Somewhere in Uptown
ellie threw herself at the watchman, small and ferocious and utterly terrified.
“Wot – “ The watchman didn’t even stumble as Nellie hit him, looking down at the small girl in her white nightgown. He grabbed at her, and Nellie sunk her teeth into his arm.
“EY!” The watchman yelled, and shook his arm, hard, throwing the little girl back into the wall of the house. Nellie shrieked as her shoulder smacked against it, sobbing now.
“GET HER!” Ms. Burns yelled from the other end of the alley. “Get the little one!” She ran forward, ungainly and uncomfortable, huffing for breath after just a few steps, keys jangling noisily.
Emelia had made it past the watchman, but only just. He turned – he wasn’t quick, but he was large, much larger than the little girls, and he caught Emelia in a few strides, grabbing her arm with an outstretched hand. If she fought, he’d effortlessly lift her off the ground, one hand covering her mouth to keep her from screaming, pinning her back against him.
“NO!” Nellie screamed, shoving herself back off the wall. “NO, EMMIE!”
“That’s enough out of you!” Ms. Burns hissed. She grabbed hold of Nellie’s arm, yanking her back against the wall, and slapped her smartly across the face with her other hand. “Enough!”
“No!” Nellie shrieked, pulling. She shook with the effort, every bit of her straining away from the woman. She pulled as hard as she could, but it didn’t make any difference; the woman’s hand, large and strong from years of kneading and pulling and cleaning and scrubbing, held the younger girl in place. If it wasn’t effortless – it was still effective. “No,” Nellie was sobbing, too, again or maybe still. “HELP!” She screamed.
Ms. Burns slapped her again, and Nellie sobbed, harder, eyes squeezing shut.
“Give her to me,” Ms. Burns said, gesturing. She took Emelia from Grey, hefted her over one shoulder like a bag of flour, and began to carry her back inside. “Yell anymore,” Ms. Burns said, scowling, to Emelia, “and I’ll shove this apron in your mouth, girlie.”
There was a split second – just a split second – when Ms. Burns had let go of Nellie and Grey hadn’t yet taken hold. Nellie, shoulder aching, face smarting, sobbing still – took her chance. She ducked Grey’s hand and ran, bare feet flailing against the ground. If she made it – if she got free – she would come back for Emelia, Nellie promised herself. She wouldn’t leave her behind – she would never leave her behind –
But Grey caught her, as easily as he had the younger girl. Nellie fought – she struggled, desperately, her nightgown smeared with dirt and bits of leaves in her messy, tangled black hair, her face streaked with tears and smeared with dust – but Grey hefted her up over his shoulder, and followed after Ms. Burns, Nellie sobbing piteously against his back.
Ms. Burns opened up the small linen cupboard next to the kitchen with her keys, and tossed Emelia inside – not gently, either, the little girl landing roughly against a stack of kitchen cloths. Grey shoved Nellie in after her. At some point, both little girls had lost their black shoes - left somewhere outside, or maybe on the floor in the kitchen, left with scratched bare feet and no way to cover them.
“NO!” Nellie screamed. She flung herself at the door as it shut, small fists pounding against the wood, and both girls heard it lock, firmly. All the same, Nellie grabbed at the handle and tried to turn it, straining, until she was sobbing and her hands ached from the effort. Nellie stood, panting for breath at the door, and sobbed a little harder, resting her head against the wood.
“You stay in there and you be quiet!” Ms. Burns snapped through the door. “Madam will be here to deal with you soon enough.”
After a moment – tear-stained and still crying – Nellie turned back to Emelia. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Emmie – I’m so sorry – ” Nellie stumbled the few feet back across the tiny closet and collapsed on a heap of folded bed things, half-tucked beneath the shelves built into the back wall. She drew her knees up to her chest, buried her face in them, and sobbed so hard it hurt, each desperate sound ripping itself from her throat.