Kate grabbed Millie’s arm, stopping her in mid-stitch, to get her attention. ‘I’ve thought where he might be. If he got lost, he could have been taken to the Union Workhouse. Someone might have found him wandering about and taken him up there. Whyever didn’t I think of that before? I’m going now, this minute. I’m going to find out.’
‘Be careful,’ Millie warned. ‘If they take one look at you in your present state, they’ll lock you up too.’
‘Don’t talk daft, it isn’t a prison.’
‘Could’ve fooled me.’
Secretly alarmed by this warning, Kate hesitated for two more precious days but, in the end, couldn’t get the idea out of her head and so decided to take the risk and go. She spruced herself up as best she could, aware Millie’s concern was valid. She didn’t look anything like as smart as she had in her nursemaid’s uniform, particularly after a few weeks back in Poor House Lane. But she was prepared to lie if necessary, should anyone ask any awkward questions, by pretending she was still employed by the Tyson’s.
In the event they weren’t in the least bit interested in her. They had more than sufficient inmates to cope with already, and nobody at the workhouse recognised the picture of a curly-haired two year old sitting on Amelia’s knee in any case.
So although Kate was allowed to scrutinise every child, to her bitter disappointment, he was not there. Callum was not among them.
What she didn’t know was that Lucy had grown nervous. She’d never seen Eliot in such a rage as he was now. And all because that stupid girl had left him. You would have thought he’d be pleased to be rid of her. Worst of all, he was still searching for that dratted child. She’d begun to fear that perhaps he might suddenly take it into his head to visit the Union Workhouse on Kendal Green, and would discover the boy among the other pauper brats. Lucy decided that drastic action was necessary.
She was not normally one to indulge in charitable good works but this was different. Fortunately, she had always been a regular church-goer, as this was the expected thing for someone in her position and quite the best place to get noticed by the aristocracy. And she knew the vicar to be a crusader of good causes. It took no more than a few words after Sunday service, suggesting that perhaps something should be done to find new homes for the poor workhouse children, coupled with the promise of a generous donation, and her plan was swiftly put into effect.
‘What a wonderful idea,’ the vicar said. ‘A truly kind thought. How very perceptive of you, Mrs Tyson, that you should understand how important it is for these children to find real homes, with proper families. And most generous of you to aid our efforts in this respect.’
Lucy didn’t have any money, nor did she allow that to stop her. She would find it from somewhere, the bank, the sale of one of her last remaining pictures, or even from Eliot himself, which made her laugh out loud at the irony. How wonderful if her brother-in-law actually financed the removal of his adored adopted son from the neighbourhood.
‘Of course I understand, Vicar. Haven’t I lost my own beloved husband and am left to bring up my deprived children alone? My heart bleeds for these poor innocents, it truly does.’ She even managed to shed a tear, which quite touched his heart.
The vicar helped draw up a list of suitable foster parents, travelled far and wide to visit colleagues in neighbouring parishes to see if they knew of other good people willing to offer a home to an orphaned pauper. And while he did that, Lucy found several farmers who were willing to offer bed and board, at least, in return for an extra hand with the labour. She made no effort to check out whether they were suitable for the task of providing a home for such a child.
When they had their lists, Lucy visited the Union Workhouse, wearing her smartest costume and her sweetest smile and found herself received with heartfelt gratitude. The place was apparently overrun with inmates: men, women and far too many children. Not that this surprised Lucy who had always known that the poor bred like rabbits; which was why they were such a drain upon the country’s resources and needed to be kept very much in their place.
It took no time at all to choose the lucky recipients of her largesse and nobody noticed that among them was a copper haired boy named Allan; nor that Lucy selected for him a remote farm high in the Langdales. Not even his own mother would think to look for him there.
The Union Workhouse had been Kate’s last hope but she’d missed finding her son by a mere twenty-four hours.
