That sixth sense, which had warned Luke of unseen eyes watching from somewhere beyond the fringe of sight, of that same something which had followed close on his footsteps on his way to Brook Cottage, had warned again of the closeness of danger and as the touch had brushed his shoulder instinct born of years spent in that workhouse, years where every moment must be one of self-protection, had come automatically to his aid. Walking beside Gideon he smiled at the memory of what had happened next. He had lifted a hand to his shoulder, grabbing what touched him, holding on as he had allowed his legs to fold and his body to roll, pitching a weight over his head.
Walking beside Gideon it seemed he heard again the thud as that weight had hit the ground. He had not given the initial surprise of being discovered the chance to wear off, instead he had flung himself on his stalker, fists flying. Several blows had found their mark before the resulting cries had penetrated the anger clouding his brain and he had let Joseph up.
The lad had mumbled an apology for creeping up on him, stumbling over the words, and it had taken a while before Luke had fully grasped the reason for the boy’s lying in wait for him.
‘So why did he wait for you?’ Having heard part of the story Gideon was interested to hear the rest.
‘Said he couldn’t tell nobody else,’ Luke replied, ‘said he couldn’t tell his mother on account of her not bein’ able to stand the pain of it and he didn’t want to worry his father more than he was already, then said he couldn’t say nothin’ to Saran but . . . well, he said he had to tell somebody.’
Matching his steps to Gideon’s he saw the scene again in his mind’s eye. They had stood together, himself a head taller than the boy, and while a quixotic moon had darted in and out of heavy cloud he had listened to his garbled explanation, then, when it was done, had ordered him home. That part had not been so easy. Joseph Elwell had pluck, he had argued his rights until Luke’s fist had waved beneath his nose and his tone had become threatening.
‘And he thought the best somebody to tell would be you? So what exactly did he tell you, and whatever it was why do anything on your own?’
Glancing at Gideon, at the bundle in his arms, Luke could not determine if the tightly spoken words were a criticism.
‘Joseph wanted to come but I told him I wouldn’t have his mother worry over his not being home.’
It hadn’t been quite like that, in fact it had been nothing like that. Luke hid the grin rising to his mouth. He had growled at the lad to ‘go afore I lowks yours ears’, then when Joseph had argued he had grabbed his collar, his fist brushing the end of his nose while he repeated the threat to box his ears. Joseph had stepped quickly out of reach as his collar was released, then, when Luke had called a warning that no word be spoken to Saran – or else! – he had answered, ‘I knows, I hold me tongue or you’ll lowk me ears!’
‘Joseph told me he’d seen the man who took him to Minch’s place.’
Gideon’s glance shot to the boy at his side. ‘The one who took him from the workhouse?’
‘He wasn’t sure of that but said definite it was the man took him to Minch, said he caught a glimpse of the face afore the fellow slipped a hood over his head and bundled him into a carriage or some such; said it were only a glimpse but the man he saw today were the same one.’
‘Where did Joseph see this man?’ Gideon hitched the bundle in his arms to a more comfortable position.
‘Top end of Meeting Street.’
The street of the workhouse! Blood chilled in Gideon’s veins. Had another child been taken?
‘I would ’ave come for you but I thought there might not be time,’ Luke went on hastily, ‘so I described him at the kitchen of the Turk’s Head and was told of the place I went tonight.’
Seemed the man was known for more than a thief ! Gideon’s mouth tightened.
‘I got in through a window at the back and though I weren’t sure of what it was I were looking to get I went into every room. It were after I seen him go into the stable I knew I had to get out but the window were stuck and . . . well I had to dive under the bed. I don’t know how long I waited afore crawlin’ out but I went straight to the window, that were when I heard the voice. I swears there were nobody in that bed when I went into the room, it were gloomy but I would ’ave seen; he must have carried it upstairs and put it there when he come in. I tells you, Gideon, when I heard it I nearly done it in me trousers.’
‘Serves you right,’ Gideon smiled, ‘p’raps that’s the kind of lesson you need.’
