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  Luke burst into tears in terror.

  ‘That’s it! That’s my boy! The very picture! You cry hard, son, and learn to do it professional, because you’re going to that undertaker to get yourself trained up to be a mourner.’

  ‘But I’m feared of dead people, Pa!’

  ‘Nonsense, nonsense, they can’t hurt you. You can stop the crying now because there’s no call for it. You’ve got a nice, easy, clean profession compared with your brothers.’

  Mary-Martha held baby John tightly, swaying a little. ‘What about me, Pa?’ she whispered.

  ‘You’ve done nothing wrong, my little lass. You’ve done your level best, I know that. You’ve cared for us all and nursed that poor little babe. You shall stay.’

  We waited. Pa did not even look in my direction, but of course he knew I was there.

  ‘And – and what about our Ellen-Jane?’ Mary-Martha asked.

  Pa grunted as if in sudden pain, but kept staring resolutely at the boys.

  ‘Ellen-Jane can stay too, can’t she, Pa?’ Mary-Martha continued bravely. ‘She helps too. She tries her best, even though she’s only little.’

  Pa threw back his head and gave me one glance with his bloodshot eyes. ‘No one in their right mind would take on a little minx like that one,’ he said, and then he stomped out of the room.

  I didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry. I didn’t want to be sent to be a carpenter or a fishmonger or a mourning mute. I wanted to stay at home – but I couldn’t bear home any more either. I’d lost my mother, and my father now hated me.

  I pressed close to Mary-Martha for some comfort, for she was all I had left now.

  I HAD BEEN small for my age before, but now I couldn’t seem to grow at all. It wasn’t just because I didn’t have enough food. I had the same greasy soups and stale bread as my sister, and yet Mary-Martha grew tall, and her arms were strong too, because she was forever carrying our little brother, John. I stayed tiny – as if Pa’s new contempt for me had withered something deep within me.

  I tried hard to please him still, doing my fair share of the household tasks and painting all the endless tracts without once going over the lines. I nursed the baby too, though when Johnnie got to be a toddler it was a struggle to carry him properly and I had to walk with a bent back to balance him.

  I was a supple girl even then. I’d naturally bend right over and scuttle like a crab, or walk upside down on my hands. This always made Johnnie go into peals of laughter, so it was a useful ploy when he was grizzly – but I took care never to perform any acrobatics when Pa was around.

  He barely was around. He took to travelling far and wide to do his pattering. Sometimes he didn’t come home for a week or more. We were often left very short of food. Once we could only beg a crust for the baby, while we ourselves starved for two whole days – and then even pious Mary-Martha wished our brothers were home to steal for us.

  When, on the third day, Pa still wasn’t home, I decided I had to find some way of earning enough pennies for food. I left Mary-Martha and Johnnie, and set out from Willoughby Buildings, clutching my rag doll, Maybelle, for companionship. I walked all the way to the market, though I was faint from lack of food. I knew there was always a big crowd there, and that was what I needed.

  There were beggars a-plenty at the edge of the stalls, desperately eyeing the hot pies, the sugary cakes, the pyramids of red and yellow fruit – but the market men were fierce and very protective of their wares. There were all sorts of novelties too: a hurdy-gurdy man, with his mechanical organ and his live monkey in a little red velvet jacket, an escapologist trying to bust out of his chains, and a Punch and Judy stall. Punch looked like a miniature Pa and gave me the shivers, especially when he wielded his stick.

  There were less elaborate buskers too: two girls holding hands and singing together, and a blind man reciting an endless poem about a Red Indian. They all had caps in front of them so that people could throw pennies in if they appreciated their performance. The poor blind man had a cap full of dud counters and pebbles, and every time a mean-spirited lad threw in another worthless stone, he heard the clink, paused in his recital, and murmured, ‘Thank you kindly,’ which made the boys laugh.

  I could not sing and I did not know any poems. I had only one talent. I propped Maybelle against a lamppost and stood up to perform.

  I bent over backwards and started my crab-walk, and then tipped my weight onto my hands and walked about with my legs waving in the air. My hair fell about my face so I could not see the reaction of the crowd, but I could hear murmurings. There were raucous comments from the boys, but plenty of approval from the general crowd.

  ‘Oh, the little lamb, just look at her!’

  ‘She’s such a tiny creature too, a little half-pint.’

  ‘How old do you reckon she is? She must be barely out of baby robes. My, but she’s nimble!’

  I continued to cavort, doing my limited repertoire of tricks, until I sensed I had a big audience, and then I righted myself with a flourish and dropped a curtsy, while everyone clapped.

  ‘Where’s your cap, dear?’ someone shouted.

  I hadn’t brought one with me because the only cap in the household belonged on Pa’s head. I took off my shawl instead and laid it on the pavement. Within a minute all the wool was covered in coppers, and I heard cries of: ‘Bravo, little girl!’

  I barely stopped to acknowledge the praise and collect floppy Maybelle. I gathered up my money, tied a knot in my shawl, and ran off with it. I bought a pie for Mary-Martha and a pie for me, a candy cane for us to share, and a loaf of fresh bread, still warm from the oven, plus milk and porridge for the baby.

  My shawl was stretched to bursting point and it was a struggle to carry it home, but Mary-Martha was so pleased to see me with my special feast. She was even hungrier than me, for she was naturally a big girl, and when she starved she had terrible pains in her stomach that bent her double, so at first she simply ate ravenously. She was so eager, she didn’t even pause to cut the bread – simply broke off great chunks and sank her teeth into the soft dough – but when she’d eaten her fill and fed little Johnnie, she turned to me.

  ‘How did you pay for all this food, Ellen-Jane?’ she asked. Her voice was low, because she was rocking Johnnie to sleep, but she was looking at me intently, her eyes fearful.

  ‘I didn’t steal it,’ I said quickly. ‘I earned it.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I went to the market and put on a little show,’ I said, licking the candy cane.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I pretended I was a turn at the music hall,’ I said.

  We’d never been to a music hall, but the older lasses at the buildings often sang music-hall numbers as they scrubbed the floors or staggered home with bags of coal, and we’d picked up some of the jolly tunes – though we didn’t dare sing them when Pa was around because the words were saucy.

  ‘You sound like a scalded cat when you sing. You can’t hold a tune at all,’ said Mary-Martha.

  ‘I didn’t sing. I did my upsy-daisies,’ I said, using my baby word for acrobatics.

  ‘Oh, Ellen-Jane! You’re too big now to do that in front of everyone!’

  ‘Everyone thought I was too little – and they marvelled,’ I said proudly. ‘They gave me so many pennies. Look, I haven’t spent half of them yet!’

  ‘I’m sure it’s a sin,’ said Mary-Martha worriedly. ‘It’s begging – and it’s also very wanton, turning upside down and showing your drawers.’

  ‘Jesus was always very kind to beggar people – and I wore my petticoats so they could only see a little bit of my drawers,’ I said defiantly. I marched up to the wall of tracts. ‘God helps those who help themselves!’ I declared.

  I had her there. She fed Johnnie his bowl of milky porridge and sucked at her share of the candy cane without further comment.

  So now, whenever we were desperate, I took myself off to market and did my little turn. The beggars tried to elbow me