by Cathy Sharp
‘I will try, ma’am.’
Bella trembled as the midwife left in a hurry. If Annie died she would be blamed – and if the babe died too, Bella would be put to work in her master’s chain works. The thought terrified her and she hurried upstairs to do what she could to cleanse her mistress. Annie’s eyelids fluttered but she did not open them, though she groaned as Bella rolled her to pull out the soiled sheets and tuck clean ones under her.
Once she had settled her mistress, she opened the window to let in fresh air and bundled the sheets up to take down to the scullery. There she rinsed the things she’d washed earlier and put the soiled sheets into soak. She had just finished putting the shirts through the mangle when the doctor and midwife returned. They did not speak to her but went straight upstairs. Bella took the sheets from the copper and put them in the sink to soak in cold water; she was wiping her red hands when the midwife came back to the kitchen.
‘Your mistress is very ill,’ she said. ‘She has a terrible sickness and Doctor Mason fears she will not last the night. He has asked me to stay here and nurse her – can you find me food and make a cup of tea?’
‘Yes, I can find cheese and yesterday’s bread,’ Bella said. ‘I know where the mistress keeps the key to her tea caddy but I am not allowed to use it.’
‘Show me,’ the midwife instructed. ‘I shall take the responsibility – and I shall want more than a bit of cheese. What is in the larder?’
‘Ham, cheese, some cold pork – and pickles,’ Bella told her. ‘The mistress had made a pie for the master’s supper but it will need to be reheated today.’
‘Does she often reheat food cooked a day earlier?’
Bella nodded and the midwife frowned. ‘Do not give me any of that for my supper. I will have ham if it is fresh – or some eggs scrambled on toast if the ham is on the turn.’
‘The ham is good,’ Bella assured her, ‘but I must ask the master …’
‘Leave Master Breck to me,’ Midwife Janes said and set her chin. ‘His wife is like to die unless I care for her – and I will not do it unless I am fed properly.’
Bella fetched the key to the tea caddy and then the ham, which had been sliced only a few times and was still almost new. She watched as the midwife cut herself generous slices and ate them with the cheese and pickles; she also ate the last of the bread and Bella watched in dismay. She would have to try to make fresh, though she knew it was likely to turn out lumpen and misshapen, but at least it would be bread of some kind and her master would be so angry if there was no food for his meal when he came home.
Karl was in a furious mood by the time he arrived. The number-one furnace had cracked, which meant that it would have to be left to cool and then the builders would have to replace or repair it and that meant lost work as well as expense.
He looked for signs of his wife’s cooking when he walked in and saw the midwife sitting at his table eating ham and bread with pickles.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked rudely.
She gave him stare for stare. ‘Nursing your sick wife! You’ll be lucky if you have one by this time tomorrow – and if Annie dies, the babe will too.’
‘What’s wrong with her?’ He glared at her and then at Bella. ‘Where is my supper?’
‘It’s in the oven. I will fetch it,’ Bella said and brought the pie to the table. She had boiled potatoes to go with it, and root vegetables, also greens, because his nephews would be in shortly and they would demand food too.
‘Where is the pudding and gravy?’ Karl demanded, because Annie made a crisp savoury pudding in the oven to accompany every meal.
‘I did not know how to make it,’ Bella said and shivered as he glared at her. ‘I cooked more vegetables.’
‘I want pudding soaked in gravy – Yorkshire Pudding they call it. Do you know nothing, girl?’
‘I’ve seen Annie cook it but I did not get time to try …’ Bella gave a little cry as he cuffed her ear. ‘I have been looking after the mistress and the babe – as well as all the work, sir.’
‘The girl has done all she can,’ Midwife Janes said and glared at him. ‘You should have had the doctor to Annie and the babe before this – you are like to lose them both now.’
‘She was always a mewling creature,’ Karl muttered. ‘Weak and forever complaining. I should never have wed her but her father begged me to take her.’
‘She has had a hard life,’ the midwife said, impervious to his angry looks. ‘I think you have ill-treated Annie, Master Brent, and if she dies it will be your fault and so I shall tell any who ask.’
