The Winter Orphan

by Cathy Sharp

  ‘What happened then?’

  Meg lowered her head for a moment and when she looked up, her eyes were dark with remembered misery. ‘My husband forced himself on me on our wedding night because I was reluctant to be touched. It happened every night for weeks – and then, when I could bear no more, I ran away …’ Tears trickled down her cheeks as she met his anxious gaze. ‘My name is Margaret and I am Lady Sangster, my husband Sir Gerald.’ A sob caught on her lips. ‘My sister and mother called me Meg – but my stepfather was a brute like Gerald and he called me Margaret when displeased with me.’

  ‘I knew you were of gentle birth,’ Toby said and reached out to wipe a tear from her cheek. ‘You are safe now, Meg, and I vow that I shall protect you always. You will not be forced to return to the monster that used you so ill …’

  ‘He is my husband and he will claim me if he discovers me,’ Meg said, her eyes dark with fear. She drew a shuddering breath, trembling and clutching at him for support. Toby put a gentle arm about her, comforting her. ‘Things are coming back, rushing into my head!’ She pressed shaking fingers to her lips and shook her head. ‘It is too much …’

  ‘Come,’ Toby said softly, supporting her as she almost fell. He held her steady and let her weep into his shoulder until the storm of grief subsided and then drew her towards the inn. ‘We shall seek the warmth of the fire in the private parlour and you will tell me everything in your own time. You are safe now, truly for I will protect you, my lady. I give you my word – and I will find your baby. I promise I will, however long it takes.’

  Meg smiled tremulously. ‘But my husband, sir. If he finds me he will force me back …’

  ‘He may try,’ Toby said and his eyes glinted like new-polished steel. ‘It will be the last thing he does!’

  A little smile touched her lips. ‘I would not have you risk your life for mine, sir.’

  ‘Would you not?’ Toby laughed softly and the light of devilment was in his eyes. ‘I would count it as naught if it saved you pain – but come now, the law is on your husband’s side, it is true but I shall not allow him to harm you. Trust in me, Meg, for I will prevent him from taking you somehow. We shall order some warmed ale and you may tell me your story for I know there is more …’

  ‘Meg was treated badly and that’s why she ran,’ Toby told Arthur. ‘She wandered the countryside for some days until she collapsed and some gypsies found her close to death for she had been badly beaten before she fled. They were good to her, gave her clothes and took her with them on their travels. She cannot quite recall what happened next, but she believes she was out walking alone when she was set upon by some vagabonds who knocked her unconscious and took the gold rings from her ears, but she recalls nothing of that time.’

  ‘That is what happened to her wedding ring, I daresay.’

  ‘No – she threw that away. She says she should have sold it but she threw it into a ditch after she ran from her husband because the memory of his brutality made her wish only to be free of it.’ Toby’s mouth twisted in anger. ‘He beat her into submission when she refused him.’

  ‘Sally spoke of marks on her back. Some were old, she said, but there were newer bruises.’

  ‘They must have been done by the vagabonds who beat her so severely that she lost her memory.’ Toby frowned. ‘There is much she still cannot recall, but at least she now knows who she is and what happened to her.’

  ‘She has suffered too much,’ Arthur said gravely. ‘I fear that she may never recover completely, Toby …’

  ‘I am prepared for that,’ his friend said. ‘But I have vowed to care for her – and to find her child if it takes a lifetime.’

  ‘She still wishes for the babe, even though it was the child of rape?’

  ‘Yes, she says the babe was not to blame – the gypsy woman who rescued her, Bathsheba, made her see that. Meg says that she told her a story about a young woman very like her who had been raped some years ago. The girl could not bear the thought of the child and begged her to give her a potion to be rid of it, but Bathsheba would not. And then the woman ran away, though Bathsheba claimed not to know why she went.’

  ‘Bathsheba?’ Arthur frowned. ‘I have heard of a gypsy woman by that name – but it may be commonly used amongst the travelling folk.’

  ‘Perhaps …’ Toby frowned. ‘It made me wonder – might that young woman the gypsy spoke of have been Katharine’s lost sister? Bathsheba told Meg that she died after giving birth to a girl child and was Marianne not supposed by some to have been taken by gypsies?’

