The Winter Orphan

by Cathy Sharp

  ‘And you think them good honest folk?’

  ‘None better, sir. It was no fault of Ted’s that led to his loss of position, and Jean is a gentle, loving woman and mother to two grown sons.’

  Arthur nodded. ‘Write and ask him if he will meet me at my home in London – and if I can second your judgment about these people, we will set up a new house for the unfortunate people here.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Hobbs looked pleased. ‘I know you will like Ted – and his wife is a lovely lady. A change of scene and good people to care for them is just what these children need to comfort them through their nightmares.’

  Hetty stood looking at the garden long after Arthur had left. Her eyes were wet and she felt tears on her cheeks. She wiped them away and shook her head as she fought the pain. She had never believed that he would ask her to marry him and his words had been like a knife pricking at her heart. He had offered her marriage – but not because he loved her and that was what made the tears fall. She had turned her face from him in the end so that he would not see her distress and he’d spoken of other things without realising that he had her hurt her more than she could bear.

  Arthur had thought that to offer comfort and companionship was sufficient, but she loved him more than he could ever know. She had always hoped that one day he might return her love, but now he offered a marriage of convenience and that made her feel sad, because it could never be enough for either of them. Arthur was a passionate man and had too much to offer a woman he loved. If she had accepted he would have come to regret it – and if, later, he’d found himself a mistress? No, she could not live in a marriage without love.

  Sighing, Hetty wiped the tears from her eyes. She must be strong and face the thought of a future without love. She turned as the door opened and Marta entered, speaking her name.

  ‘Mistress Hetty,’ Marta said. ‘Aggie was asking for you. I think she is not well.’

  ‘Then I shall come,’ Hetty said and she turned, forcing a smile.

  CHAPTER 17

  Arthur was seated in Lady Rowntree’s parlour, telling her his plans for the inmates of the workhouse.

  ‘To be honest with you, Mr Stoneham, no one wishes to take the post as master of the workhouse. What happened there has blighted it and they say they could not consider living with such a shadow hanging over them,’ said Lady Rowntree with a look of sadness. ‘I cannot say I blame them, for it is too shocking for words and I am devastated that such terrible things should have happened there.’

  He nodded his agreement. ‘I have also thought that it is cursed by the memory and no place for anyone to live. As I told you just now, I am considering setting up another home somewhere hereabouts – and transferring all the inmates. I have someone that may suit as master and mistress in mind.’

  ‘I should be truly grateful if you could take the burden from me,’ her ladyship said, clearly relieved, ‘for my husband is not likely to live the month and needs all my care. I will have that place razed to the ground once all have gone – and sell the land if any want it.’ She looked at him wearily. ‘I should be happy to contribute to the purchase of a new abode for those unfortunate people, sir – but I can offer nothing more. I trusted Master Brent and he let me down and I do not wish to feel responsible for such a thing again. I fear those poor murdered children will haunt me forever …’

  ‘I completely understand, my lady,’ Arthur said sympathetically, for she looked tired and distressed. ‘If you wish to contribute to the purchase of the new house, the money will be gratefully accepted and that will be the end of your commitment. In future, those in charge will report to me or my agents – and I shall keep a strict rein, believe me.’

  ‘You are young and strong,’ she said in a voice that trembled slightly. ‘My father was like you, but my husband was never healthy and he became weak of will as he aged. I tried to keep things on an even keel but it seems I was deceived. I am only glad that you discovered what that evil pair were about before yet more lives were lost.’

  ‘I have men looking for them,’ Arthur said. ‘Unless they have left the country they will be discovered and then they will pay for their wickedness.’

  ‘I pray it will be so,’ she said and, rising from her chair, went over to an elegant satinwood desk; there, she took a pad from the top drawer and wrote something with a flourish, bringing it back to Arthur as he stood by his chair. ‘I hope this will be of help to you, sir.’

  Arthur glanced at the draft for five hundred pounds on a bank in London and thanked her. ‘This will help to purchase a decent-sized house that will be of good use to the community – though I think we shall look a little further afield than Sculfield so that the change of scenery helps to clear young minds of dark thoughts.’

  ‘You might be interested in Houghton Hall,’ she said looking thoughtful. ‘It is twenty miles south of here and General Houghton was once a good friend to my father. He never married and has recently passed away – his nephew and heir, Sir Mark Houghton, will put the house and its small estate on the market soon.’

  ‘I shall make inquiries and when a purchase is made I shall call to tell you.’

  ‘You are very good, sir. I can only thank God that you chose to take an interest in that place …’ A little shudder went through her. Gently bred as she was, the news of what had happened in the workhouse had horrified her.

  Arthur took his leave of Lady Rowntree. It was dark as he rode back to the inn, thinking of the events of the last few weeks. It seemed hardly possible that so much had happened. His brow furrowed as he considered what form his new home should take. Most of those he needed to rehouse were either old or children and it was not an ideal mix. What he needed was a thriving community, a place where craftsmen could work under sheltered housing and begin to make a good life for themselves, and the elderly, destitute, crippled and innocent could find refuge.

