So good and Godly they all thought they were, but they didn’t understand. Let them try and keep order when the loutish casual labourers came in. Let them run a tidy ship when the only staff they had were as laggardly as the paupers themselves. Let the high and mighty Board members cope with the stink of the place, cope with having to stay inside the suffocating walls like prisoners, and the only thing you could see when you looked out of your windows was heaps of muck and rubbish. Ha! They wouldn’t last a minute.
There was a distant sound of shouting. Lord, the casuals had started already! She might have to go down herself in a minute if the noise didn’t cease. Why couldn’t Pinchmore just get on with it?
Then, as she did every day when she was feeling like this, she slipped a tiny key out from her bodice where it nestled on a chain against her ample breast. Unlocking a hidden drawer in her desk, she pulled out a small iron box that rattled reassuringly. She opened it, and counted the coins and notes onto the table. Not enough, not enough yet to escape with. But she would, one day. And she’d be damned if she’d take that useless Mr Uphill with her. It only needed a little more…
As the money was tidied away, Mrs Uphill’s lips thinned. What had happened to that damned Mr Finchdean? It had been over a year since she’d sent her reckoning, her price for the release of that troublesome girl, Bella Hart. It would have been a tidy sum, but there didn’t seem much chance of getting it now. It was a crying shame. If he’d come true, she’d have made some cash and also got rid of a thorn in her side. That girl was always in trouble—especially with Annie. Well, she understood people like Annie Tullard, and she understood why she hated Bella Hart. Serve the girl right if Mr Finchdean never darkened their doors again; he’d given her ideas above her station.
There was a sudden crash from outside. Mrs Uphill leapt to her feet to see a projectile fly through one of the windows in the men’s block. She set her hands on her hips and stalked out of the room.
“Right—that’s enough. I’m not giving them no leeway this time—it’ll be the militia right away. The only thing that’s going to get broke around here is their heads.”
As she marched across the yard to the men’s house it started to rain heavily. Cursing, she lifted her skirts up out of the dirt to keep the mud off them and spat the rainwater from her mouth.
When she pushed open the door, the uproar hit her like a solid thing. It took but a moment to see the casuals had broken into the beer store, as they had the last time. Only now, there was a crowd of workhouse paupers all swilling back ale as well. She glared around the hall where they usually gathered for their meals and saw that the warders, considering themselves outnumbered, had decided it was safer to join in the noisy rabble. Steeling herself, she strode forward and grasped Mr Pinchmore, who was staring at the scene with his eyes wide, by the lapels.
“You sort those warders out,” she demanded. “Tell ‘em I’m sending for the militia and when they get here, every one of them’s going to be out on their ear unless they stop this instantly. And I want to know who broke the window.”
Pinchmore entered the fray. Thankfully, none of the casuals, quite distinct from the rest of the paupers by their fuller flesh and careless looks, noticed him as he sneaked around, hissing the warning into the warder's ears. Gradually they began to stir themselves, settling the casual labourers down and joining them at the tables to have a more friendly, ordered drink.
Mrs Uphill scanned the gathered throng until her eye fell on one man who stood out from the rest. He was taller, broader and louder than the others and she reckoned he must be the ring-leader.
“Sit down and have a drink with me, Missis,” he said cheerfully, waving a chipped mug at her.
“I’m not Missis—to you, I’m Madam! I’m the Matron of this house. And you’re pushing your luck, messing about in here like this. I’m calling the militia, and if there’s another sniff of trouble, you’ll all be spending the night in the cells.”
The man looked at his neighbour and winked. Then he turned to her and said, “Aw, Madam, we was only having a little bit of fun. We’ve walked all the way here from Wells, and we were mighty thirsty. When some skinflint warder said we couldn’t have a drink until it was doled out at dinner, well… some of the lads got a bit flighty. Nobody’s been hurt mind, no violence. We just took his keys and helped ourselves. He doesn’t mind. Look, he’s laughing about it now.” He indicated one of the more thickset paupers, who’d been elevated to his position a few weeks ago by her husband. Hah! That would teach Mr Uphill not to listen to her judgement.
