The Winter Orphan

by Cathy Sharp

  ‘The Jersey’s milk is rich,’ Bella said, for they skimmed the cream from it and made butter. The rest was turned into the soft cheese which Annie’s husband loved. ‘It might ease his hunger, mistress.’

  ‘If I give the best milk to the babe there may not be enough for cheese and butter …’

  ‘Yet if the baby is satisfied he will not cry so much,’ Bella said. ‘I do not know if he would take any except your milk but he was crying when you slept last night and I was tempted to try him with the Jersey’s milk.’

  ‘Perhaps the midwife will call soon,’ Annie said. ‘If she comes, I’ll ask her to decide what he should have …’

  Bella was silenced. In truth, she had never been called to tend a babe before and did not know what would suit it, but it seemed to her that Annie’s milk was not rich enough to see her baby through to his next feed.

  Thus far, Mr Stoneham had not returned to see Bella. She thought perhaps he had forgotten her and a part of her wished she had asked for his help. Her back ached by the time she went to her bed at night and her hands were sore from all the scrubbing, washing and cleaning she was expected to do – and yet she did not dislike her mistress. Bella had decided that Annie’s life was worse than hers for her husband was never kind to her – and he was forever touching her intimately, putting his hands on her no matter who was there to see it. Annie’s face told Bella that she hated his touch and feared the time when he would come to her bed again.

  Why had she married him if she did not care for him? Bella did not dare to ask. Annie was seldom cross with her but she could turn in a minute if she was upset and with the baby crying most of the time, Karl’s complaints, and all the work, Annie looked exhausted. She needed to rest more but there was never any time. Bella did not know how her mistress had managed before she came and so she tried not to dwell on another life. She was better off here than in the workhouse and she did not know what it felt like to have a mother’s love or a home of her own – Florrie had been kind, sharing any extra food she earned by her sewing, but Bella had no idea where she might go if she asked Mr Stoneham for help, except back to the workhouse.

  So she scurried to do her mistress’s bidding and thought herself lucky that she was well fed. Neither the master nor his nephews took any notice of her. Bella knew they thought her a skinny little brat for they laughed about her and asked Karl if he could not have found an older girl they could bed. Annie scowled when they made coarse jokes and reminded them that Bella was but a child. However, she was old enough to have vague ideas of their meaning for the other inmates at the workhouse had often spoken of a time when they had lovers or husbands.

  Because the men, women and children were separated at night, husbands and wives seldom met in the workhouse, except briefly on a Sunday if they went to church. Some of the girls could read a few words and write, and though Bella longed to be able to do both, she had only been taught to write her name. During the day, the women looked after the younger girls, teaching them to do the work necessary to the running of the workhouse. Scrubbing, cleaning, washing, ironing and needlework was undertaken by the female inmates; the men had other tasks, like breaking stones, picking oakum and grinding bones for use in fertiliser or repairing the roof.

  Bella had never been to the men’s wing and she only knew of Arthur Meaks because he had found his way into their part of the grounds so many times. The dining hall was small so at mealtimes the inmates were given their food in two shifts, the men first and then the women and girls. The workhouse had big gardens which were used to grow vegetables as well as to keep chickens. Arthur Meaks had been given work in the vegetable plot but he’d found a way into the small yard where the women and girls hung out the washing.

  He’d jumped out at Bella and startled her when she was hanging out washing on a rope line. He’d teased her and made her laugh and she’d liked him.

  ‘You shouldn’t be here, Arthur Meaks,’ she’d warned him. ‘If the mistress catches yer, she’ll flay the skin off yer back.’

  ‘I’m not afeared of her,’ he’d boasted, ‘and nor the master neither. I ain’t gonna stay ’ere long. I can get out easy and I’m goin’. You’ll see. I shall run away and find work in a stable or perhaps I’ll go to sea.’

  ‘I wish I could come with you,’ Bella said but he’d shaken his head.

  ‘I couldn’t look out fer yer. Yer need to find someone to give yer work – I think I know who will take me on in his stables but, if he don’t, then I’ll go to sea.’

