It was little Sal who first saw the stealthily approaching figure; Nelly’s fox-fur neckpiece and fancy feathered hat held her mesmerized. When Molly looked to see what was so intriguing as to hold the child’s attention in such a way, her heart almost stopped beating at the sight of the figure making its way towards her, and, to her mind, looking devious into the bargain. ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph… it’s the gentry!’ she cried, her black eyes wide and fearful. ‘Quick, Sal, run! Run as fast as your legs’ll take you!’ Flinging the branches to the ground, Molly grabbed the child’s hand, chiding her when she began crying for the precious Christmas tree which now lay in ruins on the cobbles. ‘Leave it!’ yelled Molly, frantically tugging the sobbing girl away. ‘The gentry’s after us… and if I’m caught it won’t be a blessed tree you’ll be crying over… it’ll be your poor mammy, ’cause they’ll likely lock me up till I’m old and grey!’ There was real fear in Molly’s heart as she took to her heels, fear that lent wings to her feet as she and the young one sped away over the cobbles with never a look back.

‘Stop! Stop!’ Nelly took up pursuit, cursing at the long heavy hem of her expensive dress and thinking how, if she were twenty years younger and unencumbered by the fancy attire of a ‘gentlewoman’, she would never have been left so far behind.

Seeing that others, alerted by her cries, began to follow the chase, she yelled for them to ‘mind yer own business… she ain’t no thief! It’s a private matter, so bugger off!’

‘Blow me down… she might look like a lady, but the old trout sounds more like a sodding fishwife!’ shouted one, being frustrated at having the only excitement of the day ended so abruptly. Just as quickly as they had joined in the fray and now looking somewhat affronted by the vehemence of Nelly’s verbal attack, the pursuers loped off. All but a snotty-nosed lad who took great delight in pelting Nelly with anything he could lay his hands on – unfortunately for Nelly the articles included two split and not very fresh eggs which left their sticky mark all down the front of her skirt.

Nelly might have stopped to ‘cuff your grubby ear’ole’ but she still had sight of the two runaways and was bent on catching them if she could. In fact, if the truth were told, Nelly was thoroughly enjoying the entire episode. She couldn’t remember when she’d felt so alive. Her mind rolled back to when she herself was no older than the unfortunate quarry she was now chasing and she couldn’t help but chuckle at the memory of her own narrow escapes from the law and gentry alike. Oh, they were the days! Ducking and diving, grasping her opportunities as they came and never giving a tinker’s cuss for the fact that she had neither home nor family. It was a hard life, but it had its moments, she recalled: the worst one being when the authorities clapped her in irons to be shipped off to Australia as a no-good vagrant and petty thief. The best moment was the fateful day when she met another poor soul who was branded with the same iron, but, unlike her, was as innocent as the day was long: Emma Grady. Her darling precious Emma, who had been her one and only family ever since.