“So you see, we’re all sitting quietly now. There’s no need for no soldiers nor no constables. We’ll bide quiet till supper, and then we’ll go to bed, for some of us are dead beat.”
Mrs Uphill’s eyelids narrowed. The cheeky fellow was trying to sweet-talk her. People were always trying to grease her up, especially those who worked for her, and it was a good way of getting around her. No tall, well-set-up man like this farmhand had ever tried it before, and she was a bit flattered. Refusing to show it, she took the proffered mug and allowed herself a ladylike swallow before passing it back to him.
“Can I take you at your word, Mr…?”
“Jessett. Aye, you can. Would I lie to a fine-looking lady like yourself?”
Mrs Uphill stood up and narrowed her eyes. She knew he was playing with her, but she couldn’t think he was dangerous. Now Pinchmore had put those wretched warders back on their toes again she felt more in control. But just for good measure, she’d get a little extra help in until supper time.
“I’ve things to do, Mr Jessett, so I’ll be off. But mark my words.”
“Certainly Ma’am, certainly!” He touched his forelock in mockery. She ignored him and hurried to the other end of the room to fetch one of the younger inmates.
“Sutton,” she said softly. “Get you over to the women’s house and fetch the man from the door. Then tell the porter to lock the gates and get him in here as well. And tell Annie Tullard to round up the women warders, so they’re ready in case of any trouble. They’re all to bring a full bucket. And you know what I want it to be full of, don’t you!”
As Sutton scuttled off, Mrs Uphill began a slow patrol of the room, eyeing up all the newcomers and trying to judge if they were very far gone in drink. She made sure to catch the eye of all the male inmates who had joined in the occasion, and her expression spoke volumes. One or two of them even nodded their understanding. She was still in charge, they were still her subjects, and if they put a foot wrong, sooner or later they would be made to suffer for it.
Having satisfied herself that the lid was on it all, for the time being, she congratulated herself on her bravery and her cunning and re-joined Mr Jessett and his friends for another pot of beer. There was a roar of sound from outside as the rain intensified, and everyone scowled up at the roof. “Looks like we only arrived just in time,” said Jessett with a smile.
It was at that moment that Bella Hart entered the room.
She was soaked, her dark workhouse dress sticking to her body like a second skin. Her cap, now shapeless with wet, clung to her skull and her short hair dripped tendrils of water down her face. She was carrying a dustpan and brush.
First one of the men noticed her, then another—and gradually, the entire hall fell silent. The girl baulked in the doorway, then her eyes fell on the Matron, and she started making her way towards her. As soon as she moved, all hell broke loose.
There were catcalls, and whistles—and men leapt to their feet, spilling beer all over the floor and overturning the benches. Taking in the situation in a trice, the Matron made a dash for the bewildered Bella, grabbed her arm and dragged her back outside into the teeming rain.
“What, in the Lord’s name, are you doing over in the men’s block?” she shouted as she bustled Bella across to the women’s house and bundled her through the doorway.
“Annie said you wanted someone to clear up the broken glass, Ma’am!”
; “Don’t tell such lies, girl! You just wanted a look at the men, didn’t you? You stupid hussy! I’d just got them all nicely settled, and what do you have to do but wind them all up again? Get in there with you. I’ll deal with you later.”
Behind her, Mrs Uphill could hear sounds coming across the yard, the sounds of the casuals, more full of vigour than the workhouse inmates who would just be watching the show, not joining in. Men were splashing through the puddles, eager to see more of the young girl who had just presented her feminine attributes so undeniably before their eyes. Fumbling with her keys, she shoved Bella into the punishment cupboard, locked the door and then yelled back towards the porter’s lodge, “Send for the militia! And hurry, man!” before locking herself securely behind the door of the women’s house.
