Little Sparrow

Chapter Twenty-Eight

"I said to Charles that the police need to act faster on these street urchins, every time I walk through the streets, I'm afraid that someone might attempt to steal my handbag. I don't think my heart could take such an attack," Mrs Oliver said.

"Hm." Mrs Atkinson shoved a piece of chicken into her mouth to keep from having to give a longer response.

I glanced to my left and looked at William who rolled his eyes and tried to act like a normal human being when it came to eating his luncheon. By now, he probably would have eaten the entire plate and something of mine, but he had been told to watch his manners. He nibbled on a piece of carrot as slowly as he could, but no one noticed other than me, they were too busy trying to ignore Mrs Oliver and her continuous rants about those less fortunate than herself.

Her favourite past time appeared to be ranting and raving about those who had been forced to live on the streets due to circumstances outside of their control. She talked about the workhouses not doing enough, the police turning a blind eye, and people not doing enough to get themselves out of these situations. Mrs Oliver was of the belief that people put themselves into those situations and that it would be their responsibility to get out of it. The police and the workhouses were just a temporary solution to a problem they had to solve.

Every time she started to off on a tangent about those who lived on the streets, William would nudge me with his foot and roll his eyes. Mrs Atkinson pretended not to notice and just distracted herself with her food so she would not have to offer much of a comment. It just looked like she was searching for someone to agree with her and when she did not get that, she changed the person who was displeased with. No one appeared to please her, not even her own daughter.

"Sit up straight, Sophie. You look like an animal," Mrs Oliver hissed.

"Yes, Mother."

"If she sits any straighter, her spine is going to snap in half," William whispered.

"I doubt even that would please her mother."

"Speak up you two, whispering at the luncheon table is remarkably rude." She turned to Mrs Atkinson. "Did you not teach your son manners? I expect this kind of behaviour from your little friend but not your son who I would have thought you taught better."

"William, no whispering," Mr Atkinson said but I could not ignore the slight smile on his lips.

No one said anything about her comment towards me, no doubt not wanting to get into a fight at the luncheon table. Instead, we all sat there and picked at our food with Mrs Oliver barely eating a thing and the rest of us doing whatever we could to ensure that we were not pulled into a conversation with Mrs Oliver. Rather than return to her rants about those on the streets of in workhouses, Mrs Oliver turned her attention towards someone a little closer to home – me.

She commented on the scar on my face, the length of my hair, the dress, anything she could see she made fault with. I ignored her as best I could, kept my head down and tried to keep my mouth full of food so I did not end up saying anything back. Mrs Atkinson looked between the two of us but did not say anything, no one did. We all just sat there and listened to her speak about every single one of my faults without doing anything to try and stop her. It did not bother me that much, but it seemed to annoy William.

He sat beside me with a fork in hand which he pressed onto one of his carrots until he squashed it into an orange mess. Once he had destroyed his carrots, he moved onto the peas and before long, every vegetable on his plate had been squashed. The one thing he did not touch was the chicken which he stuffed into his face to keep from saying something. The only issue is that once he ran out of chicken, there would be nothing left for him to use to keep quiet.