Olivia Twist ~ The True Story

By Susan Brown

Once again my thanks go to Kristina LS for knocking this into shape

I stood in front of the imposing old house just looking for a moment, then walked up the steps, inserted the key and twisted. The door creaking as I gently pushed, it had not been opened for some time.

I remembered as a child, visiting my grandparents on occasion before they moved to the West Indies for their health. They had never been back to England and had both died within a month of each other.

As sole beneficiary in their will (I was an only child whose parents had died in a car accident several years ago), I now owned the old pile. I planned to sell the place as it was too expensive to keep and needed a lot of restoration that I could not afford.

By the way, I am Susan Brown, a single schoolteacher on my Easter Holidays. I intended to stay in the old house for a few days to sort out my grandparents belongings prior to the auction.

As I walked about I realized that the old place needed cleaning up quite a bit before potential buyers started wandering through. there was dust and cobwebs everywhere. I found a directory then got on my mobile and arranged for some cleaners to come in the next day to give it a good spring clean.

After a good look around I decided I would stay the night in a local hotel.

I shut the creaking door, got in my car and drove off.

The next morning, I was at the house early as the team of cleaners arrived. It was a bit expensive to use their services, but I hoped that the additional costs would be taken care of by the increased value of a clean rather than a dusty and dirty property.

By the end of the day, the cleaners had gone and I was sitting in the now spotless library, eating a take away pizza and a nice bottle of cabernet sauvignon. Just a little tired and dirty myself, I had managed to sort out most of my grand parents’ personal effects and I had a small pile of papers, books, old photos and other stuff that I intended to keep for myself. The rest of the furniture and other bric-a-brac would be sold with the house.

I was quite pleased with the progress that had been made in such a short time, but I was also sad that my grand parents were gone and that I was surrounded with reminders of the past and a time when the house was full of life. My father had been born in this house and my mother had given birth to me here too. Not out of any sense of wanting a home birth, but because I evidently came out too quickly!

After drinking a second glass, I got up out of the thick, deep leather armchair intending to go back to my hotel and promptly felt a bit giddy.

I really should not have had that second glass. I decided to call for a taxi to take me back to the hotel. The phone had been cut off so I tried my mobile.

‘Damn, it’s dead!’

Of course I had been clever enough to leave the charger in my hotel room and my in car kit had been on the blink for some time. I was miles away from anywhere and I didn’t fancy a walk in the dark. Luckily, I had arranged to have the electricity switched on prior to my coming so that I could use the Hoover and lights.

I went into the kitchen, turned on the lights and went over to my small box of provisions on the kitchen table.

There was coffee, milk, biscuits and a couple of packets of crisps. I decided to make the best of it and stay the night.

Luckily, as it was summer, it was quite warm and the house didn’t need any heating so I made myself some coffee and went back into the library. The shelves were stacked with books and I had arranged for a dealer to come and value them the following day. I went over to one of the bookcases to see if I could find anything to read.

The shelves held mostly textbooks to do with medical or legal things. My grandfather had been a lawyer and grandmother a doctor. There were a few fiction books but nothing to my taste. As I walked back to the old leather armchair, my eye caught a very large, leather bound book on the top shelf of the bookcase over by the window. I was intrigued, so I stood on a wooden chair and reached for it.

The book was heavy with a brass lock on it. I had a bit of a struggle to get down off the chair with it in my arms, but I managed somehow.

To my surprise, taped on the front of the book was a letter addressed to me. It said:

For Susan Brown or her heirs.

Intrigued, I opened the envelope.

Inside was another sealed envelope, a key and a letter.

The letter read:

Dear Susan,

If you are reading this, both your Grandmother and I are no longer with you.

We should have handed this book to our solicitor, but old Jenkins had died and I do not trust his son so much. Anyway, we knew that after our passing, you would be our executor and we trusted in God that He would make sure that you would have this book.

Read the book and then open the envelope.

Please know, Susan that we love you dearly and are looking down at you from a far better place.

Have a lovely, happy life and try to find a man that deserves you.

All our love

Nan and Granddad.

I put the letter down, to find to my surprise that I had tears streaming down my face.

It took a little while for me to get myself together again, the light had faded and it was quite dark by now. I drew the curtains, turned on the lights and settled down in the armchair with the book on my lap.

The key from the envelope fitted the lock on the book. I turned the key and the lock sprung open with a small squeak. With a hint of anticipation and a pinch of trepidation I opened the book.

Inside, it had been hollowed out and in the space created, was another smaller book.

On the cover ,in spidery writing were the words:

My life and times.

By

Oliver Twist

I looked at the book fascinated, could this be an original handwritten manuscript of the Dickens classic?

Very carefully, not wanting to damage it in any way I opened the cover. It was in very good condition and had obviously been well looked after. The pages were fresh and clean and the handwriting had not faded in any way.

I looked at the first page and eagerly started to read……………………….

My life and times.

By

Oliver Twist

Prologue.

Among other public buildings in a certain town, which for many reasons it will be prudent to refrain from mentioning, and to which I will assign no fictitious name, there is one; anciently common to most towns, great or small: to wit, a workhouse; and in this workhouse was born; on a day and date which I need not trouble myself to repeat, inasmuch as it can be of no possible consequence to the reader, in this stage of the business at all events; the item of mortality whose name is prefixed to the head of this chapter.

For a long time after it was ushered into this world of sorrow and trouble, by the parish surgeon, it remained a matter of considerable doubt whether the child would survive to bear any name at all; in which case it is somewhat more than probable that these memoirs would never have appeared; or, if they had, that being comprised within a couple of pages, they would have possessed the inestimable merit of being the most concise and faithful specimen of biography, extant in the literature of any age or country.

Although I am not disposed to maintain that (the) being born in a workhouse, is in itself the most fortunate and enviable circumstance that can possibly befall a human being, I do mean to say that in this particular instance, it was the best thing for Oliver Twist that could by possibility have occurred. The fact is, that there was considerable difficulty in inducing Oliver to take upon himself the office of respiration,- a troublesome practice, but one which custom has rendered necessary to our easy existence; and for some time he lay gasping on a little flock mattress, rather unequally poised between this world and the next: the balance being decidedly in favour of the latter. Now, if, during this brief period, Oliver had been surrounded by careful grandmothers, anxious aunts, experienced nurses, and doctors of profound wisdom, he would most inevitably and indubitably have been killed in no time. There being nobody, however, but a pauper old woman, who was rendered rather misty by an unwonted allowance of beer; and a parish surgeon who did such matters by contract; Oliver and Nature fought out the point between them.

The result was, that, after a few struggles, Oliver breathed, sneezed, and proceeded to advertise to the inmates of the workhouse the fact of a new burden having been imposed upon the parish, by setting up as loud a cry as could reasonably have been expected from a male infant who had not been possessed of that very useful appendage, a voice, for a much longer space of time than three minutes and a quarter.

As Oliver gave this first proof of the free and proper action of his lungs, the patchwork coverlet, which was carelessly flung over the iron bedstead, rustled; the pale face of a young woman was raised feebly from the pillow; and a faint voice imperfectly articulated the words, "Let me see the child, and die."

The surgeon had been sitting with his face turned towards the fire: giving the palms of his hands a warm and a rub alternately. As the young woman spoke, he rose, and advancing to the bed's head, said, with more kindness than might have been expected of him:

"Oh, you must not talk about dying yet."

"Lor bless her heart, no!" interposed the nurse, hastily depositing in her pocket a green glass bottle, the contents of which she had been tasting in a corner with evident satisfaction. "Lor bless her dear heart, when she has lived as long as I have, sir, and had thirteen children of her own, and all on 'em dead except two, and them in the wurkus with me, she'll know better than to take on in that way, bless her dear heart! Think what it is to be a mother, there's a dear young lamb, do."

Apparently this consolatory perspective of a mother's prospects failed in producing its due effect. The patient shook her head, and stretched out her hand towards the child.

The surgeon deposited it in her arms. She imprinted her cold white lips passionately on its forehead; passed her hands over her face; gazed wildly round; shuddered; fell back- and died. They chafed her breast, hands, and temples; but the blood had stopped forever. They talked of hope and comfort. They had been strangers too long.

"It's all over, Mrs. Thingummy!" said the surgeon at last.

"Ah, poor dear, so it is!" said the nurse, picking up the cork of the green bottle, which had fallen out on the pillow, as she stooped to take up the child. "Poor dear!"

"You needn't mind sending up to me, if the child cries, nurse," said the surgeon, putting on his gloves with great deliberation. "It's very likely it will be troublesome. Give it a little gruel if it is." He put on his hat, and, pausing by the bed-side on his way to the door, added, "She was a good-looking girl, too; where did she come from?"

"She was brought here last night," replied the old woman, "by the overseer's order. She was found lying in the street. She had walked some distance, for her shoes were worn to pieces; but where she came from, or where she was going to, nobody knows."

The surgeon leaned over the body, and raised the left hand. "The old story," he said, shaking his head: "no wedding ring, I see. Ah! Good night!"

The medical gentleman walked away to dinner; and the nurse, having once more applied herself to the green bottle, sat down on a low chair before the fire, and proceeded to dress the infant.

What an excellent example of the power of dress, young Oliver Twist was! Wrapped in the blanket which had hitherto formed his only covering, he might have been the child of a nobleman or a beggar; it would have been hard for the haughtiest stranger to have assigned him his proper station in society. But now that he was enveloped in the old calico robes which had grown yellow in the same service, he was badged and ticketed, and fell into his place at once- a parish child- the orphan of a workhouse- the humble, half-starved drudge- to be cuffed and buffeted through the world- despised by all, and pitied by none.

Oliver cried lustily. If he could have known that he was an orphan, left to the tender mercies of churchwardens and overseers, perhaps he would have cried the louder.

So wrote Mr Charles Dickens regarding the birth of a child into a world lacking in love and feelings.
However, although the circumstances of the birth of that unfortunate child were, in large part, true. Much of the subsequent history written by the worthy Mr. Dickens regarding the life and times of the boy known as Oliver Twist was not.

Many of the facts were altered to fit in with the strict morality of the time and certain aspects were changed and omitted. For example, there was no brother of Oliver, known as Monks.
I know all this for a fact, as I am Oliver Twist. I realize that this journal will not be read by anyone in my lifetime, but I hope that in setting down my true story in print, some good may come of it in the years to come long after I shuffle off this mortal coil.

1

My early life was much like that illustrated by Mr Dickens fine words.

Life was very harsh in the branch workhouse. I was a thin and scrawny child, much like the twenty-three other undernourished souls in that God forsaken place. The food on the table was not fit for pigs, let alone poor, weak children such as we. Mrs. Mann, the matron of the workhouse made sure that we were not over fed, over loved or kept very clean. Mr. Bumble, the Parish Beadle occasionally came to lord over us and tell us to be good and how lucky we were to have the ‘kind’ Mrs. Mann look after us like a mother.

So much for my early life.

When I became nine years of age, Mr. Bumble duly collected me and took me to the main workhouse. If I thought that life under Mrs. Mann was harsh, things got a lot worse under the tender mercies of Mrs. Corney.

We slept on the floor, our beds nothing but mouldy hay. All day we picked oakum. We were fed on scraps that seemed to get less and less as each day passed. I was at the workhouse for six months before there was a feeling of rebellion amongst the inmates of that terrible place.

It was decided that one of us must ask for more food. The general feeling was that it was obvious that the board were not aware that after eating the meagre fare, we were still so very hungry.

You must understand that at the tender age of nine. I was underweight, malnourished, weak and constantly tired.

Do not think that I was alone in this pitiable state. All the children were in the same way.

Whilst the Board, matron and master managed to eat the finest of food, we poor orphans were fed gruel. For those who have not tasted gruel, it is a brown concoction made from boiling oats with water or milk. Needless to say our gruel was made with water.

Lots were made for the child to have the doubtful privilege of going up to the master and asking for more food.

Needless to say I won or should I say lost.

It seemed an eternity, that walk to the copper, where the stern master was just standing there, a puzzled look on his face as he saw this waif of a child coming towards him.

Eventually, I arrived and asked the question.

‘Please sir, I want some more.’

The fat master looked as if he was going to have a seizure and just said in faint voice, ‘What!’

‘Please sir, er, I want some more?’

This is where things got a trifle hazy as the Master hit me over the head with his ladle.

Whilst still in a daze, I was dragged off by the master and matron to see the board. I had evidently interrupted their dinner, so I supposed that I was not going to be let off leniently. The smell and the look of the sumptuous feast was almost too much for me. I stared at the food, oh so much food. More than I had ever seen in my short life. My parched mouth started to water. Perhaps they would take kindly to me, let me sit down and have a few morsels.

The fattest man, sitting at the centre looked at me with distaste as the master and Matron told them of my crime.

There were murmurs of outrage as the matron told the board of my sins.

I jumped as the fattest man shouted at me.

‘You disgusting, ungrateful boy, how dare you. You must be mad to want more. You are given a roof over your head, a job and good food. You repay our kindness with greed by asking for more. Very well, we have no use for a useless ungrateful wretch like you. Matron, he must be apprenticed out as soon as possible. Now get out.’

I was marched out and back into the hall, I was then summarily flogged and put into a room by myself.
Every day for a week, I was taken from that bare cell, for that is what it was, and taken into the hall to be flogged.

I was only given a token amount of food, as I think that they wanted to break my spirit. However, deep inside my tiny breast, I was angry and hurt and I would not give them the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

And so it was that the parish, in its wisdom, washed its hands of me and offered me for sale to anyone who would have such an ungrateful wretch, for the princely sum of five pounds.

The beadle took me in hand and I was taken about the parish none to gently I might add, in the hope, nay expectation that the parish would rid itself of this wretched boy.

I was nearly sold to a chimney sweep, but I begged with all humility not to go with him. I had heard of too many stories whereby young children suffocated or burned doing such work. Luckily, a kindly old magistrate refused to sign the indentures and I was spared such hardship.

Later, Mr. Sowerberry, an undertaker employed by the parish, took me into his service.

At first, he treated me very well, and, because I had what he called ‘a sorrowful countenance’ I was used as a "mute", or mourner, at children's funerals. Mrs Sowerberry, however, took an immediate dislike to me — primarily because her husband seemed to like me — and she lost few opportunities to underfeed and mistreat me. I was also severely disliked by Noah Claypole, a bullying and none-too-bright fellow apprentice, who was jealous of my promotion above him to mute.

One day, Mr Sowerberry called me into his office. I was rubbing my backside as Noah had just kicked it for no good reason.

‘What is wrong Oliver?’

