Historical Fiction Smackdown

Round 1: Hortence and Silas

Historical Fiction Smackdown-Round 1

Victorian, Clock

Pictures- 2, 3, 6

"Peter, Peter pumpkin eater,

Had a wife but couldn't keep her;

He put her in a pumpkin shell

And there he kept her very well."

Hortence peered out from her grime covered window and watched the little girls in their smock uniforms play in the courtyard. It was supper time and the din the girls would create was enough of a cover for her to sneak back into her sleeping quarters. Time alone was so precious it was inevitable she would conspire to fight for it. The little girls giggled and started to sing another rhyme.

Hortence lived in a workhouse. It was where the underprivileged, unemployed and the mentally ill were safely stashed away, forgotten from society. It was also the place all unwanted children were dropped off. Everyone abided by a strict timetable and wore dour, unembellished uniforms. Even children had to earn their keep or else they would meet the loathsome rod and find no supper to be had.

Hortence rummaged through her knick knacks safely buried under the creaky oak floorboard. She found what she was looking for, matted underneath a cobweb, but before her flailing hand could reach, a knock on her door broke her concentration. She inhaled uncontrollably, fearing the worst was upon her. She looked up and her tense body relaxed at the sight of the visitor.

"Stop sneakin' up on me, Silas," Hortence berated sharply. Her hand was still trembling inside her hidey hole.

"Not my fault yer whimpier than a bunny rabbit," The boy with his trademark, coal covered nose smirked at her. He had a horrid habit of sneaking in whenever he could, even in places like the girl's quarters where he would have gotten a lashing if he were caught.

"Aren't yeh supposed to be at work?"

"I was, Horty. I've been at it since the cock's crowing to get what was blocking the old manor house's chimney," Silas' shoulders drooped, "Wish I hadn't. Found little Gus, little lad, frozen solid."

"He was only five," Horty felt last night's gruel lurch in her throat.

"Tis, teh life of a chimney sweep. Yer never gonna know when the chimney tightens around yeh and teh black witch's smog coils in yer belly, stealing yer breath."

"I'm goin' to go for broke," Horty whispered abruptly, now making up her mind," I'm slippin' out tonight when the matron and master lay down for bed."

"Lay down for bed! Master's been pissing pins and needles ever since he lay down with some tarty dollymop. He ain't sleeping a wink cause he's been oozin' everywhere and neither is the matron. She kicks up a shine every now and then. We can hear her screeching."

"The master always was a skeevy bloke. Missy's been telling me he's been starin' at her an' I thought she'd gone daft in the head."

"He's been staring at yeh, yeh know," Silas spoke quietly and his hooded eyes spoke something she could not decipher, "That's why teh Matron's been hankering aroun', tryin' to send some of us off to teh colonies. Even teh girls."

"I dun care for being sent to frozen Canada. I'd rather do more spinnin', cardin' wool or suckin' marrow than be stuck on a farm in the middle nowhere. I've heard its so cold fingers blacken and crumble. I'd do anything to run off."

"Yer hands were not made teh for toil and trouble," Silas grabbed her calloused hands. The dirt under her nails was now a permanent fixture. Horty pulled her hands away feeling strangely conscious, "I remember when yeh were sent here. Yeh were sent from teh heavens above."