Sweepings of the Street [EXCERPT]

Chapter 4: The Rooftop

Covent Garden Market was less populous on Sarah's second day than on her first, to her relief. Twenty or thirty boys congregated in front of the lodging house, wearing dirty clothing similar to hers and carrying identical bags, their faces caked with soot and dirt. The eldest of them looked around Sarah's age, and the youngest was hardly older than Abigail. Sarah cringed at the sordid party: the chimney sweepers scarcely seemed better off than the vagrant boy she'd seen in the street the week before. How long would it be before she looked the same?

The lobby of the lodging house was crowded with more sweepers, most of them shorter and dirtier than Sarah was. The boys were loud and unruly, laughing and slapping one another on the backs. It was clear that they had known each other for years. An ache set into Sar boxah's chest. There had been children her age at the factory, but she hadn't dared speak to anyone but Thomas for fear of the overseer's discipline. With the exception of Thomas, she'd spent five months without anyone she could truly call a friend.

She stepped into the queue of sweepers that formed in front of the desk. Mr. Stanton handed each boy a slip of paper with an address written on it. Sarah received hers, along with a smile and a "Good luck!" from Stanton. She left as Mr. Stanton spoke to the next boy in line.

Sarah found the house with some difficulty, since she'd spent little time in the richer parts of the city. Along with the address, Mr. Stanton had scrawled a hasty set of instructions, which Sarah used to navigate herself to her assignment. As Sarah reached Piccadilly, the properties transformed from close quarters to spacious enclosures, and the houses themselves grew larger and more extravagant. Sarah tore her gaze away from the mansions to find her assignment, a house smaller than some in the vicinity, but still many times the size of the Lees' flat. Stanton had also noted that the house's kitchen fireplace connected with that of the sitting room to form a single chimney stack. She was to sweep the former, while another boy would join her to clean the latter. Sarah found the kitchen, spread out her sheet to cover the floor, and ducked into the fireplace.

If possible, this chimney was even narrower than the one she'd climbed the day before. Stanton's direction to use her back and knees to ascend the flue was harder than it sounded, particularly in a space barely wider than Sarah's own body. Sarah reached behind her to withdraw a brush, but there was so little room to move that she could not remove it from her bag. She had climbed twice as far as she was tall, which was not very far, and at least five more of that distance remained before the top. Her legs were beginning to lose sensation, and the opening of the chimney seemed impossibly far above her.

"Is anyone there?" she called, not expecting an answer.

To her surprise, a boy's voice hollered back. "Aye! You the sweeper they sent?"

"Yes!" Sarah lowered her voice mid-word; she'd forgotten to disguise her tone in her relief. "Are you a sweeper as well?"

"I am indeed," said the boy. His voice was throaty and muffled by the brick. "Either that, or an odd little nipper what fancies climbin' his own chimney stack. You get stuck or somethin'?"

"No, I'm just having trouble climbing. Where are you?"

"Comin' out the other chimney. Mind your head, I'm comin' down."

Sarah craned her neck upwards as a shadowy figure slid out of an opening several feet above her. He caught himself against the opposite wall with a grunt. "I'm goin' to tie the rope at the top, and you're goin' to climb up. Can you do that?"

Sarah had never attempted anything of the sort, but she answered, "I think so."

The boy shimmied up the chimney, his body blocking the light above Sarah until he was climbing out of the top. The square of light reappeared, broken by the boy's silhouette. Seconds later, a rope tickled her shoulder.