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The lady was wearing a white, starched apron over a blue dress with thin red lines stitched throughout the soft, wool material. Light completed, on the heavy side, standing at about five feet, five inches, the lady had startling, green flecked blue eyes and long, tightly curled blonde hair.

The look of this lady familiar, blinking his eyes, sensing a quickening of his heart, looking at this lady’s face his mouth dropped open because, to Zachariah, the lady was lovely. More than lovely, she was beautiful.

Because…

Climbing Boy: 7; London, England

December 24, 1843

Coming from afar in his past, imagined remembrance, this lady’s face was the face that filled the void in his dreams, remembering, thinking he remembered…

Mama! This lady, he thought, had the unseen face of the mother of his dreams, and the boy smiled.

The smile caused his bright eyes to stand out from his sweat-streaked, filthy face, and…

My Lord, taken back, literally taking a step back the lady  noticed his eyes and the light-blonde stubble on Zachariah’s soot-caked head. My Lord, she thought, this child has the look of Albert! This child could be Albert’s brother, or the son of my sister if I had a sister.

Her mood changing, the frown lines on either side of her mouth went up to become a forced smile as the lady’s sadness changed to…? The lady’s sadness changed to a maternal longing, a deep maternal longing, and she desperately wanted to take this boy… to put this boy into a hot tub and to scrub him clean… then to rock him, as she did her own son, in her arms.

Standing, all but forgotten, Johnson looked from the lady to Zachariah then back at the lady. “Er, Mum?”

Her eyes did not leave those of the boy.

“Mum!”

Forcing her gaze from the boy, she looked absently at Johnson.

“We’re ‘ere to clean the chimney, Mum.”

“Excuse me?”

“The chimney,  Mum! Me ‘n’ Zachariah ‘ere, we’re ‘ere to clean the chimney.”

“Oh,” shaking her head, trying to clear it. “Yes. I’m sorry,  come in.”

Standing aside, allowing the two to enter, closing the door behind them, knowing the appearance of the boy to be nothing more than a coincidence, looking at Zachariah a moment longer, the lady then walked through the hallway with Johnson and the boy following.

Scattered rugs had been rolled and moved aside, and the drapes, upholstered furniture, and a big, cone-like thing in the corner were covered with sheets.

Anxious to be on his way from this house, going right to work, Johnson moved two small tables from before the fireplace as Zachariah spread drop cloths over the floor in front of the hearth, then over the two tables.

Standing just inside the living room doorway, watching Zachariah, The boy might be hungry, she thought. Might I offer you and your son some food before you start in to work?”

Hungry indeed, hearing the word “food,” Zachariah,  hopefully, turned towards her, but…

Having more a thirst than a hunger, “No, Mum, not for us,” Johnson answered. “I’ll be takin’ me leave soon’s ‘im’n’me gets your flue swept an’ I get ‘im,” nodding his head in Zachariah’s direction, “started on what’s to be done ‘ere,” jerking his thumb in the direction of the fireplace.

“You’ll not be staying with the boy? Your son can do all this work himself, without help?”

“Mum, Zachariah ‘ere’s been doin’ this kind’a work for more’in four years an’ ‘e’s real good at it ‘e is, an’ I’ll be leavin’ ya in good ‘ands.”

Four years! Underestimating Zachariah’s age by almost a year,  Certainly this child could not be more than eight years of age! Incredulously thinking, but not far off, Could he have possibly started in the cleaning of chimneys at the age of four?

Cleaning chimneys from the age of four?

Going onto roofs, climbing and cleaning chimneys at the age of Albert—at the age of her own son?

A country girl brought to the City of London upon her marriage to a wealthy barrister seven years earlier, though things had been done quite differently in the country, the lady was well aware that the apprentice system had been in existence for many years.

Her husband and other barristers, as members of The Society for Superseding “The Necessity for Climbing Boys”, along with informed citizens, even then on that very day, were arguing to have bills approved by Parliament outlawing the forced use of young children in some of the more vile trades that caused illness and death among children—and the chimney sweep trade, with the use of climbing boys, was foremost among those deadly trades.

Looking from the man to the boy, knowing that, other than dirt, this man shared not one physical attribute with the boy.

Also knowing that no parent, unless of the cruelest sort, would force their child into this type of dangerous labor at the age of four. But, horrible as it was to use one’s own son for this type of drudgery, it was, the lady supposed, for the betterment of the child and the child’s family.

But buying a child? A British child! Actually buying and paying for a British child to use as a slave!

“I thought,” she said angrily, “—not that I approve of using children as small and young as this—” glancing at Zachariah, “that I’d contracted for a man and his son… his older son!”

His mind elsewhere, actually wondering how fast he might get to the closest pub, “No, Mum,” Johnson

accidentally admitted, “‘e ain’t me son… Uh…” attempting to correct his lie, “When I saw ya by the back door I told ya it be me’n’me ‘prentice that’d be doin’ the work.”

Though surmising, now hearing Johnson admit that the boy wasn’t his son, further offended by the lie, “No, sir!” The lady looked at Zachariah, who was standing in front of the fireplace listening and watching the exchange between herself and Johnson. “I’d not hire any sweep using an apprentice! My husband and myself, we don’t hold with any cruelty amounting to slavery!”

“Mum, it ain’t slave…”

“I am sure you said I would be hiring you and your son! And at this boy’s age, even that would be bad enough!”

Lately—for the past two years, ever since “those busybody, do-gooders” had been appealing to Parliament—it had become harder to obtain employment if telling the work were to be accomplished by himself and his apprentice.

