next to Sarah on the bench.

      ‘In a minute,’ she answered.

      ‘Can we go back to the bridge and look for more treasure?’

      ‘That was a bit of a fluke the other day. I doubt there would be anything else there now.’

      ‘Please, Sarah. It’s much more fun than sitting here with all the dead people in their forever boxes under the ground.’

      He had a point, she thought, and reluctantly stood up to leave. She didn’t expect there would be anything in the mud again, but she’d humour her brother, if only to stop him moaning.

      Battersea Bridge was just around the corner, and soon Tommy was racing off again to look over onto the banks. ‘Pick me up,’ he asked as he held onto the balustrades and jumped up and down.

      Sarah lifted him up, and Tommy squealed in delight.

      ‘I don’t believe it, Sarah … there’s more treasure!’

      ‘Don’t be daft,’ she said, and placed him on the ground to look over the edge for herself. To her utter amazement she saw something glistening in the mud again, but she couldn’t believe it could be anything like what she’d found before. It was more likely to be an old tin can, she thought.

      ‘Told ya … I told you there’d be more treasure, didn’t I?’

      ‘Yes, Tommy, you did.’

      They both ran to the steps and raced down to the foreshore. When Sarah got to the bottom, she noticed the water’s edge was closer than it had been last time. It was later in the morning, so she assumed the tide must be coming in.

      ‘Stay here, like before. I’ll go and get it,’ Sarah instructed, and set off across the mud. She’d never taken much notice of the river before now, and wasn’t sure how quickly the water would rise. She’d heard stories of people drowning in the Thames, so with her heart pounding she hurried to retrieve the item before it could get lost under the water.

      ‘Got it,’ she called over her shoulder to Tommy. She looked towards the water to see it approaching faster than she had anticipated. With no time to hang about, she made a hasty retreat to Tommy on the steps.

      ‘What is it, Sarah?’

      ‘I’m not sure,’ she said, looking curiously at the item in her hand, but she thought it might be valuable.

      ‘Can I see?’ Tommy asked.

      Sarah handed it to him. It was round and silver with a chain attached. He wiped the round part on his shorts, then pushed in a tiny catch on the side which flipped a lid open.

      ‘Wow, Sarah, look. It’s a clock.’

      Sarah took the watch from Tommy and noticed the time read half past eleven. She guessed it must have been the time it had fallen into the water, but she didn’t know if that had been in the night or morning. Then she looked closer at the silver lid and saw it was engraved with the initials A. S. and dated 1903.

      A wave of guilt washed over her. It was easily identifiable so she should take it to the police station, but she already knew she had no intention of doing so. She reasoned Tommy’s well-being was more important than a watch. Whoever had lost it was obviously wealthy. If she could sell it, it would be a small loss for the owner but a life-saver for them.

      George was pleased to have sold several garments from his stall, and the continual flow of customers had kept him from thinking about Sarah. Now, as lunchtime loomed, and with a lull in custom, his stomach groaned.

      ‘George, fancy a pie?’ Roger called.

      ‘Cor, do I, yes, great idea,’ George answered, thinking Roger must have read his mind.

      ‘Do you want to nip to the pub and get them? I’ll keep an eye on yours, only I’ve got my hands full here,’ Roger said as he weighed out some carrots for a middle-aged woman.

      George clapped his hands together and headed off towards the pub on the corner of the market. He thought the landlady, Violet, baked the best pies in Battersea, even better than his mum’s, and he was looking forward to biting into one. Several people said hello to him as he passed them. He was well known in the market and his old wounds had left him easily recognisable. The pub was busy, so George found himself having to wait a while to be served, but it’ll be worth it, he thought to himself, as he discussed the weather with a couple of acquaintances at the bar.

      Eventually, with two pies in hand, he headed back to the stalls. He could see Roger had his fingerless gloved hands cupped to his face and was blowing on them to keep them warm. ‘There you go, mate, this’ll help keep the chill out,’ he said and handed Roger one of the hot meat pies.

      ‘Cheers, George. You’ve been gone a while, and you’ll never guess what?’ Roger said.

      ‘You’ve sold all my stock and made me a small fortune?’ George joked.

      ‘No, you only bloody well missed that girl … what’s her name … Sarah.’

      ‘You’re kidding me.’

      ‘No, straight up. I saw her and that little lad walk past the end of the road. In fact, I’m surprised you didn’t bump into her, you must have only just missed her.’

      George shoved his pie into Roger’s hand. ‘Which way did she go?’ he asked.

      Before Roger had a chance to answer, George spun around and ran to chase after Sarah, but he heard Roger shout, ‘Right, turn right.’

      Sarah had been into the public toilets again, and now, with the silver watch cleaned up, she was