The Winter Orphan

by Cathy Sharp

  Indeed, it had surprised him that the evidence was so swiftly found but suspected that in his arrogance, the master of the workhouse had never expected to be questioned. So secure did he feel, that he had dug only shallow graves and perhaps he was justified in his confidence. Few cared for the disappearance of workhouse children and his excuses that a child had gone off to find work or had been sent to a master, would have been believed by most. Perhaps if he had not been ill, Lord Rowntree might have questioned further, but luck had been with the Brents until Arthur arrived unexpectedly on the scene. He knew that some of the inmates, particularly the children, were frightened and upset, the women in tears and the men looking sick, as if they had suspected something but now felt guilty by association. For why had no one complained long ago?

  ‘They were children and I should not fear them if they were here, so why would I fear them in death?’ Hetty said with a sad look. ‘You need someone to look after these poor folk, Arthur. They are in a state of shock, the children terrified and weeping and the women wretched; the men feel resentment and anger, and I cannot blame them after what has happened here.’

  ‘It is shocking and terrible,’ Arthur agreed. ‘It is the reason I asked for you, because of your compassion and patience. The best thing would be to remove everyone immediately but that isn’t easy with so many to house. In time I will find a new home for them all but for now I fear we must care for them here.’

  Hetty nodded in agreement. ‘They need help and understanding after something like this so the house must continue to function and they must all be fed. I think you have much more to do here, Arthur, and I can be of help to you – and to them in this dark hour.’

  ‘I should have arrested that devil when I had the chance,’ Arthur said, both angry and rueful. ‘Even though I came here prepared for the worst I wondered if Meg had deluded herself. Bella’s story of Arthur Meaks’ disappearance was what convinced me to act – but I did not expect this. If the Brents go free I shall blame myself.’

  ‘They have fled?’

  Arthur nodded. ‘They did not come to collect their possessions. Toby took some of their ill-gotten gains from them, but I think she either had more hidden about her or he had some elsewhere, because we have had men searching and they were seen in the village, boarding a coach for London.’

  ‘Then they will try to disappear or flee the country,’ Hetty said and smiled in sympathy. ‘You did all that anyone could expect of you, Arthur. Until that grave was found I doubt anyone realised the extent of the cruelty that went on here.’

  ‘The magistrate’s men told me they thought some of the skeletons might have lain in the ground ten or twelve years or more. We know when Arthur was killed and it is his body that will convict Brent and his wife – because Florrie has testified that she saw them in the garden and he was digging a deep hole and she saw them place what she thought was a child’s body in the grave, though she could not be certain. Mistress Brent did her best to kill her, but fortunately Florrie survived and she has sent word that she is willing to testify against them. She is a brave woman and I am glad she is being cared for by Lady Rowntree.’

  Hetty nodded. ‘She was lucky to escape with her life. Clearly Mistress Brent feared that she knew too much and hoped to get rid of her.’

  ‘We have had a great deal of luck …’ Arthur sighed. ‘However, Mistress Brent was right in one thing: there is nothing to prove that she sold the living babies of the inmates. She kept no record of any children born here – though that in itself is enough to lose her the wardship of this place, for it is the law that she must keep a register.’

  ‘Then you have little chance of finding Meg’s baby?’

  ‘There is no record of it here. Mistress Brent was cleverer than her husband. If he had buried his victims elsewhere we might not have found them so easily, though I was prepared to search the surrounding countryside. However, I have hopes that someone will have heard or seen something to help us. At the moment everyone here is frightened, but perhaps you can convince them that they will not bear the blame for any of this and then they will speak of what they have seen or heard.’

  ‘At least you have stopped those monsters,’ Hetty said warmly. ‘It must have been fate that brought Meg to that dark road when you were travelling it.’

  ‘Yes, for I have helped her to recovery – but failed to give her back her child.’ He looked sad and yet angry, as if he had somehow been guilty of carelessness. ‘I realise now that I should have had that pair detained and made them talk.’

