Evie's Ghost

by Helen Peters

  “What is your name?” she asked gently.

  “John, madam.”

  “Tell me, John, does your master give you enough to eat?”

  The boy looked afraid. He glanced over his shoulder. “No, madam,” he whispered. “Just a bit of dry bread in the morning and again at night.”

  “And does he beat you?”

  Again, he looked around before whispering, “Yes, madam, all the time.”

  “Why do you stay with him?”

  “We are apprenticed to him, madam, me and my brother. We ran away, back to my father’s house, but my father was afraid to let us stop, as he might be summoned, as we are bound as apprentices for seven years.”

  “And where do you sleep?”

  “On a heap of sacks in the cellar, ma’am.”

  Sophia looked at his threadbare clothes. “But you must be so cold in winter.”

  “Yes, madam. But the worst thing is that my master won’t allow us to wash, not ever, so we are very sore with the clogged stuff that has almost eat into our flesh, see.”

  He lifted his ragged shirt to reveal oozing sores. Sophia and I both winced.

  At this moment, Polly came clattering down the stairs, her box in one hand and a broom in the other. Sophia turned to her.

  “Polly, take these boys to the kitchen and fetch Mrs Hardwick. Ask her to look after them.”

  “Oh, begging your pardon, madam,” said the older boy, “but we cannot stay. Our master will be angry.”

  “Do not concern yourselves with your master,” said Sophia. “I will deal with your master. You go and eat.”

  “Come with me,” said Polly, smiling her kind smile and holding out a hand to each of the boys.

  Sophia straightened up. Her cheeks were flushed and her face was set and determined. I followed her down the stairs to the basement, making the most of the fact that I seemed to be invisible to her this morning. I wanted to see how she was going to deal with the chimney sweep.

  I lurked in the doorway as Sophia strode into the stable yard, where the huge, grim-faced man I had seen from the window was talking to Mr Paxton, the butler. The sweep was as soot-coated as the boys, but better dressed, in a rough jacket and breeches with boots.

  Beyond them, Robbie was planting in a flower bed. At the sound of Sophia’s shoes on the cobbles, he looked round. His cheeks reddened and he turned back to his work.

  Could I sneak over and speak to Robbie? But the others were standing right in the middle of the stable yard, exactly between us, and one of them would be bound to see me and order me back in before I had a chance to say anything.

  Sophia marched over to the sweep.

  “Are you responsible for those two wretched boys in there?”

  His expression darkened. “Are they making a nuisance, madam? Where are they? I sent the older one in to fetch his brother, and now they’ve both disappeared. I’ll show them what happens to idle wretches like them.”

  Sophia’s dark eyes flashed.

  “You will not lay a finger on either of them,” she said, her voice trembling with anger. “You will never see them again.”

  He stared at her. “Those boys are apprenticed to me.”

  “They are not apprentices,” said Sophia. “They are your slaves.”

  “They’re my lawful property for seven years.”

  “You shall be fully compensated for your loss,” said Sophia. “I shall buy their freedom.”

  Robbie was crouched motionless over the flower bed, holding a seedling in mid-air, its soil-coated roots dangling.

  “And what about the other chimneys that has to be done this morning,” the sweep growled, “and one so twisted that none but shrimps such as they can crawl up it?”

  “I shall send a footman to the house,” said Sophia, “and explain that you will be back tomorrow with a set of brushes, which you will find quite as quick and convenient as your climbing boys. More so, I dare say, since brushes cost nothing to keep. Not that I imagine it costs you a great deal to keep those poor children.”

  “And where am I supposed to find money for brushes?”

  “I shall have the brushes ordered today and sent to you.”

  He shook his head. “I shall lose all my trade, madam, if I have only brushes. Folks want boys. Boys is better, see, for getting into awkward places.”

  “I shall see that you do not lose your trade,” said Sophia grandly. “And mind, Mr Paxton knows where you live, and if you ever send a child up a chimney again, I shall ensure that not a house in the neighbourhood uses your services. Is that quite clear?”

