In spite of his age, he had a childlike quality in his personality. Because of his naivete and his eagerness to please, he generally took orders from the rest of the company to the point where they were blatantly taking advantage of him.

Mortimer wasn't extraordinary by any stretch of the imagination. He was an average height of five foot nine and he was only slightly overweight. He had ash blonde hair, cheerful hazel eyes, and chubby cheeks. A fellow actor in the theater company, one Richard Jennings, often referred to him as "Squirrel Face". Despite the not so good natured teasing he endured, there was usually a merry twinkle in his hazel eyes and he went about his business whistling happily.

Mortimer had grown up poor, the son of former actors, his father a clerk in a counting house, his mother a laundrymaid, but even though they had very little, they were content. They didn't want for food or shelter and were too sensible to dream of a life of luxury and decadence. That all ended when, as a boy, he watched as his parents were killed in a horrible accident. He had lived in the theater since.

By 1916, the theater was just beginning its decline into obscurity and poverty. For the time being, however, things were good in the lives of the company. The theater was just beginning to see signs of decay and age. On a typically rainy March day in this dark and weary year, something would happen that would change the lives of most everyone in the company.

As Mortimer worked backstage, polishing the prop swords for the company's upcoming performance of Shakespeare's Hamlet, Henry Albertson rushed in through the back door of the theater, shaking water off of himself like a dog. "Wotcher, 'Enry. Still raining cats an' all else aht there, eh?" Mortimer asked genially, barely looking up from his work.

"It's been raining like mad all day. I'd like to have drowned out there. Are you all right, young man?" Henry asked a street urchin who appeared in the doorway behind him. "Come in out of the wet. You'll catch your death out there." The kid came in and stood back against the wall, head down in mingled shame and fear. Mortimer scrutinized the kid out of the corner of his eye. The kid was so covered in dirt and filth that he couldn't see his features or even tell what color the kid was. His light colored hair hung down to his shoulders and nearly covered his eyes in dirty, wet strings. He couldn't quite tell the kid's age, but he couldn't have been any younger than eight or much older than eleven. He definitely had the emaciated look of a long time street urchin.

"Where'd yeh get the squirt, 'Enry?" Mortimer noticed that the "squirt" had about three or four inches of flesh above the wrists and knees showing beneath the cuffs of his ill fitting clothes. He had worn holes in his shoes and most of his toes could be seen through his threadbare socks. The kid gave a shiver in his wet clothes, and Mortimer could hear his teeth chattering, even at this distance.

"The lad found me, actually. As I was on my way here, rushing through the rain, I caught the scamp trying to catch ahold of my wallet. I felt a little sorry for him so I offered him room and board here at the theater in exchange for work. It was that or I report him to the constable. I think a few hot meals and a warm bed will do him some good." He put a warm, friendly hand on the boy's shoulder. "How would you like that, Jacob?"

"Very much, sir. Thanks," he responded in a small voice, adding the "thanks" almost as an afterthought. He still stood shivering, like a rabbit cornered by a large dog.

"What do you think, Mortimer? Do you think the lad can cut it?" Henry looked at Mortimer. "After all, he'll be staying with you, here in the theater."

There was a huge clatter as the sword Mortimer was polishing fell to the floor. He gaped at Henry, mouth wide open. When he finally found his voice, Henry instinctively covered his ears. "WHAT?!" Mortimer bellowed. He immediately checked his volume when he saw the kid flinch. "Whaddya mean, 'e's stayin' wiv me? The bloody 'ell am I s'posed to do wiv an 'alf-pint like 'im?"

"Mortimer, have you forgotten that you, too, were an orphan in need of a place to stay?" Henry looked reproachful. Mortimer remembered his parents' deaths only too well.

"No, but..."

"But what, Mortimer?" Henry very rarely got angry with Mortimer, but he looked quite close to losing his patience.

"But what am I s'posed to do wiv 'im, eh? I don't know the firs' thing 'bout kids."

"You'll figure it out. I have the utmost faith in you, Mortimer." Mortimer began to object again, but Henry silenced him with a stern look. "Just make sure he gets a bath and a hair cut. I'm sure we have some of your old clothes lying around here somewhere. I'll get Moira to make him some decent clothes tomorrow. When he's done his bath, throw out those filthy clothes he has on. And no more arguments, Mortimer." Henry started for his office. "Don't let me down, Mortimer. I'm counting on you." He disappeared through a door on the other end of the stage.

"Oh great, what 'ave yeh got me into, 'Enry?" Mortimer muttered. "C'mon, runt." Mortimer started in the same direction Henry disappeared in. He stopped when he realized that Jacob wasn't following him. "What are yeh waitin' fer, eh? A written invite? Come on!" Jacob followed reluctantly. Mortimer led Jacob down a flight of stairs to the space under the stage. They had built him a bedroom under the stage when he was younger and it was to this room he led Jacob. The furnace sat near the back wall and the heat made the room nearly too hot to be comfortable, but after the cold and wet of the outside, Jacob found it downright cozy. He sat a few feet from the furnace, warming himself as Mortimer heated water for his bath. After the tub was filled with hot water, Mortimer dropped a towel, a wash rag and a small cake of soap by the basin and left.