  Bella had thought he was just dreaming, but Arthur Meaks had run away and been missing for a day before they found him and brought him back. She’d been looking from her window above the front drive and saw him kicking and screaming as he was dragged back into the building. From the open window she heard him yell that he’d get away again – and perhaps he had, because no one had seen him since. Bella shook her head. She didn’t really think so. She thought something bad had happened to him and she believed that Florrie knew what, but she would not be drawn on it.

  ‘Get on with that ironing!’ Annie’s voice cut through Bella’s thoughts. ‘If them shirts ain’t ready there’ll be hell to pay.’

  Florrie had made up her mind. She was leaving this place and she would take her chance with Lady Rowntree. She’d waited three days to see if Mr Stoneham would return but thus far he had not, and now she’d made up her mind and there was no going back – she had given notice to the mistress and signed the forms of release.

  ‘I’ll want seven shillings for your release,’ Mistress Brent had told her furiously. ‘You’re wearing clothes provided by the workhouse and I want something for your board too.’

  ‘I have my own dress to wear when I leave,’ Florrie had replied. ‘Lady Rowntree gave it to me some months ago – it had belonged to her personal maid and was no longer wanted. I can give you the seven shillings for my board, but I have worked and you are not entitled to more. Lady Rowntree would testify that I have earned my keep.’

  Mistress Brent had turned bright pink with temper. Florrie had seen her hands clutch at her sides and known that she itched to hit her, but she restrained herself and gave her three forms to sign. Florrie read them carefully and struck out where it said she owed money for bed and board. She had worked and the mistress was only entitled to charge for clothes taken away when someone left and food not earned because the inmate had been too sick to work.

  ‘You’ll come crawling back,’ the mistress hissed at her. ‘Mark my words – you will regret this foolish action.’

  ‘My mistake was staying here so long,’ Florrie said. ‘I can earn my way and, when I have established myself I shall find Bella and offer her a place with me.’

  ‘You will have to pay her master for her,’ Mistress Brent snapped. ‘She is indentured to the chain-maker and cannot leave him until she has earned her freedom.’

  ‘You had no right to take money for her,’ Florrie said, too angry to think what she was saying. ‘It was a wicked thing to do – and if she has been harmed I shall go to someone who will see justice for her. You flout the law mistreating her and think yourself safe, mistress – but there are people who will punish you and mayhap I know more than you think!’

  Florrie saw the gleam of anger in the mistress’s eyes but she said no more, merely indicating with a wave of her hand that Florrie was dismissed. Unable to rest, she visited the various workrooms and said goodbye to the women and girls she had worked with for so many years. Many of them looked at her enviously because she was leaving but none had her talent with the needle and were too afraid to abandon the safety of the workhouse. The life was hard and the master and mistress were unfair, but life outside was just as hard and most of these women were widows with no home and no one to help them. Most had been destitute before they entered and would never leave.

  Florrie glanced at the oak longcase clock at the top of the staircase. It was past eleven in the morning and her time to leave was in twenty minutes. She was wearing her
only dress and ankle boots and had nothing to take with her, for everything else belonged to the workhouse. By the time she went down to the master’s office her release papers would be ready. She paused at the top of the stairs, heard something behind her and half turned as a hand pushed hard in the middle of her back and sent her tumbling down the stairs. Florrie cried out as she hit her head on a wooden post at the bottom and lay still, her eyes closed …

  From the head of the staircase a woman looked down and smiled. However, as one of the inmates came rushing into the hall below, the woman turned quickly and hurried away. Marta glanced up and saw her dress as she disappeared round the corner. Looking down at Florrie’s pale face, she gave a cry of distress.

  ‘Florrie! Florrie, speak to me!’

  Pressing two fingers to her friend’s throat, Marta could feel no pulse. Her eyes closed and tears slipped down her cheeks. This was a woman she’d worked closely with and though she would miss her when she left, Marta had wished her well. Letting out a scream to waken the dead, Marta ran towards the hall door just as it opened and three men entered. Behind them were several more, armed with tools of some kind.

