The Workhouse Girl

by Dilly Court

  Every morning as she trudged across the marsh to fetch fresh water she hoped that Ma was looking down at her from heaven with a smile of approval. Even in the worst weather she washed her hands and face in the cool spring water before filling two wooden buckets and hefting them back to the place she now called home. Her next duty was to follow the track to the edge of the marsh where stunted trees and bushes grew in abundance. She collected wood for the fire and stacked it on a pallet, securing it with a length of rope which she then tied around her waist, dragging her load homewards like a beast of burden.

  It was only at night, when she lay on a straw-filled palliasse by the range and settled down to sleep, that she allowed herself to think of Nettie and everyone in the Arbuthnots’ house in Wellclose Square. She struggled with the agonising pangs of homesickness and tried hard not to give way to tears. She wondered if they missed her, or if they had given her up for lost. In the beginning she had looked out across the marshes, hoping to see a search party scouring the countryside in their efforts to find her, but no one came. There was only Miss Elsie, who with her labours for the day ended would sit in the rickety rocking chair by the range, smoking a strange-looking pipe, the detachable bowl of which she heated over a small lamp before putting it back on a bamboo stem and inhaling the vapour. It was not long before she sank into a state of oblivion and Sarah would eventually fall asleep.

  One cold winter’s morning when she had nothing better to occupy her time, Sarah was tidying the dresser when she discovered some writing paper in one of the drawers and a bottle of ink. She waited until Elsie had left the cottage to go outside and commune with nature, which she did regardless of the weather, and, safe in the knowledge that she would be undisturbed, she wrote to Mr Arbuthnot, begging him to come and take her home. The only problem was that she had no way of getting the letter to him. She shed a few tears and folded the note carefully before hiding it in her palliasse, although she feared that it would remain there for some time. Elsie had promised to take her to market when she made her next trip to the nearest town, but it had snowed heavily and now they would have to wait until the roads were passable.

  By the end of February they were running out of rations and survived mainly on bread and vegetable soup. Elsie had a sack of flour stowed away in a cupboard and another filled with carrots, turnips and potatoes, but supplies were dwindling away. There were a few strings of onions still hanging from the beamed ceiling together with bunches of dried herbs, and the remains of a flitch of bacon smoked gently in the chimney breast. They would not starve, but their diet was frugal and monotonous. Occasionally Elsie braved the elements and made forays across the marshes to the estuary, where she bartered her potions for fresh fish. At first she went alone, but in March when the worst of the winter weather appeared to be over, she offered to take Sarah with her.

  It was cold inside the cottage that morning, even though Sarah had lit the fire earlier than usual. The bitter east wind soughed through gaps in the weatherboard and a chill rose up from the floor. Her teeth were chattering as she made herself ready to go out, but she had to stifle a giggle at the sight of Miss Elsie dressed for the occasion in men’s breeches and a leather jerkin with three multi-coloured woollen mufflers wound around her neck. This was comical enough, but her hair seemed to have a life of its own, and even with a man’s felt hat pulled down over her ears Elsie’s fiery locks managed to escape and twined snake-like around her weathered features.

  Sarah knew that she had managed little better, and she was glad that there were no mirrors on the walls to confirm her suspicion that she looked just as odd as her mistress. She had searched the tangled mass of garments on Elsie’s bed and discovered a red velvet gown, which must once have been someone’s Sunday best but was now patched and threadbare. There was a hooded fur cape that had also seen better days and now resembled the pelt of a mangy fox, but it was warm and would protect her from the biting east wind.

  As they set off in the pearl-grey light of dawn she could not help thinking that they must present a very odd sight as they trudged across the boggy terrain. It was hard going and her legs ached as she tried to keep up with Miss Elsie’s mannish strides, but she knew better than to complain. They arrived at the muddy foreshore as the boats were being dragged onto the beach and unloaded. Seagulls hovered overhead in great white clouds of flapping wings, and their mournful cries filled the air as they waited for their chance to seize the odd fish. Elsie strode amongst the fishermen with her basket of medicines and to Sarah’s astonishment they greeted her like an old and valued friend. They seemed eager to take her patent remedies for everything from warts to inflammation of the lungs and paid her with fish and a large crab, which she passed to Sarah. She took it gingerly but when the creature snapped its huge claws she dropped it onto the mud with a cry of fright. This caused the fishermen to guffaw with laughter and demand to know where the funny little maid had been living all her life.

