Twenty-One
‘Oh, Mr Rodwell, what am I to do? I’m so ashamed of my mother.’
Meg had told Percy everything that had happened the previous evening. Now she covered her face with her hands, but she peeped through her fingers to watch his reaction. Percy was agitated. He removed his spectacles, polished them and replaced them. He cleared his throat. ‘Well, my dear. I can see how you’re placed. It is unfortunate. Most unfortunate.’
Meg sobbed.
‘Now, now, don’t take on so. I didn’t mean to imply that it was your fault. But, of course, whilst you are still at the – still there . . .’
Now was the moment. It had come sooner than she’d dared to hope. Meg took a deep breath. ‘Sir, I know it’s a dreadful imposition and if you say no then I will quite understand. As you say, whilst I am still living at the workhouse . . .’ She gulped back a sob, her mouth trembling. ‘And now I’ve stood up to the master, he’s – he’s going to make life so difficult for me – I wondered . . .’ She allowed the words to come tumbling out, erratic and desperate. ‘I just wondered – the rooms above the shop. Could I perhaps live in one of them? I’d only need one. And I could keep an eye on the shop all the time, have the stove lit every morning for you and do the cleaning at night after we’ve closed. Oh, Mr Rodwell, sir, please – please would you consider it?’
Percy stared at her as if she had taken leave of her senses. ‘But – but they’re not suitable. I mean, they’re in a dreadful state. They’re not habitable.’
Meg hung her head and was at once full of pretended contrition. ‘I shouldn’t have asked. You haven’t even said you’re keeping me on. I haven’t completed my trial period. I was taking too much for granted. I’m sorry.’
Percy was still staring at her as if he was suddenly seeing something that he hadn’t noticed before. Nervously, he cleared his throat. ‘No – no, it’s not that. Miss Kirkland – Meg – I am quite satisfied with your work. Very satisfied, in fact.’ He gripped the tape measure hanging around his neck. ‘It’s just . . .’ He stopped and stared at her again.
In a small, pathetic voice, Meg said, ‘It’s just that Miss Finch wouldn’t agree.’
Percy shook his head emphatically. ‘No, it’s not that either. Miss Finch has nothing to do with the running of my business.’ He paused and then added, almost grimly, ‘Not yet, anyway.’
‘But it would make it very awkward for you, I see that. I’m really sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you. I wouldn’t have done if I hadn’t been so desperate.’ Tears filled her eyes again. She made a great play of dabbing her face, squaring her shoulders and smiling bravely through her tears. ‘I’ll think of something. Now, shall I make us a cup of tea and tidy the workroom? You must have worked very late last night, Mr Rodwell. I see the suit for Mr Pickering is almost finished.’
Percy nodded absently. ‘He wants a final fitting today,’ he murmured, ‘And the suit finished as soon as possible. I think he plans to wear it for the next race meeting.’
‘Oh yes,’ Meg murmured. Unbidden, the memory of her last visit to the racecourse and the picture of Alice clinging to her father’s arm pushed its way into her mind. Banishing it swiftly, she widened her smile and was gratified to see Percy blinking in its radiance. ‘Then you’ll be needing that cup of tea and, if you want to carry on working on it, I can hold the fort in the shop.’ Seeing his mouth open to protest, she added at once, ‘I can always fetch you if a gentleman requires you particularly.’
The morning passed with Meg’s mind in a turmoil. Every time Percy emerged from the workroom, she looked up eagerly to see if he was going to say anything. But he avoided meeting her gaze and only spoke to her when he required her to do something. By the middle of the afternoon Meg was losing heart and by the time for her to leave came he had still not said any more about her idea.
Dispirited, she trudged towards the workhouse. Albert met her at the gateway. ‘I’m sorry, lass, but mester’s given orders you’ve to be sent straight to the punishment room.’
Meg gasped. ‘Why?’
The old man shrugged his shoulders. ‘Search me, lass. I’d go there miself instead of you, if I could, but—’
‘Oh, Albert.’ Now genuine tears filled her eyes. She was touched by the old man’s thoughtfulness.