  ‘She’s dead!’ Marta cried, wild with fear. ‘She’s been killed because she was leavin’.’

  ‘What has happened?’ a well-dressed man asked and looked beyond her. Seeing a woman lying on the floor, he crossed the floor in quick strides, knelt down and pressed his fingers to Florrie’s wrist and then bent his head to her chest.

  ‘She’s unconscious but still alive, though her breathing is shallow,’ Arthur said. He looked at Marta. ‘You are her friend?’

  ‘Yes, sir. We worked together in the sewing room. She was leaving – signed herself out, she did.’

  ‘Then, once a doctor has been, I shall take her with me – and if you wish I shall have you signed out so that you may care for her.’

  ‘Me – but what shall I do?’ Marta looked at him in awe. ‘I could not pay the mistress for my freedom.’

  ‘You will not be asked,’ Arthur said. ‘I am in charge here now and it seems I have come not a moment too soon.’

  ‘I should have acted sooner,’ Arthur said to Toby later, when he had arranged for the two women to be taken to the inn and cared for. Marta was to stay with Florrie and tend her after the doctor had visited. ‘If that woman dies it will be because I was too cautious.’

  ‘You wanted all the legal niceties in place,’ Toby said and frowned. ‘You blame yourself too easily, my friend. You cannot know that this Florrie was pushed – or who did it. Marta only caught sight of a dress she knows to belong to Mistress Brent as she walked away. I do not think it would be enough to hang her.’

  ‘I hope to find enough evidence for that here in the house—’ He broke off as the door of the room he’d chosen as his office was flung open and a man walked in. Master Brent was of medium height with a florid complexion and stocky build, his hair thinning on top and his nose bulbous with red veins. Arthur thought he looked like a man who enjoyed his wine – perhaps too much.

  ‘What is the meaning of this? Why have I been summoned?’ Master Brent blustered. ‘I’ll have you know I am in charge here.’

  ‘No longer, for I am ordering you to leave immediately.’ Arthur was calm, his tone even as he addressed the irate master. He’d sent one of the magistrate’s men to ask Brent to attend him here. ‘You might be allowed to return if I find that you have executed your duties within the law – but I think we both know that is not likely.’

  ‘How dare you!’ Master Brent was outraged, his face an alarming red that showed his choleric temper. ‘I was appointed by Lord Rowntree himself – and if that interfering wife of his sent you here she has no authority—’

  ‘I have the authority here,’ Arthur said and took a paper from his pocket. ‘This has been signed by a magistrate and two lawyers and it gives me all the powers I need to investigate what has been going on here – and I intend to be thorough. At this moment I have five men searching the gardens and the outhouses – and we may search further afield if nothing is found.’

  The effect of his words was dramatic. It was as if all the colour had been swept from the master’s face leaving him white and shocked before it flooded back again. He was clenching his hands at his sides, his face working as he sought for calmness.

  ‘This is outrageous!’ he spluttered. ‘It is lies, all lies!’

  ‘Then you have nothing to fear,’ Arthur replied, his tone like ice. ‘Here is your formal notice, sir, and a restraining order. I should inform you that you have two hours to leave the building. You are requested to stay in the area and visit me when you are in a more amenable frame of mind – then, as I said, should I find all accusations are false, I may reinstate you.’

  ‘This is grossly unfair!’ The master flew into a rage and banged his fists on the table. ‘I have no idea who sent you here, but this is all nonsense. I am an honest man. You will find no fault with my finances or the way these wretches have been treated. They continually complain about the food and how hard the work is, but they are lazy creatures and need to be kept in order – as you will discover if you mean to run this place.’

  ‘Oh no, I am merely here to investigate,’ Arthur said. ‘In time a new master and mistress will be appointed, if necessary. For the moment a woman I trust will take over the care of the inmates. I advise you to go to your wife, sir. I may have serious charges against her – and perhaps you when I’ve completed my work here.’

