Chapter 1

1897

She had seen him a few times, often he would be playing in the street with a few other unfortunate children but this time he was alone, throwing stones against a wall in the small alley.

Poor thing, she thought as she walked by with her school books. She wondered why she never saw him in school; perhaps his mother could not afford his education.

She stopped now to watch him play his game. Daddy had warned her not to play with the feral children, especially 'hooker's spawn' as he called them although she had no idea what that meant; to her the young boy was just another child like herself.

She looked back down the street in the direction of her house. Daddy would wonder where she was if she wasn't home soon and she bit her lip in worry. The young boy had not noticed her yet, too interested in his game, trying to throw the stones he'd found into a circle he'd drawn in the dirt. Like marbles, she thought excitedly and reached for her satchel, she pulled out a silken bag which was full of the glass balls Daddy had given her as a birthday present last year.

Daddy wouldn't mind if she was a little late, surely? So she walked towards the boy with his dirty shirt and shoulder length black hair.

"Hello?" she said.

He jumped, he hadn't realised anyone was there, "What do you want?"

She was taken aback by his defensive response it was almost as if he expected her to hit him or something, "Nothing," she replied honestly, "My name's Charlotte, I've seen you a few times, what's your name, boy?" she asked. It was not meant indignantly, it was just how the nine year old girl had heard her father talk to young street urchins.

He looked at her, noticing her blue school uniform for the first time. He remembered her, he'd seen her a few times walking to and from school with her dark brown hair tied in a neat French-plait. She looked posh; his mother had told him to keep away from their kind for they would 'look down their noses at you', what that actually meant though he wasn't sure.

"My name's Ryan," he did not let his guard down and just looked at her with piercing grey, blue eyes.

Charlotte looked at the ground where he'd been playing and then asked, "Wouldn't you rather play with marbles instead of stones?"

It seemed like a reasonable question to her, just as his response seemed reasonable to him, "I don't have any marbles, my mother can't afford toys,"

This didn't seem at all right to Charlotte, she only lived a few minutes from him and suddenly it seemed that they lived two very different lives. That couldn't be fair, surely?

Charlotte tipped her silk bag up and a small selection of the colourful glass spheres fell into her palm and she extended them to the raggedy boy, "Would you like to play marbles with me?" she asked politely.

Ryan looked at her hand which held the pretty glass, all the colours of the rainbow and more. He looked back at her, "Really? You want me to play with you?"

"Why yes, you silly boy, I wouldn't ask you otherwise," she giggled.

Ryan cautiously extended his hand to the young girl and she placed her marbles into his palm.

They smiled at each other as children do and began playing their game.

They were not sure how much time had passed but they both knew that they'd enjoyed it. Ryan had knocked five of Charlotte's marbles out of dirt ring, he was certainly very skilled at this despite his insistence that he'd never played with real marbles in his life. They laughed together and shared jokes. It was a friendly atmosphere and neither mentioned anything about the others social standing, being children they were unknowing of such things.

Charlotte suddenly noticed that the night was drawing in, "Oh no!" she cried.

"What's wrong?"

"It's late! Daddy will be worried."

Ryan looked concerned, "Will he beat you for it?"

She looked at him genuinely stunned that he had asked such a question, "No! Why would Daddy beat me?"

It had never occurred to Ryan that not all parents were like his mother. Oh shit! Mother! He himself now turned and looked down the dark alley, she would be awake soon, if not now and she would come looking for him.

"You should go," he said.

She nodded in agreement, although she did not know that Ryan was more concerned about her being alone in this part of town, it wasn't recommended for anyone especially young girls.

"Will I see you tomorrow, Ryan?"

He hadn't expected that, "If you want,"

"Good, we can play after school again," she smiled and gathered up her marbles and began placing them back in the silk bag. Then she stopped and looked at Ryan, who suddenly looked quite alone, his head was down, his messy hair covering his face, hands in his pockets, kicking the ground.

"Ryan?" she asked, he turned to face her, "Have these," she gave him a handful of her marbles, the prettier ones that he had admired so.

"But… I can't take these, Charlotte. They're yours,"

"Yes, and I chose to give them to you."

For a brief moment a flicker of warmth was shared between them and they smiled at one another knowing that they were friends now.

