by Cathy Sharp
‘Are you lost, child?’ he asked.
Eliza considered her words. ‘I was sent on an errand by my mistress,’ she said. ‘I took the wrong turning and do not know where I am. Can you tell me the name of this place, sir?’
‘You are sitting in Nelson’s Gardens, child – and my church is the church of Saint Peter. If you are alone and hungry at any time, you may visit the church and I will tell you where to find shelter and food.’
‘Thank you,’ Eliza said and rose with dignity. ‘I be looking for the market at the corner of Bull Lane.’
‘I do not think I know that one,’ the kindly priest said. ‘There are many markets and stallholders use odd corners at the end of lanes to sell their wares – the market you speak of is not in Bethnal Green as far as I know.’
‘Am I in Bethnal Green?’ Eliza frowned, for the workhouse was in Whitechapel and she believed that the market Mags had spoken of was halfway between that and the workhouse. ‘Which way is Whitechapel, please, sir?’
He frowned as he thought about her question. ‘You have wandered a long way, my child.’ He took a watch from inside his gown and looked at it. ‘I do not have time to take you home now, but if you will go to the vicarage and wait until I have done my business I will guide you there myself.’
‘You are kind, sir,’ Eliza said and hesitated, because she was not yet sure what she meant to do. If she returned to the workhouse Miss Simpkins could give her back to Fred Roberts and she would be thrashed for running away – but more than that, he might come to her bed and perhaps next time she would not escape him ‘I have remembered where I want to go now.’ She jumped to her feet and started to run away, ignoring his call to her to come back and he would help her.
Eliza passed a school as she ran and heard the sound of children’s voices raised in song. For a moment, as she paused to catch her breath, she wondered what sort of children went to a school like that. She glanced back at it as she walked on, deciding that she would ask the way to the market as soon as she saw someone who looked approachable.
‘What do you mean she isn’t here?’ Arthur asked of the man. He had taken an immediate and instinctive dislike to the butcher who had a great bruise on his cheek and stank of goodness knows what and looked as if he had not washed his bloodstained clothes in an age. ‘Miss Simpkins says you hired Eliza from her.’
‘The ungrateful little bitch ran off in the night,’ the butcher declared furiously. ‘Stole food, she did, and went off while we was asleep. I’ll flay the skin from her backside when I get her back.’
Arthur’s brows furrowed. ‘The terms of hire mean that you have the use of the girl’s service for a certain amount of years but you do not own her – and if you beat her too hard you could be punished for it, particularly if she dies – it would be a hanging matter.’
‘What’s it to you?’ the butcher said belligerently. ‘What I paid fer her, I bloody mean to get me money’s worth out of the brat and you can’t stop me!’
‘No, she is bound to work for you,’ Arthur agreed. ‘But I shall be calling again, and if I discover she’s been badly treated I promise you, you will regret it.’
The butcher glared at him and then spat on the ground near Arthur’s long riding boots but didn’t speak again. Arthur tipped his beaver hat to him and walked away, seething inside. He would have liked to thrash the insolent brute but for the moment the law was in the butcher’s favour and he could only make threats that he hoped would prevent him punishing the girl if she was caught and returned to him, as she most likely would be, for the streets were not a safe place for a young girl like that and she would probably be taken up as a vagrant by the watch for loitering.
‘What are yer after?’ the man behind the baker’s stall demanded as Eliza picked up a bread roll and sniffed it. ‘You’d better ’ave the money to pay fer that or I’ll see yer behind bars.’
Eliza ran still clutching the bread, though she wasn’t aware it was in her hand. She wasn’t sure why she’d touched the roll except that it smelled lovely and was still warm. She’d eaten most of what Mags had given her and there was just a piece of stale cheese and a crust of bread left, and she had wondered how much the fresh bread cost, but she hadn’t intended to steal it.
‘Come back yer little bitch!’ the irate stallholder yelled, but Eliza ran on until she bumped into a man who grabbed her shoulder and turned her round, leering at her.
