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The year was 1889, and the full oppression of late summer had descended upon London as a fever to a patient by the time Quillsh Wammy climbed down from his train at precisely 7:15 in the evening. He was no stranger to London, having grown up here five decades ago. But Quillsh now lived in Yorkshire, a day’s train ride to the north, as a butler in the service of a wealthy landowner and minor noble. It was always bittersweet coming back here, as he often did to meet with the various barristers conducting the matters of his master’s estate, for London grew larger and busier at each visit and barely resembled the city of his youth. But then he would see the familiar, seemingly eternal landmarks or walk a well-known street, and he was right back in the pith of memory of this hard and glorious city.
The station was hectic and Quillsh didn’t loiter long, heading straight for the hansom cabs lining the cobblestone streets beyond. He opened his umbrella in response to the light rain and waved at one, “Taking a fare, sir?”
“Aye, where to?”
Quillsh handed him the card to the hotel in Aldgate, close to the barrister’s office he had business with. “18 Minories Street.”
The driver took a look at the card and nodded before handing it back between gloved fingers. “Eh, rather close to Whitechapel, that is. Best be staying indoors at night.”
Quillsh stopped as he was about to enter the carriage, giving the driver a curious look beneath his umbrella. Dryly, “And why, pray tell, is that?”
Shocked, the driver turned around, “Ain’t ye heard of the murders in the East End?“
“Is this some bogeyman?” Quillsh hadn’t been up to London in over a year, news about London’s current events hadn’t reached their village. Ghost stories and tall tales were nothing new in London, though.
“No sir! There’s a prowler, a murderer, and he’s very real. Started last summer and all o’ London’s still on edge. Fancy you can find news or gossip enough about it where you’ll be at. So close and all to where they found the–.”
“I’m sure I’ll manage, thank you.” Quillsh frowned as he climbed inside the carriage and shut the door, sighing with relief with the driver snapped the reins to signal the horses. He wasn’t in the mood for idle gossip about mysterious criminals. He was only here to settle some matters with his employer’s recently deceased wife’s estate. That, and get his watch repaired.
—
“Are you gonna pinch his watch or not, runt? Better decide quick, he’s coming!”
Benjamin’s harsh whisper crawled across Lawliet’s skin like a gutter rat, but the younger orphan knew he had to do it if he wanted to sleep in the warm safety of the hideout tonight. If you ‘found’ no treasures, you got no pallet on the floor; that was the rule he’d learned the very first night in the pickpocket’s den. Lawliet kept his eyes on his fingers tapping together, not meeting the older boy’s challenging gaze even when lightly shoved. “Mmmhmm,” he answered in the affirmative, all the response Benjamin would get. Speaking only caused trouble, and he had nothing to say to them. It was better to let them think he was a dumb mute, devoid of emotion or expression, who could do this one thing very very well. Steal. The truth was that Lawliet, instead of possessing too little feeling, possessed rather too much but rarely knew what to do with it. Ever since his mother had passed away—liar, HE killed her– he’d been on his own, and only ever been ill-used by adults, children, the system, who all found him odd and ugly and not very loveable at all.
Lawliet folded his thin body into a crouch, making himself as small as possible in the alleyway the rich-looking gentleman was about to walk past. It was nighttime in Whitechapel and half the gas lamps in this part of town weren’t even lit, which meant no one would loiter unless they were up to no good– not when the Ripper might still be lurking. Lurking, lurking. Lawliet brought his restless fingers to his mouth, sucking the tips and rocking anxiously with the thought, what if it’s HIM coming down the street, the Ripper, the one who killed my…
“Aye! Look alive!” Benjamin nudged Lawliet in the leg before scrambling further into the darkness of the alley with the other ragged urchins. There were six of them tonight; Toors encouraged them to go out in groups since last summer when people started turning up dead and in pieces. Lawliet preferred working alone during the day, but stuck close to the others at night.