‘Damn you, woman! Get out of my house! I’ll not listen to your lies another moment.’ He jumped to his feet and raised his fist to her.
The midwife hesitated and then nodded. ‘On your head be it – if Annie dies it is your blame not mine.’ She turned and looked at Bella. ‘Look after her as much you are able, but I doubt she will live the night, even if I stay – and I’ll not remain here to be shouted at.’
She picked up her things and walked out just as Karl’s nephews entered the kitchen and started calling for their dinner. Bella scuttled away to fetch what was left of the pie and vegetables. As Karl had, they asked for the pudding and gravy and scowled at her as she told them there was none.
Karl had seen the loaf of bread on the dresser. ‘We’ll eat that,’ he said and grabbed it, looking at its odd shape. ‘I suppose you made this, girl?’
‘Yes, sir, I did,’ Bella whispered. ‘I tried …’
‘You’ll learn to do better or I’ll flay the skin from your back,’ he said. ‘Go up and see to your mistress. See if she has woken yet – and if she has, tell her I want her up and down here doing her job!’
Bella escaped and ran upstairs to her mistress. Annie was lying very still and pale, her arms flung out; there was a trace of vomit on her mouth and Bella wiped it away. She tried to talk to her, but Annie did not answer. She still lived but Bella was afraid that she really would not last the night. Hearing a cry from the next room, she knew that the baby had woken and she rushed through to him. He seemed very hot as she picked him up and she wished the midwife was still here.
Bella had no idea what to do, but decided she would bathe his tiny body and see if it would ease him; if that did not help she thought that he might die almost as soon as his mother.
CHAPTER 10
‘It was a pity about the babe,’ Aggie said as she sat in her chair by the fire and nursed the cup of hot milk sweetened with honey. She sighed with content for she could not remember when she had last been given so much kindness and attention. ‘’Tis many years since I tasted milk and honey – my mother was alive then and I a child at her skirts.’
‘The babe?’ Hetty asked gently, for the old lady tended to ramble and would soon lose her thread if not reminded. ‘Do you speak of your mother’s babe?’
Aggie savoured a mouthful of the sweet milk and then shook her head. ‘No, the young lady I helped to birth her child not much more than a month since. She was a healthy mite and beautiful …’ Sadness came into her face. ‘The mistress said she died but she had strong lungs and I swear I heard her cry that night.’
‘The babe lived,’ Hetty said. ‘Your mistress sold her.’
‘Aye, she does that.’ Aggie finished her milk but cradled the cup in her hands. Her head nodded wisely, as if remembering. ‘So many little ones taken from their mothers and given to others … I mind them all … She sells the pretty ones to ladies of fortune and the others to any who will pay for them. Sometimes she waits until they are older – as she did with Bella. I liked Bella; she was kind to me and picked me fruit in the garden – mistress would’ve punished us both if she’d known …’ A gleam of mischief showed in her eyes but soon faded to tears. She sniffed and wiped her nose with a rag.
‘Do you remember where the babies were sent to, Aggie?’ Hetty prompted.
‘Nay, for there were too many over the years.’ Aggie’s weak eyes were red and bleary. ‘You a
re kind, mistress, I would help you if I could. I am sorry …’
‘It is no matter,’ Hetty said. ‘You must not worry yourself. The new master and mistress will be kinder and you may end your days here in safety.’
‘I have seen so many things!’ Aggie cackled with sudden laughter. ‘The funniest sight I ever did see was Mistress Brent’s face when the gypsy laid a curse upon her.’
‘The gypsy?’
‘Aye,’ Aggie smiled toothlessly. ‘The colour went from mistress’s cheeks when the gypsy woman told her she was cursed unless she looked after Bella. She said she would return one day and if Bella was not hale then she – the mistress – would die in agony!’ Aggie’s smile vanished. ‘I hope the curse comes true, for that witch sent my Bella to die at that terrible place …’
‘Why do you say that?’ Hetty looked at her curiously.