He patted her shoulder with rough kindness. ‘There, there, lass. You’ve done summat to upset him and you’ll have to pay. Thing is, old Isaac’s fine and dandy, generous to a fault, when we’m all doing his bidding. But cross him –’ the old man shook his head – ‘and there’s hell to pay.’
Meg’s eyes widened. ‘He’s not going to keep me locked up so that I can’t go to work, is he?’
Albert looked at her sorrowfully. ‘Three days, he said. On bread and water.’
Meg stared at him, her mind working quickly. She glanced round the deserted yard and then up at the windows of the master’s rooms, which overlooked the back of the main building. There was no shadowy figure standing there. Too busy with me mam, Meg thought bitterly. She stepped closer to Albert. ‘Go back into your lodge. You haven’t seen me, right?’
‘Aw, lass, what’re you up to now? It won’t do no good, yer know. Yer’ll only get yersel’ into more trouble.’
‘Don’t worry about me, but I don’t want him taking it out on you. Just do one thing for me.’
‘What’s that, lass?’
‘Tell Jake I’ve gone.’
‘He’s not here no more, mi duck. He’s living in at the farm now.’
‘Well – when you do see him, then.’
Albert sighed. ‘All right. But what are you going to do?’
‘Best you don’t know.’
‘I wouldn’t tell—’ he began indignantly.
‘I know you wouldn’t,’ Meg said swiftly. ‘It’s not that it’s just – well – I don’t want him even thinking you know.’
The old man sighed. ‘All right – but you will take care of yoursel’, won’t you?’
Meg grinned at him through the dusk. ‘Oh, I’ll do that all right, Albert. And – and thanks for – for everything.’ Briefly, she gripped his hands in hers.
‘I ain’t done nowt,’ the old man sniffed, sounding suspiciously tearful.
‘You’ve done more than you know.’ Impulsively, she leant forward and kissed his cheek. Then she was gone, running across the yard and up the stairs to the women’s dormitory. She held her breath as she opened the door. She was lucky – the room was empty. The women would all be at supper. That was where she should be. If anyone missed her . . . Then she remembered. She would not be missed, for they would probably all know by now that she’d been banished to the punishment room. If no one but Albert had seen her come back from work, then there was still time for her to escape.
Hurriedly, she gathered together her belongings. It didn’t take more than a minute or two – there was precious little to gather – and then she was creeping back down the stairs and scurrying across the yard, afraid that at any moment the master’s voice would boom out. Thank goodness she’d been allowed to wear her own clothes to go to work in. At least she had those. She reached the gate out of the yard again. Albert had gone back into his lodge and closed the door. She looked briefly through the window and saw him sitting at the table, a plate of food in front of him, but he wasn’t eating. He was just sitting, his arms resting on the table and staring into space. He didn’t even glance towards the window.
Meg crept out of the yard and into the lane. She slipped like a silent wraith along the side wall and then began to run as fast as she could away from the workhouse.
She ran and ran until her lungs were bursting and she could run no more. When she reached the shop, the premises were in darkness. Percy Rodwell had gone home. Meg crept down the passageway at the side of the shop and let herself into the yard at the back. She tried the door into the workshop, but, as she’d expected, it was locked and bolted. But she found that the door to the lean-to scullery was unlocked. There was little in
there worth stealing and Percy didn’t bother to secure it. Meg shivered as she felt her way around in the darkness. Even though the August night was balmy and warm, it would get colder in the early morning, but she had her thick shawl and all the clothes she possessed, though they were pathetically few. She did not want to lie on the brick floor, so she spread a layer of clothing on the top of the table and curled up on it with her shawl covering her. She wished now that she’d been brave enough to steal a blanket from the dormitory, but she had not dared. Isaac would have her sent to prison for theft. He’d do anything, she thought, to get back at her for the things she’d said.
Meg slept fitfully, waking every so often, cold and shivering. She was pleased to see the pale light of dawn creeping in through the grimy windows. She sat up and climbed stiffly down from the table. Her feet were like blocks of ice and had no feeling. She stamped them and threw her arms about herself, trying to get warm.
