Disclaimer: These are works of fan-fiction created for entertainment. It is not the intention of the author to infringe on anyone's copyright. No rights infringement intended. Warning: General Audience

The Sharpe Fan Fictions of Paul K.

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Sharpe's Family

PART II

London, England
SAINT GILES ROOKERY
September, 1785

Chapter 5

LONDON, SAINT GILES ROOKERY

Richard Sharpe made his way west from Drury Lane, he turned north until he reached a wider street that was High Holborn. Here, again, he turned west. As he made his way along High Street he passed through Covent Garden. Often along the way, he would stop, find a hide and look back the way that he had come. When he was sure that no one was following him, he would continue to walk.

After more than an hour, he entered a confusing tangle of narrow alleys. Five minutes after he entered the labrynth of streets, he stopped in a doorway. He was sure that no one followed him, but he didn’t know where he was.

Richard looked out from the doorway he had chosen to rest. It is hours since he ran away from Jock Smythe. The doorway looks little used. It is an access to the alley from a shabby building with another door on the main street. From his shelter, he watches the people passing in the street. While he rests, he thinks, “Where am I?” The street is alive with people. Many who pass wear rags as clothes. He had seen many poor people in Wapping. These people looked dirtier, weaker and more sick than any he had seen around the orphanage.

He did not know that he was in St. Giles, the worst slum in all of London. St. Giles has been growing, and growing rapidly, every decade. Many Hugeunot refugees from France and poor from Ireland have come to London and could not find work. The St. Giles parish collected many of them. The area now holds more than twenty thousand people.

He heard very young children crying and wonders at the noises they make. “At the orphanage, children four or five years and older learned not to cry. Would be punished. Are they punished here, too?”

He is tired and hungry from his escape. On most days, by now he would be eating dinner and preparing to go to the kitchen or to the tavern. The smells that greet his nose are not the smells of food cooking. He wrinkles his nose at the pungent scents that he inhales. The street is full of the filth from the lives of those that live there. Richard scanned the street around him. Men stood in groups of one or two. Many of these men, are the hard masters who take the whores’ money. Women meet with them and then go singly towards Drury Lane or stand leaning against walls.

“Where should I go next? Richard’s stomach lets him know that he hasn’t eaten. Before he can answer, a man moves towards him. He has been noticed and chooses to go away from the man.

“You, boy!” The man calls.

Richard ignores the call and hastily makes his away down the street. The man pursues him briefly, then lets him go.

Richard doesn’t look back, but makes his way through the people on the street. Those around him ignore him. He feels protected by the press of the people. But at the same time, he feels threatened by them. Although he is unsure where he is going, he accelerates his pace.



Maggie Joyce has worked at this inn in St. Giles since at age six she came from Ireland with her family. Now, five years later, she is the only one to survive. Disease claimed the others. For her youth, she is sharp as a whip. And, her quick wit and an indomitable strength keep her from the conditions and disease of this rookery.

St. Giles is her home. St. Giles is called a rookery as many other slums of London are. The rookeries are like the nesting area of rook birds. As the slums filled with more people who cheat or steal to survive, people outside compared those that live here to the birds. The rookeries are the worst living conditions in all of London and St. Gile the worst.

The original village was built on a marshland. It grew from a village into a maze of gloomy, narrow streets and secret alleyways filled with gin shops, prostitutes hovels and other poorly constructed multiple storey buildings. Some are built so flimsily that sometimes, without any apparent cause, they slump into the alleyways. With no warning to alert them, people who may live a dozen to a room are often killed or maimed by the cascade of timber, bricks and tiles. It is a dark place. Light from outside rarely pentrates the alleys. When there is light, it is often only from the flaring torches of the gin shops.

In such conditions, disease breeds from the filth from little or no sanitation. Sewers run through rooms and open cesspits abound.

The residents here are from Irish and Huguenot French refugees. The rookerie has ‘Little Ireland’ and ‘The Holy Land’ as legacies of each group. Some who came were tradesmen and artisans in weaving and the silk trade. Now it is mostly poverty and hunger. Black servants and freed slaves cast loose to the streets have joined too. They were the first to be called rooks or black birds.

Those strong, clever and savage enough to survive, although also poor, were lords. In this miserable kingdom, every night there were murders, rapes, thefts, and maimings. The lords here trust that they are protected by their savagery. No one dared chase a man into these alleys. It would take an army to flush out someone hiding in the mazes. And everyone knows what goes on. There is no privacy. One’s whole life is lived open to the gaze of predatory neighbors.

