After nearly a week of being holed up inside the gang's hideout, Jack came to see them one afternoon - as he regularly did during their time as captives. Their conversations always seemed to revert back to the idea of escaping London, finding Sanctuary, Jack's mother, the children's father.

Yet it always ended with Jack becoming agitated and leaving in a huff, as if the idea of leaving his current life was a step so close, as to be too dangerous a move ever to be contemplated.

On this particular day, however, he didn't leave in a restless or troubled state. Instead he informed them of a strange encounter. Earlier that day, while out with Charlie - looking for an opportunity to arise - two men had stopped and questioned them. These two men were particularly keen on the whereabouts of the two missing street children - as had been reported in the newspapers earlier in the week.

He described the men. "His nibs, a real gentleman like. Oily as a snake though. The other, a kind of foolish oaf. All smart remarks and threatening growls. Funny name, too. Sounded to me like a dog of some sort."

"Beagle? His name is Beagle, I remember now," said Maggie.

"Yeah, that's right. How d'you know?"

"Go on please," begged Maggie. "This is really important. A matter of life and death you could say."

He continued describing the men in more detail. It had to be Beagle and his fellow murderer, thought Maggie. They asked Charlie if he had known the whereabouts of two such children and showed him the newspaper article. Charlie was cagey and gave nothing away, Jack explained. They hadn't spoken to Jack, but eyed him suspiciously, especially the oafish Beagle.

"But as we moved back into the crowd, Charlie said they was tailing us. We pulled a few tricks and gave them the slip. We then doubled back on the two sneaky coves, turned the tables on them, and began to follow them. Do you know where they ended up?" This was purely a rhetorical pause. "They ended up back at the peelers' crib. They went in through the traps' bleedin' private entrance. Of all the places in the world, would you believe it? And there's something else you need to know." Here he moved in close enough to whisper. "Charlie was talking on the way back and he told me he was thinking about selling you out, of cashing you two in. He's offering a handsome reward, this cove Whitmore."

That name, Whitmore! Why hadn't she remembered it and told Inspector Blake? How had she forgotten the men's names? She reprimanded herself. She urged Jack to continue.

"Anyways," he said looking to Maggie, searching her face, she felt, for some sort of reaction.

"Charlie reckons you've been nothing but bad for business, so he thinks he should get the reward for all his troubles."

"What should we do now, then?" asked Maggie. She felt desperate. The thought of falling into the hands of those two, cold-blooded murderers...

"Leave it with me. I've got a plan. But we might have to move sharpish," Jack replied. "And don't say a word to anyone else. This is our way out, I think. All we've talked about. Right?" His breathing became heavy and he had difficulty trying to keep his words at a whisper.

"All we've talked about, our leaving and all. It'll have to be sooner rather than later. I need to make sure we get a head start on Charlie."

He left them alone once more.

Maggie turned to Tom. "I think things will turn out all right, this time, Tom, "

"I do hope so, Maggie," he replied.

***

Later that evening, just as dusk was falling, the house fell silent. The gang left under Charlie's orders - to do a spot begging around the theatres. Jack was not amongst the members who left that evening, and Charlie did not remark upon his absence.

Before they left, Charlie told both Maggie and Tom they were to remain inside again tonight. "Still not the right time for you two to be set to work. Still too dangerous."

He paused, thought about his words carefully and moved in closer. "I ain't risking my crew for the likes of you. I saw the reward posters around the market yesterday. And guess who it is that's got a price on their heads?"

The children didn't answer.

"I'll give you a little clue. They's staying in my crib, rent-free, and ain't earning me a single penny! So next week, we'll put our new plan into action," he kneeled down besides Maggie. "Then we'll put you out to real work, my little darling. I've a gentleman who is keen to meet you." He held his hand out and stroked her hair, "What do you say to that?"

Maggie said nothing, pushed his hand away, and looked the other way.

"Now, now, don't be so ungrateful. Remember I've got your little, sorry life in the very palms of my own hands." He pulled out one of the billposters from his jacket pocket and threw it on the ground next to Maggie. "You owe me." He pushed his hand forward and held her fingers in his hands. He kissed them and bowed to her. "You're to be the goose that lays the golden egg, my darling. You is priceless."

