Workhouse Angel

by Holly Green

  ‘This is called the Encyclopaedia Britannica and it has all the facts in it that anyone could ever want to know. You can learn a great deal from a book like this.’ She opened it more or less at random. ‘Egypt. That should be quite educational. Copy that out in your best handwriting. I will be back soon to see how much you have done, so don’t sit there wasting your time.’

  She left and Angelina took up her pen and began reluctantly to write. Some of what she read was quite interesting, but there was a good deal she did not understand. An hour passed. Her hand ached and her shoulders were stiff. She longed to get up from the table and look out of the window, but she was afraid that her mother might return at any moment and she knew that if she was not working she would be punished. Her mother came back at last and cast a cursory glance over the pages she had written.

  ‘You have made three blots. Not good enough. You will have to do better than that. Now, do you have a sampler to stitch?’

  ‘Yes, Mama.’

  ‘You had better get on with that until luncheon. But make sure you wash your hands first. You don’t want ink all over it.’

  Angelina did as she was bidden. Stitching the sampler was even more boring than copying, and she wished there was someone she could talk to. She almost began to regret the departure of Miss Drake, but the memory of the pain of having her arms bound behind her back soon dispelled that thought.

  She had just finished her luncheon, brought up to her on a tray and eaten in solitary silence, when her mother reappeared, bringing with her a young woman with fair hair and a soft, delicate face.

  ‘Angelina, this is Miss Elizabeth Findlay. Her father is one of your papa’s employees and she has agreed to come and take care of you until other arrangements can be made. She will help you with your reading, spelling, sewing and so forth. I trust you will behave yourself, but I have made it clear to Miss Findlay that if she has any complaints she can refer them to me and I will deal with them. Don’t stand there gaping! You know how to greet a stranger.’

  Angelina curtsied hurriedly. ‘How do you do, ma’am?’

  ‘Oh, please!’ The young woman’s face had flushed. ‘You don’t need to curtsy to me, or call me ma’am. My family always call me Lizzie. I think you can call me that, too.’

  ‘Huh.’ Mrs McBride’s brief exclamation made it clear what she thought of that, but she said only, ‘Well, I’ll leave you to it. I have other matters to attend to.’

  When the door had closed behind her, Lizzie turned to Angelina with a smile. ‘Your mama tells me you usually go for a walk in the afternoons. It’s cold today but the sun is shining. Shall we go?’

  For a moment Angelina was unsure how to react. All her life she had been told what to do next. She had never been offered any choice in the matter. Briefly, she wondered what would happen if she said ‘no’, but the habit of acquiescence was hard to break.

  ‘Yes, if you please.’

  Lizzie helped her on with her bonnet and cape and wrapped a scarf round her neck. ‘We don’t want you to get cold, do we?’

  This solicitude was new, too. Miss Drake had advocated a brisk, invigorating walk as the best way to keep warm and had no patience with complaints.

  Once outside she was offered another choice. ‘Where would you like to go?’

  ‘To the park, if you please.’

  ‘Good. I like the park, too. Off we go then.’

  Once among the bare trees and the drooping evergreens, Angelina began to wish she had opted to stay indoors. It was November and the cold nipped at her toes and the tip of her nose.

  ‘Are you interested in Nature Study?’ Lizzie asked.

  ‘I don’t know what that means.’

  ‘Learning about plants and flowers and insects and that sort of thing.’

  ‘Miss Drake made me learn the names of all the trees.’

  ‘Well, that’s a start, I suppose. But there’s more to it than knowing names of things. It’s about keeping your eyes open and noticing things. Look over there, under that tree, for example. Do you see those fungi with red tops and white spots?’

  ‘They’re toadstools, not … not what you called them. Miss Drake said never to touch them.’

  ‘Well, she was right. They are poisonous. But aren’t they pretty? I used to like to think that they were umbrellas for the fairies to shelter under when it rained.’

  ‘I don’t believe in fairies. That’s just superstition.’

