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‘Three more children snatched from their beds! Queen Victoria’s word on the scandal. Child kidnapper still at large,’ cried a newspaper seller in the busy, London street.
An eclectic group of Londoners huddled around him, waving their money and chattering excitedly while they stood in line for the latest edition of The Times. Nearby, their children played and fought, waiting impatiently for their parents without a care in the world. They oozed happiness. They regarded the simple act of buying a newspaper with amused interest, just as they did everything else. Carriage rides through the park, fur coats for the ladies, monocles for the gentlemen, tasty hot food, and a loving family – all of these things were extravagances they took for granted. They lived a life of luxury. For them, it was commonplace. For young Toby Carter it was a dream far beyond his reach.
He watched, as if in a daze, from the highest window of the workhouse. His life was a million miles away from the fortunate folk just a few feet away in the street below. He worked all day and struggled to sleep at night, his stomach aching from a lack of food. Toby gazed affectionately at the bustling street, as he always did when he got the chance. He could nearly taste freedom. Every day was hard. Every day was hopeless. Every day, except this one.
The previous day, Toby had made a breakthrough that would change his life forever. He had found a gap in the wall. It happened when he was moved from one room to another to free up some space for new arrivals. When storing what little possessions he had next to his new sleeping place, he noticed a loose part of the wood panelling in the wall of the boys’ dorm. Prying it away slightly, he realised that what he had found wasn’t the result of disrepair. Maybe it was a secret passageway! Whoever had slept here before had been working on an escape plan. Maybe it had even worked! But it must have been years ago, otherwise he’d have heard of such a daring escape.
‘Hey, Carter! Get back to work before I smack you!’
The venomous tongue of Mr Snarky, the workhouse manager, rang close to him, snapping him out of his thoughts, and back to the factory floor. His escape would have to wait, as Toby had a shift to finish. He started at five o’clock, and he finished at noon. No matter how harsh Snarky’s threats were, Toby knew that his actions were worse. Carrying a heavy box of threads for the looms, he resumed his work on the dusty factory floor, in the dimness and stale air.
Dinnertime couldn’t come fast enough. During lunch, Toby wolfed down the customary bowl of gruel and headed to the boys’ dorm room, claiming he was ill.
He had no friends in the workhouse since most of the other orphans he befriended in his early years had perished from cruelty or starvation long ago. So he felt no need to share his secret with anyone. Nobody would dare to go with him, and he didn’t want to risk someone raising the alarm.
Lying on his side, in the dim light of a candle, he laboured desperately, prying the wood from the wall. The sounds of muted mealtime conversation droned in the background.
The wood panelling cracked alarmingly as he pulled at it the first few times. After that, he bent it more slowly, trying to minimise the noise he was making. Splinters dug into the ends of his fingers, but his excitement masked the pain. After a few minutes, there was a space large enough to allow him to poke his head in to see behind the panel. The void behind was pitch-black, but there was a slight, cool breeze, which gave him hope. He craned his neck out to get his candle, but there was nothing left of it.
This was it; he was committed now. He’d damaged the panelling too much to hide it so he slipped into the hole he’d created, lying flat on his stomach. First his head disappeared into the gloom, then his shoulders, and then his body. The baggy, ragged clothes he wore were too big for him and he seemed to get snagged on every protruding nail and splinter like they were Snarky’s twisted, clawing hands. His shirt and trousers were tearing to shreds as he writhed into the gap.
If he didn’t manage to get out of sight before the other boys returned from their meal he knew he could say goodbye to the opportunity forever. And if he got caught by one of the masters he was as good as dead. Punishments in the workhouse were swift and severe. He had seen some younger children beaten to death for stealing food. Nobody could challenge the masters. Nobody would help him if he got caught.
Toby made steady progress until he got to his hips. Then he realised that the gap wasn’t quite big enough. Too late. Toby suddenly realised he couldn’t crawl further in and, when he tried to back up the way he’d come, he found that he couldn’t move back either. He was stuck.
‘C’mon, Toby,’ he mouthed breathlessly to himself, trying to heave his scrawny frame out of the jam.
Far away, he heard a sound. It was only faint, but it was familiar, and it filled him with dread. Someone was coming up the hall, and he was jammed in the gap in full view of the door. He was about to be caught red-handed. Toby’s heart leapt. He panicked.
‘No. No. No. No. No.’ he mumbled feverishly, wriggling, kicking his legs, trying everything he could to dislodge himself.
‘Carter! Is that you making that racket?’
The voice was Mrs Brisket, one of the nurses. She had probably been sent to check on him. He regretted his decision to feign illness. Toby fought harder. He had to make it through the gap before she found his kicking feet protruding from the wall.
The floorboards creaked under her bulbous frame as she made her way along the passage to the dorm. Her heavy footsteps spurred him on. She would be there at any moment. And then she’d report him. Snarky would be the first to know about it. Toby would be paraded as an example to the rest of the boys. The hole would be blocked up forever, and his dream would be gone. He probably wouldn’t get another opportunity as good as this for the rest of his life. That was, if he lived to see it. A beating would be inevitable, but he didn’t want to think about how far they’d go.
Five seconds until she opened the door; that’s all he had. He writhed, loosening his trousers.
Four seconds.
They wouldn’t come free.
Three.
His belt was wedged on a shard of protruding wood. When he forced himself forward, the stitches cracked a little and began to give. Toby reached into the black void. The only thing holding him back was the panel. It had him.
Two.
The doorknob swivelled slowly.
‘Toby Carter! Are you still sick, boy?’ came her voice from just outside the door.
One.
The edge of the panelling exploded and Toby fell into the void. A shower of splinters accompanied him. Dust clouded around him. The air tasted like charcoal. It was cramped and he reached out blindly with his hands, feeling only walls. He headed towards a slight breeze of cool air. After just a few moments he felt metal. It was a flat piece of ironwork, about nine inches off the ground. He felt along it, and found another, at a different angle, but the same size, and another nine inches or so higher. Feeling along the horizontal ironwork, his fingers encountered a vertical pillar. Then he worked out what it was. A spiral staircase!
It really was a secret passageway. He had no idea where it led, but the thrill of escape took hold of him. He had something he’d never felt before. Hope.
The inky darkness pressed around him as he groped his way to climb the staircase. He let out of sigh of relief, hoping that he had escaped Mrs Brisket’s view just in the nick of time.
Then the chaos began.
‘Oh my! Mr Snarky, he’s escaped! One of the boys has escaped!’ Mrs Brisket’s words slammed into him like the kick of an angry horse.