"Ryan! Ryan!" A shrill woman's voice cried from down the alley. Ryan shuddered at the voice and immediately turned in the direction it sounded from, "Where are you, you worthless little shit?"

Charlotte gasped; she had never heard such language before.

"I… I have to go now; that's my mother…" His whole demeanour changed at hearing her call him and Charlotte simply thought it best not to ask questions.

"I'll meet you here tomorrow," she promised.

Ryan was glad she said this; he wouldn't have blamed her if she'd suddenly changed her mind about seeing him again after this incident.

Charlotte quickly grabbed her satchel, waved goodbye to her new friend and hurried home and so did Ryan.

When she reached her front door her father was indeed waiting for her with a very stern look on his face.

"And where have you been miss?" he asked.

She quickly apologised for her lateness, explaining that she had been playing marbles with her new friend Ryan.

Mr Hargreaves took this in; so his little girl had befriended a young boy. Nothing wrong in that he supposed, it was time for her to discover young love as they called it anyway. This Ryan was undoubtedly a fellow student at the school he assumed, so would be of good social standing, nothing wrong in that at all.

Ryan did not get far down the alley before he met his mother; her hair was a dishevelled mess along with the filthy dress she always wore. She was holding a cigarette in her nicotine stained fingers and her eyes were glazed. She scowled at him, "Where the bloody Hell were you? And who was that little cow you were with?"

Oh God, he'd hoped that she hadn't seen them together, "N… no one…" the ten year old boy stammered, "She's j… just a friend."

"A friend?" she spat, "You don't have any friends you little liar," she clipped him round the back of his head sharply, "Get to your room and stay there you little shit. You won't be fed tonight for lying to me."

He did not have the courage to try and explain so he simply did as she'd ordered. Once in bed he covered himself in the thin sheet and tucked his legs up to his chin. He was starving, she hadn't fed him last night either saying that she'd needed it more, to keep her strength up while she was 'working'.

He reached into his pocket and took out the marbles Charlotte had given him; luckily his mother had not noticed that. He held them tightly in his clenched hands and prayed, "Dear God, thank you so much for sending me an angel, please let Charlotte come and see me again tomorrow."

Charlotte did come back the next day, and the day after that and continued to see him every day after school.

When the days started to become shorter, Ryan gained the confidence to go to the school gates to meet her.

He was often shooed away by dismissive teachers, stern looking females with pointy noses, grey dress suits and greying hair tied in a high bun, the type of women one would stereotype as spinsters. He imagined that witches must've looked like such grey women.

He was taunted by the departing children as they left, both boys and girls. The boys he could cope with, posh boys were no threat, they had no real experience in fighting unlike him, but the girls were different; school girls, nasty, spiteful creatures with their wicked tongues, giggling mocking smiles, they were simply mean, without reason, worse even than others he'd known because they looked down on him. Ryan however surprised himself by staying until Charlotte came.

Her smile brightened up his day despite anything that had occurred previously. He loved seeing her smile when she saw him and call his name with such joy.

Every now and then she would have something for him, be it a new marble to add to his collection or a cupcake that she had not eaten at school, Ryan soon discovered that he was rather fond of cakes and sweet things. He felt insecure though for he had nothing to offer Charlotte in return for her generosity. He wished there was something he could give her, maybe when he was older he would be able to.

It was coming up for Christmas now and this worried Ryan. Christmas was never a good time for him; it usually meant that his mother's usual clients were at home with their wives and families. The only business around at Christmas were of a much rougher clientele, the kind who would more often than not be blind drunk from the festivities, these men would often walk out without paying his mother for her services and beat her in the process, if Ryan ever got in the way he too would receive a hiding. No, Christmas was not a time of jollity in his household, but what made it more unbearable was the thought of the school holidays. Charlotte would undoubtedly be home during the festive season and he would be unlikely to see her in this dark time… Perhaps she would forget about him.

But this was far from the truth; in the midst of winter when the first snow began to fall, Charlotte and her father walked through London looking in the windows of toyshops. Both were wrapped in scarves and hats as they joyfully strolled the streets lit by lamplight and the sounds of carol singers around them.

