Not the headmaster's version, but Jewel had to seize any teaching moment available. When her daughter drifted off to sleep, Jewel prayed, God help us. Ofttimes that was all she could manage before succumbing to fatigue, but this night she added, Please make the owner listen to the police.

She could hear Becky's soft snoring and the scurrying of rodent feet in the attic. An infant wailed from the flat below. Somewhere down the corridor, a man began shouting. His words were muffled; the anger behind them was not.

And please ... She swallowed saltiness as her eyes brimmed. Help us have better lives one day.

* * *

The following morning, she tucked her handkerchiefwrapped jam sandwich into an apron pocket and delivered a still-sleepy Becky to Mrs. Platt with a reminder to both that she was to stay indoors. And again, for ten hours she had to struggle to concentrate on the needle, so deep were her misgivings.

What if Mr. Dunstan is the owner's brother or some other relation? What if we're forced to leave?

Her fears were justified that evening, unhappily so, when she spotted Mr. Dunstan outside the factory.

"Oh dear," she said to Mrs. Fenton.

"I forgot my handkerchief," Mrs. Fenton said, turning back for the door.

Jewel attempted to hurry past him, lose him in the press of workers, but he fell in step beside her.

"There's been a misunderstanding, Mrs. Libby," he said. "I didn't mean to frighten you over your little girl."

Walking faster did no good. His legs were longer, and he was not even breathing heavily. "I'm truly sorry ..."

Jewel swallowed a sob.

"... so I need you to speak with Mr. Brown."

She did not ask who this Mr. Brown was, for she had no word to spare for Mr. Dunstan. Besides, who could he be but the owner of the blocks of flats?

"He stays late in his office. I need you to come with me ... say you've made a mistake."

"No," she said tightly.

"Please," he cajoled with voice breaking. "I need my job."

She continued on, teeth clenched.

"I'll ... cut your next month's rent by half, and cover the rest myself."

Jewel halted in her tracks, almost did not recognize her own voice for all the rage it held. "My daughter is not for sale!"

"Do you need help, Mrs. Libby?" came a voice from behind.

Jewel turned a burning face to Mr. Fowler and his assistant, Mr. Evans. "This man—"

But when she looked over her shoulder, Mr. Dunstan was making tracks.

"Coward." Mr. Fowler spat on the pavement.

The men turned back for the factory. Mrs. Fenton called out to her a moment later. Jewel waited, still sick at heart, but grateful.

"You sent Mr. Fowler out?" she asked.

"It was the only thing I knew to do."

Jewel squeezed her arm.

"Do you suppose he's been sacked?" Mrs. Fenton asked.

"I think so."

* * *

Mrs. Platt's aggrieved expression confirmed it was true when Jewel arrived to retrieve Becky. "Did ye hear?" she said, spotted hands worrying her frayed collar. "Mr. Dunstan's been sacked!"

Ironing her face of any expression, Jewel took Becky's hand. Thank you, Father!

Mrs. Platt's eyes narrowed. "Did you have aught to do with this?"

Jewel still needed her to tend Becky. Gently, she said, "I'm sorry you're displeased."

"You'll be, too, when they replace him with a heartless sot like Mr. Archer."

Jewel's lips tightened. As long as he leaves Becky be, I don't care if he has a walnut for a heart.

The Jewel of Gresham Green

Copyright © 2008 by Lawana Blackwell
Published by Bethany House Publishing, a division of Baker Publishing Group 
PO Box 6287 Grand Rapids MI 49516-6287

Used by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher, except as provided for by USA copyright law.