Convenient Women Collection

by Delphine Woods

  The factory floor was pounding as usual, though the thought of Sunday tomorrow made the workers lazier, dreaming of a day of rest and a roasted dinner if they were lucky enough. Cat did not run to collect the linen circles, but walked with haste, all the while flicking her eyes between the dark windows and the dark mark on her mother’s face. As she scooped up the circles, she felt the penetrative stares of the women as they cut their metal, their prying eyes searching for a clue as to why her mother had yet another bruise on her face, and if there was any sign of harm on Cat. It would be another topic to gossip about; now the husband’s started on the children and all.

  Cat did not meet their gaze. She set her mouth straight and tight and kept her cheek turned on them until the day was over.

  Outside, a thin mist of rain clung to the air. Mother fixed Cat’s cap and shawl, took her hand, and guided her home. They were soaked through by the time they got inside. Cat hung their cloaks before the fire and watched as the steam began to rise and swirl in the room.

  There was no bacon tonight. The bread was cut as thin as possible. Again, they waited. Helen’s stomach growled. Lottie sighed. Michael picked his fingernails.

  ‘Eat,’ Mother said, picking up her bread reluctantly.

  ‘We should wait for Father,’ Michael said.

  The bread hovered before Mother’s mouth.

  ‘You can if you want.’ Cat bit into her food.

  Lottie and Helen copied her with a grin. Mother nibbled on the hard crust. Michael folded his arms and watched them from under his stitched eyebrows until hunger got the better of him. He snatched up his bread and bit into it as if he was biting into Cat herself.

  It was over sooner than everybody would have liked, and still, Father had not returned.

  ‘Go to bed.’ Mother heaved herself onto her feet and gathered the plates to wash.

  Cat herded Helen and Lottie upstairs and into their nightclothes, rolling old stockings over their feet as the girls giggled from her cold hands. She tucked them into bed and kissed their foreheads as they yawned. Michael dived under the covers and rolled away from them.

  ‘Aren’t you coming in?’ Helen said to Cat, rubbing her chubby fist into her eye socket.

  ‘Soon.’ Cat took the bible from the bed stand and crept downstairs.

  Mother sat at the table, staring at Father’s plate and the two slices of bread upon it. She didn’t notice Cat, and Cat thought she might have been sleeping with her eyes open.

  ‘Ma?’

  Mother inhaled and smiled. It seemed to take all her energy. ‘You should get to sleep, Cat.’

  ‘I wanted to keep you company.’

  Cat sat next to her mother. They listened to the noises around them: the family in the house behind them, lively with chatter and laughter; Mrs Smith next door with her son and his family, banging about, all bundled in there unhappily; the patter of feet outside and the whispers of fleeting conversations.

  ‘He’s late tonight,’ Mother said.

  ‘He’s forgotten the time.’

  A ghost of a smile lifted her mother’s lips. She rested her chin on her hands.

  ‘I thought time might pass quicker if we read.’ Cat put the bible on the table.

  ‘You know I can’t.’

  ‘I could teach you. I could teach you the way they do at Sunday school.’

  Mother reached for Cat’s chin and stroked it. ‘My clever little girl.’

  Cat opened the bible to Genesis. She cleared her throat. ‘“In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.”’ She pushed the book towards her mother. ‘Now you try.’

  Mother laughed and looked at the page below her, biting her lip. ‘I like it when you read to me.’

  ‘“And the earth was without form, and void, and darkness was upon the face of the deep–’

  ‘Smart girl, you are, Cat.’ Mother reached for her hand and held it tight. The bible lay discarded. ‘Too smart for your own good.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Her mother’s eyes glistened in the firelight. ‘This is all there is for us, Cat. This is our lot.’ She gestured to the cramped kitchen around them, and her chin wobbled.

  Cat wrapped her arms around her mother’s neck. Ma smelt of the factory, and of grime and grease and copper and soot. Her hair was coarse against Cat’s cheek as her forehead rested heavily on Cat’s shoulder. They did not move for minutes.

  ‘I wish there was something better for you out there,’ Mother whispered, and her hot breath tickled Cat’s collarbone before she pulled herself upright and wiped the tears off her face.

  ‘I’m happy here, Ma, with you.’

  Mother kissed Cat’s cheek. ‘I won’t be here forever.’

  It was an absurd notion. Always, Mother had been with Cat. Why would she leave? The thought was both ridiculous and terrifying, and when Mother rose to pour water into the kettle, Cat almost lunged after her and grabbed her hand.

  ‘Let’s have us some tea.’

