The Girl in the Ragged Shawl

by Cathy Sharp

  ‘How could you say it?’ he questioned, the light of devilment in his eyes, for she had that effect upon him, and despite his resolve never to marry a young and lovely woman, she made his body tingle with need and longing. ‘I assure you that you have nothing to fear from me, Miss Ross.’

  ‘I know it,’ she said, and her smile was warm. ‘I but tease you a little for you have looked so serious of late that I wondered if I might have offended until you told me that you had found a house for our unfortunates.’

  ‘I am concerned for a child,’ Arthur said and sighed. ‘She is one of many – but somehow her fate pricks at me. She ran away from a cruel master to whom she had been sold – at least that was his claim. Miss Simpkins says she was hired to him, which is her legal right – but the man strikes me as one who knows what was truly intended. So he treated her ill and she ran and now she may be in terrible danger.’

  ‘You are worried, my dear friend,’ Katharine said and laid her hand on his. ‘Have you considered hiring an agent to look for this child? I know that sometimes it is impossible to find a missing person …’ A little sob escaped her. ‘But you will not rest until you have done all you can to find her.’

  ‘You are perfectly right,’ Arthur said. ‘I have one agent looking for her already, but I shall hire more – as you say, I must do all I can to find her before it is too late.’

  Why the need to find one particular child was so urgent Arthur could not say, but it nagged at him, refusing to let go day or night, and he knew that he would not forgive himself if she came to harm through his neglect.

  It was the morning after their daring raid, before they had woken up properly, that it happened. Tucker suddenly came rushing in and started yelling at them to run.

  ‘They’ve found us!’ he said. ‘It’s that bugger from the market got a constable after us.’

  The gang split in different ways, because there was always more than one way out of the compound. Tucker had taught them never to use a hideout that had only one way of escape. Eliza ran around the side of the warehouse and away across a pile of rubble. Part of the building had already been pulled down and left ready for the wreckers to come in and clear it. She could hear screams and yells as many of the children were caught, but she got clear and was out into a lane further down before she realised that she had cut her leg in the scramble to escape. These industrial wastelands were always dangerous, with broken glass and old metal hidden amongst the rubbish and Eliza’s leg stung, the blood trickling down her flesh and into her boots.

  She was hobbling by the time she stopped to rest in Nelson Gardens. The blood had stopped dripping but her leg was sore and she felt scared and very alone. A lot of her friends had been caught and she did not know if Tucker was amongst them. Bending her head, she covered her face with her hands and felt the tears falling. Living on the streets had been exciting with Tucker’s gang, but she did not know if she dared to go back. The raid had been planned to catch them unawares and Eliza knew that those of her friends who had been caught would be sent to prison. Tucker had warned her that it could happen, but boasted that they were too quick and too sharp for the plodders who tried half-heartedly to catch them. It was because of the raid on the baker’s stall that the constables had come after them. They had stolen too much and the coster had demanded that it be stopped.

  Eliza knew she dare not return to the old haunts in the hope of finding some of her friends. She must move on and try to find work – but who would employ her looking as filthy as she did now?

  Eliza raised her head, ready to move on, just as a hand descended on her shoulder. She looked up and saw that it was the vicar who had spoken to her weeks before.

  ‘Well, my poor child, by the look of you, it is time you came to us and let us help you,’ he said and smiled kindly. ‘My housekeeper will bathe your leg, wash you and clothe you in something better than these rags – and of course we shall feed you.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ Eliza did not have the energy to resist this time. She felt the pressure of his hand on her shoulder as he guided her across the road to the church and a house next to it, which he told her was his home.

  His housekeeper was in the kitchen and looked at Eliza in dismay. ‘Whatever, will you bring home next?’ she clucked and shook her head at the vicar. ‘Gawd have mercy! What have you done to your leg, child?’ She was very plump and her three chins wobbled as she fussed about Eliza and marched her up the stairs to a room such as Eliza had never seen before.