When Jacob was alone, he began to strip his clothes off. As soon as he was nude, he climbed into the tub and lathered up the wash rag. Though he had spent the past three or four years living in the streets, he hadn't forgotten the basic idea of how to bathe. He scrubbed himself, the dirt coming off only after a great deal of effort. The water was already turning the weird gray of dingy dish water. He began to apply vigorous energy to lathering and washing his hair. He had often suffered from lice, but the last infestation had died off and he didn't currently have any of the critters in his hair.

Nearly as soon as he was done scrubbing the last of the lather out of his hair, Mortimer returned with a comb and a pair of scissors. Mortimer attacked the tangles in Jacob's hair, being careful to cause the boy as little pain as possible. Once his hair was flat against his head in blonde waves, no longer resisting the passage of the comb, Mortimer began to cut his hair. Having spent much time styling hair and wigs for the theater, Mortimer was nearly as good a barber as any you could hope to find in London. After cutting Jacob's hair in a suitable style for one of his age and features, Mortimer went off again to search for clean clothes for Jacob. He didn't know if he had any old clothes that would fit Jacob. He couldn't even remember ever being that small. As Mortimer scrounged through an old trunk in an unused dressing room, he unwillingly returned to that fateful day nearly thirty years that turned his life upside-down.

It was a clear autumn night in 1887. He and his parents were walking home one night from their weekly trip to the bargain book stand, hand in hand, Mortimer proudly carrying the parcel with their books in it. On a side street, a horse and carriage waited for its passenger to return. Suddenly, a pistol crack rent the air. The frightened horse reared and bolted madly over the muddy cobblestones as the driver tried frantically to regain control of the animal. The whole assembly came careening around the corner, the chestnut stallion flecked with sweat and foam. Mortimer and his parents stood in the middle of the street, frozen with terror, as the horse charged toward them. Mortimer's father pushed him out of the path of the horse just in time. The horse trampled his parents to the ground, killing them instantly. Mortimer watched in horror as the carriage wheel rolled over his parents, crushing them against the dirty cobblestones.

A few days later, Henry arrived at the home of Mortimer's frail great aunt, Winifred, who was caring for the boy until something could be arranged for him long term. Henry, a veteran actor and old friend of Mortimer's parents, volunteered to care for the boy and see to it that he did not want for food, shelter, or affection. Since then, Mortimer has lived under the stage in the theater, with the few possessions he needs. Henry, true to his word, made sure that Mortimer was healthy, happy, and safe. Any time that he had to spare, he spent teaching Mortimer all that he could about acting, school subjects, and life in general. For his part, Mortimer showed Henry tremendous loyalty, even in the face of adversity.

"And I'll be damned if I'm gonna let 'im dahn now," Mortimer vowed.

Back down in Mort's room, Jacob began to rinse the hair clippings off into the water before standing to wash his legs, feet and privates. Just as he was finishing scrubbing, Mortimer came back into the small room carrying a bundle of clothes. "'Ere's somethin' fer yer to..." His voice faded to nothing when he got a good look at Jacob and began to register what he was seeing. "Yeh're a.... Yeh've got a... Yeh're a girl!" he finished in a shocked whisper. "Jacob" hurriedly covered herself with a towel.

"Please, don't tell anybody. If they know I'm a girl, they'll chuck me outta here, and I got no place to stay."

Mortimer slowly put the clothes down and left the room. He couldn't think. What should he do? He had never been the brightest light on the stage, but this wasn't just a question of intellect. It was a matter of ethics and morals. Should he expose a young child's lie and see her put back out on the streets to fend for herself among the rats and sewer dwellers? Should he keep her secret, becoming a liar by omission, and risk letting Henry down? Mortimer gnawed his nails anxiously, a habit he hadn't practiced since his own childhood. He needed to clear his head.

After Mortimer left, Jacob began to dress quickly. She had to catch him and make sure her secret was safe. She hadn't had a decent home in years and she was willing to do whatever she could to keep this one. She ran out in the makeshift corridor under the stage, pulling her suspenders up as she went. The knee breeches they gave her were too long and a bit loose around the waist, but they were clean and warm, much better than the ones she had on when she arrived. If she had to go, she hoped they would at least let her keep the clothes they gave her. She couldn't find Mortimer under the stage so she made her way upstairs to try and find him.

