Книга - The Winter Orphan

The Winter Orphan
Cathy Sharp


A heartbreaking story of one child’s courage, from the bestselling author of The Orphan’s of Halfpenny Street. Ella has never known love. Left as a baby outside the workhouse, Ella has only ever been treated with unkindness; especially from the hateful guardians of the workhouse, who hold the fate of the inmates in their cruel hands. When she is sold as a scullery maid to a new home, Ella hopes for a better life. But her hopes are dashed as she struggles to do all the work heaped on her thin shoulders by her brutish master. Daring to escape her harsh treatment, it isn’t long before she is caught and once again finds herself at the mercy of an uncaring world. Can Ella resist giving in to despair and somehow to find the strength to carry on alone…









THE WINTER ORPHAN

Cathy Sharp










Copyright (#u80e1b11f-8d03-5344-a6e4-4e8acaa5fcc5)


HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

The News Building

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019

Copyright © HarperCollinsPublishers 2019

Cover design by Claire Ward © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019

Cover photograph © Lee Avison/Arcangel Images

Cathy Sharp asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008286712

Ebook Edition © September 2019 ISBN: 9780008363987

Version: 2019-08-06


Contents

Cover (#u98317b3f-b944-5e65-8c55-1eef8d762ff5)

Title Page (#u2f92ef29-a205-59f3-b33e-33060541186d)

Copyright

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by Cathy Sharp

About the Publisher




PROLOGUE (#u80e1b11f-8d03-5344-a6e4-4e8acaa5fcc5)


Snow was falling, coating trees, bushes and fields with a thick covering of soft, cold whiteness. From the landing window of what had once been an impressive family home and was now the local workhouse, a young girl of perhaps eleven summers watched the heart-wrenching scene as the young mother begged for help in the drive below and tears stung the child’s eyes. She had heard the story of how she herself was found on the steps of the rectory on such a night. Had her mother also begged for entry here and been turned away to die in the bitter cold?

‘Give me back my child,’ the young woman below wept as she was thrust out of the huge wrought-iron gates of the workhouse. ‘I know my babe lived, for I heard her cries!’

‘She died an instant after drawing breath,’ was the reply from the hard-faced warden, who had ordered her ejected from the property. ‘Your child died, Jane! Accept it as the will of God and be gone. If you dare to come here again I shall have you whipped.’ Dressed in black, her thin features showed no hint of sympathy or concern as she ordered the servants to shut and lock those formidable gates.

‘You are a wicked, evil woman!’ the wretched mother cried. ‘I know not my name, but it was not Jane – and I swear that my child lives. I feel it in here.’ She placed her hands to her left breast, tears running down her pale cheeks. It was but a few days since she’d given birth in great pain, her strength almost gone, but even so she knew she had heard a strong cry from a living child and the words of the midwife who had birthed the babe and from somewhere she’d summoned the will to live. ‘I know my child did not die and I know she was healthy for I heard them say that she was beautiful!’

‘The babe is dead to you,’ the spiteful voice said. ‘You are a whore and you do not deserve a child. If you ply your trade once more no doubt you will bear another …’

The gates shut with a clanging sound that was like a death knell to the unhappy woman who pressed herself against them, desperately looking at the grey walls and stout door. She’d struggled here in a raging storm to give birth in safety. Would to God that she had given birth under a hedgerow for her child might then be here in her arms!

It had begun to snow harder now and the wind was cold, biting through her ragged gown and thin shawl. Her feet were bare and felt frozen as she stubbornly stood staring at the door of the workhouse, which remained firmly shut. They had stolen her babe! Jane might not know her true name, for when she’d arrived at the isolated workhouse – ill, close to starving and near to giving birth – all her memories had gone. She knew not where she had been, nor where she was trying to go. Her own name, as well as that of her child’s father, had vanished from her mind with all the rest.

The women who cared for the sick in the workhouse infirmary had named her Jane. She had heard them talking when they thought she was dying. For some reason they were triumphant that the babe was healthy and spoke of someone being pleased that she was such a beautiful girl – but Jane had not died and when she finally began to look about her and ask for her child, they told her the babe had been all but stillborn.

Jane knew it was a lie. She would never believe that her babe had died soon after it drew breath, but if she stood here from now to kingdom come she knew they would not tell her what had happened to her child. Tears ran silently down her cheeks as she turned away. Night was closing fast and the snow was beginning to lie thickly. She was a mile from the nearest village and she knew that even if she reached it no one would help her; they would merely send her here. She was a vagrant. Nothing. No one. If she died this night it mattered not, but if she lived she would return and somehow she would have justice for what had been done here.

As she lingered at the gates, a young girl came rushing from the rear of the house. Jane knew her, for this girl had helped her in the infirmary, had given her a cup of milk and a piece of bread when she lay weeping after they’d told her that her babe was dead.

‘Thank you, child,’ Jane had whispered, because something in the girl’s face had touched her heart – and there was such sadness in those big brown eyes.

‘I am called Bella,’ the girl had whispered to her then. ‘They will beat me if they find me giving you sustenance, because you have angered the mistress …’ She’d gone quickly, afraid of being caught and punished.

Bella was dressed now in just her nightgown and a shawl, shivering with cold.

‘What are you doing here, child?’ Jane said. ‘You will catch your death on this terrible night.’

‘I had to tell you,’ Bella gasped. ‘I saw you from the window and I got out the back way! Don’t believe them when they say your babe died. She lived for I saw them take her out to the gates some two days later and give her to someone in a carriage. You were still ill and would not have heard her even if she cried, but I did.’

‘You saw it? You saw them give my child to someone?’ Jane clutched at the child’s arm, hope soaring. ‘Did you see her, Bella? Do you know if she lived?’

‘She did not die as they told you. Your babe was crying as they carried her away. I heard her and I saw them give her to someone in a carriage – but I am sorry, I do not know who it was.’

‘Thank you!’ Jane reached through the bars of the locked gate to catch Bella’s hands. ‘Go quickly before they discover you or you will be punished.’

The child had been going to say more but she nodded and, giving a little sob of fear, Bella fled the way she had come. Jane’s eyes filled with tears but her heart grew stronger. She had not imagined those cries. Her daughter lived somewhere and one day she would find her and take her back …

Raising her hand, Jane waved to Bella as she paused at the corner of the house, before disappearing round the corner. If she found her child perhaps she might come back and take Bella away from this terrible place … but for the moment it would take all her strength just to survive.

Once inside the scullery, Bella paused, listening for sounds, but the other inmates were in their beds and she knew she must hurry – if the mistress discovered her here at this hour she would be accused of stealing food from the kitchen and beaten. Her eyes stung with tears for she could not forget the look of despair in Jane’s eyes. There was nowhere the young woman would find proper shelter on such a night, for even the church was locked during the hours of darkness to deter those who would steal from God and the poor. It was likely that Jane would die unless she found a barn or a haystack to crawl inside. Bella shivered, feeling chilled, for there was little hope that Jane would recover her babe even if she survived the night.

‘God grant you peace,’ she prayed, knowing that Jane’s chances of survival were as small as Bella’s of finding happiness in this life. ‘If there is a God I think you need him this night …’




CHAPTER 1 (#u80e1b11f-8d03-5344-a6e4-4e8acaa5fcc5)


On the lonely road, a carriage bowled smartly through the gathering gloom of a bitter night, both coachman and horses eager to find an inn, stables and warmth. Inside, the man, his eyes closed as he endured the jolting of his well-sprung vehicle, let out a cry of pain, but it was not for physical discomfort. In his mind, he had seen again the dying agony of the woman he loved, cradled in his arms but beyond his help.

‘Katharine …’ he murmured, tears on his cheeks. ‘Katharine, why did you leave me?’

Yet it was not her fault that she now lay in the icy ground. The brute who had killed her was punished but that did not ease Arthur Stoneham’s grief. It was for her memory that he was set upon this road this dread night, because she would not let him rest and he knew he would carry this agony until he had fulfilled his promise to her – a promise to find the sister she had loved.

After weeks of following clues that led nowhere, Arthur was no closer to discovering what had happened to Marianne Ross more than twelve years earlier than he had been when he left London. He had visited the man Katharine Ross had spoken of in her dying fever. Squire Thomas Redfern had seemed a pompous young man to Arthur and uninterested in Katharine or her sister and so he had simply told him of Katharine’s death and her wish that Arthur would look for her sister.

‘It is my intention to do all I can to find Marianne,’ Arthur told the squire, looking for some flicker of feeling but there was none.

‘I do not believe you will find any trace of that unfortunate young woman,’ Thomas said in a voice devoid of emotion. Married, with two young sons, he had clearly ceased to mourn her long ago. ‘A search was made at the time. Marianne unwisely walked home through the woods, though she had been warned gypsies were camping there. My father and hers made searches but no word of her was ever heard. I think she was murdered and her body concealed …’

For a moment there was a flicker of something but then it was gone. If this man had ever loved Katharine or her sister, he had only a fleeting interest now. Arthur decided that he must have mistaken Katharine’s last words; she could not have loved someone as unfeeling as this man! He would not give him another thought, nor, if Marianne were found, would he pass on news of her to such an unfeeling oaf.

The resolution helped to soothe his wounded heart a little, for he could not be jealous of such a man. Katharine must have been trying to say something other than the words that had burned into Arthur’s soul: ‘Tell Tom I loved him …’

He would not think of this man as a rival for Katharine’s love again. Perhaps she had meant to say, ‘Tell Arthur I loved him,’ and the words had come out wrong.

The squire had no clues to help Arthur find Marianne Ross, nor did any others he questioned in the household. It was no different in the village. No one remembered much of the old tragedy. Marianne had simply disappeared that night and never been heard of since. Most who remembered the old story believed her dead. Arthur himself thought it was the most likely explanation, but he would do his best to exhaust any leads that might help him to discover the truth, though they were few indeed. Gypsies had been in the woods and one of Marianne’s shoes had been found so it seemed to him that there were two possible explanations: either Marianne had been attacked and killed or she’d been abducted by the gypsies. He was unlikely to find her whatever the case, but he must exhaust all possibilities before admitting failure for his own peace of mind.

Arthur lounged back against the comfortable squabs in his carriage, closing his eyes as his coachman drove through the icy night. Although his journey had been fruitless, he was still in Hampshire and not ready to return to London and give up the search for Katharine’s lost sister. As Hetty, his true friend and colleague, had told him, he owed it to the memory of the woman he’d loved. Hetty ran Arthur’s refuges for women and children in London and had been Katharine’s friend, nursing her when she lay dying.

Katharine’s tragic death was still like a stone in Arthur’s breast and he could not face the anxious looks and concern of his friends, especially those who had also loved her. The man who had caused her death was locked away in a cold cell from which he would emerge only to meet death at the end of the hangman’s rope. The rogue’s fate was assured, but that did not ease Arthur’s state of mind. His grief was too bitter, too personal, to be shared – nor did he wish for sympathy, and together with the grief came the doubts and the guilt.

Was it Arthur’s fault that Sir Roger Beamish had seized the chance to send his beautiful Katharine to her death in front of that brewer’s waggon? Sir Roger’s insane jealousy was certainly one cause for the spiteful act, but Arthur now knew that the man had been ruined, his fortune lost, and that in his twisted mind he’d blamed Arthur, who’d caught him cheating and accused him publicly of it, for his downfall. Or was it because Katharine had refused him and accepted Arthur’s proposal that he’d given her the vicious push that ended her life beneath the flailing hooves of the heavy horses? Arthur knew he would never discover the answers to his questions and it haunted him.

