55
Letter from James Wills Esq. to Mr and Mrs Frederick Green, 14th October, 1844
Dear Mr and Mrs Green,
It is with great pleasure that the board has given its approval to your proposal to adopt the infant Emma Booth from Liverpool Street nursery. Enclosed with this letter are the official documents, requiring both of your signatures, and some more information about the child’s circumstances and heritage. Please bring the documents with you when you come to collect the child on Wednesday, 23rd October.
Yours sincerely,
Mr James Wills
PROFILE OF INFANT FOR ADOPTION
NAME: Emma Booth
DATE OF BIRTH: 3rd August, 1844
NAME OF BIRTH MOTHER: Miriam Booth
MOTHER’S OCCUPATION: Prostitute
NAME OF BIRTH FATHER: Unknown
NOTES: Mother a convict. A Gypsy by birth.
Letter from Reverend Jacob Sutton to Mr and Mrs Frederick Green
Dear Mr and Mrs Green,
I am delighted that your application for adoption has been approved and finalized so swiftly, and I look forward to handing you your new daughter so that you might begin your lives as a family together.
The total sum payable to the nursery upon collection is £250. This covers the costs of Emma’s keep since birth, and also my work to ensure that the adoption moved as swiftly as it did.
I trust this is agreeable to you.
Yours sincerely,
Rev. Jacob Sutton
56
There was mostly two sorts of men what come to the Black Horse to see us. The first was the sort what’d pay for an hour and stay not one minute more or less. The second sort would stay two hours or more, and they’d want other stuff besides the normal. I don’t mean they wanted all that deep-down dirty stuff. I mean they was wanting love, of the sort you don’t get by paying for it. When that sorta man come, I’d have to make a lot of soothing noises when he talked to me, and make it seem like I cared about all his problems and how lonely he was.
I wasn’t sure what sorta man I’d rather see. Sometimes, it was nice to get the second sort. All I’d gotta do was pretend to listen to him. I could let my thoughts wander this way and that, and it give me a rest from the work, what wasn’t nice work, when all was said and done. But then there was the other men, what just come in for an hour, one after another, and once you’d seen seven or eight of em, the night was done with and you could go to sleep, pleased with the money what’d be coming to you. And the hours passed by much quicker like that, in general, although it meant you’d sometimes got more cocks than was good for you, or good for anyone, come to that.
My hours of working was usually eight at night till four in the morning, but my busiest times was between eleven and three. It was rare to ever get an hour’s rest at them times, though often enough I’d get to finish an hour early. Once the night was over, me and the other girls used to meet up in the kitchen for tea – or brandy or gin, if we was feeling the need – and talk about the men we’d serviced. And, of course, it didn’t take a lot of weeks before Joanna said, ‘I sucked the cock of your reverend today, Miriam,’ and she put her fingers in her mouth and gagged, like the thought of him made her sick.
‘How can he afford you so often?’ I said. ‘He’s just a vicar.’
‘I told you. Fiddling the books. Selling babies.’
‘You don’t know that, Jo,’ Belle said.
‘Well, I don’t know it for certain, but I definitely know it. Everyone knows it. Where else does a vicar like him get money from? Or does he claim the Lord showers pennies on him? Because if he does, Belle, don’t listen to him. You’re too trusting for your own good. The reverend’s a liar. He’s got the whole world convinced he’s only one step away from being a saint, but anyone who’s ever been his jade knows better.’
Belle shrugged. Then she turned to me and said, ‘Did you know Hattie?’
‘Of course I knew Hattie,’ I said. ‘She lived with me, but she disappeared and no one ain’t heard nothing from her since.’
‘Well, I don’t know where she’s gone, but I can tell you why she left,’ Belle said.
‘Why?’
‘Because that Reverend Sutton was using her like a whore every night of her life and she got so fed up, she thought she was going to murder him. I don’t mean she was going to shout and scream and hit him about a bit. I mean she’d got real plans to kill the man. She came over here once and asked us about it, because she thought we all hated him too. Which we did, of course, but not enough to kill him. My advice to her was to run away – run fast and run far – and not to risk wrecking her life any more by getting hanged just for a man like Reverend Sutton. The next day, she ran, and that was the last we saw of her.’
Well, my eyes was wide as anything when I heard all this. I knew Hattie’d hated the reverend, even more than I’d done, but I didn’t know she’d thought about killing him.
‘But if Hattie had run away, how could she earn a living?’ I said.
‘She was a Gypsy,’ said Joanna. ‘Gypsies know how to trick people.’
I wasn’t taking that sorta talk. ‘I’m a Gypsy girl, too,’ I said. ‘And we don’t trick folk. We just have ways of doing things, what folk think are tricks, but they’re just mysteries and old Gypsy magic.’
Joanna give a sniff, like she wasn’t gonna believe that sorta tale.
‘You wait,’ I said. ‘I’ll get my tarot deck and read you a future, and I’ll read you a past, too, while I’m at it. You tell me if you think I’m tricking.’
