Workhouse Waif

by Elizabeth Keysian

  Henry’s head shot around. “You’re not talking about me still, I hope.”

  “We most certainly are. I’m far too polite to talk about anyone else behind their backs.”

  Bella liked Neville. Really liked him. Not in the same way she liked Jack, despite his obvious masculine attractions, but she found him very easy to converse with. His sharply intelligent blue eyes encouraged confidences.

  “I do miss Warbury.”

  “Bound to. It was your first true home. But it’s up to you to now make this your home.” He waved a hand at the room in general.

  Her mouth drooped. “I doubt I’ll have much time to do that. I think Henry means to marry me off as soon as he can.”

  “I can’t see that he’ll have any difficulty there.” Neville gave her hand a little squeeze.

  Henry was watching them again and spoke out indignantly. “Good God, man! I hope you’re not flirting with my sister.”

  Neville’s smile was mischievous. “Who, me?”

  It wasn’t long after that that the ladies were required to withdraw and leave the men to their port and cigars. They retired to the winter drawing room, where the drapes had been pulled across to keep out draughts. Daisy, encouraged by Claudette, approached the pianoforte.

  She had changed her startling red gown for a similarly startling yellow one, and once again some poor exotic bird had paid the ultimate price for the matching feathers waving in her hair. She winked at Bella, then asked her to come over and sort through some songs with her. They settled on The Blackbird as a gentle melody to start with, followed by a cheerful drinking song called Drown it in the bowl.

  Not long after, the men came in with a burst of merriment, and Max settled at the piano with Daisy warbling by his side. Bella, who had no experience of showgirls and music hall singers, was entranced. She decided she, too, would like to learn to sing with such self-assurance. Daisy must teach her, and the gestures and body movements as well, the ones that really helped put the song across. Everyone, with the exception of Mama, joined in the choruses with gusto when appropriate, and the mood became very relaxed.

  Bella was enjoying herself. Henry was so much more cheerful than usual. If only he hadn’t that cruel streak, and that tendency to manipulate… it would be hard to really get to like him, despite what Neville had said.

  People were drinking brandy now. Neville regularly topped up Bella’s glass, and she realised, without worrying about it at all, that she was drinking more than she ever had in her life before.

  “You’d better stop now,” her mother hissed in her ear. “You’re not used to it.” When Bella rolled her eyes, she added, “Don’t blame me tomorrow when you have a sore head and a sick stomach. Why does it take children so long to realise their parents always know best? Well, perhaps I should let you make your own mistakes. I’ll say no more.”

  Mama evidently did want to say more, but even though Bella knew she felt wounded, she couldn’t quite bring herself to please her. It wasn’t long before her mother announced she was off to bed, hinting heavily that Bella should do the same.

  “Just one more song, Mama, and then I’ll go up. I promise.”

  As things turned out, it was just as well Mama went to bed before the final song was played, as she would certainly not have approved of the bad behaviour that followed it.

  Chapter 62

  Bella moved to sit closer to the piano so she could learn more from Daisy. Max idly turned the pages of an old songbook while Daisy gave her throat a boost with a strong swig of brandy. But when Max ran his fingers over the keys, coaxing out the chords of the next song he fancied, Daisy’s normally mobile face went very still. She bent low and whispered something in Max’s ear. Only Bella was close enough to hear it.

  “Don’t play that one. You know it brings back bad memories.”

  Max, who’d had his own fair share of the brandy, said, “Don’t be such a wet blanket Daisy. That’s long in the past now. I told you I never cared for Moira as I care for you. And it’s a lovely song—she did do it so wonderfully.”

  Bella reddened and wondered if she should move away. This conversation sounded like it ought to be a private one. But that would draw attention to herself.

  Tears had started into Daisy’s eyes, and she swayed with emotion. “No, Max.” Her voice was a wail. “Not that one—it hurts me.”

  “It’s alright.” He waved a hand at her. “You don’t have to sing if you don’t want to. I’ll just play it. But it’s a lovely melody.” Louder, he said, “Here’s a lilting Irish melody for you all. Nothing too dreary, mind. Raise your glasses and drink a health to Pretty Moira Bralaghan!”

