Sarah Valentine, No Great Expectations

Petticoat Lane Market, June 1827 Sarah Valentine was seven-years-old; she looked up at a clear blue sky, not a cloud in sight. She was reasonably turned out for a young girl in the East-End of London, even having worn, but matching, shoes on her feet. A dark shawl was draped round her and a pretty bonnet sat on her head; exactly as Mary Barker wanted her. She pushed a strand of her long dark black hair out of her deep brown eyes and glanced round her; the market was in full swing. Then she spotted him; he was a smartly dressed gentleman, a new expensive coat was open in the warm air revealing a jolly waistcoat with gold pocket watch. He was strolling idly between the stalls, not really concerned with the wares on display, clearly just ‘taking the air’. Sarah looked across at Mary Barker; she merely nodded back and gestured across to Billy. Sarah moved forward casually towards the gentleman. Mary Barker was a well organised thief, skills developed by necessity and honed by experience. She never worked alone, that was far too dangerous. Indeed these days she did not get her hands dirty at all. Her young followers took all the risks; that included young Sarah Valentine. Her pattern was not unique, but well tried and tested. One person would distract, the 'mark'. At that point another would pick his pockets, or 'dip', rapidly passing the goods to a third, who would 'collect' and beat a hasty retreat. That way, even if the original perpetrators were caught, no incriminating evidence would be found. If necessary, Mary herself, who would have taken no part in the activity, could claim to be an independent witness to the fact that it was someone completely different who committed the crime. Sarah approached the gentleman. On reaching him, she moaned and fell at his feet, in a seeming dead faint. As Mary had calculated, Sarah, young, passably well dressed and with her long, dark, nicely groomed hair, cut a sympathetic figure sprawled on the floor. The gentleman immediately bent down to render assistance. Whilst he was tending to Sarah, his watch and wallet were skilfully removed by the first of Mary’s young boys, the dip. He quickly passed them to the second boy, the collector, who disappeared from the market in a flash. Sarah pretended to come round from her faint and rose slowly to her feet. Thanking the gentleman for his help, she started to move away. She had barely taken two steps when the gentleman let out a howl of rage. “My watch! My watch!” he yelled, “it’s gone! Someone’s taken my watch!” Sarah’s blood froze, he had realized his watch had gone far too quickly, she was acutely aware that hers was by far the most dangerous role, being so close to the mark. She knew better than to run; that would clearly give her away as one of the perpetrators. She slowly continued to walk away. But a market trader had seen the event and knew well how the game was played, having seen it many times before. He rushed from behind his stall and stood in front of Sarah, barring her path. He was a large heavily built man; she looked up into a massive florid face wearing an angry expression. He roughly grabbed her arm; her eyes were wide with fear as she tried in vain to pull away from him, but his grip was harsh and painful. Sarah looked round, a crowd was gathering, drawn by the gentleman’s shouts. She caught a glimpse of Mary Barker; as their eyes met, Mary turned away and walked off. Far too big a crowd had gathered for her to intervene; besides, her team had the spoils and Sarah was expendable, easily replaced. As Sarah watched Mary’s back disappear into the crowd, she became desperate; she had to get away somehow before the redbreasts arrived. Struggling in the market trader’s iron grip, she started to scream. “Help me! Help me! I am being assaulted! He is trying to rob me!” A nearby group of men turned and looked at her as she screamed; she fell to the floor, continuing to yell, waving at the men with her free hand. “Now he is kicking me! Someone please, please, help me!” The men ran over and grabbed the market trader. As he remonstrated with them, his grip on Sarah slackened. Seizing her opportunity, she wrenched her arm free, leaped to her feet and sprinted off; her slight frame slipping rapidly between the massed crowds. After a few minutes she slowed to a fast walk, rubbing her arm where the market trader had gripped her. As agreed previously, they all met up back at Mary Barker’s lodgings in Flower and Dean Street. The collector, a young boy named Billy, already had the spoils displayed on the table. Mary was examining the goods. She glanced up as Sarah entered, still rubbing her painful arm. Mary smiled, her damaged face turning the smile into more of a grimace. “Thought you’d be smart enough to get away,” then she turned back to the spoils, ignoring Sarah who was glaring malevolently at her. Mary picked up the gold pocket watch and examined it carefully. It was a fine item and had no personal marks or engravings; it would sell easily and fetch good money. The wallet was a find indeed! Crammed with bank notes. Mary Barker had given Sarah some money for her efforts in the theft, which had pacified her, the market trader was forgotten. They all adjourned to a dingy tavern at the end of Flower and Dean Street. She knew that she would get a severe thrashing from her dad when she finally tottered home. But she pushed that to the back of her mind. She was enjoying herself and he could go to hell.