  Arthur laughed out loud because what he was hoping for was Utopia! Stopping suddenly as his mood lightened, he heard a sound to his left and swung his head round just as a dark shadow launched at him from the side of the road. A man swung a long thick staff at him, hoping to knock him from his horse, but, alert now, Arthur grabbed the weapon and pulled while urging his horse to spurt forward. His surprise action dragged the man off balance and for a moment he was dragged in the mud and stones of the road until he let go.

  Arthur calmed his horse and dismounted, walking back to where the man lay sprawled, face down. He held the thick staff at the ready and was prepared to strike but, as he approached, the man suddenly got to his feet and ran off towards the trees. From a distance it had not been possible to see his face clearly but as he turned to glance back, Arthur recognised the man as Master Brent. He sent a look of hatred towards Arthur but did not stay to contest the fight. Clearly, he’d hoped to catch his prey unawares but this time Arthur’s senses had not let him down.

  He watched the shadows for a moment but nothing stirred. Brent had been alone, waiting. He must have known where Arthur would be and hoped to jump out and murder him. Arthur nodded to himself. Of course, Brent must have been hidden in the workhouse grounds and had heard Arthur tell Hobbs of his intention to visit Lady Rowntree. Hetty and the others had not been jumping at shadows; the man had been haunting the place, looking for something – or the chance to wreak his revenge on the inmates. He must know secret places to hide while he waited for his chance to take whatever it was that drew him back.

  It was even more imperative now that Arthur find somewhere new to house the workhouse. He would alert the magistrates to the fact that the murderer was still in the area and arrange for posters to be nailed to trees and the doors of inns and churches. A look of determination settled on Arthur’s face. Master Brent would become a fugitive and, eventually, he would end where he belonged, at the end of the hangman’s noose.

  He walked back to his horse, remounted and rode away. His next task now was to look for the girl he believed to be Katharine’s niece. He could not allow he
r to remain lost. She must be found and given a decent home and a place where she could find affection and safety and Hetty would give her both.

  He had already employed agents to look for Bella, but he would also make inquiries himself, because he would not forgive himself if she was in trouble …

  On the morning after her arrival at the workhouse outside Alton, Bella was greeted by a woman with iron-grey hair, drawn back from her face in a knot. She wore a blueish-grey gown with a white collar and a white apron and she was, the girl had been told, called Matron. Her eyes were a similar colour to her dress and they were cool as they looked at Bella.

  ‘So, you ran away from your master because he was cruel to his wife and you feared what he might do to you, girl?’

  ‘Yes, Matron,’ Bella said in a voice that was little more than a whisper.

  ‘Do not try running away again,’ Matron said in a severe tone. ‘The master is good-tempered but he will punish you if you try to escape – and it is a crime to steal the clothes we give you. Do you understand, Bella?’

  ‘Yes, Matron.’ Bella refused to hang her head as most of the girls did when addressed by this woman, yet she tried not to meet her gaze, because she had already made up her mind to run away again as soon as the chance presented itself. No one had beaten her, but the rules were very strict and the food badly cooked and meagre. Bella had thought Polly was her friend, but Polly’s husband had sent her here so it seemed she could trust no one.

  ‘Good, I am glad you understand me,’ Matron said. ‘You will join the girls set to scrubbing out the infirmary today.’

  ‘I was told I would be set to the sewing …’ Bella ventured and was rewarded by a flash of anger from Matron’s eyes.

  ‘The master does not run this wing of the workhouse,’ Matron said. ‘You were brought to me to see if you were fit to work and I have decided that you shall join those set to scrubbing my ward.’

  Bella looked at her and rebellion flared, but she kept her mouth shut. Although the master and his wife had seemed calm, sensible folk when she first arrived, she quickly learned that the wife did little but hold the keys of the storerooms and it was this woman who was in charge of setting the work for the women and girls.

  It was useless to protest. If Bella was considered impertinent she would be punished until she was broken – and Matron looked to be made of steel.

  Bella went with the other young girls set to scrubbing duties. She was given a bucket filled with hot water, a cloth and a scrubbing brush, and then she was shown where to start at one end and told to move forward towards the door.

  ‘Do not walk on wet floors,’ an older girl warned, ‘or she will make us do it all again.’

  Bella nodded and knelt on the cold flagstones. They were hard and she knew her knees would be sore by the time they had finished here, but there were three of them and they worked in a line, moving toward the far end and the door. Beds were crawled under to wash away any dust, because Matron was particular about cleanliness and would inspect all the nooks and crannies.

  ‘I’m Phyllis,’ the girl said as she came out from under the first bed. ‘I’m fourteen and I long for an outside job. The master promised he would find me a good position as a maid but thus far he has not done so …’

  ‘You might be worse off than you are here,’ Bella said as she wiped the soapy water from the floor with her cloth. The floor was not truly dirty. ‘How often do you clean this floor?’

  ‘Every morning,’ Phyllis told her. ‘We clean the bedposts first and then wash the floor so you’ve missed half the work today. You won’t get away with that again.’

  ‘The master’s wife said I should be put to sewing or helping in the kitchen.’

  ‘They’re the good jobs,’ Phyllis said and grinned lopsidedly. ‘We’d all like them, but they give them to the favourites – the ones that toady to Matron and I won’t do that.’

