School For Pickpockets

There's an art to pickpocketing. Light hands. Innocent face. I have it down pat. My name is Elizabeth. Unlike most street kids, I can read and write. It makes me different. I dress well and eat plentifully. Makes most wish they had my luck. But it never was luck. It was trial and error. I went to school before my pa went bust. Then ma went and died of cholera, pa went the same way. I learnt by watching, listening. A band of petty thieves took me in as a maid. I worked hard. Know I'm in charge.