‘Nothing sir.’

‘Hmm. Very well. Now sit down, I wish to speak with you.’

I dutifully sat down, wincing somewhat as I was in some pain from the kick.

‘Are you sure you are well, boy?’

‘Yes sir.’

If I had told on Noah, I would have more kicking’s. Something I wished to avoid, if possible.
Mr Sowerberry looked at me over half moon glasses.

‘Now Oliver, I have been very pleased with you as a mute. You set the correct tone when child funerals are performed. A few parents have remarked that you did them proud.’

‘Thank you sir.’

‘Now I have received a request from parents of a young girl who has died of consumption. The mother has requested a girl mute. You are small in stature, have soft features and are of an age and a height to fit the bill; we will use you as a girl mute. By the time Mrs Sowerberry has finished with you, you will look the part and the parents of the child will be none the wiser. Now go into the parlour where Mrs S is waiting with our daughter Charlotte to see what they can do with you.’

I was somewhat taken aback at what I had been told. Me, pretend to be a girl? It would never work. I was a boy and even at my tender age, I knew that boys and girls were different.

I slowly made my way to the parlour. I knew that Mrs Sowerberry did not like me and by the taunts that Charlotte had made of me, she thought little better.

‘Come in, come in what has kept you? Don’t dawdle.’

Mrs Sowerberry grabbed me by the arm and pulled me into the middle of the room.

‘Take all your clothes off, now and if you are not quick enough, you will feel my hand.’

I was embarrassed. Charlotte was looking on with a smirk on her face.

‘I do declare Mama that Oliver is shy. Look how red he is?’

‘He’ll look even redder if he is not quick.’

I took my clothes off as fast as I could and then stood shivering as naked as the day I was born.

‘Scrawny, isn’t he Mama?’

‘Yes, not much meat on his bones. Have you got those old clothes of yours?’

‘Yes, Mama.’

Charlotte handed a pile of clothes to her mother.

‘Step into these pantaloons, Oliver,’

I did as I was told. The pantaloons were fastened around my waist by a ribbon, bowed. They fell to just below my knee and a much softer material than I was used to.

‘Now stockings.’

With some help from a giggling Charlotte, the silk stockings were pulled up my legs and held in place by blue garters. The sensations of the stockings were indescribable.

‘Crinolines.’

Charlotte made me step into a hooped sort of skirt made from a stiff material.

‘Now the dress, he doesn’t need a corset, thank goodness. He’s skinny enough as it is.’

I raised my arms and the black satin dress was pulled over me and allowed to settle over my legs. The dress fell just below where the pantaloons were. It was strange being dressed like this. I looked down at myself and saw the sheen of the dress reflecting the candlelight. There were ribbons everywhere and it looked enchanting.

Was I wrong to have feelings like this? I was a boy and not a girl. The smooth fabric was miles away from what I was used to.

‘Where is the bonnet, Charlotte?’

‘Here, Mama.’

Mrs Sowerberry got a brush and brushed my hair back. As was the fashion then, boys’ hair was somewhat long and she pinned my hair up .

She then placed the black bonnet upon my head and fastened it with a ribbon under my chin.

I was put into some ankle boots and then it was finished.

‘Mr Sowerberry.’ shouted his wife.

Mr Sowerberry walked into the parlour and stopped dead.

‘My goodness, is that you Oliver?’

I nodded. The ribbon under my chin was tickling me and I nearly laughed but one look at a scowling Charlotte brought me back to reality.

‘Yes, I am sure it will work. What do you think, my dear?’

‘Yes he looks girlish enough. Now see here Oliver, this is a big funeral for us and if you mess it up or say anything to indicate that you are not a girl, I will flay you alive. Understand?’

I nodded, not daring to speak.

‘While you are on the job, you will be known as Olivia. Is that understood?

‘Yes maam.’

‘Take the clothes off carefully and I will put them away until they are needed.’

I took the clothes off as I was ordered to do. I was puzzled as I felt a sense of loss when I had undressed and put on my rough boys clothes again.

As I lay down in the narrow ledge that I called my bed, that night, I thought about my feelings about what had occurred.

It was so strange. When I had dressed as this mythical girl, I felt comfortable and good. I was only 10, it is difficult to put into words the feelings that I had but I suppose to sum it up, I felt as if I should be wearing those clothes all the time. Did that make me a girl? I don’t know. What was a girl? They had different bodies to boys, I knew that, but was I so different? I had been told that I looked like a girl. Perhaps it had been a mistake when I was born. Maybe I was a girl after all and not a boy. I was unaware of the anatomy of girls and boys. I had never seen a girl naked. How was I to know how different I was?

I shook my head. How silly I was to have such feelings after wearing a dress, just the once
However, I went to sleep, puzzled with many questions unanswered. It would be some time before I would be able to find out the real answers.

2

It was the day of the funeral. The girl who was to be buried was only 8 years old. Not uncommon in those times. Many children did not live to see adulthood. Large families were normal. Breadwinners were needed and large families ensured that some children, at least would grow up and help feed the family.

I was dressed by Charlotte. She kept sniping at me. She like Noah hated me and was jealous of me. I was the only one who could be a mute, girl or boy. Charlotte and Noah were too big. The job required a small sick looking child and that was me. I was never fed much and had matchstick arms and legs. I was never allowed out in the sun unless I was working and my complexion was sallow. I had rings under my eyes due to lack of sleep and adequate nourishment.

Mr Sowerberry left my care to the tender mercies of Mrs Sowerberry, Charlotte and God forbid, Noah.
However, I cared little about my woes at that moment as I was once again dressed as a little girl. It seemed as if I was somehow different dressed like this, with my dress flowing down around my body and my head encased in the black bonnet.

I could feel the swish of the dress as I walked, the fine silk rubbing against me in a most pleasant and diverting way.

Before I knew it, I was walking slowly in front of the horse drawn hearse. I could see out of the corner of my eye, men removing their hats and everyone bowing as the procession passed by them. I was important now. This little boy in girls’ clothes did not feel like a boy, but a girl in every way and if I could, I would have smiled. But of course I could not show any sign of pleasure in that most solemn of times.

All too soon, we arrived at the church. The service took some time and I sat in a pew awaiting my next duty.

I looked around and saw the parents and relatives of the little girl show their emotions in various ways as they helped the child into the next world.

The women were crying and the men looked stony. I knew how I would want to be if I had lost my loved one.

I would cry like the women. Perhaps that affirmed what I already thought, sitting there in that drafty church in my silky girlish finery. I must really be a girl, otherwise why would I so easily look like one and feel the emotions of a girl? The men seemed remote and cold and I knew I did not want to be like that.

Thoughts of the child lying cold in the coffin, ready to meet her maker caused a tear to run down my cheek. I remembered that I had lost my Mama and I wondered how she was and whether she was helping God in all his work. Perhaps the little girl would see my Mama. I hoped so because heaven was a place where all our friends and relatives would meet again and if I prayed for Mama to look out for the little girl, perhaps God would listen and she could be happy.

It was only the ramblings of a child, but even now, all these years after, I believed that the child would be embraced by my Mama and she would find peace after all her suffering.

The service was soon over and I did my final duty by leading the procession through the graveyard to the girl’s final resting place. After a short graveside prayer, the coffin was placed in the ground and my duties were over.

When we arrived back at the funeral parlour, Noah started on me. It seems that he was told not to torment me before the funeral but he decided to make up for it afterwards with a vengeance.

Mr and Mrs Sowerberry had retired to the sitting room, leaving me in the kitchen with Noah and Charlotte.

I was still dressed as a girl and I was reluctant to change.

‘Look at you, dressed like that. You look stupid. No real boy would wear girls’ clothes. Look at all that satin and lace. You look all weak and girly. I wonder what your Mama would think. Mind you, I heard that she was a regular right-down bad 'un so maybe she wouldn’t mind at all.’

I could not take those words against my dear mother and I flew at Noah, punching and kicking him.

I never knew such a rage in me. Where I got the strength to best him, I would never know, but in no time he was on the floor yelling at the top of his voice that he was being murdered.

I must have been somewhat encumbered by my dress, but I do not thin k that it stopped my hitting him.

Charlotte was screaming, fit to wake the dead. The noise was tremendous as I was shouting at Noah continually and suddenly, I found myself flung on the floor.

Mr and Mrs Sowerberry had come to Noah’s rescue.

‘He must be mad, grab him!’

I struggled with all my might, but they were too strong and I was weak and small.

Soon I found myself in the cellar. It was a dark and foreboding place. Sometimes bodies were put in there because of the coolness. Coffins were stacked in one corner and there were bottles of strange coloured liquid, used on the bodies of the dead in another. I shuddered with fear. Fear for the place I was in and fear for my future. The beadle was being sent for in the morning and I was promised a beating that would strip the spirit from me.

I was there for hours. I could not keep check of the time but I knew that the hour was late.

I shivered again. It was damp as well as dark in that place but I do not know whether it was from that or the promise of what was to become of me that was the cause of my tremors.

I noticed over by the wall that there was a grating at my eye level that looked out onto the street. It was now evening time and I could see through the gratings, people walking by; well the feet anyway.

I could see a bit more clearly now as my eyes got used to the dark and from the light permeating from the gas lamps outside.

I was still dressed as a girl. I was surprised that I was not stripped of the clothes that I was wearing but was grateful for it. I found some comfort being dressed thus.

I wondered if my mother dressed like this when she was a little girl with all the satin finery. I supposed not as I was born into poverty and so I assumed my mother was destitute as well. If she had not dressed like this, then she had indeed been unfortunate.

I leant up against the grating and suddenly something gave way.

I looked at the metalwork more closely. It was gloomy, but I could see that the grating was rusty and none too secure.

On a whim, I pushed against it and felt it give slightly.

I do not know why, but I pushed harder, as hard as someone of my strength and stature was able. After pushing and pushing, the grating suddenly gave way. And fell out into the street!

I held my breath, fearing that my captors would come and investigate, but all was quiet.

Sticking my head through the opening I looked up and down the road. There was no one about.

Without further thought of the consequences, I wriggled through the opening and was soon on the street.

I scampered around the corner into the alleyway by the side of the shop and waited to get my breath back.

Someone, a young man I think, passed across the alley and I huddled in the gloom lest he saw me.

I tried to scratch my head and felt the bonnet. Unbelievably I was still wearing it after the fight and being flung into the cellar. It was still secured to my head with the wide ribbon.

I took it off and combed my hair through with my fingers. The pins that were fastened to my hair since the funeral, fell out and I could hear them tinkle on the floor. It was too dark to find them, so I just tidied my hair the best I could with my fingers and put the bonnet back on. After brushing the dust off my dress, I poked my head around the corner to see if the road was empty. It was clear.

What to do?

I had no idea. All I knew was that I was never going back to the Sowerberry’s. I was not going to be beaten by the beadle; anything but that.

I stood for a long moment, agonising as to what a small child like me could do. Then I had it. I would run away.

I started walking out of the town, avoiding any people that were coming my way. I felt conspicuous, wearing these clothes, but as they were black I found it relatively easy to blend into the background when the need arose.

Soon I was out of the town and walking down a lane. The moon was high in the sky and I wondered at all the stars that I could see, millions of them. Someone, I can’t remember who, once told me that the stars were all the people that had gone to heaven and I wondered which star was my Mama’s.

I walked for what seemed like hours, resting where and when I could as it was very tiring and I had not eaten or drunk anything for many hours.

I then came to a crossroads and was undecided as to which way to go. There was a mile marker and fortunately I had been able to pick up enough of letters to know that written upon it were the magical words, London 70 miles.

I had heard tales of that wondrous place where people could make something of themselves. I thought it an omen. I must go to London!

I did not know how far 70 miles might be but turned down that road knowing that, whatever it took, I was going to seek my destiny.

End of part 1

To be continued…

I would like to acknowledge and thank Charles Dickens for the ideas and inspiration for this work and excerpts and characters used. He has always been an inspiration to me.

Olivia Twist ~ The True Story

By Susan Brown

Once again my thanks go to Kristina LS for knocking this into shape

Chapter 2

In which Olivia continues her journey and finds that thirst and hunger can cause problems ~ she finds a place to sleep ~ encounters a man with a wagon ~ travels to London ~ and meets with a strange boy.

~*~

Having decided to take the road to London, I wasted not a moment more and soon found myself walking the dusty road in anticipation of reaching my destination before morning.

I had not walked much further, when I heard the sound of hooves in the distance.

Perhaps they were after me! I shuddered to think what the Sowerberry’s and the Beadle would do to me if I were caught.

I quickly hid behind a bush by the side of the road as within seconds, the horse galloped by. I did not see clearly who it was on the horse, though he seemed to be a tall gentleman and not at all fat like the Beadle.

With my heart in my mouth I held my breath as the sound of the horse slowly faded into the distance.

I waited until my heart stopped fluttering and I could hear no more sounds other than the normal nocturnal ones of the countryside and soon found myself back on the road.

By this time I was beginning to feel very hungry and thirsty. My boots, were chaffing and I was feeling quite tired.

I walked for some time getting more and more weary, my feet dragging on the ground and I was half sleeping on my feet until in the moonlit gloom, I saw a barn in a field to the left of me.

Climbing slowly over a stile I wearily trudged across to the barn.
There was no door and I walked through, smelling the hay stacked there rather than seeing it clearly.

My eyes were now accustomed to the night and the moon, though not as bright as the sun, gave me enough light to see my surroundings.

Over in the corner was a trough, presumably there to feed animals. I went over to find it half full of water.

I sank to my knees and cupped some water in my hands and drank thirstily. Time after time I drank from the trough until my thirst was quenched.

Feeling much better now and I gave myself the time to look around I soon found a pile of apples in a corner, they seemed a bit ripe, but considering that I was used to gruel and other unmentionable foodstuffs, I thought it a king’s feast. I was soon tucking into an apple and then another and even a third!

My stomach was small and after that excellent repast I was full to bursting.

Eating and drinking had made me feel even more tired and I slowly made my way over to where the hay was stacked. Like a small furry animal, I burrowed my way into the soft warm hay and before I knew it, I was asleep.

I woke up to something tickling my nose. I brushed the hay away from me and opened my eyes to see a furry face staring at me; making me jump in alarm.

It was daylight now and I sighed in relief as I realised that it was a just a tabby cat.

‘Hello pussy,’ I said with a smile.

The cat just ignored me and started licking him or herself and then walked away without a care in the world.

A feeling of envy washed through me as I thought of that cat and wished my life were the same, no worries about the past, present or future.

I sighed and then yawned, feeling my jaw crack.