There seemed to be nothing left to live for now. She no longer showed any benefit from her time spent with the Tyson’s, or from Mrs Petty’s plain but wholesome fare. Her face was pale as parchment, her hair lank and lifeless, and the bonny plumpness gone from her body as weight fell from her. Millie would anxiously spoon porridge, or watery soup into her, save her the choicest bits of meat or bruised fruit, whenever Clem was fortunate enough to acquire any from the market; tempt her with home-made oat cakes, but her efforts were wasted. Whatever food she did manage to get down her, was as quickly vomited back up again.
One morning, just as Kate had finished heaving up her breakfast and was trying to settle her stomach with a mug of hot, milkless tea, there came a loud rap on the door.
Millie opened it and Kate saw her glance quickly back over her shoulder as if by way of warning, not needing to hear his voice to understand the silent message her friend shot her and know that he was here.
‘May I come in?’
Millie stood confused, uncertain what to do. It seemed unthinkable that Eliot Tyson should want to come into their hovel, and yet he was already stepping over the threshold, ducking his head as he came into the gloomy, filthy room they optimistically called home. She saw how he reeled slightly at the smell but quickly recovered, and after a swift scan of the room’s occupants, the huddle of children, Clem seated by the smoky fire, Millie with her arms full of babies, he fixed his eyes on Kate.
‘I thought you would be here.’
‘Where else?’
‘There was really no need for you to leave.’
‘There was every need.’
He fell silent, perhaps confused by the fact that she had not moved, not even got up from the table let alone come to him, and again allowed his gaze to rove about the room. Kate became acutely aware that he was staring at a mouse, quietly grooming itself in a corner after having evidently breakfasted on the contents of a nearby cupboard, watching as it scuttled beneath the floorboards to join its mates. She saw him take in the skein of cobwebs she hadn’t bothered to remove, the cockroaches crawling over the dirty dishes in the brown stone sink. He cleared his throat and spoke in a hushed whisper. ‘Could we – perhaps – speak outside?’
‘Why? Does this place offend you?’ For God’s sake, said a voice in her head, it would offend anyone with a nose to smell, and eyes to see.
Millie moved over to her, gave her shoulder a little shake. ‘Go outside with him, so’s you can speak in private. Go on! The morning air, fresh or not, will do you good.’
They stood in the yard, on the slime of the cobbles with the rain drizzling down their necks and the smell of the pigs strong in their nostrils, not quite looking at each other. A boy trundled past, pulling a small hand cart in which were a few pieces of coal, several broken boxes, and a collection of indeterminate items he’d obviously picked up on the midden, the better pieces to be spruced up and sold, many no doubt destined for the fire, so that his family could keep warm and cook.
‘Morning, Kate.’ The boy nodded at her, then suddenly spotting a rat climbing the side of his cart, shouted ‘Gerroff, yer bugger,’ and kicked it away. ‘Bloody things!’
‘Morning, Jonty. Quite a collection you’ve got today.’
‘It’ll do.’
Kate noted how Eliot’s horrified gaze followed the boy as he went on his way. He looked as if he’d been found in a midden himself, dressed in rags, a tousle of filthy hair and sores on his face and hands. She heard the low exclamation of disgust in Eliot’s throat when, on reaching the end of
the yard, the lad paused, opened his trousers and peed in the gutter that ran down the length of it. Nodding again to her, he happily took off his cap before going indoors.
The look that Eliot turned upon her said everything.
Shame enveloped her. Kate felt degraded by her very presence in this place, as if it robbed her of pride in herself. She felt defiled by it, and bitterly ashamed. She had hoped for so much, and yet so little. A decent, clean home for her child. Where was the wrong in that? She’d so wanted Callum to be safe that, against her better judgement, she’d agreed to give up her rights as his mother. Yet look where her sacrifice had got her? He had no mother at all now, no mama, no mammy, no home nor father even. He was lost, probably imagining that she’d abandoned him altogether. ‘I know I made mistakes,’ she suddenly blurted out. ‘I never meant to fall under your carriage, or for him to get sick. And I never meant him to get lost. I swear I thought he was with you.’
