Workhouse Waif

by Elizabeth Keysian

  “People are in and out of the workhouse all the time—one can never keep up with the number of new faces. As a superior officer, my job is not closely involved with the inmates themselves but in supervising the staff who supervise them, and in organising the accounts and dealing with the paperwork and funding. I regret I can tell you no more than I already have.”

  The gentleman ran a hand over his pomaded hair. “I understand. Would some financial outlay be required to release the girl from her tenancy here?”

  “Of course, there’s the paperwork involved, and the number of forms to be filled in and the authorities to be informed. There are lots of signatures required. A great many signatures.”

  Bella stared at the woman. Then at the gentleman. Were they negotiating her release from the workhouse? But for what? The slavery of service, or the dangerous drudgery of the mills? Her heart thumped painfully and moisture formed on her upper lip.

  “We will need, of course, proof that she will be taken somewhere where she will either be cared for or able to fend for herself. It would be most awkward to have her back on our doorstep again.”

  “I quite understand, Mrs Uphill. Now, would it be acceptable for you to present me with a quote for the costs involved?”

  “We could do that here and now, Mr Finchdean.” The Matron’s eyes glinted. “But I suggest we dismiss the girl first. I don’t want her getting any ideas.”

  It was as much as Bella could do not to fling herself to her knees before Mr Finchdean and beg him to explain what he was offering. But Matron was waving her away, and Pinchmore was nipping her elbow. Mr Finchdean succumbed to another bout of coughing which forced him to bring his handkerchief up to his mouth, and as the door closed behind her, Bella had to pray the poor man didn’t expire before their dealings were concluded.

  The stolen turnip, which had hitherto been the high point of her day, was forgotten. Everything dwindled into insignificance compared to the visit of the mysterious man who sounded like he was going to fetch her away. He hadn’t seemed like someone from the factories, and he’d mentioned another person as well, someone who looked like her. Perhaps she was not alone in the world, after all. Perhaps there was a real family out there, if only they could find one another.

  Desperate to share her thoughts with Miss Ainsty and ask her advice, Bella scurried through the rest of her work, then went in search of her.

  “I’m afraid I can’t tell you what it means.” Miss Ainsty clenched her hands in her skirts, then shook back her shoulders. “I would never dissuade you from hoping. I should be sad to see you go—you’re the only light in this Stygian darkness for me. Who else in the class would ever be capable of teaching?”

  Bella’s face fell. How ungrateful she must sound, after all Miss Ainsty’s hopes for her. But the workhouse taught people to be selfish. It couldn’t be helped.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t want to leave you, Miss Ainsty. Perhaps you can come as well. Maybe there’ll be room in the place I’d be going to for you to join me. And if there wasn’t, I’d get you out somehow. Mr Finchdean might be important—he could maybe get you a job in one of the factory schools. Would you like that, Miss?”

  The teacher shuffled a few battered slates into a tidy pile, then lifted her head suddenly, her mouth taut. “Well then, if it’s to come sooner than I’d expected, you’d better have something I’ve been saving for you.”

  Bella followed the teacher, noticing how low her shoulders seemed to be, how weary her step. Perhaps she had another of her bad headaches. Miss Ainsty could never stand excitement when she had one of her pains.

  The teacher bent over a chest where the needlework samplers were kept and extracted a cloth-wrapped package. Bella gasped as it was opened.

  “A dress? It’s very grand, Miss, very grand indeed.”

  Miss Ainsty didn’t smile at Bella’s praise. Instead, she made her turn around and held the dress up against her back.

  “It’s too big for you at the moment. I hadn’t expected you to be going so soon. I’d thought maybe, in a couple of years, I’d find you a teaching post. They wouldn’t likely take you until you were a bit older. But if you’re going now… well, I can see I’ll have to get it finished. There’s still quite a bit of work to do. You’ll need the hem taken up, certainly.”

  Bella held the dress against her chest. She looked at Miss Ainsty, her eyes popping with joy.

