Free Poor Little Rich Girl by Katie Flynn Page B

relief when the little cat turned her head, but since Kitty then set off again at twice the pace, such relief was short-lived. Haig Street was a quiet road with very little traffic,but Everton Brow, stretching as it did between Shaw Street and Cazneau Street, was a different matter altogether. Traffic roared along it and the pavements were crowded with folk doing their messages before the shops closed.
    By dint of running as hard as she could, Lonnie was only a few yards behind Kitty when she reached Salisbury Street. She was greatly relieved when the kitten did not attempt the crossing, but turned into Salisbury Street and ran along the left-hand pavement, occasionally glancing back as though keen to encourage her little mistress to continue the chase. The cat kept ahead of her with ease, for Lonnie was not used to running and was soon nursing a stitch in her side. She was gaining on the kitten, however, and beginning to feel confident that the chase was nearly over when a large, fat woman clad all in black, who was sailing down the pavement towards her, bent and picked Kitty up. Lonnie, thanking her stars, hurried up to the woman and began to explain that the kitten was hers, but the woman did not seem to understand. She shook her head, then addressed Lonnie in an accent so broad that the child had to strain every nerve to understand.
    ‘Whazzup, chuck?’ the woman wheezed. ‘This ’ere’s me own lickle cat what I lorst no more than a week ago. Whazzat you’re sayin’? Is it like a cat you know, queen? But there’s no doubt in me mind that this is fickle Tibby, what’s been lorst and probably a-frettin’ for kind Auntie Clara to find him … and now I have.’ She beamed, toothlessly, upon Lonnie but her little grey eyes were calculating. ‘Now orf wi’ you, little missie! Tibby and me’s goin’ home so’s he can have a nice saucer of conny-onny to fatten him up a bit.’
    Lonnie began to protest, but the fat woman took no notice. She turned on her heel and presently dived across the road, but Lonnie, who was no fool, saw that the woman lingered as she crossed, as though to make certain that Lonnie was still following her. Perhaps this was some sort of game, Lonnie thought hopefully, as she stuck as close to the woman – presumably Auntie Clara – as she could get. She hoped that when they reached the further pavement, Auntie Clara would give her wheezy laugh and return the kitten to its rightful owner, explaining that it had all been a joke.
    Nothing of the sort happened, however. The fat woman continued along the pavement, not hurrying, and glancing constantly at her pursuer, then turned down a narrow, blackened alleyway between the houses. Looking up at the street sign, Lonnie saw that they were now in Vine Terrace and thought what a shame it was that such a pretty name should belong to so ugly a street. Ahead of her, Auntie Clara had stopped walking and given a bellow, whereupon a dozen or so children, all ragged and filthy, clustered about her. Auntie Clara held up the kitten and addressed them. ‘Hey, kids, look wharr I’ve got. If it ain’t my own little Tibby wharr I lost last week, come back to his old mam. You remember my Tibby, don’cher, kids? ’cos this lickle girl seems to think it’s her kitten, but we knows better, doesn’t we?’
    Lonnie glanced hopefully at the children, then reflected bitterly that she should have guessed. These were kids to whom lying, cheating and probably stealing kittens came as naturally as breathing; she would get no help from them. Wondering what on earth to do next, she looked up into Auntie Clara’s greedy face and saw, with distate, that thewoman’s skin was as grimed as that of the children surrounding her and that the thin strands of grey hair which fell from her headscarf looked as though they had seldom, if ever, been washed.
    Lonnie was still wondering what on earth to do next when Auntie Clara spoke again. ‘But it seems as though you’ve took a