Paupers Graveyard

by Gemma Mawdsley

  So here she was, in what had once been her dream home, with a man she cared very little for. She was old enough and wise enough to realise that there would never be a knight on a white charger for her kind. That dream belonged to those privileged enough to grow up surrounded by the comforts only money could buy. Yet now she was trapped. There was no way out for her and the baby that moved inside her signalled that this was indeed the case. Still, once it was born she could go back to work. Not for Joe, God no. It was enough to see him at night, without having to be around him all day. Of course, he had no idea of what she was planning, as she had been looking forward to staying at home. But the past few months had shown her how boring housework could be and the novelty of not being controlled by the alarm clock had soon worn off. She had envisioned the life of a kept woman, but the reality was something else. The dinner parties that had played such a vital role in her fantasy, had not come to fruition, as she found it difficult to mix with Joe’s snooty friends. They looked down their noses at her and she knew that they whispered behind her back that she was a gold-digger. Well, let them say what they liked, she thumped the pillow, it would not be long until the birth and then she would really give them something to talk about.

  ****

  Next door, at number 26, a similar operation as Joe’s was being carried out with military precision. Mike Byrne had been an army sergeant for over thirty years and ruled his home with the same attitude that he used on his men. Rules were there to be obeyed. Without them there was no order and without order there was anarchy. This was his mantra and he lived by it. His young recruits wondered if his sex life, if he had one, was carried out with the same precision and tried to imagine the role his wife played in this. They mimicked what they thought would be his foreplay, ‘stand by your bed, knickers down, assume the position,’ and dissolved into fits of laughter. Had he known that the fun was at his expense, they would have paid dearly for it.

  Ruth, his wife, picked up another carefully marked box and searched for its designated area. She pulled savagely at the label that marked the space, glad that he was not there to order her about. He had gone for a walk with Brutus, his dog. At least she had some peace while they were out of the house. They say that people start to resemble their pets and they weren’t far wrong in Mike’s case. He and the rottweiler had the same hanging jowls and sulky scowl. She grinned, as she imagined them side by side. Theirs was certainly not a case of beauty and the beast.

  A movement outside the window caught her attention and she walked over to the sink. Pressing her face against the glass, she tried to make out what it was, but the fading light made it difficult to see anything. She put it down to a cat or the movement of the many trees and bushes at the bottom of the garden.

  ‘Are you finished yet?’ She hadn’t heard the front door open.

  ‘Almost, just a few more boxes.’

  ‘Good, I’m starving and Brutus needs feeding.’

  The sound of the television drifted in and she knew that he had put his feet up. He must be tired from doing nothing, she thought.

  It was hard getting used to this new kitchen. She missed her old cooker and the familiarity of the worn knobs and jets. She missed the small, dark house that had been their home for so many years. Every nook and cranny had a comfortable feel and scent. This new place had a clinical, plastic smell of polish and new wood. The large amount that Mike had saved, coupled with his army pension, meant that they could afford this bigger place, and she knew that she should be thankful and try to adjust.

  Another movement outside caught her eye. She smiled at the young woman in the next garden, who waved at her. A pretty young thing, Ruth thought, and happy in her marriage. She waved back and watched as they unpacked their belongings from an old farm trailer.

  ****

  She was right about the couple next door in number 25. Tom and Sheila Ryan were almost newly-weds. They were just weeks short of their first wedding anniversary and at last things were starting to improve for them. After eleven months of living in a grotty apartment, they were now in heaven. The house had been a stroke of unbelievable luck. Tom had been offered a job as systems analyst for a new and fast-moving computer company, with a salary far exceeding anything they had ever imagined. It would involve quite a bit of travelling for him at first, but Sheila would get used to that and hopefully the neighbours would be friendly.

  Besides, Sheila’s teaching exam results had come through and they were overjoyed to find that she had passed with honours. By coincidence, an old friend called to say that she was leaving her post as junior teacher in a local school and did Sheila want to be recommended for the post? So she had found herself only days later, sitting before a panel of school governors with her purse clutched nervously in her lap, answering their questions. They must have liked what they heard and she had accepted the offered position.