I was feeling lazy and my legs, unused to the hardship of travel were stiff and a little painful. I wanted to stay but knew that if I was to get to London I must make a move.

Getting up and stretching, I tried to unkink my abused body.

I brushed the hay and dust off of my dress, fearing that it was not as pristine as the time Mrs Sowerberry had first dressed me, was it yesterday? It seemed such a long time ago now.

My bonnet was still on my head, so I took it off and cleaned it as best I could.
Then went to the trough and drank some more.

Looking at my reflection in the clear water, I could see that my fine features and longish hair made me look quite feminine and I was pleased at that. Through all my recent trials and tribulations, I had never lost site of the fact that I was much happier dressed as I was, than I ever could be as a boy. Strange thoughts, I know for a fugitive such as myself, but I drew some comfort from this fact.

I washed my face in the water and whilst waiting for the now warm sun to dry it, I ran my fingers through my hair in an attempt to make myself more presentable.

In a few minutes, I felt dry enough to put on my bonnet, tying it securely with the ribbons under my chin.

Another drink of water and a few apples put in my dress pockets and I was ready for the road again.

I must have walked many miles that day. After every turn, I thought that London must surely be near. I had no inkling of distance; 70 miles could have been 700 for all I knew.

I was careful to listen out for other travellers on the road. Whenever I thought I heard something, I rushed out of the way, still convinced that ‘they’ must be after me.

It was getting darker in the sky now and my feet were aching more and more. As I came by a bridge with a brook or stream running below. I went down the side of the bridge and looked at the cool inviting water.

It took but a moment to remove my boots and stockings and I sighed in relief as my felt touched the cool water.

As I sat, I cupped some water, loving the feel of the cool nectar as it passed over my parched throat. I had one apple left, saved for a time such as this and I ate it in silence, listening to the birds in the trees and the rustle of the leaves in the gentle wind.

I loved this spot. It was quiet and peaceful; I was contented and felt no desire to continue my journey for the moment.

My feet were getting a bit cold now, so I took them out of the water and lay on the bank of the stream whilst I let nature dry them off.

I must have fallen asleep, as when I awoke, it was quite dark. Still weary from my travels (and) I had little desire to continue on my way in the dark. The moon was behind clouds on this night so I decided to stay where I was until morning.

I went under the bridge, there was an ill-used footpath there and I gathered some leaves to use as a bed. Luckily, being autumn, there were plenty of these about.

Soon, I was on my makeshift bed, I took my bonnet off and placed it safely behind me and then curled up with further dry leaves on top of me to keep the night chills away.

I must have still been very tired as I fell into a deep sleep.

The dawn chorus woke me (up) the next morning and I lay there for some moments listening to the birds calling each other.

Eventually, I got up and dusted myself off. Looking down at my dress, I thought that it was definitely looking worse for wear.

Sighing, I laced my bonnet on my head and was just about to get back up on the road, when I heard the sound of hooves and wheels. I shrank down behind the wall of the bridge as the horse came nearer.

‘Stop,’ said a mans’ voice. ‘Stop there Jess.’

The horse and covered wagon, for that was what it was, stopped on top of the bridge on the other side of the road. The man tied the reins off and jumped down. He then went down to the rivers edge going out of my view.

I don’t know why, but suddenly on an impulse, I threw caution to the wind and went to the back of the wagon. Pulling the tarpaulin aside, I could see that it was full of barrels. Without thinking on it further, I pulled myself up and climbed over the barrels to the back and slipped down between two. There was a dusty old blanket and I covered myself up.

As I crouched there, none too comfortable, I reflected on my rashness.

‘What if I were caught? Maybe they were not going to London. Should I get out before the man came back?’

All thoughts stopped as I heard the sound of hobnail boots coming towards me.

‘All right , Jess, here’s some water.’

I heard the scrape of a wooden bucket and the slurping sound of a horse in need of refreshment.

‘That good Jess? Well drink up old girl, I want to be in London by tomorrow.’ I sighed silently in thanks. London was indeed the destination of my unwitting driver.

Soon, the man got up onto the cart and we were off.

I try not to remember that journey too much. It was painful as I was uncomfortable and the floor of the wagon was very hard on my bony body. I could see little of the country except through gaps in the planking.

The man stopped several times for extended breaks and then when night approached, he pulled up into a side lane near an inn and took the horse off the reins, l could see through one of the larger cracks that he was leading the horse over to a field.

I could hear no more for some time and assumed that the man had gone to the inn for refreshment and perhaps some overnight lodgings.

I was in somewhat of a quandary. I did not know how far we might be from London. I was also very concerned about getting caught. Should I get out now and try to continue on foot or should I stay and hope that the man does not catch me? Once again I was hungry and thirsty and I suppose that the resultant light-headedness was not helping me to think straight. Being only ten years old, did not help, as how many ten year olds had been through what I had experienced and would know what to do?

I quietly climbed over the barrels and sneaked a look out of the back of the tarpaulin flaps that acted as doors on the back of the wagon. Looking left and right, I noticed that all was clear and climbed down.

I could see better here and noticed the horse in the field chewing at some grass.

Over to the left of me, I could see the inn. Lights from candles were coming from the inside and it looked a cheery and welcoming place.

Seeing as there was no one about, I sneaked up and looked in one of the windows. There were several people in there and through the pipe smoke, I could see the man who owned the wagon talking and laughing with the innkeeper.

I went around the back of the inn, staying where I could in the shadow and away from windows and I found myself at the rear of the building.

There was a well there and I quickly went over to it and turned the handle, wincing somewhat as it was a bit squeaky. The water filled bucket came to the top and I quickly drank my fill while I had a chance.

After my thirst had receded, I had a bit of luck. There were dustbins in the corner of the yard and on investigation; I could see the remains of several meals deposited in there. I ignored the fact that the food looked somewhat messy and so just delved in there to find what could be eaten.

I found several potatoes some carrots and a piece of pie. I ate them all ravenously, all the while looking around me for signs of people. I was lucky. It was quite dark now and I was full to the brim.

After pondering for a few moments, I washed my hands at the well and then went back to the wagon.

I had decided to take my luck and stay with the wagon until journeys end, at London.

I climbed back over the barrels to my hiding place and managed to move a few of them away from the side of the wagon, giving me a bit more room, enough for me to lie down anyway. I took off my bonnet and then lay down on the floor to await the morning, falling almost instantly into a dreamless sleep.

I was woken by the rocking of the wagon, having no idea as to the time or how long we had been travelling.

Looking through one of the cracks, I noticed there were some signs of habitation. Houses were dotted on the side of the road in a random fashion. Within an hour, the road we travelled was full of carts, horses, wagons and fancy carriages. There were many people around… and the noise! I had never heard such a commotion in my short life. Everywhere people were scurrying around. The building grew taller and there were churches and shops, inns and divers numbers of dwellings.

My eyes grew wide at the site of all this humanity. Then in the distance I could here the sound of people calling and shouting and church bells pealing. It was all a bit overpowering for a young boy of ten dressed as a girl.

Suddenly the wagon stopped and I hid myself beneath my blanket, fortunately remembering my bonnet and whipping it off the top of barrel where I had left it and bringing it under the blanket with me at the last moment.

I could hear the man removing the barrels and talking to someone at the same time.

‘Well Bob, good journey?’

‘Not bad Alf, not bad. I think that the horse needs re-shoeing though. More expense.’

‘True, things aren’t easy now days. Tell you what, do you want a drink before we empty your wagon.’

‘Good idea, if you’re payin.’

They both laughed as they moved away still talking. This was my opportunity. I climbed over the barrels and peeked out. There were lots of people about but the wagon was up against a wall away from everyone else.

Taking a deep breath, I put my bonnet firmly on my head and climbed out of the wagon. Looking left and right, I melted into the crowd.

I walked aimlessly; no one took much notice of me. There were children of all ages there and I think that I did not look out of place.

I passed many stalls selling all kinds of things. There were flower stall and ones that sold meat or poultry, fruit and vegetables and all manner of wares. There was a large one with candles and another selling books. Another stall sold locks and other hardware. There were many clothes stalls and I looked wishfully at some of the nice dresses and bonnets and then I noticed a boy. He was of a similar age to myself, perhaps a little older. He had a flat sort of hat on and a jaunty air about him. He passed a stall, full of fruit and casually picked up an apple, walking on he passed me by, eying me critically.

I thought nothing more of it and continued on my way. Looking at all this food had made me feel hungry. The various smells were making me faint with hunger. I could smell cooked and roasted meats and chestnuts and my mouth was watering at the thought of eating…

‘Hello.’

I jumped slightly as in front of me, as if by magic stood the young boy I saw earlier with the apple.

‘Erm hello.’

‘What’s yer name then?’

I panicked a bit as I thought of my name Oliv..ia

‘Oliv..ia, that’s a funny name. Got a stutter?’

‘No, sorry, you made me jump. My name is Olivia.’

‘Glad to makes your acquaintance, Miss Olivia. My name is John or Jack Hawkins but known to my hintimate friends as The Dodger’

He took off his hat and bowed.

‘Er, hello Mister Dawkins.’

‘So what is a fine girl like you doing all on your own, here?’

‘Just looking around.’

‘What about your Mama and Papa?’

‘I am an orphan.’

‘No relatives to speak of?’

‘No, none.’

‘And you thought to come to London to seek your fame and fortune?’

‘Yes, I suppose so.’

‘Having arrived at this auspicious place, you are not sure what to do?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘No cash?’

‘None.’

‘No prospects?’

I felt myself begin to get a little tearful.

‘No.’ I whispered.

He put his arm around my shoulders.

‘Don’t worry your pretty self. I know an old gentleman who just happens to take in lodgers. He is a nice gentleman and won’t press you for payment. Will you come along with me and we will see if he will help you?’

‘If you are sure.’

‘You will like the gentleman; he is very kind and considerate.’

‘Wwwhat is his name.’

‘I thought you said you didn’t stutter? His name is Mister Fagin. Now let’s cut along and see him shall we?’

With some misgivings, I was led out of that busy place to find out if the kind old gentleman would allow me to lodge with him.

To be continued…

Olivia Twist ~ The True Story By Susan Brown Chapter 3 In which I see the sights of London ~ Meet Mr Fagin ~ Have a shock ~ Encounter a rather unpleasant man and his dog.

 

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Master John Dawkins took my arm and led me away from the busy market and into the back streets of London. The roads and lanes that I was taken through gradually lost respectability and became shabbier by the minute.

There was a constant odour and vile smelling buckets being emptied from upstairs widows on to the muddy roads below. Dirty dogs and cats roamed the streets and there were fights taking place outside more than one tavern we passed.

I had to walk with my dress held up slightly with one hand, so as not to make it dirtier than it already was. All this time, Dodger, as he insisted I call him, was chattering on about how good the gentleman was and how many friends already lived at his residence.

‘Yus, ’e’s good an’ kind. ’E ’as a few strange ways but easy to get used to.’

‘How many live there with him?’ I enquired trying to keep up a conversation and my mind away from the filth and degradation surrounding me.

‘At the last count twelve. That’s seven boys and five girls.’

‘They are all children then?’

‘Yus, ’e prefers that.’

‘Oh.’

‘Anyway, we are nearly there.’

I looked around; the area, if anything was worse than those we had passed through. Many of the buildings were in a ruinous state of repair. It was what I now know to be a tenement area. We had to pick our way through muddy puddles and excrement and the smell nearly overpowered me before we could reach our destination. At last we reached some wooden stairs that were on the outside of one of the tenements. I was led up the rickety steps until we came to a heavy wooden door. Dodger rapped three times and then twice again.

The door opened with a creak and the head of a boy peeped through.

‘Dodger, there you are. Fagin’s in a bad temper, cos you’re late again.’

‘No fear, Charlie, I’m ’ere and I brought a new friend.’

‘Erm, p’raps if Mr Fagin’s angry, I should go?’ I queried.

‘Don’t worry, Olivia, it’s only that he worries. He thinks of us as his children.’

The other boy stifled a laugh for some reason as he let us through and bolted the door behind us. I followed Dodger through the gloom and up a staircase.

At the top of the staircase was a door, which Dodger opened. He went into the room and with some trepidation I followed. The room was surprisingly large and when I looked up, I realised that it was an attic and that it probably covered the whole of the roof space.

As I looked around, I saw various beds–well shelves really–with rough bedding on top. There were several children roaming around the room, some playing games others just sitting and smoking. None of them were dressed well. Then my attention was drawn to the middle of the room. There was a fireplace and by the fire was an old gentleman, cooking food at the grate. He looked up as we came in.

‘Dodger, where have you been you know I––’

‘Fagin,’ interrupted Dodger, may I hintroduce a young lady wot I found wandering round the market. She needs lodgin’s an’ I said that you might ’ave room for ’er.’

Mr Fagin looked directly at me. He wore a long shabby black coat. His hair was long and black, but greying in places. He had a long nose, to which my eyes were drawn. He smiled at me, showing that he had a few teeth missing.

‘Ah, my dear, ’how do you do and may I say ’how pretty you look in your black bonnet and silk dress?’

‘Thank you sir.’ I said in a small voice, bobbing a curtsy, not terribly happy at the way he was looking at me.

‘Come over by the fire, my dear, so that you can catch its warmth.

I was pushed in the back by Dodger and I felt myself going towards the darkly-dressed Fagin. I could feel rather than see many eyes on me and what conversation there had been ceased at that moment.

As I came close to Fagin, I could see him eying me up and down.

‘Now, Olivia,–such a pretty name–come sit by my side while I cook this feast for us all.’

I sat on the stool he indicated and looked up at the strange man.

‘Now, Olivia, tell me a bit about yourself.’

‘Well, sir,’ I whispered.

‘Speak up, my dear; we are all friends here.’

I coughed and then proceeded. ‘I am an orphan, sir. I was ill-used by the people I was apprenticed to and I had to run away.’

‘So you have no parents?’

‘None sir.’

‘And where was it you lived.’

I told him.

‘Do you think that you would be looked for?

‘I think not, sir, as I was travelling on the road for some time and I saw no one pursuing me.’

‘So you are all alone in the world and you came to London.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Why London?’

‘So that I could find a position and improve myself, sir.’

Fagin looked at me for a moment and then smiled. ‘Sausage?’

‘Yes please, sir!’

He gave me a hot sausage which I took gratefully, blowing in my hands to cool it and then ate as fast as I could.

‘You seem a might hungry, my dear.’

‘I’ve not eaten much for a long time, sir.’

‘Well, you are among friends now.’

‘Does that mean I can stay sir?’