  ‘Do not give up just yet,’ Hetty said. ‘It was never likely that Mistress Brent had kept a record of her wicked transactions, but there are women and men who have been here for years and some of them may know something.’

  ‘That is my hope, for without it I do not know where to begin the search.’

  ‘Someone must have seen something that can help us,’ Hetty said and smiled confidently. ‘You will win in the end, Arthur – I am sure of it.’

  ‘You have faith in me, Hetty,’ he said on a rueful sigh. ‘I am not sure that I have deserved it.’

  Hetty merely smiled again and he left her to get to grips with the task that awaited her. It was certainly a difficult one. The inmates were unsure of what was happening. For years they had been badly treated and even though the old mistress and master had gone, they could not bring themselves to trust. Hetty would need to be patient and gentle with them, particularly some of the elderly women who looked terrified each time Arthur approached. His rough treatment of their previous masters had made them wary of him, but Hetty was gentle and kind and she would win their trust – and in doing so would bring their best hope of discovering what had happened to the children here.

  Hetty watched as Arthur walked away. The search of the gardens was now complete and the bones had been taken elsewhere. Those unknown would be buried in the churchyard with prayers to bless them, but Arthur Meaks’ grave would be named. There might be some who would wish to mourn him and she intended to ask if any wished to attend the boy’s service.

  It was a terrible tragedy that Arthur had discovered here, and although it had come about by chance, Hetty had a feeling that it had been meant to happen. It was only a fleeting thought, but it was fortuitous that he had been travelling the road and discovered Meg’s near-frozen form. Another hour and she might already have been dead – and without her testimony those monsters would have been free to carry on their terrible work.

  For the moment Arthur seemed to have forgotten the terrible grief of Katharine’s untimely death. It truly was not his fault she had died from falling beneath those horses’ hooves, and yet he had blamed himself and it was Hetty who had pulled him from his black mood by telling him it was his duty to Katharine to look for her beloved sister Marianne.

  If this new horror took his mind from the grief that Katharine’s death had caused, Hetty could only be glad that she had set his feet on the path that brought him here. His urgent message asking her to come had been a surprise, for she ran the charitable home that was part of Arthur Stoneham’s good works. She had left it in the capable hands of Lily, a young woman who had come to her from the workhouse, begging for work rather than charity. The young woman had proved a worthy helper and would see that everyone was cared for while Hetty held things together here. It was a temporary arrangement for she knew a master and mistress would be appointed in time by the governors – although, considering what had happened here, it might be better if this house was closed. Who would really wish to live here now? She would speak to Arthur when he had more time to consider the situation.

  Hetty had not hesitated when Arthur asked her to come, because she would do anything he required of her. He would never know, must never know, that she loved him with all her heart and mind and body, although he knew that she was a good friend. It was Hetty who had helped him once before when he was in despair, and in turn, he had helped her put her old life behind her.

  Sighing, Hetty began to se
arch the desk for any clues to what had happened here. It was Mistress Brent’s desk and there were many old bills and oddments. No actual record of the inmates who had come here to shelter from the storm of life had been kept, though there was a recent register of those who lived here now. Hetty thought it had been written hastily and within the last few days – as if the mistress had suspected she might be ordered to produce one. Had the records been kept as they ought it would have been easier to discover who had lived here years ago.

  As she was closing the drawer, it stuck. Hetty thought something might have caught and she took it right out to look, and there at the back was an envelope that was yellowed with age. She felt a tingle of anticipation as she wriggled it free, opened the creases and read the words written in faded ink.

  I cannot thank you enough for the child. My wife did not know of the substitution and it has saved her life and her sanity for had she lost another child she might have lost her wits and her will to live. I wondered if you might be able to tell me a little more of the child’s parents. I know you said that the young woman died – but was she of good birth? It does not matter, for we shall teach our daughter to be a lady, but I am curious.