  ‘Yes.’ Arthur frowned. ‘What makes you think that the girl who died might be Marianne Ross?’

  ‘Meg could not recall the young woman’s name, but she thought Bathsheba might have called her Marie.’

  ‘Close enough for thought,’ Arthur agreed as he felt again the tingling at his nape. Something about Bella had nagged at his subconscious – was it possible that she was the child of Katharine’s lost sister? ‘So if I could find this gypsy woman I might solve one mystery.’

  ‘It might just be a step too far,’ Toby admitted. ‘Yet does it not seem to you that this might all be fate? Meg would have died had you not chanced to find her – and perhaps it was meant that she should give you the clue to the mystery that haunts you.’

  ‘If life was so neat it would be fortunate indeed,’ Arthur said wryly, a smile on his lips, ‘but I shall not dismiss the notion, even though it is a stretch. We need to discover Bathsheba and then perhaps she can tell us where the babe was taken after its mother’s death.’

  ‘Meg believes it was to the workhouse, where she herself gave birth.’

  ‘Is that more conjecture?’

  ‘No. Bathsheba told Meg that she had intended to fetch the child out of the workhouse one day, but her brother had been against it and Meg thinks it was because Bathsheba told her she’d taken that unfortunate child there that she tried to reach it herself.’

  ‘And now regrets it.’ Arthur nodded. ‘If that is true then the Fates are truly at work here, Toby. In any other workhouse the records would tell us the names of the children left with them and their mothers – Mistress Brent has much to answer for if she is ever found.’

  ‘We can only hope that the law is vigilant,’ Toby said. ‘It is a pity you let them slip through your fingers, Arthur.’

  Arthur frowned. ‘It was because I believed that we would find wrongdoing – but most certainly not the wickedness that was discovered.’

  ‘Meg told me that Bathsheba and her brother visit the horse fairs and some of the special markets to buy and sell. It might be your best hope of finding the truth – and yet it may turn out to be a wild goose chase.’

  ‘So far I have had no luck whatsoever, but now there may just be a chink of light,’ Arthur said. ‘Marianne was lost after walking home through the woods – and there was some tale of gypsies having camped there. Some folk thought they had kidnapped her – but supposing the reality was that they found her lying unconscious after a brutal attack?’

  ‘You mean they took her and cared for her, as they did for Meg?’ Toby nodded. ‘Yes, that makes sense, for Meg told me that Bathsheba is renowned as a healer – and whoever the girl was, whose baby she told Meg is in the workhouse at Sculfield, it has a similar ring to Meg’s story.’

  ‘I think I must look for this Bathsheba, Toby.’

  ‘And you may safely leave Meg to me,’ Toby said. ‘I have already set a search in motion for her babe. I shall protect her and stay here until she is ready to let me provide for her – and Hetty is more than capable of looking after the Sculfield workhouse. You know that Lady Rowntree is consulting with her fellow guardians and a new master and mistress will be appointed soon – so if you have other concerns there is nothing to hold you back.’

  ‘There is a horse fair at Newmarket next month,’ Arthur said. ‘It is the first of the year and I may find Bathsheba and her clan there – and if not I may gain some idea of where she may be camped.’
r />   ‘Mmm. The travelling folk are secretive people,’ Toby said. ‘It is likely that they will not wish to be found.’

  ‘Well, I shall try – and if I have no luck I will set agents to searching for them,’ Arthur said. ‘I was delaying my search for Katharine’s sister for Meg’s sake – but if you are willing to stay and care for her …?’

  ‘For as long as it takes,’ Toby said and Arthur nodded, a slight smile on his lips.

  ‘If that is the way of it, I shall wish you good fortune, my friend. I fear that Meg has suffered greatly and the path to happiness will not be easy for either of you.’

  ‘It may never happen,’ Toby said soberly, ‘but I shall count it a privilege to serve her, Arthur – even if she can never be as other young women are, can never be mine.’