‘I worked as a chain-maker until I fell ill and then I was cast off. ’Tis a terrible life for a woman, mistress.’
‘Bella is working as a servant to the chain-maker’s wife,’ Hetty told her. ‘She has not been put to the forge.’
‘God be praised,’ Aggie said. ‘It made my heart ache to think of her there, for I know its terrors.’
‘You’ve had a hard life, Aggie.’
‘Aye, mistress,’ the old woman said and then nodded at something. ‘Bella said the carriage had yellow wheels – that’s why the witch wanted her dead.’
Hetty stared at her, not quite sure what she’d heard.
‘Bella told you the carriage that took the babe away had yellow wheels?’ she asked.
‘Aye, Mistress Hetty. And I saw it come here a few days earlier – it was a rich man’s carriage, for he was dressed fine and carried a cane with a silver head. He spoke with the mistress and I think he gave her money for I heard the clink of coin …’ Aggie lifted her head, her eyes suddenly bright. ‘Did I do right to tell you?’
‘Yes, you did. Thank you, Aggie. I am grateful for all you can tell me.’
‘I have not told you much, Mistress Hetty, for I know not his name.’
‘You have told me more than you know,’ Hetty said. She thanked Aggie and told her to join the women in the sewing room, where she could sit and dream by the fire. Aggie was past the age of working, though she could light a candle or carry a drink for others who mended and sewed. Now that Florrie had left there was no one who could do fine embroidery, but the mending and making of clothes for the inmates went on.
Hetty was thoughtful as she wrote down what Aggie had told her. The old woman could not remember things when you asked, but then they came back to her as she rambled and it was likely that she would recall more when she was rested and no longer lived in fear. At least there was a little news for Arthur when he returned, though Hetty did not know when that might be. He had meant to try the horse fair in Newmarket and Hetty wondered if he had found anything of importance, hoped that he would return soon.
The field was thronged with men and horses and the sound of laughter and bartering was loud, a strong smell of horses, stale sweat and beer on the air. A weak sun had filtered through the recent clouds, though it was still bitter cold, but these men were used to hardship and some had their shirt sleeves rolled up to the top of their arms. They wore stained breeches and old leather jerkins and several had black hats, some adorned with brass badges and a feather. The men had little colour about them save for a neckerchief, but the women wore scarlet and yellow and black and looked as fine as birds of paradise, gold hoops in their ears.
While the men bargained over horses and ponies, the women sold all manner of trinkets from the large rush baskets they carried over their arms.
‘Buy a sprig of lucky heather,’ one of the women accosted Arthur as he watched the vibrant scene. ‘Only sixpence a sprig, me lord – and I swear it will bring your luck this day.’
Arthur took a coin from his pocket and spun it into the air. She caught it and grinned as she saw he had given her a shilling. ‘I’ll take two of your tokens, gypsy – and you could earn a gold coin if you answer me a question truthfully.’
‘What would you ask of me, me lord?’
‘I seek one of your kind – a woman by the name of Bathsheba …’
For a moment the woman stared at him, then she shook her head. She handed him the lucky heather. ‘’Tis an unusual name for one of us,’ she said. ‘I know her not …’
Arthur watched her as she moved through the field. She did not linger but went to a caravan parked in the far corner and he saw her speak urgently to a man who was standing over his fire and poking it with a long branch. The man looked at Arthur and scowled, then spoke sharply to the woman who walked away, looking annoyed. The gypsy knew that Arthur had watched her approach him and no doubt he’d chastised her for leading him to his caravan. However, Arthur knew better than to follow immediately and when he merely stood and waited, the man came to him. As he drew nearer a feeling of recognition came to Arthur; he had met this man – Jez – once, more than a year ago, and in different circumstances.
The man reached him and their eyes met. The man nodded. ‘I remember you. You told my son that he should come with me to Ireland when he wanted to stay in England.’
‘Your sister,’ Arthur said, ‘her name is Bathsheba?’
The gypsy’s face was impassive. ‘You seek her – why?’