‘I wondered whether to run downstairs or dive right through the window,’ Luke grinned, ‘but then I heard this voice ask were I lost an’ all? And when I turned to look there was this figure sittin’ up in the bed, its face all white and scared. I were feared the man might hear and come bustin’ in so I whispered there was no need to be frightened for I was leaving. I had the window up when I felt this tug on my jacket and heard the voice saying, “Please, do you know where my mammy be . . . will you tell her to come get me . . . I be frightened.” It were then I looked closer . . . I were looking at Martha. It were all a bit of a scramble after that. I couldn’t tek time to look for clothes to cover her nightgown so I snatched a blanket from the bed and chucked it to the ground before climbing over the windowsill. Telling Martha to climb on me back, I let meself down the ivy and . . . well, you knows the rest.’
Yes, he knew the rest. Gideon stared ahead to where a pinpoint of light beckoned. But the Elwells and Saran? They would know only that the child had been found by a workman crossing the heath on his way back from work.
31
The returning of Livvy’s daughter to her had been heartbreaking to watch but beneath the tears had shone the parents’ joy. Saran rested the long-handled pen, staring at a picture her mind showed so often. Livvy had screamed, staring as though at a ghost, but as Gideon had placed the child in her arms she had cried as if her heart would break and all the time had held the child as if against the world.
It had been a miracle her being found wandering the heath, she might so easily have fallen into some old mine shaft. God had been good returning both children to their home, but her family would never return, they lay dead with not even a marker to say their names.
‘a sovereign . . . it sees to all the shit needs collecting from my house.’
The words rang in her brain. Zadok Minch had paid to have her mother and sister taken away like so much rubbish, their bodies probably thrown into a midden. But she had not forgotten her vow of revenge.
Returning her attention to the accounts book she so meticulously kept she felt a wave of satisfaction. In the months since Martha’s return Livvy had thrown herself into the bread-making business with a will, and together they had increased the output tenfold and could increase it yet again except they were worked to the limit. It meant she would have to refuse William Salisbury’s request that she make bread for the party he was throwing for his workers to celebrate the queen’s coronation. It was something she hated having to do; after all, had it not been for the Salisburys there would be no Brook Cottage and no business.
‘Don’t the numbers add up as they should?’
Glancing up, Saran smiled. ‘My mind keeps straying.’
‘And where does it stray to?’
When had Luke suddenly grown so tall? Saran watched him cross the room, lithe and easy as a cat.
‘To the night you and Gideon brought Martha home. Luke, was it truly the way Gideon told it, was the child found on the heath?’
He had not wanted the truth to be hidden, it should be told. But, as Gideon explained, they could prove nothing. To involve the Justice would only bring fresh grief to the Elwells and no benefit of seeing the man answer for taking their children. So why had he taken them? It had been several moments before Gideon had answered, telling him some men preferred children in their bed. That was when Luke had agreed never to let the full story pass his lips and had later made Joseph swear the same; what mother could live with the fear
of what might have been? But the man . . . somehow, someday he would get what was due him.
‘Why would he lie? What good would it do him?’
Blue eyes vivid in the light of the lamp smiled at Saran but behind the smile was a flicker of unease. This was how it had been whenever she asked about that night, as if Luke knew more than he would say . . . but why hide anything? Was it for the good it would do others rather than Gideon himself?
‘None,’ she shook her head, ‘I’m just being silly.’
It would serve no purpose to pursue the happenings of that night. She had spoken of it several times to Gideon Newell as well as to Luke, but neither varied from the one fact that a child had been found by a workman who had taken her to his wife to care for. Luke had heard it being talked of as he crossed the market square and raced off to Bilston to find if it was Martha and that is where Gideon had caught up with him.
‘And them figures . . .’ Luke sat at the table, ‘they bein’ silly too?’
‘My father wouldn’t say so.’ Leaning back in her chair Saran closed tired eyes. ‘He would say it was not the book but the book-keeper; if figures did not add up then it was his work should be looked to.’