  ‘Then I leave her in good hands,’ Arthur said. ‘I must speak with Hetty. If she has news of Meg’s child she must come to you, Toby, and not wait for my return. Also, may I tell her you will go to her aid if need be?’

  ‘Of course,’ Toby said and nodded. ‘I pray that I have not set you on a wild goose chase.’

  ‘It will not be the first time,’ Arthur said wryly. ‘I knew when I set out that I had little chance of finding Marianne unless Fate smiled on me – and perhaps She has …’

  ‘How long will you be gone?’ Hetty asked when Arthur visited her at the workhouse later that same day.

  ‘Perhaps two or three weeks,’ he said. ‘It depends on what I find – whether the gypsies are at the horse fair or if I can get word of them.’

  She nodded and smiled. ‘Then I shall expect you when I see you.’

  ‘Have I asked too much of you?’ Arthur said, sensing hesitation in her manner. ‘Toby is here if you need help – and Lady Rowntree will appoint a new master and mistress shortly or the house will close and new homes will be found for everyone – and my Cousin Matthew will keep his eyes on the refuge in London. He has proved invaluable and I believe I shall grow fond of him and his family.’

  ‘I hope an alteration is not made here too soon. I am making friends here and I think there is a woman who knows more than she will say.’

  ‘Do you speak of Florrie?’

  ‘No – she visited to speak to those she knew here and I questioned her, but though she knew of Arthur Meaks’ fate she knows little more than we have already discovered. Lady Rowntree has taken her on now that she has recovered from her fall, but Marta has returned to us for she has no other home. It was she who told me that Aggie, our oldest inmate, might know something. She has been here almost from the start and Marta told me that she hints at knowing things but her mind wanders and so conversation is difficult.’

  ‘Then you must be patient. She may indeed know something valuable but then again, it may be naught.’

  ‘Yes, I know. Marta has been helping me quite a bit. She is in charge of the sewing department now that Florrie is no longer here and she would tell me everything if she knew it. She says that if Aggie is allowed to sit with her she may start rambling and then perhaps she will say something that may help.’

  ‘I had hoped Florrie might know more.’

  ‘Marta says that Florrie told her she thought the master had killed Arthur Meaks and she believed he was buried in the garden but she knows nothing of the others – or what happened to Meg’s baby, other than she was taken by someone in a carriage.’

  ‘Bella told me that – but there was no crest to give us clues.’ Arthur frowned. ‘I am sorry to take you from London, Hetty – and I hope you will forgive me for asking so much of you.’

  ‘I would do anything you ask,’ Hetty said and looked up at him with such sweetness that it took his breath. For a moment his look was sombre and then he smiled, moved towards her and kissed her brow.

  ‘My best of friends,’ he murmured. ‘I do not deserve you.’

  Arthur was frowning as he walked away. For the first time he was aware that Hetty’s feelings for him were more than those of a friend. She was a beautiful woman, though no longer young – but then, neither was he. Sensual and warm, she would one day marry, and she deserved that – but Arthur’s heart had been bruised and battered. He did not know whether he could ever again feel more than affection for any woman – and he would not offer a woman like Hetty less than a whole heart and mind. Yet he had begun to see that she might be his own path to happiness.

  CHAPTER 9

  Bella changed the babe’s napkin. It was hardly stained, though she knew from the acrid smell that something had passed through the tiny body. She thought that there was nothing left inside the poor little mite to pass, but he cried constantly, as if in pain.

  ‘Hush then, little one,’ Bella said, rubbing his back to try and ease him. ‘I know you are not well, but the mistress does not care and your father is too busy to notice …’

  Annie had not risen from her bed yet, though it was well past her usual time. Bella knew that the master had warmed some ale for himself and eaten a hunk of bread and cheese, leaving the remains scattered on the table. She cleared it up and washed his pots, then rinsed the napkins through and put them outside to dry, because there was a watery sun. The baby was quiet for once, so she scrubbed the floor and put a load of shirts into the tub to soak – and still her mistress had not risen.

