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her hands and knees scrabbling about the floor collecting the coins her father had knocked from her hand. ‘I won’t go again, Da,’ she said, offering them up to him.
    He took them from her, slipping them into the pocket of his old faded trousers as he said, ‘You do an’ it’ll be the last time your skin’ll cover your bones - an’ that’s a promise. You bin there afore?’
    ‘No, Da.’ The lie was immediate and instinctive.
    ‘She has, Da. I told you--’
    Jimmy’s voice was cut off by his father making a downward motion with his hand, but even as her father was saying, ‘Let tonight be a warnin’ to you,’ Josie was thinking what a nasty bit of work their Jimmy was. She could just imagine him sniffing about and then running to tell tales to their da.
    However, as she busied herself banking down the fire in the living room with damp tea leaves and slack, Josie’s thoughts were not with her brother. Now the crisis had passed she couldn’t believe her own temerity, nor that her father had backed down from the confrontation without using his belt. And he’d known, he’d known Gertie was lying, that they both were, and he’d just pretended to believe them to save face in the end. The knowledge was a revelation and suddenly, miraculously, his power wasn’t absolute and Bart Burns had become a mere mortal, like the rest of them.

Chapter Two
    After the events of the previous evening, Patrick Duffy’s offer to buy Gertie’s innocence fell on receptive ears, especially as Josie had further angered her father that morning by making sure Jimmy and Hubert attended the Board school in James Williams Street along with their youngest sister.
    For the last fifteen years the education in the Board schools had been free, unlike the church schools which charged a small fee of a penny or two a week. Since elementary education had become compulsory four years before, Josie had attended school whenever she could, until she had left at the official age of eleven, and she encouraged her sister and two brothers to do the same.
    It had been an uphill battle in the lads’ case, not least because Bart often made use of them during the day when more youngsters were about and their pickpocketing activities were likely to be less noticeable. It didn’t help that the boys themselves couldn’t see any point in learning to read and write, a point of view shared by Gertie, who nevertheless was more amenable than her brothers due to her desire to please her big sister whenever she could.
    ‘So, same deal as afore then?’
    ‘Aye.’ Bart inclined his head, glancing round the smoky interior of the noisy public house. The Masons’ Arms in Dunning Street, off High Street West, was Bart’s favourite haunt, being a hotbed of illegal bookmaking. ‘An’ what about after?’ he said, his voice low. ‘You got anybody lined up to take her on?’
    ‘What do you think?’ The Irishman grinned. ‘You can trust Patrick Duffy to take care of everythin’. You know that.’
    Aye, he knew that sure enough. Bart smiled back into the sallow face, but weakly. He had never made the mistake of underestimating the power of the insignificant-looking little man in front of him, but he knew of those who had and who had lived to regret it. There was an innate viciousness about Patrick Duffy that was at odds with his undersized body.
    ‘Later tonight then.’ Patrick slid a small cloth pouch bulging with coins across the greasy table and Bart quickly pocketed it. ‘I’ll be waitin’ at the back of the Trafalgar Square almshouses near the graveyard round eightish, an’ make sure your missus keeps her mouth shut when the little ’un don’t come back for a day or two. Give it till the weekend an’ I’ll bring her back here with her handler - and you’d better make sure this ’un don’t skedaddle like the other two. Less than best pleased was old Douglas about that.’
    ‘It weren’t my fault.’ There was a slight whine to Bart’s voice.