All the eyes of the children were on him, but Lawliet closed his own, focusing only the clip clip clip of expensive shoes on wet cobblestones, measuring out the speed and direction of each step in his mind until they were right next to him. He opened his eyes and held out two pale, pinched fingers which dipped swiftly into the waistcoat of the man as he passed, with no more force than a rustle of the night wind. One deft flick of his wrist and the watch chain released, Lawliet pulling his hand back silently as the man walked on, none the wiser he’d just been robbed.
The back of the alley filled with disembodied titters and appreciative murmurs as the lamplight hit the shiny watch Lawliet dangled from a long chain, compelling the children from the shadows. Benjamin clambered closer, peeking down the street before grinning at the loot, “Oi runt, that looks like gold! Give’r here!”
Benjamin tried to make a swipe for the watch but Lawliet rolled beneath his arms and to the side out of reach, snapping the watch into his hand and glaring up at him with wide, feral eyes. Mine. He’d fight if he had to. He’d had to before, and won, although not against kids as big as Benjamin. But even if Lawliet didn’t look particularly strong, he was wiry and quick, and knew just where to hit where it hurt.
“I just wanted a look-see, no need to get yer hackles up!” Benjamin rolled his eyes while the other children laughed, but they couldn’t blame the younger boy for being protective. They all knew the difference between coming back to Toors empty-handed and with something made of gold.
One piped up, “He knows better than that, Benj! You’ll be tellin’ Toors it was you that swiped it!” Benjamin was the oldest among them, sixteen and nearly too old to be considered a part of their ‘kid’ pickpocket gang anymore. He’d been Toors’ best thief, his favored protege. That is, until Lawliet joined them a few months ago after he’d run away from the orphans’ workhouse. They’d all been baffled when Toors had brought home the thin, pale boy with inky hair who was mute or refused to speak. He could hear and understand speech perfectly well, and throw a fierce kick, and found that out the hard way. The other children had quickly come to realize that beyond his odd habits like crouching in the corner or barely sleeping, he was quite intelligent and somehow naturally better at the only thing that mattered to Toors, stealing.
Benjamin backed away from Lawliet, holding his hands up in a gesture of truce, but his smile was less than friendly. “Alright then, keep yer bloody treasure and give it to Toors like a good dog.” He brought his fingers to his lips and whistled, the other children huddling around him at the signal. Eyes still on Lawliet, “Race you all back to the nest!” With that, he turned on his heel and ran fast into the darkness of the alley, the other four urchins close on his heels, leaving Lawliet alone crouched in the alley.
Lawliet stood up abruptly, eyes going wide and a soft choked noise bubbling in the back of his throat as he was left by himself. They KNOW I can’t run as fast as they can. I can’t keep up. Fear and anger blossomed inside him as he realized he’d have to make his way back to the nest by himself tonight. In the dark, with HIM still out there…Unfortunately, Lawliet couldn’t brood for long before he was yanked into the gaslit street by his shirt collar. He yelped loudly, thrashing around against his unseen captor in a panic.
“Now see here!” Quillsh huffed as he tried to grasp at the loose, ragged clothing the dirty urchin was wearing as it got more and more tangled with the child’s flailing. “I’m–I’m not going to hurt you! I just want to ask you if—OW!” He sucked in a breath as the child’s teeth tried to sink into his arm, stopped only by the fabric of his suit. Feral little thing!
“Young sir, I’m afraid I must request you return my watch.” Quillsh had only made it a couple of blocks before reaching into his waistcoat to check the time, quickly realizing that his watch simply wasn’t there. He’d retraced his steps back to an alley where he’d heard the tittering voices of children and knew he’d been robbed. But by the time he’d stepped into the darkness, only the one tiny thief remained to be questioned. Surely this boy, no more than seven or eight, couldn’t have been the one? “That watch has…” He grunted as the child kicked him in the shin, shifting to get a better grip. “…great sentimental value to me. It was passed to me from my father.” He’d actually just been coming back from retrieving his watch from being repaired at a jeweler’s shop close to his lodgings.
He finally got the struggling child to calm down when he pulled a wrapped piece of taffy from his pocket and held it in plain view. “I only wish for the return of what’s mine. Will you tell me who took it?” The child’s eyes didn’t leave the taffy and he craned his neck towards it. “No, first you tell me, then you may have the candy. Even a decent meal and your own room for the night if you’re quick about it.” In truth, he was a soft-hearted fool and it pained him to see one so young on the streets, reduced to thieving to survive. And Quillsh himself had not been in such different circumstances in his youth, and could rustily commiserate with the feeling of need, hunger.
