"Well, children, it's not much but it's home – for now," she let go of the smallest child's hand, a girl of about two years, and turned the key in the door lock.

The house was small, dark and damp, but it was all she could afford. Noah had gone, left her alone with four small children, fled the debtors, the police and who knows who else and left their small home in Richmond. His wife had been evicted and all she had put into a grubby terrace in Fitzroy, back where she came from.

Oddly she felt safe, here, amid the scurrying urchins, the gossiping women and the drunken men, but it was like coming home – and it was.

This was the kind of house she had grown up in, well at least before the age of eight …

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She had been lured away from her sister's side at the circus at a tender age, lured with the promise of sweets and ribbons for her hair and a day out at Luna Park. Oh how she had longed for a day at Luna Park without sneaking in. But – no, it hadn't been a day of treats or fun it had been – well she didn't really remember what it had been, she barely remembered it, but when she awoke she was there in a room with three other girls of a similar age. They had grown together for the next four or five years until the man who had taken them had died. Just ... died. She had been the one to find him that morning as she took in his morning tea – lifeless, cold – dead. It didn't take a genius, she thought, to know he was no longer of this world and that she and the other girls were free. But what were they to do? They knew nothing, not where they were, not who they should contact about his death – they were just there – alone. She and the other girls had talked about what they should do and, eventually, because they knew they had been kidnapped they considered that they ought to inform the police.

"Y'know we could end up in a home, don'tcha?" one of the other girls grunted, "I mean what if our families have gone away, what if he did away wiv 'em?"

"We'll just have to take that chance," she shrugged, memories of her beloved elder sister's strength in front of their abusive father had never left her and she felt she should now be as strong. "We are running out of food and we don't have any money to buy more ..."

"There's money in the study," another perked up, "that's where he got it from to pay the delivery men, we could take some and go and but some food ..."

She thought, her brow furrowed as she concentrated on what they would need and what they should do with the body.

"Alright," she nodded firmly, "at least for a while, but not expensive stuff, bread, milk, veggies – end of the day in the market if we're not too far away."

None of the girls had left the house in the years they had been there and because they were frightened of him and his strange ways they didn't dare ask what he wanted them for – all he had said was that he needed four girls and when they turned sixteen he had a special task for them. But they were only thirteen, so he didn't live to put that task to them. He had told them they had to learn to cook and keep themselves clean and tidy, and they had, they could all sew and mend, she could cook, her mother had taught both her and her sister how to make the best out of vegetables that had gone over and she could make a passable loaf of bread – they wouldn't starve.

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They never went to his part of the house, just locked his door after covering his body with a sheet and locked the door to the passage that led there. The house was old and rambling and it was easy to make part of it just theirs; they manhandled another bed into one of the rooms and shared for warmth in the winter and company on the dark nights, they had one room to live and eat in, just off the kitchen and their own bathroom, they could be comfortable.

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"We'll have to find work," she frowned at her 'sisters' one evening. "The money won't last much longer so what are we able to do?" She looked at the faces, over the months since the man had died she had become their leader in a way, though all decisions were joint decisions regarding the food, the shopping and latterly a small vegetable patch when she had found a book on gardening in the library.

"We can all sew," one nodded, "we could take in mending."

"What about a shop? Working in a shop is genteel, if it's the right shop – a dress shop or a hat shop?"

"A book shop – Janey you are the most widely read ..."

She tipped her head, it was true she had been a voracious reader; in days gone by, before the abduction, she and her sister had read any book they could find, books Miss Charlesworth leant them and the man had allowed them to read any book they cared to from his collection – she imagined her sister had a good job but that most of her wages would have been taken by their father and drunk away – there was a small bookshop near the house she had passed on her way to and from the market – perhaps they would have a place for her.

If she could find work perhaps she would be able to afford the tram fare to her old home and try and see her family, her sister at least.

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The bookshop wouldn't have hired her, they didn't need anyone but on the day she had gone to inquire a young man had come in and asked for a particular subject – he said he was studying literature at the university.

"You could try this one," she held up a book she was flicking through.

"Ah, Keats," he took it from her, "and what to go with it?"

"Hmm," Janey frowned a little, "how about one of the Lake poets? Wordsworth? Southey?"

"A romantic, Miss," he smiled. "Yes, I will take these, thank you," he passed the books to her in the mistaken belief she worked there. "You have a treasure here," he paid the man behind the counter, "someone who knows their books is to be valued."

Neither set the young student right just watched him leave with his purchases.

"Know your books, eh?" the bookseller squinted through his small round glasses.

"I have had chance to read extensively," she dipped her head shyly. "We have a large selection at home."

"Right, can't pay you much, expect you to keep the place neat and tidy, dust free, two pound ten a week?"

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