1899
Leroy woke up before the sun rose to leave for work. He got dressed in the dark, not wanting to bother with fumbling around for a match to light the single dwindling candle they had left. His mother wasn't yet home from working the streets; she never came home before the sunrise. Wrapping his thin coat around him as tight as he could, he took a deep breath and headed out into the snowy streets of New York. He hurried out of Harlem to the printing presses in the center of Manhattan. Business was always slow before the sun came up, but it picked up in the few hours after sunrise as more people flooded the streets on their way to work.
Sometime around noon he ran out of papers. He tucked his satchel into the pocket of his coat and grabbed his cap and pulled it down to hide most of his face. He hurried through the snow to the Upper East Side. Hovering in doorways and between buildings, shivering from the cold, he watched for distracted people in fine clothes. Then he'd scurry up behind them and rob them of just enough to be worth his time, but not so much that they'd notice right away. In just a few hours he'd have enough cash and trinkets to make double what he had earned in the morning selling papers.
If it was up to him, he'd quit selling papers and pickpocket full time. He'd make more money that way. But his mother needed to think he was out doing something better than that, and he didn't enjoy lying to her. At least this way he wasn't lying—just withholding part of the truth.
It might kill his mother if she found out how he made most of his money. She was protective of him—more so than he thought she should be. There were lots of other kids he knew that had jobs working in factories. Leroy would be fine with taking a job like that where he could take on more hours, but his mother refused. She didn't even like for him to sell papers—and forbade him from setting foot off Manhattan. His mother had told him that she couldn't bear the thought of him roaming around the entire city, despite the fact that they needed every cent they could get.
He wasn't a boy with delusions of grandeur by any means; all he wanted was a comfortable life. Their current situation was anything but. Leroy might have only been ten, but he felt a hell of a lot older. It broke his heart that his mother sold herself in order to provide what little they had. That was why he needed to get a real job and help her out. Unless he could find a way to provide for the both of them, he would have to make a choice between having the kind of life he'd always dreamed of and his mother being a part of his life.
Luckily for him, that hadn't yet been necessary.
A few hours before sunset, he headed home with a pocketful of money. His mother was sitting on the bed eating a bowl of soup. When she saw him come in, her world-weary eyes lit up. Her beautiful face looked much older than she was due to all the heartache and misfortune. She pushed back her dark hair and gestured for Leroy to grab a bowl of soup and sit next to her. "How's my beautiful boy today?"
"I did alright today, mother." Looking down into his bowl, he could tell that the soup wasn't much more than water with the few small scraps of meat that had fallen off the bare bones she always got at a discount from the butcher on the corner.
"No but how are you, my little prince?" He sat down with his soup and she wrapped her arm tight around his shoulders.
He suppressed an eye roll, knowing that no royalty lived as they did. She always asked him that question, and he always hated it because he didn't want to lie to her. Was he supposed to tell her how much he despised their poverty? How ashamed he was of it? Or that, even at so young an age, he couldn't stand to see the people with their fine things go on with their lives, being able to replace anything he stole from them with the blink of an eye—things he would never in his life be able to afford to have in the first place.
"One day, my love, it'll be different. One day your father is going to come back for us and take us away from all of this."
Leroy smiled at her, knowing full well that she was delusional.
"He was such a good man; the best I ever knew. Kind, too. Not to mention handsome and well-dressed. A real gentleman, he was." Leroy gave her a look of withering doubt. She wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him tight. "He was, Leroy. I met him when he was staying near my father's manor on business. He was so impressive—the way he dressed and the way he spoke—so dignified and regal. He looked at me like I was the best thing he'd ever seen."
"If he's so great, why're we living like this?"
Her eyes dropped, and she looked over at the door. "His business only left him in town a few days. By the time I knew about you, he had already moved on. My father gave me the choice to give you away in secret, or to take you with me and leave. I couldn't bear for us to be apart. I made the right choice, don't you think?"
Leroy stayed quiet, unsure how to respond without lying to her.
"I just know that I'll find your father again someday, and we'll be able to be a real family."
He was certain that even if his father had thought to get in touch with Lizzie Whitten ten years ago, he'd have long given up the whim by now. But he suspected that the slim hope was one of the few things holding his mother together. And he couldn't shatter that for her. Often, he wondered whether she knew it was impossible but chose to delude herself on purpose just to get through her day.
She finished her soup and set the bowl aside to give Leroy a tight hug. "You are going to really be something someday, just like him. I can feel it." He smiled, not believing her in the slightest but not wanting to make her feel any worse. She held him tight and told him, "No, really. Your father was so smart and so ambitious. I see it in your eyes too."
Leroy finished his soup and set the small bowl aside as his mother got up and started to get ready. Leroy crawled under the covers and fell into an uneasy sleep, waking up throughout the night from the cold creeping in through the thin walls. At least I'm not in a workhouse, he reminded himself each time he shivered in the dark.