It was a magical experience and Charlotte did so enjoy spending Christmas with her father who would often spoil her.

James Hargreaves held him daughter's hand tightly and led the way; he was a tall man of sturdy build, a man very much of his generation, a veteran of the Boer War. He walked with a cane more for show than support although he had been wounded in combat; he displayed a mighty moustache tinged with grey.

He knelt down to his daughter's level, "Is there anything special you'd like Father Christmas to bring you, Lottie?" That was his pet name for her; it was her grandmother's name although Charlotte had never been particularly fond of the nickname he and many others bestowed on her.

She thought carefully about the decision, it had crossed her mind perhaps to ask for a new rocking horse this year since the last one had suffered a most tragic accident falling down the stairs.

Then she saw something that caught her eye and she bounded over to window that glowed brightly from the shop lighting inside. It was beautifully crafted from a dark wood and several woodland animals such as deer and rabbits had been carved by hand along the curved front parts. She turned back to her father with a delighted expression, "Daddy? Can I have that?"

He came over and looked at the sled she had spotted, "That's not really a toy for an only child," he said softly trying not to shatter her delight.

"I know that Daddy!" she said, "Ryan and I can play on it together. Then it'll be a present for him too."

Mr Hargreaves was surprised but proud of his daughter, what a good girl she was thinking of others like that at Christmas. He just hoped that this Ryan she'd become so fond of would not receive his own sled from his parents this Christmas.

It was Christmas Day. Ryan stood at the end of the alley; he was shivering for he'd been waiting there all day hoping that Charlotte would be out today, he hadn't seen her for a week. He hugged himself to keep warm; he didn't own a coat or any other weather appropriate clothing. His teeth were chattering, his lips turning slightly blue, his black hair was white from the flakes of snow as were his eyelashes and eyebrows, but he was determined to stay right there just in case she came today.

He was struck suddenly from behind on his head. He turned and saw his mother standing there wrapped in her shawl, "Still here are you?" He nodded and continued looking down the street, "Pathetic," she muttered, she tugged the fabric of her shawl around her tighter barely noticing how her son shivered. She was getting ready to leave for work and he hoped she would go soon, he didn't want to speak to her not after what had happened the night before... His ribs still ached painfully, "Now, you little bastard, don't you dare stay out here all night or I'll tan your hide in the morning."

He could only guess that if he froze to death over night it would reflect badly on her, perhaps he should just stay out to spite her, It'll be her own damn fault if I'm dead in the morning, he thought as she strolled away.

He shook his head and a torrent of snow fell from his dark, wet locks.

Big Ben struck five times in the distance and the night was creeping in closer. He began to give up hope.

"Ryan!" A small voice called from down the street. He looked up excitedly and saw the only thing he'd wanted to see for days. He ran to meet her, nearly falling in the snow several times.

She dragged the sled behind her, she was well wrapped up in several layers after finally convincing her father to let her out on Christmas Day, but as soon as she saw Ryan she noticed his lack of winter clothing.

"Where's your coat? It's freezing out here!"

Ryan shook his head again throwing snowflakes everywhere, "D...d... don't... h...have...one..." he stammered through chattering teeth.

"Well this won't do, you'll get frostbite."

"W...what's...f...fr...frostbite?"

She suddenly felt very silly, "I don't know," she confessed to him, "Daddy just tells me I'll get it if I don't wear a coat outside. But I'm not going to let you get it," She started taking her gloves off, her scarf followed and then her coat and handed them to him. He was too cold to argue with her and took them; he simply smiled thankfully when he saw that she was wearing hefty looking jumper as well. Then he saw the sled behind her.

"Is that yours?" He asked as he admired it, getting on his knees to look closer at the woodwork.

"No, it's ours." She handed him the reigns, but he couldn't comprehend what she was saying.

"Excuse me?"

"It's from Father Christmas to both of us, so we can play together."

He laughed. His mother had always told him that he was a horrible child and that's why he didn't deserve presents at Christmas. He was so happy, he could've cried, could've picked up the girl before him and spun her around in his arms. Instead he looked at her with a wide smile and beaming eyes, "I don't need presents," he took hold of her hand and held it tight and they started walking together dragging the sled, "I have an angel."