Gin is the solace of those that live here. Gin is cheap and allows the drinker to escape life. Many live by “Drunk for a penny. Dead drunk for tuppence.” Drunk is a way of life. Mothers escape in drink and prostitute to pay for it. Many children die from the neglect of their parents.

Maggie has worked inside one inn and gin shop since the sun cast its first light. Although, she is lithe, she is tired and hot from serving tables all day. “Some fresh air would do me good.” She thinks. “Mr. Saylor can spare me for a few moments.”

Maggie makes her way to the door and steps outside to enjoy some daylight and as bad as it may smell, the outside air. Before she has gone more than a few steps beyond the door, a boy collides with her. Both of them fall to the stone street.

Richard turned to look back again. As he turns, he runs into someone and falls.

“Mary, Mother of God! Watch where ya be goin’! “ He hears a female voice exclaim. Maggie had never lost the accent of Kilkenny, the only legacy her parents had given her.

Richard tries to rise and flee, but he is tangled in the legs and skirts of the girl. Richard notes the girl’s shock of red hair.

“Let me stand first, ya fool.” The girl blurts to him.

He stops struggling and yields to the girl. When she has stood upright, she looks down at him.

“Ya not from ‘ere. Are ya not, boy?”

Sharpe looks up at her. “No, not from here.” He rises to stand next to the girl.

“What brings ya ‘ere? Folks come here cuz they got nuttin’ or cuz they want to use folks ‘ere. Which are ya?”

Richard doesn’t want to talk. He wants to get away, but he may need help to guide him.

“I’m going west. The streets led me here.”

“West? Going West? What is to the West?”

“It’s not East.”

“Not East? You running from someone?”

“Sold to a sweep. Ran. Got to here.”

“Sold? Ya was a slave?”

“Not a slave. An orphan at a workhouse. Workhouse owner sells us when we reach an age or size.”

“’e sold ya to a sweep?

“He did. Friend told me sweeps die fast. Cough their lungs out from the soot. Saw chance to run. Ran.”

“And, now ya are ‘ere.” Maggie pulled him from the street to the wall of the inn. “What will ya do when ya reach yer West?”

“Don’t know.”

“What can ya do?”

“Picked oakum. Worked dogpit.”

“Dogpit?”

“Yes, helped with animals.”

Maggie has heard stories of the dogpits. Heard tales that people gamble, owner sells food and drink, girls sell themselves and thieves steal. This boy may know some things. Some people she knows may be able to use him.

“Would this be West for ya? Could ya stay ‘ere?”

Richard hadn’t thought about how far west he needed to go. He considered the girl’s question. Since he ran, he has not seen anyone that he knows. Since he turned down the street here, he has seen only poor. Maybe here, he can be safe from Jem Hocking.

“Don’t know. Where can I stay? What would I do?”

“What’s yer name boy? “

“Richard. Richard Sharpe.”

“How old are ya?”

“I think I am nine.”

“Think?”

Mother died five years ago. Told me I was four.”

“So sad for ya.” Maggie pauses, then chuckles. “Dear Christ, I don’t know whether to drown you or eat you, you are so skinny. But I t’inks the good Lord wants me to be kind to you. Come inside wit’ me. Ya k’n stay wit me. Tomorrow ya can meet some people who k’n teach ya how to survive ‘ere.”

Richard thinks about what she has said. Miss Thatcher, Becky and Missy had helped him to survive the orphanage. With no ma to look after him, other females has guided him. Now another one offers him help. “I think this is West.” He smiles at her.

Maggie nods at him. “Good. Folow me.” She turns to lead him into the inn.





Inside, Maggie helped him to get a meal. Saylor would charge her less than the other customers so she told him the customer price for the two meals to see if he could pay. She was surprised when he offered to pay. She was more surprised when he gave her the coins without hesitating.

“Good Lord Richard. If’n people ‘ere knew ya had money, dey woulda kilt ya. Ya are a lucky sole that I found ya before anyone else did.”

She paid, but she kept the difference for herself. After they ate, she took him to her room.

“You stay ‘ere. I need to work.”

Richard was tired, so he agreed to wait there for her. Maggie’s room was not more than a bed, wash stand and a rack for her clothes. The only place to sit was on the bed. So he sat on the bed. Before long, he slid to the side and slept. Some time later, he woke when Maggie crawled into the bed with him.

Richard woke the next day in Maggie’s room. He had slept soundly. At the orphanage, there was always noise or someone moving throughout the night. He had been able to sleep, but never for more than a few hours at a time. Here with Maggie he had slept throughout the night.

Maggie stirred next to him as he began to move.

“Boy, go to sleep.”

“Slept. Time for me to get up. At orphanage, would be helping with the breakfast. Then have to work.”