He groaned and pushed his tortured thoughts to a distant corner of his mind. Katharine was lost to him and nothing would bring her back. His only hope of finding peace was to unravel the mystery of her sister’s disappearance. Perhaps then he might be able to sleep at night.

Suddenly, he heard a shout and his carriage was brought to a screeching halt as the coachman reined in his horses abruptly and Arthur was flung from one side of the carriage to the other. By some miracle, his man managed to hold the plunging, screaming horses and the coach did not overturn. Recovering swiftly, Arthur wrenched open the door and jumped out into the road.

‘What happened?’ he demanded of his driver, but even as he asked, Arthur saw what looked like a huddle of rags lying a few feet in front of his carriage. The horses were still snorting and stamping their feet, disturbed by being so misused, their breath white on the frosty air, and Arthur went to their heads to quieten them, whispering against their faces so that they calmed and responded to his voice before he walked on to investigate the bundle.

Arthur looked to either side of the road suspiciously for it might be a trick to take them unawares. Some thirty-odd years earlier, highwaymen had been the plague of these roads, but none had been seen since the last known gang was caught many years before. It was now 1883 and Arthur did not fear them but there were still rogues and thieves aplenty who might offer violence on a dark lonely road such as this, so it was best to be careful. Indeed, it was only the previous year that Her Majesty Queen Victoria had been shot at, so Arthur went prepared wherever he travelled. He patted the pistol in his greatcoat pocket, ready for the worst if this was a trick.

‘Be careful, sir,’ his groom warned. ‘It may be the work of rogues …’

Arthur had reached the huddle of rags and saw at once that it was a young woman lying there. Her face was pale and for a moment he thought her dead. Kneeling on the frozen surface of the road, Arthur felt for a pulse. It was faint but it was there. He swept her up in his arms as his groom came to join him.

‘What is it, sir?’

‘A young woman – and she’s barely alive, Kent. Had we not chanced on her she might have died this night. We need to get to the nearest inn.’

‘There’s a small one about a mile ahead. Let me help you, sir.’

‘Open the door of the carriage,’ Arthur said. ‘I have some brandy in my bag and I’ll see if I can get her to swallow a little. As soon as we reach the inn, I want you to discover the nearest doctor and bring him to us.’

Kent nodded, glancing at the woman as Arthur lifted her gently on to the seats and sat next to her, holding her against him. Another servant might have observed that she was a vagrant and warned his master, but all Arthur’s people knew that such a remark would earn them a severe glance. Arthur Stoneham would never leave a woman to die on the side of the road, even if, as it looked, she was a beggar.

‘Yes, sir,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell the coachman to get on now.’

He shut the door carefully and left Arthur to settle the unfortunate woman. Arthur took a small silver flask from his pocket and opened the stopper, then gently lifted the woman in his arms so that she was propped up against his shoulder as he put the flask to her lips.

‘Try to swallow a little please,’ he said gently. ‘It will warm you …’

Whether she heard or not, Arthur could not know, but she moaned slightly and, as her mouth opened, he poured a tiny drop on to her tongue. Her throat swallowed and he poured a few drops more. He thought she sighed and her body seemed to sag against him. He sat with his arms about her, holding his greatcoat around her frail body, instilling his warmth and vitality into her, willing her to live.

‘Be brave, lady,’ he murmured. ‘I have you and you are safe now.’

As the coach slowed to a halt and his groom opened the door and helped him ease the woman out, he saw a small inn with a lantern above its door and welcoming lights from a parlour window.

‘Run and secure rooms for us, Kent – and then fetch that doctor!’

‘Yes, sir.’

Kent ran ahead while Arthur gave instructions to his coachman about stabling the horses then assisted the shivering woman to walk. By the time he reached the lights and warmth of the inn hallway, Kent had secured a room for him and accommodation for himself and the coachman.

‘There is but the one room in the house but I thought it would do as you will want to watch over the young lady, sir – and me and Barrett are over the stables and the landlord has given me the doctor’s direction,’ Kent told him.

Arthur nodded to the landlord. ‘I shall require a fire lighting and food for us all. My companion is not well, so some warm milk, perhaps, if the doctor thinks it advisable.’

‘Yes, Mr Stoneham.’ The landlord bowed respectfully. Kent had made sure to speak of his master’s consequence, no doubt, for the landlord took a brass oil lamp and lit their way up to a large chamber at the rear of the house. ‘I fear there is but the one bed, sir.’

‘She is ill and must have it,’ Arthur said. ‘I shall take the chair and be comfortable enough; besides, she will need watching. I do not know what has befallen this poor girl, but I shall not let her die if I may prevent it.’

‘Your man said you were a philanthropist of the highest order, sir. My wife would take in all the waifs and strays if she could …’ He tutted as he saw the condition of the young woman. ‘She cannot be past twenty, sir. It is sad to see one so fair brought to this.’

‘Yes, you are right,’ Arthur agreed. ‘I fear it happens all too often but, with God’s aid, we help those we can.’ The landlord nodded and looked pious.

‘Amen to that, sir,’ he said. ‘I’ll send the chambermaid up to light the fire straight away.’ He paused, then, ‘Will you dine here or in the parlour?’

‘I’ll dine after the physician has been and we hear what he has to say.’

The host nodded and left Arthur to place the girl between the clean sheets and cover her. Despite her wretched clothes, he thought she had washed recently and her skin had a pleasant perfume of its own. She was pretty, he decided, as he pushed the long fair hair back from her cheek. If she lived, he would be interested to hear her story and would help her if she was willing to be helped. He could take her to Hetty, who would find her a bed at the refuge and perhaps a place to work, he thought as he turned away to take off his coat.

‘My baby! Give me back my baby!’

The cry from the young woman’s lips was so desperate that Arthur turned sharply and saw that she was sitting up in bed staring about her wildly.

‘Where is she? What have you done with her?’

‘I saw no baby …’ Arthur felt a stab of doubt. Had he missed the child? He had seen nothing of it when they rescued the woman. No, there had been no child nearby that he’d been aware of – but had it been lying hidden by the side of the road? ‘Forgive me, where was your child, madam?’

‘They took her. They said she was stillborn but I heard her cries,’ the woman said clearly, in the voice of one gently reared, and then fell back against the pillows, her eyes closing.

Arthur bent over her, fearing for a moment that a relapse had taken her life, but she was sleeping now and her breathing seemed a little easier. He was relieved, but the poor girl was feverish. He decided that he would not go and look for the missing babe for she seemed confused. Perhaps she had recently given birth to a child that had died, which might explain her distress, but why had she been lying in the middle of the road?

It was more than half an hour before Kent returned with the doctor. By that time the maid had a good fire burning and the room was pleasantly warm. The doctor examined his patient and confirmed Arthur’s belief that she had recently given birth.

‘She still has her milk,’ he told Arthur, ‘though I would say it was some days since the birth – perhaps more than a week.’

‘She was asking for the child and seemed confused. Do you think she has been attacked?’

‘I see little wrong with her,’ the doctor told Arthur. ‘I imagine she may not have eaten for some hours and she was probably on the verge of dying of the cold. It is a bitter night, Mr Stoneham – too cold for any of us to be out.’

He seemed a little annoyed that he had been brought from his warm house to tend a woman he did not consider sick, for bearing a child was the law of nature. Arthur kept his counsel, paid him generously and thanked him for his advice – which was that she should have rest, good food and be kept warm.

‘She is young and with some food inside her will soon recover her strength, sir. I think these young women are often back in the fields within days of giving birth.’

‘You think her a country woman?’

‘She is dressed like one of the travelling folk,’ the doctor said disparagingly. ‘Be careful, Mr Stoneham – these people can take advantage if you let them.’

Arthur nodded, giving no answer except to thank him for his time once more. He was angry, for he had seen nothing in the young woman’s features to suggest she was Romany and would not have cared if she was, but he would have thought by her speech that she was more likely to be of good family, although he supposed the clothes she wore might have belonged to the kind of woman the doctor had mentioned.

A knock at the door made Arthur turn to greet the plump woman who had arrived with a hot toddy and a glass of warmed milk.

‘I’m Sally, the landlord’s wife, and I thought you could do with something to warm you, sir,’ she said. ‘I brought the milk in case the young lady was feeling able to drink it.’

‘At the moment she sleeps,’ Arthur said. ‘I wonder if you could bring me up a cold supper – I do not feel able to leave her just yet.’

‘How would it be if I sat with her for a while, sir? You go down and my husband will bring you soup, bread and then cold meat and pickles – if that will suit?’

‘It sounds like a feast,’ Arthur said and smiled, for Sally had a kind face. ‘She woke once and I think she has recently lost a child.’

‘The poor girl,’ Sally said. ‘I know how that feels, for I lost one of my own – though I now have two strapping sons.’

‘I am glad to hear of your present happiness,’ Arthur said and drank some of his hot toddy. ‘I shall take this with me, Sally. Please watch this lady while I avail myself of your husband’s hospitality.’

It was an hour and a half before Arthur returned to the bedchamber. The landlord’s wife was bathing the young woman’s forehead and smiling as she tended her. Clearly, she had taken to her patient and was caring for her as she would one of her own.

‘Thank you for your kindness, Sally.’

‘It was a girl I lost, sir. She would have been just a little younger than this young lady if I am not mistaken, for she can be little more than eighteen.’

‘You think her gently born?’

‘Oh yes, sir. Her hands have known work but only in the past few months – and her skin is soft and white, her features gentle. I believe her to have been ill-treated, Mr Stoneham – there are marks of a beating on her back no more than a few months old.’

Arthur’s eyes narrowed in question. ‘You bathed her to ease her fever and discovered scars?’

‘Aye, sir, I did. Who would beat a young woman who was bearing a child? I do not understand such cruelty, for my John is a good man. What kind of a man could do such a thing?’

‘I fear there are many such,’ Arthur told her, frowning. ‘I daresay there is a sorry tale behind her appearance but she is not alone in her suffering; there are many more …’

Sally nodded but made no further comment. She took her tray and left the room, saying she would return later but he must ring for her if he needed her help. Arthur thanked her and sat in the armchair by the fire, stretching out his long legs and leaning his head against the winged back. He felt warm and he had dined well. The young woman seemed to be resting and he might as well sleep if he could; time enough when she woke to discover the mystery that had brought her to a lonely road for him to find on such a night. It could not be mere coincidence. This was meant to be and Arthur sensed that he was meant to find her.




CHAPTER 2 (#u80e1b11f-8d03-5344-a6e4-4e8acaa5fcc5)


‘I had thought Mr Stoneham would have returned by now,’ Ruth Jones said when Hetty visited the kitchen at the refuge in the East End of London for fallen women where the pair both worked and lived. ‘You don’t think he would … you know, in his grief for the poor lady?’ Her distress showed in her eyes at the thought and Hetty was quick to reassure her.

Made warden of this spacious and comfortable home for unfortunate women, by a man she both admired and cared for, Hetty smiled. It had, she thought, once been the house of a wealthy merchant and had several good bedrooms, which enabled them to take in more women needing a place to call home.