  ‘I think she is hard and unkind,’ Bella said. ‘It is in her eyes.’

  ‘She’s worse than you can ever imagine,’ Phyllis said. ‘You’re too young to understand – but be careful of her if she starts to smile at you.’

  Bella nodded. She had no idea what Phyllis meant, but she hadn’t liked the predatory way Matron looked at her. She would do her work, keep her mouth shut and hope she wasn’t noticed until she could find an opportunity to get away from here.

  ‘There’s always someone to watch out for,’ Bella said. ‘At the place where I lived for years it was both the master and the mistress – they were as evil as each other, and then I was sold to a harsh master, though his wife was all right until she died.’

  ‘I do not like living here,’ Phyllis said. ‘As soon as the master arranges it, I shall leave and I’ll never come back – even if I starve.’

  Bella agreed, though she said nothing. So far she had been treated well enough here, given a thin soup and bread for her meals and a uniform to wear. The red badge she had to wear showed that she had run away from a master and was supposed to shame her but she did not care. There were many people of all ages living in the house, men who worked at breaking stones or picking hemp or sewing coarse sacks, women and children who did sewing, cooking, laundry and cleaning, and all were set to some form of work unless too sick.

  In the first few hours Bella had thought that it might not be too dreadful here and she’d looked forward to helping those who did the mending and sewing for the inmates. However, it seemed that she had escaped from a cruel master only to end up at the mercy of yet another spiteful woman who enjoyed taunting and punishing her victims.

  At last Bella and the others had finished scrubbing the floor. They exited the door and then Phyllis wiped the doorway over again. They took their pails of dirty water to tip into the latrines, which smelled foul and needed clearing. Bella wrinkled her nose but said nothing, because Phyllis and the other girl, who was named Mariah, but never seemed to speak, appeared to take little notice of the stench.

  Phyllis noticed though, and laughed. ‘You will get used to it, Bella. You were lucky that Matron did not make that your first job. The men are supposed to clear the ditch but often they are kept to moneymaking duties and the women have to clear it – and that means we have to help if we’re chosen.’

  ‘Annie had a closet in the yard,’ Bella said. ‘We put the cinders down and then one of the men cleared it from underneath when the smell was bad.’

  ‘Then you were lucky,’ Phyllis said. ‘We have to put up with this all the time – and in the height of summer it is awful.’ She frowned. ‘Matron complains about it and she says that it is the reason several died of cholera last summer.’

  The stink had got into Bella’s nostrils and she was nearly gagging on it, so was glad to finish emptying the pails and walk away.

  ‘What do we do now?’ Bella asked. ‘Are we finished for the day?’

  Phyllis laughed. ‘We’re never done here, Bella. The next place we have to scrub is the master’s room and then Matron’s and then it will be time for our meal. Come, we must get more hot water and soap; mine is almost finished.’

  Bella smothered a yawn and followed her new friend. She had not slept much the previous night for she kept wondering if Karl would find her here and reclaim her. She thought longingly of Polly’s warm and comfortable home and wished that the kindly couple had been able to keep her. She would have been happy to work with Polly in the house and in the fields with Farmer Green and his son. She had liked the family but they’d sent her here to this awful place and so they had not truly cared what happened to her. Bella’s eyes pricked with tears; it seemed that she would never find the warmth and comfort of being loved.

  That first day was long and weary. After they had finished scrubbing and the meagre meal was eaten, Bella was sent to help with sorting the linen ready for the laundry. Torn sheets were sent to be mended first so that they did not rip further in the washing tub and some of them smelled of sweat and urine. She piled armfuls of dirty washing into large baskets,
which were then carried away to the laundry to be put to soak overnight and boiled the next day. It took two strong women to carry the baskets and they laughed at Bella as she attempted to lift one.

  ‘You’m not strong enough, my girl,’ one of them said. ‘Leave it to Peg and the others.’

  Bella was glad to do so and relieved when she was informed that her work was done for the day, but then she was told to report to the schoolroom. There, the Master’s wife was waiting with five other young girls. All dressed in the same light-grey dresses and white aprons and caps, they sat obediently on a wooden bench in front of a long table, on which lay slates and chalk.

  ‘Sit down, girl,’ the mistress said not unkindly. ‘The law says we must teach you to read and write as well as learn your numbers. What do you know of writing, Bella?’

  ‘I can form my name,’ she answered, ‘but I know naught else.’

  The mistress clicked her tongue. ‘It is often so when young ones come to us from another place. But here you will learn to know all the letters, Bella, and to write them in a neat hand. My husband is a good man and conscious of the law. Before you can leave here to take up work again, you must learn the alphabet and how to add up simple amounts. I shall write the letters on the board and you will spend the next half an hour copying them and learning the sound of them.’ She paused and pointed to a girl with dark hair. ‘Hannah, you will speak each letter as I write it and the rest of you will repeat it three times and then write it down.’

  Bella joined in, listening to the sounds of the letters and repeating them three times and then forming them on her slate. They had reached the letter H before the classroom time ran out and they were told to wipe their slates clean and leave in an orderly fashion.