  Bella saw the blood drain from Daisy’s face. “Pretty Molly Bralaghan, Max, not Moira, not Moira!”

  No one else was the least interested in Max’s mistake, and he seemed totally unaware of the depth of Daisy’s feeling. She stood by the piano a moment, giving her lover a look of pure hatred, before swirling off to the other side of the room to squeeze herself between Henry and Neville on the Chesterfield.

  Henry looked none too pleased by this new arrival, but he put a brave face on it. Bella watched fascinated as Daisy’s mood apparently changed completely as she did her best to entertain Henry. As she joked with him and flashed her eyes, she dipped her body, giving him a fine view of her rounded breasts. Neville turned his head away and caught Bella staring, and then they were sharing the joke. He squeezed out of his seat and came to sit beside her.

  “I mustn’t be allowed to monopolise Harry, I suppose. He has other guests with whom he should be sharing his time.”

  “Daisy’s trying to make Max cross by making eyes at Henry. Max has upset her a bit.”

  Neville chuckled. “You really come out with it, don’t you, Isabella? You say exactly what you think.”

  “What’s the point in not being honest? I suppose it comes from me working with children. They need for you to tell it to them straight. Use complicated adult language, and you’ll just confuse them.”

  He grinned, revealing his perfect teeth and a dimple in his cheek. His gaze shifted across to Henry and Daisy. “I don’t suppose you’re a gambling person, are you, Isabella?”

  She shook her head. “Too many people end up in the Poor House, or prison, from gambling.”

  “Pity. For if you were, I’d wager you Daisy will get nowhere with your brother. If she wants to make Max jealous in a fit of pique, she’d do better to shine her light on Felix. Or one of the others who are due tomorrow. I can safely say Harry’s the last person she should try it on with. And me, of course.”

  This was not the kind of conversation she was used to having. “You have better taste?” she ventured.

  “Let’s say I have different taste.”

  “Then why don’t you tell her, so she doesn’t go making a fool of herself any longer?”

  “Her foolishness doesn’t amuse you? Hmm. So, you have a soft heart, Miss Isabella, as well as your other attributes, which I notice you are trying to hide beneath your demure dress. You must let me advise you on fashion—I’m most knowledgeable about such matters.”

  Bella frowned—it was an odd thing for a man to say. These people played games with words that she didn’t understand. Plain-speaking was better.

  “Daisy shouldn’t be so silly if she really cares for Max. They’ll only argue more, and both of them will be miserable.” She was thinking about her disagreements with Jack.

  “You have become very solemn now, my dear. I wonder what you’re thinking about.”

  Perhaps she could talk to Neville about Jack. Maybe he would understand, be on her side. He might even be able to influence Henry in Jack’s favour. But before she could frame the words, Henry had leapt up from his place beside Daisy and was coming over, a forced smile on his face.

  “You seem very cosy with my sister.” He stared at Neville as he settled down near them.

  “Nothing to worry about, old fellow. You know I’m not likely to corrupt her innocent
person.”

  This was clearly a very funny thing to say, for both men guffawed with laughter, leaving Bella perplexed and hurt. Perhaps it was time to go to bed now, after all. With Henry’s arrival, her feeling of kinship with Neville had been ruined.

  Chapter 63

  Jack jumped to his feet as a visitor was ushered in. His heart missed several beats, terrified there was bad news about Bella.

  “Good God! Finchdean? Finchdean? What the… what are you doing here?”

  “No coincidence, as I’m sure you’ve guessed, Mr Henstridge. Just making a stop on my way up north. May I join you?”

  “Of course, of course.” Jack moved out of the way and waved Mr Finchdean into the drawing room, where a fire was roaring merrily. Harriet had migrated there from her sewing room and was relaxing in a chair with a book, while Mama and Papa were sharing a game of backgammon. They both got to their feet immediately.