She opened the door and listened. Already she could hear movement from the other yards in the row of houses and shops, so she went out to the pump in the middle of Percy’s yard. The handle squeaked and icy, fresh water streamed from the spout. She splashed her face, shivering anew as she did, and then took a long drink. Next she visited the privy and then returned to the scullery to try to make herself look presentable. It was fortunate, she thought, that she had taken to coming round to the back entrance each morning. Percy would see nothing unusual when he opened the back door to find her standing there.
Meg had no idea what the day would bring. How long could she stay in the scullery without Percy finding out? And what would he do when he did?
One thing Meg did know: no matter what happened, she would never, ever go back to the workhouse. She would sooner die of starvation and cold.
Twenty-Two
Meg spent four more nights in the scullery before she managed to take the spare door-key from the hook behind the back door on the Saturday evening. Each night she left as usual by the front door, calling out a cheery ‘Goodnight’ to Percy and set off in the direction of the workhouse. But she only went as far as the end of the street, where she waited until Percy left the shop, carefully locking the door behind him. Then, in the darkness, she crept back into the yard and let herself into the workroom by the back door. Not daring to light a lamp or even a candle in case someone should see the light, Meg felt her way through to the shop and huddled down by the stove. Though the floor was uncomfortable, at least she was warm throughout the night now.
She was awake early each morning. She’d washed and tidied herself and was standing outside the back door when Percy arrived for the day’s work.
‘Good morning, Meg – Miss Kirkland.’ As he held open the door for her and she passed close to him to step inside, he touched her shoulder. ‘You look tired, my dear. Are – are things still the same?’
Meg nodded. ‘I haven’t seen my mother since – since that night.’ It was the truth, if not the whole truth. She did not tell him that she hadn’t been back to the workhouse since then, for he would surely ask questions. As it was, she lived in dread that Miss Pendleton would have told Miss Finch that Meg Kirkland had left the institution.
‘Dear, dear,’ the kindly man murmured. ‘What a state of affairs, to be sure.’ He went through to the front of the shop, shaking his head sadly and leaving Meg to start the day’s work.
The stove was soon revived each morning for now Meg was able to keep it going through the night. She just hoped Percy wouldn’t notice that the shop was warmer than usual when he arrived. Later that day she was able to sneak upstairs to fetch a man’s woollen vest and a pair of long johns from the old stock. These would keep her warm during the nights. It could still be surprisingly cold at two o’clock in the morning. She’d look a strange sight, but she didn’t care. There was no one to see her. She also found two moth-eaten blankets and stowed these and the garments near the top of the stairs, where she could easily find them in the dark when she returned each night.
Meg had no means of washing and drying her clothes and by the end of two weeks her dress was decidedly grubby. Percy must have noticed. Late one afternoon he handed her a parcel and, avoiding her eyes, murmured, ‘I thought it would be nice for you to wear some kind of uniform. I . . . er . . . hope these . . . um . . . garments will fit.’
‘Oh, thank you, Mr Rodwell,’ Meg said as she unwrapped a long black skirt and a white cotton blouse. Her gratitude was heartfelt, but even Percy could not guess just how much the gift of the clothing meant to her.
Meg managed to remain undiscovered for almost four weeks. Sundays were the worst. Then she wandered the streets, her stomach rolling with hunger, for she had no money to buy anything. The small wage that Percy paid her was soon gone. She was relying now only on the bread rolls that Percy bought from the bakery for their midday meal.
‘It’s too far for you to go home in the middle of the day,’ he’d said when she had first begun working for him. ‘But you’ll get a good meal at night, won’t you?’ Meg had smiled, wondering what he would think to the workhouse supper of bread and porridge. The best meal of the day there was the one at midday which she was now missing: boiled meat, peas and potatoes.
After four weeks the strain of living in such harsh conditions was taking its toll. One morning, exhausted by a fitful night’s sleep, she awoke with a start to find Percy bending over her as she lay on the floor near the stove.
‘Meg?’ His tone was more concerned than angry. ‘Whatever are you doing here? And – and how did you get in?’ Then he straightened up and, staring down at her strange garb and the makeshift bed of old blankets on the floor by the stove, realization spread across his face. ‘Oh, my dear girl, you’ve been sleeping here, haven’t you?’