  He looked stupefied. “Yes, madam.”

  “Good. Now leave.”

  He gave a quick nod. “Yes, madam.”

  Robbie glanced up from his work as Sophia walked back into the house. I could dash across the cobbles and give him my warning now, I thought. But before I had taken two steps, the head gardener appeared around the corner and called him. Robbie straightened up and they walked off together towards the formal gardens.

  Blast.

  I walked back indoors and lurked just outside the kitchen door. Mrs Winter, sour-faced as usual, started at the sight of Sophia in her embroidered silk dress, sweeping across the kitchen flagstones. She bowed her head and gave an awkward curtsey, almost toppling over in the attempt.

  “Good morning, Miss Fane,” said Mrs Winter.

  “Mrs Winter, would you make up a large parcel of food for the climbing boys to take home?” said Sophia. “Bread, cheese, eggs, cold meats, and so on.”

  “Very good, Miss Fane,” said Mrs Winter, bobbing another wobbly curtsey.

  “Where is Mrs Hardwick?” asked Sophia.

  “She went to inspect the dairy, madam.”

  Sophia marched out of the kitchen and along the corridors. I followed her, unwilling to miss anything. Luckily, nobody seemed to notice me when Sophia was around. They only had eyes for her.

  Mrs Hardwick came out of the dairy. “Well, how lovely to see you down here, Miss Fane,” she said with a warm smile. It was the first time I’d seen her smile. She looked completely different.

  To my astonishment, Sophia gave her a big hug. It must have been like hugging a lamp-post.

  “I only wish I were able to spend more time here,” Sophia said, “but you know how it is.”

  “Indeed I do, madam. But you are looking very well, I must say.”

  “How are the little boys?” asked Sophia.

  “Come and see for yourself, madam. I’ve sat them in the servants’ hall.”

  “Thank you. And, Mrs Hardwick, pray do not mention this to my father. There is no need for him to know about it.”

  The boys sat hunched at the long table, gnawing their way through huge hunks of bread and cheese. They scrabbled to their feet as Sophia walked towards them. Mrs Hardwick poured milk into two mugs and set them on the table. Then she noticed me for the first time.

  “What do you think you’re doing, hanging around like a simpleton?” she snapped. “Get back to your work.”

  I left the room. In the doorway, I glanced back. Sophia was smiling at the boys.

  “Sit down and enjoy your meal,” she said. “I just need you to tell me where you live.”

  The hunted, frightened looks came over their faces again.

  “Not the sweep’s house,” she reassured them. “Your father’s house. Once you have eaten, Mrs Hardwick will see to it that you are given baths and that your sores are treated with ointment.” She looked at Mrs Hardwick, who nodded. “And after that,” said Sophia, “we are going to take you home.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The Spider’s Web

  That afternoon, Polly and I spent our sewing time making clothes for the climbing boys to wear home. While we worked, I formed letters from scraps of thread for Polly to learn, starting at the beginning of the alphabet. It was better than nothing, but it was a bit fiddly.

  “We need a pen and paper really,” I said. “Where could we get some?”

&
nbsp; “Pen and paper!” said Polly. “You’d be lucky! You surely didn’t learn to write with pen and paper?”

  “No, of course not,” I said, wondering what I should have learned to write with.

  “There’ll be chalk in the farmyard,” said Polly. “The Downs is all made of chalk. There’s always bits lying about.”

  Chalk. Of course.

  “That would be perfect,” I said, thinking it would be perfect for teaching Polly, but not quite so useful for writing a secret note to Sophia.

  “We’ll get some tomorrow,” said Polly. “I need a sleep now. Coming?”

  “I’m going to have a walk first,” I said. “I’ll see you later.”

  This time I didn’t ask her if she wanted to come with me. This hour off might be the last chance I had to make sure Robbie and Sophia got away from Charlbury today. And my best hope of getting my message across was surely to speak to Robbie. He just thought I was a housemaid who had tried to help him stop Jacob from beating the dog yesterday. He might not take any notice if I warned him, but it was worth a try. I might at least get to finish my message before he sent me away.