‘Been thievin’ ’ave yer?’ he muttered and she smelled his foul breath. ‘’Ungry I’ll bet. Come along wiv me, girl and I’ll give yer somethin’ ter eat when I’ve done wiv yer.’
Eliza was in no doubt that he wanted the same from her as Fred Roberts had wanted that night. She kicked him in the shin and wrenched free of his dirty hands, running as fast as she could. Once again, Eliza was driven by fear and she ran on for as long as she could, brushing past people who turned and stared at her and avoiding more than one pair of hands that tried to catch her.
She was numbed with misery as she wandered down alleys and through wider streets, looking at buildings and streets in despair because she was thoroughly lost. Eliza couldn’t even find her way back to the butcher’s yard now, even if she’d wanted to. The afternoon was nearly done; it would soon be dark and she was afraid of sleeping rough on the streets, because wherever she went people stared at her and she didn’t know where to go or what to do.
If only she’d been able to read the street names, Eliza thought as she began to realise that each street or lane had a name. She stood looking at one sign so long that a youth came up to her.
‘’Ere, you lost?’ he asked and lifted his greasy cap to scratch his head. ‘Yer in Kite Place – where do yer want ter go?’
‘I’m looking for the market at the corner of Bull Lane,’ Eliza said hopefully. ‘I was goin’ ter ask for work.’
‘Never ’eard of ’it,’ the youth said. ‘Is it a special place – or are yer just lookin’ fer work?’
‘I want work and somewhere to sleep. My master turned me off …’
‘Yeah, I fought yer looked lost,’ he said and grinned at her. ‘I’m Tucker. Me and a few mates work the markets, see, and we know lots of places to sleep – if yer want ter come along o’ me, I’ll show yer what we do. It ain’t ’ard.’
‘All right,’ Eliza said. ‘I’m called Eliza – and I’ve been scrubbin’ and cleaning in a butcher’s house. It smelled so bad there it made me sick and he beat me.’
‘Still, I bet he fed yer – yer can’t work if yer starved,’ Tucker said and grinned. ‘We don’t eat every day, ’cos we don’t always get lucky but we ain’t starved yet.’
‘Are you hungry?’ Eliza asked. ‘I’ve got some bread I’ll share.’ She thrust the stolen roll at him.
‘Would yer?’ He looked at her with eager anticipation as she took out her bundle and gave him most of the cheese Mags had wrapped for her. She ate the last scrap of stale bread herself. ‘Thanks, Eliza. Yer all right. I’ll give yer some of my food when I earn it.’
‘Thanks.’ She looked at him shyly and then passed the water bottle, which he drained and then tossed into the gutter. ‘We don’t need that – we’ll get tea and beer when we’ve done our work. Need to be light on our feet, see, and no baggage. We’re nippers, see; we have ter be able to run fast when the time comes.’
Eliza went along with him, feeling happier than she had since leaving the workhouse and her friends. She was trying to memorise things, like the church, the park, the school and the shops so that she could find her way back.
‘That over there is the seaman’s mission,’ Tucker told her and pointed to a large grey building. ‘Sometimes they give us food if we go early in the mornin’ – but yer want ter watch out fer the sailors when they’re drunk. They’ll give yer a beatin’ soon as look at yer – and more than that if they’re feelin’ randy.’
Eliza nodded. She understood what Tucker meant now. More than once men had leered at her as she wandered the streets and she’d felt af
raid of what they might do to her. In the workhouse she’d remained innocent of the brutality of that side of life, because Ruth had protected her, but Mags had left her in no doubt of what the butcher meant to do to her and she knew that he wasn’t the only man who would take advantage of her if given the chance. It was lucky that Tucker had noticed her; she could learn her way about the streets and how to take care of herself from him.
Eliza wondered how she could contact Joe in the workhouse without falling foul of its mistress. If she could just get a message to Ruth she would tell Joe – and perhaps he knew how to escape by now. The thought crossed her mind that Joe could have got away long ago and that made her sad because she might not see him again, but for the moment she had a new companion and she was going to learn all she could from him because she did not want to be sent back to her master, the butcher.
