by Cathy Sharp
Florrie’s eyes stung with tears. She knew that a change in her circumstances might come too late for Bella. Even if she could find regular work and a place to live, she would still have to save the money to buy Bella’s bond, and by then the girl might have fallen ill and died …
‘Mistress Brent asked me to put her to chain-making,’ Karl said to the woman who looked at him wearily when he brought Bella to the cottage that first evening. It was situated outside the village, backed by open fields and a wood. ‘She must want the brat dead, because she’d not last five minutes in the furnace room. I’ll give her to you, Annie. You’re near yer time and exhausted, and I’d not see yer die before my son draws breath.’
Annie nodded, putting a hand to her back. She ached so much that all she wanted was to lie down and sleep forever. Her life was almost as hard as the wretches that worked for her husband in his forge; he worked them hard and showed no compassion. It surprised her that he had given this girl to her to ease her burden – she knew that he cared little for her – but of course, she thought, he wanted a son! Their first two children had been girls – and both had died in their cots within days of being born. If Annie had been rebellious enough to have such thoughts she might have wondered if her husband had smothered her daughters; he had not wanted them, scowling savagely at her each time he discovered that she’d given him a daughter. However, she was a docile girl and accepted that she must obey her husband in all things. Her father had beaten her when she was at home and Karl had not yet raised his hand to her, even though he never praised her for keeping a good table and a clean kitchen. Yet she had fallen for three children in less than three years and knew that she pleased him in this. If she gave him a healthy son he might be kinder to her.
Annie breathed easier as her husband went back to his forge. He never liked to be away too long for he believed the men and women who worked for him would cheat him if they could – though as they were paid for the work they did by weight it was not possible.
‘Well, girl, what is yer name?’ Annie asked irritably. She felt tired, dirty and huge and she wanted to be rid of the burden inside her womb but knew that only if she gave birth to a living boy might her husband let her rest for a while. If she lost this child, or bore a daughter, he would make certain her belly was full again before she’d had time to heal.
‘Bella,’ the girl said in a whisper. ‘What can I do for you, mistress?’
Annie sighed with relief. She’d feared the girl would be sullen and a trouble, for why else would Mistress Brent wish her dead? Now she saw that Bella was lovely, her sweet gentle face looking anxious but not cowed. She smiled, because it seemed Karl had given her a more precious gift than he’d realised.
‘My name is Annie but yer had best call me mistress or Karl will have the hide off yer back. He’s a harsh man, though he’s never beaten me yet, but there are other ways to break a woman’s spirit and at times I’ve been close. Yer lucky he brought yer to me, Bella, for yer would have died in the heat of the forge. I shall need yer to work hard, for I’m near worn out carrying his son – and I do not want to lose the babe.’
‘I can scrub and clean, sew and write my name – but I do not know how to cook,’ Bella said and looked anxious.
‘Yer can peel spuds fer his dinner,’ Annie said, ‘and put the kettle on the hob, Bella. I need to sit down afore I fall down. I’ll teach yer to cook – me ma taught me afore she died and there was not another cook better than Ma in the whole of England.’
‘The food in the workhouse was terrible,’ Bella said. ‘We ate gruel and bread and a thin stew sometimes – on a Sunday.’
Annie nodded, for she knew the workhouse near Sculfield, which was less than five miles from her own village of Fornham, its reputation well known to locals as being an awful place where none in their right mind would go unless they were starving.
‘You’ll eat better than that here,’ Annie said. She went to the table and cut a slice of fresh bread, spread it with butter and then a thick layer of strawberry preserve and handed it to Bella as she placed the kettle on the hob. ‘Get that down yer, child. Yer will labour ’ard because there is much to do ’ere. Karl has two nephews who live with us; they work in the furnace room and oversee the others – and they’re always ’ungry. I never seem to stop washing and cooking – and the mess they make!’ She shook her head. ‘Karl is jealous of his brother for having two sons. His first wife died ’aving a fourth child – and none of them lived beyond a few weeks. They were all girls. Karl wants sons to take over the chain works when he dies. It would grieve him to leave it to his brother’s sons.’