  She smiled and waved at her new neighbour. The woman waved back and Sheila wondered if it was the bare bulb that made her eyes look so sad and hollow. She shivered and hurried back inside. Tom would be back soon with their Chinese takeaway and she had a nice bottle of chablis chilling in the fridge. She had been too tired to cook, and he had offered to drive into town, even though it was quite a way off. She turned on the oven and put two plates in to heat. Taking a duvet cover, she spread it on the dining-room floor as a makeshift tablecloth. Having little furniture, their first meal would be eaten picnic style. She put two candles in the centre of the ‘tablecloth’ and set glasses and cutlery on either side. Pleased with her work, she lit the candles and sat watching the flickering flames. She smiled, the candlelight reflecting off the specks of gold in her eyes.

  She was unaware that she now had an admirer. Black Jack watched as she sat enveloped by the light. Death had diminished none of his primal urges. He wanted to drink real ale again, smell the perfume of a woman’s body, sink his fingers into skin and taste the salty wetness of the flesh. Why should these people have the happiness he had been denied? Still there was plenty of time to change all that and the woman’s look of joy would soon be replaced by one of terror. He was tired of the dark and the never-ending night. He wanted to walk in the light again and deserved to have these basic things. Nothing was going to stand in his way.

  Sheila looked up, puzzled by a vague unease, but he slipped back into the shadows. She must not see him, not until he was ready.

  The residents of Hillcrest were not conscious of the unwelcome visitor that roamed through their homes that night. Some tossed and turned, sensing the figure that was standing over them, but no one woke.

  FIFTEEN

  April 1846

  Elizabeth had no idea how long it had taken her to reach Maycroft. When she arrived, Thomas and Annie helped her inside and up to her room. They told her how upset the master had been when he had discovered she had left. She knew it was not Charles, but Black Jack who had been most upset.

  The servants pleaded with her to bathe and change her clothes. She obeyed, and afterwards sat in her bedroom awaiting whatever punishment she would receive. She had had no choice, but to return to Maycroft. When Andrew sent the money for her fare to the New World, she could not chance missing his letter.

  Besides, she had nowhere else to go. She heard from a woman in the town of the death of her father. He had married his housekeeper and left his entire fortune to his new wife. She stared at the ceiling as shadows lengthened and evening drew in. She strained her ears for the sound of hoofs on the cobbles below. Although exhausted, sleep was beyond her.

  She thought about all that she had seen on her journey. The figures on the road no longer frightened her, so absorbed was she in her own private nightmare. Sleep finally overtook her as the moon’s beams crept across the room.

  ‘What the hell did you think you were doing?’ She jumped, as her bedroom door was flung open and thudded against the wall. Charles stood there, face contorted like a wild creature. Bloodshot eyes blazed in a face that was sunken and devoid of colour.
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  ‘Leave me alone,’ she said curtly.

  ‘I want some answers from you, woman, and I want them now,’ he approached the bed and spittle flew against her face as he spoke.

  ‘I sent the children to America.’

  ‘You did what?’ He steadied himself against one of the bedposts and looked at her, mouth agape.

  ‘You heard me. I sent my children away.’

  ‘But how, why?’

  ‘So they would be safe. I sent them to a cousin who will take care of them.’

  ‘Why didn’t you go with them?’

  She swung her legs onto the floor and paced the room.

  ‘Don’t you think I wanted to go? I would have given anything to be with them, but I hadn’t enough money.’

  ‘I would have helped.’

  ‘You!’

  ‘I could have paid your way.’

  She looked into his face thinking he was teasing or tormenting her, but she could see no trace of malice.

  ‘Have you some money now?’ she asked. ‘Six pounds is all I need and I’d gladly repay you when I can.’