‘No, Ruth, I do not think that Arthur Stoneham would take his own life, no matter how much he loved Katharine. He knows that too many people rely on him – besides, it is the coward’s way, and Arthur is no coward. You must not think such things. I daresay he has been delayed for some good reason and will return when he is ready.’

Ruth nodded and looked more cheerful. ‘Bless you, Miss Hetty, thank you for puttin’ my mind at ease. The master had seemed restless for a while and then, when Miss Ross agreed to wed him – well, I’d never seen him as happy. It was such a tragedy.’

‘Yes, it was,’ Hetty agreed, though privately she had her doubts that Arthur would have found lasting happiness with Katharine Ross. No doubt Katharine had felt some tenderness towards Arthur, perhaps loved him in her gentle way – but not with the wholehearted passion he deserved. But perhaps Hetty was biased, because she loved him herself, loved him with a passion she knew matched his own capability for love, though she would never have stood in his way. She cared only that he found peace and happiness for he had surely suffered enough remorse for any man.

At that moment a knock came at the door and Ruth went to answer it. Hetty looked for her to return, hopeful of some news concerning Arthur. Instead she was followed by a young girl Hetty had come to know well in recent weeks; she had, no doubt, brought medicine for one of their ladies.

‘Here’s Eliza come with herbs for our Sarah’s cough …’ Ruth announced. ‘I asked her to step in and take a glass of milk and a biscuit.’

Hetty nodded her approval. Eliza worked and cared for the apothecary, taking her cures to those in need and sometimes visited them at Hetty’s behest, for her ladies had often suffered and needed medicines to help them overcome their ills. A young, pretty girl, Eliza had both compassion and courage, for she had survived the cruellest upbringing in the workhouse.

Hetty knew that Arthur believed Eliza was his child, born of a young country gentlewoman, long dead now, and through misfortune given to a workhouse where she had suffered terribly before being rescued.

‘I am happy to see you, Eliza dear. Come, sit with us and tell us how you are – and Miss Edith, too.’

Eliza smiled. ‘I am well, ma’am, though I fear Miss Edith is not as strong as she might be.’

‘I am sorry for that,’ Hetty said looking at her with sympathy. ‘You know you may come to us if you are worried or distressed and we shall do our best to help you. My door is always open to you, Eliza.’

Eliza smiled at her sweetly and in that smile, Hetty saw something of the man she admired, and in her heart had always loved. Arthur only needed to see that smile to know for sure that she was his daughter, but Hetty knew that for the moment his grief had made him blind to anything but his memories of Katharine and her loss. He worried what to do for Eliza for the best, because she loved Miss Edith and to take her from the woman who had given her a home might distress her, and yet he wanted her to have the life she deserved. Once he’d managed to set his grief aside, he would undoubtedly put his mind to ensuring Eliza’s future happiness.

‘Miss Edith told me to make sure that Sarah knows the dose is once every six hours, Miss Hetty,’ Eliza said. ‘She should not take more.’

‘We’ll look after her, don’t you worry …’ Ruth said and smiled at her. In the workhouse she had looked after Eliza as if she were her own child for she had none to love and truly cared for the girl.

Hetty knew it was on Ruth’s mind that she needed to tell Eliza the secret she’d kept all these years, to give her the diamond trinket she’d discovered pinned inside her shawl – placed there, Ruth had no doubt, by the mother who had been forced to give her up. However, she agreed with Hetty that she needed to ask Arthur Stoneham’s permission before she did so and in all the distress of the past weeks she had not dared to ask.

‘Has Mr Stoneham returned from the country?’ Eliza asked suddenly.

‘Not yet – did you wish to speak to him?’

Eliza hesitated and then nodded. ‘Yes, ma’am but it is not important. I know Mr Stoneham is a busy man. I only wished to ask if he had found any record of who brought me to the workhouse. He did say he would help me if I asked …’

‘Arthur will return soon I am sure and you may ask him then. He has spent the weeks since Katharine’s death, at Christmas, searching for her sister, but I fear too many years have passed for him to succeed. Only a little miracle would bring that to pass.’

‘Her death was very sad, ma’am. We were sorry to hear of it …’

Hetty sighed. It would take a miracle and a persistence few could muster to find someone who had disappeared all those years ago. No one but Arthur Stoneham would have attempted it. She had calmed Ruth’s fears, but she too wondered where Arthur was, for she had expected his return before this. His cousin, Matthew Soames, who was also his secretary, was taking care of business in Arthur’s absence, but Hetty felt it keenly. Arthur Stoneham was never far from her thoughts or her prayers these days. Yet she believed that if he had not returned from his search there must be a good reason for his tardiness.

Bella sat on the stairs, hugging her thin arms about her body as the tears trickled down her cheeks. She hated this place – and most of all she hated Mistress Brent. Mistress Brent was the warden in charge of the female section of the workhouse but her husband was the master. He ruled the house with a rod of iron and even his wife had been seen with black eyes after he’d beaten her. It was after he’d taken his wrath out on Mistress Brent that she vented her spite on the women and girls in her charge – but most of all on Bella.

Bella had no idea why the mistress despised her and ill-used her so much more than the other children. A harsh, thin-faced woman, tall and skinny but very strong, when Mistress Brent gripped Bella’s arms, her fingers dug in so hard they bruised her and she had black and mauve marks all over them. The mistress had a long thin cane, which she used whenever she felt inclined, striking out at anyone she thought was being disobedient or impertinent. She made the children line up for everything – food, visits to church or the schoolroom, which was a privilege reserved only for those the mistress favoured, despite the law that said children must be educated between the ages of five to ten years. Bella had learned to write her name, but she could not read more than a few letters nor could she reckon numbers, even though some of the women inmates said that it was a disgrace she had been denied this right.

‘It’s the law that all the children should be taught their letters, numbers and to read, as well as sewing and other things and the child’s ripe to learn,’ they’d said amongst themselves, but no one dared to say it to the mistress’s face. All the women and girls obeyed their mistress almost by instinct, their spirits long subdued, and it was Bella alone who refused to march in time to her tune. She ran when she should walk and talked when she was ordered to be silent and took her punishment without tears. Something told Bella that, whatever she did, she would be beaten and ill-used and a fierce pride inside would not let her lie down and let the mistress wipe her feet on her.

Bella was good with a needle. Her eyes were sharp and her stitches were neat, and because of that she was given most of the mending to do. She was allowed to sit in the special room reserved for the seamstresses and help them in the afternoons, but in the mornings she was set tasks like scrubbing the floors or washing dishes. Yet she suspected that if her needlework had not been so neat, her life might have been harder. There were far worse jobs in the workhouse – the laundry, which was hot and damp and smelly; picking oakum, which made hands bleed, and slopping out the latrines. They stank, especially in summer, and they were cleared manually by the men, but children had to wash them down after the men had taken the stinking effluent away. Bella had been given that job once but since then she’d been fortunate enough to be sent to the sewing room.

Bella had learned about the woman who had given birth to a healthy child but was told it was dead while she sat quietly mending. The other women had gossiped about the young woman who had arrived earlier that bitter afternoon on the point of giving birth.

‘She does not know her own name nor whence she came,’ Florrie said as she cut the delicate pattern out of expensive silk. Florrie was the head seamstress and her work was so fine that word had spread to Lady Rowntree, whose family had founded the workhouse. Lady Rowntree had started by asking for some alterations and repairs, but then she had asked if Florrie could make some fine underwear for her daughter, Rosalie, who was soon to be wed. ‘I think a man betrayed poor Jane – for so the mistress said she should be called – and beat her and she lost her mind, poor wench.’

‘She would be better off if the babe dies at birth for she cannot care for it,’ Marta said as she paused in her own sewing. ‘In any case, I know the mistress and master sell the healthy ones – it has always been so, except in her case …’ The woman nodded her head at Bella. ‘Why do you think she kept her?’

‘Hush, Marta.’ Florrie shot a warning look at her friend. ‘If someone tells her what you say, they’ll shut you in the cellar and starve you.’

‘They can’t let me die,’ Marta said in a belligerent tone. ‘It’s not lawful – and Lady Rowntree would close this place down if she knew some of the things they do. It was she and her husband who endowed this place and they are still the guardians of it.’

‘I think he is too ill to care what happens here,’ Florrie said, shaking her head. ‘Her ladyship might – and Miss Rosalie would be shocked. She’s a lovely young lady, she is – and so grateful for our work. She told me that she has not seen better embroidery than ours, Marta.’

The chatter had turned to other things then, but Bella did not forget the woman who had lost her mind. When the poor lost woman had given birth, Bella had been sent to the sickroom with cloths and saw a healthy child born – but later she heard that Jane had been told it was dead and, in pity, stole a cup of milk and some soft bread from the kitchen and took it to her. The woman had looked so sad and ill and Bella had felt drawn to her. Poor Jane had wept and thanked her and her tears had remained in Bella’s memory.

Bella saw everything that went on in the workhouse. She was small and slight and no one took much notice of her – unless the mistress chanced to look her way when she felt inclined to punish someone. Bella had seen Jane’s babe carried from the workhouse one evening, two days after the birth, wrapped in a thick blanket. It could only have been Jane’s babe, for there were no others in the house, and she knew that the babes of young unmarried mothers were routinely sold to people willing to pay for them; fine ladies who longed for a child and could not bear them would pay well for a healthy babe, particularly a boy. If a family entered the workhouse and a woman gave birth, she would be allowed to keep her babe until the father took them out in the spring to find work. Only if the woman was alone and had no one to help her was the babe stolen from her.

Bella had felt so sorry for the woman they had named Jane. It was the reason she’d gone down to the yard the previous night and told Jane that her child lived and what she’d seen. She had tried to help her, but she’d been caught when she was returning to the dormitory and that was why she was sitting on the stairs now, awaiting the mistress’s summons. She knew she would be beaten and it would hurt, but she would try not to cry. Mistress Brent liked to see her cry and would just beat her all the harder.

‘Bella, come here!’ She rose and walked up the last few stairs to the woman waiting for her and her heart raced wildly. Mistress Brent was smiling and that meant trouble. She was looking forward to inflicting punishment. Bella was sure it made her happy to see others in pain and distress. ‘Come in, girl.’

Bella went into the dark room that the mistress called her office. There was a desk and a chair and a mahogany tallboy, in which she kept her cane, her papers and other things, but no pictures or ornaments or anything personal.

‘You stole from the kitchens last night. No, do not try to lie to me. It is the only reason you would be coming from the kitchens late at night – and, I’ll swear, it is not the first time,’ Mistress Brent said and glared at her. ‘You will be beaten and then you will go without supper. I despise thieves – and I have decided that I shall not keep you here. The gypsy threatened that I should be cursed if I sold you and swore she would come back for you – but she lied. I no longer believe in her or her curse.’

‘What gypsy?’ Bella looked at her fearfully, for it was the first she had heard of this curse. ‘I do not understand you.’

‘No, nor shall you – but know that you are scum, the child of a whore, and deserve all that you get. Your mother deserted you, left you to die in the snow on the church steps and then gave up her worthless life. You are cursed and I should have sold you years ago but I thought – well, now it is time.’ She shook her head as if shaking off something that haunted her, a flicker of something like fear in her eyes. ‘Yes, I shall keep you no more, for you have proved that you are a thankless wretch.’

