The Lost Sisters: A gritty saga about friendships, family and finding a place to call home

by Lindsey Hutchinson

  Nodding, Zachariah’s green eyes returned to the couch.

  ‘Sir, if you don’t mind me saying…’ Seth watched as the other man looked at him again, ‘…maybe you should go and look for your father.’

  Zachariah nodded once more but made no attempt to move, he simply stared into space.

  Unable to hold his own emotions in check, Seth turned and walked back to the stables. With a horse saddled and tears coursing down his face, Seth led the horse to the front door of the house. Although it was not his place, Seth would not see his master alone at this awful time. He set his mind to helping, and climbing into the saddle Seth took off down the gravel driveway intent on reaching the Gentlemen’s Club in Wednesbury as fast as possible. The stable lad, on his days off, spent his time with others in the same profession and gossip of their masters and mistresses was rife. Seth knew exactly where he would find Abel Buchanan.

  *

  Abel sat in the Club Room of the Gentlemen’s Club in Squires Walk talking quietly with the man who owned a string of shops all over the district. Abel was a business consultant and advised businessmen about how to improve working conditions for workers and thus increase output of the business they owned. He was very successful and was often sought out for his expertise. He commanded a huge fee for his consultations and was paid without quibble. The owner of the shops, obviously delighted with the advice he’d been given, shook Abel’s hand and left the Club Room.

  Looking towards the door, Abel heard the commotion going on in the hall. A steward rushed in, looking around hastily. His eyes alighted on Abel and he strode purposefully over.

  ‘Sir,’ he began all of a fluster, ‘there is a stable boy by the name of Seth Walker insisting he sees you right this minute!’

  Abel nodded and followed the steward into the hall in order to avoid further gossip.

  Spotting Seth, he crooked a finger and the boy walked over to him. ‘Now then Seth lad, what’s this all about?’ Abel asked, not at all pleased that the boy had come to the Club to find him.

  ‘Sir,’ Seth drew in a breath, ‘I’m real sorry to come here, but I didn’t know what else to do!’

  ‘All right lad, calm down and tell me what’s happened.’ Abel rested a hand on Seth’s shoulder.

  ‘It’s Mr Zachariah sir…’ Seth said the pain in his eyes showing clear.

  ‘What about him?’ Abel urged the boy to continue.

  ‘Sir, it’s his mother…’ Seth’s tears began to fall as the older man watched him.

  ‘Mahula? What about her?’ Abel felt the panic begin to rise in him.

  ‘Her’s dead sir!’ Seth gasped at last.

  Abel stared at the boy who stood before him now crying openly. Seth grabbed his employer as Abel’s legs gave way beneath him. The steward rushed over to help and they sat Abel in the nearest chair.

  ‘How?’ Abel asked on a sob.

  ‘Doctor said her was run over. Two men carried her back from the heath. Undertaker came and…’

  ‘The heath?’ Abel asked. ‘What was she doing on the heath?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir, but Mr Zachariah… he’s just sitting there. I can’t get no sense out of him!’ Seth shook his head as he looked at the steward.

  ‘Get my horse now!’ Abel yelled as he grabbed Seth’s arm and stood.

  *

  Zachariah didn’t hear his father and the stable boy enter the parlour; he didn’t see them walk towards him. All he saw as he stared at the empty couch was the image of his dead mother lying there.

  ‘Zachariah,’ Abel said softly. ‘Zach…’

  Nothing. His son never moved a muscle.

  Abel spoke to the stable boy, ‘Seth, I need you to fetch the doctor.’

  Seth shot from the room and Abel slowly walked over to his son.

  ‘Zach,’ he called again. ‘Son, can you hear me?’ Still nothing, Zachariah never moved. Abel touched the boy’s hair, saying again, ‘Son… Zach, look at me.’

  Zachariah finally looked up at his father, silent tears welling in his eyes. ‘Fa… Father…’ he stammered, ‘It’s Mother…’

  ‘I know, lad, Seth fetched me. I’m here now.’ Abel sat in the chair he pulled up next to the boy. ‘I’m here, lad, everything will be all right.’