The next morning, he got up just as he had the day before. As he was hurrying downstairs, he ran past old Mrs. De Luca standing at her kitchen window on the first floor. "Come here, boy!" She shouted at him out the window. He scurried up, terrified. Mrs. De Luca was the old graying task master of Italian Harlem, striking terror into all the children on the block. He stood under the windowsill and couldn't contain his surprise when she handed a warm scrap of cloth with what smelled like apple pie tucked into the middle. "You're too skinny. Get some meat on that frame." He smiled at her in thanks and ran off into the streets.
In the slow hours of sales in the morning, he looked through the paper, wishing that he could comprehend the sea of symbols packed into each page. He'd been pestering his mother to teach him to read, but she was always too tired. With a sigh he folded the paper back up and stuck it into his satchel and started kicking a rock around between his feet trying to warm himself up.
He sold all his papers around one, and then went to go start his more lucrative profession. It was the fourth or fifth pocket raid that got him in trouble. The man was better dressed than most, with all of the finery that made Leroy's blood boil with jealousy. He was standing and talking with another well-dressed man on the street. They were distracted by the conversation and didn't notice Leroy sneaking up behind them to steal their bills and pocket watches.
"Those aren't yours, boy," a haughty voice said in a funny accent. Leroy turned to find a boy no older than he was looking at him with disdain written all over his face, his chin raised.
He kicked himself for not noticing that one of the men had a well-dressed little shadow lurking about his coattails. "Here, take it. Just...just don't turn me in. Please."
The boy looked carefully at Leroy, his handfuls of loot held out for the boy to take back. "You can keep all that."
Leroy looked at him, puzzled. "If you don't want it back, why..."
"You may keep it, but you must teach me how you've done it."
The boy's curly blonde hair and naïve brown eyes made it hard for Leroy to trust him. He was clean, well-fed and was wearing a warmer coat than everything Leroy owned combined. What did he have to gain from learning to pickpocket on the streets like an urchin?
Before Leroy could tell the boy to take his father's things and scram, the boy said, "I'll be back, father."
"Alright, Thomas," one of the men said without bothering to look down at the boy.
"Come on, then." Thomas started out down the street. Leroy gestured that they should instead go the other way and Thomas turned around, embarrassed. "You lead then."
Leroy did. They went a few blocks farther, to the middle of the Upper East Side. "The important part is to find someone who is distracted enough not to notice what you're doing."
He demonstrated by taking a gold cigarette case off a man who was talking to a beautiful woman. Then, in order for Thomas to try, Leroy washed his face off with some snow, straightened his cap and they swapped coats. He pretended to be lost and made a scene until he saw Thomas scurry into an alley with his spoils.
Thomas was quite proud of the few bills and gold bracelet he'd nicked. They sold off the bracelet. Thomas tried to convince Leroy to sell off the pocket watch. Leroy shook his head and gave it back, slipping it into the other boy's pocket when he wasn't looking. They took some of the money to buy warm chestnuts and sweets and sat on a bench in the park to eat them.
"You're so lucky," Thomas said as he ate another handful of nuts, throwing the crumbs to the birds assembled on the ground around them.
Leroy scoffed. "Don't say that. Look at your life!"
Thomas looked down at his hands. "I've no mother, and Father is always busy. The only person I ever get to talk to is my tutor. I'm told every second of the day what I must do, and I always must do it alone."
"I'm alone all day too."
"But you are free! You can do anything. No one tells you where to be or what to do. At the beginning of the day you never know what the end will bring."
That wasn't all true, but Leroy couldn't bring himself to tell this to Thomas.
"You're luckier. You know you'll get to eat; you know you'll never be picked up and dumped in a workhouse for stealing. Your dad won't be taken to jail for what he does. You've got a good life. Don't waste your time being jealous."
This made Thomas stop to think for a while. When they'd finished eating, Leroy walked with Thomas back to the hotel where he was staying with his father. Thomas halted at the doorway. "My father and I will be in New York for another few days before we go back to England. Will you meet me here tomorrow?"
Leroy shrugged. "I can meet you after I've sold my papers."
"Top floor, third door on the left."
Leroy waved goodbye and scurried on home. He was in a good mood; he was usually too busy working to spend time with people his own age. He got home and hung up his coat by the door and went to get his sad little bowl of soup for dinner with a huge smile on his face for once.
"You're happy today," his mother commented, his rare good mood bringing a smile to her face.
"I made a friend."
"That's wonderful!"
He smiled the whole time he ate and even drifted off into a peaceful sleep, only waking once from the cold.
***
The next day he made up his own fantastic headlines to sell out of papers faster. He ran to Thomas' hotel and hurried up the stairs and pounded on the door a few times. It took several moments but finally a tall, stern-looking man with a hooked nose and grey eyes came to answer. He wore nice but plain clothes.