He got up and left with the rest of the gang. He hadn't mentioned the meeting with Whitmore and Beagle. This began to worry Maggie; it was information he could use to strengthen his stranglehold upon her. But she suspected he was alluding to it indirectly, by showing her the poster. She looked down at it and saw the words, A reward of twenty pounds is offered...

A little while later, after she made sure everyone had left the building, Maggie came back to Tom, who lay on his blankets - bored.

"He didn't say a word about the other two and their meeting earlier today. I think Jack's right, Charlie's going to collect his reward and hand us over." She sat down next to him, staring ahead into an unknowable future, the fear of what lay ahead freezing her into a state of inactivity.

"He's a sneak and a rat, Maggie. We've got to leave tonight, while he's out and about," Tom said.

"It's our only chance."

"Do you really think so, Tom?"

"Yes. I think he's going to cash us in." He sat up and held onto her shoulder. "Come on, Maggie. They've left. Let's go now, it our big chance to run. It's not safe here any longer."

"Where Tom? Where shall we go?" she asked, her voice dry with desperation.

"Anywhere. Those men will surely kill us if they get hold of us - don't you see that? Remember what they did to Mr Turner?" Tom replied. "We can go back to the river, back to mudlarking."

"What about Jack and his plans?"

"Can we trust him though, Maggie?" he whispered back. "I mean, where is he? How do we know he's not plotting with Charlie?"

"I don't. And I'm not sure we can trust him either. But who else -"

Just then they heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

"Ssssuuussshh!" hissed Maggie. "There's somebody coming."

They heard a set of footsteps coming up to the room, slow and methodical steps, edging closer towards them. Then, at the doorway, a figure stopped.

"Jack!" cried out Maggie. "We were praying you would come," she continued.

"Has everyone left?" he enquired.

"About half an hour ago," replied Tom.

"We're scared, Jack. We can't stay here any longer," Maggie said.

"I know, that's why I've come. That's why I've dodged the others," replied Jack. "We got to leave right away," he continued. "This is our big chance. Charlie and the rest will be gone for a couple of hours. Now, I've a little money, not much - but enough I think to get us a train journey to Manchester."

He stopped, looked around the room, and seemed overcome with nervous excitement.

"We'll get to Sanctuary," he said breathlessly, as they raced down the stairs and out towards the streets below. "I shall learn how to read and write and work honestly and all. Afterwards, I'll be able to track down my old ma, like you said, Maggie. I shall write to anyone who can help." Jack continued, the excitement of leaving his old life behind creating a flood of ideas.

Maggie watched and listened to Jack, who was caught up in the excitement of freedom. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs to look around the house - a prison for what seemed like an age - now quiet and deserted.

Then the door was opened and they stepped outside. Back to the noisy, human world.

"Keep close - and keep your eyes peeled for any suspicious faces. Keep a sharp eye out, especially for the traps," Jack said, as they continued down the main road.

On the bustling main road, Maggie couldn't remember at what point she sensed somebody's eyes staring across at her; she couldn't pinpoint exactly when the gentlemen on the opposite side of the street winked, then doffed his top hat to her; she couldn't recall accurately where precisely they where when she nudged Jack and whispered, "We've got to run! It's Whitmore - one of those two men, he's on the other side of the street."

Time seemed to slow to a trickle for her, and fear seeped into her gut like acid. They had been walking for less than five minutes - coaches, carriages and costermongers pushing their wares moving up and down the busy roads. But across the street from her - tall and confident - stood Whitmore, a smile upon his face. As she moved through the crowded street, she looked across at him again, and he removed his hat once more, this time bowing to her.

Then, within the uncertainty of panic, a moment of clarity: how on earth did he know what she and Tom looked like? The thought entered her mind for just a moment, before being displaced by another, urgent thought: the dread of capture.

She turned around and realised the extent of their predicament. Behind them walked a large man, the same smile painted across his face, a patch across his left eye. It was Beagle.

As she turned back to the front, Whitmore crossed over the narrow road to meet them. They were trapped once more. Jack had spotted Whitmore too, and Maggie implored him to look behind.