  ‘I see you have made up your mind about us,’ Brent said and glared at him furiously. ‘I have influential friends and this does not end here!’

  ‘You are quite right,’ Arthur agreed. ‘If I discover that half of what I have been told is true, I believe that both you and your wife will find yourself at the end of a noose.’

  Brent’s mouth worked but no sound left his lips, though they were flecked with white foam. He turned suddenly and left the room and was heard shouting to his wife.

  ‘I think you were well advised to have the local magistrates on board,’ Toby observed as they heard the commotion above stairs. ‘Without it, I think we might have had to use force to eject Master Brent and his wife.’

  ‘Disappointed?’ Arthur asked, amusement in his eyes. ‘I doubt if we’ve heard the last of those two.’ Even as he spoke, the door was thrown open and Mistress Brent entered, her face white with rage.

  ‘I’ll make you pay,’ she threatened. ‘You’ll never discover what you seek!’ She gave a laugh that sent shivers down his spine. ‘Search all you like, Mr Stoneham – you will never find the evidence you need for there is none.’

  ‘Then I shall owe you an apology, ma’am,’ Arthur said smoothly. ‘But I doubt it will be forthcoming.’

  He took her to the door and pushed her towards her husband, who was clutching a leather bag that looked as if it might contain money. As he saw Arthur look at it, he tried to thrust it inside his coat.

  ‘Toby – I do not think these people can be allowed to remove anything from the premises,’ Arthur said.

  ‘You have no right – that is mine,’ Brent protested as Toby snatched the heavy bag from him.

  ‘Gold sovereigns,’ Toby said, spilling them on to the table. ‘I wonder where the master of a workhouse came by so much wealth.’

  Brent scowled, but as he turned and saw two burly men standing behind him, gave up his protest. ‘What about our clothes and personal things?’

  ‘I shall get one of the inmates to pack them and they will be delivered to the back door this afternoon. You may come to collect them if you choose.’

  ‘You will be punished for this!’ Mistress Brent shrilled, but her husband took hold of her arm and hustled her away.

  Toby looked through the pile of gold coins. ‘There is almost five hundred guineas here. Where do you suppose all this came from?’

  ‘Years of abuse,’ Arthur said. ‘I dare say the fellow has more hidden about the place. We have uncovered a hornets’ nest here, my frien
d. There may be no records to prove it, but that money did not come from one transaction. I think that pair has been taking advantage of the vulnerable for many years and must have gained a fortune. Babies sold to those who are desperate to have a child, children sold to masters who treat them ill and work them hard – and who knows what else we may find.’

  The two men had followed the erstwhile master and mistress to the door to make certain they left and then went out to join the men who were already searching the grounds. Only an hour later one of them returned to Arthur’s office and the look in his face warned of dire news.

  ‘The men have found something in the garden, sir. Perhaps we should not have let the Brents go …’

  Arthur was on his feet, his expression dark and alert. ‘So soon? Is it the missing boy?’ He had not expected results this quickly but it showed that the master of the workhouse had felt himself totally safe from retribution and made little effort to conceal his evil.

  ‘We’re not sure, sir. And …’ The man paused and his expression sent cold shivers down Arthur’s spine. ‘There are more bones than could belong to one child – but they haven’t found a body and the boy you seek would not be a fleshless skeleton as yet so we haven’t found him but evidence of earlier crimes perhaps.’

  ‘Oh, my God!’ Toby cried looking thunderstruck. ‘I doubted you would find more than some fiddling of the books and babies sold or stolen, but this is obscene – evil.’

  ‘Yes,’ Arthur said. ‘I felt it when I was first told about the boy. Something warned me not to ignore it. And I believe that if there are many bones, then he is not the only one to have been murdered …’

  CHAPTER 7

  ‘Are you sure you feel able to cope here, Hetty?’ Arthur asked after he had shown her round the workhouse the next afternoon. ‘When I begged you to come at once, I had no idea that we should find the skeletons of five children in the gardens – and the body of Arthur Meaks.’