I went off and got my cards and then I come back to read Joanna’s past, present and future. The other girls gathered round, too, to hear what I had to say. And what I had to say was this:
That her past had been a tough one, and full of secrets she didn’t want uncovering.
That her present was all right, but not what she’d been hoping for herself.
That in future, if she worked hard, she’d get what she wanted and her past wouldn’t never catch up with her, and so she could stop worrying about it.
Of course, I saw some bad stuff in her future, too, but I thought it best to keep such things to myself. I reckoned she might start paying me money for a reading if I promised her a kushti life this time.
*
So that was how my nights passed. I’d take myself off to my bed round five in the morning. I’d sleep a few hours before waking up and making the most of the time I’d got before the men come in again. Ma Dwyer said it was up to us how much we worked – though she wouldn’t have us doing less than five nights a week – but if we took a night off, we wouldn’t see no money for it. We’d got the choice of doing day shifts, too, if there was men what wanted em, and although Belle and Louisa both did em, I preferred a rest.
I used to spend a lot of time looking out my window – more time than was healthy, some might say – trying to see in the nursery, to catch a sight of the baby there. The baby was about three months old by now and I wondered what she’d be looking like, and if she was well again, after her sorry start in the world.
Eventually, one afternoon around three o’clock, I saw her. Rose come out the front door of the nursery, wheeling a baby carriage, and she walked up and down the street with it, from one end to the next, about four times, because I s’pose she was giving the baby inside some fresh air.
Well, before I even knew what I was doing, I threw open the window and waved and shouted down, ‘Rose! Rose!’
She looked round, to see where the voice was coming from, but it took a long time before she glanced up my way – I s’pose it didn’t cross her mind how anyone’d be shouting at her from a brothel – and when she did, her mouth dropped open a moment, then shut again. Her face went hard as rocks, and she looked away and hurried off, quick as she could.
Well, I was shocked at that. Of course, I knew Rose didn’t think all that well of me no more, but I wasn’t expecting her to stone-cold ignore me, especially not when she wa
s wheeling round a baby what was more than likely the one I’d give birth to. It wasn’t polite, if you asked me.
So I come away and shut the window, and wondered if I could get over the road to visit the baby now and then, like what Rose did with Arabella in the orphanage.
But when I mentioned my idea to Ma Dwyer, she said, ‘You don’t want to be doing that, my love, if you can help it. It’ll only open up wounds. The less you see of her, the better, in my opinion. You can’t have her back, so why hurt yourself with visits, hey? And it’s dangerous – they’ll catch you and put you back in the Cascades. It’s not sensible, my love, not sensible at all.’
Well, it might not be sensible, but a lot of things in life wasn’t sensible and folk still went and did em, so I wasn’t gonna let that put me off and I spent my next four days working out ways of getting over to the nursery for a visit.
57
And so it was certain. Miriam was living and working at the Black Horse. I couldn’t help but be disgusted at how far she had sunk in recent months. How could a girl so willingly walk away from her child? All of mine had been taken from me when I would have done anything to keep them.
There were times when looking after Miriam’s poor baby reminded me of the bad days at the Murrays’, although I kept telling myself that this time would be different: I was going to adopt her and she truly would be mine. I was not ill any more, no matter what Mr Murray’s report had said. I’d hoped when I came here that those days were over. I’d hoped I would only ever need to explain that theft had been the reason for my being transported, and nothing more – no mention of any illness or Charles’s death.
‘It was never proved,’ I said to Reverend Sutton, but my voice was weak and unconvincing. I knew just how much more power he had than me.
Thoughts of the reverend made me feel sick to my core. One afternoon when he was out at church, shortly after he showed me Mr Murray’s report, I went into his study and took it from his desk. Although he had promised that for as long as I was obliging of his foul desires he would say nothing to the governors, I couldn’t risk his sending it to them. A position at the new nursery when it opened was my only hope of escape.
I kept the report under my bed, tucked inside the cover of my old red diary. Soon I was going to destroy them both. There was no need to carry the past around with me, although I knew the words in Mr Murray’s report would never truly fade.
Profile of Mrs Rose Henrietta Winter, written by Mr Charles Murray, 17th September, 1841
Rose Winter came to work for my family in September 1840. She was initially employed as a governess for our young son. The standard of her education was high and we thought she would be very suitable to take on the position of instructing him before he started at the preparatory school. From the very beginning, she also took an active interest in our daughter, who at that time was just a year old. After the children’s nanny passed away suddenly, Mrs Winter offered to take on the role of not only teaching Charles, but also carrying out the day-to-day care of both children. We were delighted at this suggestion and agreed to it at once.
However, it soon became clear that Rose Winter’s interest in our children was not as selfless as had first appeared. Her affection for them was less like that of a professional and more like that of a mother – a somewhat wild and hysterical mother. This, indeed, is what she was. Having sacrificed her own children to relatives after the loss of her husband, Rose appeared to believe that Charles and Isabella were her own blood. She felt at liberty to disregard our wishes for our children and do as she pleased with them.
