by Janet Woods
The words lodged in Goldie’s brain as she woke. She groaned as she tried to sit up, resolving to run away again as soon as she could. She’d rather die than stay in this place longer than was necessary.
‘Now don’t you be scared, my luvvy. You’re in the infirmary. My name’s Annie Rice and this here is my friend, Maggie Coster. We’ll be looking after you. But we’ve got to wash you and put some salve on those welts. It’s going to hurt.’
Tears came to Goldie’s eyes. ‘I want my mamma.’
Maggie gazed with astonishment at her friend. ‘Well, I never. She speaks real nice, don’t she?’
Annie lowered her voice. ‘And looks pretty. She still has her hair. Mrs Tweddle might take it into her head to let the doctor have his way with her. You know what he’s like with the young girls. She’ll end up in a house when he’s finished teaching her a few tricks, the dirty old sod.’ Annie turned to smile at her. ‘How did you get in here, then?’
Goldie bit her lip and plucked from the air what seemed to her to be a perfectly reasonable scenario, for the death of Sebastian and the consequences to herself of exposure of the crime against her brother, were very real to her. So far, nobody had believed the truth of her background. But everyone respected what the earl said, and she knew he would vouch for her.
‘I was staying with my papa’s relative, the Earl of Kylchester, and I got lost. Someone stole my clothes and they left me on a tomb in a cemetery.’
‘Now there’s a fine tale,’ Maggie said and gazed at Annie, her eyes brimming with mirth. The two women gazed at each other for a moment, then began to laugh uproariously.
Josh wished he hadn’t mentioned that he intended to visit London in August, for the battle with Daisy had been raging for five minutes.
‘It’s not a social visit. Giles Dennings and I are going to look over some property there as an investment.’
‘We could make it a social visit, though. Mr Dennings won’t mind. Please, Josh,’ she begged. ‘I won’t get in the way, I promise. I can visit Goldie then. I’m so bored without her and I want to know when she’s coming home, because even though she said she’d write, she hasn’t. I’ll be good, I promise.’
‘You’re a girl. Who’s going to look after you?’
Sensing victory, Daisy gave her brother her most winsome smile. ‘Miss Edgar can come too. Her sister has a boarding house in London and we could stay there. I’m sure she’d like to visit her sister.’ She gave a breathless giggle. ‘Besides, Miss Edgar and Mr Dennings are sweethearts.’
‘The devil they are,’ Josh said, his face lit up by a huge grin. ‘What makes you say so?’
‘He gave her a flower when he left yesterday, and Miss Edgar’s face went all red. I was watching from the landing upstairs.’
Josh laughed. ‘The sly old dog. I’ll be damned. What else do you know?’
‘That Pansy Matheson has you fair mazed,’ she taunted. ‘You look like a moonstruck mule when you’re with her.’
The smile left his face. ‘See here, Daisy Skinner. Just because you’re my sister, it doesn’t mean you can take liberties, unless you want to go over my knee and feel my hand across your rump. That nose of yours will fall off if you keep sticking it into other people’s business.’
‘How else can I find out things when grown-ups won’t tell me? You’re my brother and Pansy is my stepsister. I love her and I love you.’ The laughter left Daisy’s face. ‘When is our sister coming home, Josh?’
‘Don’t you like staying with your brother, then?’
She crossed to where he stood, hugging him tight. ‘Of course I do, Josh. But I’m lonely. Everything has gone wrong since Maryse died. Papa no longer loves us. He’s sent Siana away, and Bryn as well.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘I heard the maids talking about it.’
‘Did you now? I’ll have to ask Mr Bentley to give that pair of flighty hens a flea in their ears. I’m sure Francis loves you all, but he’s very sad at the moment. As for Siana, she’s taken Susannah back to her mother, who lives a long away across the sea. She’ll return to us before too long.’ If Josh had known what Francis’s intentions were, though, Siana would never have departed alone. He was relieved that Jed Hawkins and Elizabeth would be there to look after her.’
‘And what about Bryn? Where is he?’