Bella shivered, the terror mounting inside her. She had been beaten before and half-starved – but from the look in the mistress’s eyes there was worse in store for her.

Raising her head, she looked into the cold eyes that raked over her. ‘I do not care if you sell me – anywhere would be better than here!’

‘You think so, do you?’ Fire flashed in the mistress’s eyes. She was angry and Bella was suddenly frightened. She had spoken out of turn and defiance was always met with more punishment. ‘You may think you are ill-treated here, girl, but there are other places much worse and you will soon discover that you had a life of ease here within these walls.’

Bella kept her head high, but inside she was frozen with terror. What did the mistress intend to do with her?

‘It is time you knew the truth of who and what you are! Your mother was an impertinent bitch too,’ Mistress Brent said harshly. ‘She came here weeks before you were born but she was too proud to accept her lot and she defied me.’ A cruel smile touched her mouth. ‘She begged me to send you to her sister if she died but I refused and so she ran away. I know not how she lived, but she came back here, begging to be let in hours before she gave birth to you. I turned her away and she crawled off to die in the fields where she belonged. However, the vicar found you at his door and brought you to me, demanding that I take you in. She had wrapped you in her own wool shawl – far too good for one of her kind! – and so I knew you for her brat. I kept you here to let you learn humiliation, but it seems you are as defiant as the bitch that spawned you. So now you will learn to regret you defied me …’

Thin spittle had come from the mistress’s mouth as she ranted, trickling down her chin. Her eyes flashed with temper and her arm jerked back and forth as she lashed Bella’s back and shoulders.

‘The gypsy came one night. She threatened me with terrible things if I did not keep you and care for you, but she never came back.’ Mistress Brent’s arm arced once more, bringing down the cane across Bella’s shoulders. ‘She dared to threaten me – but I’ll not harbour a gypsy brat a moment longer!’

Bella set her teeth, refusing to cry out as the thin stick bit into the flesh on her legs and back. The tears would come later as she lay in her bed being tended by some of the women, but no – it seemed that this time she would not be given even that courtesy. She was to be sold to a new master.

‘Defy me to the end, would you? Well, you leave tonight. You will feel the pain as your wounds fester and the maggots eat your flesh, and then see if you do not feel like crawling back to beg my pardon,’ she said and laughed. ‘But do not bother, for I shall not admit you.’

Bella raised her head and looked at her. ‘You are a wicked evil woman. You lie and you steal people’s babies – and I hope you rot in Hell!’

Mistress Brent lashed out, striking her across the face twice. ‘Get downstairs! Someone will come for you soon.’ She thrust Bella from her room and pushed her so that she stumbled on the stairs outside, but managed to save herself from falling.

Bella’s face and legs stung and her back felt sore and tender as she walked slowly to the bottom of the stairs and made her way towards the hall. Florrie was waiting there and she looked at her with pity in her eyes.

‘Why did you do it, Bella? If you were hungry I would have given you some of my food.’

‘I took some food to Jane whose child they stole,’ Bella said as the tears coursed down her cheeks. ‘They lied to her and I told her the truth – the babe lives.’

‘Oh, Bella, no wonder the mistress picks on you,’ Florrie said sighing. ‘Let me bathe your legs and back.’

‘Mistress said I was to wait here until someone came.’

‘Well, they can ask for you. I’ll not let you go before I tend your hurts, child.’

‘I don’t want you to be in trouble …’

‘Oh, she dare not punish me for Lady Rowntree favours me and I could ask for a position in her house. I stayed here because of you, Bella, and my friends – but if she raised her hand to me I would leave.’

Bella let Florrie lead her to the kitchen where her hurts were tended and she was given a cup of milk and a piece of bread to eat. She had ceased crying when another woman came looking for her.

‘He’s come for the girl,’ she said. ‘You’d best hurry, Bella, or goodness knows what she’ll do – I think the devil has got into her today.’

Even the women chosen to help the mistress disliked her. Bella felt fear ripple through her, because she knew that wherever she was being sent must be much worse than this house. The trustee took hold of her arm, holding it firmly.

‘You have to go, Bella. She’s made up her mind to it and there’s no help for you here.’

‘Please, I don’t want to leave you …’

Bella looked back at Florrie imploringly but the woman gave a little shake of her head. ‘I’ve done all I can for you, child – may God be with you …’

Bella shook her head. Sometimes, she did not believe in God. How could there be a God when he let people like Mistress Brent rule their lives? People said they were lucky to live in the workhouse, because otherwise they might starve – but folk who said that knew nothing of the hardship and cruelty behind those impressive wrought-iron gates.

As she was taken into the hall, she saw a large man standing there, waiting. He had big arms and shoulders and untidy lank hair that hung about his shirt collar. His ruddy face was unshaven and there were black marks all over his skin. She could smell a sharp, metallic odour that seemed to emanate from him.

‘So this is the brat,’ he bellowed in a voice calculated to put fear into the stoutest of hearts. ‘She’ll not last five minutes – but I’ve been paid to take her so come on, brat. I’ve got no time to waste.’

Bella was given a little push towards him. Now the stink of him was much stronger and her stomach rebelled. The food she’d been given in the kitchen rose up her throat and splashed out of her mouth on to the floor, some of it landing on his boots.

‘Little pig!’ the man yelled and gave her a smack on the side of the head. ‘You’ll learn not to waste your food – and never to spill it on Karl Breck. I’m your master now, brat, and you’ll clean these boots as soon as we get back to the works.’

Bella found her arm taken in a grip of steel and she was propelled out of the house. A weary-looking horse and a wagon stood outside and Bella was unceremoniously tossed up into it, landing on a pile of old sacks. She felt the pain of her back and legs where she’d been beaten, but the tears that spilled now were because she feared for the future, not for what she had suffered at the mistress’s hands.

Where was she going and what would happen to her now? Bella had no true friends, though Florrie had been patient with her, teaching her how to refine her skills as a seamstress, so she would not break her heart over those she left behind, but she was terrified of this man who said he was her master and she lay shivering as the dusk gathered around them and they were driven away from all she had known.




CHAPTER 3 (#u80e1b11f-8d03-5344-a6e4-4e8acaa5fcc5)


Florrie’s anger had begun to smoulder after the brute she knew to be a chain-maker in the village of Fornham, which was some four miles or so from the Sculfield workhouse, took Bella away. She liked the young girl who had refused to be cowed by the harsh regime at the workhouse, enjoying the time they spent together in the sewing room and teaching her to improve her skills. Now the talent Bella had shown in her needlework would be wasted. She would be put to the drudgery of chain-making, which was hard enough for strong men but a destroyer of women and innocent children. The young ones often lasted only a few months, for the work was both tiring and dangerous – the heat of the furnaces was intense and it burned the unwary, scarring arms, legs and searing faces. Bella’s delicate complexion would be lost if she toiled over those wicked fires.

Women and children earned only a few pennies a day, because the work was paid for by weight. Men made the thick chains used by ships and heavy industry and were paid a fair price for their labour, but chain-making was known to be a bad trade for women and girls. The chains they made were smaller and lighter and yet they took many hours to fashion; it was a trade only the desperate would choose, when there was no other work to be had – and Bella had no choice. She’d been indentured to a master who would work her to death and that was what Mistress Brent hoped for. Florrie suspected it was unlawful for the Mistress to sell Bella the way she had, but Mistress Brent cared nothing for the law. The guardians of the workhouse trusted her and neglected to inspect or control her and she ruled much as she pleased with none to gainsay her. Bella had dared to defy her – as had Bella’s mother – and this was her revenge, Florrie knew.

Florrie recalled the delicate young woman who had spent some three weeks in the workhouse before running away from its strict regime. Later, Florrie had heard that Bella’s mother had given birth one cold winter’s night and died in the fields. She had told the warden that her name was Marie but Florrie thought it was not truly her name. She herself had only recently come to the workhouse at that time and had formed a friendship with Bella’s mother who’d told Florrie a part of her story.

‘I was attacked,’ Marie had confided as they sat together over their sewing, her eyes dark-shadowed as she remembered. ‘I was alone in the woods and – and I was attacked and – and violated. I never saw his face, for he was masked with a thick scarf …’

‘Oh, you poor girl,’ Florrie said.

Marie smothered a sob. ‘I was unconscious when Jez found me, Florrie. He and his sister Bathsheba are gypsies. They took me in and cared for me, and I was ill for a long time.’

‘How awful for you!’ Florrie could hardly envisage such a terrible fate. ‘Why did they not take you to your home?’

‘I did not remember my name or where I lived, then – and besides, Jez was afraid he would be blamed for what had happened to me. He was not supposed to be in those woods.’

‘But you remember your past now?’

‘Some things,’ Marie said. ‘I remember that I had a sister named Kathy and Papa was a parson but I do not remember where we lived or anything more of my life and I do not know why I was in the woods that night, though I think I may have quarrelled with someone, but I cannot remember him.’

‘I am so sorry,’ Florrie had told her, holding Marie’s hand as she saw her tremble. ‘Could the gypsies not help you find your home?’

‘Bathsheba wanted to take me back to where Jez had found me when I was recovered from my fever. She thought then I might remember more and she could help me find my family.’

‘But then you discovered you were with child?’ Florrie guessed and the young woman nodded. Marie was of a good family, a parson’s daughter, she thought, and would have been too ashamed to return to her home once she knew of her condition, even if she could.

Marie’s face clouded. ‘Yes … I could not go home to shame my family. Kathy would never have found a husband and Papa could never hold up his head again. Jez told me I should stay with them.’

‘Then why are you here?’

Marie shook her head. She could not be persuaded to finish her story and a few days later she had run away from the workhouse. Florrie had been distressed, especially when she learned that the girl had died in the fields. But why had she run from the gypsies who had befriended her? It was a mystery and had haunted Florrie all these years. During that time Florrie had found work outside the workhouse, but it never lasted for more than a few months and so she had returned to seek shelter – and something else drew her back time and again.

When Marie’s baby was brought to the workhouse, Florrie had asked to be allowed to care for her. Florrie had never had the chance to marry and have a child of her own and she’d been glad to do what she could for the motherless babe. She cared for the babe as if Bella were her own and, even when she left the workhouse for a short time, her thoughts were with the child she cared for, though she did not dare to show it for fear of reprisals from the unkind mistress.

For the first few years of Bella’s life she was left to the care of anyone who took pity on her. Mostly, that was Florrie and a young woman, Maggie, who had taken her to her own breast. Maggie had given birth to a stillborn child in the workhouse and so was able to suckle Bella. She’d been kind enough in her way, but she ran away when Bella was weaned. She’d told Florrie what she intended and asked her to care for the child.

‘I would take her with me, but I must find work as a housemaid and with a babe I would have no chance. Still, she is like my own and I pray you care for her.’

Florrie had promised. She would have cared for Bella in any case, because she too loved the child and she’d shielded her as much as she could from the mistress’s spite, but it was impossible to prevent Mistress Brent venting her temper on the girl as she grew older, for the more she resembled her mother, the more the mistress hated her. Had Florrie been able to find permanent work she might have taken the child with her, but that had never been her fortune – especially after she had been accused of theft, and though it was a lie, most employers believed it and dismissed her once they learned of it. So, in the end, Florrie had given up all hope of a life outside the workhouse and took what comfort she could from her work and the child.

