The Girl From Poorhouse Lane

by Freda Lightfoot

  ‘They’re beautiful, so they are. Wasn’t the Dorothy Perkins one of the mistress’s favourites? Such a heavenly scent. I’m glad to see ye home early from the factory for once, I was hoping ye might have a minute to spare. But then aren’t I always pleased to see ye?’ Kate couldn’t prevent a smile twitching at the corners of her lips, and a stain of colour coming into her cheeks as she recalled the night they’d so recently spent together.

  He gave not a flicker of a smile, merely frowned and spoke in brusque, clipped tones, and Kate felt herself shrink inside. How was it he blew so hot and cold with her? ‘I’m afraid it is but a momentary escape. I felt the need for a breath of fresh air but I must return to work shortly.’ As if to prove this fact, he began to walk away, clippers still in hand. Kate ran after him.

  ‘Please don’t go. I’d like to know what’s happened about Swainson. It’s important that I speak to you.’

  Still he didn’t pause but rather lengthened his stride, putting yet more distance between them. Once again Kate was forced to trot, the weight of Callum balanced on her hip slowing her down considerably.

  ‘Mammy, let me walk. Put me down, Mammy.’

  ‘Stop wriggling and keep still. It’s quicker if I carry ye.’ Kate began to feel hot and flustered, angry that Eliot could so mulishly ignore her, and quite out of breath with the effort of trying to keep up with him. ‘Will you hold on a minute ye daft eejit.’ She must have lost her head to address him like that, calling him names, and without even a ‘sir’, or an ‘if you please’ but still he ignored her. He pushed open the garden gate and set off towards the river as if he hadn’t even heard a word. Kate really saw red.

  ‘Eliot, fer God’s sake will you stop fer a minute afore I drop him.’

  He did stop then, but only to march back to her and snatch Callum from her arms. ‘If you are not even capable of holding a child safely, then perhaps you’re the wrong person to be taking care of him at all, and I should dismiss you.’ The small boy, alarmed by their angry voices, opened his mouth wide and began to wail.

  Kate told him to hush, instantly turning her attention back to Eliot. ‘And what’s that supposed to mean? What’s got into you of a sudden?’ She could feel her heart banging like a drum, since she believed she knew only too well. She’d become an embarrassment to him. He was out to find fault so that he could be rid of the problem of having her around, rid of the temptation. Couldn’t she tell by the way he was glaring at her with such cold indifference, quite at odds to the looks she’d enjoyed from him the other night. She forced herself to be calm. ‘Eliot, will ye speak to me properly, fer God’s sake, and stop blowing so hot and cold? I don’t know where the hell I am.’

  ‘I think you’ve lost your manners, Kate O’Connor. It’s Mr Tyson to you. Or sir.’

  ‘Is it indeed?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I didn’t notice the need for such formality the other night.’

  ‘It’s needed now.’

  ‘I see. And why is that, might I ask?’

  ‘Because I am the master, dammit, that’s why. And I’ll not have you telling me what to do.’

  Kate stood fuming in silent defiance but he was right, of course. Despite what they had shared beneath the sheets, he was still the master and she the maid. How could she deny it? He was as far removed from her as ever. Further, it seemed. She’d been wrong to succumb to her emotions so foolishly, although some would say he was more in the wrong for taking advantage of her. Yet, deep down, Kate knew it hadn’t been like that at all. Neither of them had been able to help what happened, and she didn’t blame him, not in the least. She just wanted it to mean as much to him as it did to her. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes which she blinked rapidly away, gritting her teeth in an effort to regain control. She must remember that her mission was for Millie, surely far more important than any tender sensitivities on her own account. She must concentrate on her friend’s problems and stop daydreaming of what could never be, even if she had overstepped that fine line by instinctively using his Christian name, by asking, nay telling him to sack Swainson. But had he done so? Wasn’t she itching to know what had happened to the old bastard?

  Bored with the lack of attention, Callum was working himself up into a fine tantrum, yelling and tugging at her skirts, urging his mammy to play catch with him again.