  As to the matter of payment: You question that I paid your husband so much, but I assure you that five hundred guineas was a small price for my wife’s happiness.

  Your servant,

  John Carlisle

  Fairview Manor

  Hetty looked at the letter, which she had no doubt had been written from the heart. Clearly, the writer had reason to thank Mistress Brent for the child but it proved that payment had been made – and a substantial amount. She could not think that every man or woman seeking a child could afford such a sum, but someone had been glad to pay it. Hetty wondered why Mistress Brent had kept the letter. She must have known that it was evidence against her and could lead to her being arrested – yet perhaps this first transaction had been done with better intentions. It might even have been a gift; but if so it had planted the seed which grew into a monstrous greed that would let nothing stand in its way. The mother of this fortunate child might have died, but other children had been taken for profit from mothers that lived.

  Hetty could not know what had changed the wardens from people who had been trusted into the monsters they had become. She would give the letter to Arthur, because it was proof that the wardens had given one child away and been paid – though it did not help in the search for Meg’s daughter.

  Hetty searched all the drawers but found nothing else. Indeed, she would not have found this letter had it not become lodged behind the drawer. She frowned, sure that somewhere there must be more scraps of evidence that would unravel the awful mystery of this place – but perhaps they lay in people’s minds rather than the drawers of a desk …

  Arthur was glad to be away from the workhouse. He’d felt the desperate hopelessness of its inmates and regretted that he must seem as bad as the former master and mistress to them, because he had been forced to use violence to dismiss their former master. He must hope that Hetty could win their confidence and that one of the older ones would remember something.

  He had sent messengers back to London to alert the authorities there but had little hope that Brent and his wife would be apprehended. It had been such a mistake to have let them leave. Had they been locked up in a cell he might have forced some details from them, though he believed that they would just have lied and protested their innocence.

  He thought it certain that Brent was responsible for the deaths of the children buried in the garden. From the bones found it seemed they were probably all under the age of ten and believed to be boys. Arthur knew now that the former master was a violent man. He had punished the boys for the slightest fault and some of those beatings had clearly led to death. Arthur could not know whether the boys had been sexually assaulted, but thought it likely. Some boys might be too frightened to resist and would suffer whatever was done to them, but others would fight back – as it seemed Arthur Meaks had before he died. His body had been only partly decomposed and the magistrate’s men thought he’d been beaten horrendously, some limbs broken, before he died.

  Brent must pay for his sins! Arthur frowned as he rode towards the village. It was in his mind to visit the chain-maker’s cottage and see how Bella was managing. She’d said she would stay with her mistress but perhaps she did not expect a good home to be waiting for her? Perhaps he had not made his intentions clear? Arthur would choose his words carefully this time, because if she was not happy he could give her a home in London where she would be safe and could learn a trade that suited her.

  ‘Speak to the workhouse girl?’ Karl looked at Arthur belligerently. ‘Why? She belongs to me. You may have dismissed Mistress Brent – and I daresay she deserved it for she was an evil bitch – but the girl looks after my wife and is fed and well-treated.’

  ‘Bella may have some information I need,’ Arthur said. ‘May I speak with her for a moment?’

  ‘She is busy tending my wife,’ Karl snarled showing his stained teeth. ‘If you want to ask the girl questions come back when there is less work to do – my wife is tired and they have got behind with their day.’

  ‘It would take but a few minutes—’

  ‘I told you – come back another day.’

  Arthur could see from the set of the man’s mouth and his glare that nothing would change him. It was ill luck that had made him choose this time to ask for the girl. He would return another day, for the more he saw of this man the less he liked him and he was concerned for Bella’s safety. Her fate had played on his mind, especially since the discovery of that grave in the workhouse garden. Something was nagging at him, an instinct that told him he should protect this girl. Mistress Brent had hoped to be rid of her by sending Bella here, thinking that she would be put to work in the forge, but she’d been lucky; however, he did not think she would live to become a woman in this household once the chain-maker felt she was old enough to learn his trade. Before he left for good he would try once more to get Bella to leave …

  CHAPTER 8

  Annie woke as Bella was tending the baby. His napkin smelled terrible and the motion was thin and yellow; as she cleaned his bottom he wailed in misery.