Leroy looked up at him, nervous. "Hello, Sir. I-I'm looking for Thomas?"
Without saying anything, the man gestured for Leroy to come in. The room was beautiful; decorated with black velvet wallpaper and blue brocade couches that matched the drapery. Leroy looked around the sitting room at more finery than he'd ever seen before. There were more books on the shelf than he'd ever seen in one room. He couldn't stop turning his head around in every direction to soak it all in.
To his surprise, when the stern man came back, he was followed only by Thomas' father. He grabbed his ragged cap off his head and fiddled with it, rubbing the edge with his thumbs. His heart started to beat faster. He hadn't anticipated seeing the father again. He worried that Thomas had told his father too much about their activities the day before.
"What is your name, boy?"
"L-Leroy...Leroy Whitten."
"How old are you, Leroy?"
"Ten, sir."
"Have you lived in New York your whole life?"
"Yes, sir."
"What is your mother's name?"
Leroy gulped. "Lizzie Whitten."
"Thomas says you've no father. Is this true?"
"Yes, sir."
"How does your mother support you, then?" Leroy could not bring himself to answer the gentleman, looking down at his feet instead. "I thought as much."
Leroy's stomach fell. Thomas' father would never allow his son to associate with Leroy now. He'd thought he would at least get one more day with his new friend. After a life of disappointments, he should have learned by now not to expect so much. He started to turn back for the door of the hotel room to see himself out.
"My son has become rather attached to you. You must have made quite an impression yesterday. I have a proposition for you, boy."
Leroy looked up, confused. He wasn't certain what the word proposition meant but thought it might be some kind of business thing. But he had nothing to offer.
"Do you sell newspapers?" Leroy asked, unsure what other use the man could have for him.
"No, certainly not!" The gentleman laughed. "No, no. My son needs a boy his own age to socialize with regularly. When he gets a little older, he will need a servant to help him with his day to day activities. Until then, I'm offering for you to be his friend and schoolmate—and we'll find things around the house for you to do. You'll shadow the servants and when the day comes, you'll be ready to be my son's valet."
"Schoolmate?" He didn't know what a valet was, but it sounded better than selling papers and picking pockets. His mind was swimming in possibilities he'd never before dared to imagine for himself. His heart soared at the idea that he'd be able to learn to read.
"It wouldn't do to have an illiterate valet. You'll need some schooling to be a proper gentleman's valet, and it would be good for Thomas to have someone to study alongside him. In return for your duties, you'll be paid, of course. I can even arrange for you to send it home to your mother if you want. How does that sound to you?"
A steadier income and not having a second mouth to feed could be enough for his mother to be able to stop hooking. The thought made him smile—then they could both have better lives.
"I would like that very much, sir. Thank you!" His face lit up with a smile.
"I must warn you that we live in England, so you wouldn't be able to see your family. We will need to speak to your mother before making any arrangements."
The smile fell right off Leroy's face. He'd forgotten about that bit. His mother would not like the idea. Letting him work on the island of Manhattan was one thing. But she would never let her only child go off to another country for who knew how long.
But Thomas' father insisted on going to see Leroy's mother before they could make any official plans. The two of them set off for the Whittens' one-room apartment. Thomas' father pulled up the collar of his coat and pulled down his hat, not wanting to be recognized in this part of town.
They made it to the squalid flat. Leroy went through the door first, calling out "Ma?"
She was asleep. Thomas' father waited in the hallway while Leroy woke her up.
"Ma, wake up!"
She lifted up her head, her eyes groggy. "Leroy? What's going on? What time is it?"
"Just after noon. There's someone here to see you."
She got up, flustered, got dressed, and tried to flatten out her hair. Then Leroy let in Thomas' father to their tiny one room apartment. Leroy grew more and more ashamed of his home the more the man looked around at the small room.
"You have something to ask me?" his mother said, crossing her arms over her chest.
"I am Alastair Clarke, Earl of Dabney. I extended the offer to your boy to become my son's live-in valet and companion. He seems rather pleased with the offer. His earnings could be sent home here to you, if that's what he wants."
She turned her eyes back to Mr. Clarke, distrust written all over her face. "An earl living in New York?"
"We live in England, I'm afraid."
He could feel his mother's eyes boring into him, but he kept his eyes fixed on the floor. "Is this true, Leroy? Do you want to go to work for them?"
Leroy dragged his eyes up to meet hers and nodded.
"You want to leave me this much?"
"I don't want to leave you, but I want more than this. All I've ever wanted is to be comfortable. I can't get that here."
"Will you ever come back?"
Before Leroy could answer back, Mr. Clarke said, "I am afraid that will be next to impossible. If Leroy comes to work for us, he will, of course, need to remain with my son for the entirety of his employment. I cannot see my son having much business in America, though it might be possible a very long time down the road."