‘I know. Things were said that shouldn’t have been said. You must come back, Kate. You can’t stay here.’
She shook her head. ‘Where would be the use of that? You blame me, I know you do. You made that very clear. I just wanted Swainson to stop hurting Millie.’
She heard the small sigh of impatience. ‘Oh Kate.’
‘All right, don’t believe me then. Just promise me you’ll not give up; that you won’t stop looking for our Callum.’
‘Of course I won’t stop looking, not ever. And I’m sure we’ll find him, I swear I won’t rest till we do. Aren’t you going to come and help me?’
‘I’ll do it me own way, so I will. I can look in places you’d never think of, or set foot in.’
‘I’ve set foot here, haven’t I? Come home, Kate.’
She looked him straight in the eye. ‘This is my home. Always was, and always will be.’ Then she walked back up the steps, back into the awful, stinking room, closing the door softly behind her.
The very next day a note was delivered. It told her that he’d opened a bank account in her name, deposited a tidy sum of money in it. ‘To help you build a new future. Let me do that at least for you, Kate. Get out of that place, for God’s sake.’
‘I’m not touching his dratted money,’ Kate said, grey eyes clouding with misery at the thought he could so easily dispose of her with a few paltry pounds. Naïvely perhaps, she’d half hoped that he’d try again, that he wouldn’t take no for an answer and come marching back up Poor House Lane, sling her over his shoulder and carry her off like some prince in a fairytale. Girlish fancy. Stupid, romantic nonsense! And he didn’t even see her in that light at all. Whenever he looked at her, she could see in his eyes the guilt he felt over betraying a much loved wife, and from losing the son he’d bought off her. ‘Does he think he can pay me off too? Mebbe this is all some plot and really he has Callum tucked away safely, and this is just a way to rid himself of me for good.’
‘Oh hush,’ Millie said. ‘Yer seeing plots everywhere.’ Another rap came to the door and the two girls glanced at each other in sudden panic. ‘It’s him. It’s Swainson.’
‘Right, leave him to me.’ And before Millie could stop her, Kate flung open the door and, lifting her chin high, met the foreman’s startled gaze with a small smile. ‘The work is going fine and will be delivered on time, but ye can’t come in right now, so bugger off.’
‘Well, well, well, I see you’re back where you belong, among the pig swill. Step aside, girl, I’ve business to do.’
‘Not here you haven’t.’
‘Who are you to deny me entrance?’
He made to brush past her but Kate stood her ground, hands firmly folded across her chest. ‘Take one more step and I’ll punch ye on the nose, so I will. In future, ye can only come in by invitation. And yer not invited today.’
‘You can’t do that.’
‘I just did.’
‘I’m the foreman. I have rights.’ She could see his face turning purple with rage and Kate almost laughed out loud at the pleasure it gave her to see him so discomfited.
‘So have we got rights, and one of them is that we don’t have to suffer you bringing yer mucky ways in here, so push off.’
‘You’ll be sorry for this, Kate O’Connor.’
‘Not as sorry as you,’ she shouted after him as he stalked away. Kate ran down the steps, picked up a clod of muck and flung it after him, and now she did let her laughter erupt as she watched him slipping and sliding in the filth in his rush to escape.
Back inside she slammed shut the door, wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes. ‘Oh, that was the funniest thing I ever saw. That’ll show him, the nasty little shite,’ dusting her hands as if wanting to rid herself of something unclean.
But when she looked up at her friend, she saw that Millie’s eyes were filled with fear. ‘What did ye do that for? Why do you always let yer Irish temper get the better of you? Now we’re really done for. He’ll give us no work at all now.’
‘So we’ll find it some place else, or make us own, to be sure,’ Kate said on a note of defiance. But as she watched Millie snatch up the leather pieces and begin to stitch with a frantic anxiety, she experienced a nudge of doubt. What had she done? In trying to protect her friend, had she merely made matters worse, risked the family’s well being simply for a moment of personal glory? Kate looked around her at the skinny, snotty-nosed children with not even the energy to play properly, and instantly sobered. She laid a gentle hand on Millie’s shoulder.