  Anxiously, Bella went up to Annie’s bedroom and knocked. No answer came so she went inside and discovered that her mistress was still asleep – at least it looked as if she slept. She approached the bed cautiously and saw that Annie was soaked in sweat and there were dark bruises all over her arms and her neck. Bella placed a tentative hand on her arm, giving her a gentle shake.

  ‘Mistress, it is late. I’ve done my chores. What do you want me to do next?’

  Annie made no answer and Bella felt the knot of worry twist inside her. The bread was not made and would not be ready when the men came home, and the cows were becoming restless and needed to be milked. Annie always did the cooking and Bella did not know where to start. She gave her mistress a shake, trying to wake her. Annie moaned but her eyes did not open.

  She was really ill! Bella hesitated. She knew that her mistress needed a doctor, but should she take it on herself to fetch him? She would be beaten for incurring an unnecessary cost, but surely it must be necessary when the mistress was so ill?

  Giving her mistress one more doubtful look, Bella left her. She picked up her shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders, because it was cold out. Before she left, she glanced into the cot. The babe appeared to be resting at last and it would make him cry if she picked him up and ran with him.

  ‘I’m sorry, little one,’ she said softly. ‘I must fetch the doctor for your mother – and perhaps he will look at you, too.’

  Once out of the cottage, Bella ran as fast as she could. She saw the plaque on the doctor’s wall with his sign and knocked hard, bringing his housekeeper to answer it.

  ‘Please, ma’am, my mistress is sick and needs a doctor – and so does the baby …’

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I am Bella – and I belong to the chain-maker’s wife …’

  The woman pulled a face of disgust. ‘Doctor is busy. I will tell him when he is free.’

  ‘I am afeared my mistress may die!’

  ‘Go back to her then and I’ll ask the doctor to call when he has time …’

  Bella saw the stubborn set to her face and turned away. She was about to leave the village when she thought of the midwife. Perhaps she would come if she was at home. Turning her steps towards the midwife’s home, she knocked frantically and this time she was in luck.

  ‘What is it, child?’

  ‘Annie is ill and the baby’s been bad more than a week.’

  Midwife Janes shook her head. ‘Very well, I’ll come – this is what happens when you rely on a doctor and not a midwife like me.’

  ‘But you were not here when the child came,’ Bella said, waiting as the woman went to fetch her bag and cloak. ‘The doctor seemed to know what he did �
��’

  ‘Then why are they both ill?’ Midwife Janes asked crossly. ‘I am not responsible if harm was done when the child was dragged out of her – but I will see what I can do.’

  She walked swiftly and Bella had to run to keep up with her. She was out of breath when they reached the cottage and the midwife sniffed as she looked about her.

  ‘That smell is not good. Have you kept things clean, girl?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am, I do, and I boil the milk before I give it to the babe …’

  ‘You give cow’s milk to the child?’

  ‘Annie’s milk is not enough to satisfy him and I feed the babe with a rag soaked in the Jersey cow’s milk but he still cries all the time.’ A thin wail was heard and the midwife scowled at Bella, going over to the cot to pick him up. She wrinkled her nose at the smell.

  ‘This child has a tummy upset. You must give him nothing but sugar in water for a day to get the poison out of his system. Boil the water, let it cool and mix in the sugar and then let him have it in this bottle …’ She held up a baby’s feeding bottle she’d brought with her. ‘Tell your mistress I’ll want two shillings for it – and remember, no more cow’s milk unless the mother’s milk has dried up …’

  Bella nodded, feeling nervous. It was her fault. She had given the master’s son cow’s milk without being told to and if it had harmed him she would be blamed.

  ‘I’d better look at his mother while you change him again.’

  Bella took the babe from his cot, laid him on a big towel on the table, and then wiped and cleaned him, putting on a fresh napkin before soothing him. He quietened at her voice and seemed to fall asleep again. She put him down gently as the midwife came back to the kitchen.

  ‘Your mistress is very ill. Unless the doctor can save her, I think she will die. She has had a fever and it may be that the babe has taken it from her – I shall run back to the village and ask him to call.’ She frowned. ‘Annie has been sick and she has soiled the sheets. Can you cleanse her and change them by yourself?’