Lawliet hung his head, staring down at his shoes. He knew he’d done wrong, was doing wrong every time he stole. But he couldn’t find it in himself to care very much, especially when they were rich and he was so very poor. I want that candy. And a meal and a room. It had been months since he’d slept anywhere but on the floor, and Toors had them steal or scavenge their own ‘food.’ It was part of the reason Lawliet had barely grown; not that the workhouse had fed him much better. He knew he looked far younger than his actual age of 12. His eyes flicked up to the gentleman holding him, considering grimly but logically whether this was the Ripper. No, the Ripper wouldn’t be bargaining for a watch. He’d just snatch what he wanted and go; or back me into the alley and attack me in the darkness, not out here in full view.
“Hmm? What do you say? I can give you money for the food and lodgings tonight. Does that sound fair?” Quillsh looked harder at the child, noticing dark circles under his eyes and a near-skeletal frame, bruises in various stages of healing dotting his pale skin. This poor boy…
Lawliet took advantage of the moment Quillsh was distracted to wriggle free, stepping back a few paces but stopping to watch the older man while nibbling his thumb. He held out his hand, looking from it to the gentleman while pulling the watch from his pocket and dangling it by the chain in the streetlight. I want that candy.
“I see.” Quillsh knew it was just as likely that he’d be robbed twice, but he wanted to believe that this child knew something of fair play, even if that was a lofty hope. He’d have to trust. He swallowed hard and brought out a gold sovereign, along with the hotel card of where he was staying. Taking a slow step forward, he placed the coin and the card into the boy’s outstretched palm, which snapped shut like a trap. “This lodging house will not turn you away. I am staying there and can speak for you.” Standing tall but not advancing, “I held up my side of the bargain, sir.” He held out his own hand now. “My watch.”
Lawliet sighed as he pocketed the coin and card, looking down at the heavy watch and opening the front panel with a mash of his thumb on the top bezel. Inside the panel read:
Fortes fortuna adiuvat.
Lawliet tilted his head as he puzzled over it, wondering what language it was as a fingertip traced over the calligraphic script. I wish I knew every language in the world.
Quillsh chuckled, taking a slow step forward to close the gap between them. “It’s Latin. ‘Fortune favors the bold.’ My father gave it to me when I…decided to become a soldier, long ago. That life is well behind me now.” How young and foolish I was. Quietly, “He’s gone now, so do you see why this watch means something to me?”
Lawliet knew that the watch was worth more than a gold sovereign, which was certainly quite valuable too. He also knew that Benjamin and the other kids would probably have already snitched to Toors what he’d swiped tonight, and going back without the watch would appear odd at best and merit him punishment at worst. There would be no hot meal, no soft bed at a lodging house for him tonight. I have to give something to Toors, or I’m done for. It should be the watch. But Lawliet found himself closing the front panel of the watch carefully and placing it into the gentleman’s hand before scampering off into the night.
——
Quillsh hadn’t expected to see the young boy who’d stolen his watch again, but the following morning he caught the child following him as he left his lodging house. He pretended not to notice as he headed for an outdoor cafe for breakfast. It was only when the waiter became alarmed as the young boy crouched closer and closer, trying to shoo him away with a broom, that Quillsh finally broke his silence. “Stop that at once and set another plate for my guest.” The shocked look on the waiter’s face was only trumped by that on the boy’s.
Lawliet tried to slink away, he was supposed to be picking pockets this morning anyway after getting a firm scolding for the missing watch. But he stopped in his tracks as he saw the honey and pastries on the table, along with strawberries and cream. His mouth watered, innocent childish hunger pulling him to climb up into the overstuffed chair at the table.
“Very good.” Quillsh buttered a piece of toast and slathered it with strawberry jam, then handed it to the child who devoured it messily, ravenously. “We were never properly introduced last night. I am Quillsh Wammy. And you are?”