When she reached the stage, she found Mortimer hanging by his neck in a noose, his feet dangling above a turned-over wooden chair. Jacob screamed, clawing at her face with her nails, her face a rictus of exquisite horror. Mortimer jerked in the noose, loosening it from around his neck, dropping heavily to the floor, landing roughly on his feet. "What the bloody hell are yeh yellin' about?" he looked at her, worried. "D'I scare yeh? Gah, I'm sorry." He put a hand on Jacob's shoulder and she jerked away in terror. "Yeh all righ'? I'm fine. See?" He pried her hand away from her face and pressed it against his midsection. "I'm solid as a bread pudding. I ain't dead.... Well, maybe brain dead, but I'm alive."

Jacob began to calm down by degrees. "But-but you were just hangin' up there, head in a noose..."

"Ah..." he began, shrugging. "It's what I do."

"What's what you do?" she asked, still a little hysterical.

"I die." Mortimer looked bemused by Jacob's grimace of disgust. "Now, let's not start 'at again." He picked up an old prop knife that was lying on the stage floor and palmed it casually. He suddenly stabbed himself in the stomach with it, groaning as he fell to the stage floor, his breath becoming a strange gurgle as it tapered off to silence. Before Jacob had a chance to scream, Mortimer sat up slowly, playing with the retractable blade before flinging the knife toward the back of the stage.

Jacob took all this in, her blue eyes growing wide with surprise, then understanding. "You were just acting?"

"Uhh, yeah, I live in a theater." Mortimer rolled his eyes. "I guess I ain't the on'y one a few cards short've a full deck."

Jacob awestruck expression was soon replaced by anxiety. She began to gnaw her thumbnail fearfully, that deer in headlights look back in her eyes. She looks just like me, Mort thought dimly. "You're probably gonna tell everybody I'm a girl, huh? Maybe they'll let me at least keep these clothes..."

Mortimer sighed and flopped onto his back. He still hadn't decided what to do. Usually, in situations like this, he would ask Henry but he could hardly go to him with this, could he? "I dunno, squirt. I 'ave to fink." Mortimer closed his eyes and lay perfectly still, barely even breathing. After about a minute or so, he sighed again and opened his eyes. "I don't know any way 'round it. I 'ave to tell 'Enry. Sorry, shorty." He shrugged sadly.

Jacob's face fell even more. Mortimer felt very sorry for her, but he couldn't very well keep her secret forever. He stood up and put a hand on Jacob's shoulder. "C'mon, let's get some food in yer stomach 'fore dat growlin' scares up the rats. I could use a pint of ale meself." He led Jacob to Henry's office and rapped sharply on the door.

"Come in," Henry's voice answered through the door. Mortimer opened the door to find Henry peering worriedly at some bit of correspondence on official looking stationery. The paper trembled in his palsied hands and a frown creased his slightly wrinkled brow. "That's the third investor we've lost this year, and it's only March," he muttered distractedly. Mortimer cleared his throat softly and waited. Henry quickly put the letter away, trying to replace his worried expression with a smile.

"Er, 'Enry, I fink we need t'talk." Mortimer began. Henry glanced at his watch quickly.

"Oh my, would you look at the time?" Henry cut him off. "Not to be rude, Mortimer, but we'll have to have this talk later. We're already late for dinner with the rest of the company." Henry threw on his coat and hat and pushed past Mortimer and Jacob. Mortimer looked at Jacob and shrugged before following Henry. Jacob trailed behind, biting her thumbnail even more anxiously. At the coat hooks near the exit, Mortimer took down his jacket and threw it to Jacob, who put it on nervously, her hands trembling noticably. Mortimer gently knocked Jacob's hands away and buttoned the jacket quickly. He put a hand on the child's narrow shoulder and gently led her out into the night.

The rain had stopped finally and the three figures sloshed through the streets to a nearby pub, Mortimer rubbing his hands together to keep them warm. "Er, 'Enry?" Mortimer began, trying to get Henry's attention.

"Mortimer, I'm sure whatever you have to tell me can wait until after supper. Ah, Toby!" Henry called out genially, spotting the proprietor of the little pub. A middle-aged man, not much older than Mortimer, with red hair beginning to show signs of gray ambled over wiping his hands on his apron.

"Good evenin' to ye'," Toby greeted them, his Irish accent softened by years of working in his London tavern. "The rest of yer band has already arrived. Oh, and 'oo's this little feller clinging to yer skirts, Mortimer?" His laughing green eyes had spotted Jacob standing half hidden behind Mortimer.

Mortimer put a hand on Jacob's head. "Dis's Jacob. A new runt in the cump'ny."

"Well, good evenin' to ye', lad. Noice it is to be makin yer acquaintance." Toby took Jacob's hand in his large, rough one and shook it warmly. "Now, if ye'll follow me over to yer table, I'll be glad to fill yer stomachs."