  Zachariah looked at his father again before saying, ‘How will everything be all right, Father? How? Tell me!’ The boy’s anger rose and he began to yell. ‘How Father? Mother’s gone, she’s dead! How can anything be all right ever again?’ Zachariah was on his feet now and his fists bunched and relaxed, before bunching again. Bringing them to his forehead, the boy let out a bone-chilling scream which rocked Abel to his core. He’d never seen such grief before even from women who had lost their children.

  Abel rushed to his son and threw his arms around him, holding him tightly as they both wept their anguish into the quiet room. He was riddled with guilt at not seeing his son for months and vowed to try to make it up to the boy somehow.

  *

  The funeral of Mahula Buchanan took place a few days later at St. Bartholomew’s Church on Jennens Road, with Abel holding up his son at the graveside. Zachariah had spoken barely a word in that time and watched with dry sobs as his mother’s coffin was lowered into the ground. Abel held his son back as a handful of dirt was dropped into the grave by the mourners.

  Seth had been tasked with looking after Zachariah in the interim while Abel rode over to the police station, which sat between Duke Street and Woodcock Street, right next to the Corporation Baths. He learned nothing more than he already knew concerning Mahula’s death, and although the police were still making enquiries, it was unlikely anything more would come to light regarding the accident. Over the last few days, Abel’s emotions had fused together leaving him exhausted. He was distraught at losing Mahula and guilt weighed heavily at the way things had been left with her. He wished he had done things differently. He was sad that his son had been left without a mother and angry at whoever had taken her life.

  Abel rode home wondering what he would do now. Zachariah could not be expected to live alone, the boy was in no fit state to care for himself let alone the property he lived in.

  Sitting in the parlour, brandy in hand, Abel considered his options. He had a wife, Hortense, and a house in Wednesbury. He had a son, Zachariah, and a house in Birmingham. Where did that leave him? Which house would he live in? He could not forsake his son to live with Hortense. On the other hand, he could not trust Hortense to live quietly without him; she would cause an uproar in the town blackening his name to all who would listen.

  Swigging his drink, Abel mulled over his dilemma. He could not sell his house in Birmingham for it would see Zachariah out of a home and Seth out of a job. He could not take the boy home with him to live at Buchanan House – Hortense would never allow it and… he would have some explaining to do.

  Abel sighed wearily as he drew no nearer to resolving his predicament. Sitting in the parlour alone, Abel’s thoughts drifted back to his daughters, Eugenie and Orpha. Where were they now? Were they still alive? How could he find them? These same questions he’d asked himself many times rolled through his mind and, yet again, he had no answers.

  Chapter 19

  The cardboard factory was situated in Brunswick Street near where Cleveland Road and Bilston Street merged. As Orpha and Peg walked up Vicarage Road, they took in the warehouses which lined both sides of the road. Each crammed firmly against the next, they let no sunshine through unless the sun was at its zenith. On the corner of Vicarage Road and Cleveland Road stood the Wolverhampton and Staffordshire General Hospital, an impressive building.

  The girls walked into the factory and Orpha asked to speak with the owner. The foreman said she could talk to him, but Orpha insisted on seeing the owner. With a loud sniff, the man walked off. A moment later, a short, rather overweight man waddled towards them.

  ‘Foreman said you wanted to see me. The name’s Bertram… Bertie Bertram.’ The little fat man stuck out his hand and Orp
ha shook it, introducing herself and a grinning Peg.

  ‘I wish to broker a deal with you, Mr Bertram,’ Orpha said haughtily.

  Seating the girls in his office, his tiny brown eyes moved from Orpha to Peg and back again, amazed at their likeness, then he said, ‘Now, Miss Buchanan, what is it I can do for you?’

  Orpha reached into her bag and drew out a jar of her chocolates. Placing the jar on his desk, she saw his eyes light up at the sight of the confectionery. ‘This is our product, and as you can see we need packaging for our chocolate,’ she said as she took the stopper from the jar. The sweet aroma travelled on the air to Bertie’s nose as she pushed the jar over to him. ‘Please, help yourself, Mr Bertram.’

