The Girl in the Ragged Shawl

by Cathy Sharp

  ‘No, no,’ Edith said and laughed. ‘I was just wondering if I ought to send you to school for a few hours – but perhaps we shall go on as we are. Now fetch me the basil and the feverfew.’

  Eliza scurried away to obey. For a moment she’d feared Miss Edith was displeased with her, but she had only been thinking of her good.

  ‘This is the last of the feverfew, Miss Edith,’ Eliza said, showing her how little remained of the dried plant in its jar. ‘And I noticed that your stock of lavender is low, as is the agrimony, and the blackberry root is all gone.’

  Edith made a ticking noise with her tongue. ‘It is time Bathsheba, the Romany woman visited me again,’ she said. ‘Some of the herbs and roots she brings me are rare. I can buy the common herbs fresh from the markets, but only from the travelling woman can I purchase more important plants and herbs. Always remember that dried herbs lose much of their healing power; they need to be fresh if you can find them – fresh-picked if possible to reach their full potential.’

  ‘How often does she call on you?’ Eliza asked.

  ‘Perhaps once or twice a year,’ Edith said and shook her head over it. ‘Well, I must use what I have …’ She glanced up at the clock. ‘The morning has almost flown. I do not have time to visit the market this morning. Well, you must go for me, Eliza.’

  ‘Go to the market alone?’

  Eliza stared at her apprehensively. She’d visited this particular market with her employer on several occasions, but it was a long way to walk there and back alone, and a big responsibility to choose and buy the shopping. Eliza had loved the markets when she was with Tucker; they were filled with strange and exotic smells and there were so many things to see. Always, when she visited the shops with Miss Edith, she longed to linger by some of the stalls selling pretty things, but was hurried along by her impatient companion who never had time to stand and stare.

  ‘I need a loaf of bread, butter, carrots – and you may buy me some fresh herbs if you can find any – also a rabbit, but only from the stall we always buy our meat from, Eliza. Now, write a list and I will give you the money.’ Edith took up her purse and counted four half-crowns into her hand. ‘That should be enough.’

  ‘It is so much money,’ Eliza said nervously. ‘I am feared I might lose it, Miss Edith.’

  ‘Tie it into a corner of your handkerchief,’ Edith said, ‘and tuck that inside your bodice. Be careful to ask the price of everything and make sure the trader does not cheat you of your change.’

  ‘Yes, Miss Edith,’ Eliza said, but she was nervous as she fetched her shawl and the rush basket they used for the market. It was easy enough to reckon the prices of things in Miss Edith’s kitchen, but would the traders cheat her because she was not quick enough to notice how much change they gave her? ‘I will do the best I can.’

  ‘I trust you, Eliza,’ Edith said. ‘I must finish this mixture for Mrs Trent, as she is calling for it this afternoon. Since I cannot visit the market, you must. Go now, and do not waste time for we have much to do today.’

  Eliza nodded and went out without another word. She felt proud to be allowed to shop for Miss Edith, though a little daunted. As she entered the shop, Malcolm was putting something into his pocket and glared at her. She thought she caught sight of silver coins but wasn’t sure. Used to his dark looks, she took little notice normally but this time he seemed angry.

  ‘Where are you goin’, workhouse girl?’

  ‘I’ve been sent on an errand,’ she replied warily. ‘And my name is Eliza.’

  ‘Brat from the workhouse – that’s what you are,’ he said. ‘A filthy little child of a whore from the workhouse, and one of these days I’ll make you sorry you came here.’

  Eliza refused to let him scare or intimidate her; she’d faced bullies in the workhouse and was used to standing up to them. ‘And you’re a sneaking little coward,’ she hissed. ‘You wouldn’t dare say a word if your cousin was here. Now get out of my way and let me pass or I’ll go back and tell her what you called me.’

  ‘Tell-tale bitch,’ he muttered and pinched her arm as she pushed past him. ‘Just you wait – one of these days I’ll make sure she sends you back where you came from.’

  Eliza lifted her head and ignored him. She was too nervous and too excited at the prospect of her adventure to bother about such empty threats. Malcolm worked for his cousin but had little influence with her. Only if Eliza seriously displeased Miss Edith would she be sent back in disgrace, and that she would never willingly do.

