The next day when she returned to the dilapidated hovel that she grudgingly called home, her stepfather was still snoring the morning away. His head was on the table, hand clasped around an empty bottle. She grimaced at him, shaking with suppressed revulsion. Taking a deep breath, she pulled up her sleeves and went to the cupboard in the vain hope that he had left some food. There was a crust of read which had been there for week, so she took it, and went outside to fill a cup from the water butt.

As she was doing this, chewing absentmindedly on the bread, a voice from across the street made her start.

‘I say, you there! Stop!’ She spun and ran into the house, breathing heavily. It was the man who she had robbed the day before. He knocked heavily on the door and her stepfather shifted, grunting. She was panicking, if he awoke she’d be for it. The man knocked again, impatiently.

‘Look,’ he said, ‘I know you’re in there. Open up now, I know you stole my purse. Open the door, or I’ll go and get the police.’ The girl bit her lip and opened the door a crack, putting a leg behind it to stop the man forcing his way in.

‘I am Mr Julian Wentworth,’ he said, offering a hand though the small gap which she took limply. ‘Now listen here, I know it was you who stole my purse, and by law I can demand it’s return. Do as I say, and this shall end here. Do it not, and you shall be reported as a thief to the proper authorities.’

The girl thought quickly, fearful that her father would awake and do something terrible to the man. He seemed to be gentleman, polite even when aggrieved.

‘It ain’t here. I spent it, you see. S’all gone,’ she shrugged, hoping he would accept the lie and press no further. The man took off his three-cornered hat and looked at her with steel in his eyes.

‘You don’t seem to grasp the importance of property. I am a man of property, and I do not appreciate it being taken by others. You would not like it if I were to set up home in your house, would you?’

‘Hm, might be a blessing,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘Look, Mr Whatever you name is, Like I said, your money’s all gone. It’s my dad, you see, he spent it all on drink. Terrible for the drink he is.’ She stood, eyeballing Mr Wentworth while she wondered why she had let slip that her step father was home.

‘If I might speak to your father,’ said Julian, getting a little impatient.

‘He’s not my father, really. My mum’s gone, you see. And in any case, he ain’t here.’

Julian smiled in acquiescence. ‘If he isn’t there, then who is that large man asleep on your table?’

The girl had let the door drift a little too far open, and Julian was looking directly at the gently rising and falling bulk of her stepfather.

‘Look, Mister, he’ll go spare if he finds you here. I wouldn’t want to see you hurt none, and nor do I want another beating. Please, if you’re a man of such property, can you not spare a bit for us poor?’

‘It nice that you are concerned with my well being, but let me assure you that I must have that purse returned to me. It’s not the money. You can keep that, I see you need it. But there’s something else in the purse that I do really need to get hold of before I sail today. If I could just have a look at it, perhaps? You can watch me, I don’t have your skills of illegal concealment.’

The girl shrugged. She could see no harm that could come from it, and he’d already said they were welcome to the money. She closed the door and gently lifted the purse from the table where it lay, spilling gold over beer-stained wood.

‘Here it is,’ she said, handing the leather pouch over to Mr Wentworth. He opened it, and peered inside. There were hardly any coins left, and those that there were he tipped out into his hand and inspected one by one. His face split with a smile and he spun on particular coin in the air, catching it with glee. ‘Thank you, young woman, and that your not really father as well.’ He bowed slightly, replacing his hat. As he turned to leave the girl ran from the house and walked along beside him. He did not seem to mind as she struck up a conversation. All the while he was smiling dreamily.

‘So what’s so good about that coin then, Mister?’

‘Please, call me Julian, and you are?’

‘Harriet,’ she said.

‘The coin was no ordinary coin. It’s got a map inside it.’ Harriet looked at him incredulously. ‘Look,’ he said, holding the coin up the light. There was a tiny pivot in it, and as he pushed the face it slid aside, revealing a folded pice of paper. Harriet’s jaw dropped.

‘A map to where?’

‘To what,’ winked Julian.

‘What? Where’s it to?’

‘It’s what it’s to not where. A man called Joseph Kildare gave me this map on my last visit to my holdings in the Caribbean. He’s a mean looking man, a giant bear with a scare from jaw to eye.’ Julain drew a line up his own face, squinting evilly. She giggled at him, and the pair drew strange looks from passers by. ‘Rumour has it that ol’ Joe was a rich man, and moreover rumour is fairly sure that this map shows where he kept those riches.’

‘A treasure map?’ said Harriet, eyes lighting up.

‘Yes, I suppose it is. Anyway, here’s my ship. Go back to picking pockets for your father, young one, and leave the real money to men.’

He stepped onto the gangplank of the vessel, and Harriet stood on the dockside, surrounded by the noise and bustle, feeling utterly alone.

‘Oi, you little bitch, get back here!’

She looked back along the dock, through the bustle and sea of faces. Her stepfather was storming along the dock towards her. With nothing else for it, she scampered up the gangplank and squeezed herself behind a barrel, breathing quickly.

A tattooed sailor cast off, an the ship started to move. She heard her stepfather’s shouts on the dock.

‘I’ll get you, you little whore! I’ll be seeing you later!’

She stayed still and silent, watching the crew go about the business of getting under way. Her mind was barely afloat. She was on a ship going to the far side of Gods Earth with nothing to her name but her clothes and only one person who knew her and thought she was a criminal. But, strangely, she wasn’t scared.