  “It’s for me? You made it for me?” She threw her arms around the teacher and hugged her. It was the first time she had taken such a liberty since her temporary rescue from the rat-infested cupboard, and it hurt to discover how thin and fragile Miss Ainsty was. But the woman’s great heart made up for her lack of flesh.

  The teacher pushed Bella gently away and turned back to rummage more deeply in the chest and pick out something else. She held the objects out for Bella’s inspection.

  “Shoes too?”

  “They’re not new, obviously. But they looked in good condition. And about the right size for your feet. You’re that sort of age, I think, where your feet won’t be growing anymore.”

  Bella took the precious shoes and turned them over, running her finger over the scratched soles, testing the suppleness of the vamps.

  “I hadn’t wanted to give them to you yet. Somebody leaving for the road might steal them, or someone in here would take them to trade, and you’d get upset or lose your temper again and get into trouble. But if it looks like you’re leaving before you’re of age—”

  “They’re beautiful! Oh, can I hug you again?”

  “No!” Miss Ainsty stepped back, her eyes filling. “No, I think I hear someone. Quick, help me put this all back before they see it. I’ve kept it away from thieving hands this long—I don’t intend to lose it now.”

  Bella smoothed her hands down her shapeless dress, identical to every other one in the workhouse. Nobody looked different until they left, when they were given their own things back again—assuming the warders hadn’t stolen them. She would have no possessions to claim when she left the place, for she’d come there as a baby. What could a baby possibly have brought with it that would be of any use to her now?

  Before leaving the schoolroom, she shot a brief glance at Miss Ainsty. The woman had long since taken the place of her invented Ma and Pa in her heart. She was such a good person, the only person in this world Bella loved, or could ever imagine loving. Despite her exhilaration at the thought of release, she wondered if she would ever be able to manage in the outside world without her dear Miss Ainsty to guide her.

  Perhaps it would be better not to think of leaving after all, not while Miss Ainsty still needed her help.

  But if Mr Finchdean paid the Matron enough money, chances were there’d be nothing she could do if she wanted to stay.

  Chapter 7

  The only other person with whom Bella shared her news was her friend Lucy.

  Lucy jiggled her lame foot about and picked at her skirt. “Remarkable, that someone might know who you are. Do you think you’ve a family somewhere?”

  “I must have, or why would Mr Finchdean be interested in me? He didn’t say nothing about work, or what I was skilled at or anything. Nobody asked me any questions anyway—he just looked at me.”

  Lucy tilted her head. “Was he a nice man?”

  “I don’t know. He talked well enough, almost as good as Miss Ainsty. But he wasn’t a toff like the ‘Guardians of the Poor’ that visit here. I suppose there must be middling sorts of men. He was old, quite grey, and he weren’t too well, neither. Kept coughing.”

  “Consumption?”

  “Could be.”

  “Poor man.”

  Bella gave her a push. “Listen to you! There you are with a foot like a brickbat, and you’re feeling sorry for other people. You’re too soft, you are. You shouldn’t be in a place like this.”

  Lucy shrugged. “Well, I don’t suppose I have much choice. But maybe you do. Seems to me it’s time to make a lady of you.”

  Bell
a’s shoulders shook. “A lady? Me? Give over!”

  When Bella told Miss Ainsty of this exchange an hour later, the teacher failed to see the joke.

  “You can learn to be a lady at any age.” Miss Ainsty held her gaze. “You’ve got the carriage, Bella, but not the speech or manners. I can only hope you’re prepared to be taught.”

  Bella stared. Miss Ainsty wanted to make a lady of her? That sounded painful.

  “I shall teach you how to behave in the outside world, and if there’s any chance at all, I’m going to get you into that dress and see if you can carry it off. You still hunch your shoulders and clench your fists like you’re spoiling for a fight.”

  “But I can’t march about like lords and ladies, Miss. They’ll all laugh at me.”

  “You needn’t worry what people think. Anyway, most of the girls who troubled you have gone now.”

  “But there’s still Annie the Dullard, and always new ones coming in. They’re not as flat as them that’ve been here years. They’ll think I’m daft!”