  There were less than three weeks to Christmas and the scents of holly and fir trees were the first to reach Eliza’s nostrils as she entered the market that frosty morning. A thin grey smoke issued from a fire in some kind of brazier on which chestnuts were being roasted, adding to the scents of spices and hot drinks being sold to the people shopping.

  Eliza’s apprehension faded as she wandered about the stalls, looking at candies being sold for use on the Christmas tree, and small wooden dolls, trains, bricks and lead soldiers which made a splendid array on a stall selling toys for the festive season. Eliza lingered, looking at some of the dolls, especially one with a beautiful wax face and hair that looked real. She’d never seen anything like it or realised that some children were given things like these to play with.

  ‘Get your ma to buy you her for Christmas?’ the stallholder said, noticing the looks she gave the doll.

  Eliza shook her head and tore herself away. She must get on with her shopping, for if she was too long Miss Edith might be cross. The stall her employer always bought her meat from was just across the street. Its owner recognised her and found her the best rabbit he had. She took her money out and paid him the one shilling he asked and kept the change from her first half-crown in her hand as she went on to the stalls selling carrots, bread and butter. She managed to buy all she needed and there were still two half-crowns in her handkerchief. The only other thing Miss Edith had asked for was some fresh herbs, but Eliza walked all over the market before she found a stall selling dried flowers and herbs. She hesitated whether or not to purchase anything, because Miss Edith had told her that fresh herbs were far more effective, though she knew that some of the herbs were always dried – indeed, it would be impossible to buy fresh at this time of year.

  Approaching the woman standing by the baskets of dried lavender and various herbs, Eliza hesitated, and then asked the price. The woman’s skin was swarthy, as though she had either come from a land where the sun was harsh or spent much of her time outdoors. She had bright eyes rather like those of a bird, but dark and fierce, her black hair hanging from beneath a red scarf that she wrapped around her head, and there were gold loops in her ears.

  ‘How much are they?’ Eliza asked, pointing at the bunches of lavender in her basket.

  ‘Sixpence each or three for a shilling,’ the woman said in a voice that had a lilting sound and reminded her of Joe. ‘All the herbs be the same price.’ The woman’s eyes narrowed, seeming to bore into Eliza. ‘And what be you wanting with herbs, little mistress?’

  ‘I’ve been asked to buy them for my mistress, Miss Edith. She is an apothecary and she is teaching me all she knows.’

  ‘And what have you learned?’ There was laughter in the strange woman’s eyes and Eliza’s skin flushed.

  ‘I know that you have lavender, agrimony and dried rosemary but I am not sure of some of the others.’ Eliza lifted her head proudly.

  ‘Ah, so she tells the truth,’ the woman said and suddenly reached out and caught Eliza’s hand. ‘Open your palm and I shall tell you what the future holds for you, little mistress.’

  Eliza wanted to withdraw her hand and run away, but the woman’s brown fingers held her fast and her eyes locked with hers. Against her will, Eliza was mesmerised. She did not resist as the woman traced her palm with a long fingernail.

  ‘You’m a long road to travel,’ she said in that strange tone which was a little like Joe’s. ‘Yours will never be an easy life, for pain and sorrow
stalks you like a shadow. Yet you be strong enough to endure whatever comes – and your mother loves you …’

  ‘I have no mother,’ Eliza said. ‘I was taken to the workhouse as a babe and I’ve never known my mother.’

  ‘Yet she loves you,’ the woman said, and the glitter in her eyes made Eliza shiver. ‘There are others who care for you as well as those that hate you – and one day you will find peace with the one you will love for all your life …’ She let go of Eliza’s hand and bent to select three bunches of lavender and one each of the other herbs. ‘Give me a half-crown and these are yours.’

  Eliza made no move to pay her, though the offer was generous. ‘Please,’ she begged. ‘Tell me more of my mother. You say she loves me, so she must be alive – but how do you know her or me?’

  ‘I do not,’ the woman said. ‘I have the sight and I can tell only what is revealed to me. Give me the half-crown or be on your way; I have no more for you.’

  Reluctantly, Eliza took the money and paid her. She put the herbs on top of her other shopping and walked away quickly, feeling a little afraid of the woman who had looked at her so oddly. It was as if she could see into her heart and knew the secret longing that Eliza had kept hidden for so long.