  ‘What have you done to him?’ Annie demanded unfairly. ‘What is the matter with Karl’s son?’ She rose and came anxiously to look at the babe lying on the bed as Bella wrapped the napkin about his tiny body. He looked thin and unhealthy and was not putting on weight as he ought. ‘If he dies Karl will kill us both.’

  ‘I do not know what ails him,’ Bella said and looked at her in fear. She had seen the gentleman riding away through the upstairs window and wished that she’d been able to speak to him. He had returned as he promised but would not come again and Bella was uneasy. Karl had beaten his wife the previous evening for the first time and she’d been lying in her bed most of the day. She looked ill and tired and the baby was clearly suffering a nasty tummy upset. Bella was being blamed, though she had done everything she was able. ‘You need the doctor or the midwife, mistress.’

  Annie picked the child up, her nose wrinkling as he soiled his napkin yet again. ‘It’s your fault for leaving him dirty!’ She reached out and slapped Bella’s face, bringing tears to her eyes. ‘If he dies I shall tell Karl it was your fault.’

  ‘I have just changed him, mistress.’ Bella held up the soiled linen. ‘I will change him again.’

  ‘You are a lazy slut and I’ve a good mind to send you back to the workhouse.’

  Bella turned away as she fought her tears. Annie was not always this unkind, but she was feeling ill herself and so was taking it out on Bella. Bella nursed the baby, rubbing his back to make him bring up wind, but as he did so his napkin was soiled once more. His poor little tummy was making him feel ill and he wouldn’t stop crying.

  She removed the napkin, adding it to the growing pile that needed to be boiled and rinsed. Bella tried as best she could to keep the child clean
but she was a child herself and knew nothing of caring for babies. She feared what would happen if anything happened to the babe, because Annie was terrified of the brute she had married and to avoid another beating would blame Bella if the child died.

  Was it always so in life? Bella had never known kindness in a man, never felt a father’s love, and she did not know whether any could be trusted, though Mr Stoneham had been kind the day Annie’s baby was born. Perhaps it was different with gentlemen. A sigh left her lips for she would never know …

  ‘Are you warm enough?’ Toby asked, solicitous for Meg’s wellbeing. They had walked in the countryside for some half an hour and she looked pale. ‘Do you wish to return to the inn parlour?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Meg begged and looked up at him. ‘Sally is very kind and she helped save my life, but I feel restless. I cannot stop thinking of my child and what happened to her. Sometimes, I despair of ever finding her.’ A single tear trickled down her cheek.

  ‘We are doing all we can,’ Toby said. ‘I have hired an agent to make inquiries. Somewhere a woman who did not give birth, or who birthed a dead child, has a new babe and someone will notice. A reward for information has been offered.’

  Meg’s cheeks tinged with pink. ‘You are so kind, sir. Would that he had been as kind …’ She stopped walking abruptly and looked stunned. ‘I remember something!’

  Toby took her hands, holding them gently as he gazed into her face. ‘What do you remember, dear lady?’

  ‘When I knew that I carried the child of a man I hated I ran,’ Meg said and her hands trembled in his. ‘I cannot recall his name but I know he – he forced himself on me. I cannot think …’ She pulled her hand away and put it to her face, a little sob leaving her. For a moment she was silent, her fingers covering her face, her shoulders heaving, then she dropped her hands and looked at Toby. Holding her left hand out in front of her face, she stared at her third finger in bewilderment. The words came slowly, stumbling from her lips as though she scarce credited them. ‘I was married to a man I detested. My stepfather forced me to it!’ She gave a cry of grief. ‘I did not want to but he beat me and he threatened to kill my little sister if I defied him and in the end I gave in. God forgive me, I was beaten and I let them marry me to that brute!’