The trio followed Toby to a large, scrubbed wood table where at least half a dozen people were already seated. They sat in the empty seats and made themselves comfortable. “I trust Mortimer and Henry will be having their usual.” They nodded and Toby turned to Jacob. “What’ll ye be having, then, boyo?”

“Er…,” Jacob looked to Mortimer for help. “The runt’ll 'ave what I’m 'aving and milk if yeh’ve got it.”

“Nope, no milk, but the missus brewed some excellent iced tea this afternoon. I’m sure the lad won’t say no to a bit of that,” he said, smiling warmly at Jacob. Jacob nodded and stared at the table. “Heh heh, shy eh? Ye’ll grow out of that soon enough larking about with these.” He tousled Jacob’s hair and left to get the food.

“Well, now that food and libations have been seen to, everyone, I want you to meet Jacob, a new addition to our little family.” Henry proceeded to go around the table, introducing everyone to Jacob.

Richard, a man who looked very like the portraits of William Shakespeare, leaned forward, trying to look friendly. “So, Jacob, how old are you?”

“Nine. I’ll be ten sometime in September. I can’t 'member 'zactly what day.” Jacob continued to study the table, not looking at anyone but Mortimer.

“I don’t mean to pry, but where are your parents?” a woman called Genevieve asked.

Jacob shrugged. “They died when I was little. Don’t 'member 'em too well. Sometimes, I think I c'n almost remember me mum’s voice, but I can’t be sure.”

“So you’ll be staying with old Squirrel Face, eh?” laughed Richard. “I’m sure that’ll be a lark.” Mortimer’s face became a very lovely crimson. “Shut up, Dickie.”

Jacob glanced at Mortimer again, a bit more fearfully. “I guess so.”

Toby’s wife appeared with a tray of drinks and handed them around as Toby handed everyone their food. As they left the table, Toby winked at Jacob again and his wife pinched her cheek gently before patting her on the head and leaving. “Well, it seems everyone has taken a liking to you already,” Henry said, sipping his Scotch. Mortimer, catching the look of apprehension on Jacob’s face, put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, squirt,” he said so only she could hear. She gave a weak smile and began to eat.

The company chatted happily as they ate. After dinner, they paid and tipped Toby generously as they always did and began to leave one by one. Soon, only Mortimer, Henry and Jacob were left at the table. Henry was nursing his third Scotch and looking a sight better than he did back in his office. Mortimer decided to take the plunge because, if he waited, he may not get another opportunity for some time.

“Er, 'Enry. We really 'ave to talk,” he began, putting a hand on Jacob’s shoulder.

“All right, what’s wrong?” Henry was still smiling, but there was a hint of concern in his eyes.

“It’s about Jacob.” He glanced at Jacob briefly before fixing his eyes firmly on Henry. “If it’s about his accommodations…” Henry began but Mortimer cut across him. “He’s a she,” Mortimer said quickly.

“What do you mean ‘he’s a she’?” Henry said, incredulity written on his features.

“I mean, Jacob’s a girl,” Mortimer said. He explained to Henry what had happened under the stage and the quandary he was in. “I din’t know what else to do, so I came t'you.”

“This is definitely some fix we’re in.” Henry began to knead his forehead. “You told me your name was Jacob,” Henry said, looking at Jacob.

“When you caught me, I panicked and gave you the first name that came to mind. Jacob was my older brother. He died of measles two years ago so I’ve been kinda using his name,” Jacob blurted quickly.

“What’s your real name?” Henry asked.

“My brother used to call me Elizabeth, so I guess that’s my name, but one name’s good as another.”

Henry looked to Mortimer. “What do you think we should do?” Mortimer looked taken aback. No one had ever asked him for advice before.

“Well, we sure can’t chuck the nipper back aht inna cold. Be too cruel fer words t'do dat.”

“If we let her stay on, you’re going to have to shoulder the responsibility of taking care of her, Mort.”

“I…I guess I can deal wiv dat.”

“All right. Well, we can’t tell the rest of the company. They’re definitely not going to agree to letting a little girl live under the stage. I’m sure they’ll eventually figure it out, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. For right now, we have enough to be getting on with just providing food, clothing and shelter for her. I’m swearing you both to secrecy. You’re not to tell anyone that Jacob’s a girl, got it?” Mortimer and Jacob nodded. “Mortimer, you take her – him, back to the theater. I’ll see you both in the morning.” Henry got up, put on his coat and hat and left the pub. Mortimer waited for Jacob to put her coat back on and led her back to the theater. “I can’t say I weren’t worried there fer a mo’, but it turned aht okay.” Mortimer shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at Jacob.

“Yeah. I thought for sure he’d hurl me back out on the streets. Thanks for pulling for me.”

“No problem, runt.” They headed back down under the stage and Mortimer made himself a palette on the floor. “I guess all I can say now is ‘Welcome 'ome’.”

“Home. I kinda like the sound of that.”