‘Let me look at them.’ Expert now as Saran herself he ran a finger down each column.
He would be a handsome man. She watched the concentration trace tiny lines between his brows. Handsome as Gideon? Quickly she pushed the thought away, conscious it played in her mind too often. She was to marry Jairus; he had been patient, understanding when she said that before she wed she had a promise to keep, a promise made to herself; and she was already keeping it. Edward reported that almost every nailer in the town now brought their product to Brook Cottage.
‘I see nothing wrong with the figures, they looks well.’ Luke looked up from the ledger. ‘But I don’t say the same of you, you be tired, Saran, you needs to let up.’
‘I will, once the festivities for the coronation—’
‘No!’ Luke’s answer was sharp with concern he had been feeling for some time. ‘You need to let up now or else tek on some extra help.’
‘It would take some of the strain off Livvy, but the amounts Edward records against the nailers’ names shows the women have no time to spare, they work as many hours as their men.’
‘I wasn’t thinkin’ of the nailers’ wives.’ Luke hitched his chair closer to hers. ‘I were thinkin’ of the women shut away in the bowels of hell, tek one or two from the workhouse and they’ll be so grateful they won’t never let you down. And the same goes for your wheat wine. Ezekiel be gettin’ on in years, he won’t be up to the work for many more years so tek a lad or a man from the same place and let him be trained to the job. I thinks you’ll not regret it.’
The man in Luke had once more shown the way. Tomorrow she would take his advice.
‘Jairus . . . what are you doing here?’ Saran looked at the tall figure leaving the workhouse, seeing the momentary confusion cross the handsome face as he saw who it was spoke to him.
‘My dear.’ He caught her hand, holding it protectively between both of his, using the moment to banish surprise. ‘It is myself should ask you that.’
Glancing about them as he kissed her hand, Saran pulled shyly away. ‘I am thinking of taking on a woman to help with the baking, it . . . it was Luke’s suggestion.’
Hipton, that young toad. He really must do something to rid the world of that particular vermin! Jairus’s smile hid the poison of his thoughts as he answered.
‘It is a very good suggestion, my love, one I wholly applaud. These poor people need all the help we can give, which is why I come once a month to make a donation which will buy them a little extra comfort. But maybe it would be well for me to go in with you.’
Suddenly feeling this was something she should do alone, Saran shook her head. ‘No, Jairus, thank you, but really there is no need, I can manage perfectly well, besides which you must have other things to attend to.’
‘There is business needing my attention,’ he smiled apologetically, ‘so if you are sure?’
She had been. Saran followed the grey-gowned wardress along dim corridors which so often haunted her nightmares. She had not wanted Jairus to see her face the man who had tried to abuse her.
‘Chandler . . . Chandler?’ The governor looked at the wardress as she announced his visitor. ‘Tell her to come back tomorrow.’
‘I have business tomorrow.’ Amazed at her own courage Saran stepped into the room, dreams of which still disturbed her sleep.
‘Then say what it is you have to say and go . . . and don’t come back tomorrow or any other day!’
He remembered their last meeting . . . and it smarted! Saran kept her glance firmly on the heavy face.
‘I have come—’
‘Wait!’ He waved the wardress out of the room and for a moment Saran felt a wave of the same fear she had felt on that other visit, but the hard ways of the world had added a new facet to Saran Chandler. Let this man touch her again and that same world would know of it, regardless of how it labelled her.
‘Well, well!’ Close-set eyes ran deliberately over the plain brown skirt topped by a cream cotton blouse, over which the threadbare shawl was drawn tight. ‘You’ve found no man who can afford to dress you decent, I see! You shouldn’t have been so quick to refuse what I offered.’
‘Don’t let appearances fool!’ Saran returned acidly. ‘Fine feathers do not always make fine birds, as you yourself show very clearly.’
From behind his desk the small eyes gleamed murderously. ‘Get out,’ he snarled, ‘get out afore—’
‘Afore what! Afore you try rape, before you abuse me as you did before?’ Calmer than she thought she could ever be, Saran stared coldly at the face contorting with rage. ‘I advise you think twice before you do.’