“Not here. I don’t help with breakfast. I sleep until the midday mealtime.”

Richard didn’t know what to do.

“Here, lie with me. I’ll get ya the breakfast soon. Then help to find ya work. Now, lie ‘ere.”

Richard lay back down next to Maggie. He could not sleep, but he lay quietly so that she could. He had never had the chance to just lie down with nothing to do.





Maggie tried to sleep, but could feel the boy next to her.

“Well, Richard Sharpe, I can’t sleep wit’ ya stirrin’”

She rises up. “Come wit’ me. We k’n eat. After, I’ll take ya ta meet som’un who k’n teach ya how to earn money.”

Maggie led Richard to the eating room. She pointed him to a stool at a table, then went to the cook fire. She returned with two bowls and two mugs.

“Cook added some pork left from last night to your bowl. Give me two pence.”

Richard pulled two coins from his ‘purse’ sack without drawing attention to what he was doing, then gave Maggie the coins. He eagerly ate. Before he drank from the mug he asked, “What’s this?”

“Te’, boy, te. The best drink that is na gin.” She smiled. “So they tell me.”

Richard looked at the mug before he raised it to his lips. After he sipped, he said. “Tastes good.”

“Aye. Cook makes it with real good te’, some milk and some honey. Hot and sweet.”

Sharpe returned to drinking the tea. He thinks, “I like tea. Warm and sweet. Better than most drink I had before.”

Maggie ate and drank more slowly than Richard. Richard watched the room while she finished eating. Deep in his memories he recognized a space like he had lived in before he went to the orphanage. As he looked at the room, he was suddenly sad as he had memories of his time with his mother before she died. Tears formed in his eyes.

“What troubles ya, Richard?”

“I remember my ma.”

“Your ma?”

“We lived in a place like this. I liked it. She was killed. I had to leave.”

Maggie used her sleeve to wipe his tears.

“How old was ya?”

“Four.”

“Some time ago? Grown since? Now you are here. Might be ya can have good memories ‘ere too. Time to make some, eh? Let’s go meet Michaleen.”

Maggie leads Richard out of the room to the street. She takes his hand to lead him. Many of the buildings they pass lean into an adjacent building. Debris litters the edge of the street where some of the building has fallen away.

Five minutes from the inn, Maggie pulls him into the doorway of a shoddy wooden building. Inside, she leads him down a short hallway to a door. She knocks with the pattern of two knowcks followed by two more.

Maggie turns to Richard, then to the door as it swings open.

A boy that appears younger than Maggie and Richard greets them.

“Maggie Joyce. What brings ya ‘ere?

“’ere to see Michaleen, Finneas.”

“Michaleen’s ‘ere.” Finneas looks at Richard.

“Who’s dis?”

“New boy I found. I brings ‘im to meet Michaleen. T’inks ‘e could ‘elp yaz.”

‘elp us?”

“Ya. Maybe some prigging? House boner? Snaffling?”

Finneas guffaws. “Michaleen could use some help with prigging. Need to talk with Bennet or Walsh for t’others.”

“Will ya takes us to Michaleen?”

Finneas pauses, turns, then signals for them to follow him.

Down the short hallway, Finneas calls, “Michaleen. Maggie Joyce to see ya.”

Inside the room Michaleen Morrison sits on a small chair. Michaleen has survived his twenty-odd years in since he had come from Ireland as a boy. His parents and siblings are long dead. To survive he trained to pick pockets. The man who taught him had died of a fever. Other boys that he trained with either died or were caught. The girls that stole with them grew and left to earn their keep on the streets. Michaleen became the leader of the pickpockets.

Now he watches while the boys and girls who work for him risk picking the pockets of the rich. But, he has scrabbled his way to being the leader of a team of pickpockets by cunning. He no longer picks pockets, but collects children, teaches them how to steal, then reaps the rewards of their efforts. He turns to Maggie.

“Maggie Joyce. Always a pleasure to see ya.”

“Warms my heart to see ya too, Michaleen.”

“What k’n I do fer ya Maggie?”

“Dis ‘ere is Richard Sharpe. Found ‘im in the street. T’ink ‘e could ‘elps ya.”

Michaleen looks at Sharpe. “How old are ya?”

“I think I am nine. Orphan since four.”

“Where ya come from?”

“Wapping. Orphanage there. Sold to sweep. Ran.”

“Wapping? Why ya come ‘ere?”

“Ran west. Thought that west was safe.”

“Safe? St. Giles Rookery safe? My God, Sharpe. This is most likely the most unsafe place in London.”