We were prepared to overlook this to a certain extent, as the children were happy and it did them no real harm. But my wife became alarmed one morning when she arrived at the nursery and found Rose feeding our young daughter from her own breast. The horror of such a situation cannot be over-emphasized, and we decided there and then that we must employ a new nanny immediately, and gave Rose her notice. (We assumed that Rose somehow kept up her own milk supply after leaving her children – her youngest was not yet two when she came to us.)
Although we wanted to send Rose away immediately, we were forced to keep her with us while we looked for her replacement. My wife had always given Rose the strictest instructions that outdoor pursuits were to be extremely limited for our children. Charles was a weak and frail boy, allergic to spores and easily burned by the sun. Despite this, Rose took him outside for a nature walk on his birthday and when my wife forbade her to do such a thing again, she ignored her wishes. Shortly after his second day of exposure to the outdoors, our son contracted scarlet fever, which was tragically fatal.
Rose herself was deeply distressed by Charles’s passing. My wife did not say so to her, but she confided in me that she blamed her for the boy’s death and it is certainly the case that it would never have happened if Rose had obeyed our wishes. However, we simply encouraged her removal to a different post as soon as possible.
It was not long before Rose was offered employment with another family. She asked them whether she might take her own three children to live with her – a request which the family understandably had to refuse. They did say, however, that she might bring one child to stay each weekend. Rose was agreeable to this and it was arranged that she should take up the position in a few days’ time. We were all of us deeply relieved.
Two nights before Rose’s planned departure, I was reading in the drawing room when I heard someone creeping down the main staircase. Assuming it to be a servant, I ignored the sound for some time, until I heard the same footsteps enter the dining room. I became certain then that someone was stealing from me; I could clearly hear a drawer being opened and the clinking sound of silver also reached my ears.
I stood up and waited in the hallway for the culprit. I was still, at this time, expecting it to be the housekeeper or the scullery maid. Sadly, however, the figure that emerged from the shadows was Rose Winter. In one hand she carried a bag. In the other, she was carrying our daughter, and she was heading for the front door.
I stopped her. ‘What in heaven’s name is going on?’ I demanded to know.
She gasped and wept, but said nothing.
I took the bag from her and emptied it on to the floor. Out fell all her possessions and a large number of mine, too. She was attempting to leave our home with fourteen silver knives and forks, which she had taken from the dresser. She was also, I am certain, attempting to take our child.
She did not speak when I demanded again what was going on. Instead, she dropped the child, then she herself began screaming and hyperventilating, as if she were having a hysterical attack. She threw herself to the floor and lay there for some time.
I contacted the police, of course, and Rose was arrested. She claimed that she had been sleepwalking and had no idea of her actions – either what she had done or why.
Neither my wife nor I believe Rose’s story. We are certain that Rose Winter was trying to leave our house that night with our child, and that she was taking the silver in order that she could pawn it to make money enough to keep herself and Isabella. I little know what her long-term plans were and believe her mind to be so deeply disturbed that she hardly knew herself.
It is my belief that Rose Winter is an evil and disturbed woman, whose education and background enables her to function in society because she is intelligent enough to know how to act in order that she might blend in. I would urge you not to be fooled by this woman’s appearance. Without doubt, she is a hysteric. She is also nothing other than a criminal of the very worst sort.
‘Jacob! Jacob! Jacob! Where is Emma?’
Mrs Sutton’s voice woke me early. The panic in her tone was contagious. I jumped out of bed and pulled on my robe. On the landing Mrs Sutton was pounding on her bedroom door. ‘Jacob!’ she called again. ‘Where is the baby? Where is our baby?’
The door flung open and he stood before her, a dishevelled beast of a man. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean what I asked. Where
is Emma? I’ve been down to the nursery and I can’t find her anywhere. Anywhere. I asked the maid if she’d taken her for a walk, but she hasn’t seen her since yesterday lunchtime. Where is she, Jacob?’ But before he could answer, she turned to me. ‘Have you seen her, Rose? Have you seen Emma?’
Cold panic flooded through me. I hadn’t seen her. ‘No, ma’am,’ I said.
The reverend stood calm and still. ‘Don’t sound so hysterical,’ he said. ‘Last night, while you were enjoying your time off, her new parents came and took her away. She has been adopted and taken to live in Campbell Town, on a sheep farm. They will give her a lovely …’
I could say nothing.
Mrs Sutton continued, shocked. ‘You’ve given her away? Without telling me?’
‘I have indeed, my dear. I don’t know why you sound so surprised. I said from the start it was what I’d do. Goodness me, Rose, why are you crying like that?’ he asked, turning to me. ‘Anyone would think the child was your own flesh and blood, and not the offspring of a criminal.’
I wanted to reach out and slap him. No, I wanted to do more than that. Far more. I wanted to see him dead. I hated him.
‘Have you told John?’ Mrs Sutton asked.
‘No.’
‘Why did you not speak to me about this?’
‘I did.’
‘You didn’t. You went about it in secret. You know you did. I cannot believe this, Jacob. I don’t wish to talk to you. Rose, do stop crying. There, dear. There. She’s gone, my love. Gone. You did your best for her. You mustn’t cry.’
The Night Flower Page 27