Josh hesitated, loath to tell Daisy the truth about the boy’s birth. ‘Sometimes people leave our lives because they have no choice. That doesn’t mean we’ll never see them again.’ He smiled at her, then uttered the very thing that would divert his sister’s mind from the subject. ‘You’d better go and tell Miss Edgar to pack a trunk for London. But we’re only staying a week or so. There are several places of interest we can go and see. I can take you to see Brunel’s Tunnel under the river and I heard there was a monument being built in memory of Horatio Nelson, the great British admiral who died in the battle of Trafalgar. That might be finished by now.’
Daisy snorted. ‘You can go and see the dead admiral if you want. I’d rather have Miss Edgar take me to the theatre to see a play and then go to visit Kew Gardens. Pansy told me it’s filled with flowers.’ Her eyes began to shine. ‘Can we use the railway from Southampton? Mr Bentley told me that it’s very noisy, and it snorts fire and cinders from its chimney like a dragon.’
‘And how would Mr Bentley know that?’
‘He knows someone who knows someone else who went on one, once.’
‘A pity he had to tell you about it, then,’ Josh said gloomily, for he’d just remembered the London and South Western Railway ran a first-class passenger service on the Southampton to London route, and the three-hour journey would cost him twenty shillings apiece.
But Daisy hadn’t finished promoting his manservant. ‘Mr Bentley tells lovely stories. When he was a boy he knew somebody who went up into the air in a basket hung from a bag filled with gas. Fancy that.’
‘More like fanciful, is that. ’Tis him that’s a bag of gas, and it wouldn’t surprise me if he could fly all by himself. What’s more, Mr Bentley’s not paid to tell you stories. Just you let him get on with his work instead of being a bother to him.’
‘Oh, you,’ she said and flounced off, her pink skirts flicking up to reveal the hems of her calico drawers, below which a pair of calves disappeared into sturdy brown ankle boots.
‘Little madam,’ he said and choked out a laugh, trying to imagine his sister dressed in rags and digging for turnips, as he and Siana had been obliged to at her age.
Pansy had been furious at being packed off to stay with her aunt and uncle after Maryse’s funeral. She was even more disturbed at being in London, where the season was in full swing. She felt constricted, confined and uncomfortable, and longed to be in Dorset to comfort her father.
There was something going on she didn’t know about. Conversations ceased when she walked into rooms and she was beginning to feel like an outsider. Her uncle Ryder hadn’t changed, but Aunt Prudence was cool towards her now, sometimes using her to fetch and carry, as she would her maid.
What was worse, Alder was squiring Justina Parsons around. Not that Pansy was jealous, for she’d quite finished with Alder. But it seemed to Pansy that her cousin was being insensitive and just using Justina Parsons to embarrass herself. And Justina didn’t deserve to be used like that. Although she was a little empty-headed at times, she was a pleasant enough person nevertheless, and Pansy liked her. Matured by Maryse’s death, Pansy didn’t want to play Alder’s foolish games.
She attended the nuptials of her uncle Augustus, who was wed to his Constance in a small ceremony conducted in the chapel of Kylchester Hall. This was followed a few weeks later by a ball and grand wedding of the earl’s heir, Roger, to Lalage. Peers of the realm abounded at the latter, which was celebrated at Kylchester Hall. Her father was noticeable by his absence from both ceremonies.
A week later, Pansy requested a private meeting with the earl.
‘What is it, my dear?’ he a
sked her.
‘If it pleases you, sir. I should like to return home. Siana and papa will need me.’
Her uncle drew in a deep breath, then slowly exhaled as he waved her to one of the chairs. ‘My brother said he would send for you.’
‘It has been several months now and there has been no word from them. We cannot mourn for Maryse for ever and I suspect something has happened that I don’t know about.’
‘Ah . . . I see.’ His fingers tapped on the table for a moment. ‘How old are you now, Pansy.’
‘I’m twenty-one.’
‘Then quite old enough to understand. Not only is your father mourning the loss of Maryse, he has cast her illegitimate child from his hearth. Furthermore, he has banished the peasant woman he married to Van Diemen’s Land.’
A chill ran through Pansy and her eyes widened in bewilderment. How could the father she adored do such a cruel thing? ‘What has he done with Bryn?’
