The World Over

Run Away Child

Chapter Three

              Run Away Child

Edith’s POV

      1910 – Edith is 14 years old

“Edith!” Mrs Cartwright cried again and I sighed before getting up out of the wooden stiff chair and wandering out of the room to where she was. “What do you think you’re doing?” She bellowed.

“I…I was re…reading, Miss.” I told her stuttering.

“Speak up girl!”

“I was reading, Miss.” I repeated fast, so I do not mess it up and be shouted at again.

“And why were you reading?” She asked.

“I had finished my chores, Miss.” I replied carefully, not wanting to anger her any further.

“Well maybe you don’t have enough.” She snapped. “Turn around!” She commanded and I did as she told me to, squeezing my eyes shut and clenching my fists. A sharp pain erupted all over my body, centring at the bottom of my back. I bit my lip to stop myself from crying out and receiving it again.

“Will you take your own break again?” She yelled and I shook my head. “What have I told you about not speaking up?”

“I’m sorry, Miss. I won’t take a break again.” I told her, the tears welling up in my eyes.

She sneered at me. “Yes I know, now scrub these floors.” She demanded, her cold eyes looking straight into mine, making me feel small.

She turned her back on me and stormed out of the room, leaving me stood there in pain, tears crawling down my face. I wouldn’t be in this position if my parents hadn’t abandoned me for some war. I would never abandon my children; no matter what happened, I would never separate myself from them until they were old enough. Not two years old.

My mind instantly flicked to my Aunt Harriet and Uncle Peter, who took me in through kindness, only to be taken cruelly by Cholera, I was only three years old. That was when I was placed in the Orphanage, or the Gate of Hell.

The only thing I brought were the clothes I were wearing and my little bag that had the only letter my mother sent to me from South Africa. I read it every night before I fell asleep, even though I hate her, and my father. It’s the only evidence I have that reminds me of my mother and my previous happiness.

I wandered into the washroom and picked up the bucket that was on the floor, before going outside to where the tap was. I turned the tap around to let the cold water sliver out of the tap slowly. I turned around to see a small opening between the trees and further down you could see the English Channel.

I glanced into the bucket to see it not even halfway full. I sighed and sat on the stairs, dreaming about sailing across the sea and to feel life.

I got up and turned the tap on before picking up the bucket and pouring all the water out onto the stone flags. I placed the bucket back down before slipping through the opening, checking that I had my mother’s letter.

There was a small wood that I had to go through to get to the beach and sea. It wasn’t deep, but I was still scared of getting lost. I closed my eyes, not concentrating on the pain from my back, but instead of freedom and I felt my legs start to walk on their own, further into the wood.

I heard a noise come from behind me and turned around fast, only to see that it was a fox. My heartbeat slowed down as I made the last few feet down to the beach.

The port was huge and there were people everywhere, selling fish and fruit and other various items that just made my mouth water. The food at the Orphanage was similar to gloop. It was not this. This was fresh and new and tasty, with hundreds of flavours.

I could see my new life already, no orphanage, just me.

I cannot see how it is going to happen, but I shall have to try and gain a job in one of the factories. I’ve read about them before and they don’t seem nice, I’m not deluded enough to believe that England is a bunch of roses. I have been sent down to the town many times before to get food for the other children there. How it goes from this to the food we get on our trays baffles me.

I stepped into the busy main street and wandered up it before slipping onto the small beach that was further down from the port and sat down on the warm soft beach. I picked up the sand before letting it slide gracefully out of my hand and back into a pile.

“Hello miss, are you lost?” Someone asked me in a soft voice from behind me. I turned my neck to face him. He looked to be a man in his late forties, his moustache was black and curled at the ends and his hair was slicked back.

I shook my head. “No sir, I was just down here for the peace.” I lied so he doesn’t report me to the Police or worse the Orphanage.

“I like to do the same.” He told me before sitting down beside me. “Do you have a job?” He asked me, taking me by surprise.

I shook my head. “No sir.”

“Well do you go to school?” He questioned further.

Again, I shook my head. “No sir.”

He smiled. “Would you like to work for me in my house as a Parlour maid?”

I looked at him in shock. “You want to hire me?” He nodded. “But I’m only fourteen years old.” I told him truthfully.

“That’s a good age; you can train and may soon be the cook.” He replied.

 Should I take it? It will get me away from the Orphanage but what if it’s worse? I haven’t seen my freedom yet. “I shall take it.” I told him, coming to a conclusion.

He held his hand out to me and so I shook it. “I am glad you decided to take up my offer. My last parlour maid got into the family business and so she had to go, I wasn’t particularly looking for a maid at this particular time and instead was going for my morning walk. You just seem to be the perfect candidate.” He informed me and I nodded my head, answering him, due to him being my boss.

“I am ever so grateful sir.” I told him.

“Nonsense, I should be the one grateful.” He smiled. “Can you start tomorrow morning? Give you time to tell your parents.” He asked.

“I have no parents, they died.” I told him, only the half-truth as I do not actually know if they had died in the Second Boer War. “I can start today if you want.”

“I am sorry for your loss. Where have you been living dear?” He asked concerned.

“I was at the orphanage.” I told him honestly, not wanting to be caught out lying.

He nodded his head. “You can come and see your living quarters, but you shall not start till tomorrow.” He told me, a sense of authority to his voice. “And I shall go to the orphanage tomorrow and tell them where you shall be staying from now on.”

“Truly sir, I am ever so grateful.” I repeated from earlier.

“I know you are child.”