Florrie had never understood why the mistress hated little Bella so much. How would the child fare at the chain-maker’s forge? Florrie could not think that she would survive the terrible conditions for long – but what could she do to help the young girl she loved? She had only a few shillings and she feared she would starve if she left this place, as so many did when they could not earn their keep.

The only person who might help her was Lady Rowntree. Florrie only ever visited her grand home when she was summoned. The work was more usually sent in and the mistress received payment but Florrie was given a few shillings a week and excused rough work so that her hands were always soft. She had considered it a reasonable exchange for her labour, because outside the workhouse she would have to find her own board and lodgings and, even if Lady Rowntree had still given her work, she might struggle to pay for rent and food. Yet now she wondered if it might be possible to make a home for herself and Bella elsewhere. She made up her mind to speak to Lady Rowntree when they next met – but what of Bella in the meantime?

Florrie’s eyes stung with tears. She knew that a change in her circumstances might come too late for Bella. Even if she could find regular work and a place to live, she would still have to save the money to buy Bella’s bond, and by then the girl might have fallen ill and died …

‘Mistress Brent asked me to put her to chain-making,’ Karl said to the woman who looked at him wearily when he brought Bella to the cottage that first evening. It was situated outside the village, backed by open fields and a wood. ‘She must want the brat dead, because she’d not last five minutes in the furnace room. I’ll give her to you, Annie. You’re near yer time and exhausted, and I’d not see yer die before my son draws breath.’

Annie nodded, putting a hand to her back. She ached so much that all she wanted was to lie down and sleep forever. Her life was almost as hard as the wretches that worked for her husband in his forge; he worked them hard and showed no compassion. It surprised her that he had given this girl to her to ease her burden – she knew that he cared little for her – but of course, she thought, he wanted a son! Their first two children had been girls – and both had died in their cots within days of being born. If Annie had been rebellious enough to have such thoughts she might have wondered if her husband had smothered her daughters; he had not wanted them, scowling savagely at her each time he discovered that she’d given him a daughter. However, she was a docile girl and accepted that she must obey her husband in all things. Her father had beaten her when she was at home and Karl had not yet raised his hand to her, even though he never praised her for keeping a good table and a clean kitchen. Yet she had fallen for three children in less than three years and knew that she pleased him in this. If she gave him a healthy son he might be kinder to her.

Annie breathed easier as her husband went back to his forge. He never liked to be away too long for he believed the men and women who worked for him would cheat him if they could – though as they were paid for the work they did by weight it was not possible.

‘Well, girl, what is yer name?’ Annie asked irritably. She felt tired, dirty and huge and she wanted to be rid of the burden inside her womb but knew that only if she gave birth to a living boy might her husband let her rest for a while. If she lost this child, or bore a daughter, he would make certain her belly was full again before she’d had time to heal.

‘Bella,’ the girl said in a whisper. ‘What can I do for you, mistress?’

Annie sighed with relief. She’d feared the girl would be sullen and a trouble, for why else would Mistress Brent wish her dead? Now she saw that Bella was lovely, her sweet gentle face looking anxious but not cowed. She smiled, because it seemed Karl had given her a more precious gift than he’d realised.

‘My name is Annie but yer had best call me mistress or Karl will have the hide off yer back. He’s a harsh man, though he’s never beaten me yet, but there are other ways to break a woman’s spirit and at times I’ve been close. Yer lucky he brought yer to me, Bella, for yer would have died in the heat of the forge. I shall need yer to work hard, for I’m near worn out carrying his son – and I do not want to lose the babe.’

‘I can scrub and clean, sew and write my name – but I do not know how to cook,’ Bella said and looked anxious.

‘Yer can peel spuds fer his dinner,’ Annie said, ‘and put the kettle on the hob, Bella. I need to sit down afore I fall down. I’ll teach yer to cook – me ma taught me afore she died and there was not another cook better than Ma in the whole of England.’

‘The food in the workhouse was terrible,’ Bella said. ‘We ate gruel and bread and a thin stew sometimes – on a Sunday.’

Annie nodded, for she knew the workhouse near Sculfield, which was less than five miles from her own village of Fornham, its reputation well known to locals as being an awful place where none in their right mind would go unless they were starving.

‘You’ll eat better than that here,’ Annie said. She went to the table and cut a slice of fresh bread, spread it with butter and then a thick layer of strawberry preserve and handed it to Bella as she placed the kettle on the hob. ‘Get that down yer, child. Yer will labour ’ard because there is much to do ’ere. Karl has two nephews who live with us; they work in the furnace room and oversee the others – and they’re always ’ungry. I never seem to stop washing and cooking – and the mess they make!’ She shook her head. ‘Karl is jealous of his brother for having two sons. His first wife died ’aving a fourth child – and none of them lived beyond a few weeks. They were all girls. Karl wants sons to take over the chain works when he dies. It would grieve him to leave it to his brother’s sons.’

Bella ate her bread and jam quickly, half fearing that the huge man would return and snatch it from her. She wiped her sticky fingers on the dark-blue apron she wore over her workhouse dress.

‘Didn’t they teach you to wash yer ’ands at that place?’

‘We wasn’t allowed to,’ Bella said. ‘Only in the mornings and at night.’

‘Well, there’s a sink over there – so go and wash them now,’ Annie directed. ‘You’ll wear that thing you’ve got on for workin’ and I’ll get yer another for when I take yer to church.’ She smiled and nodded. ‘See that wicker basket over there?’ Bella nodded. ‘That’s their shirts and breeches – and they all need ironing. You’ll have to heat the flatiron on the range and yer need to press hard, but they’re still damp so they should be easy ter smooth.’

Bella nodded. She fetched the basket to the table and Annie spread the ironing blanket, which was covered by a piece of old sheet. She nodded to the pile of washing.

‘Get on with it then, girl. I could do with a rest – and if you want some supper, it had best be finished when I come back down.’

Annie left the girl to it. She was too tired to care what Bella did. If she ruined some shirts Karl and his nephews would be furious, but he’d brought the girl here so it was hardly her fault if Bella proved useless. He would probably thrash her and might take her back whence she came, but at this moment Annie didn’t really care …

Bella hesitated for a moment before picking up the first iron that her new mistress had put to heat. She held it a little way from her face and felt the fierce heat, then tested it on the edge of a shirt, as Florrie had shown her when she worked in the sewing room at the workhouse. Because the linen was damp, it hissed and smoothed over the coarse material. Bella nodded and proceeded to iron the first of what looked like more than a dozen similar shirts. When the iron was no longer hot, she replaced it on the range and picked up the second before testing it at the edge of the shirt as before.

It was hard work, because she had to press heavily to achieve a smooth surface that she could hang over the back of a chair to air. Her back was already beginning to feel the strain but she knew that she was lucky. They had passed the forge on their way here and Bella had smelled the awful stink coming from it. It was the smell of heat, molten metal and sweat. Even outside the heat met them and she could not imagine what it must be like inside. She was fortunate that the chain-maker’s wife was close to her time and she’d been given to her as her servant. Bella knew that it would have been much harder for her at the chain works.

She had been fortunate, despite her surly master, and she decided that she would help the mistress, who seemed more weary than unkind, as much as she could. Indeed, she was probably lucky, more fortunate than poor Jane who had been turned out from the shelter of the workhouse on a snowy night. Regardless of her own plight, Bella spared a thought for the woman she’d seen from the landing window.

‘I don’t know where you are, Jane, but I hope you’re warm and I pray that one day you will find your baby …’

Arthur’s attention was caught by a slight noise. The young woman was stirring at last. She’d slept all night and most of the morning, swallowing a little brandy and water when coaxed to it, but falling back into her state of semi-unconsciousness almost at once. He stood looking down at her as she opened her eyes and stared at him, more in puzzlement than fear. Arthur thought her eyes were a lovely shade of azure fringed by golden lashes. With her hair washed and dressed in decent clothes she would be a beauty and he thought it was probably her looks that had brought her down: many men would desire a woman like this one.

‘You are awake at last,’ he said as he saw the first awareness and unease in those wonderful eyes. ‘How do you feel? When we found you on the road I feared you might not last the night.’

She pushed herself up against the pillows, glancing down at the clean linen nightgown that was much too large for her. ‘Who undressed me?’

‘Sally – she is the landlord’s wife and she made you comfortable. I understand what you were wearing fell to pieces and she burned it. We shall find something for you to wear, ma’am.’

‘Why do you call me, ma’am? I – I am not wed.’

‘You have borne a child and I thought perhaps …’ She moved her head negatively, the hint of tears in her eyes. ‘I do not recall much but they called me a whore. They said I wore no wedding ring.’ An anxious look came to her face. ‘I cannot remember clearly … but I know I bore a child, a living child. They told me the child died immediately after she was born, but they lied; I heard her cry – and I heard them say she was healthy. Bella told me they gave the child to someone in a carriage.’ She whimpered with distress. ‘They stole my baby and threw me out. It was so cold and I did not know where to go … I wandered across the fields until I found the high road in the hope I might come to a place where I could find work. I saw a sign for Winchester, where I think I once stayed for a time though I do not recall anything of that city, but it was in any case many miles hence and I knew not where to go …’

Arthur shook his head for Winchester was a good day’s journey by carriage pulled by fast horses and would take days or weeks to walk that far – and she was in no condition to go anywhere.

‘Who are “they”?’ Arthur asked gently, realising that a great wrong had been done her.

She took a deep shuddering breath, then began, ‘Mistress Brent is the mistress of the workhouse near the village of Sculfield. I was close to my time and the villagers told me to go there, but I wish I had given birth in the fields for then I might still have my babe.’

‘You are not Romany?’

‘No, I am sure I am not,’ she said. ‘I was wearing clothes that might have belonged to a gypsy but I think they were given to me before – before I lost my memories …’

‘Perhaps you travelled with the gypsies? Perhaps they attended a fair in Winchester and that is why the name attracted you …’ Arthur suggested. ‘No, do not struggle to remember. It does not matter for now. In time we must hope that your memories will return but for now, what shall we call you?’

‘They called me Jane but it was not my name.’ She gave a cry of despair. ‘Please, do not call me by their name! I think … I believe the name Meg means something to me, though I know not why.’ She nodded and looked at him in appeal. ‘Please call me Meg – and your name, sir?’

‘I am Arthur Stoneham – and you need have no fear of me. I shall help you if I can, Meg.’

‘Yes, I have been aware of you,’ she said and a smile lit her face for a brief moment. ‘You gave me brandy when I could feel nothing but icy cold.’

‘So you were aware of me.’ Arthur nodded. ‘I will make no promises, except that I can find you a home to stay in while your memory returns. As for your child, I shall see if Mistress Brent will yield the truth to me.’

‘She will lie to you as she did to me.’

‘Very likely, but there are other people who may not be as tight-lipped. Money will make some folk talk – and as it happens, I know one of the guardians of the Sculfield workhouse slightly. Now, you mentioned someone called Bella?’

‘Bella is a child of perhaps eleven summers. She brought me food and milk and, the night I was thrown out, told me she had seen my babe given away. But I do not think she knows more. The master of the workhouse is a man called Walter Brent and his wife is the mistress. He is a harsh man. I have seen him strike an elderly man down, and the boys go in terror of him. I think even his wife suffers at his hands, though she is spiteful and cruel. You should take care, sir, for they are evil people.’