  ‘Will ye just wait awhile, me cushla. Mammy’s busy. We’ll play in a minute. Why don’t ye sit on the grass and make Mammy a nice daisy chain. There ye are now. See how long ye can make it.’ She gave him a kiss and plucked a few daisies to get him started, and as if by magic the tears abruptly dried. ‘I’m sorry, sir. Don’t I forget meself at times?’

  ‘I think you forget yourself in more ways than one, Kate O’Connor. You are not this child’s mammy. Not any more. Amelia was his mother, and will remain so in his memory for ever. See that you remember that simple fact in future, if you please.’

  Kate felt her cheeks start to burn and the struggle for control grew harder; tears clogged her throat and her eyes began to smart in raw agony. She lifted a bleak face up to him. ‘You’re right. Course y’are. It won’t happen again, only. . .’ He started to walk away from her along the path, and Kate saw that through her own folly, she was losing him. She ran after him. ‘It’s just that I’m that upset over me friend Millie, d’you see?’

  He didn’t pause, not for a second, not seeming to hear her or want to listen, and Kate struggled to keep pace. ‘Have ye done anything about poor Millie … have you? Answer me, ye miserable git? Or have you let that nasty piece of shite off yet again?’

  He stopped at last, rounding on her with cold fury in his eyes. ‘You really should watch your language, Kate O’Connor. Particularly in front of my son. As a matter of fact, no one seems to agree with your assessment of Swainson. There have been no other complaints about him. Not one. I’ve heard some vindictive nonsense from girls at the factory in my time, spreading malicious gossip over this, that and the other, but never any tale as fanciful as yours. And bearing in mind the grudge you already bear against that man, I’ve decided that your tale cannot be trusted.’

  Kate gaped in shock. ‘’Tis the truth, I swear it. You need to sack him, get yourself a new foreman, so help me, before it’s too late.’

  ‘Oh come on, Kate, you’ve been out to get your own back on Swainson from the very first moment I set eyes on you, all because he refused to pay what you considered to be your due wages.’

  ‘And he attacked our Dermot,’ she burst out, biting her lip when she realised she’d only made matters worse by this interruption. ‘And me.’

  He gave her a wintry smile that froze her heart. ‘So you once told me, not very convincingly, I seem to recall. And so, as the vendetta continues, you’ve decided to involve your friend, have you? Very clever. Except that it won’t work. I’m not quite the fool you take me for. You’re sadly mistaken if you think you can tell me how to run my own factory, as well as ruling every corner of my personal life, not to mention insinuating yourself into my bed.’

  Kate jerked as if she’d been struck. ‘El - Mr Tyson … sir . . . Sure and ye can’t mean that. I don’t believe ye do. Are you accusing me of forcing meself upon you?’

  He had the grace to look a mite shame-faced and turn his gaze away. ‘You understand my meaning well enough.’

  ‘You think I lied, just to get me own back on that no-good piece of sh - dirt?’

  He pushed his face down close to hers but there was no kindness in it, not a hint that he might change his mind and kiss her instead. It was almost as if those precious moments of intimacy had never taken place. ‘I’m saying that you can push a man so far and no further, that I’ve reached the limit of my patience with you. The aunts are right, you are a very clever little manipulator, and know how to take advantage of a man, how to use your charm, your feminine wiles, but not quite clever enough. Now I suggest that you pack your bags and go.’

  She taking advantage of him? Now there was a laugh!
Wasn’t she the victim here? Kate didn’t understand exactly what being a clever little manipulator meant, though she could guess. Wasn’t he just trying to run away from what he’d done, as all men did, particularly bosses, and had done so through generations of abuse upon women? And she’d been stupid enough to believe this one might be different. Hadn’t he himself claimed to be different? She was deeply disappointed in him. Oh, but she’d never felt such rage in all her born days.

  Kate stood her ground, arms akimbo, and shouted after him as he strode away. ‘Ye’ve no right to speak to me like that. No right at all. Jaysus, Mary and Joseph, I’ll make you take back every blethering word, so help me. Damn you to hell, Eliot Tyson. And will you stand still when I’m shouting after you, or do ye want all the neighbours to hear what ye’ve been up to, cause I’ve a mind to tell ‘em.’