  Papa said, “I’m sorry, I don’t believe I know—”

  “You won’t have met Mr Finchdean. He’s a friend of mine from Derbyshire. Well, Somerset now.” Damn. Why had he said Derbyshire? His family would be on the alert now.

  Harriet came forward with her hand extended. “Pleased to meet you. You must be Bella’s friend. Or perhaps I should say, the friend she doesn’t know she has. How lovely of you to call on us. We were all sitting around being typically dull—it’s such a cold day, is it not?”

  Papa indicated a seat close to the fire, while Mama moved towards the bell cord. “You’ll take refreshment?”

  “Gladly.”

  Papa stood to one side of the fire-place. Jack could see he was dying to know the reason for Finchdean’s visit.

  “Did you travel by rail or road?”

  “Road. Not a difficult journey—just rather cold.”

  Jack hovered near the door, cursing the fact he couldn’t speak to Finchdean in private. When a tray of hot toddies and ginger cake arrived, he helped himself to a generous swig of the alcohol and wished it were something stronger. There’d better not be anything wrong with Bella.

  The old retainer seemed calm enough. After further small-talk, during which Papa was painfully formal, Finchdean revealed he was going up to Derbyshire to pay a social call on Bella. He gave no details, just said he’d known her in childhood. Before old age ossified his limbs, he was determined to see her one more time, to see how she was getting on in her new surroundings.

  Papa starting shooting questions at their visitor, about the estate at Linden, the number of tenants, the use of the land, how much acreage there was. Finchdean’s answers appeared to please him, and Mama too—she kept sending Jack sideways looks, which he studiously ignored.

  Jack was just thinking how much more kindly disposed towards Bella his parents were, now that they knew she was an earl’s daughter, when Finchdean said, “I wondered if young Mr Henstridge might like to accompany me. It is a long journey to make on one’s own, especially with my advanced years. I would relish his company. I know he’s very interested in how the cotton industry works up in Lancashire and around Manchester. It wouldn’t be much further to travel to go and inspect the factories, all within an easy distance of one another, I believe. And the weather, though chill, has been very fine lately.”

  Jack almost dropped his glass. So that was the lie of the land, was it? Harriet caught his eye and beamed.

  Papa exchanged glances with Mama. “It might be very good for business if Jack were to investigate for us. Who knows but that we mightn’t be milling cotton ourselves before too long. Fashion is notoriously subject to change.”

  “It would be good if you could call on Miss Hart on the way, Jack.” Mama gave him her most charming smile, the one he knew he should never trust. “Then you can send her all our warmest regards and felicitations. I’m sure she’d like to hear how the school is going on in her absence. She won’t have turned her back on us all yet, will she? Although I fear if the contact is allowed to lapse, she may forget us soon enough.”

  Harriet was equally enthusiastic. “You and Mr Finchdean can take the train up to London, Jack. Maybe stop a day or two, so you can catch up with your engineering friends. In fact, it sounds like such a jolly jaunt, I’m tempted to join you.”

  “You have duties here, Harriet.” Mama’s charming smile had vanished.

  Jack looked around at them all, then stared at Finchdean. The cunning old fox. “Are you sure you’re well enough to make this trip at this time of year, sir? It can be very frosty in November.”

  “Oh, Lucy has looked after me proudly. There is always an element of risk, I suppose, in icy weather, and that is why I’d prefer not to make the journey alone. You have extended me such generosity in the past, sir. I have no reason to believe that generosity has been drained dry.”

  Jack crossed to the hearth and picked up a poker, which he prodded at the fire. It blazed back at him.

  “Hmm,” he muttered, staring into the flames, recalling Bella’s face and the magical heat of their kiss.

  Then he straightened, gazed around at four expectant faces, and his shoulders drooped. “Very well. It rather seems as if my mind has been made up for me. I’ll go to Derbyshire.”

  Chapter 64

  More guests arrived over the next few days, and Mama was run ragged accommodating them all, and constantly complaining to Bella about how much work it took. Bella resisted the urge to tell her mama what hard work was really like—she’d obviously forgotten her own time in the workhouse. Or deliberately drawn a veil over it.