‘The boy is being farmed out with a former servant until his future is decided upon. It’s most likely he’ll be sent to an institution and trained to work in a useful profession, so he can support himself in the future.’
Pansy knew the reputation of the boarding schools he was referring to, most of which housed unwanted children. Many of them didn’t survive their childhood. Clasping her hands to her mouth she tried to hold back the tears pricking her eyes. ‘I swear, I will never forgive Papa for this.’
‘My dear Pansy, the boy cannot be brought up as part of the Matheson family. Think of the shame it will bring down on us. Maryse was unwed.’
‘How dare you blame Maryse when she was the victim? The shame is that the men who did this to her are still at large when the Matheson men should be hunting them down and bringing them to justice. My father has allowed his self-pity to overcome his compassion. He should remember that Bryn is an innocent, and the boy is also his grandson.’
‘The boy is a bastard.’
Her eyes blazing, she lost her temper and was totally indiscreet. ‘And you, my lord, are a hypocrite, since it’s common knowledge you have a mistress, and have fathered illegitimate children of your own.’
Ryder Matheson stood up, bristling with affront. ‘That’s enough, Miss Matheson. I will not be spoken to thus, in my own home.’
‘Then I will leave your home forthwith.’
‘You will not. You will stay here until your father sends for you. However, I intend to write to him and inform him of the displeasure with which I now regard you. Go to your room now, please. I’ll send your aunt up to you. When you marry Alder you must stop this hoydenish nonsense and behave with more dignity. In fact, it’s high time the pair of you were wed, for when you are a wife, you will learn to heed the will of your husband. Perhaps we will bring the nuptials forward.’
Pansy stared at him. ‘I will never marry Alder. This I have told him, time and time again.’
The earl’s face was drawn into cold, haughty lines. ‘Miss Matheson, I’ve had quite enough of this conversation. You are a disgrace to your father’s name. While you are living under my roof you will accede to my wishes.’
Even though she stared at her uncle defiantly, Pansy quaked with the enormity of what she’d said. ‘I will not marry your son under any circumstances. Good day, sir.’ She turned and left the room, her chin held high.
11
Goldie ran away a second time, climbing on to a privy roof and dropping into a pile of rubbish in the lane behind the workhouse. But her escape bid had been observed. Intercepted at the end of the lane, she was dragged back to face the punishment of Mrs Tweddle.
After a severe beating, Mrs Tweddle hacked the hair from her head close to her scalp with a pair of sharp scissors. Then her hands were tied behind her back and she was secured to an iron ring set into the wall in a dimly lit cellar.
‘You won’t escape from there, my princess. You can stay until you rot, or until you decide to behave yourself,’ she shouted.
Two days later Goldie was still there. The wounds from her beating had scabbed over, thirst parched her mouth and her stomach ached from hunger. A few days later her throat became sore and she began to cough. She was kept there for several more days, forced to eat the thin gruel she was offered, crouching on her hands and knees like an animal. She was freed on occasion to use the bucket in the corner. But she would not give in and say she was sorry.
One day she was untied and taken upstairs. The unaccustomed light made her blink. Her stomach ached and she felt sick, and tired. Mrs Tweddle ripped off her filthy clothes, then stood her in a bowl of cold water and scrubbed her thoroughly all over.
The woman smiled nastily at Goldie when she looked around for something to dry herself on, handing her a thin, grey towel and a clean smock to wear. ‘I’ve found you a job, princess. But the doctor’s coming to check you over, first.’
Goldie remembered the doctor’s hands on her when she’d first come to this place, and shuddered. She was no longer the innocent child she’d once been, for the older girls had seen fit to educate her about the ways of men, and she lived in fear of being taken before the doctor again.
But when it happened it was a different doctor, a younger one with glasses and a perfunctory manner. Mrs Tweddle hadn’t been expecting him, for she said, ‘Where’s the regular doctor?’
‘His contract lapsed and was not renewed.’ The doctor frowned when he saw Goldie’s welts and bruises. ‘How did the girl get in this state?’
‘She ran away and was set upon.’
‘My wife is looking for a maid of all work. But this girl can’t be employed in her present condition. She’s too thin, and has probably got intestinal parasites. She won’t be strong enough to do the tasks required.’