But with a quick tug on the sleeve, Jack pulled the children away from the main road and down a narrow alleyway. Then they began to run. They ran as fast as they could, although the lack of exercise from being housebound in the hideout for nearly a week left Maggie and Thomas struggling to keep up with Jack - who led them, with great speed, down to the bottom of the narrow lane. They turned quickly down another maze-like alleyway and found themselves approaching the edge of another, which led out on to the main thoroughfare. Jack turned and slowed down for the other two to catch him up.

At the edge of the alleyway, a black carriage stopped on the road in front of them. Jack looked toward the vehicle, stopped beneath its driver to catch his breath. Maggie, also breathless, bumped into the back of him, as she too stopped dead in her tracks.

The door of the carriage suddenly swung open.

Tom had now caught them up and stopped next to the Maggie and Jack. Startled, he looked up at the driver, sitting upon the box of the carriage like a tall, thin gargoyle.

Maggie and Jack also looked up at the dark figure at the reins of the carriage.He was dressed in all black, his great coat collar turned up obscuring his face. It was as if they were waiting for something to happen, for the driver to say something. Yet he remained silent, deathly still, staring ahead, never once looking to his side to the children below.

As if acting upon some collective impulse, they all moved closer toward the open door and peered into the carriage. Sat inside - bending forward - so she could see out into the street, was a lady dressed in black, her face concealed by a black veil. She held out her arm and her thin, gloveless hand - as pale and delicate as a lily - beckoned them forward into the carriage.

Maggie looked behind and saw Beagleturning at the top end of the alley they had just emerged from, continuing - with his best efforts - his pursuit of the children. His face was full of grim determination as he closed in on them. Whitmore was nowhere to be seen. Had they split up? And were they now about to be lured into a trap somehow?

Tom nudged Maggie, panic swirling across his face. He tried to indicate that she had to make some sort of decision - as he pointed back at the fearful man heading towards them.

"Step inside," the female voice called from inside the carriage. "Do not be afraid."

"What should we do, Sis?" asked Tom. Maggie looked to Jack, then back at the pursuing Beagle.

"We've no choice. Inside," Maggie commanded.

They all climbed inside the carriage and in an instant they heard the sound of the lash from the whip against the horses' shoulders, followed by the echo of hooves on cobble. Soon the vehicle raced down the road and sped its way through the darkening London streets.

Inside, the old lady lifted up her black veil to reveal her face. Her skin wasdeathly white, but smooth as silk, with only a few traces of wrinkles emerging from the corner of her eyes. She smiled and announced: "I am the Countess Jouvente. You are safe now." Her words flowed in a slightly foreign sounding accent. "Rest, we have a long journey ahead of us. But most of all, relax. You are safe. You are free of that dreadful city."

***

Undelivered letter from Mr William Turner to Samuel Givens, dated May 27th 1842.

My Dearest Samuel,

I hope you are well and the business of Sanctuary is as successful and beneficial to our species as it has ever been.

Please excuse the haste and briefness of this correspondence. I also further apologise for the very long silence from this particular part of London; and, indeed, offer ever more apologies for the length of time since I last visited your shining example to humanity. You have always been a great confidant and an inspiration - not only to myself - but also to the many people involved in our great venture for humanity. Soon, I promise, I shall step aboard a locomotive train and visit my dear old friend.

As to the significance of this particular communication, you may ask? See this as nothing more than a plea, a heartfelt appeal on behalf of the two persons you see in front of you, and who bear this message. They are very fine, young children who have suffered a great deal in recent years. They are both bright and conscientious and I would wager they would take to your particular brand of educational instruction, like the proverbial ducks to water.

I will leave it to the children to inform you of their own story, but I would be most appreciative if you would allow these two individuals a place of rest, work and schooling at your model village.

Please do not for one, solitary second let their father's story prejudice your thinking upon whether or not they are suitable or should be given an opportunity to stay within Sanctuary. I know you were once great friends, and that you disapprove of some of his actions. Yet, he has made his bed. He will serve his time, and to visit the sins of the father on to his children would be as equally inhumane as the punishment he harshly received.

I still feel pangs of guilt at not attending their father's trial and, suspect, if I had been in London at the time, I may have been some help in his defence. But that is a matter for history and my own conscience.

I beg of you to open you arms and open your heart to these two young persons. You shall not regret it for one moment - of that I am most confident.

Yours sincerely,

William Turner.

***