“Only fools dare walk our streets and passages. So many twists and turns. People ‘ere can easily disappear. Can escape or be kilt. If’n someone knows ya to ‘ave a shilling, likely kill ya. Shilling is a treasure ‘ere.”

“Are ya a fool, Sharpe?”

Sharpe glares at Michaleen. “No fool. Runaway. Lost.”

Michaleen chuckles again. “Lost? Fair enough.”

“Maggie, ya trusts dis ‘un?”

“Do, Michaleen.”

“Well, Mr. Lost Sharpe, welcome to St. Giles.”

“T’ank ya Michaleen. Brings ‘im back to me dis ev’ning.”

“Right. Dis ev’ning.”

Maggie looks at Richard. “Listen. Learn. Michaleen knows how t’ings are done ‘ere. ‘e’ll ‘elp ya if’n yaz listen ta ‘im.” She leaves without waiting for him to reply.

“Well Sharpe, let me takes ya to meet t’others.”

Michaleen leads Sharpe to another building. Finneas follws them. In the first room that they enter Richard sees two boys and two girls.

“Fitz”

The taller boy turns to greet Michaleen. “’ello Michaleen. Who ya brung us today?”

“Fitz. Dis ‘ere is Richard Sharpe. Lost orphan lad from Wapping. Maggie Joyce ‘as taken a fancy to ‘im. T’inks he could ‘elp us. Got skills. An’ we can ‘elp ‘im.”

“Maggie? Well she does ‘ave a way with folks. What skills ya got Sharpe?”

Richard pauses. “Knows how to pick oakum. Work a laundry and kitchen. Tend animals at a dogpit.” He thinks more before saying “Fight to win.”

“Fight?”

“Don’t like bullies. Friend taught me not to fight unless I fight to win. Wait until time is right.”

Michaleen listens. “Smart lad, Sharpe. Many will fight for no reason.”

Fitz looks at Sharpe. “Show me yer ‘ands.”

Richard holds out his hands.

Fitz grabs the fingers then turns the hands over palm up. “Said ya picked oakum. Why ain’t yer ‘ands black and ruined?”

“Used a knife to start the ends.”

“A knife? Let ya ‘ave a knife?”

“Didn’t let me. They didn’t know I have it.”

“Ya are smart. Tricky too.” He looks at Sharpe’s hands again. “Big hands for a boy. Good for fightin’. May not be good for pickin’ pockets.”

Fitz thinks some more.

“Finneas. Show Sharpe yer ‘ands.”

Finneas steps up and shows Richard his hands. Finneas’ fingers are slender, almost like a girl’s. Finneas’ hands are also smaller than Richard.

Fitz calls to the girls “Aileen. Siohban.”

Both girls came to Fitz.

“Show Sharpe your ‘ands.”

Each girl extended her hands in front of Richard.

“Sees. Slender. Delicate. K’n slip into a pocket or wasteband to snatch a purse wit’out anyone knowin’.”

“Yer ‘ands are likely too big.” Fitz pauses. “But we needs other skills too.”

Michaleen looks at Fitz. “Bumper? Fitz?”

“Sharpe should make a grand bumper. ‘e’s tall. What are ya? Maybe four an’ ‘alf? Arms are right ‘eight to make a mark worry.”

“Bumper?” Richard asks.

“When we find a mark in a crowd, needs to distract ‘im or ‘er. A bumper crashes into the mark, fumbles with the clothing, then leaves. The pick watches where the mark checks to find if the bumper tooks ‘is purse. When the pick knows, ‘e or she picks. Then passes it to the Adam Tiler.”

Richard questions again. “Adam Tiler?”

“If’n the mark sees or feels the pick, we don’t wants the pick caught with the goods. The pick fast passes the purse to another of our team. The Adam Tiler. Eileen and Siohban oft are the Adam Tiler. They can hide good in the skirts on hooks. Most men will not search a girl if’n they catch one. Especially a small young ‘un.”

“And, Eileen and Siohban are fairly good picks too. After they’s gets stopped, they can lift the searcher’s purse.”

Eileen and Siohban both smile sweetly at Fitz.

“It all works if’n we can time each of ya’s rightly. Need to teach ya how to bump, run, but not run too fast or too slow.”

Michaleen listens to Fitz. “So’s we keep ‘im Fitz?”

“Aye, Michaleen.”

Michaleen nods. “Takes ‘im out. Teach ‘im. ‘ave ‘im ready in two days.”

Two days later, Fitz was satisfied that Sharpe had learned well enough to try him on the street.