‘Please, sir, I’ll work very hard,’ Goldie begged, beginning to cry. She’d do anything to escape from the workhouse. Drooping from tiredness and feeling really odd, she mumbled, ‘I want my mamma.’
Mrs Tweddle spoke sharply to her. ‘You don’t have a mamma. You’re an orphan.’ She turned back to the doctor, her manner ingratiating. ‘Take no notice of her, sir. The girl is queer in the head. She claims she’s a member of the aristocracy. I have another girl, who might suit your wife. She’s a little older and more docile. Her name is Mary Masterson.’
Goldie had a sudden fit of coughing that left her feeling weak.
The doctor gazed reflectively at her. ‘How long has she had that cough?’
‘Just a few days. I didn’t think it bad enough to report.’
‘Your job is to report all illness, for even a slight cough can result in an epidemic. And I do not believe your explanation of how she got these injuries. I’ll require a truthful accounting before I leave the premises.’
‘Sometimes the girls need a good caning. This one stole food,’ Mrs Tweddle said resentfully. ‘It wasn’t much, just a slice of bread. From the goodness of my heart I didn’t report her, in case she was transported for her sin. A beating seemed a less harsh penalty for the girl to pay, and it teaches them not to steal again.’
‘Quite so,’ the doctor agreed. ‘But make the beating a little less enthusiastic next time.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Mrs Tweddle said humbly.
Just then Goldie was enveloped in a black haze. Her knees became weak and she buckled. The doctor caught her before she fell and laid her gently on the table. He felt her forehead for fever, then tapped his fingers against her chest. Finally, he listened to the erratic beating of her heart for a few moments. His expression was grave after he finished his examination. ‘The girl’s lungs are congested. She must go into the infirmary.’
‘The poor dear,’ Mrs Tweddle exclaimed, her voice falsely sympathetic. ‘Will she survive?’
Drawing her aside the doctor whispered, ‘It’s early days yet, and I’ll give her a tincture which might help to improve her condition, but I very much doubt it.’
Daisy was disappointed with London. It was dirty and smelly and, although Queen Victoria had a splendid palace
, she couldn’t see Her Majesty anywhere. The soldiers guarding the palace gates in their silly hats wouldn’t speak to her, either, which wasn’t polite considering she’d been using her best voice and manners.
She did like the lamp in the street outside the boarding house, though, which was lit every night by a man with a long pole. The glow shone through her window at night. At first, Daisy had thought there must be a large candle inside the lamp, but Miss Edgar’s sister had smiled when she’d said that, telling her in quite a superior way not to be silly, that it was a gas lamp. But when Daisy had asked, she couldn’t explain exactly what gas was.
Miss Edgar had done the smiling then, telling her sister that gas was extracted from coal.
‘They can fill big bags with it, hang baskets underneath and float in the air in them. Mr Bentley’s friend was there when it happened and saw it. He told me all about it,’ Daisy had informed them both, enthusiastically.
‘Good gracious. Your charge will have us flying to the moon in one next. My dear Sylvia, how can you bear to tutor children when they have such silly ideas in their heads?’
Miss Edgar had offered her sister a superior smile. ‘Daisy is, of course, referring to the flight in the Montgolfier brothers’ balloon in Paris in 1783, aren’t you, dear?’
Daisy had nodded.
‘Ah, yes . . . that balloon,’ Dorothy had murmured.
‘I think they might have used a different gas than that obtained from coal, wouldn’t you, Dorothy. We must find out what it was.’
‘Yes . . . yes, I suppose they would have. Is that someone at the front door, I hear?’ Rising to her feet, Dorothy had hurried away, red in the face.
Miss Edgar’s sister was married to a bank clerk. She was very genteel and made nice cakes. The boarding house was small and had only two rooms vacant. When Josh and Mr Dennings moved in, it was full up.
Daisy had to sleep in the same bed as Miss Edgar. The governess wore a nightgown with pretty embroidery on and a nightcap to match, from which her hair hung to her waist. She tossed and turned before she fell asleep, so the bed squeaked and woke Daisy up.
