A Handful of Ashes

by Janet Woods

  ‘Rosie has gone. I questioned her and have dismissed her for her part in the affair.’

  ‘She only obeyed my instructions, and her loyalty is to be commended rather than scorned.’ Her eyes came up to the implacable grey of his. ‘And will you dismiss me also, Francis?’

  ‘I’ve not yet decided.’

  Her heart filled with dread as she remembered Bryn. The house was unnaturally quiet. Throwing back the covers she scrambled from the bed and, pulling her robe around her, raced along the corridor and up the stairs to the nursery. Susannah was on the nursery maid’s lap. The woman gazed in alarm at her when she shouted, ‘Where’s my son?’

  ‘In the other room, ma’am, with Jessie.’

  The tension drained from her. Thank God Francis hadn’t taken it into his head to send Bryn away. Rattled by the thought, she returned to her room and spat at him, ‘If you do anything to hurt Bryn I shall hate you for ever.’

  ‘Be that as it may. I haven’t decided yet what Bryn’s future is to be.’

  She glared at him, incensed by his coldness. ‘I don’t understand you. Why should he be punished for something that’s not his fault?’

  ‘He’ll be punished anyway. Do you think my family will tolerate such a child in their midst? You made a fool out of me, Siana.’

  ‘Damn your family! You’ve made a fool out of yourself for listening to them instead of to your heart,’ she shouted, and burst into tears.

  He gripped her by the upper arms, shaking her until she quieted, then thrust her on to the bed. ‘Compose yourself and get dressed. I’ll be in the study when you think you can discuss the problem rationally.’

  Discuss it rationally? She’d never be able to discuss it rationally. Bryn was her son, a child she loved unconditionally. Picking up her hairbrush she hurled it at the mirror, giving vent to her feelings as the glass shattered into silver daggers. ‘Damn you! damn you! damn you!’

  Daisy had left on her visit to Josh. Aware that something was going on, her demands to know fell on deaf ears. One of the nursery maids had said to her, ‘It’s something which doesn’t concern you, Miss Curiosity.’ Miss Edgar kept her counsel. She was happy to return to the house in Poole, though, and soon settled back into her old routine. She just wished that Goldie was with them too, instead of in London. She wondered, was the girl being fed and looked after properly?

  Goldie had been taken to a workhouse, where she’d been examined for infections by a doctor.

  ‘She says her name is Goldie Matheson and she lives in Dorset,’ Mrs Tweddle, the gaunt-faced woman in charge, told him. ‘She said her father is a physician and is the brother of the Earl of Kylchester.’

  ‘Did she, did she indeed?’ The doctor cackled with laughter. ‘Well, she certainly has a sense of humour, considering the rags she arrived in. If your uncle is an earl, girlie, how did you end up in St Martin’s cemetery, eh? Answer me that.’

  Goldie couldn’t tell him of the crime Betty and Alice had committed, in case she was charged with the murder of Sebastian herself and hanged by the neck until she was dead. So she kept quiet.

  ‘Hmmm, there’s no answer for that, is there girl? Hang out your tongue. Say ah.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Ten, sir.’

  ‘Good.’ He turned to Mrs Tweddle. ‘She doesn’t appear to be suffering from malnutrition, and neither does she have any sore or parasite infestations.’ His hand rested on her bare thigh. ‘Good straight bones, too. Physician’s daughter, indeed. He must be a poor sort of doctor to keep you in such rags. And what’s he doing in Dorset while you’re in London, all alone?’

  ‘She’s probably a maid of all work who’s run away from her mistress.’

  ‘Most likely. Ten is a bit young to be working as a maid of all work, though.’ He gently rubbed Goldie’s nipple between his finger and thumb. ‘She seems older in development. Put her down as twelve.’ His hand cupped one of her buttocks, rested there, making her feel odd and awkward. ‘Do you know any letters, girl?’

  She moved away, picked up the coarse grey dress they’d given her, holding it against her. ‘Yes, sir. May I get dressed now?’

  He gazed at her for a moment. ‘Good . . . good. Mrs Tweddle will test you. If you can read, you can assist the schoolmaster for the time being. Go and fetch a slate, Mrs Tweddle.’