  Bertie’s fingers dived into the jar and he shoved a square of chocolate into his mouth quick as a wink in case the girl changed her mind. Savouring the flavour with his eyes closed, Orpha and Peg exchanged a smile.

  Smacking his lips, the little man gave his compliments, ‘Ah, delicious… in fact, the best I’ve ever tasted! Now as you said, you will need some boxes.’

  Orpha nodded and said, ‘Yes, providing of course that the price is right.’ She watched as Bertie eyed the jar and added, ‘We would welcome your advice regarding the best design to house our sweets.’

  Bertie raised his eyebrows as Orpha offered him the jar again.

  With his mouth full once more, Bertie listened as Orpha explained. ‘At present, we make chocolate, fudge and dipped almonds. However, we are looking to move into flavoured chocolates.’ Orpha watched the man’s eyes grow wide at the thought of such delicious confectionery.

  ‘We will need to discuss your order requisite and the price to be paid, naturally,’ Bertie said, although it was clear the girls could get whatever deal they asked for.

  By the time the girls left the factory, having left the rest of the jar of sweets with Bertie Bertram, they were assured their first order of boxes would be delivered within the week, and… at a decent price.

  Walking down Brunswick Road into Commercial Road, Peg said, ‘I think that man’s parents had a sense of humour.’

  Orpha looked at her friend, asking, ‘Why?’

  Peg giggled, ‘Bertie Bertram…!’

  Orpha laughed too as they walked into the printer’s shop. Ordering the labels in the best copperplate script, Orpha explained what was to be printed on them.

  The Choc’s Box

  Buchanan & Meriwether,

  Purveyors of the finest chocolates.

  The Cottage, Derry Street, Wolverhampton.

  She was assured they too would be delivered within the week.

  Over tea in the kitchen of the cottage, Orpha worked out the figures on a piece of paper. Sitting back in her chair, she said, ‘If my calculations are correct, and providing we sell everything, we can pay our invoices, order more ingredients and make a profit!’

  Clinking cups, they saluted their good fortune before they began in earnest the task of chocolate production.

  *

  The end of the week saw Orpha and Peg with boxes of chocolate, fudge and dipped almonds all piled up in the spare bedroom. The labels stuck on the box lid added a touch of class to the product and the girls were trying to decide whether to travel to Birmingham or tout their wares in Wolverhampton first, when a knock came to the back door. Peg answered and in walked Ezzie Lucas, a big grin on his face. Peg followed behind him sporting a grin of her own.

  Offering tea, Orpha watched the two chatting happily and she tried to suppress the jealous ache in her heart. She heard their conversation but didn’t join in. Ezzie was telling Peg about delivering fresh fish to Bilston and how long it had taken him to wash the boat clean of its odour.

  Orpha saw the sparkle in Peg’s eyes as she listened intently to Ezzie talking, hanging on his every word.

  Ezzie ate lunch with the girls before leaving to return to ‘The Sunshine’, moored in the basin in Old Limekiln Wharf. Orpha gave him a box of chocolates to take back to his mother. By the end of the visit, Orpha had managed to rein in her jealousy somewhat.

  Although it was afternoon, the girls were too excited to wait until the following day, and they loaded the handcart with their boxes. Throwing a blanket over the top, they set out for the town. The intention was to sell their boxes to the grocers, who would then sell them on, making themselves a small profit in the process. They walked in silence: Peg’s mind was on Ezzie and Orpha’s mind was on selling their products.

  Orpha began to worry. Would they be able to sell the boxes of confectionery? If not, how would they pay their bills? Her face flushed with worry as she thought it was her, after all, who had pushed for them to develop the business and spend their savings, so if it didn’t work she would feel terribly guilty.

  Arriving in Melbourne Street at Cooper’s Grocers where they had ordered their cocoa powder and sugar, Orpha grabbed a box from the cart and marched inside. She also had a jar for the grocer to taste from. Mr Cooper was pleased to see her and after tasting the creamy sweet he said he would take one dozen boxes, eventually agreeing to her asking price. The girls moved on through the town repeating the process, and by the time their cart was empty, their purses were full.

  They chatted happily on the way back to the cottage and Orpha’s worries had abated. The following day, and each day after, their sweets sold ‘like hotcakes’.