‘As I said, I promise nothing except that I shall try.’ He smiled at her. ‘I shall leave you and Sally will bring you clothes that belonged to one of her maids. Perhaps not what you would wish to wear, but better than the rags we found you in.’

‘Thank you, you are very kind. The clothes will do very well.’

‘I shall find better for you as soon as it may be arranged.’

‘Why will you do so much for me? You know nothing of me.’

‘I hate injustice,’ Arthur said. ‘I believe that Fate brought you to me last evening and who knows,She may yet be kinder still. I shall visit this workhouse and discover what I can …’




CHAPTER 4 (#u80e1b11f-8d03-5344-a6e4-4e8acaa5fcc5)


‘You wished to see me, sir?’ Mistress Brent looked at Arthur uneasily as he was shown into her sitting room. She offered her hand a little tentatively. ‘I am Norma Brent.’

‘Good day, madam. My name is Arthur Stoneham,’ he said and he spoke evenly, giving no hint of his anger. ‘I have come to make inquiries on behalf of my cousin by marriage – Mistress Meg Stoneham. She recently gave birth within these walls to a living child – a girl. Meg tells me that you took the babe from her and told her it had died.’

‘That gypsy wretch your cousin?’ Mistress Brent looked at him in disbelief. ‘I do not believe it – how could that be?’

‘She had an unfortunate accident upon the road and was set upon by some rogues. My cousin and I have been searching for his wife for some weeks and had almost given up until we were told of a young woman taken ill and brought here,’ Arthur lied easily. He had decided that this woman would lie whatever he did and the only way was to scare her – or bribe her. ‘We had offered a reward for her recovery because my cousin loves her and is anxious to hold his child …’

He could see her mind working as her eyes tried to avoid his. She was deciding whether it would be worth telling him the truth and risk being accused of stealing a child or easier to lie to him.

‘Then I wish that I had better news for you, sir,’ she said, making up her mind to stick to her story. ‘We called the young woman Jane, for she could not recall her own name, and she wore no wedding ring …’

‘We believe it was stolen from her along with her clothes, all of which were expensive,’ Arthur said embroidering on his tale of misfortune. ‘But you have news of the child, I hope?’

‘I fear that the babe died almost immediately it was born.’ Mistress Brent held fast to her story. Arthur was sure she lied. There was something in her eyes and a slight unease in her manner. He had not been sure of the truth until then, for Meg might have been mistaken. Though he believed her an honest woman, a woman in the aftermath of a hard labour could easily have misheard, believing she heard her child cry when there was no cry at all. ‘We tried to tell her but she became abusive and we were forced to put her out.’

‘Into the bitter chill of night? Had she not been found and cared for she might have died,’ Arthur said sternly. ‘I do not think that Sir Arnold and Lady Rowntree would be pleased to hear of such heartless behaviour, madam. Nor do I believe that the babe died. There are witnesses who will testify otherwise.’

‘Liars all!’ Mistress Brent said furiously, her face red with temper now. ‘Besides, none would dare to speak against me. And if you blacken my name you will be sorry. You can prove nothing!’

‘You think not?’ He smiled wryly. ‘I have met bullies before, madam. I assure you that my word goes a long way in influential circles. As it happens, I know Lady Rowntree – we have served on a charity committee together in the past. She and her husband set this workhouse up to help the poor of this parish. I cannot think she knows what goes on here. Once I tell them of your cruelty – and explain that I think you sell the children and babies—’

‘Lies! You can prove nothing.’

Arthur’s eyebrows rose. ‘I wonder how many more children you’ve sold, madam. How many years does your reign of tyranny stretch? How many lives have you ruined or blighted?’ He was merely guessing, using Meg’s rather vague memories of her time here and his own instinct, gained from years of experience, but the look in her eyes was enough to make him certain he knew, though he had no proof.

‘My husband will thrash you for slighting our good name!’ she blustered but Arthur had seen the fear and guilt in her eyes. It was as he’d thought, and his bold verbal attack on her had paid off. She must have many lives on her conscience.

‘He is welcome to try, madam,’ Arthur said. ‘I shall be speaking to Lady Rowntree and I think you will both find yourselves dismissed before much longer. Indeed, that may not be the limit of your woes. I shall do my utmost to see you both behind prison bars!’

Arthur left her fuming. As he went down the stairs he saw a woman of perhaps forty years standing at the bottom, clearly waiting for him.

‘I heard some of what you said to the mistress,’ Florrie told him and clutched anxiously at his arm. ‘I pray you will not believe her lies.’

‘I do not,’ Arthur said. ‘Meg believes her child lives and someone told her that it was given away.’

‘I know the child lived at birth,’ Florrie said, ‘and Bella saw the babe given to someone in a carriage but I did not – though I know it has happened in the past. And I know she sold Bella to a brute who will work her to death. He owns a forge in the village of Fornham some four miles or so hence on the Alton road, and I have heard that he makes chain and works his people hard.’

‘Your name is?’ Arthur’s brows lifted.

‘Florrie Stewart, sir. I came here when I was close to starving years ago and, though I am a skilled seamstress, I have feared to leave this place though some of the things that go on here make me sick to my stomach.’ She clutched at his arm. ‘Will you see if Bella is all right, sir? I fear she is too delicate for the work she has been set to.’

‘And you care for her?’

‘Yes, sir. I helped care for Bella since she was a baby.’

‘Rest easy, Mistress Stewart. I shall make it my business to see if the girl is safe. I am staying at the Three Pheasants Inn, which is some nine miles east of here, Mistress Stewart. I might help you to find a good position.’

‘Lady Rowntree likes my work. If she would take me into her household I would gladly go, but I was once falsely accused of theft and lost my position. Lady Rowntree knows the employer who dismissed me and I do not think she would have me in her house if she knew.’

‘Then I will help you,’ Arthur said and smiled. ‘You may trust me. You are not the first to have lost your position because of a lie. Leave this place and come to me at the inn before the end of the week if you will.’

‘Thank you, sir – but if you could help Bella? She is not strong enough to work in that awful chain-making place, and her mother was a lady.’

‘You knew the girl’s mother?’

‘Briefly, when she stayed here a short time. She told us her name was Marie but I think it may have been a name she chose for herself. Marie died in the fields one bitter night after leaving Bella on the church steps. She was beautiful and gentle, a sweet girl, and we cared for her babe as best we could despite the mistress’s spite when it was brought here by the vicar.’

‘Yes, I’m sure you did,’ Arthur said. ‘I intend to speak with Lady Rowntree concerning this place. It may be that things will change here, but I cannot guarantee it.’

Florrie curtsied and thanked him and Arthur left. He knew that, even as he went out to his carriage, Mistress Brent would be complaining to her husband. If he was a man at all he would come after Arthur and try to force an apology from him. Otherwise, the guilty couple would flee. It all depended on whether they believed Arthur’s story. If they called his bluff he might not be able to prove anything, but if they ran … A smile touched his lips. Florrie had told him what little she knew, but others would tell more if they thought it safe.

In the meantime, Arthur would visit the chain works and hear what this Karl Breck had to say. If he was willing to sell the child Bella to him, he would buy her and take her back to London – and if not? Mentally, Arthur shrugged. He could not rescue every child forced to do unsuitable work, but he would not stand by and see cruelty.

Bella emptied the clothes from the copper where they had been boiled and then left to cool. She put them through the big mangle with its wooden rollers and turned the metal handle. It was almost too hard for her to turn full circle and she was panting by the time she had finished. Now she had to rinse them all in clean water in the zinc bath and then put them through the mangle again. She had filled the bath with cold water and dumped the load of sheets and pillow covers in it, sighing as she stirred with a big wooden stick.

‘Bella! Bella, come and help me!’ The scream came from the kitchen and Bella rushed in to discover her mistress bent almost double and writhing with pain. She saw that there was a puddle on the tiled floor and where Annie had pulled up her skirts she could see red stains on the cream flannel petticoats.

‘My baby!’ Annie gasped and clutched at her stomach again. ‘It’s coming early. Oh, I knew it would happen after what he did last night …’ Tears rolled down her cheeks and she clutched at Bella’s arm. ‘He won’t leave me alone. He won’t see I need rest!’ She gave a sob of utter despair.

‘Let me help you to bed,’ Bella said. ‘The beds are newly made and the old sheets are soaking.’

‘I need the midwife,’ Annie moaned. ‘Help me upstairs, Bella – and then run to Fornham for the midwife.’

Bella nodded, looking at her with big, scared eyes. She had not been frightened of the mistress at the workhouse even though she was beaten regularly, but the thought of Annie giving birth terrified her.

Annie leaned on Bella heavily as she helped her upstairs. Once in the bedroom, Bella was kept busy covering the clean sheets with old towels and a torn sheet, but by the time it was done, Annie was panting and grimacing like an animal, her teeth bared as she tried to control her pain.

‘Go now and get the midwife,’ she gasped.

Bella hesitated for a moment. She’d seen women give birth at the workhouse and she sensed that the babe was coming soon, but Annie gestured angrily at her to go and so she ran. She rushed down the stairs and across the fields at the back of the house towards the village, running as swiftly as her legs would take her. Annie was in terrible pain and Bella was afraid she might die alone with no one to help her.

She ran and ran as fast as she could, her chest heaving as she gasped for breath. It seemed a lot further than it had the day her master brought her to his house and gave her to the mistress. She was gasping and there was pain in her chest by the time she reached the village of Fornham, which was just one street and a huddle of houses to either side, two shops and a larger house that belong to the doctor. She’d run so fast that she was out of breath and it was a few moments before she was able to tell the first person she saw what was needed. The woman looked at her down her long nose when she heard who her employer was.

‘Jenny Midwife lives in that cottage at the end of the street,’ she said coldly. ‘But you’ll not find her there – she’s at Mr Tucker’s farm. His wife is having her baby and she’s gone there to nurse her.’

Bella felt the panic rise. ‘If no one comes to Annie’s aid she will die – please, ma’am, will you come?’

‘Me? Come to that house?’ The woman’s eyebrows arched in horror. ‘No, indeed I shall not – fetch Annie’s husband to her or someone else.’

Bella looked at her in disgust and ran off. She met three women coming from the village shop but they all shook their heads when she begged them to come to Annie. In despair, Bella ran to the workshop and called for her master. When he came out to her, he looked furious, as if she had committed a sin by asking for him.

‘The midwife is away and no one will come,’ Bella said. ‘Annie is bad and I fear she may die!’

‘Get back there and see to her,’ Karl said and cuffed her ear. ‘You’re not a babe. You should’ve stayed with her and ’elped her.’

Bella knew that any excuse would fall on deaf ears. He went back into the cavernous interior of the dark workshop and Bella began to run back to the cottage. She was terrified of what she would find because she knew that without the midwife it would all fall on her shoulders. She had seen babes born but she did not know what to do for the mother and she feared that Annie might not survive. The babe was coming early and that meant something was wrong. Without proper help, there was little hope for either Annie or her child.

‘Where is the midwife?’ Annie gasped as Bella returned to the bedroom. ‘Is she coming?’