Meg scrambled to her feet with difficulty. Her limbs were stiff and cold. ‘Oh, please, Mr Rodwell. Please forgive me. I’ve done no harm, honestly. Please don’t be cross—’
‘I’m not, my dear. I’m just so sorry you didn’t trust me enough to tell me. If I’d known then . . .’ He took off his spectacles, polished them and replaced them on the bridge of his nose.
‘I had to leave the workhouse, Mr Rodwell. Mr Pendleton was going to shut me in the punishment room on bread and water for three days. He wasn’t even going to let me come to work.’ Meg said, standing now and trying to smooth her hair. She knew what a ridiculous sight she must look, with an old man’s woollen vest pulled over her own clothes and a pair of long johns peeping out from beneath her skirt. Percy looked her up and down and the corners of his mouth twitched. He tried to control himself, but he smiled and then he chuckled and finally he was laughing out loud. Meg joined in and they were both shaking with laughter until tears ran down their faces.
‘Oh, Meg, what a sight you look!’
‘I know,’ she spluttered. ‘But they are warm. I found them upstairs. It’s not your best stock. I wouldn’t have used that.’
‘Oh, my dear girl,’ Percy said, wiping his eyes, ‘I wouldn’t have minded if you had. It’d’ve been worth it. I don’t know when I last laughed so much.’ And they dissolved into laughter afresh.
‘Now,’ Percy said at last, ‘go and make yourself presentable through the back and then you must go next door to the bakery and buy whatever you would like to eat. I don’t suppose you’ve had any breakfast, have you?’ He looked down at her with mock severity, but there was still a twinkle in his eyes. Then the twinkle faded as he added, ‘In fact, if I’m not much mistaken, you haven’t been eating properly for some time, have you?’
Meg shook head.
‘Right, you go and get whatever you want. Tell Mr Wilkins to put it on my account. And then we’ll talk.’
‘Yes, Mr Rodwell,’ Meg said meekly, hanging her head.
Later in the morning, when there was a lull in the number of customers coming into the shop, Percy once more went through his spectacle-polishing routine. Meg had noticed by now that this was a nervous habit of his when he was anxious. He seemed to do it a lot,
she thought, when Miss Finch came into the shop.
‘Now, we must decide what we are going to do.’
Meg waited, chewing her little finger, her heart thumping painfully. Was he going to dismiss her and send her back to the workhouse? The punishment room awaiting her was, to her mind, far worse than the discomfort she’d suffered recently sleeping on the floor of his shop.
‘Don’t send me back there, Mr Rodwell, please . . .’
He looked at her and blinked rapidly. ‘My dear girl, nothing was further from my mind. I wouldn’t dream of sending you back – there.’
‘You’re – you’re not going to dismiss me then?’
Percy shook his head. ‘Certainly not. You’re doing very nicely here and the ladies seem to like you.’ He paused, then glanced away as he murmured, ‘Well, most of them anyway.’ And Meg knew that he was thinking about Miss Finch. ‘No, no, I was just wondering where we could find lodgings for you in the town. I mean, I’d take you home with me, but – well – it wouldn’t be right. You do understand, don’t you?’
Meg nodded. She bit her lip and then plunged in, repeating her previous request. ‘Mr Rodwell – please – would you let me use the rooms above the shop? I’d clean them out and make them habitable and – and I’d be on hand to look after the shop. I could keep the stove going all night in the winter—’
‘Ah, so that’s why the shop has been so warm every morning,’ Percy said thoughtfully. ‘I see now.’
‘And it would be good to have someone living on the premises, wouldn’t it?’ Meg rushed on, but her heart sank when Percy shook his head. ‘It wouldn’t be right, a young girl like you living on her own here.’
‘I’d be all right. Really I would. Oh, please, Mr Rodwell, won’t you think about it?’
‘Well . . .’ he seemed to be wavering and Meg pressed home her point. ‘I could clean the shop after hours and sort out all the stock. I’d enjoy that, really I would. Oh, please, do say yes.’
Without Sin Page 15