‘Of course. A young pretty thing like you should not be out on the streets by yourself at night. It is a dangerous place out there is it not, Dodger?’

‘Yus, Fagin. It certainly is.’

Fagin then looked up and shouted. ‘Food up.’

In the blink of an eye, he was surrounded by the other children. I noticed once again that they were ill dressed, some would say very poorly, not quite rags but very close.

I looked down at my dress and realised that I was the best dressed person there!

After the children had taken their food away Fagin looked at me again.

‘Are you still hungry, Olivia?’

‘A bit, sir,’

‘Well have another sausage. We do not stand on ceremony ’ere, take one from the pan, but watch out, they’re hot.’

I thought that Fagin was a kindly man to look after me like this. The other children seemed fond of him as well. Perhaps my first impressions of the gentleman were false. After I finished my sausage, I was offered some beer to wash it down. Not used to the strong beverage, I drank it down too quickly. My head started spinning a bit and then I felt rather sleepy.

I nearly fell off the stool on which I was sitting and one of the girls, Betty or Betsy, I think she said, came over and led me to a shelf with some bedding.

‘Sleep ’ere, Olivia. Don’t worry abaht Fagin. ’Is bark’s worse than ’is bite. ’E’ll look after you, no fear.’

She left me to it. It was still daytime, but the combined lack of sleep, hot food and beer all made me feel decidedly drowsy. I took off my bonnet. My hair felt damp, after being enclosed for so long. I seemed so tired; I just lay down and fell asleep.
 
 

2
 
 
When I awoke, it took some time for me to realise where I was. I sat up and immediately wished I hadn’t as my head felt as if it was splitting. Rubbing my sleepy eyes, I finally looked around me. The place seemed empty.

I yawned and then looked down at myself. Something was wrong. Then I realised, I no longer had my pretty black dress on. Instead, I wore a sort of shapeless grey dress that went down to my calves. I blanched at the thought of someone changing me in my sleep. Had they noticed that I was a boy?

I quickly lifted my dress and noticed that my silk stockings were gone but the pantaloons remained. I sighed with relief as I realised that it was probable my secret was safe and no one had thought to completely undress me. I looked around and then saw Mr Fagin in the corner by the fireplace with a casket or wooden box in his hands.

I watched as he placed it on the ground and then took a string from around his neck. Attached to the string was a key and he used it to open the box. As soon as it was open, Mr Fagin started to take items out of the box. I could see glittering in the light of the candle he had burning nearby. I thought, though I could not see clearly, that it must be jewellery of some kind. He was looking closely at the item and was oblivious to my presence.

I suddenly felt a tickle in my nose and I sneezed loudly.

In a trice, Mr Fagin’s head whipped around and he saw that I was watching him.

He threw the jewels back in the box and locked it; then picked up a knife and ran over to me.

I was terrified as the knife went to my neck.

‘Tell me, girl, what did you see?’ he shouted, eyes wide with anger.

‘Erm, I am sorry, sir, I’ve just woken up.’

‘But what did you SEE!’

‘I–I’m not sure, sir, I thought I saw something sparkle but I don’t know what it was.’

I was petrified–I could feel the point of the knife in my neck–and I thought that my next breath would be my last. Mr Fagin’s glaring eyes gradually lost their anger and he took the knife away from my throat.

‘I’m sorry, my dear, for frightening you. I worry about thieves and robbers, taking away my little trinkets. I’m an old man and they are my pension and savings for when I can no longer look after myself. Do you understand, Olivia?’

‘Y—yes, sir. I meant no harm by looking.’

‘I’m sure, my dear. Let’s just keep it our little secret, shall we?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good girl. Now,’ he said standing up, ‘d’you feel better for your little sleep?’

‘Yes sir, much better, though my head hurts a bit.’

‘Drink some water from the bowl over there and then we shall have a little talk.’

I did as I was bid and then went over to the fire. The casket or box was nowhere to be seen.

‘Sit you down, girl.’

I sat down beside him.

Sir, may I ask what has happened to my dress?’

‘Such a polite girl. Well, Olivia, it is such a fine dress, it looked somewhat dirty, so I have sent it out to be cleaned. In any case, it is too fine to wear in normal circumstances so I asked a few of the girls to change you into something more practical for day-to-day use.’

‘Thank you for getting my dress cleaned and looking after me under your roof.’

‘That is perfectly all right, my dear.’

‘How can I repay you?’

‘Well, Olivia, I’m glad that you have mentioned that. All the boys and girls here go out and manage to find things for me, like, say handkerchiefs or purses, things that get lost or are found. Would you like to do that?’

‘If it would help, yes, sir.’

‘Good girl, When Dodger, Charlie, Betsy and the others return, we’ll teach you the best way of, um, finding the items,’

‘Thank you, sir.’

Just then I could hear the barking of a dog and the heavy tread of footsteps on the stairs outside. Looking at Mr Fagin, I could see that his face had turned white and his hands were shaking slightly.

The door opened with a crash and a mangy dog walked in, he looked as if he had been through the wars, he had scabs and scars all over its body.

‘Heel Bullseye, you mangy cur!’

I looked up and in the entrance was an ill dressed, large thickset man with an evil face and he did not look happy.

‘Fagin, you old devil. I want you!'
 

 
‘Bill, Bill, how happy I am to see you.’

‘Don’t lie to me you avaricious old fool.’

‘Bill, ladies present.’

He saw me for the first time.

‘So, anuvver urchin dragged orf the streets. Wot’s yer name?’

‘Olivia, sir,’ I whispered.

‘Can’t ’ear yer.’

‘Olivia, sir.’

‘Well don’t trust Fagin. ’E’d sell yer as much as look at yer.’

‘Bill, don’t put funny ideas into young Olivia’s head. She’s new to London and has asked for my protection.’

'Protection ha! She’s the one who needs protection from you!’

‘You must joke Bill Sykes. Where is Nancy?’

‘Working at the tavern. I’m going there when we finish our business.’

Mr Fagin looked at me.

‘Ah yes, um, Olivia, why don’t you go back to bed and lie down. Your head may get better if you do.’

‘Yes, sir.’ I said, standing up and going over to my bed.

I glanced behind me and saw Mr Fagin and Mr Sykes in close conversation, but as they were whispering I did not know what they were talking about.

As I lay down, I wondered what I had got into and whether it had been a good idea to allow the Dodger to lead me to this place. The people were frightening; especially Mr Fagin and Bill Sykes and I felt in my bones that no good would come of me if I stayed in this place for much longer.

To be continued….

 

 
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My thanks go to Kristina.L.S for editing this piece.

Also to Gabi for helping making sense out of madness.

 
 
Please leave comments as these are the lifeblood of authors like wot I is.

Olivia Twist ~ The True Story ~ 4 By Susan Brown In which I find out what is expected of me ~ meet Nancy ~ get useful with a needle ~ find myself in peril

~*~

Sleep did not come easily this night. Visions of Fagin with a knife haunted me and Bill Sykes was a man of whom I was mortally afraid. I was beginning to wish with all my heart that I had not met Dodger on my journey and been led unknowingly to this place of degradation.

Cracking open my eyes I could see Fagin and Sykes talking quietly in the corner. Sykes had a sack and he was pulling items from it and showing them to Fagin.

Occasionally their voices were raised and they seemed to be arguing over the value of the items. I assumed that Fagin was a buyer of some kind as he handed what looked like some coins to Sykes. I pretended I was asleep and I think that at times they forgot I was there. I could catch some of the conversation…

‘Fagin, you avaricious old devil; you pay me the going rate or I’ll slit your froat as soon as look at yer.’

‘Bill, Bill, you know how hard it is to fence this stuff. The Peelers will grab me if I try to sell too near.’

‘Nonsense you old goat; it’s not been a problem before. Pay what yer owe, or else!’

‘No violence, Bill, I beg of you, or you will have to find someone else.’

‘Are you threatenin’ me, Fagin?’

‘No, of course not, Bill, we go a long way back. We must be civil to each other and not ruin a good thing.’

‘Right give me my money now and no messin' then.’

Through hooded eyes, I saw Fagin pass some more coins to Sykes.

‘Right, I’m orf.’

‘Will you be in the pub later, Bill?’

‘Yus; come on Bullseye.’

Without a glance at me Bill Sykes left, kicking his yelping dog before him.

I was looking at the retreating Sykes and jumped when I realised that Fagin had come up to me.

‘Ah, you’re awake then, my dear. Sorry about Bill, he can get excited sometimes but he has a heart of gold.’

I doubted that very much and it must have shown on my face.

‘Ah yes my dear, anyway,’ said Fagin changing the subject, ‘How is your head, all better?’

‘A bit.’

‘Good, good; now we talked a bit earlier about you helping?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘If you are up to it: would you like your first lesson?’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Such a polite girl you are. All right, up you get.’

I arose from my hard lumpy bed and waited with some trepidation to see what Fagin had in store for me. After seeing what had transpired between him and Bill Sykes, I was fearful, to say the least.

‘Now, Olivia, do you see this handkerchief in my pocket?’

‘Yes sir.’

‘We will pretend that I am walking down the road, perhaps looking through some shop window. You must try to take the handkerchief without my realising it. Do you think you can do that my dear?’

‘I’ll try sir.’

Fagin walked about the room stopping occasionally and I came up behind and pulled the handkerchief from his pocket as he stopped again.

‘Here it is, sir.’

Fagin jumped around in surprise.

‘Olivia! Well done, my dear. I would never have known. You have a light touch to be sure. Let us try again.’

So it went on for some time. I got quite proficient at taking handkerchiefs after a while and Fagin declared himself satisfied with my progress.

He went over to a box and pulled out several handkerchiefs.

‘Look here, Olivia. See that these have initials on them?’

He showed me several which had letters embroidered upon them.

‘What I want you to do with this needle is to unpick the letters so that they show no trace of any letters. Look, this is how we do it.’

He showed me the method that he used and I could see that it was no great hardship doing as he asked.

‘Run along to the corner by the roof light. There you will see more clearly, my dear. Try to be quick as there are many that need alteration.’

I went over to the corner as he requested and I was soon working at the letters.

My thoughts were dark as I worked away. As I had begun to suspect, I was being trained up to be a thief. I had not shown any reaction to what was requested of me as I was in fear of my life. I had not been left alone since I had been in this place and the children and the adults all seemed to be of the same type and quite happy with their circumstances.

I lie ever so slightly I suppose as I was allowed some privacy to use the toilet. This comprised a bucket, situated in a corner that had a blanket for a screen and limited privacy. The idea was that you filled and then emptied the used bucket out of the window. It was hard for me to do this without messing my voluminous clothes as my penis was tiny and tended to spray everywhere, to my complete embarrassment.

My biggest fear was that I would be found out as being a boy and not a girl. I could see that violence was only just under the surface in this place and I had a strong feeling that if my secret were found out, I would be in danger of my life.

You may wonder why I did not just tell Fagin the truth. Perhaps that was foolish of me. I could have just told him when I arrived and explained my dressing as a girl as being a simple disguise to get away from my pursuers.

My thoughts at the time were that I was possibly safer as a girl than a boy. I hoped that being of the gentler sex, I would not be expected to be strong and tough and do things that the boys might be expected to do.

It seemed though, that I had misjudged things. From the little time that I had been in this hateful and scary place, I could see that the girls were expected to do exactly the same as the boys. Their manners were rough and course. They spat, drank and smoked, just like the boys and they thought nothing of swearing terrible things that made me blush with embarrassment and horror.

Do not get me wrong, I was no prude. I was just a young child who had been brought up to fear God and his retribution for doing terrible things the like of which I had seen constantly since arriving in this dingy filthy place. The poor house may have been a terrible place to live and work, but I had morals that had been beaten into me on a daily basis whilst living and working there.

So, the result of all this was that I had to pretend to be one of them. I needed to get away at the earliest possible time and until that time presented itself, I needed to be patient and above all, careful.

There was another reason why I did not inform anyone of my pretence. It was something that I barely acknowledged to myself. It was the simple fact that I liked being a girl. Although I was now dressed in poor clothes compared to my arrival, it was still a dress. No one disputed the fact that I was a girl. I felt more at ease with their assumptions. It was difficult to formulate why I felt like this, only that it was right and my former existence as a boy was false and this was the real me. I did not know why this should be so, but I accepted it as being God’s will that I was this way.

Many days passed and I was now considered a fixture with everyone accepting me for who I considered myself to be: Olivia Twist, not Oliver, a boy.

Bill Sykes visited a few times, normally at night under the cover of darkness. Once he brought a girl with him. She was dressed slightly better than other women that I had seen; her name was Nancy, pretty, with blond hair under her bonnet and a smile that I knew to be good and sincere. Why she was associated with Bill Sykes, I would never know, but I liked Nancy and she was kind to me.

Whilst Bill Sykes and Fagin were discussing or shall I say arguing business, she came over to me.

‘Well, so you’re the young Olivia that everyone been telling me about, eh?’

‘Yes, Miss.’

She laughed.

‘Don’t call me Miss! I’ll be gettin’ ideas above me station!’

I laughed and said, ‘What should I call you then?’

‘Just Nancy, love, I'm just Nancy. Now you don’t look right being here like this.’

My heart jumped. Did she guess about my secret? Would she tell?

‘I-I’m sorry Nancy, what do you mean?’

‘Well,’ she said laughing, ‘you 'ave manners and look too nice and genteel like, to be here amongst this den of thieves.’

I sighed with relief and laughed along with her.

Soon, she left with Bill and I continued my never-ending job of unpicking.

A few days later, Dodger came up to me. ‘Wotcher, Olivia, are you ready then?’

‘Ready for what?’

‘Didn’t Fagin tell yer?’

‘No.’

‘You’re coming with me and Charlie Bates; we’re going to show you how we work the streets.’

I got up and picked up my bonnet, the only thing that I had been allowed to keep. After placing it on my head and tying the bow, I followed the boys out. As we left, Fagin came up to me.

‘Time to spread your wings then, my dear, follow what Dodger tells you and you’ll come to no harm.’

I left with those words ringing in my ears and wondering what was in store for me.

As I stepped out into the daylight, my eyes squinted at the unaccustomed brightness. Once they had become accustomed to the glare of daylight, I found myself following the boys through a maize of filthy roads and lanes. It was a hot day and the smell coming from the excrement, dead cats, decaying dogs and other unmentionable things was almost overpowering to my senses.

We passed a tavern: there were two women–obviously the worse for drink–fighting and trying to pull each others hair out. The onlookers appeared to be betting on the outcome. Dodger and Bates tarried a while to see the spectacle, but soon lost interest when one of the women was knocked out by a vicious blow to the head by the other’s booted foot.