  I walked all around the house but I couldn’t see Robbie anywhere. Eventually, just beyond the orchard, I came to another arched door in the wall. Maybe this was the kitchen garden that Polly had mentioned.

  I lifted the latch and opened the door.

  Inside the garden, grassy paths crisscrossed dozens of neatly dug beds, where rows of little green shoots poked through the crumbly soil. Fruit trees blossomed against old brick walls and the occasional petal, like stray confetti, twirled in the breeze. Along the far wall ran a long, low greenhouse.

  At first I thought there was nobody there. But then I spotted him, half hidden by bushes, kneeling on the path at the far end of the garden. There was nobody else around.

  I couldn’t believe it. I actually had a proper opportunity to give Robbie my warning. And I had plenty of time too. I wouldn’t need to terrify him by blurting it out. I could spend some time talking to him to gain his trust first and then gradually get to the real message.

  Finally it looked as though luck was on my side.

  I walked across to Robbie, trying to look casual and friendly, not like somebody about to deliver a warning from the future.

  Beside him lay an open sketchbook, a quill pen and a bottle of ink. But he wasn’t drawing. He was staring intently at a leafless bush.

  He looked up as I approached, and smiled as he recognised me.

  “Come and look at this,” he said softly. “Is it not the most beautiful thing you ever saw?”

  Having been lured into worshipping a snail yesterday, I was prepared for “the most beautiful thing you ever saw” to be anything from a molehill to a rabbit dropping. So I was quite relieved when I followed his pointing finger to see an enormous spider’s web. And there was something about Robbie that made me want to see the world through his eyes. So I crouched next to him and looked.

  The perfectly woven web was suspended, as if by magic, between the twigs. Hundreds of dewdrops, fat little spheres, perched on the almost invisible threads, like pearls on lace. As the web blew softly backwards and forwards in the breeze, the threads stretched, but the dewdrops miraculously stayed in place. On the surface of each dewdrop sat a tiny rainbow.

  “Perfect, isn’t it?” murmured Robbie.

  “It’s amazing.”

  “Those threads look so delicate, don’t they? But see how strong they are. The wind blows them but they never snap.”

  We watched in silence for a minute, as the web bent in the breeze, the dewdrops glittering as they caught the sunlight. It really was beautiful.

  “I was going to draw it,” said Robbie, “but I got caught up just looking at it. And now I must get back to work.”

  I glanced at the open page of his sketchbook. The drawing was unfinished but I immediately recognised the tiny chimney sweep. Robbie had captured perfectly his skinny, battered body and frightened face. Above it, he had written:

  How the chimney sweeper’s cry

  Every blackening church appals

  William Blake

  Robbie stood, rolled up his sleeves and took his spade from where it was stuck in the ground. He moved over to an empty bed and started digging, turning the soil over in great clods. I walked over and stood a few metres away from him, watching.

  His arms were covered in scars, and I wondered how he had got them. It would be insensitive to ask, I decided. But then I remembered that he would be leaving Charlbury today, and this was the last opportunity I would ever have to talk to him.

  “Those scars on your arms,” I said. “What happened?”

  Robbie carried on digging as though he hadn’t heard me, although he must have done.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

  I stayed where I was as he continued to dig.

  “I was apprenticed to a farmer,” he said eventually, without looking up.

  “Apprenticed? Like the climbing boys?”

  “I was a little older. I was bound to him when I was eight, for seven years. I had my board and lodging, but no wages.”

  “No wages? In seven years?”

  “Apprentices are often little more than slaves. It is the same for those poor climbing boys – or it was, until Miss Fane bought their freedom.” His cheeks reddened and he stopped.

  “Did they give you enough to eat?” I asked, picturing the poor half-starved chimney sweeps.

  He shook his head as he drove the spade into the ground again. “I had a bit of dry bread at breakfast and another at dinner. I was hungry all the time.”