‘Some twelve years past, your sister may have inquired after a babe from the mistress of a workhouse … the babe of a woman I believe you had previously helped?’
‘And what of it? ’Tis not against the law to help a woman in trouble …’ The man’s look was fierce and angry. Arthur understood, for the gypsies were too often blamed for things that were not of their doing.
‘No, and Bathsheba is not in trouble. I merely wish to speak with her concerning the child’s mother, in the hope that she may tell me if she is a woman I seek. I would reward her with gold for her trouble.’
‘Bathsheba is not with us,’ Jez said, but Arthur thought he lied. ‘I can answer your questions. Many years since, we found a woman lying in a wood by a small village in Hampshire, though I do not recall the name of the place, for we were but passing through. She was beautiful, a lady of quality, and had been abused – and she was unconscious. She would have died had we left her so we took her with us because we could not go to the Gorgio authorities for they would have blamed us for her rape. My sister saved her life.’
Arthur nodded. Everyone believed Katharine’s sister had been taken by gypsies or killed by them – but if this story was true they had not harmed her.
‘What happened then?’ he asked.
‘Bathsheba healed the woman’s body but she could not heal her mind. At times she was quiet and, though she knew not her name, she thought it might be Marie and we called her thus.’ The gypsy frowned, clearly disturbed by the memory. ‘At first we spoke of trying to find her home when we went back to Hampshire, next, for she thought her father might be a parson and she believed she had a sister, Kathy, but when Bathsheba told her she was with child, Marie became distraught and refused to talk any more of finding her family, said her memory played tricks on her.’
‘Perhaps she was too ashamed to seek out her family,’ Arthur suggested.
The gypsy’s eyes darkened. ‘I cared for her and might have taken her for my favourite woman but she was like a wild fawn, shying at every touch. As the child grew in her, she became almost deranged …’ He hesitated and for a moment regret was in the dark eyes. ‘I told her I loved her and wanted her to be my woman and it frightened her for she raved at me, accusing me of keeping her prisoner. I believe that all she had suffered had made an illness in her mind and she became more and more confused. When the babe was close to being born she went off and left us without a word and took shelter in the workhouse. And then, later, we learned that she died in the snow soon after the babe was born.’
‘Ah, I wondered how she came to be wandering in the cold of winter if you had cared for her, but I
see now that she feared you, confusing you perhaps with the brute who abused her. Perhaps she could not have borne anyone to touch her after what she had suffered,’ Arthur said but Jez hardly listened, his features twisted with a mixture of anger and pain.
‘She ran from me when I told her I would love and care for her.’ His eyes were fierce as they met Arthur’s. ‘Bathsheba would have cared for the babe had Marie stayed with us, for she believed the child would bring us luck and she wanted to take it from the workhouse – but I would not let her and so my sister went to the workhouse and paid the woman to care for the babe. Bathsheba said she would curse her if she sold or harmed the child and I know she hoped to one day reclaim her for her own.’ A look of grief came to his face. ‘My sister lost her man before they were joined and would take no other, but wanted a child of her own; she has never forgiven me for not letting her keep the babe …’
‘Can you name the workhouse?’
‘It was close by the village of Sculfield but I remember not its name.’
‘Then your sister is the one I seek.’
‘She can tell you no more than I have.’
‘It is small details – a description of the mother’s eyes, her hair and her manner, anything a woman might notice. If Bathsheba would trust me, I would reward her.’
The other man inclined his head. ‘If Bathsheba thinks she can help you, she will come … but I doubt there is more she can tell.’
Arthur nodded. He believed there was more but he would not press the gypsy. Perhaps Bathsheba would give him the answers he still needed, but if not he must be content with what he had.
‘I am staying at the Threshed Wheat Inn,’ Arthur said. ‘I shall be there until the morning – if Bathsheba wishes to speak to me.’
‘Very well …’ He hesitated then: ‘Do you not wish to buy a fine horse, Mr Stoneham?’ Now Jez had become the true gypsy, a horse dealer, and his eyes gleamed with the light of battle.