  Not even this threat gave him pause. He strode away without glancing back, let alone returning to plead for her silence or to continue with an argument he considered closed.

  Furious that she had failed on all counts: failed Millie, failed to keep control of her emotions, failed utterly to win his love, even failed Amelia, who had become her friend, and with all sight of him now blinded by tears, Kate stormed back across the lawn towards the house. Only when she reached the nursery did she realise that she’d left Callum behind. Drat the man! He’d got her into such a rage she couldn’t even think straight. Dashing back out again, he was no longer on the lawn. Wouldn’t she just strangle Eliot Tyson for this! He’d taken Callum with him. He’d rob her of her only son when she was at her most vulnerable. Well he’d see that she wasn’t so easily disposed of.

  Chapter Twenty

  Kate made no attempt to leave. She didn’t pack her bags. She made no mention to the aunts on their return that she’d been given the sack. She politely took their coats and hung them up, carefully sticking a hat pin into each discarded hat, then handed them the silver salver where a collection of cards waited for them from afternoon callers.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Cissie. ‘We missed Lucy again. She has called every day this week and found us out. We must pay her a return call tomorrow, sister dear.’

  Vera did not respond but addressed Kate directly. ‘Did you clean that closet, as instructed?’

  ‘No. I mean, I’ve not quite finished it yet.’ And, seeing the frozen stare, hurried back upstairs to get on with the job forthwith. Sure and wouldn’t Eliot regret his harsh words the minute he calmed down? He’d not want her to leave, not at all. Hadn’t they made a pact, for her to allow him to adopt her lovely boy, so long as she could stay on as Callum’s nursemaid? Even if Callum was sent to a fine school, or Eliot employed a governess, surely to goodness he’d need her in the holidays, so how could he sack her, it would be breaking their agreement? It could never happen.

  Deep inside Kate was filled with uncertainties, but still she made no move to pack. She cleaned out the closet, as directed, and filled the rest of the time cleaning and tidying the nursery, carefully following all of Amelia’s rules, using all the skills she’d learned from her lovely mistress.

  Kate heard the front door bang around seven o’clock, and rubbing her hands clean on the back of her uniform dress, tidying her hair as she went, she set off down the stairs to face her employer. That afternoon while she’d worked, she’d given herself a thorough talking to, sternly reminding herself that Eliot Tyson was the master of this house, and of the factory, and she really should remember that. What had happened between them, on two separate occasions, had been a mistake: the result of grief after the loss of his lovely wife, or pure physical need, and not some deep attraction on his part. But that didn’t make it a sin, no matter what the gossips might say. She loved him, even he didn’t love her. Though what she wouldn’t give to see that smirk wiped off Fanny’s face.

  He was standing in the hall, taking off his coat, handing his scarf and hat to Fanny when Kate hurtled down the stairs, almost tripping over the last few steps in her eagerness.

  She bobbed a curtsey and gave an awkward little laugh, wanting to show she bore him no ill will. After all, didn’t they both know that he couldn’t manage without her? And she, for one, was more than ready to apologise for her impudence, fully anticipating that he’d do the same, then wouldn’t they be right as ninepence again? All well between them. After that, she’d collect Callum and enjoy a quiet half hour bathing him before putting him to bed. She had the water all ready and waiting, and his favourite currant biscuit to go with his cocoa.

  ‘I’d like to say again how very sorry I am for me impudence this afternoon. It surely is none of my business who ye employ at the factory.’ Kate desperately attempted to put proper sincerity in her voice. She certainly hadn’t given up hope of getting rid of Swainson, but she’d obviously have to bide her time a bit longer. She really couldn’t risk losing her place here, the chance to be with Callum.