‘If you’ve got ’er ’ere I’ll take her wiv me,’ Fred said and glared at Joan Simpkins as if he thought she’d spirited the wretched girl way. ‘Ran off with bread and the boots I give ’er, she did – a little thief she is.’
‘Did you throw away her old boots?’ Joan demanded and saw the answer in his eyes. ‘You’ve worked her for weeks on end and I know you didn’t pay her – so the boots were her pay. Clothes and food and a bed they are the terms on which we give you our workers.’
‘Well, now she’s run orf and I want ’er back. I paid fer ’er and I want ’er or the money.’
‘You can’t have either,’ Joan said secretly relishing his discomfort. She had no doubt in her mind as to why the girl had run off. It didn’t bother her that he’d abused the girl, but if he couldn’t keep hold of his servants it was not Joan’s fault and she had no intention of returning his money. ‘The girl isn’t here and I never refund the money. You took her in good faith and it was up to you to subdue her. I told you not to feed her on meat. Bread and gruel and she would’ve been no trouble.’
Fred glared and spat on the ground. ‘She belongs to me and I want ’er back. Yer haven’t seen the last of me, so don’t forget, if she turns up remember she’s my property.’
Joan looked down her long nose at him. ‘You have the use of her services but no more. After three years she will be free to leave your service if she wishes.’
‘That ain’t true,’ Fred muttered. ‘I bought ’er.’
‘You paid me a pittance for her services, but she is not your property and that was the agreement you signed,’ Joan said, knowing that he’d scribbled his mark without reading the few lines above it. Most likely he could reckon numbers better than he could read and had not even bothered to look. ‘If she returns I shall of course let you know – unless you would like to purchase the services of another of our inmates?’
‘Ah, I daresay you’d like that,’ he said and spat again. ‘I’ll swear the wench is hid somewhere here and you’ll sell ’er to someone else – but you can’t cheat me. You’ve not heard the last of this.’
Joan watched as he stormed out of her office and walked across the courtyard without looking back. A little smile touched her mouth, because he was quite right. If Eliza returned to the workhouse she would find another master or mistress for her. Why should she give the girl back to the butcher when there was further profit to be made?
Joan was about to open the locked drawer where she kept her money when the door opened and her brother walked in. She could instantly see that he was angry with her.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Why did you lie to Mr Stoneham? He asked you where the girl Eliza had gone and you gave him a false address. I informed him of Roberts’ whereabouts myself – but I know he was annoyed. I’ve told you to be careful, Joan. Arthur Stoneham is an influential man and rich. He can do things for us, but he can also break us. I’m not ready to retire. I haven’t got enough savings – so just be careful, Joan. I hope nothing bad has happened to that girl.’
‘I’m sure I have no idea,’ Joan said. ‘I was paid a paltry amount for her clothing, as is my due, and Mr Roberts claimed to be a respectable tradesman.’
‘Well, perhaps he is,’ her brother said and sighed. ‘You’ve been warned, Joan. I only need a few years more before I can retire with my own pub and that will do me nicely for my last years, but you’re younger. You could be the mistress here for years to come.’
Joan didn’t answer and he went away with a shake of his head, but his words had made her think. She did not want to spend the rest of her life as mistress of the workhouse and it was obvious there would be no place for her with her brother when he left here. If she was going to retire with a nice pension for herself she must make sure she got decent money for those she passed on – both for legitimate work and other things. With any luck all the fuss over young girls being used in houses of ill-repute would be finished by the autumn and there were several girls that Joan had been saving for that purpose. When the time came, she would sell them to the highest bidder and if there was any trouble, leave quickly before she was exposed. She had in mind a nice little seaside boarding house where she could take in paying guests, choosing those she preferred and employing maids to do all the work, or a cottage in the country where she could grow fruit and vegetables and sell her produce in the market. It would be a quiet, pleasant life and there was always the chance that she might meet a wealthy widower who needed a wife to care for him.