  ‘Well,’ he thought for a moment. ‘I haven’t exactly got any money, but I’m sure Carey will lend me some.’

  With these words any hope she had died.

  ‘Thank you, Charles, but that will not be necessary. I’ll find some other way.’

  ‘Very well,’ he went to leave. ‘You’ll join us for dinner?’

  The thought of seeing Carey again filled her with dread, but her stomach hurt from the hunger, and she replied,

  ‘Yes, thank you. I’ll be down shortly.’

  ****

  She went downstairs and entered the dining-room. Everything felt alien now, as though she was part of some giant tableau where movement had no meaning. Carey was sitting at the head of the table and dressed in the finest clothes she had ever seen.

  ‘Elizabeth, welcome home.’

  As he stood to greet her, she inwardly wondered what had happened in her absence to improve his demeanour, manners and fortune. She nodded and took her usual place.

  She sipped at the soup, savouring every mouthful. Thomas had placed a large platter containing a joint of roast beef on the serving trolley nearby. The smell made her mouth water and she felt guilty at what she saw as a betrayal of her sorrow. Still, she must keep up her strength for the voyage, and it could be months before she received the money from Andrew.

  A plate was placed in front of her, filled with carved beef, carrots and bread. Once she tasted the food she wanted more. Nothing had ever tasted that good. The juice trapped within the fleshy meat leaked out, bathing and caressing her tongue. In her hurry, she swallowed chunks that momentarily stuck in her throat. Thomas refilled her plate twice and she blushed at her lust for food. Once, when she inadvertently caught Carey’s eye, he winked and remarked, ‘Hunger makes a sweet sauce. Doesn’t it, Elizabeth?’

  She ignored him and continued with her feasting. All she wanted was to stay alive and well enough to rejoin her children. If having to endure his insults and insinuations was the price she had to pay, then so be it.

  Carey must have learned the reason of her disappearance from Charles and, for now, was either ignoring it or planning his revenge. As their sole benefactor, they were all, particularly Elizabeth, answerable to him. Though she was aware of his influence over Charles, she had yet to discover how absolute his power was.

  Over the next few days Elizabeth was left alone. With the aid of Thomas, she carried the luggage trunks down from the attic and set about packing the children’s clothes. The items would probably be outgrown by the time they met again, but the work kept her mind occupied and she took comfort from breathing in the scent of each child as she folded the various garments.

  The rest of her time was spent wandering within the grounds of the Hall. She would not venture outside again, not after witnessing the horror of the roads. She moved automatically, as though between worlds and suspended in time. Days and nights tumbled in slow motion, one into the other.

  The Hall was a much darker place now, the grand chandeliers hung with cobwebs and the rooms had an empty, neglected feel to them. It was impossible to keep such a place clean without adequate staff. Annie did what she could, but Thomas was now so weak he could barely shuffle his way between the kitchen and dining room.

  Elizabeth avoided Charles and Black Jack as much as possible; she still locked her door at night although there had not been any unwanted visits since she had returned. Sometimes, late at night, footsteps would stop outside, pause for a moment, then carry on down the gallery. She wasn’t sure which of them it was, though they sounded too steady to have been Charles’. She knew that Carey was playing a game of cat and mouse with her, but she had to hold on a few months more. Every night she lay there thinking of her girls adrift on the high seas and prayed for their protection. She usually fell asleep as dawn was approaching and the emptiness of the new day spread before her.

  ****

  The tapping at the main door startled her. She was on her way to the drawing-room to fetch a book and was unsure what to do. Thomas was well out of earshot.

  Tentatively, opening the door a crack, she peeped outside. An old woman with a bundle at her feet was peering back at her.

  ‘Yes, may I help you?’

  ‘I’m Mrs Carey. My boy Jack lives here.’

  ‘I’m afraid he’s out at the moment. Please call back later.’ She moved to shut the door, but the old woman’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.

  ‘I’ll wait inside, if you don’t mind, dear?’