Chapter 11
Once again, Bella sat fuming in the black cupboard. This, she vowed, was going to be the last time ever. So, Annie Dullard had done for her this time—good and proper—but that lying bitch would get her just deserts if it was the last thing Bella did. This was the final straw. Fuelled by her anger, she thrust her shoulder against the stout door and shouted, but the sound was soon drowned out by the noises coming from outside, smashing sounds, crashes and yells. Soon Bella began to shiver with fear, and pray she was safe in her cupboard.
The noise seemed to go on for hours until suddenly, there was a rifle shot. Bella started up, her nerves jangling. Already shivering in her damp dress, the shaking seemed to intensify now. There were no more shots but lots of scuffling, the sound of running feet and the clink of metal. She pressed her ear against the unforgiving wood and waited.
Release came as the door was wrenched open and the Matron stood there, her face flushed, running with water and sweat. Pinchmore was there too, and with a mean little smile, he yanked Bella into the passageway and pushed her outside into the yard.
There, a peculiar sight met her eyes—one she’d never forget. Lined up by the high wall on the town side were the militia, their tall hats drooping slightly in the lashing rain. In the dull light from the windows, their buttons and rifles glinted as they stood to attention. Chained up in front of each man was one of the casuals. Most of them were on their knees, although some remained swaying on their feet. Their faces were lined with pain, and some had their eyes tight shut as water, or tears, coursed down their cheeks.
Bella stared at them wonderingly as she was dragged past, and noticed most were shirtless, and that diluted curls of blood trailed down their shoulders. What were they all being kept out here for? Why were they half-naked in this drenching rain?
She was shivering again now—almost uncontrollably as the rain added insult to injury.
Pinchmore brought her to a stop in front of a wooden post. With a great lurch of her stomach, Bella recognised it as the post where miscreants were tied to be flogged. The puddle of water on the ground at its foot was dark with blood.
“No!” she cried and began to struggle, but Matron caught at her skirts and dragged her sodden dress over her head. Then Pinchmore was clamping her wrists under the metal shackles so she couldn’t move. She pressed tight against the slimy post and hunched her shoulders, then tugged to see if she could free herself, but the rusty iron only bit into her wrists and hurt her.
Then there was the sound that she’d dreaded to hear, the slash of leather through the rain-soaked air, and then the first swipe bit into her back and she cried out. Behind her, the watching soldiers were loud in their approval. To them, it was some small reward for being dragged out on a night like this to put down a minor affray amongst folk who didn’t matter.
As Pinchmore delivered the punishment, Matron’s head was close to her own, hissing, “Where’s your posh friend now, eh, Miss Bella? He must have decided you weren’t worth the bother. And he was right. You’re not. This is the last time you create trouble in my workhouse, and that’s my word on it. Just one step out of place and you get this again, do you hear me?”
Bella was almost past hearing as the whip cracked down and tore into her. Stretched out and softened by the rain, it seemed to sting more with every blow, and she bit into the wood to stifle her cries. Soon her back felt warm, and she knew the hot trickles of blood were running down it. By the time the punishment stopped, she was deaf to the cheering and hoots of the soldiers. Her face ran with salt tears of pain and degradation, and as they released her and dragged her soaked, clinging dress onto her back, she prayed the earth would open up and swallow her whole.
Chapter 12
Miss Ainsty looked up at the high brick walls as she always did, and let out a sigh. Coming to teach in the workhouse was a penance, like making oneself go to prison every day. The only thing that kept her coming here was the thought of doing good, of bringing a little light, a little of the outside world into the narrow, dark lives of the children within.
As she approached her room she knew she would do what she did every day; check the number of chalks in the little basket on her desk, count the slates into neat piles, inspect the inkwells and be ready to pounce on the first child who arrived and honour them with the task of making sure there were writing implements at every place. She was so set in her pattern that she didn’t even see the room was occupied until a sharp sound made her turn.
Bella Hart was standing by the chest, the contents of which had been flung out onto the floor. The girl was struggling to do up the blue dress Miss Ainsty had made for her, and her face was puffy with crying—the tears still ran down it.