  ‘I don’t believe in them, either, but I still enjoy fairy stories.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You must have read fairy stories – or had them read to you, surely?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh, you poor little thing! I’ll bring you a book from home with wonderful stories in it. I live quite close. I can pop back easily.’

  ‘I’m not a poor little thing!’

  ‘No, of course you’re not. I just mean it’s a shame you have never heard a fairy story.’ She shivered. ‘It’s really cold, isn’t it? I tell you what. Let’s run to warm ourselves up. I’ll race you to the end of this path. Come on!’

  She set off, running swiftly, her skirt gathered up above her ankles. Angelina followed, but she had never been allowed to run. Her legs did not seem to know what to do and she was soon out of breath. Lizzie reached the end of the path and turned, her face glowing.

  ‘Come on! Lazy bones! You can do better than that.’

  Angelina stopped running and stood still. Lizzie came back to her.

  ‘What’s wrong? Is there something the matter with you?’

  ‘No. I don’t like running. It’s not ladylike. My mama wouldn’t like me to do it.’

  ‘Wouldn’t she? Oh dear. I didn’t know that. Perhaps we shouldn’t tell her?’

  Angelina saw a trace of alarm on Lizzie’s face. She was afraid of what Mama might say. She stored the knowledge away for future use.

  ‘I’d like to go home now.’

  Later that afternoon, when she went down to the drawing room, her mother asked if she had been for her regular outing.

  ‘Yes, we went to the park. Lizzie ran away and I couldn’t catch up with her.’

  ‘Ran away?’

  ‘She said it was a race. She picked up her skirt and showed her ankles.’

  Her mother tutted and murmured, ‘I suppose it’s to be expected when you employ that class of girl. But we shall have to make do with her for the time being. At such short notice it’s impossible to find a suitable governess. But I have made other arrangements. I have decided it is time for you to concentrate on the sort of accomplishments that are expected of a young lady of quality.

  ‘I spoke this morning to Mrs Pearson. Mr Pearson sits on several of the same committees as your papa. She has two daughters, Mary and Louisa, about your age, and she employs a Mr Latimer to teach them drawing and painting. She is happy for you to join them every Tuesday morning. On Friday afternoons they go to dancing classes with a Mrs Fairchild and I have enrolled you as well. On Wednesday mornings I have engaged a Mademoiselle Duchovny to give you lessons in French conversation.

  ‘Finally, I have arranged for a Madame Corelli to give all three of you music lessons. The Pearson girls will come here for that on Thursday afternoons and I have ordered a piano for that purpose.’ She fixed a stern gaze on Angelina. ‘You will understand that this represents a considerable financial outlay. I shall expect you to make good use of the lessons and do me credit in front of the Pearson girls. I am told that the elder girl, Mary, is already highly accomplished in all disciplines.’

  ‘I’ll do my best, Mama,’ Angelina said. The words were spoken automatically as she strove to comprehend what this new turn of events would mean. Painting and music and dancing sounded much more interesting than Miss Drake’s regime of mental arithmetic and learning by heart, but she was not sure if she would like being compared with two girls she had never met. It was easy to guess from her mother’s last words that she was going to be expected to do as well, if not b
etter, than them.

  Returning to the schoolroom, she found Lizzie clasping a large book. She held it out so that Angelina could read the title. ‘Wonderful Stories for Children by Hans Christian Anderson, translated from the Danish by Mary Howitt.’

  ‘I slipped home while you were with your mama, as I promised. I’ll read you one of the stories at bedtime. Should you like that?’

  Angelina frowned. She had not forgotten being called a ‘poor little thing’.

  ‘I’m not sure I shall like that. I think they are stories for little children. I’m growing up. I’m going to learn to dance and sing and paint.’

  ‘Well, I still enjoy them. And I’m pretty well grown up. Why don’t we try them anyway.’

  ‘If you wish.’ Angelina turned away, determined to conceal her curiosity, but when she was ready for bed, and Lizzie sat down by her side and opened the book, she did not object. Lizzie chose the story of the Ugly Duckling and within minutes Angelina was engrossed.