  She scrambled into the dress when the woman left, jumping when he pinched her. ‘You’re a pretty little thing. Do you know what the age of consent is?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  He chuckled. ‘That’s good then, for, no doubt, I can help you better your lot by finding you a post somewhere. I know someone who’d like a nice little thing like you working for them. In the entertainment business, she is.’ He drew her closer, so she was standing between his thighs. ‘I must tell Mrs Tweddle not to cut that hair off. I will be an asset in the job I have in mind for you. I have a thruppenny piece in my pocket, would you like it?’

  Goldie thought about that. Thruppence might buy her a coach fare to Dorset, so she nodded.

  ‘Come, sit on my lap, then. I’ll guide your hand into my pocket so we can find it.’

  After a few moment, she said, ‘There’s no thruppenny piece, only a hole in your pocket.’

  ‘It must have fallen through.’ Just as she was about to withdraw her hand he took her by the elbow and pushed her fingers through the hole. He grunted when her hand encountered something soft and warm. That’s the little puppy I keep in my pocket. He’s a sweet little thing who enjoys a stroke. I’ll find your thruppence afterwards.’

  When he heard Mrs Tweddle coming along the corridor he hurriedly withdrew her hand and pushed her away from him. ‘Some other time, eh.’ Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he mopped his sweating brow. ‘Ah, Mrs Tweddle, that was quick.’

  She gazed from one to the other, her eyes sharp. ‘Yes, I like to make sure the new ones are properly supervised. A clean bill of health then, is it? Well, I don’t need to detain you any longer, sir. No doubt you have plenty to do.’

  The doctor rose to his feet. ‘I certainly do, Mrs Tweddle. Leave the girl’s hair alone, would you? It would be a shame to cut it off.’

  ‘Workhouse regulations, sir.’ Besides, it would fetch Mrs Tweddle a few shillings from the wig-maker.

  ‘Since when did we obey rules?’ He pinched the woman’s cheek. ‘We must get together with a bottle of brandy one of these days, just like we used to. You haven’t lost your looks, my dear.’

  Mrs Tweddle simpered a smile at him.

  ‘May I have the thruppence, sir?’ Goldie said as he began to leave.

  ‘Thruppence? Dear me. If I gave you thruppence that would make me poor and you rich. Thruppence indeed. He went off shaking his head.’

  ‘Did I see your hand in his pocket just as I came in?’ Mrs Tweddle asked her.

  ‘He had a puppy he wanted me to stroke.’

  ‘A puppy. Is that what he calls it? And he promised you thruppence to stroke it?’ Mrs Tweddle’s mouth settled into a straight line when Goldie nodded. ‘A dirty old sod, that’s what he is. Keep away from him if you can, dearie. Holler real loud if he corners you again. I’ll cut his bleeding puppy’s tail off for ’im one of these days, that I will.’

  Wide-eyed, Goldie gazed at her.

  ‘You do know what I’m talking about, don’t you, dearie?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ she whispered, thinking it a shame that the puppy would have its tail cut off.

  ‘Good, then I’ll know who to blame if it happens again. Now, let’s see what you can do, ’cause you’ve got to work for your food around here, little enough though that is. You look to be a smart young lady, and you speaks real nice. Perhaps the board of guardians will find a suitable post for you if I draw you to their attention.’

  Later, Goldie found herself lying on a hard metal bed with a straw mattress under her that smelled of stale urine. Two other girls were squeezed in the other end, with the beds either side o
f her similarly occupied. Goldie cried a little for her brother, Sebastian, and more still for her family in Dorset, who she thought she might never see again.

  She prayed to God they were all well, and imagined them eating together at the table. She wondered if Daisy had managed to talk her sister into letting them have Maryse’s old room to share. Daisy could talk people into anything if she tried. She wished she was there with them now. ‘Please God, look after me. Help me find the courage to run away and make my way home to the people I love,’ she whispered. ‘If you can’t do that, please send them to find me.’

  ‘Run away and you’ll have to run fast,’ one of her bed mates commented.

  The other one laughed. ‘You’d better stay on the right side of Mrs Tweddle or she’ll make your life a misery and you’ll never get out of here.’

