Chapter 7 - Poor Outcast

The same woman, with the same fearsome snarl etched in bold upon her face, answered Maggie's knock upon Mr Turner's door. The children supposed she must be the housekeeper. She shook her head when she saw the same two children from earlier in the day, mumbled something, and began to close the door.

"Please, don't close the door. We need to speak with Mr William Turner," Maggie said. "It's important. If you would just give him our names, I'm sure he'll come speak to us."

The woman observed the urgency and desire to be heard in Maggie's voice but remained unmoved. "I'm sorry but Mr Turner ain't here at present. And as I said earlier, he ain't got no time for scruffy little urchins like you. I don't care who you say you are. Scram!"

"And what have we here?" boomed the voice of a man from behind them. The children turned and looked up at the tall, well-dressed man. "Speak! Are you human? Are you aught that man should question?"

The children could not judge the tone. Was it mocking? Bad-tempered? They looked at each other, confused and a little scared.

The woman at the door intervened. "These vagabonds have been hanging around here all day, Sir. Beggars and thieves I shouldn't wonder."

"Speak, if you can?" He addressed the children directly, his stare almost cutting through them.

"Sir, we are the children of Thomas Power," answered Maggie. "We are desperate and we require your help."

"Aaahhhh," the gentleman responded, the stern look melted from his face and a gentle smile began to emerge. "That, my dears, changes everything. I am Mr William Turner. Welcome. Oh, it is a pleasure to finally meet you!"

***

Inside Turner's home the children sat rubbing their hands in front of the roaring fire. So accustomed to the cold had they become, they had forgotten what real warmth felt like. The instant they saw the fire, they ran to be embraced by its warmth. They sat so close they could almost taste the heat.

When they observed the blazing orange flames, they became aware of their own coldness; a barely recognised but constant companion they had carried around with them for so long.

In the main room of the house, there was a desk full of papers and books stacked high upon one another in erratic, uneven towers. The room felt claustrophobic due to the rows and rows of books stacked across the bookshelves that ringed the room. Many seemed to have titles written in a language other than English.

"So, my dears, what's your story?" asked Turner, as he settled himself in a chair parallel to the children, who were seated on the floor in front of the fire.

Maggie began to narrate the course their lives had taken since their father's imprisonment and departure. How the family had uprooted itself and left Liverpool to be near him, while he awaited trial in prison. How, after their father's transportation, their financial predicament grew worse and, due to their mother's sense of lost pride, they could never return home again.

"And your mother, where is she now?"

"Dead." snapped Tom.

"Oh dear, I am sorry to hear that. And how have you existed in the meantime?

"Scavenging." replied Tom. Maggie felt irritated that she was unable to explain fully, as Tom kept firing the replies back to Turner. "We also joined a gang today -"

"Mr Turner doesn't need to know about that, Thomas," interrupted Maggie.

Turner initially looked surprised and seemed to think about responding to Tom's revelation. Then he returned to Maggie. "Oh, I suppose not. Well then, tell me, who has been looking after you? How did it come that you ended up so low?"

Maggie spoke before Tom could answer. "We have nobody, Mr Turner. It has been Tom and I for a while now. Thinking back, I believe Mother felt great shame and was too proud to ask for help. And when Father was transported, she said he had brought shame upon the family. She said she'd rather die than see us all end up in the workhouse."

"I know this is hard, but when did your dear mother pass away?" he asked.

"I'm not sure. I mean I can't know the date for sure. For a while, I lost track of time. Perhaps it was late January. Or early February. She had the churchyard cough and suffered terribly for a while. We were thrown out of our lodgings because the sewing work she brought home didn't amount to much, and we couldn't pay the rent. I tried to help but I think she got so very tired with the illness, and she couldn't keep up with the work. We then found shelter in an old fisherman's hut down by the river, but her condition grew worse. She was miserable and full of despair. She hated how her life had turned out and hated that we were forced to take up begging and -"

It was Thomas's turn to interrupt, very much to Maggie's annoyance. "Right after she died, I used to think I saw her face everywhere. Every woman of her age seemed to have her face." As he spoke these words, Maggie's frown was eclipsed by a look of tenderness. "I used to see her face around the market, pulling barrows, scavenging on the waterside, even walking the streets in fancy clothes. I'd stop and stare at all these ladies. But after a few seconds of staring, I knew it couldn't be her - and the real face of the woman I was looking at would appear once more."

He paused and then continued. "Because mum was dead. It was all my imaginings. And Maggie told me because we was so poor, we weren't allowed to bury her properly - as she would have wished."

"That's right, it was a pauper's funeral for her," explained Maggie hastily.

"Poor outcast sleep in peace," Turner said somewhat distracted looking into the fearful flames of the fire. He tutted. "Dear, dear. What a terrible predicament." He turned back to face the children.

"However, you shall stay here tonight and indeed for as long as you wish. We shall get you cleaned up and fed. Mrs Harrison will see to you and we shall speak later after supper. You are hungry, I suppose?"

"Famished," said Tom. "We haven't eaten for days," a line Maggie had him repeat whenever they met a person of money or privilege on the streets.

"Thank you, Mr Turner," said Maggie. "We have not eaten well in such a long while.

"I can see that all too plainly," he replied. "Further, I have some news that may be of great interest to you. But it can wait for now. First we shall get you clean and then we will eat."

***

Metropolitan Police Evidence: The Power Papers - Document 4

Letter from Thomas Power sent to Mr. William Turner, Van Diemen's Land, October 1841.

My Dearest Friend,

Thank you for keeping me up-to-date with events back home. I now realise that all hope has vanished and, with the turning down of my right to appeal, I must stay here upon Van Diemen's Land for what remains of my cursed life. But that, alas, is the least of my worries at present.

The address I sent you was the last and only known address I possessed for my family in London. It seems they have indeed moved on, as you suggested.

Where? Your guess is as good as mine. I thank you for your efforts in trying to locate them, and your promise to do so for as long as it takes keeps a little fire of hope burning in my heart.

Unfortunately, I have not received a single word during the past six months or so. This has become very worrisome to me and I barely sleep at night for the sickness I feel inside - when I begin to consider where they may be or what may have become of them...

I feel a despair so dark, to lift my spirits I now look to another world; look towards the Sanctuary we once spoke of.

For I fear these feet can no longer remain on this earth. In the morning when I walk from my cabin, I look and see yonder the wicket gate. In my mind's eye I sometimes glimpse the shining light beyond the gate. It is, I believe, the light which leads one to the Celestial City. There is always a shining light, my dear friend, and it shall light the path to the future and show us where we all must eventually travel. I know now where I must travel and how I should depart. I shall walk beyond the wicket gate one day and maybe, at sometime, in some other world, I shall have peace and be re-united with my family.

In the meantime, if by chance you ever find my wife and children, pass on this message to them.

Tell them of the light and the road to the Celestial City. Tell them to follow the road out beyond the City of Destruction. Tell them to head for the Celestial City. For there, as you rightly know, they shall find a true Sanctuary.

Yours sincerely

Thomas Power.

***