Deposited Dreams
Daisy filled her bucket with water, then hauled it into the first of the carriages, along with her mop, and her satchel full of cleaning rags. It was her job to get the carriages clean again overnight, before they took the next load of passengers in the morning.
It wasn't the best paying job in the world, but it was steady, reliable work. It gave her enough to keep a rented roof over her head and put food on the table most days, even if that food was only bread. Besides, it was the only way the likes of her would ever see the inside of a first class carriage.
So she scrubbed soot off the windows, and wiped spilled food and drink off the tables, and brushed down the chairs and polished the wood trim, and checked all the cracks and crevices for lost coins. Any coins she found went in her own pocket, of course. Checking under the seats, she found a fallen glass cola bottle in among the grit and crumbs and crumpled wrappers and discarded newspaper (she kept the paper for lighting fires). She grinned. Empty cola bottles could be returned to the shop for the deposit, as long as she kept it whole, and the deposit was enough to buy any one of a dozen small treats. She wrapped it in newspapers, and slid it gently into her satchel, then set about mopping the floor, now that the debris was cleared away.
One carriage finished, she moved on to the next, and the next, squirelling away anything that might be of use. She went home at dawn, early enough to just catch the new bread at the baker's as it came out of the oven. She bought her usual loaf, slipped a few shops along to drop off the cola bottle and trade some of the deposit for a twist of cheap tea. She spent the rest at the street barrows, buying herself a jellied eel, and a bunch of fresh watercress.
Oh, she would have a feast today.