  ‘Don’t be a baby, Sarah,’ Elsie said with an amused smile. ‘Pick it up. That’s our supper tonight.’

  Sarah bent down to retrieve it but the crab scuttled towards the water and as she attempted to chase it her boots became stuck in the mud. ‘Help,’ she cried. ‘I’m sinking.’

  Elsie merely laughed and turned back to haggle with a fisherman over the price of one of her nostrums. By this time the crab had reached the water and was swimming for its life, but the more Sarah struggled, the deeper she sank. She uttered a shriek of despair, thinking that she would be sucked into the morass, but suddenly a pair of arms seized her round the waist and she was dragged free and deposited on firm ground. She spun round to thank her rescuer only to discover that it was a boy of perhaps thirteen or fourteen and he was doubled up with laughter. ‘I’m glad you think it’s funny,’ she said crossly. ‘I could have drowned.’

  He shook his head. ‘I never seen anything the likes of you before. I thought you was a funny little dwarf or something.’

  ‘I’m a girl. My name is Sarah Scrase and you are very rude.’

  ‘Well, young Sarah, you got to admit you look a bit comical in that garb.’ He held out his hand. ‘Davey Hawkes.’

  His smile was infectious and she shook his hand. ‘Thank you for saving me.’

  ‘It was nothing, but I’m afraid you lost your supper. Looks like the crab got away, but I daresay I could find you another one.’

  Sarah recoiled at the thought. ‘Maybe not.’

  ‘I’ll tie its pincers up and then it won’t snap at you.’ He went over to one of the boats and leaned in to pick up an even larger crab. ‘This one will be tasty.’ He proceeded to tie the claws with lengths of twine. ‘Here, you can take it now.’

  She did not want him to think she was a coward, but she did not like the way the animal was waving its legs and swivelling its eyes in obvious distress. She felt sorry for the poor creature and would have liked to return it to the water so that it could swim free again. She could sympathise with its plight, which was similar to her own. She was just like that crab when it was out of its element. She too was in a strange place and did not fit in. She found herself longing for the cobbled, gaslit city streets, and the smell of hot molasses that wafted from the sugar mills in Wellclose Square. At this moment she would have swapped the sharp, briny air for a pea-souper, and a crippling wave of homesickness washed over her. She bit the inside of her lip so that she would not let herself down by crying in front of the grinning boy, and she held out her hand. ‘All right. Give it to me then. I’m not afraid.’

  He stared into her face, his smile fading. ‘Tell you what, young ’un, I’ll put it in the old woman’s basket. It’ll rest easier there.’ He strode off to deposit the crab out of sight amongst the remaining bottles and paper pokes.

  Overwhelmed by such a simple act of kindness, Sarah turned away to wipe her streaming eyes on her sleeve.

  ‘What’s up now?’ Davey said, patting her on the shoulder. ‘Are you poorly?’

  She shook her head. ‘I
t’s the wind. It makes my eyes sore.’

  ‘You don’t come from round here, do you?’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘You talk funny.’

  ‘I used to live in London.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said wisely. ‘That would account for it then. How come you’re here?’

  She could see Miss Elsie beckoning to her. ‘I have to go now, Davey. Thank you for helping me.’

  He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Weren’t nothing, Sarah. I’d have done the same for anyone who was scared.’

  ‘I wasn’t scared.’

  ‘Of course you weren’t.’ He patted her on the head. ‘I meant anyone who didn’t know how to handle a live thing fresh from the sea.’

  ‘Come along, Sarah. It’s time we were on our way.’ Elsie’s voice was tinged with impatience.

  ‘I’m coming.’ Sarah made a move to leave but Davey caught her by the hand.