  Flustered and wanting to be rid of the claw that held her, Elizabeth stuttered, ‘Of course, I’ll show you to the drawing-room, but you’ll have quite a wait I’m afraid. Your son doesn’t usually return until late.’

  Picking up her bundle, the old woman followed her inside and sank into a gilded chair. ‘It doesn’t bother me, the wait. I know my boy works long hours, but then,’ she sniffed, ‘he was always a hard worker. Gets that from me, you know?’

  ‘Really?’ Elizabeth had no idea how to deal with the woman, who peered out at her from beneath the folds of a harsh, wool cape, like some large bird of prey. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I have to get on with my duties. I trust you’ll be all right alone?’

  ‘Yes, my dear. You run along, I’m used to being alone.’

  Elizabeth walked away and in her hurry almost collided with Thomas.

  ‘Beg your pardon, my lady, but I thought I heard voices.’

  She told him about their visitor in a whisper. ‘Perhaps you should go and see if she requires anything?’ Relieved, she left the woman to Thomas, who had so much more experience in dealing with such people.

  She waited for evening to approach and the sound of the horse hoofs that always heralded the men’s arrival. She opened her door and listened to the voices below. Once she heard the slam of the drawing-room door, she edged her way to the rail and looked down. Charles and Thomas were both staring at the door as sounds of battle came from inside. This was the first time she had heard Carey lose control. There were screams and the sound of furniture being overturned. When a lull came in the fighting, she could hear the pleading cackle of his mother.

  Charles looked upwards and saw her at the banisters, but he just shrugged and wandered off to the dining-room. The battle seemed to rage for hours and growing tired, she knelt on the floor, so great was her fascination with the fight. When Carey emerged from the room he was flushed with anger. Not wanting to risk him seeing her, she crawled across to her room and had just made it inside when his footsteps sounded. Her door was flung open and he stood there, panting.

  ‘Well, Elizabeth, I hope you found that to your amusement.’

  ‘I have no idea to what you are referring, Mr Carey, and in future kindly knock before you enter my room.’

  ‘Don’t you mean my room?’

  ‘That’s as may be, but while I occupy it, I request that you knock. That’s not asking too much is
it?’

  The calmness of her voice threw him.

  ‘We have a new house guest.’

  ‘Don’t you mean you have a new house guest?’

  He turned and walked away without answering. The unwelcome presence of his mother was a great disappointment and reminded him of his background.

  Soon it would be time for dinner, and for the first time Elizabeth was looking forward to it. Carey’s discomfort was obvious the minute she entered the room. His mother was sitting across from Charles, who appeared to be taken aback by her.

  ‘This is Elizabeth.’ Carey spoke to his mother, who smiled, showing a mouth full of rotting teeth.

  ‘We’ve already met. Haven’t we, my dear?’

  ‘Yes, we met this afternoon.’

  During the meal the woman’s conversation became louder and more animated, as she downed one glass of port after another. Charles was incapable of speech. Carey tossed in his chair and picked at his food.

  Elizabeth, seeing the opportunity to embarrass him, asked, ‘Is the food to you liking, Mrs Carey?’

  ‘It’s grand, dear, but call me Agnes. I’m sure we are going to be great friends.’

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ Elizabeth smiled. ‘I’m sure we are.’

  Carey had now taken to kicking the table leg nearest to him, causing port to splash from the glasses with each thud. Neither Charles nor his mother took any notice of this, it only made them drink faster, in order to save the precious liquid.

  ‘How are the people faring on the land these days, Agnes?’ Elizabeth asked and, before her son could stop her, Agnes was in full flow.

  ‘Oh, it’s awful, my dear. The amount that’s homeless would frighten you. They wander the road in their thousands and …’

  ‘Enough!’ The shout and the sound of Carey’s fist banging on the table made them jump. ‘Not another word, woman, or you’ll find yourself back where you came from.’

  ‘I meant no harm, son, just telling the truth. There are many that brought it on themselves, no disrespect to you.’