‘All right, I’ll do it! Certainly nothing is lost in trying!’ Martin’s mood brightened.
*
The whisper had travelled the workhouse like wildfire. Although segregated, snippets of conversations were overheard and surreptitiously passed on by women working in the dining room. It appeared there was a young woman called Cara Flowers who was offering work to the inmates and their families. It was discussed in the dormitories at night… nine families had been given a home with the men being paid a small wage whilst they worked on their properties. Would this Miss Flowers come back for more? How could she afford it? She must be very rich. When would she return to help again? These questions, albeit having no answers, sparked hope. Maybe they would be lucky enough to be chosen next time. Life in the ‘Spike’ suddenly held new meaning for everyone. Now they had something to look forward to, something to stay alive for.
Fred Tulley noticed the difference in the increased amount of stone and bone being crushed. He also saw the odd glint in the normally glassy eyes of the inmates; a little smile not too well hidden; the sudden energy in the children’s play in the exercise yards. He wondered what the hell was going on until it finally hit him like a thunderbolt.
Flowers! She was the cause of this. If he wasn’t too careful he could find himself with a revolt on his hands. Either that or they would all sign themselves out and turn up on her doorstep looking for a handout. He grinned as that picture formed in his head.
Snapping his mind back, Tulley remembered, as the Master, he was in charge. It was he who laid down the rules of this house; the Board of Guardians be damned! Smiling to himself, he puffed out his chest. He could make his own decisions, within reason of course. However, the decision he was about to make was anything but within reason. He was about to reiterate exactly who was boss in this place.
Seeking out his wife, Tulley whispered to her exactly what he had in mind and said it was to be implemented the following day. He would enjoy seeing the inmates’ faces when they saw what he had planned for them.
*
Cara was dressed in a white dress. Tight around the waist, it rounded close to the hips. The skirt, with a large frill wrapped around the hemline, fell to meet her matching shoes. The bodice fit her figure well and with a high neck the dress sported long sleeves. A straw boater on her head and a parasol and drawstring bag in her hand, she was ready.
The sun beamed down as she stepped out of the house. It was yet another beautiful day and the birds chirruped in the trees. Martin was there to greet her. Dressed in a white linen suit he also wore a straw boater. His brown and white brogues clicked together as he bowed from the waist, a reminder of bygone days, and Cara laughed.
Together they strolled down Proud’s Lane side by side, Martin chatted quietly. They were off to see Mr Harris at the estate agents office in Cambridge Street, hoping to find a property suitable for Martin’s new office. Cara listened intently as he described what kind of office he wanted, giving her little opportunity to join in the conversation in his excitement.
‘Miss Flowers, Mr Lander, how nice to see you both.’ Harris said when they arrived. ‘After our telephone conversation yesterday, Miss Flowers…’
‘Cara, please call me Cara… all my friends do.’ She gave him a little smile.
Nodding, the man went on, ‘Cara… I searched my books thoroughly. I have a property over in Green Croft, Mr Lander. It’s right next to the railway line and though the windows rattle a bit as the trains pass by, I’m sure you can cope with that.’
Cara saw the mischievous twinkle in Harris’s eye before looking at Martin. His mouth was open and he looked aghast at the prospect. Cara burst out laughing. ‘I think Mr Harris is joking with you, Martin.’
The young man nodded with an ‘I knew that’ look on his face.
Harris apologized for his little joke and, serious once more, said, ‘I don’t have too many places that are appropriate for you, I’m afraid. I have properties down in Gozzard Street at the other end of town, but they are extremely run-down – ramshackle in fact. I am not entirely sure any of them are at all suitable.’
However, the couple agreed to take a look nevertheless.
Before they left, Cara requested, ‘Mr Harris, would you be good enough to search your books for old or abandoned houses and cottages? Anything you think might interest me.’ He agreed to look for her. He had already heard about ‘Cara’s Cottages’… in fact the whole town was now talking about it. That woman was an angel, people said. He smiled to himself; she certainly was doing a good job, there was no doubt about that and… he liked her very much.