  ‘You still haven’t told me how you got to live with Miss Witch.’

  ‘Miss Fitch,’ Sarah said, trying not to laugh. ‘She’s really quite nice, even if she is a bit strange.’

  ‘Everyone calls her that,’ Davey said, chuckling. ‘It fits, don’t it?’

  ‘Sarah, I’m not waiting a moment longer.’

  Elsie sounded angry now and Sarah dared not disobey. ‘Got to go.’ She bundled her long skirts up in her arms and ran after her. ‘Coming, Miss Elsie. Wait for me.’

  ‘You don’t want to get too friendly with the locals,’ Elsie said sternly when Sarah caught up with her. ‘They’re good fellows in their way, but they’re simple folk and have a limited understanding of the way others live.’

  ‘I was just talking to the boy.’

  ‘Be polite at all times. Good manners are very important, but remember that you are not one of them and never will be. I am bringing you up to be a woman of science, like myself. I know that you have intelligence, Sarah, and I am determined that it will not be wasted. Women of my class are brought up to be little more than slaves to their husbands’ whims and wishes. Many a clever female has had to deny her own abilities in order to flatter and placate a dominant male. That wouldn’t do for me and I’ll make certain it does not happen to you.’ Elsie lengthened her stride as she made her way across the tufts of cord grass and glasswort. Sarah had to quicken her pace in order to keep up with her. She had only partly grasped the meaning of Miss Elsie’s angry tirade, but she was growing tired and her legs were aching. She was cold and hungry, but despite everything she had a warm feeling inside.

  They settled back into their daily routine but Sarah had not forgotten Davey Hawkes. He had shown her kindness and she felt that she had found a friend. Maybe one day she would have the opportunity to tell him her story and he might help her to get the letter to Mr Arbuthnot. The thought cheered her through the long days that followed, and the even longer nights when she awakened thinking she was in her comfortable bed in Wellclose Square. It was always something of a shock to realise that she was curled up on a lumpy palliasse in front of the range, with draughts whistling around her ears and the smell of Miss Elsie’s latest noxious brew filling her nostrils.

  As the weeks went by it seemed to Sarah that whenever she had a chance to be happy, as she had been in the days when her mother was still alive and in the brief months she had spent in Wellclose Square, it was snatched from her. She missed her lessons with Miss Parfitt and the motherly ministrations of Cook, but being separated from Nettie was the worst thing of all. Nettie had been her saviour during their time together in the workhouse, and parting from her had left a pain in her heart that would not go away. She was not exactly unhappy with her eccentric new mistress but she desperately wanted to go home.

  One dismal afternoon, when a sudden rainstorm pelted the window like naughty children throwing handfuls of gravel at the glass, Sarah tried to tell Miss Elsie how she felt. ‘Can I at least let the Arbuthnots know that I am safe and well? I need not tell them where I am, but it would set their minds at rest.’

  Miss Elsie smiled vaguely and fluttered her expressive hands but she did not look up from the dog-eared notebook that she was studying. ‘We will talk about it later,’ she murmured. ‘Fetch me a bunch of hyssop and liquorice root.’ She paused, running her fingers through her matted hair. ‘My nerves are on edge. I need more opium. That wretched fellow should be here soon with a fresh supply.’

  Sarah had climbed onto a chair and was unhooking a bunch of the dried herbs but she hesitated, teetering dangerously above the tabletop. ‘Do you mean Grey?’

  ‘Who else? Hurry up, child. Don’t gawp at me like an idiot. I need to make this batch of medicine. If I have nothing to sell, we’ll starve. It’s as simple as that.’

  Sarah leapt to the ground and laid the hyssop on the table. ‘We could make another trip to the shore and get some fish.’

  ‘We could but, as I’ve just said, only if I have something to barter with. No one gives you anything for nothing in this life. Remember that as one of your lessons.’

  ‘Yes, Miss Elsie.’

  ‘I need liquorice root now. You’ll find some in the cupboard, and while you’re there see if there’s anything left in the brown paper packet that Tobias gave me.’

