Page 10 of The Housebreaker's Assistant
“Then we should see to them,” Penny said, removing his jacket and reaching for the sack.
Helen moved back to her dolls and flopped down to sit with them. By outward appearances, she was a woman well into her twenties and older than Penny, but one look at her was enough for anyone to know she was different. Her body was stocky and her face had a strange fullness to it with small eyes and a large jaw. She was beautiful to Penny in every way, but there was no denying she had the mind of a child.
Penny took a seat on the floor with her, taking the food he’d brought out and placing it on the bit of linen on the floor where the imaginary tea party was taking place.
“An apple!” Helen cried out joyfully, picking one up as if it were a mythological prize. “My favorite.”
“I know they are, love,” Penny said, brushing a hand around her face. “I brought them just for you.”
“Thank you, sir,” Helen said with her cherubic smile, just the way he’d taught her to address anyone who wanted to help her.
If only he could have helped her more himself.
“And what did you do today?” he asked as he helped himself to some of the bread and cheese.
“Tea party,” Helen said, turning the apple over in her hands before taking a bite. She hummed happily as she chewed, but her smile faded quickly. “Mrs. Hunt gave me a bath.”
“I thought you looked as fresh as a daisy,” Penny said cheerily, reaching over to brush the back of his fingers across her cheek. Helen hated bathing and it was probably more trouble than Mrs. Hunt wanted to go through. The woman was cold, but at least she cared for Helen the way Penny paid her to, though she only did the bare minimum.
“Then I stuffed,” Helen went on.
“Oh, I see.”
Mrs. Hunt might have taken care of Helen, but she was also constantly searching for profitable tasks she could coax Helen into doing that lined her own pockets even more. She’d recently discovered Helen was able to follow instructions to stuff cushions and bedding for the side business of selling old as new Mrs. Hunt had concocted.
“I don’t like it,” Helen said, dropping her shoulders.
“I know you don’t, love,” Penny said, reaching across to ruffle her hair. “But we all have to earn our daily bread.”
“Give us this day our daily bread,” Helen said in a loud, strong voice. She knew the Lord’s Prayer by heart and could sometimes earn a few coins from toffs on the street by praying for them.
Though Penny hated putting his sister out on display like that. And Helen didn’t like being out on the noisy, crowded streets for very long at any rate.
“That’s right,” Penny said, eating a chunk of cheese, then standing to head to the corner to check whether they had enough water for him to wash. “And if we keep earning our pennies, we’ll have enough to move to the countryside soon.”
“Penny!” Helen said, lighting up at what she mistook for his name.
“That’s right, love,” Penny said, starting to unbutton his shirt after seeing there was enough water. “And this Penny loves you.”
“I love you, too, brother,” Helen said, beaming at him.
Penny blew her a kiss, then ducked behind the screen to remove the rest of his clothes so he could wash. “Finish up your supper, now,” he called as he dunked the sponge into the water and brought it around to his backside with a wince. “Penny has to go out again to find more bread tonight, but I’ll tell you a story before I go.”
“I love stories,” Helen said excitedly.
In so many ways, the life Penny shared with his sister was so simple and pure. Helen didn’t have a care in the world apart from a little occasional labor set for her by Mrs. Hunt. At least, she didn’t have cares that she was aware of.
In truth, her position was so precarious that it kept Penny up at night. He was serious when he told her he wanted to take her out to the countryside someday. He’d heard about farms where people like Helen were kept, safe and happy, and where they were treated with dignity and respect. Part of him was certain those farms were complete fabrications and that the only place sweet souls like his sister were gathered together under one roof were asylums. But if there was even a slight possibility someplace more beautiful existed, and if he could raise the blunt to pay Helen’s way there, he would.
As soon as he was washed and dressed in a clean shirt and drawers, with his usual trousers and waistcoat back on, he finished up his supper with Helen, then helped her to wash her face and tucked her into bed. The story he told was the same as always, an adventurous tale about a daring pickpocket on the streets of London who thwarted the cruel gentlemen and gave his earnings to pretty young maids who needed help.
Helen loved his stories, and thankfully, she fell asleep quickly after the tale was done. Penny stood from where he’d sat onthe bed with her, brushed a hand over her thin hair, and sighed heavily, choking back tears, as he turned to leave her again.
“Someday,” he said in a whisper. Someday they would be safe, they would have a home.
He avoided Mrs. Hunt and the other tenants on his way out of the house, then hugged himself tightly as he hurried back to the heart of Whitechapel, where he would likely be able to pick a pocket or two before midnight, then fence his stolen goods quickly and be home for a few hours’ sleep before dawn.
He’d only just taken up his usual position observing the crossroads between They Oyster and The Huntsman before none other than Greer O’Toole walked up and then leaned against the wall beside him.