"You still want to go with him?"
Leroy looked down at his feet again. He said nothing but nodded, ashamed of himself. Not ashamed enough to change his answer, only ashamed that he was too afraid to say it aloud.
"Fine then. You can go with him if that's what you really want."
"It is."
"Grab your things, Leroy." Mr. Clarke said.
"You're taking him now?" her voice shook.
"There are arrangements to make before we leave."
Leroy grabbed his few clothes and threw them into his newspaper satchel. Then he walked over and gave his mother a hug. She kissed the top of his head, then turned and lifted the corner of the mattress. She pulled out a small box and opened it, pulling out a gold ring.
"This was your father's," she said, "I want you to have it."
She handed him the ring. Leroy looked down at it, amazed by how ugly it was. It was a yellow, brassy gold color with a huge, gaudy ruby on top. Each side of the ring had a carving of a lion reared and roaring. He smiled but didn't want to know what type of person his father was if he thought this ring was a good idea. Nevertheless, he took it from her and slipped it onto his middle finger even though it was still far too big for him. "Thanks."
"There are more important things in life than being comfortable. Try to remember that." He hugged her again, tightening his grip around her waist as she added, "I love you, my little prince."
"I love you too, Ma."
He turned to wave a goodbye, watching as a single tear fell down his mother's cheek.
***
"Thomas! Thomas look at that!" Leroy shouted, half hanging off the railings of the steam ship they'd been on for the last ten days.
Thomas, who'd gotten used to Leroy's overexcitement about the boat and the ocean, shuffled over to see what it was Leroy was pointing at this time.
London loomed out before them, the skies gloomy overhead. Leroy's eyes seemed twice their usual size as he took it all in, his feet on the middle rung of the railing. "It would be best if you took a step back, Leroy," Thomas admonished, watching Leroy's reckless childhood bravery. "You wouldn't want to drown."
Leroy stepped back with a sheepish look at being reprimanded. They watched as the ship made its slow ascent up the Thames as the tide came in. He couldn't help waving at strangers on the docks from where he stood looming up above them from the ship. He saw Thomas' embarrassed face and put his arm back down by his side. He fiddled with his father's ugly ring, twirling it around his middle finger in circles as they waited. His Americanness made him stick out like a sore thumb, even in the new clothes Mr. Clarke had bought him before they left New York.
They got off the boat. Leroy and Mr. Clarke's hook-nosed valet dragged the bags out to a waiting covered coach. Leroy sat at the window, pressing his face to the glass, so he wouldn't miss a thing as the streets of London faded away into wilderness as they headed north. He gasped at all the greenery—more plants than he'd ever seen in his life. Not once in his ten years had he seen places without tall buildings and bustling streets.
After stopping for a night at a boardinghouse nestled into green hills in the countryside, they made it to the Clarke's home: Ravenswood Hall. Well-kept gardens with statues in the lawn surrounded the large manor, the stables tucked in the back. They had many fine carriages and dozens of beautiful white horses. They walked into the house and Leroy was stunned speechless by the chandeliers, sculptures, and artwork. He couldn't even fathom the luxury. Each piece of their furniture looked like it cost more than he'd ever be able to make in his life.
Even his half of a room in the servants' quarters was bigger than the flat he'd shared with his mother. The single bed was comfortable, and the sheets were softer than he'd ever felt. That night he slept better than he ever had in his life.
He woke the next morning from a knock on the door. His eyes fluttered open and he looked around, confused by what had woken him. Another knock followed, and the door opened, a face peeking into the room.
"I heard some of the other servants saying Master Clarke brought a boy back from America and I had to come see for myself if it was true." A slender girl came into the room and opened Leroy's curtains, flooding the room with light. She got closer and Leroy was able to get a better look at her. Her waist-length dark brown curls were pulled out of her face with a bright blue ribbon. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she sat at the foot of his bed. "What's your name?"
Still dazed at her presence, he said, "Leroy Whitten."
"It's nice to meet you, Leroy. My name is Sarah. My mother's a servant in the kitchens."
Leroy blinked at her, unsure what to say.
"How old are you?" she asked, getting comfortable and looking back at him with an expectant expression.
"Ten. Uh, you?"
"I'm nine. It'll be nice to have someone my own age around here for once."
"What about Thomas?"
"Oh, he never talks to me. Perhaps you'll have better luck. You seem rather charming."
Leroy blushed. He was notcharming. He told her so. "I don't even have any friends."
"Now you do," Sarah said, sticking her hand out. Leroy sat up after a moment's hesitation and took it. Sarah smiled. "Want breakfast? I'll show you the kitchens if you like!"
Leroy crawled out of bed and followed Sarah down into the hall. His new life was already off to a better start than his old one. He took a deep breath, shaking off his past and looking forward to what the future held for him.