  “What sort of work did you do?”

  “Everything that needed doing. Milking was the best job, even though I had to get up at half past two in summer to get the cows in. I could sit on a stool to do the milking, and sometimes I would drink a bit of milk, if no one was about, straight out of the bucket. Beautiful it was, warm and creamy. Then I had to feed the pigs and muck them out. After breakfast, I went into the fields. I had to drive the plough, pick stones, weed, sow corn and reap it, dig potatoes, hoe turnips. Pulling turnips, when snow was lying about, that was the worst job. My fingers were like ice and I was frozen half to death. Terrible bleeding chilblains I had, all winter long, so sore and itchy they made you want to cry, but you mustn’t scratch them, for scratching makes them worse.”

  “That sounds awful,” I said. However sore my hands were, at least I didn’t have to pull turnips in the snow. “And where did you sleep? Did you stay in their house?”

  “Oh, no, I never went in the house. I slept on a heap of sacks in the stable loft.” He dug in silence for a while, and then he said, “The loneliness was the worst thing. To have nobody to talk to, from dawn until dusk, not to have one kind word, year after year: that is very hard for a child.”

  “And the farmer beat you?” I asked, thinking of the scars.

  He nodded. “My master and my mistress had very bad tempers. Several times a week, my mistress would throw me on the ground, hold me by the ears, kneel upon me and beat me until I screamed.”

  “Do you not have any parents?” I asked. Surely no parents would have allowed their son to be treated like that for seven years.

  “My father died when I was young. And my mother and sisters had to work too. My sisters worked in the silk factory in the village, and my mother spun wool at home.”

  I noticed he was using the past tense. “Are they… Do they still live in the village?”

  He took a deep breath. “My sisters caught a fever at the factory. And then my mother caught it too…” He stopped digging and gazed into the distance. His eyes were wet. “A neighbour brought the news to my master’s house. I was not allowed to attend the funeral. My master said there was no need and I had better spend the time being useful.”

  He drew his sleeve across his face and started digging again.

  “But I was very fortunate,” he said. “After the funeral, my aunt
came to the farm to visit me, and she was so shocked that she bought my freedom. It was she who found me my first job as gardener’s boy, at Lord Northbridge’s place.”

  “And what was that like?” I asked.

  Robbie’s eyes lit up. “It was like Heaven. The people were so kind. Lord Northbridge’s steward, Mr Allen, was a very good man. When he saw that I liked to learn, he lent me a primer, so that I could teach myself to read. And then he gave me the free use of his library.” He smiled. “That library was a magic kingdom to me. I taught myself to draw using the books in there and studying the prints. I felt as though whole new worlds were opening up to me. It gave me such a thirst for knowledge. I feel constantly in a hurry. There is just not enough time to read and learn all that I wish to learn.” He hesitated. “But it is more than that. I… I want to do something – to change things.”

  “What sort of things?”

  “Those climbing boys… There are so many other children who suffer a similar plight, in factories and mines and on the land. We—” He stopped and blushed again. “I want to campaign for their slavery to end. Imagine a world where all children were able to go to school. Imagine the difference that could be made to children’s lives if they were able to read and write, instead of slaving in factories and mines.”

  “That time will come, I’m sure,” I said. It felt really good to be sure of something for once. “When all children go to school until they’re sixteen.”

  “Sixteen!”

  “It will be the law.”

  “But how would their parents afford it?”

  “The government will pay. Out of taxes.”

  Robbie smiled as he turned over a great clod of soil. “Imagine a time when the government spends tax money on education instead of war. It sounds like paradise.”

  The idea of school being paradise was a new one to me, but, compared with childhood in 1814, I suppose it was.

  The garden door opened and Mr Masters appeared, wheeling a barrow. Suddenly I was filled with panic. If I didn’t get my message across now, then Sophia would be locked up tomorrow. And if Sophia was locked up, then I would have failed to keep my promise to her ghost. And then … would I be stuck in the past forever?