  She woke next morning to a confusion of emotions. She had to acknowledge to herself that she liked Lizzie. The walk and the bedtime story had given her more pleasure than she wanted to admit. But at the same time there was resentment at being called a poor little thing and a lazy bones. She did not like being either pitied or criticised – and there was her mother’s remark about employing someone ‘of that class’. That meant that Lizzie was a servant, and servants had to know their place. It came into her head that she had to show Lizzie who was the mistress and who the servant.

  So when Lizzie came to help her dress, she rejected the frock laid out for her. ‘I don’t want to wear that. I want the pink silk with the lace.’

  ‘Oh no, I don’t think that would be suitable. That’s a party dress, much too fine for every day.’

  ‘I don’t care. That’s the one I’m wearing today.’

  ‘Now, Angelina, don’t be difficult. You know that dress is only for special occasions. Come along now, let me help you.’

  ‘No! I won’t get dressed at all if I can’t wear that one.’

  ‘That would be very silly. This dress is pretty. Put it on, there’s a good girl.’

  ‘No!’ Angelina snatched the dress out of her hands so violently that a seam tore. ‘There, look what you made me do! It will have to be mended now and Mama will be cross. I shall tell her it was your fault.’

  Lizzie looked at her for a moment, then she sighed and turned away. ‘Very well. But if the dress gets spoiled, your mama will be angry.’

  Victory having been achieved, Angelina set about consolidating her position. She fidgeted and complained while Lizzie brushed her hair, insisted on having it done in plaits and then said they weren’t done properly and wanted them taken out again. At breakfast, she refused to eat her boiled egg on the grounds that it was too hard and made Lizzie go down to the kitchen for a fresh one.

  By the time they sat down at the schoolroom table for lessons, she had worked herself into a thoroughly bad temper and Lizzie was no longer smiling.

  At that moment Mrs McBride came into the room.

  Lizzie stood up and curtsied.

  ‘Good morning, ma’am.’

  Mrs McBride acknowledged the greeting with a nod. ‘Well, Angelina? Have you quite forgotten your manners?’

  Angelina rose reluctantly and curtsied. ‘Good morning, Mama.’

  ‘Good heavens, child! Why ever are you wearing that dress? Really, Lizzie, I am amazed that you have no more sense than to dress her in something so unsuitable!’

  Lizzie looked uncomfortable. ‘Angelina insisted, ma’am.’

  ‘Insisted! A child does not insist, she obeys! You must exercise more authority or I fear we shall have to part with you. Put her into something more suitable at once.’

  She swept out and Lizzie turned to Angelina. ‘Do you want me to be sent away?’

  Angelina bit her lips and shook her head.

  ‘Then we had better get you properly dressed.’

  When the frock had been exchanged for another one and they returned to the schoolroom, Lizzie laid a small book on the table.

  ‘I thought we would read from this book and afterwards you can copy some of it to practise your handwriting.’ She passed it to Angelina. ‘Read me the first few pages.’

  The book was called An Infant’s Progress, or from the Valley of Destruction to Everlasting Glory by Mrs Sherwood. Angelina began to read. The main characters were children called Humble Mind and his sisters Playful and Peace, and there was a being called Sin who was ‘as ill-favoured and ill-conditioned an urchin as one could see’, who whispered in their ears tempting them to do all sorts of wicked things. The message that to achieve everlasting glory it was necessary to be humble and obedient was clear enough but it left Angelina puzzled.

  ‘What is everlasting glory?’ she asked.

  ‘I suppose it means going to heaven.’

  ‘And what happens to people who are not humble and obedient?’

  ‘Well, if they go on all their lives doing bad things, the Bible tells us they go to hell. But the point of this story is that it is never too late to mend your ways and learn to be good. But you know this, don’t you? You say your prayers every night. You ask God not to lead us into temptation but to deliver us from evil.’

  ‘Oh yes …’ Angelina had been taught her prayers by rote by her nurse as soon as she was able to repeat the words, but she had never thought about the meaning. ‘So it doesn’t matter if someone is naughty, as long as they make up their mind to be good in the end?’

  ‘We are taught that God is merciful and he doesn’t punish those who are truly repentant.’