We continued on, finally coming to the street market that I recognised as one that I had originally been found in by Dodger.

After negotiating our way through the various stalls and some milling people, and narrowly avoiding being run down by the post chase, I found myself about fifty feet away from a book shop.

Outside the shop were some tables and several men and women were browsing through the books lying on the table.

‘Watch this and learn,’ whispered Dodger.

He went up to an old gentleman who was engrossed with a book. Meantime, Charlie had manoeuvred himself around to the other side of the gentleman.

I looked on in horror as Charlie distracted the gentleman while Dodger took what appeared to be a wallet from his pocket.

The gentleman did not notice what was going on, but an onlooker did see that something was amiss.

‘STOP THIEF!’ He shouted as Dodger and Charlie ran past me.

Dodger shouted for me to run and in seconds, I was running for my life. I ran through the lanes and streets and could sense others running behind me. I knew not where I was and quickly became lost. Turning a corner, I was confronted by a crowd of angry people who immediately gave chase as I dodged down an alley. A few yards down the alley and I tripped on the hem of my dress and fell heavily, banging my head on the cobbles and suddenly everything went dark.

When I awoke, I had a tremendous headache and felt sick and faint.

I noticed that I was on a bench and sat up, feeing my sore head as I did so.

‘So, awake are you?’

I looked up and saw standing beside the bench, a policeman.

‘Where am I?’

‘At the court, for sentencing. Your case is coming up. Mr Fang will see to you and he does not like thieves.’

‘I am not a thief!’

‘Don’t lie, you were seen running.’

‘But...’

‘Quiet, you will get your time in court.’

I lapsed into silence, shocked at the thought that I was being accused for something I did not do. I was groggy and feeling unwell. I was very confused and my head ached so much that I thought that I might pass out again.

‘Come on, It’s your turn to see Mr Fang, the magistrate and God help you, because he won’t.’

I was dragged into the court; through a stream of people until I found myself in an enclosure with bars around it.

I looked up, tears in my eyes to be confronted by an ugly, grossly fat and red faced man wearing a dirty wig and with an expression on his face so horrible and frightening that I nearly fainted at the sight.

‘What is she up for?’

‘Thievery, Sir.’

‘Did she do it?’

‘She was caught running from the scene, sir.’

‘Anything to say?’ He said addressing me.

I could not say anything, I was so frightened, and I just shook my head, teeth rattling with fear.

‘Guilty as charged, I should hang you. How old are you?’

I still couldn’t speak.

‘Cat got you’re tongue? She looks about ten. I suppose I should be lenient. I’m in a good mood today, three months hard lab–’

–‘WAIT!’

‘What’s all this? I will not have interruptions in my court.’

I looked over to a man who I recognised as the one who had had his wallet stolen.

‘I must speak. I am Mister Brownlow. This girl has been accused of stealing my wallet. I must say that this is only a young girl, and I am sure that she was not involved. I am certain that it was a boy that robbed me.’

‘Have you proof? She ran away. Even if it was not her, she is implicated, three months hard–’

–‘STOP!’

‘What NOW!’

Another man had pushed himself to the front. ‘I saw it all; the girl was not to blame. It was others; two boys that did it. She seemed only to run away because she was frightened of the crowd.’

The judge looked at me and said, ‘Is this true?’

I nodded my head and then realised that I was falling but could do nothing about it.

The world went dark as I heard the magistrate say something about wasting the courts time and I knew no more...

To be continued...

My thanks go to Kristina L.S and Gabi for pulling this into shape.

Please leave comments as I get antsy and have hissy fits if Angharad gets more comments than me. (Not a pretty sight).

Olivia Twist ~ The True Story ~ 5 By Susan Brown In which I wake up in a strange place ~ meet an old lady and another ~ realise that my secret is revealed ~ find myself involved in a puzzling development

~*~

Floating gently toward wakefulness, I sensed that I was lying on a hard wooden floor. Feeling hot and cold all at once, I kept falling asleep and jerking awake as shouts and the noise of people milling around reached me. Then I could feel myself being lifted though my eyes were so heavy that I did not have the strength to open them.

I felt that I was being carried in strong arms, which seemed oddly comforting. It was a strange sensation of not quite being aware of what was happening to me and having little control over my body as I floated somewhere between asleep and awake.

Eventually, the sounds went away as I drifted deeper into senselessness.

I dreamt that I was at home with my Mama. She was playing with me on the rug. I could see her laughing face and how she looked upon me with such pride and joy. The love that I felt for her could not be any stronger.

Mama was helping me dress my doll in a lovely little silk dress. She was smiling and talking to me but I could not hear what she was saying. Then in the space of a few heartbeats she turned to mist in front of me, gradually fading into nothingness. I screamed and my eyes opened suddenly.

Looking over me was a lady, she had a cloth in her hand and she gently wiped my brow.

‘There, there, my dear, you are safe now.’

‘W…where am I?’ I said, my voice sounding weak.

‘You are in the home of Mr Brownlow.’

My heart was thumping in my breast as I remembered that as being the name of the gentleman who had been robbed.

‘Am I to go to prison?’

‘Lord bless you, child, no. That fool of a magistrate let you go and you fainted in the dock. Then you were brought here and have been senseless for nigh on two weeks. We worried for you and you nearly slipped away once or twice, but the fever broke and you have been sleeping peacefully for several hours now.’

‘Am I to be sent back to Fagin?’

‘I don’t know of any Fagin. Is he a relative of yours that needs contacting?’

‘No, Ma’am, he wanted me to be a thief and I feared for my life.’

With that blurted admission, I had a coughing fit that made me feel very weak. Before I knew it, I had once again fallen asleep.

When next I awoke I felt much better and my head was somewhat clearer. I opened my eyes and I could see that it was evening. Lifting my head from the soft pillow, I could see the lady sitting by a log fire, crocheting or knitting. She was concentrating on what she was doing and was not yet aware that I was awake.

I studied her for a few moments as she sat there. She was quite old with grey hair under her cap. She was wearing a brown dress and I could see her boots peeking from beneath the hem. She had a kindly face and I could see that she was smiling slightly.

My eyes travelled about the room. It was a fine room, cheerful with wallpaper covered with roses. The furniture was the finest that I had ever seen and it was obvious, even to me that all this indicated that Mr Brownlow was a man of some substance.

Looking down at myself, I could see that I was wearing some sort of nightgown; it was of a fine white material with a profusion of lace. I also appeared to have some sort of night cap, as I could feel something tied under my chin. The bed that I lay upon was the softest that I had ever felt in my short life. I was warm and relaxed and I felt myself drift off again…

Something troubled my thoughts, but… my eyes snapped open and I gasped.

In a moment the lady was by my side.

‘How are you, my dear?’

‘B-b-better, Ma’am.’

‘That is good, but why do you look so frightened. You are safe here and no harm will come to you.’

I did not know how to answer her. I had realised with some fear that she and everyone must now be aware of my deception. I was a boy and I had masqueraded as a girl. The fact that I felt like one and to some extent looked like one did not mean that I was one. I well knew that God and man took a dim view of such things.

I looked at her, tears in my eyes. She looked so kind and concerned about me. Perhaps if I explained, she might understand.

‘Ma’am, I–I–I am not as I seem.’

‘I’m sorry, my dear, but what do you mean?’

‘When I came to this place, was I undressed?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘And did you undress me?’

‘Yes, just me, as I would not let the parlour maid help.’

‘Did…er…did you see my private parts?’

She looked at me and then sat on the bed, holding my hand she replied, ‘yes, I did. I was a bit puzzled that outwardly, you were dressed as a girl, but your private parts, as you call them, are somewhat unusual.’

‘Unusual?’

‘Yes, I was a nurse as a young girl and I got to see a goodly number of erm…private parts and I have never seen them quite like yours. However do not concern yourself about that.’

She seemed flustered and I was a little confused at what she was saying but felt the need to unburden my secret.

‘May I explain myself?’

‘If it would make you feel better. But there’s no need to do so.’

I told her my story, how I was in the poorhouse and then sent to Mr Sowerbury’s. My abuse at the hands of Noah, my decision to continue wearing the clothes of a girl and then my journey to London and being in the hands of Fagin.

‘Oh, you poor child, how you must have suffered. So you wore girls’ clothes as a disguise and nothing else?’

This is where I could feel tears welling up in my eyes.

‘No, Ma’am, it may have started as such, but as soon as I put on the funeral dress, I felt good about myself. Seeing my reflection in a looking glass, I could see that somehow I was dressed as I should be–as a girl. I know it is strange and God will probably disown me, because I see myself as a girl and not a boy. It was easy for me to keep up the pretence as I was more comfortable being considered a girl than I ever felt as a boy.’

‘Well, Olivia, that is your name, isn’t it? I assume that it is so, as you kept mumbling in your fever that your name was Olivia.’

I nodded my head, unable to speak and weakened by my confession.

‘Very well, Olivia. There is a doctor that is to come visit you when you feel better; he will explain things to you regarding your private parts but it is not something that you should worry about. In the mean time, I am sure that I can persuade Mr Brownlow to keep your secret and be mindful to treat you as a girl.’

‘Thank you, Ma’am, you are so kind!’

‘Think nothing of it, child. Now, I will go and speak with Mr Brownlow and I suggest that you get some more rest as you still look very tired. I will bring you up some soup later but if you need anything meantimes, just pull the cord by the side of your bed.’

With that she left me to my thoughts.

I smiled to myself as I lay there. It was nice to be treated like a girl. I was a little bit concerned about what the doctor might say, but considering what I had been through, I thought that it could not be that bad.

I must have slept, as the next thing I realised was that I could hear the door opening and I could see the lady coming in with a tray. She put it down on a table and then came over to me.

‘Are you feeling stronger, Olivia?’

‘Yes, Ma’am, a bit.’

‘Good; now let me help you sit up so you can have some soup.’

She assisted me to get comfortable and then she put the tray on my lap.

‘Eat while it is hot, dear.’

I thanked her and she went over to the chair by the fire and sat down.

The soup was hot and full of vegetables. I had not realised how hungry I was. Soon I had finished and the bowl was empty.

‘Finished?’ said the lady standing up and coming over to the bed. ‘Good, you must have been hungry. Now Mr Brownlow would like to speak to you. Are you well enough to receive him?’

‘Yes, Ma’am; I would like to thank him for his kindness.’

‘Very well, I will see if he is free.’

As I awaited Mr Brownlow, I lifted the covers from the bed. Looking under, I could more fully see the nightgown that I was wearing. It was very pretty and long. The lacework was intricate and fine. This gown could not be mistaken for a boy’s one and for that, I was very pleased! Putting the covers back down, I then felt my nightcap, it seemed to be of a similar material to the gown. I nearly took it off to have a closer look but decided not to in case it was wrong to do so.

I was feeling so much better now and believed that the soup must have had restorative properties. However, I was getting somewhat worried about what Mr Brownlow might have to say to me. Perhaps he would only allow me to stay under his roof until I was well again. Perhaps enquiries had already been made at the workhouse and I may be sent back there or even to Mr Sowerberry!

I was getting close to a state of panic when the door opened and the lady, whose name I still did not know entered, followed by Mr Brownlow.

The lady took one look at me and hurried over.

‘Why, Olivia, do you not feel well again?’

‘I am so sorry, Ma’am, to have caused you and Mr Brownlow so many worries. You must want rid of me.’

‘Of course not, you silly young thing. Mr Brownlow, pray put Olivia’s mind at rest.’

Mr Brownlow came up to the bed and I looked at him with fearful eyes. He smiled at me and then sitting on the bed by my side, he held my quivering hand.

‘Olivia, it is good to see that you have regained your senses and I see that despite being worried for your future, your complexion looks more healthy than last I saw you; do you not think so, Mrs Bedwin?’

‘Indeed I do, Sir, she’s looking much better but, I fear, somewhat concerned regarding her fate.’

‘Quite so; now, Olivia, Mrs Bedwin has told me your story and a sorry one it is. How children can be brought up such as you were, I cannot understand…’

He looked up above my head and then looked at me. He had a puzzled look on his face.

‘Sir, have I done wrong?’

He did not speak for a moment, once again looking above me then down again straight at my face.

‘Erm, no, Olivia, do not concern yourself, but Mrs Bedwin, do you not see a likeness there?’

‘A likeness sir?’

The picture on the wall…there, tell me what do you see?’

‘Why it is your own dear daughter, Agnes, as you well know sir.’

‘Yes, yes, yes, but look, can you not see!’

Mrs Bedwin came closer and looked at the picture above my head; I could not see what they were referring to, as all I could see was the bottom of a heavy gilt frame.

‘Mmm, there is a likeness…yes, Sir, I agree a definite likeness, but how can it be?’

‘I do not know, but I will make enquiries. Now, Olivia, do not worry, you have a home here with us if you would like?’

Puzzled at his remarks about pictures and likenesses I did not fully take in what he was saying.

‘I am sorry, sir, but I do not understand?’

‘I see that I am confusing you. Let me say it clearly. If you wish, you can stay with us under my protection.’

‘Oh thank you, sir, you and Mrs Bedwin are so kind and can I stay as a girl?’

‘Yes, I am aware of your situation and at least until the doctor sees you, you will be considered and treated as a girl. Now as to the other thing, I do not wish to put it clearly to you at the moment in case we are disappointed but I need to know as to which workhouse you were born.’

I was confused at what he was saying and asking, not really understanding his meaning, but I gave him the required information and after bidding me goodnight he left the room seemingly satisfied with my answers.

Mrs Bedwin smiled at me but kept glancing above at the picture that I could not see.

‘Ma’am?’

‘Yes, Olivia.’

‘What is it about the picture that concerns you so?’

‘I cannot say at the moment, but I promise that you will be the first to know once we find out about it. One thing I can say is that you look a bit like Agnes, Mr Brownlow’s long lost daughter and because of this, enquiries will be made at the place that you were born to see if there is any possibility of a connection. Now I can see that you have lost some colour and you look somewhat frail so I think that it would be best if you go to sleep now. I will be here tonight, so do not worry, just rest.’

With that, she helped me to lie down, kissed my forehead, went over to her place by the fire and picking up her crochet work sat down and began to work the needles.

My eyes shut and I went to sleep thinking of the day’s events and the possibility that I may have, at last found a home.

To be continued…

My thanks go to Kristina L.S and Gabi for pulling this into shape.

Olivia Twist ~ The True Story ~ 6 By Susan Brown In which I am more aware of my surroundings ~ learn about being a young lady ~ meet a strange girl ~ am given a wonderful present

~*~

Chapter 6

When I awoke, it took me some moments to realise where I was and recall the circumstances that had brought me here.