  Sarah found the withered root of liquorice but the package was empty. Miss Elsie swore volubly as she worked, and Sarah knew better than to disturb her again. She finished tidying up, but the rain had ceased and shafts of sunlight were forcing their way through the salt-encrusted windowpanes and she felt restless. There had been a hint of spring in the air that morning when she went to collect water from the stream. She had noticed tightly furled buds on the bushes and trees in the copse where she collected the wood, and there had been rustling in the undergrowth as if the animal world was just waking up from a long winter’s sleep. The birds had been carolling from the branches and she had found clumps of primroses bursting into bloom. She had barely noticed the changing of the seasons in London, and she had never seen flowers growing wild or green shoots pushing their way through the cold dark soil. It was new and exciting and now she longed to feel the sun on her face.

  She shot a wary glance at Miss Elsie but she was absorbed in her task, frowning as she concentrated on the preparation of her patent remedy and oblivious to her surroundings. Sarah seized the opportunity to go outside and stand on the deck, taking great gulps of the bracing air. She gazed at the wide expanse of flatland, seeing it with new eyes. Rain-washed and sparkling, the saltings possessed a beauty of their own, far different from the bleak picture they presented mid-winter. The sunlight played on the pools of brackish water, and wading birds strutted about in their constant search for food, bending their long necks and making sudden stabbing movements in order to catch a tasty morsel. She closed her eyes, raising her face to the sun and wishing that she could fly like one of the gulls that circled overhead. She opened her arms wide, standing on tiptoe as if poised for flight.

  ‘You’ll need wings if you’re going to take off, kid.’

  She recognised his voice instantly and she opened her eyes, shading them against the glare. ‘Grey, is that you?’

  He came round the side of the cottage and took the steps two at a time. ‘It’s me, nipper. I’ve come to see the old witch. Is she in or is she flying around on her broomstick?’

  A gurgle of laughter escaped from Sarah’s lips. ‘Hush, she’s inside. She’ll hear you.’

  ‘It smells like she’s making one of her brews,’ he said, sniffing the air. ‘How are you getting on with the old crone?’

  ‘What do you care? You left me.’

  He ruffled her hair. ‘Come on now, kid. I was just doing what I was paid for, but I knew she wouldn’t hurt you. She’s quite mad but she’s harmless, and I thought you’d be safe from the Triggs out here.’

  ‘Take me home, Grey. Please take me back to Wellclose Square. I’m sure you’ll be rewarded for your trouble. Mr Arbuthnot’s a generous man.’ She hesitated, staring up at him as his smile faded and a tr
oubled look crossed his rugged features. ‘What’s the matter?’

  He took both her hands in his. ‘I couldn’t forget you, little ’un. After I left you on Christmas Day I kept seeing your face, and I felt bad about leaving you all alone with a crazy woman. I tried to put you out of my mind but I couldn’t, so a couple of days ago I went to the sugar mill. I was going to see the boss and tell him where you were.’ He hesitated. ‘I don’t know how to tell you this.’

  ‘You’re scaring me. What’s wrong?’

  His hazel eyes darkened to the colour of rain-washed slate. ‘I’m afraid it’s bad news, kid.’

  Chapter Seven

  ‘WHAT IS IT, Grey? What’s wrong?’

  ‘There was a fire in the mill shortly after Christmas. It was burned to the ground.’

  Sarah stared at him in horror. ‘Was anyone hurt?’

  ‘It happened at night. The watchman got out unharmed but the building was gutted.’

  ‘But Mr Arbuthnot is all right, isn’t he?’

  ‘Tobias. Is that you?’ Elsie opened the door, squinting into the sunlight. ‘About time, you wretched fellow.’

  ‘That’s a nice way to greet your sister’s only son.’

  Sarah looked from one to the other, hardly able to believe her ears. ‘You never said he was your nephew, Miss Elsie.’

  ‘I wasn’t in the best of moods when Tobias brought you here. Besides which, he’s a disgrace to the family name. Sometimes I choose to forget that we’re related.’