  Orpha kept a careful tally in a ledger book of what was bought, what was sold, who it was sold to and for what price.

  ‘Balancing the figures shows that after two weeks trading we are already in a position to pay what is owed and have a healthy profit to boot. I think it’s high time to put the money in the bank for safekeeping,’ Orpha said delighted with the success.

  She later walked into the town, taking the money with her, and after paying her invoices and being presented with receipts, she marched into Lloyd’s Banking Company to open an account. Orpha returned happily to the cottage.

  As Orpha walked in she could hear laughter coming from the kitchen and she saw Ezzie at the table with his mother sitting next to him.

  ‘Edna!’ Orpha laughed as she hugged the older woman.

  ‘How are you, wench?’ Edna asked.

  ‘Fine, I’m so pleased to see you! You’ve met Peg then.’

  Edna nodded, her mind working overtime trying to make the connection between the two girls. Then her thoughts roamed to the green-eyed boy her son had seen in the pub. Were they all related? Would the pieces of the puzzle ever slide together and provide an answer? Edna hoped so.

  The chatter went on as they shared their evening meal. Orpha’s mood had been uplifted by the arrival of Edna.

  Before they left the cottage, Ezzie turned to Peg and asked, ‘Would you be kind enough to allow me to court you?’ Peg readily agreed; she had known he would ask. The only one not smiling was Orpha. She knew it would not be long before they became sweethearts, and her fears for the future and the business began to weigh heavily on her once more. She had slowly come to realise that her feelings for Ezzie had been only a childish infatuation based on his rescuing her, and that her jealousy was very much misplaced. Her saving grace at present was that Ezzie worked his boat with his mother. He would be unable to give that up, and besides, he had his mother to think about. The woman could not work the boat by herself. If Ezzie did quit the canals, what other work could he do? Jobs were scarce enough as it was. Orpha began to relax as these thoughts dissipated her concerns somewhat.

  Alone again in the kitchen, talk of the business they had started resumed when Orpha said, ‘Now the question is… how do we get the boxes to Birmingham?’

  Chapter 20

  Hortense Buchanan sat in the parlour with the accident still on her mind albeit having taken place several days ago. By rights she should have informed the police, but the repercussions of that didn’t bear thinking about. They might charge her with murder. Abel would find out it was his wife who had killed his mistress, or whoever she was to him. God knows what would happen t
o her then. No, Hortense convinced herself she had done the right thing in fleeing the scene, leaving the dead woman on the heath and returning home. Self-preservation was her uppermost concern.

  Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Jago Morton, the stable boy, pondered his cleaning the blood off the side of the trap and having told no one. Lost in his own thoughts, he pushed his brown hair out of his eyes and sighed.

  The butler cast a glance at Mrs Jukes who nodded her head towards the boy. Simmons nodded back then said, ‘Jago, is there something on your mind? Something you might want to discuss?’

  The boy looked at Simmons, then Mrs Jukes who nodded to him, and lastly at Alice. ‘I’m not sure it’s something I can discuss,’ he said.

  ‘Well,’ Simmons went on, ‘whatever it is, maybe we can help.’

  Jago wavered then said in a whisper, ‘You must promise, all of you, not to tell anyone else…’

  ‘It’s all right, lad, what goes on in this kitchen stays in this kitchen. Agreed?’ The butler eyed the cook and maid, both of whom nodded their agreement as they sat forward in their seats.

  ‘When the missis brought the trap back the other day…’ Jago started, ‘there was blood on the side and on the wheel.’

  ‘Christ!’ Mrs Jukes gasped.

  ‘What did you do about it?’ Simmons asked gently.

  ‘I… I washed it off!’ Jago’s words rushed from his lips. ‘Should I have gone to the police?’

  ‘What would you have told them? It could be that the mistress hit an animal with the trap and then you would have had to face her wrath for involving the constabulary.’ Alice shivered at the butler’s words. ‘However, I feel you think there’s more to this than meets the eye. Am I right in my observations?’

  Jago shifted uncomfortably on his chair, saying, ‘The missis was white as a ghost. She all but ran indoors and she was shaking, I… I did wonder if…’