Lawliet squeaked with delight as his taste buds were overwhelmed with the sugary, buttery toast and he reached for the whole pot of strawberry preserves when the toast was gone. The question hung in the air but Lawliet pretended he hadn’t heard it, pointing with sticky fingers until the pot was passed with an indulgent smile from Quillsh.
So began a new ritual over the next seven days. Quillsh left his hotel in the early hours for breakfast, was furtively followed and then joined for his meal by the mysterious child before he ran away, only to appear the following day. During their breakfasts, Quillsh could at least be sure that the unfortunate child was getting one decent meal (and pretended not to notice when the boy took sugar lumps or stashed pastries). He looked forward to seeing the small, near-ghostly face each morning, and took delight in small inchings towards trust and the tiny, shy smiles when the boy ate something he liked. Quillsh did all of the talking, telling him about the rolling green moors of Yorkshire, of the household that he served, of the other people and children there. Explained what life was like in the country, the kinds of things he would do in his job, what it was like to take a long ride on a train.
Lawliet would listen intently even if it didn’t seem like he was doing much other than stacking (and eating) cubed sugar or making swirls with his fingertips in the strawberries and cream. Over the week, Quillsh brought small items like candy or fruit, a pair of socks, a book. Each gift was looked upon suspiciously before being greedily pocketed, usually hidden well.
At the end of the week, Quillsh had gotten a letter summoning him back to Yorkshire if his business had been concluded. Since it had, Quillsh had no more reason to tarry in London; that is, no more reason than the grimy child crouched in the chair beside him. It felt wrong to leave him here in the streets, for Quillsh knew quite well all the horrors that could befall a child living so rough. Looking across the table now, he forced himself not to let his gaze linger on the fresh bruises, instead opening his satchel and taking out a new coat he’d purchased, guessing the child’s size. The London nights were cold and would be colder soon, and the thin white shirt and patched breeches the child wore wouldn’t keep out the winds.
“I hope…you won’t mind that I took the liberty.” Quillsh held up the coat, patiently waiting for the child to lick butter off his fingers, wipe them on his pants, and reach out hesitantly to touch the soft fabric. Quillsh smiled when the child didn’t take it, just kept caressing it with a bewildered expression. “It’s for you, young sir. Would you like to try it on?”
Lawliet nodded, snatching the coat happily and shrugging it on. Despite Quillsh’s best attempts to get the sizing right it still swallowed his small frame, but Lawliet didn’t mind, he simply snuggled down into it, peeking over the collar with a giggle. And a word popped out before he could stop it, “warm,” before he stuck his finger in his mouth to prevent anything more from coming out.
Quillsh sat back, smiling at the very first evidence of speech from the child. It was just a statement of fact but ‘thank you’ was written all over that small face. His only wish then was that the word had been what he should call the child, but he’d be grateful for this little victory. He waited a moment as the boy rummaged in all the pockets, examining the stitches and seams and buttons before finally voicing what he had to say. “It pains me to say this but….I have to return to Yorkshire tomorrow morning. This will be our last breakfast together.” He adjusted his glasses somberly, feeling very melancholy as he watched those small shoulders deflate, the matted black head shake back and forth like ‘no’ once.
Lawliet wasn’t surprised, but he was deeply disappointed. Adults always did this didn’t they? Use kindness and care to get you to trust them, like them, and then leave. He didn’t know which was worse– the nice adults that left or the ones like Toors, rotten to the core but at least predictably so, who stuck around.
Quillsh wasn’t done. He’d given this a lot of thought and finally decided. I can’t leave him here. He couldn’t save every orphan in poverty in London, but maybe he could help this one. “I know that….someone is hurting you. The way you live, it’s no way for a child to grow up.” Quillsh knew it would merit a lot of explanation to his employer, but there was just no way he could walk away. The household he worked for wouldn’t have to do anything; he’d care and raise the child himself and not be a burden. “I’ve told you about Yorkshire, what it’s like where I live. I won’t ask you to make a decision now, but….if you’d like to come and live with me there–” He stopped a moment as he heard a small surprised noise from within the billowy coat. “–then meet me at King’s Cross station by 7 am tomorrow.”