It was quite a step to Gozzard Street, so Martin hailed a cab and the couple set off on their little adventure. Cara kept her eye on the streets as they passed, looking out for anything she could invest in herself.
Arriving at the building they were there to see in respect of Martin’s new office, Cara could barely contain her feelings. The whole street of about twenty buildings on one side and three blocks of six on the other looked shabby and dirty. On the one side were all houses each joined to the next. The blocks on the other side were run-down shops Cara felt sure were no longer trading. A blacksmith’s shop, which remained open, stood at the end of the block.
Shouting to the cabbie to take them back to Harris’s office, Cara said to Martin, ‘No, no, no! Most definitely not! Nowhere good enough for a solicitor. However…’
Martin was disappointed at not having found a property to be used as an office, but he couldn’t help but grin when Cara threw back her head and laughed. He knew these old properties wouldn’t stand empty for much longer. Despite their dilapidated condition Cara would have families from the workhouse in them in no time.
Fifteen
Their thin porridge and chunk of bread eaten, the male inmates trooped from the dining hall to the large courtyard outside to begin their daily work. Groans sounded as they saw the large cartloads of stone and bone which had been delivered for crushing. Their breakfast ration had been cut and their workload increased.
‘Best get cracking if you want to eat again today!’ the Master yelled before disappearing inside the building, chuckling at the pun. He considered himself a very witty man.
Walking down the corridor and out to the laundry, he wanted to check his wife had complied with his instructions. Seeing every blanket from the beds on the laundry floor, he saw Ada had indeed carried out his orders. Maybe she was still useful, for now at least. Two blankets per inmate to be washed meant the women would be hard at it all day. Tulley and his wife exchanged a nod then he turned and walked away.
Ada had instructed the children to sweep out the dormitories before mopping the floors, even the little ones were given dusters to clean down the wooden bed frames. Mattresses, such as they were, had to be turned.
Fred Tulley smiled to himself as he walked the length of the corridor. His workhouse was back on track, and everyone knew he was the Master, he had made sure of that. He ran a tight ship which was once again floating beautifully on the crest of the inmates’ hard work. He decided now was a good time to take a look at these ‘Cara’s Cottages’ he’d heard so much about.
Striding out of the front door, he saw the porter jump to attention before unlocking the gate. With a single nod Tulley marched away from the ‘Spike’.
Not having far to go, Tulley walked down the dirt track which took him to the place he sought. Nine cottages stood off to one side of the track, each a flurry of activity.
It was the children who first noticed the Master’s imposing form swaggering towards them and a shrill whistle informed their parents a visitor approached. Nine women nervously came out to stand in front of their homes. Even though they no longer lived in the workhouse, fear of its master still ran deep. Nine men ceased banging and hammering to listen.
Tulley strode to the middle of the row and cast a glance both ways.
The woman who stood nearest him folded her arms across her chest and said loudly, ‘What yo
u want here?’
‘I’ve come to see where you’re living,’ Tulley replied, his arms stretched wide.
The other women and children moved swiftly to stand with their friend providing a united front.
The woman spoke again, ‘Now you’ve seen, you can bugger off!’
‘Is that any way to speak to the man who took care of you when your husband couldn’t?’ Fred grinned. The grin drained away as each husband appeared, hammers in hands.
The woman’s husband spoke quietly, an underlying menace lacing his words. ‘You heard what the lady said – bugger off! If we catch you round here again…’ He held up the hammer for Tulley to see.
Fred feigned bravado as he turned and walked back the way he had come, a loud cheer from the cottagers ringing in his ears. Bastards! he thought. But they’ll be back with me before long and when they are…!
*
Ada Tulley had followed Fred quietly along the corridor and watched through the window as her husband strolled through the workhouse gate, wondering where he’d gone. Her eyes never leaving the swaggering man, Ada considered whether he was off to see another woman. The thought provoked her temper, which was rapidly rising. No, she thought, what woman would take him on? Well wherever it was he was going, and she determined to find out on his return, he’d left her to do all the work… again! She couldn’t just go out for a walk in the sunshine when the fancy took her. It hardly takes any effort to sit on your arse and watch the bone and stone crushing now does it? She thought spitefully.