CHAPTER 10
Arthur glanced around the large and very elegant drawing room. He’d gone straight from his meeting with the master of the workhouse earlier that day and confronted the butcher. Fred Roberts had blustered and raged, protesting that he’d done nothing to make Eliza run off, but Arthur’s instincts told him that she’d been abused in some way, that she’d run because she was afraid of her brutal master.
It was a pleasant society gathering that evening. He’d met his host, Toby’s father, and chatted to several ladies and gentlemen and was wondering how much longer he need stay before he could escape. The talk of Queen Victoria’s speech to the Houses of Parliament, spoken by the Lord Chancellor on her behalf, was on everyone’s lips, as well as the more scandalous activities of her eldest son, Bertie, and his current mistress. After the tragic death of Prince Albert on 14 December 1861, the Queen had plunged herself, her family, and the nation into deepest mourning – a period of mourning that went on far too long for the safety of the monarchy and caused unrest. It was only the severe illness of the Prince of Wales in 1871 and the urging of Disraeli that had induced Her Majesty to attend a thanksgiving service and appear in public again. An abortive attempt on her life a few days later had brought her the overwhelming support and sympathy of her people.
The Queen had by then begun to recover slowly from the loss of the man she had loved and mourned so sincerely, and with the return of Mr Disraeli as her Prime Minister, she became more visible to her people, and she’d been upset when he’d recently been voted out and Mr Gladstone returned to power. She wore the deepest black still, but she was now accepted as a respected and much-loved figure; renowned for her dignity as a matriarchal widow, proclaimed Empress of India at the Delhi Durbar on 1 January 1877, and the model by which English men and women took their stand. Her life now centred on her children and grandchildren, in whom she took a great deal of interest, delighting in drawing their pictures for her albums and having their photographs taken; anyone fortunate to catch sight of Her Majesty driving in her carriage in the park with one of her brood thought they were fortunate to be able to call themselves Victorians.
‘Arthur, I wanted to introduce you to Miss Katharine Ross.’ Toby’s voice cut across Arthur’s thoughts and he focused on the woman his friend was presenting to him. At first glance she looked no more than twenty but when she extended her hand and smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkled and he was aware of tiny lines and of an air of hidden sorrow. Her hair was a pale honey, coiled like a skein of heavy silk in the nape of her neck and held by a circlet of fresh roses that were slightly perfumed, their scent wafting towards
him with every slight movement of her head. She had a beautiful neck and her skin was pale, her eyes large and dark blue; she was beautiful, but not in the conventional way for she had a quiet, almost private air about her.
‘Charmed to meet you, Miss Ross,’ Arthur said and gallantly took the hand she offered to air kiss it. She smiled, and her face lit up for an instant, flooding with light that seemed to dazzle like the sun. ‘I was growing a little tired of the same old faces this evening and needed some diversion.’
‘I too am charmed to meet you, sir,’ she said in a voice that was light and musical. ‘I asked Toby if he could arrange an introduction for he told me about the house you are contemplating setting up for women in difficulty and I have an interest in those who have met with misfortune and share their sorrows in the harshness of a cruel world.’
‘Surely you are too young for such things to have touched you?’ Arthur asked, his look a caress that praised her beauty. She laughed softly and arched one mobile eyebrow mockingly. Her laughter sent little thrills of pleasure through him.
‘I am nine and twenty years, sir, past the age where I think of little but dresses and dancing; it was someone dear to me who suffered, and I have never ceased to mourn her. I am on the verge of purchasing a property for the purpose of supporting young women in trouble.’
‘Indeed, are you very rich, Miss Ross?’ Arthur arched his left eyebrow, quizzing her mischievously.
‘I fear my fortune is not large. I had hoped that perhaps you might help me – indeed, I wondered if we might not pool our efforts or at the very least you would contribute to mine.’
‘Now that is an interesting proposition.’ Arthur smiled at her warmly. ‘I imagine you have other ways of raising funds?