Richard had learned to work with Fitz and the others. They had asked him questions about the orphanage and the dog pit. He had asked them questions. He had learned that Fitz McGraw, his teacher, Finneas Sheen, the boy pickpocket and Aileen Gaffney and Siohban Feeney, the ‘Adam Tilers’ had come to St. Giles from Ireland with their families. All of them had been abandoned when their families could no longer feed or shelter them. They too had been lucky to find Michaleen. Now they are loyal to him. They have come to expect that he will be loyal to them too. For them to trust Richard, he needs to prove that he can help them to steal and that he will not get them caught.

Today, Fitz takes them to Fleet Street. It is nearby. They do not go often to avoid being seen too many times and trailed back to St. Giles.

Fleet Street is busy with people. They arrived outside the building that housed Child and Company’s bank. The bank attracts many people with lots of money. Fitz had positioned the two girls on the other side of the bank along a wall where they could see him. Finneas and Richard were on his same side of the building—near, but behind him. He watched people coming and going. One man came from the bank. He wore a tricorne hat, silk stockings to his knees and large orange coat with deep pockets at his hips. Under the coat, Fitz could see a vest with pockets. Coats to a pickpocket are like a door’s lock is to a house boner. He selected this man. The man is only slightly taller than Sharpe.

“That one Richard. Orange coat.”

Richard looks at the man, waits to see the people around the mark, then strides towards him.

Finneas has been watching Sharpe from a distance. When Sharpe moves, Finneas does too.

Richard moves through people and is up to the mark quickly. He had angled to come in from the man’s right side to avoid letting the man see him until Richard will be upon him.

The man stood examining some papers in his hand when Richard collides with him.

“What?! What?!” The man reacts.

Richard avoids looking at the man, but pauses long enough to mumble. “Sorry, sir.” Then pulls away to continue past the mark.

The mark watches Richard go, but quickly pats his vest pocket. When he is satisfied that the pocket contains what he had put there, he quickly forgets that he was bumped.

Finneas had followed Richard. When Richard collided, he watched the mark. Now, he is confident he knows where the man’s purse is. He waits for the man to move. Once the man is underway, Finneas strides behind him. Ahead, Siohban has come from the man’s front. She walks to intercept his course. To avoid another collision, he stops.

“Watch your course, girl.”

Siohban keeps her head down. “Oh. Sorry my Lord.”

“Lord? Girl, I am no Lord.”

“Sorry? Sir?” Then she moves on her way past him.

While Siohban had occupied the mark, Finneas had come up on the man’s right, slid his fingers into the vest’s pocket, removed a purse, palmed the purse and moved away. A few steps past the man, he transferred the purse to his other hand and deftly gave it to Aileen who had come at him from ahead of him. Aileen hides the purse in a pocket within her skirt while she continues towards Fitz.

All of them continue to move away from the mark, but are alert to any outcry. No cry comes.

By the time Finneas and Richard rejoin Fitz, Fitz is smiling.

“Well done, lads. We have one crown, seven shillings, four pence and three farthings. A small fortune. When we gives Michaleen his due, that leaves forty farthings for Finneas and Siohban and twenty for Richard and Aileen.” Fitz keeps ninety farthings share for himself, but tells none of them.”

When he had worked at Beaky Malone’s dogpit, Richard carried money before and after wagers were placed. He has learned the value of each coin and how to do the sums of one kind of coin to another. While Fitz was explaining to them, he had converted the numbers to farthings and summed the total.

“Michaleen takes more than ten times what Aileen and I get?”

“Aye. He’s da boss. Pays t’others for yer safety. Keeps the weather off’n ya’s.” Looks at Siohban and Aileen. “Keeps da girls, ‘ere, from working da streets.”

Siohban and Aileen nod.

“Siohban and Finneas get twice ours?”

“Aye. D’ey touches the loot. Risk more. Get paid more.”

Richard listens. Although he can’t read or write, he has already a total sum that he thinks they have collected.

“Ten times share for Michaleen. Single shares for Aileen and me. Double shares for Siohban and Finneas. Four times for you?”

Fitz is surprised that Sharpe understands the numbers so well.

“Aye.” Fitz pauses. “Don’t ya like?”

Richard hestitates to answer. Michaleen doesn’t provide shelter or food for him. But, today, he earned more coins than he had collected in his whole time at the dogpit. And, he feels safer and trusts these folks more than any from the orphanage.

“I like. Only asking.”

“Well, don’t ask again. Michaleen isn’t a teacher like me. May be Oh-Fended.”





That evening, Richard told Maggie about his first time with Fitz’s team.

“Jay Zus! Richard. Twenty farthings. Ya ‘r da luckiest! First time and so much money!” Maggie hugs him.

Richard beams a wide smile.

“Now, let’s go have a fine dinner, eh?” Maggie drags him to the dining area of the inn.

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