Free Isabella Rockwell's War by Hannah Parry

wondered why the
sun bothered to come up at all, so short were the days. When she
and Midge went to market, she noticed a different type of
customer.
    “Ah ha, here
we go. Invasion of the toffs,” remarked Midge, a satisfied
expression on his face.
    “What do you
mean?” she asked following his gaze across the market where she
could see a well-dressed matron supervising two footmen, loading a
carriage with goods.
    “That there’s
a housekeeper for one of the big houses and I mean big. Mayfair or
Eaton Square, I reckon.”
    “Why’ve they
come all the way out here then?”
    “Christmas.”
    Isabella
thought for a moment.
    “Ah.” She had
dim memories of having to go to church in Rawalpindi during the dry
season. “I remember now. Mrs Farrar tried to make a big cake with
raisins, but I think it didn’t set. She said she needed butter, not
ghee.”
    Midge
scratched his head.
    “Yeah, that’s
probably it. In the poor house we’d get an extra helping of food on
Christmas Day, and last year I got given a mince pie by the baker,
for free!”
    “What’s a
mince pie?”
    “Like a raisin
bun, but nicer.” Isabella, who loved raisin buns beyond reason,
couldn’t imagine this.
    “Really? What
day is Christmas then?”
    “I’m not sure.
I think it’s the day after tomorrow. It’s very fashionable. All the
toffs, they buy these trees and decorate them and then they buy
each other presents. See – that’s what I mean.” One of the footmen
was now manhandling a large green spiky tree into their carriage.
The other followed carrying baskets of oranges and bunches of
another spiky shiny plant.
    “That’s
Holly,” said Midge, importantly. “They put that up as decoration,
but I think it’s to ward away evil spirits.”
    Isabella
nodded. This made more sense to her.
    “Look at
that,” she said, watching open mouthed as the warmly wrapped
housekeeper carried two baskets of pastries and a huge ham over to
the carriage. Mentally she compared the housekeeper’s padded curves
with Midge’s hollow cheeks and jutting collarbones.
    “Yup, they’ll
not be the only ones down here shopping today,” replied Midge.
    “Let’s hope we
can take some of that money off them in the meantime. They’ve
clearly got too much of it. I reckon it’s about time they spread it
around,” said Isabella, getting to her feet and packing up the
shells and sari.
    “‘Ere, where
are you going?” asked Midge nervously, following her over to the
carriage.
    “Just act
natural,” she hissed under her breath, her heart thudding in her
ears. For just one moment the footmen and housekeepers’ backs were
turned as they relieved a grocer of another four large baskets of
fruit and vegetables. In that moment Isabella ducked around to the
other side of the carriage and, bending low, opened the door and
slid two of the baskets out from underneath the Christmas tree.
Within seconds she and Midge were lost again in a crowd gathered
around a man standing on a crate, handing out newssheets.
    Neither of
them spoke until they were nearly home.
    “I can’t
believe you just done that.” Midge was overawed. Isabella pulled
him into a doorway.
    “Come on let’s
see what’s in them.”
    Mouths
watering they unpacked sausage rolls, honey cakes and oranges from
one and from the other four bottles of Mead and a medium sized
ham.
    “We’ll be
having our own Christmas tonight then,” said Midge, pink with
excitement. “Come on let’s run!”
    It was as
Isabella climbed the warehouse stairs, labouring under the heavy
basket and joking with Midge that she felt the first finger of fear
touch her gently on the shoulder. Pausing on the landing, she
watched the last ray of weak sunlight creep down the buildings over
the water. Her chest tightened and, dropping her basket to the
floor, she ran up the remainder of the stairs, Midge following in
her wake.
    One of the
dogs sat by the doorway his ears back, the sacks, which would
normally bar their way,