  He frowned down at her. ‘You are absolutely correct in the assumption that it is none of your business, as I believe I’ve told you before.’ Eliot gave her a sideways glance and saw that her smile, as always, was entrancing and he could feel his anger draining away, his resolve weakening. Yet he was determined not to show it, not wishing to be seen as easy meat. He’d lost his temper this afternoon, perhaps said things he shouldn’t, but a part of him did wonder if what the aunts said was correct: that she was indeed a clever and manipulative liar, that she’d planned the whole thing from the start. The adoption, her being taken on here as nursemaid, and even their love making. She was still talking and he hadn’t heard a word.

  ‘So, where is the little monster? Hasn’t he been the lucky one, going to the factory, and being allowed to stay up so late? I’ll never hear the last of this.’

  ‘What are you talking about? What do you mean – staying up late? Hear the last of what?’

  ‘Of Callum – of Master Callum I should say, being allowed to visit the factory with you. What else?’

  ‘Callum? But he’s not with me. He’s with you, isn’t he? I certainly left him with you this afternoon in the garden. Why in heaven’s name did you imagine he was with me?’

  Kate went very still. ‘Dear God, then if he’s not with you, where the hell is he?’

  Lucy had never felt more pleased with herself. What marvellous luck that she had chosen that very moment to call. What an opportunity? She hadn’t quite been able to believe her good fortune.

  She’d tried for weeks to catch Eliot in, to demand to know why her allowance had been reduced to an almost penurious level. The man simply didn’t seem to understand how very expensive children were to feed and clothe and educate. But then how could he, with only a workhouse bastard to care for, who’d be grateful for any scraps off his table? And then, as if by magic, the child himself had appeared before her, grinning in that inane way of his, and holding out some daisy chain or other. It had been the easiest thing in the world to pick him up and simply walk away.

  She’d walked quickly, rapidly turning over possibilities in her mind. What could she do with him? The river was the obvious solution. Children were constantly wandering off. What would be more natural than that he should get too near the water and fall in. Yet there were too many people about, nannies walking their charges, maids cleaning the steps of the fine Georgian houses along Kent Terrace and Thorny Hills. Schoolgirls coming out of the High School building. People strolling on the wide sward of grass by the river on this pleasant autumn afternoon. Someone might easily spot one small boy struggling in the water. And how could she make good her escape quickly enough?

  But she must do something. It was essential that she take full advantage of this piece of good fortune. There would be no question then but that her own darlings would inherit the company, as they should, as they deserved to do after what Eliot had done to Charles.

  If it hadn’t been for Charles being sacked, by his own brother for God’s sake, her beloved husband would be alive today, and she wouldn’t be reduced to begging for the small comfo
rts of life she surely deserved. No tears welled in her eyes at this thought, no sense of bereavement. Lucy felt only a searing, burning anger, one which culminated in a powerful need for revenge.

  And then it came to her, the perfect solution. She would take the child back where he belonged, to the workhouse. This time, to the big Union Workhouse up on Kendal Green where the Guardians would keep a better watch over him, or perhaps pack him off to some other, more distant, charitable establishment. She didn’t have the time to search for such a place herself, but she was quite certain that once incarcerated in the workhouse, no one would think to look for him there.

  And then her own children’s future would be assured.

  She would insist on positions in the firm for both Jack and Georgie, at an appropriate juncture. Hopefully, Eliot would not live to a ripe old age, or he would retire and ultimately hand it over to his two nephews. In the meantime, she would make certain that she at least squeezed a decent allowance out of him. The thought suddenly came to her that Eliot might marry again, arresting her galloping progress across Gooseholme and making her hide behind St George’s Church to catch her breath while she considered this possibility.

  The child was starting to whimper. ‘Where’s Mammy? I want Mammy.’

  Paying no attention to his distress, Lucy’s thoughts remained fixed on the problem of Eliot. What if he did marry again? Another, younger, more fertile bride would ruin everything. She dismissed the idea at once. By the time he’d got over grieving for Amelia, she would have thought of some way to put a stop on that too.

  ‘I want Mammy.’

  ‘Hush child. Stop your noise.’ She gave him a little shake, which made him cry even louder. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, shut up!’ she shouted.