  When Henry announced at breakfast one morning that his friend Neville had requested a boxing match for the entertainment of their guests, Mama looked ready to explode. But she kept her counsel until Henry left the room, then jabbed her butter knife in the air.

  “It’s really too bad of him.” She was breathless with indignation. “I don’t think he’s considered my feelings in the matter at all. It would have been a different story if I had been allowed to bring him up instead of the Sutcliffes. He would never have been so selfish then.”

  “Perhaps he doesn’t think it shocking, Mama. Men think nothing of fighting and brawling.” Bella didn’t add she’d been involved in some herself, and liked to think she could give as good as she got.

  “Isabella, you’re not siding with your brother against your mother, are you? Dear me. I could begin to wish we’d left you amongst those dark satanic mills where we found you.”

  Did all mothers say such cruel things to their daughters? Bella battled her rising temper. “No, I’m not siding with Henry, as you put it. Please understand that this house party is the most fun I’ve ever had in my life. I want to enjoy myself. It sort of makes up for other things. And it’s not Henry’s fault directly—Neville has challenged one of our newest guests, Mr Adam Sunbury, I think his name is. I’d like to see wrestling done for sport rather than done in earnest.”

  “Honestly, Bella, how can you possibly condone such a barbaric practice as wrestling? It might be all very well for the men, but there are ladies here too.”

  Bella helped herself to another cup of tea, earning a frown from her Mama. Yes, she often forgot they had servants to do that. But why trouble a servant when she was quite capable of doing it herself?

  Ignoring the look, she said, “Neville has insisted upon it. Henry said he couldn’t understand why his best friend wanted to risk damage to that handsome face, but he didn’t want to deprive him of his pleasure.”

  Mama placed her butter knife carefully on the plate and sucked in a few deep breaths. “Henry should put his foot down. It’s his house they’ve all been invited to. His guests should accept his word. And how about a bit of respect for me as their hostess? I don’t want to see a wrestling match—I think grown men trying to hurt one another in sport is… well, it’s animal, primitive.”

  “If you’re so dead set against it, talk to Henry.”

  Mama stood up, her green eyes sparking with battle-light. “I will. I’ll do just that. I’ll tell him to
cancel the wrestling bout.”

  But as it turned out, the wrestling match was not cancelled. Bella never discovered what transpired between Mama and Henry, but on the day in question, Mama was nowhere to be found, and one of the carriages was missing.

  Bella hoped she might have gone to visit Grandpa, but knew it was probably a vain hope. Her mother wouldn’t exchange a wrestling bout for a stinking, blood-spattered butcher’s shop. No, the market was the most likely destination, and perhaps a draper’s shop—she liked those.

  It was going to be good watching a fight in which she wasn’t involved. Bella smiled wryly as she wandered out onto the lawn where the match was to be held. Fortunately, the day was fine and the great house, in its Georgian splendour, reflected back pale golden sunlight. As soon as the head gardener announced the grass was sufficiently dry, ropes were strung up to separate the audience from the wrestlers, and a stake driven into the ground with a bell hanging from it. Neville went around directing things, watched closely by Henry.

  Claudette attached herself to Bella and started prattling away in her strange but compelling accent. She begged Bella to visit London as soon as Henry could be persuaded to take her, and talked about the handsome, moustachioed young men with good prospects that Bella would meet while there. Bella replied—with her usual frankness—that she didn’t like moustaches and anyway, there was already someone she rather liked.

  This was a mistake as, of course, Claudette couldn’t wait to hear more, and Bella found herself sharing more confidences than she meant to. When Henry came across to greet them, Claudette immediately piped up, “’enry, darleeng, when are we to meet thees deleecious young beau of your sister’s?”

  Henry’s face darkened, but he kept his voice even as he answered, “Bella knows as well as I do the fellow in question is too far beneath her for serious consideration.” Without any change in the tone of his voice, he added, “Should I ever meet with him again, I shall either denounce him for a felon and set the constables on him, or plant him a facer. As you may have heard, Claudette, my right hook is to be reckoned with.”