  Tears pricked her eyes for it was cruel of the woman to say such things to her. She did not know her, or her mother, so why did she claim that Eliza’s mother loved her?

  Because she was crying, Eliza did not notice the man standing in her path until she almost bumped into him. He reached out and grabbed her arm, glaring at her in a way that made her heart race.

  ‘Mind where yer goin’,’ he muttered, and she caught the smell of strong drink on his breath. ‘Little whore. I know yer sort. Yer lookin’ ter steal me purse!’

  ‘No, sir. Forgive me I did not see you,’ Eliza said as his hand curled around her wrist and he started to drag her towards a narrow alley that ran between rows of shops and houses. It was a rundown area and dark, the road pitted with holes and filled with icy puddles. ‘Let me go!’ Eliza aimed a kick at his shin. He gave a cry of pain and let go and she ran further down the alley, looking for a way of escape. The man was coming after her and despite his size and his inebriation he was gaining on her.

  She turned the corner into a broader street and gave a cry of alarm as she saw that it was a dead end. The brick wall of a warehouse closed off the street and her only way out was he way she’d come. She saw her pursuer coming purposefully towards her, and knew that he would beat her and perhaps do vile things to her if she could not escape him. Screaming, she ran at him and tried to get past, but he caught her about the waist and knocked her back against a wall. Eliza screamed again and dropped her basket as she fought him, but he was pressing his foul beery mouth against hers and he felt him pulling at her dress, lifting it and scrabbling underneath it. Then, quite suddenly, he was dragged off her and sent flying.

  Eliza hardly saw the face of the man who had rescued her, though she knew him to be a gentleman by his smart frock coat and his long shiny boots worn over pale breeches. She called a warning as the brute who had attacked her produced some kind of truncheon and came at him from behind. Unable to move for fear, Eliza watched as the two struggled, and then her rescuer had the other man on his knees. Her saviour now had the heavy stick, which he threatened her attacker with, making him cower and blubber.

  ‘I didn’t know she were yours,’ he muttered. ‘She’s just a little whore.’

  ‘Get out of here before I beat your head in,’ the gentleman said sternly. ‘You know of me – believe me when I say that if I hear you’ve touched her again I’ll make sure you pay for it. You’ll die before you see the light of another day.’

  Her attacker lurched to his feet and set off down the lane in a hurry. Eliza was too shocked to move until the man who had saved her returned and picked up her shopping, restoring it to her with a little smile.

  ‘Are you all right? He didn’t harm you?’

  ‘No, sir, you were in time,’ Eliza said and smiled nervously at him. ‘I did nothing to entice him, sir. I was lost in thought and almost bumped into him but he called me a whore and t-tried …’

  ‘I know well what that brute intended,’ her rescuer said. ‘Do you live far from here? Would you like me to see you safely home – though I do not think that scum will touch you again today.’

  ‘No, sir, you thrashed him, thank you,’ Eliza said. ‘I must go home for my mistress will think me lost and be angry.’

  Her rescuer was looking at her intently. A little tingle of apprehension went down her spine. Why did he look at her so oddly? And could she trust him even though he had helped her?

  ‘May I know your name?’ he asked, his eyes seeming to take note of everything about her.

  ‘My name is … Edith,’ Eliza said, not sure why she lied. ‘I live not far from here. Please let me go now, sir.’

  ‘Of course you may go,’ he said and stood back. ‘I would not harm you, child. Not all men are brutes – though you are wise to be wary for we can all fall from grace given drink and uncertain fate.’

  Eliza gave him an uneasy look and began to run. All she wanted was to get home with her shopping and be safe in Miss Edith’s house. At the end of the lane she looked back and saw that he had not moved. He was just standing there, watching her. She lifted her hand and then turned the corner and retraced her steps so that she knew where to go to find her way home.

  Arthur Stoneham stood staring after the girl until she was out of sight. He’d thought for a moment that he’d found the girl he was looking for, the girl Ruth was still fretting over. What a lovely surprise that would have been to take home for her, but the child had said her name was Edith. Something in her manner at that moment had made him think she might be lying, but why would she lie to him? He had just rescued her from that brute – surely she would have trusted him enough to tell him her name?