  “I’m sure some of them will probably be daft too, so it won’t matter. They’ll just put you down as an eccentric.”

  “An ex what?”

  The teacher rolled her eyes. “Never mind. Now make yourself useful and fill my inkpot for me, so I can prepare my next lesson. I must go and see if those slates have been mended yet.”

  When Bella heard the school-room door open a short while later, she didn’t look up. Pouring the ink was a job requiring a steady hand.

  “So, what’s this I hear about you having rich folk?”

  She paused, and righted the huge ink bottle, catching the drip on a cloth.

  Annie Tullard stood there, her skinny hands on her hips, bracketed by her cronies, Becka Amos and Jane Lansdown.

  “What are you doing in the schoolroom, Annie Dullard?” Bella retorted. “Miss gave up trying to teach you anything years ago.”

  “Ha, always hiding behind Miss—never had the guts to fight your own battles. Marie always said you was a coward, and she was right.”

  Bella turned her back and picked up the ink bottle again.

  “Don’t you ignore me, you hoity-toity Miss. I asked you a question, and I expect an answer.”

  “None of your business, halfwit. Get out of here.”

  Her skin bristled. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to turn her back on three enemies. But she needed to show them she wasn’t afraid. And she had no intention of telling anyone else about Mr Finchdean. It was her precious secret, and if The Dullard knew, the whole workhouse would know in mere hours.

  “So, just because you think you’re getting out of here, you reckon you can ignore the rest of us, do you? Well, you’ve not gone yet, Miss High-and-Mighty, so there’s still time to even the score.”

  Chapter 8

  Bella shrugged, ignoring the prickle of warning, and refused to turn around. Until she heard a vile sound, and something soft and damp hit the back of her neck.

  “Did you just spit at me?”

  “Yeah. What you going to do about it?”

  Miss Ainsty’s teachings about the principles of behaviour were forgotten in an instant. Bella flew at Annie, her hands clenched into claws, but the girl side-stepped neatly and shouted, “Did you see that? She went for me!”

  Jane and Becka burst into the room with a rattling of fire irons. Dumping their loads, they had Bella on her back on the cold floor, and Annie was standing over her, wielding a poker. She gazed down in triumph as Bella ceased to struggle and stared frozenly at the poker.

  “If you cry out,” she said, “You’re gonna get a knock that’ll send you from here to Kingdom Come. Don’t worry—I’m not gonna kill you, like your dear friend Rob did that man. It’s not even hot—feel it.”

  Annie slid the chill, dirty end of the implement down Bella’s white neck. It left a streak on her calico collar that would be a devil to clean.

  “Now apologise for being rude to me,” she ordered. She grinned broadly as Bella struggled against the two girls pinning her arms to the floor.

  “Let me get up. It’s not fair, three against one.”

  “Life ain’t fair. Haven’t you discovered that yet? Only babies say, ‘It isn’t fair’—and you’re a big baby really, aren’t you? Now say you’re sorry for not being civil to me.”

  Fury built up in Bella’s narrowed green eyes, but Annie had the upper hand. And she wasn’t done yet. Dropping the poker and reaching across the desk behind Bella’s head, she ordered Jane to pinch her nose.

  As Bella opened her mouth and squeezed her eyes tight at the pain, Annie gleefully upended the bottle of ink over her face. Becka and Jane laughed with delight as their victim gagged and struggled when the thick liquid caught in her throat. Soon Bella’s face was black, and her ears were full. The top of her shift and cap were ruined, and her short hair was sticky with ink.

  Annie’s thin lips parted in another grin. “Better let go, girls, I think she’s gonna throw up!”

  “What’s this, a catfight?”

  As one of the warders, Mr Pratt, strode into the room, the three girls backed away from Bella. Annie replaced the inkpot on its stand and fastidiously wiped a dribble of ink from her finger onto a cloth.

  “I’m afraid there’s been a little accident, Mr Pratt. Hart here was careless with the ink. I’d better tell Matron what happened.”