Watching the women in the laundry feeding blankets between the rollers of the mangle one after another, her thoughts returned to ‘Mad’ Liza Townsend. The damned woman had tried to kill her! The job of Matron was becoming dangerous and was she paid any more? Was she hell as like!
Thoroughly disgruntled, she stomped away to the kitchen.
Seeing the cook peeling carrots thinly, Ada screeched her disgust across the room. ‘What are you doing?’
The cook’s eyes found hers as she retorted, ‘Diggin’ the garden… what does it look like?’
‘Don’t peel them, it’s wasteful! Chop them, and very small at that!’
Shaking her head, Ada wandered over to the large pan on the range. Lifting the lid, she peeped inside and nodded, the awful smell making her nose wrinkle. ‘This soup is to last two days… Master’s orders!’ With that, Ada walked out.
The cook looked at the inmate helpers and slammed the knife down she had been using on the carrots. ‘That’s it!’ Taking off her apron and cap and throwing them on the floor, she said, ‘I’ve had enough of this! Let her cook her own bloody slop, I quit!’ Grabbing her bag, the woman stormed from the room, leaving the inmates with smiles on their faces. The women working in the kitchen took the opportunity, while they were no longer supervised, to fill their bellies with anything they could find. Apron pockets were stuffed with apples and carrots to be passed slyly to the children at dinnertime.
Returning to the kitchen later, Ada Tulley was furious when she discovered the cook had left her position without as much as a by-your-leave.
Questioning the inmates, Ada shouted, ‘Well what did she say? What reason did she give for just walking out?’
The inmates lowered their heads and said nothing.
‘Christ, this is a mess!’ Ada railed on. ‘Right, you lot will have to do the cooking, that’s all there is to it because I ain’t doing it!’ Ada stamped from the kitchen, her anger evident.
After a moment the inmates burst out laughing. It wasn’t long before every inmate knew about the cook’s departure. Ada marvelled at how the messages managed to be passed, after all, segregation was in effect. She was also totally unaware of the treats being passed as well.
Marching back to the laundry, Ada thought, No doubt this is something else Fred will blame me for. She decided to say nothing about the incident until they were in their quarters that evening. With enough beer inside her she wouldn’t care when he would inevitably rant and rave.
It wasn’t until her first jug of beer had been consumed that evening that Ada broached the subject of the cook.
‘The cook left today,’ she said, beer glass in hand, feet up on the table.
‘What do you mean, left?’ Tulley asked gruffly without taking his eyes from the newspaper held in front of his face.
Ada sighed audibly showing her frustration at her husband’s stupidity. ‘Her’s gone! Her’s left! Her’s done a flit and… her ain’t coming back!’
‘Why?’ Fred boomed, slamming the newspaper onto his knees.
Ada shrugged her shoulders and drained her glass.
‘What did you do to her this time?’ Fred growled.
‘Oh I knew it would have to be my fault!’ Ada said as she poured more beer. ‘I’ll have you know, Fred Tulley, I was carrying out your orders to cut the food ration!’
‘Bugger it! Now what will we do?’ Fred was now pacing the room.
‘I don’t know, but I’ll tell you this… I ain’t doing the cooking and that’s final!’ Ada yelled before she took a long drink of her ale.
‘Bugger it! Bugger it!’ Tulley shouted. ‘We’ll have to get another cook and bloody quick!’
‘Good luck with that,’ Ada chuckled, wiping her mouth on her sleeve.
‘Ada, you are worse than bloody useless!’ Tulley yelled, knowing full well his voice would carry on the night air and reach the ears of the inmates. ‘Just get me my supper!’
‘Supper you say… get your own bloody supper!’ Ada screamed back.
In a flash, Fred was before his drunken wife and slapped her face soundly.