“Whatever’s the matter, Bella? What on earth are you doing?”
“I’m leaving this place now. Today. And ain’t no one going to stop me.”
“Bella, please, talk to me.” She reached out, but the girl pushed her hands away and fumbled with the hooks of the dress.
“Where’s the shoes? I must have the shoes.”
Miss Ainsty wondered if she was hysterical and was just debating whether or not to give her a gentle shake when it all tumbled out in one go; the way Annie Tullard had set her up, the riot among the casuals, the public humiliation she had received, not to mention the wounds still smarting on her back. Her eyes were red, but her expression was determined.
“You’ve got to help me escape! If I don’t leave here today, by God, I’m gonna do meself in. And if I can’t do that, I’ll be murdering Annie Dullard, and the justices will be doin’ me in. So you see, I get what I want either way.”
Miss Ainsty felt the sting of her own tears. She should have seen this coming. She’d been too slow in finding Bella a place, and now the crisis had come, and she didn’t know what to do.
“Here, I’ll help you. But you mustn’t go far away, and you must write to me immediately to tell me you’re safe. No, wait. You don’t have to go away. Come and live with me—I’ll take care of you until we can get you a post.”
“No, Miss—you’d get into trouble for it, you know you would. And your landlady would turn you out if you took someone in who couldn’t pay the rent. No. I won’t let you pay for me. I’ve got me pride.”
Miss Ainsty took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. She could already feel the shooting pain behind one eye that signalled one of her excruciating headaches. “Alright, alright. Look, here’s the shoes. Take my bag—there’s a bit of bread and cheese in there and a bottle of lemonade. But where are you going first? Have you thought about it?”
“I’m going to walk to Warbury, and look for work in the mills.”
“But what about your teaching? We wanted you to be a teacher.”
“That don’t seem so important right now. Any work’ll do me, so long as it gets me out of this place.”
“Look.” She dug in her purse and handed Bella some coins. “It’s not much, but it’ll get you a train fare, third class, to Warbury. You’ll be in no fit state if you walk.”
Bella seemed to calm down a little as she looked at the money. She smiled wryly.
“It’ll cost that much? By, but I’ve got a lot to learn. No, Miss, I cou
ldn’t take your money.” She made to give it back to her, but Miss Ainsty shook her head.
“What am I ever going to do with it? I’ve got no family to spend it on. You may as well have it as anyone. You’ve your whole life ahead of you, Bella Hart. Your time as a workhouse waif is over. All I ask is that you do me proud.”
The girl’s eyes glittered with tears again. Throwing her arms around Miss Ainsty, she said, “I’ll do my best, Miss. You’ve always been like a saviour to me. I’ll never forget you.”
The teacher stemmed the flood of her own weeping with a harsh order. “Now go on, off with you, before the porter’s properly awake, or he might have some questions to ask. Go on, get on. And good luck!”
Bella clasped the bag into her arms and took a last look around the schoolroom. “One of these days, I’m gonna have one all of me own. And even bigger and better. I’ll make you proud.”
“Here’s my key. Throw it back over the wall if you can, so I can find it again. Now, let’s make sure you’re properly done up.”
Her heart ached as she buttoned Bella into her dress, noting with distress the ooze of blood already coming through the petticoat. She ought really to minister to the girl, but if she didn’t go now, she’d miss her chance.
“Farewell child.”
“Farewell Miss Ainsty.”
“Stay out of mischief.”
“I ain’t promising that,” Bella replied with a wink.
The day brightened a little. As Miss Ainsty wiped her face with her handkerchief and turned her back on her departing pupil, she had a premonition that all would be well. Bella Hart was too clever, too beautiful to rot in the workhouse. If she made the right choices, her life would be a fine one.
She just had to hope she’d schooled the girl well enough to cope with the wolves beyond the workhouse walls.
Chapter 13
Workhouse Waif Page 4
