The Grindle Twins

The twins Nug and Meg Grindle became orphans at the tender age of seven. Their Mother, Molly, was a woman who gave herself to drunkards for pennies. It was only a matter of time before she caught the bube and died of the dirty disease while touting for business in the gin shops around Seven dials. 

They didn't mourn their Mother's death; grief was a luxury in which only the wealthy indulged. Instead they ran like the clappers when they overheard the landlord's excited exclamation on discovering their Mother's corpse,  "It looks like Molly Grindle's a gonna. Go and grab them two chavy's of hers waitin outside, we'll get good money for em."  The poor mites had no time for tears.

When they reached the Strand they rested in an unused doorway of the Gaiety Theatre. Nug put a reassuring arm around his sister and said, "We've got each other Meg and that's a lot more than most folk have in London town." They were aware of the dangers that lurked on every corner, so they huddled deeper into the dark recess when the theatre's gaily chattering audience spilled past. After all, some toffs were carting orphans off to the workhouse, the place they were determined to avoid.

They woke to the sound of barrows and carts making their way down the Strand on the way to Covent Garden Market. Nug darted from their sleeping place and honed in on a batch of battered apples that had fallen off a wagon. He had competition from a gaggle of bare footed urchins, but after a short scuffle and a boot in their whirligigs he managed to secure a couple. They wiped the horse manure off, gave them a spit and polish, and feasted on their tartness.

Unlike the child savages and petty pick-pockets that populated London's streets, they had boots. Their Mother, probably realising her death was imminent, had taken them to Petticoat lane and kitted them out with a new wardrobe a week before she died. Thus they were able to mingle among the bustle of Covent Garden without incurring the local's wrath – they didn't yet look like ragamuffins.

"Aunt Mary from Whitechapel," said Meg, as they sat eating sheep's trotters, robbed from a street vendor. She wasn't their real aunt, but a friend of their Mother's. "Maybe she'll take us in for a while?" Meg yearned to sleep in a bed after the umpteenth night on the streets.  Nug pondered before saying, "Naaaaah Meg, she's a drunkard, we'll be better off on us own."

Their belly's full, the twins dawdled down Garrick Street as the sun went down on another day. Nug stopped outside a grand house, "Blimey Meg, ave a look in ere." They peered through the window at the illuminated wealth on display, hypnotised by the sparkling light, until a man's voice startled them back into reality, "Hello children?" Nug's response was swift, "Sorry Sir, do excuse us, just admiring the room we was." He was tall and expensively dressed; his smile revealed sparkling teeth, the likes of which the twins had never seen. "Thank you, I'm pleased you like my home, and I trust you have one of your own to go to?"

"Yeah, we do Sir, and we better get going cos our Ma will be vexed if we're late home," lied Nug. The man produced a collection of coins and handed them to Nug, "Share this between yourselves, and have a lovely evening."  Nug couldn't believe it – two jingling guineas, rich man's money.

They treated themselves to a meal of meat, broth and coffee in a tavern. As always Nug saw opportunity, "I fink we should go back again Meg; for some reason he's charmed by us." But Meg, true to form, expressed caution, "I aint sure, just don't feel right to me."  Nug sucked on a bone, his tongue searching every crevice for nourishing marrow; he understood his sister's wary, but was prepared to risk another encounter, if it meant another guinea.

The straw mattress in the common lodging house soothed the twins into a sleep so deep they remained undisturbed by the chorus of snoring and other bodily sounds coming from the drunkards who slept standing, propped up against the tuppeny rope.