  Accustomed to the bathhouse at the workhouse, which was a line of tin baths that had to be filled and emptied by hand and had only a thin sheet hung between them for modesty, she was at first amazed by the shining white tub. The butcher’s wife had bathed in a tin tub that Eliza had carried upstairs to her room, filled and then emptied after it had been used. This tub still had to be filled by jugs, some of which Eliza had carried up herself, but there was a plug in the bottom at one end and it was easy to let the used water run away through hidden pipe beneath it.

  ‘Have you never seen a bath before?’ the housekeeper scolded as she hesitated. ‘Well, by the look of you it is a long time since you’ve washed yourself.’

  ‘I washed before I was on the streets,’ Eliza said, stung by the scorn in her eyes. ‘I was clean until I had no home.’

  ‘The Reverend is a good man but it’s me that has to cope with his misfits,’ the woman scolded. ‘Well, in with you then and wash yourself, girl – don’t expect me to do it for you. And make sure you clean the cut on your leg well or it could turn nasty.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ Eliza said and accepted the bar of soap she was given. She held it to her nose and was surprised that it smelled of something sweet. ‘Oh, that’s lovely!’

  ‘Yes, it’s scented with rose essence – and wasted on the likes of you. Well, get on with it – whatever your name is. I haven’t got all day.’

  ‘My name is Eliza, ma’am, and thank you.’

  ‘I’ll fetch you a clean dress and shawl – these others are rags, fit only for the fire, crawling with lice and fleas, I daresay.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am, they haven’t been washed for weeks – ever since I lost my place.’ She made a grab for her shawl. ‘Don’t take this – my mother gave it me when I was a babe.’

  ‘Keep it if you wish, though it’s no more than a rag.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am…’

  ‘Well, Eliza, your manners are better than a good many. Make sure to scrub your hair and wash all over. I’ll bring you some clothes and I want to see the colour of your skin under all that dirt!’

  Eliza thanked her and ducked under the water. It felt so lovely and she’d never had such a luxurious bath in her life. The soap lathered beautifully and smelled wonderful and she rubbed it well into her body and her hair, rinsing it out and then soaping it again. The cut on her leg stung so much that it brought tears to her eyes, but she took notice of the housekeeper and washed it well. Soon, standing up, she looked for something to dry herself on. All she could find was a piece of soft white material that she knew was a towel, but so much softer and thicker than anything she’d ever seen or touched before, other than in Mistress Robert’s house, and even her late mistress’s linen had not been so fine. Was it really for her to use?

  ‘What are you standing there shivering for?’ the housekeeper said bringing in a cotton shift and a gown of dark blue wool with a white collar. ‘Dry yourself and put these on. We’ve no boots to fit you, but I’ve cleaned yours, though the soles are all but worn through.’

  ‘I put paper in to stop the water comin’ in,’ Eliza told her and the woman clucked her tongue.

  ‘Well, I daresay my master will see to it,’ she said. ‘Come back to the kitchen when you’re dressed and you can have some apple pie and bread and cheese.’

  ‘Thank you, you’re very kind,’ Eliza said, and the woman sniffed.

  ‘It’s nothing to do with me. Reverend told me to wash, feed and clothe you – and I am carrying out
his orders.’

  Eliza nodded. She realised that this woman must have looked after many others before her. The owner of this house was rich and he was also kind, taking folk in from the street. She wondered if he would set her to work in his kitchens and was feeling happy when she went down to the kitchen. The apple pie was delicious and she had just eaten the last scrap of her portion when the kitchen door opened and the vicar walked in. Eliza jumped up and was about to thank him for his kindness when she saw the woman entering behind him and her heart sank.

  He’d fetched Mistress Simpkins from the workhouse! Eliza had thought him kind and a good friend to her, but he’d betrayed her.

  ‘Well, that is an improvement,’ he said and smiled benevolently. ‘She looks decent now – is this the young girl you mentioned, Mistress Simpkins.’

  ‘Yes, this is our Eliza,’ Mistress Simpkins said with a false smile. ‘The naughty girl ran away from her master – but thanks to you, sir, we have her back, safe and sound.’ She approached Eliza, the friendly smile dying from her eyes as she held out her hand. ‘Come along, young lady. No need to be frightened. You will not be punished. Your friends have been anxious for you and would give me no peace.’ Eliza hung back and Miss Simpkins took her arm firmly, her fingers gripping tight. ‘Say thank you to this kind vicar for rescuing you, Eliza.’