‘She was at a farm,’ Bella said. ‘I know not where – and no one else would come.’ She moved closer to the bed. ‘I will help you, mistress. I have water on the range. I will fetch it.’

Annie gave a little scream and half rose from the bed. ‘No, don’t leave me. I can’t be alone – it hurts so much. Neither of the others was like this!’

She screamed again loudly and clutched at Bella’s arm. ‘It is tearing me apart!’

Bella bent over her, stroking the damp hair from her forehead. ‘What can I do to help you, mistress?’

‘Nothing, I need the midwife,’ Annie moaned and screamed again.

Neither of them heard the knock at the door or the voice that called out, nor did they hear the footsteps on the stairs as Annie screamed and screamed. She was panting wildly, her eyes fearful as the pain ripped at her.

‘Where is the midwife?’ a man’s voice asked suddenly and Bella whirled to see a man in clothes that fitted him like a second skin. She had never seen one in her life but she thought he must be a gentleman.

‘She is away helping a farmer’s wife and no one else would come,’ Bella said, a sob in her voice. ‘I think Annie will die.’

‘We cannot have that,’ the man said and smiled at her. ‘Are you Bella?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then take care of your mistress while I fetch the doctor. I shall be as quick as I can …’

Bella wanted to beg him to stay but he was out of the door and mounting his horse. She watched Annie writhing in pain, terrified that the gentleman would not return in time and her mistress would die. Going nervously towards the bed, she stroked Annie’s sweat-stained brow.

‘The gentleman has gone for the doctor, Mistress. He won’t be long … he promised he would be back soon.’

Annie stared at her wildly, her body tossing as she arched with pain. Unable to do more than comfort her with words, Bella stayed by her side, reassuring her as best she could, until after what seemed ages, she heard the sound of voices downstairs and then the gentleman brought the doctor into the room.

‘Fetch up the boiling water, girl,’ the doctor said, ‘and then you can help me. Now I shall examine you, young lady and we shall see if this child is willing to be born …’ he said, bending over Annie.

Annie looked at him with frightened eyes as he felt her stomach and then nodded. But for all his brusqueness the doctor’s touch was gentle and reassuring. She was panting again. He told her to count and to breathe steadily, and then he reached towards her dilated opening. ‘I will try to be gentle …’

For answer, Annie screamed as the doctor turned the child. He was working for some moments and she screamed several times, tossing her head wildly in her agony.

‘I am so sorry but … ah yes, now baby is facing the right way. I think we shall do much better now, Annie …’

Annie screamed and began to writhe and push as she felt movement inside her. Her child was suddenly in a hurry to be born; pain caught her, making her pant and push, and then the child’s head emerged and with a whoosh and a rush of blood and slime, the large body of a male child came slithering into the world. The doctor tied the birth cord securely and then cut it with the silver penknife he’d earlier taken from his pocket. He picked up the babe and showed him to his mother and then gave him to Bella. After washing his hands and pocketing his knife, he looked at Bella, motioning for her to change the water in the bowl.

‘Wash him, child, and then give him to his mother. In a moment you can do what is necessary to make her comfortable but just now she needs to rest and enjoy the babe.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Bella jumped to obey. She was stunned by what she had seen and watched as the doctor cleared away all the bloody towels and wiped some of the worst from the mother before covering her. She poured fresh warm water into the empty bowl and gently cleansed the babe of mucus and blood, wrapped him in a large clean white towel and took him to his mother. Annie lay still, just looking up at the doctor, clearly shocked and exhausted by the birth. Then, as he was about to turn away, she caught his arm.

‘Thank you, sir. My husband will pay you.’

‘Mr Stoneham has already paid me; had it not been for him I confess I should have been loath to set foot in this house again.’

Annie looked away in shame, for she knew her husband’s reputation. ‘See the doctor out, Bella – and ask the gentleman to step up here please. I wish to thank him.’

Bella did as she was told. In the kitchen the stranger asked the doctor if all was well and they spoke together in hushed voices for a moment. After the doctor had left, the gentleman turned to Bella.

‘Is your mistress comfortable? Has she all she needs?’

‘She asked that you would step up to her room so that she might thank you, sir.’

‘Very well …’ He followed her back to the room above, where Annie was looking down at the child that had caused her so much agony.

‘I am glad to see you safely through your ordeal, ma’am.’

‘Thanks to you, sir,’ Annie said looking up at him in wonder. ‘It was good of you to fetch the doctor for I know well he did not wish to come. May I know your name, sir?’

He smiled at her as she kissed her child and nursed it to her breast. ‘I am Arthur Stoneham and I came here to see how Bella was faring …’ He glanced at the girl. ‘Does your master treat you well, child?’

‘He gave me to Annie – and I like helping her. It’s better than the workhouse,’ Bella said truthfully.

Arthur nodded, watching the mother and child for a few moments as they settled and got to know one another, the child snuffling as it latched on to its mother and nuzzled her, seeking warmth and the sustenance instinct told it was to be found here.

‘Leave them together for a while and follow me downstairs, child. I would speak with you, Bella – and you should make a cup of something hot for your mistress.’

Annie was looking at her son with tears on her cheeks. She had suffered but now she had the son that Karl had longed for. ‘Thank you, Mr Stoneham – I believe you saved both me and my baby for if you had not fetched the doctor we might both have died.’

‘I did what I was able, ma’am,’ Arthur said.

Bella followed Arthur downstairs. When they reached the kitchen she filled the kettle once more. The gentleman was looking about him.

‘Where do you sleep, Bella?’

‘In the attic, sir. It is warm and I have a bed.’

‘And are you fed adequately?’

‘Annie makes the best pies and cakes I’ve ever tasted, sir.’

‘Then you are content to stay here?’

Bella hesitated. She did not dislike the work she did and her mistress was kind enough despite the occasional sharpness of her tongue and a small slap if she was tired and angry.

‘It’s all right, sir.’ Bella did not know what else to say. ‘It’s better than the workhouse. I hated it there and the food is much better here.’

Mr Stoneham hesitated, and then he nodded. ‘Very well, I shall not try to buy your bond if you are content here. Now, please tell me what you know of the babe that was sold at the workhouse.’

‘I saw the babe born, sir – and they thought the woman they called Jane would die, but the babe was healthy and then Jane recovered and asked about her child. They told her she was dead, but I’d seen the mistress take her away and the child was crying loudly. Later, I saw the mistress give the babe to someone in a carriage but I saw not who it was.’

‘And you were certain it was Jane’s babe she gave?’

‘Yes, sir. I know it was Jane’s child for there were no others in the house that night nor for some weeks after.’

‘Good – then I may ask you to sign your name to a paper for me another day. Will you do that?’

‘Yes, sir – though I can write no more than my name.’

‘That will be fine, Bella.’ He put his hand in his pocket and brought out a florin. ‘This is for you – I would give you more but you might be accused of stealing it.’

‘I’ve never had a coin before but I’ve seen one of these – Florrie had one from the lady she works for and she bought some plums for us all and shared them.’

Arthur nodded. ‘Is there anything more you can tell me, child?’

‘I’m not sure, sir.’ Bella looked puzzled. ‘Well, there was the boy that disappeared …’

Arthur’s brow furrowed. ‘A boy disappeared?’

‘Yes, sir – a few months back, in the autumn last year. He tried to run away and the master caught him and brought him back. He said he would be whipped and told us it was a warning to us all, but we never saw him again.’

‘What was the boy’s name?’

‘It was a bit like yours, sir – Arthur Meaks. But he was not meek, sir. He was always in trouble and being punished, and then he was gone.’

‘Did no one tell you where he’d gone?’

‘The mistress said he’d been sent to work for a master but I do not know where, for I never saw him again after the master dragged him away – and when I asked Florrie, she was upset and said it was best not to speak of it.’

‘Thank you,’ Arthur said. ‘You have helped me, Bella – and if ever you need my help, you may send word to me here.’

He handed her a small white card with some letters printed on it. The writing meant nothing to Bella but she tucked it inside her bodice with her precious florin. Other people knew how to read and something told her that one day she might want to contact this man again.

‘Thank you, sir.’ She hesitated but then did not ask for help, because where could she go if he took her away from here? Bella did not want to return to the workhouse and there was nowhere else for her to go. Here her master generally ignored her and Annie was sometimes kind; she thought there might be far worse places than the one she already had and so she held her thoughts inside.

‘Goodbye, Bella,’ Mr Stoneham said. ‘I will come to see you another day and if there is something you wish to tell me you may do so then.’

Bella watched as he left the kitchen and then set about gathering another kettle and some clean linen. Annie would want to wash and she would need a cup of tea.




CHAPTER 5 (#u80e1b11f-8d03-5344-a6e4-4e8acaa5fcc5)


‘He will expose us and then what shall we do?’ Mistress Brent cried and glared at her husband. ‘We shall be cast into prison and it is all your fault for selling those babies!’

‘You have been quick to take your share of the money,’ her husband grunted. He raised a knotted fist to her, clenching it in her face. ‘Stop your complaining, woman. This man can know nothing, for who would tell him? Only a child who is probably half dead by now. The new parents will not speak for they are equally guilty in this – and this business with that interfering fool will all go away.’

‘But what if they come here and search?’ she said and whimpered as he struck the side of her head. Her eyes were large and accusing as she looked at him. ‘I have sold children but you have done much worse and I will not hang for you.’

‘Be quiet, you fool!’ He rounded on her and struck her several times about the face and head, making her shriek and cower in fear. ‘Whatever I have done, you played your part and do not forget it. If they hang me you will hang too – for I’ll make certain you’re implicated in it all.’

Mistress Brent stared after him with resentful eyes as he left the room. When they’d first come here she’d thought it would be a good life, but he’d made it all go bad. She hated him and yet she feared to leave him. Walter was a violent man and he would never let her go because what she knew could hang him. She went to the little washstand in the corner of her room and bathed her face in cold water. There would be a bruise, which she would struggle to cover with powder and rouge.

She was frightened of the man who had come to investigate them, but even more terrified of her husband. If he thought she had betrayed him, he would not hesitate to kill her as he had those others … It crossed her mind that she might throw herself on Mr Stoneham’s mercy, confess her part and tell all in return for indemnity, but she could not bring herself to do it. Even if she was not imprisoned, she would never again find herself in a position of trust and plenty. She would be poor and homeless and the thought of ending her days in a workhouse like this terrified her.

No, she must remain silent as Walter bid her. Perhaps this Mr Stoneham would become bored and return to wherever he had come from …

Toby Rattan was waiting for Arthur when he returned to the inn later that day. Arthur greeted his closest friend warmly and shook his hand. The younger son of a lord, Toby had helped him with his charitable work many times and he had a feeling he was going to need his assistance before he was finished here.

‘It was good of you to come straight down, Toby.’

‘I came as soon as I got your note.’ Toby arched his brows wickedly. ‘How is it that you manage to get into a scrape whenever I am not with you?’

‘It must be fate,’ Arthur said, and laughed. ‘Would you believe it – I come fresh from having overseen a child delivered to the local chain-maker’s wife.’

‘Good grief!’ Toby looked thunderstruck. ‘You never cease to amaze me. Now tell me what is behind all this and what you were doing in that poor woman’s bedchamber in the first place.’

‘I went in search of a workhouse child I’d been told had been sold to the chain-maker.’