  Life turned out to be a misery in the workhouse, even when seemingly on the right side of Mrs Tweddle. It soon became apparent that there was not enough food to go round. Breakfast consisted of pails of thin gruel. There was pea or cabbage soup for the main meal, with small pieces of mutton floating in it. A slice of coarse barley bread was issued to soak up the grease floating on the top.

  Goldie was assigned to the schoolroom, a long, cold, grey room packed with two hundred or more grey-clad children. The only light came from skylights in the roof, which were nailed shut, so no air circulated. They leaked when it rained. Goldie handed out slates, corrected sums and spent long hours on her knees, scrubbing the floors or benches.

  Even though she learned to eat every scrap set before her, she began to lose weight and was soon as thin and grey as the rest of the children. Her hair was a dimmed flame, held captive in a dirty braid tied with rag at the bottom.

  Although Goldie didn’t realize it, her hair would eventually gain her freedom.

  Maryse had been weeping for two days. She had once thought she might learn to be a better wife to Marcus. He was so patient and kind, so eager to serve her every need.

  Now this! Heartsick, she couldn’t stop crying. She would never forgive Siana for betraying her, for stealing the bastard child to bring up as her own. She’d never speak to her again. Oh, why hadn’t her stepmother allowed her to die in the first place, when she’d realized she was carrying the bastard child and had attempted to throw herself off the cliff? Why had she been forced to stay alive to be confronted by the result of her shame? Now she was reliving the violence of that act against her, over and over again in her mind.

  She felt so soiled. Turning restlessly in her bed she spared a thought for her husband and children. She was an unnatural mother who felt nothing for her children. Neither of them looked like her. They were the children of Marcus, made in his image, for both had coal-dark eyes and dark caps of hair. Marcus spent more time in the nursery gazing at them with adoration in his eyes, than he did on the estate.

  ‘They’re perfect,’ he’d say, and she’d nod, smile and agree. They didn’t feel like her children, though, and she didn’t care if she never saw them again.

  Not only was she an unnatural mother, she was a bad wife to Marcus. He loved her so much that she constantly felt guilty because she couldn’t live up to his expectations. She hated to see disappointment flare in his eyes when he saw the untouched meal, or failed to respond to the effort he made to please her, like when he’d placed the little vase with a spray of holly on her bedside table.

  She gazed at the red berries clustered along the twig like globules of oozing blood, at the dark leaves with their sharp spikes. How gloriously cruel a plant it was.

  A knock came at the door. It was Pansy bearing a tray in her hands. ‘I’ve brought you some broth.’

  ‘Why don’t you go home, Pansy? Papa will need you.’

  ‘You need me more. He has Siana.’

  ‘Siana,’ she said bitterly. ‘He’ll never forgive her for her deceit.’

  ‘She did what she thought was best.’

  ‘Best for her.’ Giving a sob, Maryse turned her head away. ‘He’ll never forgive me either, for he is too proud. I’ll never be able to look anybody in the eyes again, for I’ll see nothing but pity, shame or loathing in their eyes. I wish I was dead.’

  Alarm came into her sister’s eyes. ‘You’re not going to do anything silly, are you?’

  ‘Of course not. You have always been more courageous than I.’ What was silly about putting an end to her own suffering? Then she would no longer be a burden to those she loved. Calm crept over her. ‘Set the tray down, my darling Pansy. I’ll eat your broth, if only to take the worry from your eyes.’

  ‘She seems a bit better,’ Pansy reported later to Marcus. ‘She ate the broth.’

  A relieved smile touched her brother-in-law’s exhausted face. ‘Good. I’ll go up and say goodnight to her later. Don’t worry if I go out tonight. There’s something I must do in Poole, and I might not be home until early in the morning.’

  ‘Are you going to see Josh?’ she said, her eyes lighting up.

  Managing a grin for her, he teased, ‘I do believe you like Joshua Skinner a lot more than you should, Miss Matheson.’

  Pansy blushed a little, then confessed, ‘I have always liked him, but that seems to have grown into something more. Only I didn’t realize it until that awful time at the christening. Josh was so calm and supportive to everyone, when all the others became still and awkward and sniggered about my sister.’ Her expression contorted into a scowl. ‘I hate the Mathesons. If my father disowns Maryse I may very well never speak to him or his family again.’