Bella ate her bread and jam quickly, half fearing that the huge man would return and snatch it from her. She wiped her sticky fingers on the dark-blue apron she wore over her workhouse dress.
‘Didn’t they teach you to wash yer ’ands at that place?’
‘We wasn’t allowed to,’ Bella said. ‘Only in the mornings and at night.’
‘Well, there’s a sink over there – so go and wash them now,’ Annie directed. ‘You’ll wear that thing you’ve got on for workin’ and I’ll get yer another for when I take yer to church.’ She smiled and nodded. ‘See that wicker basket over there?’ Bella nodded. ‘That’s their shirts and breeches – and they all need ironing. You’ll have to heat the flatiron on the range and yer need to press hard, but they’re still damp so they should be easy ter smooth.’
Bella nodded. She fetched the basket to the table and Annie spread the ironing blanket, which was covered by a piece of old sheet. She nodded to the pile of washing.
‘Get on with it then, girl. I could do with a rest – and if you want some supper, it had best be finished when I come back down.’
Annie left the girl to it. She was too tired to care what Bella did. If she ruined some shirts Karl and his nephews would be furious, but he’d brought the girl here so it was hardly her fault if Bella proved useless. He would probably thrash her and might take her back whence she came, but at this moment Annie didn’t really care …
Bella hesitated for a moment before picking up the first iron that her new mistress had put to heat. She held it a little way from her face and felt the fierce heat, then tested it on the edge of a shirt, as Florrie had shown her when she worked in the sewing room at the workhouse. Because the linen was damp, it hissed and smoothed over the coarse material. Bella nodded and proceeded to iron the first of what looked like more than a dozen similar shirts. When the iron was no longer hot, she replaced it on the range and picked up the second before testing it at the edge of the shirt as before.
It was hard work, because she had to press heavily to achieve a smooth surface that she could hang over the back of a chair to air. Her back was already beginning to feel the strain but she knew that she was lucky. They had passed the forge on their way here and Bella had smelled the awful stink coming from it. It was the smell of heat, molten metal and sweat. Even outside the heat met them and she could not imagine what it must be like inside. She was fortunate that the chain-maker’s wife was close to her time and she’d been given to her as her servant. Bella knew that it would have been much harder for her at the chain works.
She had been fortunate, despite her surly master, and she decided that she would help the mistress, who seemed more weary than unkind, as much as she could. Indeed, she was probably lucky, more fortunate than poor Jane who had been turned out from the shelter of the workhouse on a snowy night. Regardless of her own plight, Bella spared a thought for the woman she’d seen from the landing window.
‘I don’t know where you are, Jane, but I hope you’re warm and I pray that one day you will find your baby …’
Arthur’s attention was caught by a slight noise. The young woman was stirring at last. She’d slept all night and most of the morning, swallowing a little brandy and water when coaxed to it, but falling back into her state of semi-unconsciousness almost at once. He stood looking down at her as she opened her eyes and stared at him, more in
puzzlement than fear. Arthur thought her eyes were a lovely shade of azure fringed by golden lashes. With her hair washed and dressed in decent clothes she would be a beauty and he thought it was probably her looks that had brought her down: many men would desire a woman like this one.
‘You are awake at last,’ he said as he saw the first awareness and unease in those wonderful eyes. ‘How do you feel? When we found you on the road I feared you might not last the night.’
She pushed herself up against the pillows, glancing down at the clean linen nightgown that was much too large for her. ‘Who undressed me?’
‘Sally – she is the landlord’s wife and she made you comfortable. I understand what you were wearing fell to pieces and she burned it. We shall find something for you to wear, ma’am.’
‘Why do you call me, ma’am? I – I am not wed.’