Lawliet stared at the older gentleman he’d only known a week, feeling tears prickling the backs of his eyes. He couldn’t help but daydream about what it would be like to live in a manor estate, away from the coal-dusted air, from having to steal for Toors, from the filthy streets. Aren’t I a part of that filth? No, he’d just get tired of me, throw me away. I’m too different, too difficult, too… Lawliet jumped up from the cafe chair and without a backward glance, dashed into the morning crowds, darting his way through the throngs of people to an alley far from the kind eyes of Quillsh Wammy. He slumped down next to the garbage heaped there, pulled his knees tight to his chest, and cried. I can’t have that. Forget about him!
——
The train whistle blew a long gust of sound and steam, and Quillsh checked his watch yet again. 6:59. He stared down at it with a frown as it ticked to 7 am proper, the toll of Big Ben starting to peal across London to signal the hour. That’s it then. He snapped his watch shut and put it into his pocket, noticing with alarm that his coin purse was gone! “Of all the bad luck–” He looked around sharply as he felt a tiny hand slip into his, or more precisely, wrap around his thumb to hold it tightly.
An enormous grin spread across his face, and he went to one knee to be face-to-face with the child, who was holding out his coin purse with a little smirk. “Does this mean that young sir has decided to come to Yorkshire?” He took back the purse and put it in his satchel this time. He’s quite ingenious and resourceful. I’ll have to keep an eye on that. “Are you quite sure you understand that means we’ll be going far away and that life may be very different?”
Lawliet nodded quickly, pointing into the satchel when he caught a glimpse of a bag of colorful hard candy.
Quillsh chuckled as he reached for the candy and gave it to the boy. “These were supposed to be for the train ride, but I suppose there’s no harm in having some now.” The train conductor was encouraging any stragglers to board the train, and Quillsh stood up, smiling down at the child as they made they way across the platform to the train. He handed two tickets to the train attendant and when they were seated in the first-class car, he spoke kindly, “I really must have something to call you. Won’t you tell me?”
Lawliet sucked on the sweet and sour candy, staring around at the train’s interior like he’d been swallowed by a fantastical, mechanical dragon. It was painfully embarrassing but he didn’t know his first name, only his last. His mother had never completed his naming in the birth papers that he was now pressing into Quillsh’s hand. The only possessions he’d brought were stuffed in the pockets of his new coat, and his birth papers along with a locket cameo of his mother were the only two things he had from his life before the workhouse. Everything else had been pilfered or lost in his transient, chaotic life.
Quillsh read over the details the crumpled papers, feeling another pang of sorrow for this unfortunate child who he now realized was 12 years old versus his guess of much younger. L– Lawliet. Mother: Mary Nichols. Father: _____ It was puzzling. The father’s name had been violently scratched out, over and over again until the paper had frayed beneath the scribble. “L? That’s not a proper name, really. I can’t very well just call you that, can I?”
Lawliet huffed in his crouch on the train seat, shrugging his shoulders. ‘L’ seemed as good as anything else, and he’d come to internalize it after looking at those papers so many times.
Quillsh smiled good-naturedly, folding up the papers and handing them back to the child. “In that case, I shall simply call you Mr. Lawliet. How does that suit you?”
The train’s whistle sounded again as they started to move, pulling out of the station as friends and family of the passengers waved and shouted goodbyes. Lawliet watched them, all these strangers, some of which he’d probably robbed. A few he definitely had, before he’d managed to work up the courage to approach Quillsh, and his pockets were filled with their valuables. Toors isn’t there. HE’S not there. No one is coming for you. He scooted closer to Quillsh, nodding in response to the question as more distance was put between them and the monsters of London. Mr. Lawliet suited him. It suited him just fine.
“There will be many new experiences and people you’ll meet, but I’ll be there if you feel afraid.” Quillsh watched out the window too, seeing Lawliet’s reflected smile in the glass in response to his words. The child was lazily tracing letters on the pane with a slender finger, and Quillsh had to watch for a while to figure out what was being written, when it suddenly clicked.
Fortes fortuna adiuvat.
Fortune favors the bold.