year older than she, and some nearer two. ‘See you soon, Emmy.’
Coatless, she slipped out of the front door and began her search.
When Lilac had slipped out of that same door an hour earlier she had been all but blinded by tears and positively seething with humiliation and rage. That Miss Hicks had hit her ... she had been smacked often enough, smacked across the legs and arms, occasionally across the face, by members of staff who were impatient or spiteful or just plain careless, hitting any child to stop them in their tracks. But she had never been attacked with a cane and felt the real pain of it searing through her soft flesh. She looked down at the raised pink weals on her legs, then fingered her cheek and felt the wetness of what she imagined to be blood. She speedily realised that it was just her tears, however, and gulped back the sobs, feeding her furyinstead by telling herself that she would find a policeman and tell him to arrest Miss Hicks and put her in prison for hitting little girls!
And all the time she was thinking, she was walking, stumbling along in the hateful brown uniform with her long, red-gold tail of hair lacking a ribbon and coming unplaited with every step. And presently she stopped short and looked around her and realised that almost without meaning to do so, she was already well on her way to being a truant. She was in a strange street, one she could never recall walking down before.
She had not been walking particularly fast, but she had been paying no attention whatsoever to her surroundings. Now she slowed even more and looked curiously about her. On the opposite side of the road was a large, municipal building; she read the legend ‘Public Baths’ over the door and as she walked slowly along the pavement, smelt soap, hot water and – regrettably – people’s unclean feet. Next came a big, grassy graveyard, with the stones in the older part all atilt and blackened by time and the church to which all this grass belonged looking benign in the late afternoon sunshine. At the place where her road met a wider one down which trams and motor cars roared, she looked up at the plate on the end house and saw she was in Cornwallis Street. Which way, which way? She had told Emmy she would run away to sea, but she had really meant ... just what had she meant? To run to Coronation Court and Matt, who would be kind to her and would come back and hit Miss Hicks on her behalf?
Perhaps. Or perhaps she had just meant to frighten everyone, give them something to think about. Mr Hayman, who was the most powerful person in Lilac’s small universe, was always going on about sparing the rod and spoiling the child, but Lilac was quite sure thathe would not be at all pleased if she ran away and she rather hoped that his displeasure might take the form of hitting Miss Hicks very hard with the ivory handled cane he always carried. She spent several pleasant moments picturing Miss Hicks, with her skirt kilted up, running madly down the road, leaping and roaring every time Mr Hayman’s cane struck home. Which was how she came to cross the busy main street, because she saw a gap in the traffic and dived for it, without even considering whether this was the way she wanted to go.
And having crossed over, it seemed only sensible to continue in the same direction, along Blundell Street, with a lovely smell of trains which Lilac immediately recognised from her encounters with Lime Street station coming from the goods yard to her right, whilst very soon another strange smell assailed her nostrils, first a really horrible stench and then a sweeter one. A factory? Yes, but manufacturing what? There was a navy blue sign above the rooftop with writing on ... Queen’s Soap Works , it said. Why should soap stink though, Lilac asked herself, wandering on.
But presently she saw that it behoved her to walk briskly, as though she knew exactly where she was going, for a large boy of ten or so in ragged clothes with the
Coatless, she slipped out of the front door and began her search.
When Lilac had slipped out of that same door an hour earlier she had been all but blinded by tears and positively seething with humiliation and rage. That Miss Hicks had hit her ... she had been smacked often enough, smacked across the legs and arms, occasionally across the face, by members of staff who were impatient or spiteful or just plain careless, hitting any child to stop them in their tracks. But she had never been attacked with a cane and felt the real pain of it searing through her soft flesh. She looked down at the raised pink weals on her legs, then fingered her cheek and felt the wetness of what she imagined to be blood. She speedily realised that it was just her tears, however, and gulped back the sobs, feeding her furyinstead by telling herself that she would find a policeman and tell him to arrest Miss Hicks and put her in prison for hitting little girls!
And all the time she was thinking, she was walking, stumbling along in the hateful brown uniform with her long, red-gold tail of hair lacking a ribbon and coming unplaited with every step. And presently she stopped short and looked around her and realised that almost without meaning to do so, she was already well on her way to being a truant. She was in a strange street, one she could never recall walking down before.
She had not been walking particularly fast, but she had been paying no attention whatsoever to her surroundings. Now she slowed even more and looked curiously about her. On the opposite side of the road was a large, municipal building; she read the legend ‘Public Baths’ over the door and as she walked slowly along the pavement, smelt soap, hot water and – regrettably – people’s unclean feet. Next came a big, grassy graveyard, with the stones in the older part all atilt and blackened by time and the church to which all this grass belonged looking benign in the late afternoon sunshine. At the place where her road met a wider one down which trams and motor cars roared, she looked up at the plate on the end house and saw she was in Cornwallis Street. Which way, which way? She had told Emmy she would run away to sea, but she had really meant ... just what had she meant? To run to Coronation Court and Matt, who would be kind to her and would come back and hit Miss Hicks on her behalf?
Perhaps. Or perhaps she had just meant to frighten everyone, give them something to think about. Mr Hayman, who was the most powerful person in Lilac’s small universe, was always going on about sparing the rod and spoiling the child, but Lilac was quite sure thathe would not be at all pleased if she ran away and she rather hoped that his displeasure might take the form of hitting Miss Hicks very hard with the ivory handled cane he always carried. She spent several pleasant moments picturing Miss Hicks, with her skirt kilted up, running madly down the road, leaping and roaring every time Mr Hayman’s cane struck home. Which was how she came to cross the busy main street, because she saw a gap in the traffic and dived for it, without even considering whether this was the way she wanted to go.
And having crossed over, it seemed only sensible to continue in the same direction, along Blundell Street, with a lovely smell of trains which Lilac immediately recognised from her encounters with Lime Street station coming from the goods yard to her right, whilst very soon another strange smell assailed her nostrils, first a really horrible stench and then a sweeter one. A factory? Yes, but manufacturing what? There was a navy blue sign above the rooftop with writing on ... Queen’s Soap Works , it said. Why should soap stink though, Lilac asked herself, wandering on.
But presently she saw that it behoved her to walk briskly, as though she knew exactly where she was going, for a large boy of ten or so in ragged clothes with the
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