‘I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to make matters worse but we can’t have him doing - what he does do to you. You can’t let him bully you like that. Does he do it to all the women?’
Millie didn’t once raise her eyes from her work, fingers flying as she stitched with frenetic speed. ‘How would I know? Some, I think … all right, quite a few. Not that anyone admits to it but it’s easy enough to tell by the look in their eyes after he’s come calling. But don’t you think you can stop it, because you can’t.’
‘Why not? If all the women stood together, he’d not be able to take advantage the way he does. Will I ask around, get some evidence?’
‘No, keep yer nose out of it. You’ve done enough for one day. Anyroad, you’d never get them to agree. They’d be too feared of starving to death while they made their protest. We leave all of the arguing to the men, them as is brave enough.’ She did stop stitching now, to fix Kate with a fierce glance. ‘We women have childer to feed and can’t afford to take the risk. So don’t you interfere. Don’t poke yer snout into our midden, nor into matters you can do nowt to change.’
Kate was stunned by her friend’s vehemence. It was the first time they’d ever quarrelled and she felt humbled by the stark fear in her eyes.
‘But there must be something I can do.’
‘There’s nowt. So leave well alone.’
At the end of the week when Millie took in the finished work, she apologised to Swainson for Kate’s rudeness, saying she hoped that it wouldn’t make any difference, that he’d not withhold work from her as a result. ‘Me husband can’t seem to get any, d’you see. I depend upon this outwork, to feed me childer.’
In truth, fond as she was of him, Clem was proving to be a bit of a worry to Millie, a big disappointment in fact. It was as if he’d given up on himself, lost all faith and hope in ever being able to provide for his family, and yet didn’t seem to understand the price she paid in order to earn a few pennies. He’d help himself to the coins in her purse and go off to the Cock and Dolphin to drink with his mates, saying there was nothing else for him to do.
Swainson gave a sneering laugh, his good eye roving over her with appreciation. ‘I’m sure we can think of some way to avoid that prissy little miss sticking her nose in where it’s not wanted. If’n we use our imagination.’
Then he went to the door, pulled it open and glanced up and down the street before sliding the bolt across. With a jerk of his head, he ordered Millie to follow him into the back room where he stored the bends o
f leather waiting to be cut into soles. ‘Look sharp about it. It’ll have to be a quick one afore someone comes.’ Oh, but he’d make her sorry for defying him. He would indeed. She’d certainly think twice in future.
Millie swallowed carefully, gave a nervous smile, and followed him inside.
It was a week or two later that Kate finally confessed to Millie that she was pregnant. ‘I’ve fallen again, and this time I’ve no husband, and I don’t even want another child. I want Callum.’
Millie didn’t scold or judge her for what she’d done with Eliot. She didn’t ask why she’d done it, or what she’d been thinking of to sleep with the master before even his beloved wife had been laid to rest, nor why she had repeated the same error months later. She understood, only too well, how easy it was to make mistakes, and how much in control men were. Didn’t Swainson give her a fresh reminder of that fact each and every week. Not being able to come into her home and use her bed had made matters worse, not better. Now he took her wherever he fancied; in his workshop, down by the river, or up against a back yard wall like a common whore. She wondered sometimes if Clem guessed what was going on, but if so, he turned a blind eye, pocketing the money she earned and drowning his sorrows at the pub.
So if Eliot Tyson had shown Kate kindness, of course she’d be ready and willing to comfort him in his grief and loneliness. Now she would simply have to live with the consequences. And if secretly Millie hoped that this new baby, unwanted as it now might be, would help Kate to ease the grieving for her lost child, she did not say as much. Millie had buried two bairns, and knew that however many other children you had, you never stopped loving or grieving for the lost one. Callum couldn’t be replaced, but the new little one might help to heal the wound a little, and give her friend a reason for living.
The Girl From Poorhouse Lane Page 26