Opening my eyes, I could see that the heavy red curtains had been pulled back and early morning sunshine bathed the room. I rubbed my eyes to clear them of the sleep and looked around me. I was quite alone and I was pleased about that as I had much to reflect upon. With a small shudder I thought of being in the clutches of Fagin and The Dodger. My heart beat faster when I remembered Bill Sykes and his horribly scarred dog, Bullseye. Looking around at the bright, comfortable pleasant room, I wondered at my good fortune and the kindness offered to me by Mr Brownlow and Mrs Bedwin.

I decided to get up and look out of the window. Throwing off the bed covers, I rose carefully from my warm bed. Upon standing, I felt a trifle light headed but put that down to my recent ailment. Slightly shakily, I walked over to the window, the fine cotton of my nightdress feeling strange but nice against my otherwise naked body. I stood at the window shivering slightly and wondered at the scene before me.

I was upstairs and gazed down upon a busy street; there were many carriages passing–the horses making clip-clop noises on the cobbles. A veritable multitude of people of all ages and circumstances were passing to and fro. Flower girls with baskets of gay flowers were offering blooms to one and all. A chimney sweep had a young ragamuffin of a boy walking beside him; the sight of the boy reminded me of how close I had come to being in that trade, making me shudder at the thought!

Opposite the house was a fine park with a pond. I could see ducks swimming and children playing–laughing and feeding the birds. It was a large park with many trees and I longed to go there and feed the ducks just like those lucky boys and girls.

I glanced to the left as something caught my eye. Someone, a boy I think, was standing looking at this house from behind a tree. It was strange, I seemed to recognise whoever it was but I could not recall where I had seen him before. I shook my head and looked again and there was no one there. It must have been an illusion. I was feeling a bit weary now and just as I turned back, I heard the door open.

‘What are you doing out of bed, you silly girl?’

‘I am sorry, Mrs Bedwin, I only wanted to look out of the window.’

‘Never mind that, back to bed with you.’

She helped me back into the warm confines of the bed. I was grateful to lay my now aching head back on the pillow, feeling quite faint and somewhat tired from my short excursion.

‘Well, Olivia, don’t give me any more frights. What would Mr Brownlow say if you had a turn?’

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Bedwin, I thought that I was better.’

‘Indeed you are, you have a slight rose tint to your complexion that was lacking yesterday and you look much brighter, but you must stay confined until the doctor says you are well enough.’

I lay back and in moments my eyes felt heavy and before I knew it, I was asleep.

It was several days before I was allowed up again. It transpired that part of the problem was years of being underfed and malnourished. I needed to build some strength and to this aim I was given increasing amounts of all manner of food to fortify me. I was encouraged to drink a glass of red wine with my meals and this I found made my head somewhat light and myself a little giggly. However, my body soon grew used to the regimen and responded by filling out and gaining a little weight. I no longer looked like skin and bone and I was at last pronounced fit enough to rejoin the world.

And so it was that I found myself being dressed by my own maid! I remember it so well. I was wakened by Sarah, once scullery maids but promoted to be the person who would exclusively look after me.

‘Now, Miss Olivia, time to get up, we only have an hour to make you presentable for breakfast.’

I got up in a dream, I did not know what was expected of me but Sarah, whose mother evidentially was upstairs maid to a lord no less, had taught her all that she knew.

‘First, we need to wash you.’

I was unceremoniously stripped of my nightgown and although I was shy and concerned that Sarah would see my private parts, I was washed vigorously and then put in pantaloons, silk stockings, numberless petticoats and a cream coloured day dress. Finally, my feet were uncased in fine leather boots and I was then considered properly dressed

However, that was not all, not by a long way!

I wondered more than once during the course of that eventful hour, at the pain and suffering women had to go through to make themselves presentable. I was but a child, however, no excuses were made for this fact, I had to look the part of being a well brought-up young lady, otherwise I would not be allowed in the presence of my guardian. My hair was brushed many times, so much in fact that that my head hurt from being pulled about so. Many years of tangles were finally straightened out and I swear that the hairs on the brush could have made another head of hair.

Finally, ribbons were tied in my hair and fifty-eight minutes after my torment had started, I was deemed fit to be in the presence of my elders and betters.

As I walked down the stairs, my dress with its many petticoats swishing in time with my movements, I wondered at how I would be greeted by my protectors and what might be expected of me.

At the bottom of the stairs stood a man in what appeared to be some sort of uniform and a funny looking wig.

He smiled at me and said, ‘Miss Olivia, may I be so bold as to say that you look very pretty today?’

‘Thank you, Sir?’ I replied as I felt my face go red with embarrassment.

‘Please, Miss, don’t call me sir. I would get into trouble at such familiarity. I am the footman, Jenkins, please call me by that name.’

‘Are you sure, it seems so formal.’

‘It is the way of things, Miss. I am sure that you will accept it soon enough. Are you ready to go to breakfast?’

‘Erm, yes I think so.’

Jenkins opened the door and with quite a bit of disquiet and not a little hesitancy, I walked through. The dining room was huge with a long table stretching down its centre. At one end sat Mr Brownlow and Mrs Bedwin. They both rose as I entered and came to greet me.

‘Well, Olivia, you look very pretty this morning.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Bedwin.’

‘Indeed you do,’ said an enthusiastic Mr Brownlow, ‘quite the young lady. I hope that you are feeling well once more?’

‘Yes, Sir, I am much better thanks to your kindness and Mrs Bedwin’s also.’

‘Think nothing of it, come sit beside me whilst you eat your breakfast.’

I tried to sit down as requested.

‘Stop!’ cried Mrs Bedwin as I was about to sit.

I stopped as if I was a statue, worried that I had done something terrible.

‘You must brush your hand under you like so, to straighten and smooth your dress as you sit otherwise it will become creased. That would be most unladylike.’

I saw what she did and copied her as best I could. Mrs Bedwin smiled and nodded so I think that I did it well enough.

There were several people in the room and I found myself being served from a number of different trays with various meats and other things that I could not name. I wondered at the amount of food I was expected to eat and I must have looked somewhat upset as my guardian looked at me with concern.

‘Are you well, Olivia?’

‘Oh yes, Sir, it’s just–’

‘Speak up, my dear, if there is anything worrying you–’

I stopped and thought for a moment and then I spoke as I thought.

‘Well, Sir, the sight of all this fine food reminded me of my life at the workhouse. We never were fed as well as this and the one time that I asked for more I was sent by the Beadle to be in the presence of the governors. Well, Sir, I was shocked, I could see how well they ate and this reminded me of that, it just made me wonder about the others who are still there and suffering so.’

I drew breath as I looked down at my plate, wondering if I had gone too far and whether this kind man might throw me back on the streets for being so forward.

‘Olivia.’

I looked up at the kindly face of Mr Brownlow.

‘I want you never to forget your upbringing and by all means remember your roots; for this will remind you that there are those who are not so privileged as you and will need help and support wherever you can give it. But no more of this for the moment, eat up and enjoy the good fortune of the food that God has seen fit to supply and let us most importantly enjoy the blessings of one another's company.’

Much relieved, I completed my breakfast in a much better frame of mind than I had started it.

Several days passed.

Every day I grew stronger and soon became accustomed to what was expected of me. I was wakened each mornings by my maid Sarah, who helped me to get washed and dressed. I had all my meals in the dining room with Mr Brownlow and Mrs Bedwin. Attempts were made to teach me proper social graces, deportment and other such ladylike things. I found them hard at first, but I persevered and Mrs Bedwin said I was a quick learner.

I loved the different clothes that I was given to wear. Every day I wore several different dresses depending upon the occasion and what I was doing at the time. I found it hard to understand the etiquette behind all this, but I was young and was assured that I would soon pick things up and it would become second nature.

Sarah was a great help in getting me dressed and pointing me in the right direction. I am sure that without her, I would have made a great many mistakes, but I could tell that everyone was making allowances and this put my mind at ease. Though I was determined to please by being the perfect young lady.

It was on a Sunday, that Mrs Bedwin called me into the parlour.

‘Ah, there you are Olivia, come sit beside me, we must talk.’

I sat on a stool by her chair and waited expectantly.

‘Now, Olivia, next door there is a girl that visits from time to time and is about your age. Her name is Estella. She is up for the summer and is somewhat bored with being constantly surrounded by her elders. She is a strange child, but has good manners and she has heard that you are now with us. She has requested if is is possible for you go there today and visit her. What do you think?’

‘Does she know of my circumstances?’

‘No, that is private to this household. All she knows is that you are a ward of Mr Brownlow and have come to stay with us.’

‘Should I go?’

‘If you wish; I will not force you, but I believe it would do you good to meet children of your own age and I think that you would learn from your experience. I would urge you to say nothing of your past though as she and indeed her guardian may have some difficulty understanding.’

‘Very well, if you wish me to go, I will gladly, as you have been so kind to me.’

So it was that at three post meridian as Mrs Bedwin liked to call it, I was ushered into the house next door.

I was shown into what appeared to be a library and asked to wait there by a rather severe looking butler. I much preferred Jenkins I decided.

I looked about the room, my nose wrinkling at the rather musty smell of the old books. In the corner was a mirror. I crossed to it and gazed at the reflection of a rather pretty girl with ringlets and red ribbons in her hair. She wore a red velvet frock that narrowed at the waist and fell just below her knees. Her silk stockings were white and hugged her slender legs. On her feet were black highly polished shoes and she looked every inch the girl she felt she was.

‘Hello.’

I turned at the sound of the voice to see a girl much my age and size in a blue organza dress. She was pretty with long dark hair. Her face was pretty and she had a small upturned button nose and she smiled at me but her smile held no real warmth. It was as if she had just switched it on for my benefit.

‘So you are Olivia. I am Estella Havisham. I am so pleased to meet you.’

She spoke as though she were someone much older, not as a child. It was strange and somewhat disquieting. Thinking back all those years to that moment, I felt then as I do now, that she had no soul or happiness in her life. I felt sorry for her.

‘How do you do.’

‘I do very well, thank you.’

We starred at each other for a few moments.

‘Come, let us go to my room.’

I followed as she left the library and went up the huge staircase along a number of corridors and finally to a room at the end. Following her in, I found that the room was roughly as large as my bedroom but the wallpaper was dark and so made it appear perhaps smaller. The dark furnishings and carpet all added to this rather oppressive illusion but this was her room and I assumed that she liked it this way.

She sat on what I now know to be a chaise longue and looked at me.

‘Come and sit beside me.’ She said patting the seat.

I went and sat as requested.

She looked at me critically.

‘You are very pretty. Oh look you blush too, how quaint…and yet, and yet, there is something not quite right.’

‘I am sorry, have I done something wrong?’

She looked at me quizzically.

‘What is it? I know, I know!’

I looked at her in horror. Could she know my secret? Perhaps one of the servants had given me away.

‘I am sorry, I do not know…’

‘You remind me of Pip, a boy at home, my adopted mother Miss Havisham has taken a fancy to him. You are a bit of a tomboy I think. Look you sit like a boy with your legs open and though you are pretty, it does not come natural to you to be like a girl. ‘Let me think. No say nothing…yes, I know, you were brought up in the company of boys and are yet to learn the niceties of being a girl. I am right aren’t I?’

I looked at her and felt fear. This could be the end of everything if she guessed the real truth. I was young, a child, I knew nothing other than what I had experienced in my short eventful life. However, I had seen and done things that no normal child had experienced and that made me older in some ways than this haughty young girl…so I lied, but it was not far from the truth.

‘Yes, I was in the company of boys when I was small and did not have the luxury of learning the ways of being a girl. I have come here to be taught the manners appropriate to a proper young lady.’

‘I knew it, I knew it!’ She squealed with delight. ‘I will help you if you like.’

‘Thank you,’ I said with some misgiving.

‘That is alright. I am sorry to quiz you so. Your manner puzzled me and I am glad to discern the reason. Anyway, come see my lovely doll; her name is Dora, isn’t she wonderful?’

It was strange how her face lit up as she showed me her doll; it was as if a curtain had fallen away leaving a young happy girl. She looked at me and saw that I was still upset at her treatment of me.

‘Do you have a doll?’

I shook my head and could feel the tears coming unbidden to my eyes.

‘I am sorry, Olivia, you must forgive me. I suppose like you I have had a strange upbringing. I live with my mother, Miss Haversham. She adopted me and lives in seclusion after being jilted at the altar. She still wears her wedding dress and lives in the ruin of her dreams. It rubs off a little I think and makes me melancholy. You must forgive me and be friends. Will we be? Please say yes.’

I looked at her and felt that she as well as I had suffered in some way so in answer I nodded and smiled.

‘I am so pleased and just to say thank you, I have a gift for you.’

She went over to a cabinet and opened the door. She picked out a box and brought it over.

‘Open it up.’ She said handing the box to me.

I lifted the lid and saw in some tissue paper a lovely doll with a china head and beautiful silk clothes.

‘I…I cannot accept this!’ I cried.

‘You must. It was a present from an aunt, but I can only love one doll and that is my Dora. Please have her. I know that you will look after her and it will seal our friendship.’

I picked up the doll and fell immediately in love with her.

‘Thank you so much Estella I will cherish her for ever!’

We spent some time playing and then having tea. Estella had dropped her haughty ways and was much better for it. All too soon, it was time to leave and I left promising to see her again soon and hoping that she would perhaps visit me at my house next time.

That night as I settled down to sleep the warm bed comfortable and secure and my doll clamped under my arm, I wondered about Estella and whether we would be good friends, little knowing that my life would soon take another terrible and dramatic turn and that things would never be the same for me again.

To be continued…

I will not beg for comments because it is unseemly, but if you have a moment in your busy schedule, please let me know if you like or not like this little piece.

My thanks go to Kristina L.S and Gabi for pulling this into shape.

Olivia Twist ~ The True Story ~ 7 By Susan Brown In which I learn more about being a lady ~ Go on an errand ~ Meet old acquaintances

~*~

Chapter 7

My days were full and happy. A week passed from my meeting with Estella. We had no chance to meet again, as she had been called to her guardian the next day, although she had written me a quick note promising to see me upon her return. My dolly, kindly given to me by Estella, who I had named Molly, was a constant reminder of her and our time together and I looked forward to seeing her once again.

Life continued in my new home and every day brought new things for me to do and learn in my quest to be the perfect girl.

Mrs Bedwin was so nice to me, fussing over me like a mother hen. Indeed, everyone seemed to like me and it was such a change from my previous life.