Ada dropped her beer glass, spilling its contents over her apron. Just as quickly she jumped up and snatched up a letter opener which had been lying on the table.
Squaring up to him, she yelled, ‘That’s the first and last time you will strike me, Fred Tulley, you mark my words!’ With a snarl she rushed at him and the sharp point of the weapon jabbed into his arm which he raised in defence of the oncoming attack.
Fred screamed out in pain, then he saw the blood oozing from his wound. Looking at his wife who stood with the letter opener held high like a dagger, he saw she was ready to strike again – he had to disarm her.
Fury and hate built up to boiling point now, Fred jumped at his wife, snatching the weapon from her hand. Being so drunk she was unable to keep her balance; she fell to the floor. Fred stood over her, his eyes wild and full of hateful disgust. Unable to contain himself a moment longer, he yelled at the top of his voice, ‘Ada, tonight you die!’ Lurching forward, he brought down the weapon towards the cowering woman. As she tried to scramble away from him, the letter opener embedded itself in her shoulder. Ada screamed out her pain as Fred stood back, suddenly realizing what he’d done.
Sixteen
Joseph Purcell stepped from his carriage outside the row of dwellings now known as ‘Cara’s Cottages’. He had been the Magistrate for Bilston town for the last ten years and Chairman of the Board of Guardians for five of those ten. He had heard about the young Miss Cara Flowers and wanted to see for himself how the former inmates of the ‘Spike’ were faring in their new environment.
A shrill whistle bounced off the cottages, an alert to the mothers from the children that a stranger had arrived. As one, a line of women moved to the front of their houses, arms crossed over chests. Seeing the stranger, their body posture remained rigid. The husbands came forward too and, after introducing himself, Joseph Purcell shook the hand of each man.
‘I see the work is coming on,’ he said as he looked at the buildings. He gave a thin smile as a chair was dragged outside for him; he noted he was not about to be invited inside.
After tea and cake, he spoke again: ‘I have heard a great deal about Cara Flowers and her work, and I wished to see for myself how you good people are faring in your new homes.’
Joseph asked questions of the new residents: were they paying rent? How could they afford that as they had no jobs? Would their c
hildren be attending school? Did the men anticipate finding work? How did they feel about Cara being their landlady?
All very forthright questions, and it was one of the women who gave him a forthright answer. ‘Now you look here, Mr Purcell, you can ask as many questions as you like but we ain’t giving you no answers.’ Rumbles of assertive agreement sounded.
‘I was just enquiring…’ Purcell began, but the woman cut him off.
‘Cara Flowers has been bloody good to us,’ she spread her arms to encompass the little group, ‘so what makes you think we would betray her trust by telling you her business? What goes on between us and her is our business and no one else’s. I don’t know what it is you want here, but whatever it is, you won’t get it from us. I, for one, won’t have anything said against that young wench!’
When the applause died down, Purcell said, ‘Obviously I have not made myself clear, which has raised suspicion of my visit. I came only to congratulate you all, and praise Miss Flowers for the marvellous work she has undertaken.’
As Purcell said his goodbye and climbed into his carriage to leave, the mutterings began once more.
The men and women remained sceptical at his unannounced visit. They didn’t trust the man, for all he was a magistrate. He was fishing in their pool for information… why? What was he up to? They later agreed it would be wise to let Cara know the next time she called.
Joseph leaned back in the carriage seat and pondered what he saw as a wasted half an hour. The residents had told him nothing more than he’d already heard on the town grapevine. That Cara had been tasked by her dying grandmother to find and care for any living relatives. She had found two members of her family and was indeed looking after them. She was on a mission – that much was evident – to help the poor of the town and had set her sights on the workhouse. What was she up to? Why the workhouse? There were more than enough poor folk in the town she could aid. Joseph couldn’t help but admire the woman’s tenacity and ingenuity. Then he chided himself for such a thought, women should really stay at home and attend to their children, they should not be poking their noses in men’s business.
The Workhouse Children Page 11