There was something different about her. His hands tightening on the desk, the governor strove to contain the urge to strike the young woman watching him with open defiance. The clothes were not so patched but neither were they quality, they had not cost a deal of money . . . so what was it made her different, gave her such an air of assurance?
‘I told you, say what you have to and go!’
He had not offered her a chair, but then he had not made to leave his own to come towards her as on that other occasion. Saran breathed quiet relief. Her tone calm and matter of fact, even though her pulse pounded, she said, ‘Circumstances dictate I take on more labour. I believe the workhouse can provide that labour.’
‘Circumstances! You need tek on labour . . .’ a loud laugh filled the room, ‘you tek on labour . . . and pay with what, chickenshit?’
Waiting for the laugh to subside, Saran stared steadily at the mocking face.
‘A little more than chickenshit. I believe the rate for the release of an adult is five pounds, I shall be needing two people, one man, one woman.’ Reaching into the pocket of her skirt she placed several gold coins on the desk.
Ten sovereigns! One finger spreading the coins the governor of the workhouse stared at the shining array. Where the hell had the wench got this! Whoring? Not many men he knew would pay more than sixpence for a woman like her . . . yet she had got it somewhere. Ten sovereigns . . . he felt his mouth salivate, he could buy many sixpenny women with those. As his fingers played over the coins a picture formed in his mind, the picture of this same woman snatching back his head . . . sending him sprawling across this very room, and he shoved the coins savagely across the desk. A smile touching flabby lips, he looked at Saran.
‘I remember on your last visit you offered money. I told you then to keep your sovereigns and I tell you the same again. Keep your money and I will keep the inmates . . . all of the inmates!’
‘The same way you kept the Elwell children?’
There was no mistaking the look that flashed across those fat-encroached eyes. He had heard, the whole town had buzzed with the news for weeks after their return; yes, he had heard . . . and for some reason he was afra
id.
‘Well, no matter.’ Saran drew the coins towards her. ‘I will just have to make application to the Board of Trustees, no doubt they will be interested to hear why you refuse to release people offered work, people whose release would lighten the burden on the parish . . . Oh –’ clear in the message they held, her eyes fastened on those of the governor ‘– and of course, whoever it was you released the Elwell children to . . . I hope you recorded the amount received for them.’
‘You ’ave the bloody cheek to show your face here!’ Zadok roared at the visitor his wife had shown into the room. ‘You come here bold as brass after what ’appened! Well, you get your arse outta my house quick afore I kicks it out!’
‘You can hardly blame me for—’
‘Hardly blame you!’ Zadok’s face was purple with rage. ‘Then who be it you suggests I blame? You be the fogger, you be the one creamed a profit off every pound o’ nails sold to you; not satisfied with what I paid to you . . . no, you had to tek more, and what did that cause? I’ll bloody well tell you what it caused, it sent every nailer in Wednesbury scurryin’ to another nail master, leaving my tekins down, and what do you do? You whine that it hardly be your fault.’
‘They’ll come back.’
‘Come back!’ Zadok almost choked. ‘Would you come back when doing that meant a cut in wages? But I don’t want ’em back, Zadok Minch be droppin’ the nailin’ business altogether.’
‘Dropping the nailing?’ Brows creasing, dark eyes looked concernedly at Zadok.
The nail master’s mouth curved in a spite-filled smile. ‘You heard me, I be finished with nailin’.’
Standing opposite the shorter, more heavily framed man, Zadok’s visitor looked taller than ever. Dark eyes gleaming, he breathed deeply. ‘And me . . . what about me?’
‘What about you?’ Zadok laughed. ‘You do what the hell suits you but don’t come callin’ for employment at the Coronet Tube Works.’
‘The Coronet—’
‘Ar, that’s right,’ Zadok interrupted. ‘John Adams has sold out and I be the one has bought, and I tells you again I ’ave no further use for you!’
Sixpenny Girl Page 32