  Eliza sent him a look filled with reproach. ‘Thank you for the food and the bath,’ she said but did not smile.

  ‘You will be safe with Mistress Simpkins,’ he said in a kindly manner. Clearly, he had no idea what it was like in the workhouse and imagined that she was going to her home where she would be cared for, fed adequately, and given work suitable for a girl of her age. Eliza wanted to resist, to scream and tell him that this woman’s smiles were false and that as soon as they were out of sight, she would be beaten. However, she knew it was useless to protest because these good people would not believe her. They, like so many others, believed that the workhouse was there to protect the poor, whereas in so many cases it was used to abuse them and take advantage of their plight.

  Eliza was no longer the innocent girl who had been sent to the butcher’s house as a skivvy. She knew the perils of the streets and, despite her reluctance to go with Miss Simpkins, accepted that it was slightly better than prison. She would be patient and wait, and perhaps her chance to escape would come – and she did want to see Ruth and Joe. Eliza had missed her friends and had thought of them often when she was in the butcher’s house and running wild on the streets with Tucker and his gang.

  Now that she had some experience of how to live on the streets of London, Eliza thought that she and Joe could find a way to escape together. They would hide out and beg or earn their food until Joe’s father was freed from prison, as he must be once his innocence was proven, and then they could go travelling in the caravan Joe had told her about, pulled by a strong black horse.

  Nursing her hopes for the future, Eliza made no attempt to pull away from Mistress Simpkins as they left the Vicar’s house and crossed the street. Once out of sight, Mistress Simpkins produced a thin rope from inside her coat, which she tied around Eliza’s waist and then attached to her own belt.

  ‘I’ll have no more of this running off, my girl!’

  ‘I wasn’t goin’ ter run orf,’ Eliza muttered resentfully. ‘I ain’t a criminal.’

  ‘No? You were bound to your master for three years, girl. I’ve had him making a nuisance of himself for weeks – three times he’s come demanding you be returned to him, Eliza.’

  ‘I won’t go back to him,’ Eliza said stubbornly. ‘If you send me there I’ll run away again. He’s a dirty, horrid man.’

  ‘Well, behave yourself and perhaps I’ll protect you from him,’ Miss Simpkins said sternly. ‘Cause me no trouble and I’ll find you another place – with a mistress this time, maybe.’

  ‘I ain’t goin’ back to Roberts,’ Eliza said stubbornly. ‘I shan’t be no trouble – but if he comes fer me I’ll kick him where it hurts and I’ll make you sorry.’

  ‘You’ve learned a few things since you left us,’ Miss Simpkins said and smiled sourly. ‘Well, behave yourself and I shall see what turns up.’

  Eliza nodded and hung her head. She looked about her as she followed meekly behind the workhouse mistress, taking note of which way they turned and how far they walked, noting landmarks and the signs that proclaimed street names. They passed Bull Lane, which was marked with the painted sign of a bull just as Tucker had told her it was, and she saw a few market stalls, although nothing like the big markets she’d been haunting with Tucker’s gang. Had she come here, her master would have found her easily. The busy lanes and streets of Bethnal Green and the markets had been a good hiding place for her and she believed she could find her way back there if she chose.

  Eliza had a good memory and she had learned so much during the weeks she’d spent on the streets. The summer had almost fled now, her thirteenth birthday having passed with no one to remark it, but now the nights were colder and she could feel a bite in the air despite the sunshine. It was the end of summer and it would soon be autumn and then winter. Eliza thought that life on the streets would be worse in winter, even bitterer and harder than in the workhouse itself.

  Still, a chill went down her spine as the gates of the workhouse clanged behind her and she was once again locked in. She wondered about Tucker and whether he was now languishing in a police cell, but accepted that she might never know. Eliza was learning that life changed and she must learn to move on.

  Eliza was given an old dress and the lovely wool gown she’d been given by the vicar’s housekeeper was taken away, though the mistress didn’t bother over her shawl for it was worthless to her. She knew that Miss Simpkins would probably sell it and she would never see it again, but since it had never truly been hers she did not mind.

