Coram Boy. Jamila Gavin

with you?’ She cackled scornfully.

      ‘Suit yourself. Yes, it is Captain Coram. He’s in London now. Given up seafaring and turned to good works. He’s something of a benefactor!’ There was derision in his tone as Otis said, ‘Wants to save the poor children of England. He’s set up a hospital, an institution for foundlings. But I tell you something, it’s not just the poor children he’s saving but the brats of the rich. Word has spread about the thousands of pounds being poured into his enterprise to feed, clothe and educate bastards – thousands, Mrs P. Money coming from the wealthy to salve their consciences and purchase their respectability. I saw it for myself. I was in London last year. I saw the rich carriages, the fine weeping ladies hiding their faces behind Spanish lace veils, leaving their illegitimate babies in satin-lined baskets with a pouch of gold coins tucked under their pillows. “Otis,” I said to myself, “if there’s not something to be gained in all this for me, I’ll eat my hat.”’

      ‘So? And have you turned this to your advantage?’ enquired Mrs Peebles softly. ‘Blackmail?’

      ‘That – and other sidelines.’ He took another swig of gin straight from the jug. ‘You know things develop for themselves if you let them. I’ve been developing my sidelines.’

      Mrs Peebles leant forward into the light. ‘Tell me more.’

      Meshak’s head lolled as he drifted into sleep. He thought about Captain Thomas Coram, a charity man like his father. Loves little children. His brain filled with images; dreams overwhelmed him. He saw angels and children soaring among the stars, but he was drowning and, as he drowned, he called out, ‘Save me, save me!’ But no one heard him.

      Then there came a great galleon with billowing sails, tossed in an ocean of sky and clouds. Meshak could see the outline of a captain at its helm. ‘Save me, save me!’ he yelled, but his voice was lost in a chorus of singing angels and children, their voices mingling with the gulls as he sank down, down beneath the waves.

      He awoke suddenly, just when he thought he had drowned. Jester had jumped to his feet, his body taut, his fur raised, his ears pricked, and he whined softly between bared teeth. Meshak looked around. The room was empty, the candle almost out. His father and Mrs Peebles had gone. In the predawn darkness, when most of the city was finally silent, even the people of the night were subdued. The gambling had ceased, the drunkards were asleep, the servants, lackeys, labourers and traders had all surrendered their limbs and brains to the secret world of the unconscious. Only sailors watching for the dawn tide were up, and the nightwatchmen, huddled near fires in between doing their rounds. They could be heard whistling at regular intervals all over the city or calling out the time on the hour to reassure their employers that they were still alert and that all was well.

      One of the inn dogs started to bark frantically. It set off the other dogs, including Jester. His fur bristled all along his spine. ‘Hush, boy, hush!’ Meshak clamped a hand over his muzzle. Wide awake now. Keeping his hand over the dog’s mouth, Meshak staggered to his feet. He should check the mules and the wagon. He peered out into the yard. The wind buffeted a lantern hanging from a hook, causing shadows to swing like a ship tossing at sea. Then from an upstairs window he saw another light, a steady flame which lit up the pale face of Mrs Lynch peering out into the night. Meshak thought she would close her window and return to bed, but she didn’t. She seemed to be observing something going on in the lane, which only she could see from upstairs. Curious, Meshak wandered across the yard with Jester padding silently beside him.

      He pushed open a door in the wall and stepped into a side lane. In the clouded moonlight, he dimly perceived a small carriage harnessed to a single white horse. He glanced up and saw that Mrs Lynch was watching it too.

      The cathedral clock had just tolled four. Someone moved out of the shadows carrying a low light; it was the cloaked figure of a woman. Could it be Mrs Peebles? He edged closer. Certainly it was roughly her height. The carriage door opened and the woman went forward. Meshak couldn’t see who was inside. All he saw by the light of the lantern was a basket being passed out. The hands that gave the basket stayed outstretched – the empty fingers seeming unsure – then, abruptly, they were withdrawn and the carriage door was slammed shut, and Meshak glimpsed the coat of arms of a leaping deer entwined in letters he couldn’t read. The figure turned away with the basket as the carriage moved off swiftly. Meshak pressed himself hard up against the wall, hugging Jester into silence as Mrs Peebles hurried past him. Then the tavern dogs stopped barking and the lane was empty again. The transaction lasted a minute.

      Meshak looked up again at the window but it was closed. He tapped his thigh softly, ‘Come on, Jester,’ and went back to finish the night in the stables.

      Meshak had been dead asleep when he was woken by a fierce kick.

      ‘Get up, damn you,’ snarled Otis. He looked red eyed and short of sleep himself. ‘We’ve got to get rid of these brats before we take on any more. Get ’em up.’

      Meshak got the children up, snivelling and sniffing with anxiety, afraid of what was going to happen to them. He took them into the yard. Otis had already got the mule harnessed up to the wagon. ‘Get ’em inside,’ he snarled.

      Meshak bundled them in and Jester too, then went over to the pump to drink and splash his face. As he did, Mrs Peebles and Mrs Lynch passed each other in the yard.

      ‘What the deuce was all that about in the lane last night? It was you, wasn’t it?’ he heard Mrs Lynch say. ‘Out there in the lane last night?’

      Mrs Peebles stopped short, looked hard at Mrs Lynch, paused for a split second and said without batting an eyelid: ‘Not me, dearie. I was tucked up and dead to the world all night.’

      Meshak saw that brief pause and thought, She’s lying, I wonder why?

      Mrs Lynch saw it too, but decided she would bide her time. If there was anything important to learn, she would find it out.

       Chapter Three Meshak’s Angel

      ‘Come on!’ roared Otis, and flicked his whip across Meshak’s back to hurry him up. Meshak clambered into the wagon and they rumbled out into the street, heading for the dockside.

      Down at the docks, Otis found a press gang and, for a fee, handed the three older boys over to the navy. What a palaver that was. One of the little ones – a younger sister – had screamed and clung to her brother, and would not be prised off until Otis struck her such a blow, she had fallen unconscious. As Meshak carried her away, he could hear the boys hollering and fighting and kicking, and they had to be carted off and tossed down a ship’s hold to cool off. They would be well down river now, heading out to sea and then North Africa.

      Otis came back, grumbling and snarling. Meshak knew to stay well out of arm’s length when his father was in this mood. If it weren’t for the fact that there was money to be earned in this area, Otis wouldn’t have touched snivelling brats with a barge pole. But there was money – much money – especially if he could tap into those wealthy families who would pay any amount to protect their respectability. Having dealt with the older boys, there were the little ones to see to. Once more the wagon rolled on, this time into the city. Mrs Peebles had told him of a weaver and a milliner both requiring small children to work for them.

      Later, Meshak wandered away from the docks among the pedlars and traders, often pausing wide-eyed to gawp at a street entertainer, a dancing bear or a tinker juggling with a dozen plates while yelling out his prices. He headed for the cathedral and at last arrived at the south door. He picked his way through the hordes of homeless children who congregated at evening, like the starlings, to look for the most sheltered niche into which they could huddle for the night.

      It was a late rehearsal after evensong. Boys’ voices drifted through the deep shadows among the massive stone pillars and pinnacles