‘You have borne a child and I thought perhaps …’ She moved her head negatively, the hint of tears in her eyes. ‘I do not recall much but they called me a whore. They said I wore no wedding ring.’ An anxious look came to her face. ‘I cannot remember clearly … but I know I bore a child, a living child. They told me the child died immediately after she was born, but they lied; I heard her cry – and I heard them say she was healthy. Bella told me they gave the child to someone in a carriage.’ She whimpered with distress. ‘They stole my baby and threw me out. It was so cold and I did not know where to go … I wandered across the fields until I found the high road in the hope I might come to a place where I could find work. I saw a sign for Winchester, where I think I once stayed for a time though I do not recall anything of that city, but it was in any case many miles hence and I knew not where to go …’
Arthur shook his head for Winchester was a good day’s journey by carriage pulled by fast horses and would take days or weeks to walk that far – and she was in no condition to go anywhere.
‘Who are “they”?’ Arthur asked gently, realising that a great wrong had been done her.
She took a deep shuddering breath, then began, ‘Mistress Brent is the mistress of the workhouse near the village of Sculfield. I was close to my time and the villagers told me to go there, but I wish I had given birth in the fields for then I might still have my babe.’
‘You are not Romany?’
‘No, I am sure I am not,’ she said. ‘I was wearing clothes that might have belonged to a gypsy but I think they were given to me before – before I lost my memories …’
‘Perhaps you travelled with the gypsies? Perhaps they attended a fair in Winchester and that is why the name attracted you …’ Arthur suggested. ‘No, do not struggle to remember. It does not matter for now. In time we must hope that your memories will return but for now, what shall we call you?’
‘They called me Jane but it was not my name.’ She gave a cry of despair. ‘Please, do not call me by their name! I think … I believe the name Meg means something to me, though I know not why.’ She nodded and looked at him in appeal. ‘Please call me Meg – and your name, sir?’
‘I am Arthur Stoneham – and you need have no fear of me. I shall help you if I can, Meg.’
‘Yes, I have been aware of you,’ she said and a smile lit her face for a brief moment. ‘You gave me brandy when I could feel nothing but icy cold.’
‘So you were aware of me.’ Arthur nodded. ‘I will make no promises, except that I can find you a home to stay in while your memory returns. As for your child, I shall see if Mistress Brent will yield the truth to me.’
‘She will lie to you as she did to me.’
‘Very likely, but there are other people who may not be as tight-lipped. Money will make some folk talk – and as it happens, I know one of the guardians of the Sculfield workhouse slightly. Now, you mentioned someone called Bella?’
‘Bella is a child of perhaps eleven summers. She brought me food and milk and, the night I was thrown out, told me she had seen my babe given away. But I do not think she knows more. The master of the workhouse is a man called Walter Brent and his wife is the mistress. He is a harsh man. I have seen him strike an elderly man down, and the boys go in terror of him. I think even his wife suffers at his hands, though she is spiteful and cruel. You should take care, sir, for they are evil people.’
‘As I said, I promise nothing except that I shall try.’ He smiled at her. ‘I shall leave you and Sally will bring you clothes that belonged to one of her maids. Perhaps not what you would wish to wear, but better than the rags we found you in.’
‘Thank you, you are very kind. The clothes will do very well.’
‘I shall find better for you as soon as it may be arranged.’
‘Why will you do so much for me? You know nothing of me.’
‘I hate injustice,’ Arthur said. ‘I believe that Fate brought you to me last evening and who knows, She may yet be kinder still. I shall visit this workhouse and discover what I can …’
CHAPTER 4
‘You wished to see me, sir?’ Mistress Brent looked at Arthur uneasily as he was shown into her sitting room. She offered her hand a little tentatively. ‘I am Norma Brent.’
‘Good day, madam. My name is Arthur Stoneham,’ he said and he spoke evenly, giving no hint of his anger. ‘I have come to make inquiries on behalf of my cousin by marriage – Mistress Meg Stoneham. She recently gave birth within these walls to a living child – a girl. Meg tells me that you took the babe from her and told her it had died.’