“No, Mum!” lying, “I told ya t’would be me’n’me ‘prentice.”  He had done this before, lately more and more often, telling perspective customers that Zachariah was his son rather than his apprentice. “But if’n ya don’t want us we’ll be gone.” Knowing the lady had an affinity for Zachariah, “But it’s to be known by yourself that the lad’n’me I’ll be goin’ ‘ungry on this, the night afore the Lord Jesus was born, ‘cause we ain’t ‘ad but one other bit’a work this whole day.”

Her eyes ablaze with anger, she glared at Johnson, then looked again at Zachariah. Although she then knew that Johnson had lied about telling her that Zachariah was his son, she had no doubt that the boy would be made to go hungry, or worse, if she turned them away, tonight, of all nights. “All right,” she relented, “you may have the work, but at the least stay to help the boy finish!”

Becoming thirstier by the minute, “Mum, it breaks me ‘eart, ‘avin’ to be leavin’ the lad, but I’ve a ‘pointment that I can’t be missin’, an’ I wouldn’t be leavin’ if I thought Zachariah ‘ere couldn’t be doin’ the work right an’ proper like.” Stopping, he appeared to be in deep thought. “Tell ya what! If ya still be wantin’ to feed the lad, I’ll tell ‘im ‘e’s able to take the time from ‘is work to be eatin’. Just a minute or two mind ya.”

“You’re going to allow the boy to eat!” she said sarcastically. “You’re going to allow him a few minutes to eat! How ‘splendid’ of you, Mr. Johnson.”

“Yes, Mum, I know,” the sarcasm not registering with Johnson. “An’ I guarantees ya ‘e’ll do the job good’n’proper or ‘e’ll get what for.” Turning to Zachariah, “Come on,” he said in a demanding tone, “get to work!”

The lady had no doubt that the boy could do the job “good’n’proper.” She also had no doubt that Zachariah did get plenty of “what for” from Johnson. Disgust showing on her face, she looked at the man a moment longer then, raising her arms in exasperation, she hurried from the room.

Looking after her, no less disgusted by her attitude, he shrugged his shoulders, then, as soon as the floor cloth was in place and the firebox properly screened with two overlapping cloth screens, taking one last quick inspection of the room to be sure it was ready for the sweeping, putting the coil of rope around his shoulder, going outside, Johnson climbed to the roof by means of wooden rungs affixed to the rear of the house. Once on the roof, shinnying up the chimney, dropping one end of the rope into the flue, he called, “Com’in down!” through the long, hollow structure as, waiting for the call from below, he fed the line through the straight flue, till…

“Got it!”

Jumping off the chimney, scurrying down the wooden rungs, Johnson waited as….

Kneeling inside the fireplace, fishing the line off the soot shelf, pulling about twenty feet through, the boy attached one of the green twig brushes to the center of the rope. Then calling, “All’s ready!” up the chimney, Zachariah backed out of the fireplace, re-set the two overlapping drop clothes and tugged on the rope.

With the man outside, and with the boy inside, the rope was pulled up and down, back and forth through the flue as, dust billowing around the overlapping cloth screens, soot and ash showered onto the fireplace floor.

Back and forth. Up and down. Back and forth and up and down until ash and soot no longer fell, and…

“It’s done, Sir.” Zachariah stopped pulling. Pulled up through the flue, the rope and brush fell to the

earth below.

Coiling the rope, becoming thirstier by the second, coming into the house, “Aye, boy,” whispering, his hand cupping Zachariah’s ear, “I be off to the pub.” He glanced towards the doorway leading from the room. “An’ don’t ya be tellin’ ‘er royal ‘ighness where I’m off to!” Then, speaking in a louder tone so the lady might be able to hear, “Mind ya, do the work proper an’ no mess or you’ll get what for! The missis, she’s a mind ta be givin’ ya some food an’ I tol’ ‘er it’ll be all right if ya takes some small bit’a time to eat. Do ya work an’ pack up an’ get the ‘quipment down the stairs an’ wait for me there,” jerking his thumb in the direction of the front door. Now whispering again. “An’ ya be sure she pays ya! Understand?” Not waiting for an acknowledgment, turning, his footsteps sounding hollow, Johnson walked from the room.

Within a moment the outer door opened, then slammed shut.

Sighing, Zachariah stood a moment looking in the direction of the front door, then, going to the tool box, taking the lantern, lighting it, he turned back to the fireplace, parted the screen, crawled inside on his knees and, first tightening the scarf over his mouth and nose, started into scraping the upper portion of the rear wall with the scrapping tool, until… Reaching the bottom, What? feeling a tug on his trouser leg,  stopping, pulling the scarf from his face, turning he…

Squatting in front of the fireplace…

…poked his head through the two overlapping drop cloths, and, Lordy!

… My Lord! The lady was so startled by Zachariah’s appearance that, jerking backward, losing  her balance she sat flat onto her derrière.

The boy’s forehead, eyebrows and the bridge of his nose were coated with loose soot and, looking as though he was wearing a black mask, if possible, Zachariah’s face was blacker now than before.

Lordy! Momentarily unable to comprehend what he saw, the sight of this beautiful, properly dressed lady sitting flat on her rear directly in front of the fireplace so startled him that, his eyes bulging, his mouth dropping open, not knowing what to say, “Mum?” he questioned and, looking at his filthy

hand, not knowing if she’d accept his help if he offered it, “Mum,” he repeated, and…

To be continued