  The man didn’t dare chide Annie—she had the ear of the Matron. It was always safest to humour the girl in case she turned tell-tale.

  The retching girl on the floor was unrecognisable. Her chest heaved as she vented her stomach of the foul ink.

  His fingers trembled with anticipation. “Never mind. There’s a cloth here—let me mop you up a bit.”

  As the hand clutching the cloth made its first sweep across her budding breasts, Bella forgot about her state. In a second, she was on her feet and rushing blindly for the door. Pratt’s laughter followed her, and when a female foot came out and sent her sprawling on her face in the passageway, the laughter turned into hoots of derision which she could hear all the way to the washroom.

  Chapter 9

  It took Bella over a week to remove the ink stains from her face. The black stuff had clotted in her hair before she could wash herself so she was shaved to the scalp. Lucy was so horrified when she first saw her, Bella was glad she had no mirror to look in. Once over her initial shock, Lucy tried to turn it into a bit of a joke.

  “You look like one of those black and white cows in the picture book, all patchy. They’ll be milking you for laughs for the next month.”

  “I’ve heard as much laughter as I want to. I don’t care if nobody in this hell-hole ever laughs again,” said Bella fiercely.

  “Aw, don’t fret. You know it won’t last.”

  “But what if Mr Finchdean comes for me? What’ll he think of me? Maybe he won’t want to take me away.”

  “He wants you for who you are, silly, not what you look like. You’ve got to stand up to those girls, not let them see they’ve hurt you. Otherwise, they’ll just do it again and again. Ignore them. If you can find it in your heart, forgive them.”

  “God, Lucy, don’t be so simple! I’m going to pay them back—that Annie Dullard at the very least.”

  “No, you mustn’t.” Her friend was emphatic. “Because then you’ll be no better than they are. Try to be better—for Miss Ainsty’s sake. She sets a lot of store by you.”

  Trying to pretend she was unaffected by the attack took almost more courage than Bella could muster. She could not close her ears to the titters on the mealtime benches when she came in, loudest from where Annie Tullard sat with her closest friends. Funny—she’d hoped Marie’s departure all those years ago would have made life easier, but Annie had just stepped into the breach and done what she could to torment her. But nothing before had been so brazen or unpleasant as the ink attack.

  Annie and her friends had got off scot-free. They’d all claimed Bella had thrown the first blow. Miss
Ainsty—on Bella’s behalf—put in a complaint to the Matron. The response was that it was only a minor incident, that Bella had recovered immediately, and that she was making a fuss over nothing. She, Mrs Uphill, did not consider the matter worth pursuing.

  Of the crude assault by Mr Pratt, Bella dared say nothing. But the damage was done, and her degradation seemed complete. She either had to escape from this place immediately or think up the perfect act of revenge.

  Chapter 10

  There was a knock on the stout oak door. Mrs Uphill sat upright and pushed her spectacles to the end of her nose. “Enter,” she said primly.

  Mr Pinchmore’s face appeared in the doorway. “Sorry to disturb you, Ma’am, but there’s a group of casuals just come in.”

  The Matron’s thick shoulders tensed and she glared accusingly at the brass calendar on her desk.

  “Oh Lord, that time of year again! And Mr Uphill’s out in the town. What are they like, Pinchmore? How many of them are there?”

  “About twenty. They’re asking for bed and board on their way to the farms.”

  “Deal with it, Pinchmore. Read them, I mean, tell them the rules. If there’s any trouble, we’re calling in the militia, and no messing around. Not after last time. Now go.”

  After Pinchmore left, the Matron stared around the comfortable office she shared with Mr Uphill—on the few occasions he could be bothered to be present. One day she’d tell him what she thought about his disappearing off into town, and refuse to dole out orders, and do the accounts, and make sure he had a good meal when he came in. And what’s more, she’d tell the Board he wasn’t pulling his weight. She didn’t need him—they didn’t need him. She was running the place by herself already. But if she told them, they’d both be out on their ear.