  ‘You mustn’t estrange yourself from your father, Pansy. Would you like me to give Josh a nudge in your direction?’

  The laugh she gave was assured. ‘Certainly not. I’ve already indicated to him that I now have no intention of marrying Alder. I have yet to write to Alder informing him of the fact. When I have, and I consider the time is right, I intend to ask Josh outright if he’d care to pay court to me.’

  Marcus laughed for the first time in two days. ‘He’ll be mad if he doesn’t. You’re a perfect gem, Pansy Matheson.’

  Having learned from the late Patrick Pethan that one of the perpetrators of the crime against Maryse was now employed as a seaman on the collier Mary O’Connor, and having heard from Josh that the ship was due in harbour to unload a cargo of coal, Marcus slipped from the house just before dark and headed for Poole.

  He left his horse tied to a tree and went in on foot, moving fast.

  The ship was tied up against the wharf and riding low in the water, for her cargo was still intact, awaiting unloading in the cold eye of morning.

  It took Marcus a little while to single her out from the tangle of masts swaying and creaking in the heavy fog, and he had to edge up close to make out the dirty lettering on her bow.

  The ship was quiet, the deck inhabited by a single watchkeeper, who was shrouded in an oilskin. Slumped on a coiled rope, a rum bottle cuddled against his chest, the seaman snored loudly enough to wake the dead.

  Shaking him into befuddled wakefulness, Marcus said, ‘I’m looking for Silas Barton.’

  ‘Who’re you?’

  ‘His saviour.’

  ‘That bastard needs one if you asks me,’ the old man said, his eyes beginning to fog with sleep again. ‘He’ll be at the Jolly Hornpipe, I reckon. He’s got a slut he sees there when we’re in port. Round the back in the lean-to. You can’t miss Silas. He has a mermaid tattooed on one hand and King Neptune on the other. He’s a bad bugger, though. He keeps a knife up his left sleeve and another in his boot.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Marcus grunted and, placing a couple of coins in the man’s pocket, he allowed him to sink gently back into oblivion. As he made his way back along the quay a door spilled open and light spilled across the cobbles. He drew back into the shadows as two men staggered out.

  Access to the back of the Jolly Hornpipe was made via an alleyway. He heard Barton before he saw the faint light coming through chinks in the door of the lean-to. He was grunting as he thru
st into the whore.

  ‘’Ere I didn’t say you could do that, that,’ the whore protested, her voice muffled as if her face was shoved into a pillow. ‘It ain’t natural and it hurts.’

  ‘Shut your mouth else I’ll shut it for you.’ The grunting continued, faster and faster and the woman began to squeal and protest.

  Marcus imagine Maryse, sweet and clean at the age of seventeen, looking forward to a happy future, suddenly being subjected to such brutality. His mind sent him a picture of Maryse begging for mercy, and that mercy being denied her as she was violated by this man. Throwing open the door he dragged Silas out by his collar, then pulling him backwards across his knee, he broke the vertebrae in his neck. The man twitched in his death throes and a strong stench gusted from him. Wrinkling his nostrils, Marcus let his body fall.

  The girl edged past him and began to run, screaming at the top of her voice, ‘Help! Murder!’

  Men seem to appear from everywhere, shots were fired.

  ‘Shit!’ he grunted. Dodging through the back alleys he headed for his horse at a run, with what seemed to be an army of men in uniforms after him.’

  He heard a horse come up alongside of him. ‘Grab my arm,’ Josh hurled at him. Swung up behind Josh, he and the younger man soon gained ground and Marcus was finally reunited with his horse.

  Leaping into the saddle, he gazed at his rescuer. ‘What were you doing there?’

  ‘I saw your horse and decided to keep an eye out for you. Just as well, for you’d have been caught in five minutes. The way you were running, anyone would think you’d committed a crime instead of being with me all evening. They’d have hung you on the spot. The revenue men are out in force tonight. Come on, let’s head around the back and come into town from the other direction.’

  ‘Are you mad?’

  ‘Sometimes, but it seems I ain’t the only one. Trust me, Marcus. They won’t suspect anyone coming from the opposite direction.’ Setting his horse in motion, Marcus had no recourse but to follow.