The new below stairs maid, Jane, was quite nice too. She had taken Sarah’s place and was a quite a chatterbox; it was strange though as I seemed to find her staring at me more than seemed normal. I hoped that she was not jealous of my good fortune and that she liked me a little bit.

Sarah, my maid helped me with my dressing and deportment. She had so much knowledge, gleaned from her mother, and I am sure that she could be a lady too, if some rich young Sir came along and swept her off her feet; but that only happens in stories and this was real life. It seemed strange to me that I now had my own maid and how I had gone up in the world.

This training to be a ‘lady’ was not easy, I was forever doing things wrong; not standing right, sorry properly, not sitting correctly; taking too big bites of my food; the list was endless. At the end of each day I was quite worn out from all I had to remember.

For example, I was made to walk to and fro with a book perched upon my head; it was to make me walk straight and tall and like a real lady. It was hard and it made my head hurt, but I persevered and was pronounced adequate after three days solid practice.

However, the positive side of my new life was that I was living in a wonderful house with people that loved me and did not judge me for my past. The pretty feminine clothes that I was allowed to wear made me feel and look quite beautiful. I hasten to add that it was others that said I was beautiful, not I, for I did not want to fall into the sin of pride and I tried my hardest not to keep gazing at myself in looking glasses all the time, but it was hard.

The thoughts of being Oliver were getting dimmer as the days went by and I further immersed myself into being a young girl. The terrible things that I had experienced prior to coming to this wonderful place were also dimming into memory. The fear, hunger and degradation that I had encountered and lived through were fading into the past like a bad dream or nightmare

One day, while sitting in the library, I was reading a new story by Miss Charlotte Bronte and was thoroughly immersed. Mr Brownlow was reading a paper by the fire and opposite him was Mrs Bedwin who was concentrating on some needlework.

In the distance I could here the knock from the front door, but paid no heed; being engrossed as I was in the trials and tribulations of Jane Eyre. A few seconds later, the butler came in with a note on a silver tray.

I looked up from my book as Mr Brownlow opened the note and then told the butler that there would be no reply.

He looked at Mrs Bedwin and said, ‘I must get someone to return those books to the shop.’

‘I will get one of the maids or servants to do it, shortly.’

A desire to help in some small way and of wanting to venture outside prompted me to speak. I had been living at the house for a few weeks now and I longed for some sunshine on my face.

I put my book down and went over to Mr Brownlow and Mrs Bedwin.

‘Sir, may I take the books back. I would like a walk in the fresh air?’

‘Hmm… Olivia, I cannot allow you to go by yourself. What do you think Mrs Bedwin?’

‘Well, Sir, I am sure that the walk would do her good, but I cannot countenance her being abroad on her own.’

‘I agree. Olivia, I will allow you to go but you must be chaperoned by one of the maids, Jane I think would do. Mrs Bedwin, could I impose upon you to sort out the details?’

‘Of course, Sir. Come along, Olivia.’

‘Thank you, Sir!’

‘Not at all, my dear. Now run along and remember to do exactly what Jane tells you to do while you are out.’

‘I will, sir!’

I followed Mrs Bedwin out, almost skipping with excitement.

In no time at all, I was dressed in a day dress, bonnet and cape and was waiting eagerly for Jane to come upstairs so that we could go to the book shop. A few moments passed and at last, Jane came up to me, she was carrying some books, tied with a string.

‘Well, Miss, don’t you look the lady. Are you ready to go?’

‘Yes, Jane.’

I turned to Mrs Bedwin who was standing by me and gave her a hug,

‘Thank you for letting me go.’

‘Enough of that nonsense, my girl.’ she said with a laugh in her voice, ‘now be a good girl for Jane and do as she says.’

‘Oh I will, I will!’

A few moments later, we were on the busy street. My eyes blinked in the strong sunlight as we manoeuvred around the various bodies walking abroad and struck out for the town centre.

Jane held me firmly by the hand and I was grateful for this as I was somewhat nervous.

I was concerned that I would be taken as a boy in girls clothing. I thought that I might be unmasked and ridiculed. My heart beat faster and I felt slightly sick at the thought of such a calamity. After a short while I realised no one was looking at me strangely. Indeed I received smiles from many passers by. I could see no frowns or angry looks and so my heart started calming itself and I began to enjoy our walk.

Jane still held me firmly as we walked through many streets and alleys until we stopped on a corner. On one side was a public House and on another a church.

‘Why have we stopped Jane?’

‘Erm, we are meeting someone.’

‘Who?’

‘Mr Brownlow asked me to meet someone to give him a message and we are to meet here.’

I looked around and began to feel uneasy. This place was run down and reminded me of my first days in London when I was in the hands of villains. The place was filthy and smelled of unpleasant things and it did not seem a nice place to stop and wait for any length of time.

‘I don’t like it here.’

‘Don’t worry, Miss, he won’t be long now.’

She held my hand firmly still and I remembered my instructions to do as Jane said.

Several people of dubious nature passed us by. More than once I saw a wicked look or a sneer as we waited for what seemed to be an eternity.

After some time, I felt a tap on the shoulder and I jumped with shock. I turned around and saw to my horror, Bill Sykes, standing there with a scowl on his face and a look of murder in his eyes. He had a cloth in his hands and he placed it over my mouth and nose, effectively smothering my cries of alarm.

There was a terrible taste and smell in my mouth and after a moment I knew no more.

I awoke to a terrible headache, my eyes were watering and my throat was parched and sore.

I blearily looked around me as I regained my senses and saw that I was once again back in the lair of Fagin!

All was much the same. I was lying on a shelf; my pretty clothes had been exchanged for a rough grey shapeless garment. My hair was plastered around my face and I felt quite sick. Indeed I was sick on the floor; heaving my stomach up and feeling wasted and ill.

I looked up after my repeated heaving had stopped to find Fagin looking at me. The room was quite empty apart from him and me and I wondered with some concern what plans he might have for me.

‘Well, my dear; not feeling quite well yet? Never mind, you will feel better soon now you are back with us.’

‘Why are you holding me prisoner?’

‘My dear, we were worried about you. I was only saying to Dodger yesterday how much I miss my Olivia. Don’t worry you are safe here and no harm will befall you.’

I looked at his face, he was smiling but the smile did not reach his eyes. I was in danger and I knew it.

There was something else that worried me.

‘How is Jane and what have you done with her?’

Fagin looked puzzled and then his brow cleared.

‘Worried about her are you my dear? Such a thoughtful and considerate child you are. Have no fear she is safe. Jane will you come here?’

Out from the shadows came Jane; she looked well, for which I was relieved but she was no longer wearing the clothes of a maid, but street clothes of a rather cheap quality.

‘Jane I am so glad you are safe.’ I was relieved that no harm had come to her.

‘And why wouldn’t I be safe then little miss?’

‘I…I do not understand.’

I looked at Fagin; he had a knowing look upon his face that was mirrored by Jane. All was clear to me in an instant.

‘You did this?’

‘Nothing personal dearie, Fagin asked and as I owed him a few favours I helped. Now you can be like me and live off the streets and not with those la de la people who think that they are better than us.’

‘So you are not really a maid?’

‘Never; it was just a role to get you back.’

She laughed, but there was no humour there.

‘Well, Fagin, I must be off, I’m pulling tricks in the Dog and Duck tonight.’

She waved at me and left. I hated her more at that moment than I had ever hated anyone in my short life. I cried tears of bitterness and defeat. I was trapped with nowhere to go. Mr Brownlow and Mrs Bedwin would think that I had run off and would disown me and…

‘Olivia, do not cry my dear. It is of no consequence. You belong here with your friends not with people above your class. Remember, you were born in a workhouse. They were only interested in you as a charity case. You were only an amusement to ease their conscience. No you must stay with us and learn to manage as we all do…on our wits and keeping one step ahead of the law.’

I turned away and buried my head in my hands. I cried like I had never done before; heart wrenching sobs that shook me deeply. Eventually I must have slept as when I opened my eyes it was dark and I could hear the sounds of heavy breathing around me.

My eyes soon grew accustomed to the dark and I noticed a glimmer of light coming from over in a corner where I knew Fagin slept behind a curtain. There was the sound of hushed voices coming from there and I just new in my heart that I was being spoken of.

I quietly got out of bed and crept over to the curtain. I could now here the hushed tone of the conversation…

‘Bill, my dear, is it wise?’

‘Don’t ‘my dear’ me, you Averwishus old goat. I need someone small to get through that window and she’ll fit the bill.’

‘What about young Toby, he’s small and won’t blab?’

‘I don’t want Toby, it’s going to be Olivia or do I have to wring your scrawny neck?’

‘But why her Bill? There are others, why risk trouble on us all?’

There was a pause and then I heard something that I will never forget as long as I live.

‘Because she’s too good; too squeaky clean. We need to make her as bad as us, so she doesn’t have any hope of being dragged out of the gutter. So she won’t be in a position to peach on us.’

I gasped in horror at what I was hearing and before I knew it, the curtain was dragged apart and I was grabbed by Sykes and held up by my throat. My life was going before me and I could see madness in his eyes…

To be continued…

I will not beg for comments because it is unseemly, but if you have a moment in your busy schedule, please let me know if you like or not like this little piece.

My thanks go to Kristina L.S and Gabi for pulling this into shape.

Olivia Twist ~ Final Chapter By Susan Brown In which I find myself in peril ~ Experience a nightmare ~ Learn something remarkable

~*~

Chapter 8

A red mist drifted before my eyes and everything seemed slow and distant, I heard the sound of a woman’s voice vaguely in that distance.

‘Bill, Bill, stop you’ll kill er!’

I felt the pressure on my throat gradually ease and I was let go.

With a huge gurgling inhale I slumped boneless to the floor and lay gasping for breath. Looking up through my tears, I saw that it was Nancy who had saved me. She was pressing herself against Bill Sykes and talking softly in urgent tones.

‘Bill, what use would it be to kill her, just another body to get rid of. Have sense in this; if you were caught you’d swing for sure.’

‘Wot was she spying on us for then, that’s wot I want ter know?’

I lay breathing raggedly and barely able to move, certainly not able to rise in my weakened condition and listening almost indifferently to the arguments going on around me.

‘Bill, my dear, we don’t need to be hasty. Remember you can’t use her on the blag if she’s dead?’

‘Quiet Fagin, while I think.’

Bill Sykes turned his gaze to me. A burning evil it seemed and as those eyes moved it was as though insects walked on me, I felt like a piece of meat, not human. Those eyes will haunt me to the grave.

‘Awright, but no more arguing Fagin, she comes wiv us. Nancy get er coat and lets get out of this cesspit.’

Nancy came over to me and helped me up.

‘Don’t worry, Olivia, I won’t let him hurt you.’ She whispered as she gave me a gentle hug around the shouders.

She hurried me across the room where she picked up an old coat many sizes too big and put it on me. Then she tied a bonnet on my head and we were ready.

As we walked out, Bill Sykes with his hateful dog in front, Nancy following holding my hand. I looked around me. All the others in that horrid place were looking at me. The Dodger had a grin on his face and Charlie Bates looked at me with complete indifference as he smoked on his pipe. Any thoughts of being helped by anyone here vanished.

Soon, we were in the muddy, rutted streets. I was held firmly by Nancy as Sykes hurried on to our destination. I dimly noticed the sights and smells before me; the degradation of people that were on the lowest rungs of society, the drunks, streetwalkers, children in rags, dogs and cats eating the remains of things that had once had beating hearts. I was more in fear of my life than at any time before in my short eventful time on this Earth.

I had to hold my skirts off the filthy wet ground as we avoided the puddles and heaps of muck in that God-forsaken place. Eventually after what seemed an hour but was probably much less, we arrived at our destination. From their talk and manner I gathered this was where Bill Sykes and Nancy lived.

We went up a narrow flight of wooden steps and into a squarish room roughly three times my height across. It was filthy with just a table; two chairs, a sideboard and finally a bed covered in filthy blankets.

‘Sit on the bed, Olivia.’

I did as I was told and then watched Bill Sykes pacing the room and talking to himself whilst Nancy made some supper of bread and cheese.

Finally Sykes sat down at the table eating the bread and cheese then swigging a flagon of ale.

Nancy gave me some food and whispered in my ear. ‘Eat up, dear, as you will need all your strength for tonight.’

Not really knowing what she meant but fearing that things would not go well for me if I said or did the slightest thing wrong, I ate in silence.

Once I had finished, Sykes looked over to me.

‘Lie down and sleep, I have work for you later. You heed now, ya hear.’

I did as he bid and lay down on the rough bedding. I shut my eyes, thinking that I should at least try to get some rest even though everything was like a windstorm going around in my mind…

I was being shaken and I opened my eyes. I had managed to sleep after all.

‘Come Olivia, you must get up now,’ said Nancy.

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and sat up. Sykes was in the corner putting what looked like some tools in a bag. I had a bit of pain from my private parts I needed to piss.

‘Get ‘er dressed.’

‘Yes, Bill, but give ‘er a chance, she’s just woken up.’

‘Well be quick about it, time’s running out.’

‘I need to piss,’ I said to Nancy.

‘Go over in the corner there’s a pot there; When you’ve finished, empty it out of the window; but be quick, Bill’s got a rare temper on tonight.’

I went over to the corner and making sure that I wouldn’t be seen I hitched up my skirts and crouched down as a girl would then emptied myself into the pot, it was quite hard to aim as my penis was so small and as usual, it made a mess as I went. I felt a strange ache from there. It had happened before though, so I did not take too much notice.

Once I had wiped my hands on the hem of my dress, I emptied the pot out of the window and then went over to Nancy. Sykes was putting on his coat and muttering to himself again. He seemed a bit drunk, belching and farting occasionally.

I was put back into the coat that was too big for me and the bonnet was tied on my head. Then for some reason Nancy gave me a hug and whispered in my ear. ‘Do as he says Olivia for your life depends on it.’

Without a word Sykes reached out and grabbed me roughly by the coat collar and pulled me after him and before I knew it, we were out on the street again.

We went through many alleys and lanes and I had no idea where we were. After some time, the area looked more affluent, the gardens being larger and the houses much finer. The streets were quiet and not a soul was about. It must have been very late and this was confirmed by the striking of a nearby church clock; it was 2 of the morning.

We came up to a wall. Sykes bent down and spoke to me in a hushed tone. I could smell his beery breath as he hissed at me.

‘Listen and listen well. If you get this wrong tonight, I’ll kill yer wiv me bare hands; understood?’

I just nodded, too fearful to speak.