  ‘Are we?’

  ‘Haven’t you learned that at Sunday School?’

  ‘What is Sunday School?’

  ‘Don’t you go to church?’

  ‘No. Miss Drake used to go, I think – and Jane and Betty.’

  ‘What about your mama and papa?’

  ‘Oh, no.’ In Angelina’s mind church-going was for servants and suchlike people, not for ladies and gentlemen.

  ‘That’s strange.’ Lizzie looked as if she found it hard to believe.

  Angelina pushed the book away. ‘I don’t want to read any more. I want to do something else.’

  ‘As you please. I think we should practise our spelling next.’

  ‘I hate spelling!’

  ‘When you are grown up and have to write letters, people will laugh at you if you cannot spell correctly.’

  Angelina struggled for a moment with warring impulses, then she shrugged and muttered, ‘Oh, very well. If I must.’

  It rained all afternoon so there was no question of a walk. Lizzie hunted in the cupboard where Angelina’s toys were kept and found a game of snakes and ladders.

  ‘Shall we play this?’

  ‘I don’t know how.’

  Lizzie gave her a look that she was coming to recognise, but all she said was, ‘It’s easy. I’ll teach you.’

  In bed that night Angelina pondered their conversation about temptation and redemption. Miss Garvey had been apt to tell her that Jesus would not be pleased with her if she did not do as she was told, and she had been made to learn the Commandments and the Beatitudes by heart, but there had never been any discussion of religious matters. She vaguely recalled the governess saying that, as her mama and papa were Catholics, she had better not put her own ideas into Angelina’s head, but she had not understood what that meant. She decided on the strength of what Lizzie had told her that it would be best not to be naughty, but comforted herself with the thought that, if she could not manage it, she could always say sorry later.

  Next day being Tuesday, Lizzie walked with her the short distance to the Pearsons’ house. The parlourmaid had been told to expect them and led them upstairs to the schoolroom, where the two Pearson girls were waiting for them. The elder of the two stepped forward with the air of a seasoned hostess.

  ‘Good morning. I’m Mary Pearson and this is my sister, Louisa. Say �
�how do you do”, Lulu.’

  The younger girl gave a giggle and put her finger in her mouth, so that the greeting came out as a mumble.

  ‘This is Angelina,’ Lizzie said. ‘I’m sure you are all going to be great friends. I’ll leave you now, Angelina. I’ll be back to collect you at midday.’

  It was on the tip of Angelina’s tongue to ask her to stay, but she was determined not to appear a baby in comparison to the self-assured Mary. She put on the tone of voice she had heard her mother use when dismissing servants.

  ‘Thank you, Lizzie. I shall not need you until then.’

  Lizzie gave her an odd look but said only, ‘Enjoy your lesson,’ and departed.

  ‘I’m nearly eleven years old,’ Mary said. ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Eight.’

  ‘Oh, you’re only a bit older than Louisa, then. She’s still a baby.’

  ‘I’m not!’ said the indignant Louisa.

  ‘I am not a baby,’ Angelina said firmly.

  ‘Have you had drawing lessons before?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Shall I show you some of my paintings?’ Mary led her over to one side of the room where a number of watercolours of flowers and fruit were pinned along the dado rail. ‘These are all mine. Mr Latimer likes them very much. He says I am extremely talented.’ She waved a hand at the opposite side of the room, where a series of slightly distorted images of dogs and kittens were displayed. ‘Those are Louisa’s,’ she said dismissively. ‘They are not very good.’

  Angelina looked at the flower paintings. They were very large and painted in brighter colours than any she had ever seen growing.

  ‘Mr Latimer will be here soon,’ Mary said. ‘He’s nice but he gets a bit impatient at times. Don’t worry. I won’t let him be cross with you. He never tells me off.’

  Angelina looked at her. She was tall for her age and rather thin, with bony shoulders and a nose that was slightly too large. Her hair was brown and dressed into elaborate ringlets and her eyes were brown as well and rather small. Angelina wondered what made her so sure of herself. Mary might be older, but Angelina knew she was prettier.