  Yet he’d sensed her fear – fear that had come from past experience and too much knowledge of a cruel world – and so he had not pressed her. There was something about her, something that had touched a chord in his memory and his heart and he’d felt as if he’d known her all his life. Even if she was the girl from the workhouse, he’d only seen her that once before and she’d looked very different this time – her freshly-washed hair, wound into tight plaits about her head, shone like spun silk.

  Why did something about her ring a bell in his memory? Arthur was not certain. Did she look a little like someone he knew, or someone he had once known? The thought took hold in his mind and a little groan passed his lips because it could not be possible – and yet, impossible or not, she did remind him of Sarah, the lovely and innocent woman he had betrayed as a callow youth.

  CHAPTER 16

  ‘Ruth, I want to talk to you,’ Arthur said later that day. ‘You know that I only saw Eliza briefly, and she was in a terrible state and filthy from the cellar – can you tell me what colour her hair would be when it was clean?’

  ‘I always thought it was the colour of moonlight,’ Ruth said and moved towards him, an eager look in her eyes. ‘Have you seen her?’

  ‘I think perhaps I may have – but, if it was her, she lied to me, told me her name was Edith. I imagine she did not think she could trust me even though I had helped her.’ He explained his thoughts to Ruth and she nodded.

  ‘She might lie if she was uncertain whether to trust you,’ Ruth said and sighed. ‘To think you were so close, sir! Do you believe it was her?’

  ‘I don’t know, but there was something about her. Something that rang a bell but I can’t be certain … However, she told me that she did not live far away from the market and I think it should not be difficult to find her. She told me that she had been shopping for her mistress and I noticed that she had several bunches of lavender and also some herbs in her basket. Who do you think would want so much lavender?’

  Ruth shook her head. Most housewives bought lavender to make into little bags to keep their drawers fresh an
d sweet, but not several bunches at a time.

  ‘I am not sure, sir.’

  ‘I have it!’ he exclaimed. ‘An apothecary would need many herbs, and lavender is used in cures for headaches as well as other remedies.’

  ‘An apothecary?’ Ruth stared at him in surprise. ‘You mean someone who uses natural things to make cures for folk?’

  ‘Yes, Ruth. I have been turning it over in my mind and I’ve an idea that I’ve seen such a shop in Spitalfields, not too far from the market. I do not recall exactly where but it is not too far from where I saw her.’

  Ruth looked at him in sudden excitement. ‘We might find her at last, sir!’

  ‘Yes, we might. Of course I do not know for certain if it is the same girl – I could be quite wrong. She did look very different to the poor child I saw at the workhouse.’ He frowned. ‘I have cursed myself a thousand times that I did nothing, Ruth. I should have taken her with me that day – found a good home for her, but I was not then so certain that Mistress Simpkins was, and is not, a fit person to have charge of that place.’

  ‘I should’ve told you then,’ Ruth said and looked sad. ‘It might have saved my dearest Eliza much suffering. But I feared retribution and I did not know then what a good man you are sir.’

  Arthur shook his head and turned away from her admiring glance. Little did she know that he had once done a terrible thing – a crime so heinous that he had never forgiven himself nor could he ever. It was the reason that he did not deserve happiness, the reason that he could not follow his heart and court Miss Katharine Ross as he wished. The warmth he’d seen in her eyes would turn to disgust and then hatred if she knew what he’d done – the more so since he’d learned from Toby that her dear sister had disappeared after being attacked in the woods near their home.

  Katharine had never given up searching for Marianne, though it was more than twelve years since she was lost, and he knew it was a sorrow she would keep in her heart until her death and that the secret that shamed him would make her turn from him if she ever learned it – and he could not wed her with such a secret between them. She was his friend now, and she shared his passion for helping unfortunate women, but he kept her at a distance, never letting her see what was in his heart. It would wound her if he had to tell her that he had been the cause of a gentle girl’s untimely death. No matter how many young women and children he helped, it would never wipe away the stain of what he’d done to an innocent girl by seducing her, robbing her of her virtue with sweet words, and then deserting her. Although, she had not conceived a child, she had felt used and shamed, and she had become an invalid, refusing to eat until she wasted away to a shadow of herself and died one winter of pneumonia.