  ‘You can work in the laundry for now,’ Miss Simpkins told her. ‘I shall find outside work for you soon. Until then behave and we’ll say no more of this nonsense.’

  Eliza just looked at her and did not answer. She went straight to the laundry and one of the women gave her an apron to put on and then set her to rinsing the clothes after they’d been washed, which was less unpleasant than stirring the hot tub.

  ‘So yer back then,’ Sadie said sourly, coming up to Eliza as she pounded her stick on the clothes to make the soap scum rise to the top. ‘A high fuss there’s been over yer an’ all.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘That butcher’s been ’ere creatin’ – and one of them toffee-nosed guv’ners has been kickin’ up ’ell over yer.’

  ‘I know Mr Roberts wants me back, but I don’t know about the governor.’ Eliza was puzzled. ‘Why is he angry with me?’

  ‘’E’s the one wot took Ruth and Cook orf somewhere,’ Sadie said gleefully. ‘Yeah, Ruth’s gorn an’ left yer. Yer’ll get no more favours ’ere, girl, no more titbits from the cook – bloody food’s worse than ever now. The muck they serve us these days ain’t worth eatin’.’

  ‘Ruth has gone?’ Eliza’s heart sank. ‘Where? Do you know where she went, Sadie?’

  ‘Nah; didn’t tell me – no one tells me nuthin’.’ Sadie gave a cackle of malicious laughter. ‘Yer on yer own now, girl. That bloody gypsy lad is gorn too – dead, he is, I reckon, and buried in the cellar from what the men ’eard.’

  Eliza swallowed hard, blinking back the rush of tears. The one thing that had kept her spirits up was that she would see her friends soon. She’d believed that she and Joe could run off together but now Sadie was saying that Joe was dead – and buried in the cellar. Why buried in the cellar?

  ‘What makes you say he’s buried in the cellar?’ she asked Sadie.

  ‘The men heard digging there for several nights and then it was quiet and no one has seen the boy since just after yer left.’

  Joe dead and buried in the cellar. For a few moments Eliza was numbed with grief and then she remembered giving Joe the key to the cellar. He’d told her the
rats were clever and that he’d found a way out of the workhouse – of course, that had to be it! The rats were free to come and go as they pleased; they came there to find shelter and somewhere out of the weather to breed, but they came and went as they pleased – and Joe, clever Joe, who could see in the dark, had watched them and discovered their secret.

  Joe wasn’t dead and buried in the cellar. Joe had found a way to dig himself out and he was free. He must have found some kind of tunnel that he’d made big enough to scramble through and escape.

  Joe, her Joe, was alive and outside the workhouse somewhere! He might even be looking for her. Eliza wondered if he had found the butchers where she’d been taken and whether he’d gone there to look for her. Had he continued to search for her – or had he gone to find his father and his family?

  Joe had told her that his mother and younger brother and his aunt were in Ireland. They had some land there where they kept horses. Joe had explained that they travelled during the spring and summer but in the autumn and winter they lived on their land and broke young horses to sell at the horse fairs in the spring and summer. It had been due to a fight at one of the horse fairs that Joe’s father had been arrested and imprisoned on a false charge.

  Eliza thought that if his father had been given his freedom, he might have taken Joe to Ireland. Would he stay there and forget her – or would he come back one day to look for her again? Remembering his promise, she smiled and nursed the thought inside. Joe was special to her and she was special to him. One day, perhaps when they were older, they would be together.

  ‘Stop dreaming and get them clothes out fer the mangle,’ a woman’s voice cut through Eliza’s thoughts. ‘Yer back in the workhouse now so start workin’ or yer’ll feel me ’and about yer ear.’

  Jerked back to reality, Eliza used the tongs to lift the heavy wet clothes into a large zinc bath. From there she had to lift them to the mangle and hold them while her fellow worker turned the big handle that made the rollers grab the material and squeeze the water back into the tin bath beneath. It was hard, back-breaking work and Eliza soon forgot everything except how tired she was. The mind-numbing hopelessness of life here stole over her once more, making her regret the loss of her friends, and she wondered if she would ever be free again.