‘Right; I am going to hoist yer over this ere wall. When yer lands on the other side go to yer left and unbolt the door; then wait fer me, see?’

I nodded again and in no time, I was scrambling over the wall and landing heavily on the other side.

Feeling with my hands as it was very dark, I felt my way along the wall until I found the rough wooden door. The bolt was stiff and squeaked a bit as I pulled it but I managed somehow and then after a short time opened the door.

Sykes came through and then grabbed my hand again.

‘Come on and keep quiet.’

He led me through some bushes and then we were on a wide lawn. About a hundred yards away was a large house. All was quiet and there were no lights in the window. It was very quiet but in the distance I could hear a dog bark and nearer the trees were whispering in the wind.

I was led around to the back of the house and to a small window. Sykes seemed to know exactly where to go and I assumed that he either knew someone from within the house or had been spying it for some time.

He held me close and whispered to me.

‘Take yer coat off and yer bonnet.’

I did as I was bid and stood there shivering in my thin and inadequate garments.

Sykes stood on his toes and pushed the window open, it was not locked.

I’m gonna push yer in the window. It’s the scullery window. When yer gets in, go left and feel for the door. Open the door, quiet like and then go into the kitchen. There’s enough light from the moon through the window fer yer to see by. Go to the door and unbolt it, then let me in. Got it?’

I nodded. I was beyond fear now. All my senses were numb I just did as he bid.

I was roughly put up to the window and then pushed through. It was a very tight fit and I nearly got caught by my skirt, but eventually, I managed to wriggle through somehow.

There was a table up against where the window was and I was able to stand on that and then jump down onto the floor. It was quite dark here but my eyes had become accustomed to the gloom. I saw the distinctive outline of the door and crept over to it. I turned the handle and then pushed the door open; it squeaked slightly. I was concerned that there may be someone on the other side but it was all quiet.

I went through the doorway and found myself in a large kitchen. There was a fire in the grate, the embers of which, cast an eerie glow into the room. I looked round, saw the door and walked over to it. There were two bolts, one at the top and the other at the bottom. I pulled the bottom bolt and then fetched a chair so that I could stand on it and reach the top one.

As I stood on the chair I nearly toppled over as one of the legs was a bit short making it unstable. However, I managed somehow and pulled the bolt back.

I stepped down from the chair and pulled it out of the way; then I noticed the door was also locked. Luckily the key was in the door so I unlocked it and opened the door. Bill Sykes then came in and breathing heavily, he quietly shut the door again.

He knelt down and said, ‘you’ve done well so far, keep this up and I might let yer live. Now follow me and keep quiet. Do as I say or it will go bad fer yer.’

I followed him as he went over to another door and opened it carefully. He poked his head out and then gestured to me to follow him.

We went out into what looked like a large hallway. Sykes walked over to another door and was just about to open it when we heard a noise.

‘WHO GOES THERE?’

Sykes grabbed me and shouted, ‘RUN!’

He went first and I followed as best I could as he dragged me by the arm. There was a bang and I felt my leg go under me. I fell to the floor as a searing pain shot up my left side. The agony of it made me want to faint. I felt myself being roughly lifted off the floor and I knew it was Sykes as I could, even through the pain I was suffering, smell the disgusting breath of the man I hated most in this world.

I had a sensation of being carried for some time. Falling in and out of consciousness I was in somewhat of a hazy state of not knowing or strangely caring what was happening to me.

The pain in my leg was throbbing away and I could feel a wetness under my dress that was probably the life blood leaving my body. Yet I did not care I was too far beyond my normal senses to make anything of my situation.

Finally I was jolted so hard, that a jag of pain went through my body that rendered me senseless and the world went dark.

I vaguely remembered being on a bed and two people arguing over something. It was a man and a woman and in the corner of my mind I seemed to recognise them.

I was in dreamlike state where reality and dreams merged into one.

One moment I was in the workhouse eating gruel and the next I was dressed in the finest black silk dress, walking in front of a hearse. Then there were more arguments that I could not see as my eyes were strangely heavy. I imagined that I heard the sound of Nancy begging, screaming and then a sickening crunch. The next moment my dreams took me to Mr Brownlow’s house where that kindly man together with the wonderful Mrs Bedwin looked after and cared for me like no others had ever done before.

Then there were the times of pain. The pains in my leg grew worse and then eased greatly to be replaced by other pains in my groin a dull ache that grew worse as time passed. I remember feeling a cloth being put over my mouth and my nose, a horrid smell and then drifting off to a pain free sleep.

I do not know at what point I realised that I was no longer in the clutches of Bill Sykes but back in the tender care of my guardian and Mrs Bedwin, but I gradually awoke and the pains had all but gone, just leaving a dull ache in their place.

I vaguely remember going through phases of being so hot that I was burning and at other times I felt chilled to my marrow. Most of the time when I was conscious, I was aware of the gentle and kind ministrations of Mrs Bedwin.

Gradually I got better and my fever broke allowing me to sleep more easily.
And so it was that I awoke one morning to find myself in the familiar room...my room in Mr Brownlow’s house.

Over by the fire as if she had never been away, was Mrs Bedwin concentrating on her needlework.

I raised my head from the pillow.

‘Mrs Bedwin.’

She looked up, delight on her face as she swiftly arose.

‘Olivia, my dear, you are awake at last. How do you feel?

‘Much better thank you but I do not know what has happened. How do I come to be here?’

‘All in good time; are you hungry?’

‘Yes; I could eat a horse!’

She laughed.

‘It seems that you are indeed feeling better. I will arrange some breakfast and then I will call Mr Brownlow and we will explain all that has happened as we know it.’

I rested my head back on the pillow, marvelling at the softness of my clean nightgown and at how warm and cosy I felt in the comfortable bed. I noticed for the first time that my doll was beside me and I cuddled it as I waited for my breakfast.

I must have dozed off, as I was awoken by the door opening and Mrs Bedwin bringing in a tray.

‘Sit up now, Olivia, and have your breakfast while it’s still hot. I haven’t brought much because the doctor said that you must be careful for a while.’

I looked down at the plate with eggs bacon sausages and bread and thought to myself that this meal would feed several of the boys in the workhouse, easily!

‘I will leave you to eat in peace and come back with Mr Brownlow.’

‘Thank you.’ I said with my mouth half full.

I only managed to eat a fraction of what was on the plate but felt full enough. Putting the tray aside, I awaited the arrival of my guardian and Mrs Bedwin with some trepidation. Had I been forgiven for not coming back? Would I be sent to the workhouse? I had little idea of what Mr Brownlow would say. Mrs Bedwin had been nice to me but she was a nice lady and it came natural to her.

A few moments later, I was in near panic wondering what was to become of me. My heart was beating nineteen to the dozen and I was in something of a state.

Just then, the door opened and Mrs Bedwin came in followed by Mr Brownlow. Mrs Bedwin took one look at my face and immediately came over to me.

‘Why Olivia, what is the matter. Are you ill again?’

‘No Mrs Bedwin. I was concerned that you may feel ill of me because I did not come back from the book shop.’

‘You silly girl; it was not your fault, it was the fault of that duplicitous girl, Jane. We know all that has happened to you and you should feel no blame.’

Mr Brownlow looked down at me kindly and said, ‘Yes, Olivia, you have nothing to reproach yourself over; now how are you feeling?’

‘Quite well, Sir, but my leg is sore and I have a strange ache between my legs.’

‘Well Mrs Bedwin, being a former nurse, will explain what has occurred but first, we need to talk about what has happened since we last saw you. Are you up to telling us your story?’

‘Yes, Sir, I must.’

They both pulled up chair and when they were comfortable, I told them of my adventures–if that is what you could call them–and the terrible time I had in the clutches of Bill Sykes.

‘So,’ said my Guardian, ‘the last clear thing you remember is that you were shot and were carried from the scene of the crime by Sykes?’

‘Yes, Sir. I do vaguely recall snatches of things happening but it was if I was in a dream.’

‘Well, Olivia, much has happened and if you feel well enough, I will tell you just what has occurred.’

‘Yes please, Sir; I am confused as to how I find myself back here.’

‘Very well, I will tell you all but if you are tired or upset, I will stop at once. Promise me if you feel unwell you will say, won’t you?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘When you did not return with Jane, we became concerned. I sent men out to go to the book shop and look around the area but found nothing. We were obviously very concerned for both of you and continued to scour the area for any signs of you and Jane. Nothing was found. No one in the house slept that night and the following morning brought no further news. Then at about ten minutes past midday, Jane came back and asked to speak with me. I immediately questioned her and she broke down. I believe now that she had intended to blackmail us. However, she must have had some vestige of decency and on the promise of not prosecuting her in this instance she told us everything she knew.

Following her sorry tale, I went to Fagin’s lair together with some of my men and several policemen. Fagin was found along with some items of contraband, also several young people also seemingly bereft of morals and they were taken into custody. Fagin was questioned at length and finally told us what had happened to you. A more odious creature I could not have met. Anyway, this led us to the house of Bill Sykes and Nancy. I am pleased that Mrs Bedwin was not with us at the sight that met me and my colleagues. Are you sure you are up to this, Olivia for the things that I have to say now will most certainly upset you.’

‘Sir, after what I have been through and the sights that I have seen, I think that I am up to hearing what you have to say.’

However, I gripped my doll tightly as I listened in horror at the events he recounted.

‘We found Sykes hanging from his neck from a beam in the hallway, he was quite dead. Then as we entered the room, there was a large pool of blood at the centre of which was a girl, later to be identified as Nancy. Her head had been stove in and she had been dead for some time. We assume that Sykes killed her in some sort of rage and then killed himself in remorse. We found you under some covers on a bed and in a bad way. You were immediately brought here and the doctors were summoned. You were in immediate danger from a pellet wound in the leg and this was extracted with some difficulty. Once the wound was cleaned up, one of the doctors in the course of examination looked at your groin area. Perhaps you could explain all this Mrs Bedwin as you are a former nurse?’

‘Of course but only if you are all right Olivia. You look quite pale and sickly.’

‘Please continue Mrs Bedwin I need to know what has happened.’

‘Very well; you know that I had some concern about your male parts?’

‘Yes.’

‘The doctor had a good look at you and said that he had only seen this kind of condition a few times. It appears that your testes…’

‘Testes?’

‘Erm balls, dear, were badly infected, small and not grown correctly. In addition to this, you had a slit at the base of the penis which needed to be examined. The doctor had a thorough look at the area and indicated that in his opinion you were a hermaphrodite; that is you seemingly had the equipment of a male and a female. The slit opens to a complete if slightly under-developed set of female organs. A doctor from Guys Hospital who is known to be the leader in this type of condition was called in and consulted and it was decided to operate on you without delay. The infected material was removed. At the same time, the doctor cleared a blockage in your small penis, repositioned and stitched it so that it resembled the anatomy of a female. The doctors are pleased with the results and as it now appears that you have a womb and all the correct organs in place you may actually be able to have children if eggs are produced as normal development continues. This is a simplification, but I hope you understand what I am saying?’

‘So–so I really AM a girl?’

‘Yes, Olivia, you are. But such thoughts of babies and things can be left for when you are older. We have another revelation for you if you feel up to the hearing of it?’

I was still in shock at the revelations so far but needed to know all.

‘Please.’

Mr Brownlow then spoke, a slight smile played about his lips, making him look much younger.

‘My representatives went to the workhouse where you were born and spoke to an unpleasant woman by the name of Mrs Mann. On questioning, she broke down and confessed that she indeed remembered a young girl being brought in. she was heavily pregnant and not in her senses. She gave birth to a son but died shortly after. Mrs Mann admits that she found on the young girls’ person a letter and a locket. She kept that fact from everyone, perhaps hoping to make money from it at a later date. I was shown the letter and locket. It was my daughter’s locket, the one that I had given her for a birthday. The letter confirmed that they did indeed belong to my daughter. One day I shall let you read the letter but not now. All this confirms that you are my granddaughter and I thank God that you have come through your ordeal and are now at home, safe with us.’

I gripped my doll tightly, tears streaming down my face–tears of great happiness. I was not the only one crying but I felt that my life had changed for the better at last. I had a grandfather and a lovely lady as close to a grandmother that I could have without being a real one. I was in a lovely home and everything was now as it should be because I was a true girl and my past could, at long last, be put to rest. I could not believe my good fortune. I now had a chance of a normal life as a girl. I could wear wonderful dresses. As I grew up as a girl–not a boy–I would do all the things that girls do and perhaps if I was lucky, get married and have children of my own! All this was in the future, but for now, I decided that I would enjoy myself as best I could and be a credit to my Grandfather and the family of which I was now a part.

Epilogue

That completes my story but for a few matters. I never understood why Sykes took me back to his home rather than leave me to my death. Perhaps there was a spark of decency in him after all. More likely he feared a trail of evidence. Fagin was hanged barely two weeks after he was caught, protesting his innocence to the last. The children that he ‘cared’ for were placed in various homes well away from London and their old haunts.

Following the outrage in newspapers that Fagin had caused, it was seen as the decent thing to do rather than just deporting them. Whether they could change their ways, only time would tell but I felt that at least The Dodger and Charlie Bates were probably too far gone for any salvation.

As for me, well that would be another story, wouldn’t it?

THE END

~*~

I put the book down. It was late and my eyes ached from reading the fine script. I didn’t know what to make of it. What a strange tale; was it fact or fiction. Then, glancing at the table, I notice the envelope. Remembering my instruction from my grandparents, I went over and picked it up.

I made myself another coffee and then went back to my seat.

I opened the envelope carefully and read the contents.

Dear Susan,

Now you have read the story, I am sure you don’t believe a word of it. Too far fetched? Well, my dear, it’s true. It happened just as Olivia said it did. Olivia grew up to be a wonderful woman and had a full and exciting life. She married and had two children. You are the great, great grandchild of one of them and that is why you have the book. You need to keep it and pass it to your youngest child.
I leave it to you whether you think you should do anything with this. We never did as who would believe Olivia’s story over the fictitious one concocted by Mr Charles Dickens? Perhaps it is best kept within the family.

Anyway dear Susan; have a wonderful life and remember that truth is often stranger than fiction. Oh dear, perhaps we have been watching too much television, though I think I may have that slightly wrong.

Love

Nan and Granddad.

I went to bed that night thinking how lucky I was not to live in the time of Olivia and yet wondering if I could find more out about her and whether she had written any more about her extraordinary life.

I will not beg for comments because it is unseemly, but if you have a moment in your busy schedule, please let me know if you like or not like this little piece.

My thanks go to Kristina L.S and Gabi for pulling this into shape.