‘Ah, I might have known it would have something to do with a workhouse!’ Toby nodded in perfect understanding. ‘Pray tell me more. It was damned boring in London without you so I may as well give you a hand. What is going on down here?’

‘You stupid little wretch!’ Mistress Brent struck the child in a fury, sending her sprawling to the floor. She stood over the trembling girl and glared at her. ‘Get up and stop looking at me as if I were a two-headed monster. If you do not obey the rules, you will be punished.’

Florrie watched as Sophie scrambled to her feet and stood trembling before the mistress, expecting another blow and all because she had dared to ask for a second piece of bread at breakfast.

‘Get out of my sight or I will thrash you!’ Mistress Brent said, and the small child ran down the corridor and out of sight.

Florrie hesitated and then stepped forward. ‘That was not necessary, mistress. The child was given only a scrap of bread for her breakfast and she was hungry.’

‘She is a greedy glutton – and you had best mind your tongue, Florrie, or I may rescind your privileges.’

‘You do not own me,’ Florrie said and raised her eyes to meet those of her furious mistress. She was not sure where the courage to defy Norma Brent had come from, but she was no longer afraid of her. ‘I could find work elsewhere, as you well know. I stayed here because it suited me – but you sent Bella away and now you mistreat Sophie. You should be more careful, Mistress Brent. Inquiries are being made concerning you and the master – and some of us know things that you would not wish spoken of!’

‘How dare you threaten me!’ Mistress Brent raised her hand as if to strike Florrie, her eyes glittering with fury. ‘You would find it hard to live outside these walls, Florrie – and if you wish to leave you owe money for your keep.’

Florrie refused to back down and continued to face her. There had been a time when she feared the mistress, the more so because she had not thought she could manage to live outside these walls, but since Bella had been sent away, Florrie had begun to realise how much she hated her life here and these people who ruled the inmates with harsh cruelty. Of course there were rules; there had to be, for the workhouse was there to ease the plight of the destitute – but when run by corrupt and greedy masters like the Brents it became a place of suffering and sometimes worse.

‘I have earned my keep – as any magistrate would testify.’

Mistress Brent lowered her gaze before the accusation in Florrie’s. ‘You will be a fool if you leave here,’ she said at last. ‘I’ll give you six months before you return here or to another such institution.’

Florrie did not answer her. Much depended on whether or not Lady Rowntree would give her a position in her household. Mr Stoneham had promised to see what he could do to help her – but how much reliance could she place on a man she did not know? If she left here without a position secured she would have nothing to live on until she could find work. She’d been given a few small gifts of money by Lady Rowntree when she was particularly pleased with her work, but the money she earned was taken by Mistress Brent to pay her keep. Like the other inmates Florrie was entitled to a few pennies each week for her work, but she knew that she earned many guineas for the mistress of the workhouse by her exquisite needlework. Surely she could earn enough to keep herself? But she would need help to set up her own little establishment, unless Lady Rowntree would take her on, so it would take courage to actually leave here.

Florrie was thoughtful after her encounter with Mistress Brent. She had threatened her with exposure and it was not only the beatings she inflicted on children and vulnerable old people who had nowhere else to go that she could speak of – there was the mystery of the missing boy. Except that it was not a mystery to Florrie. She knew exactly what had happened to young Arthur Meaks and where he was – and she thought that if Mr Stoneham kept his word to her, she would tell him what she knew. Florrie had hoped he would return, though she knew where to go to find him; it was just whether or not she had the courage to leave the security of these walls that had been her home for so long.

The young woman paused as she entered the inn’s private parlour. Toby stood and inclined his head. Although not as tall as Arthur Stoneham, he was lean and strong-looking, his hair light, his eyes hazel green and his complexion clear. His smile was meant to put her at her ease.

‘I believe you are Mr Stoneham’s friend, sir?’ she said.

‘Toby Rattan,’ he said. ‘Arthur told me that your name is Meg?’

‘I do not truly know it is, sir – but the name seemed to mean something to me and I do not wish to be called by the name they gave me.’

Something in her eyes touched Toby’s heart. He was filled with a sudden fierce anger against the people who had hurt her, both those at the workhouse and the others who had brought her down. He was also aware of a desire to protect her. In that moment Toby knew that he would stay here and help Arthur sort out the nest of vipers at the workhouse, but also that he would help discover who had taken Meg’s child – and when he did, he would bring it back to her.

‘Meg is a pretty name and it suits you,’ Toby said. ‘Arthur is a good man – and between us we shall leave no stone unturned in seeking the child you bore.’

‘He saved my life and you are kind,’ Meg said and blushed because the way he smiled at her made her feel safe and warm. ‘I was lucky that Mr Stoneham found me.’

‘He has asked me to help him. We shall not allow this injustice to go unanswered, Meg. Believe me, if your babe lives then we shall find her.’

Meg nodded and gave him her hand. ‘I thank you, Mr Rattan, and I pray that God will help you in your search.’

Toby kissed her hand gently.

‘I am honoured to serve you,’ he said. ‘Arthur has gone to meet someone but he will be back shortly. I give you my word, both Arthur and I will make certain that in future you are protected and cared for.’

Her shy smile made Toby smile in response. She was lovely and, he believed, innocent of all guile. Her story must be a tragic one and he was determined to discover it.

‘It was very good of you to see me,’ Arthur said when he was shown into Lady Rowntree’s elegant parlour. Its shades of green, rose and cream had a faded, restful aura and suited the beautiful woman in her later years. ‘Forgive me for intruding this way but it is important.’

Lady Rowntree smiled. In her day she had been a great beauty, the toast of London drawing rooms, and she still retained the elegance of manner and English-rose complexion that had once had the men vying for her hand. ‘Mr Stoneham, we have met on various occasions and I know you to be a man of humanitarian principles which accord with those of my family.’

‘I thank you – that is high praise,’ Arthur said and went forward to bow over her hand. ‘I know it was your family that endowed the Sculfield workhouse.’

Lady Rowntree frowned. ‘Have you come to ask for someone to be admitted?’

‘No, Lady Rowntree, I come to tell you of injustice – and I believe ill-management on the part of the mistress and master there.’

Lady Rowntree sighed and nodded, showing no sign of outrage or surprise at the accusation. ‘Then I shall hear you, for I have sensed that things were not right for some time past. When I visit, the children are always well-dressed and all say they are fed and happy, but last time I saw fear in some of their eyes and it made me unsure but my husband is unwell, and I fear he may not recover, and I was afraid to stir up something I suspected might be deeply unpleasant.’

‘Then I may speak frankly?’

‘Of course. Please, do sit down – may I ring for refreshments?’

‘I thank you, no. I have breakfasted not long since.’ Arthur sat down on one of the beautiful mahogany sabre-leg chairs so that he was on her level and she did not need to look up at him. ‘I am sorry that your husband is unwell, ma’am. It is not the time to be worrying you – but it has come to my attention that Mistress Brent is unfit to be a warden of the workhouse. I have not as yet met her husband but she is a liar and a bully. I have been told that she steals the children of unfortunate women driven to have their babies within her walls. I cannot say that she is paid, for I have no proof but I suspect it.’

‘Why else would she do it?’ Lady Rowntree looked sad. ‘When she and her husband were employed, we made it clear that we wished the house to be run on compassionate lines. Naturally, there must be rules, but no woman should be forced to give up her babe without her consent – and I personally instructed that there should only be a physical beating if it was necessary in extreme cases of violence.’

Arthur nodded, because it was what he would have expected of a philanthropic woman. ‘Then you would not agree with vulnerable girls being beaten for no reason – and given to masters who may work them to death?’

‘Certainly not!’ She looked shocked. ‘Violent men must sometimes be restrained for they would take advantage and cause trouble for others – but I do not see why a child should ever be beaten. There are other ways to discipline them, if need be.’

He smiled, reassured. ‘Then we are in accord, my lady. I know a girl of eleven was recently sent to the local chain-maker’s establishment, perhaps in the hope that she might be worked until she was exhausted, for many such children have died in such places. As it happens, in this case the man gave her to his wife who was then expecting and has recently had a child – but it makes me wonder what has happened to other children. I should like your permission to inspect the house and grounds – and examine the records.’

Lady Rowntree hesitated momentarily, and then inclined her head. ‘Yes, I believe that must be the way to proceed. My husband and I are the chief guardians but others have made donations and must be told of any wrongdoing – and an investigation will provide the truth. I would not cast Master and Mistress Brent off without proof.’

‘You are fair, ma’am, and I cannot disagree with you, though I sense that we shall uncover far more evil than we can yet imagine.’

A little shiver ran through her. ‘Yes, I fear you may …’ She hesitated uncertainly and then lifted her head in resolution. ‘Look for proof of what happened to a boy named Arthur Meaks. My husband had thought of taking him for a stable boy but the child disappeared last autumn. I was told that he had been sent to a master in Yarmouth because he had professed an interest in the sea – and when I asked for more details I was promised Master Brent would send them to me. However, he has not done so and may believe my personal troubles have made me forget.’ She sighed. ‘Had my husband not been so ill I should have pressed them more but I could not summon the will to do it.’

‘The name of Arthur Meaks has been mentioned to me previously,’ Arthur said. ‘Someone told me the master intended to punish him for trying to run away and no one has seen him since, which seems suspicious.’

Lady Rowntree shivered. ‘You suspect foul play, do you not?’

‘Yes, my lady. I make no accusations yet, but I fear it may be the case. Others of like mind and I are trying to make these institutions more accountable than in the past for we know that many bad things have happened.’

‘We appointed the master and mistress with the best intentions,’ Lady Rowntree said and her hands trembled, the valuable diamonds sparkling on her fingers. ‘I believe they think themselves safe, because my husband is no longer the strong man he once was …’ She took a deep breath, then, ‘May I ask you to discover the truth and do whatever is necessary, Mr Stoneham? I will sign any power of attorney you need in relation to the governance of the workhouse, giving you complete authority.’

‘Thank you,’ Arthur said. ‘I will have something drawn up and call on you again. I think you are very wise.’ He rose to leave. ‘I wish your husband a speedy recovery.’

‘I fear my husband will not see another year out,’ she said sadly, ‘but I have great hopes for my daughter who is to be married soon.’

Arthur inclined his head and turned to leave, then remembered. ‘I believe you think well of the seamstress Florrie’s work?’

Lady Rowntree looked surprised. ‘Yes, she does the most delicate embroidery – why do you ask?’

‘She told me that she wishes to leave the workhouse but is nervous of finding enough work to support herself.’

‘Tell her she may come to me and live in here. I can always find work for a woman of her talent – and I am sure my friends might like to take advantage of her services sometimes.’

‘She was once dismissed on a false tale of theft and fears you might think ill of her.’

Lady Rowntree shook her head. ‘I know what happened and do not believe her a thief, for her mistress at that time was a petty, spiteful woman.’ She held out her hand. ‘I thank you for calling on me, sir – and please tell Florrie to come to me as soon as she wishes.’

Arthur kissed her hand, bowed and left her. He would still have investigated the master and mistress of the workhouse if Lady Rowntree had not been so cooperative, but her consent made his task so much easier. He intended to seize all the records going back to the Brents’ arrival years before and to have a team of men he trusted search the house and the grounds.





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