‘That gypsy wretch your cousin?’ Mistress Brent looked at him in disbelief. ‘I do not believe it – how could that be?’
‘She had an unfortunate accident upon the road and was set upon by some rogues. My cousin and I have been searching for his wife for some weeks and had almost given up until we were told of a young woman taken ill and brought here,’ Arthur lied easily. He had decided that this woman would lie whatever he did and the only way was to scare her – or bribe her. ‘We had offered a reward for her recovery because my cousin loves her and is anxious to hold his child …’
He could see her mind working as her eyes tried to avoid his. She was deciding whether it would be worth telling him the truth and risk being accused of stealing a child or easier to lie to him.
‘Then I wish that I had better news for you, sir,’ she said, making up her mind to stick to her story. ‘We called the young woman Jane, for she could not recall her own name, and she wore no wedding ring …’
‘We believe it was stolen from her along with her clothes, all of which were expensive,’ Arthur said embroidering on his tale of misfortune. ‘But you have news of the child, I hope?’
‘I fear that the babe died almost immediately it was born.’ Mistress Brent held fast to her story. Arthur was sure she lied. There was something in her eyes and a slight unease in her manner. He had not been sure of the truth until then, for Meg might have been mistaken. Though he believed her an honest woman, a woman in the aftermath of a hard labour could easily have misheard, believing she heard her child cry when there was no cry at all. ‘We tried to tell her but she became abusive and we were forced to put her out.’
‘Into the bitter chill of night? Had she not been found and cared for she might have died,’ Arthur said sternly. ‘I do not think that Sir Arnold and Lady Rowntree would be pleased to hear of such heartless behaviour, madam. Nor do I believe that the babe died. There are witnesses who will testify otherwise.’
‘Liars all!’ Mistress Brent said furiously, her face red with temper now. ‘Besides, none would dare to speak against me. And if you blacken my name you will be sorry. You can prove nothing!’
‘You think not?’ He smiled wryly. ‘I have met bullies before, madam. I assure you that my word goes a long way in influential circles. As it happens, I know Lady Rowntree – we have served on a charity committee together in the past. She and her husband set this workhouse up to help the poor of this parish. I cannot think she knows what goes on here. Once I tell them of your cruelty – and explain that I think you sell the children and babie
s—’
‘Lies! You can prove nothing.’
Arthur’s eyebrows rose. ‘I wonder how many more children you’ve sold, madam. How many years does your reign of tyranny stretch? How many lives have you ruined or blighted?’ He was merely guessing, using Meg’s rather vague memories of her time here and his own instinct, gained from years of experience, but the look in her eyes was enough to make him certain he knew, though he had no proof.
‘My husband will thrash you for slighting our good name!’ she blustered but Arthur had seen the fear and guilt in her eyes. It was as he’d thought, and his bold verbal attack on her had paid off. She must have many lives on her conscience.
‘He is welcome to try, madam,’ Arthur said. ‘I shall be speaking to Lady Rowntree and I think you will both find yourselves dismissed before much longer. Indeed, that may not be the limit of your woes. I shall do my utmost to see you both behind prison bars!’
Arthur left her fuming. As he went down the stairs he saw a woman of perhaps forty years standing at the bottom, clearly waiting for him.
‘I heard some of what you said to the mistress,’ Florrie told him and clutched anxiously at his arm. ‘I pray you will not believe her lies.’
‘I do not,’ Arthur said. ‘Meg believes her child lives and someone told her that it was given away.’
‘I know the child lived at birth,’ Florrie said, ‘and Bella saw the babe given to someone in a carriage but I did not – though I know it has happened in the past. And I know she sold Bella to a brute who will work her to death. He owns a forge in the village of Fornham some four miles or so hence on the Alton road, and I have heard that he makes chain and works his people hard.’