  Cat watched Mother set the kettle over the heat. The skin on Mother’s hands was cracked, the knuckles were bulbous and swollen, her back was too hunched, and her feet shuffled as if she was half-sleeping. The firelight made the bruise around her eye darker, like a sooty footprint on her face, marking her as something that Cat didn’t recognise.

  Suddenly, Mother seemed very old.

  ‘You won’t leave us, will you?’ Cat said, her voice thin as she plucked at the splintered edge of the table.

  Before Mother could reply, fists beat against the door, startling them both. The kettle almost dropped out of Mother’s hands.

  ‘What on earth …’ Mother hobbled to the door, and two men fell through it as she opened it.

  Cat hid behind her mother’s skirts and studied the men’s faces. She didn’t recognise them. Both had skin pinked with the warmth of too much beer, and cheeks that had not been washed clean after a day’s work. Their beards were matted with clay, and their clothes were dishevelled, their shirts hanging out of their breeches, their jackets half falling off their shoulders. They gasped for breath as they stood in front of Mother, rocking back and forth on the balls of their feet.

  ‘What is it?’ Mother said.

  ‘It’s Jack,’ one of the men said, running his tongue over his lower lip.

  With her eyes more adjusted, Cat could see dark red smears on their necks and hands.

  ‘What’s he done?’

  ‘A fight. Some Dudley lot.’

  Mother squeezed her arms about herself, straightened her spine. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Jack was only having a laugh, but them … they’re vicious as cats those lot.’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  The younger man sniffed and looked at his feet. ‘They had knives. They cut him.’

  Mother stilled. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘The lads’ll bring him around.’

  Mother nodded. ‘We need water. And clean clothes. Cat, fetch Mrs Smith, she’ll know of something to heal the wounds.’

  ‘Mrs Davies,’ the older man said, ‘there’s no point in that. He’s gone.’

  Silence rippled through the house. Cat didn’t understand. Neither did Mother, so it seemed.

  ‘What?’

  ‘He’s dead.’

  Time stretched, then Mother’s legs buckled. She crashed to the floor. The men flinched away from her, eager to get away.

  ‘We’ll bring him round,’ the young one said, and then they scampered into the darkness.

  Cat closed the door and stared down at her sobbing mother crumpled by her feet.

  Movement caught the corner of her eye. At the top of the stairs, Helen and Lottie hugged each other as they pulled on their lips, both of them starting to cry. Michael glowered down at Cat, his eyes black and dry until he turned and retreated into the bedroom.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Cat said to her sisters, to her mother, to herself, to anyone who would listen. If she said it enough times, maybe it would be true. ‘It’s all
right.’

  Mother clutched Cat’s skirts, reeling Cat closer, grappling for an embrace as she wept. ‘What will we do now, Cat? What will we do?’

  Chapter 4

  October 1853. Wallingham Hall.

  She stared at the wooden doe in the scene above her head. A crude engraving. How long until that doe was shot? Her body butchered and dismembered, her flesh stacked into roasting dishes, her head hung on a wall?

  Cat closed her eyes.

  There was a dull ache over her body from too long in bed. She had never lay down for so many days before, with nothing to do but stare at the flames or out of the window. She threw back the covers, swung her legs over the bed, and went to look outside.

  Fields littered with towering trees and dotted with sheep stretched before her. Forests grew either side of the house, their leaves glowing red and amber and falling to carpet the ground. Sometimes, when she had rested her elbows on the windowpane before, she had seen Osborne go galloping across his land, his man close behind him, the sun making their horses' coats shimmer like spun gold. Perhaps they went hunting, for pheasants or deer; that was what his sort did for pleasure, wasn’t it?

  Her door opened. The housekeeper, Mrs Lewis, came in without knocking, her arms filled with clothes.

  ‘Here you are.’ She plonked the dress and petticoats on the chair by the fire. ‘Washed and ironed for you.’

  Whoever had taken the time and trouble to iron them would not be pleased with how Mrs Lewis had left them in such a rough pile, Cat thought. She nodded her thanks, feeling exposed in nothing but her nightgown, and waited for the woman to leave. She did not.

  ‘Shall I send for Nelly to help get you into them?’

  ‘No, thank you, I’ll be fine.’

  Mrs Lewis, an old woman, perhaps in her fifties, smirked. ‘You can go back to where you came from now.’

  Cat met her hard gaze. ‘Is that what Mr Tomkins wants?’

  ‘It will be.’ Mrs Lewis put her hands on her hips. ‘Don’t get comfortable here, Miss Davies. You’ll be out soon enough. He likes to do a good deed, makes him feel nice, but if you have any other ideas going on in that brain of yours, shake them out.’

  ‘I don’t have any ideas.’

  Mrs Lewis took a long time to look Cat up and down. Cat held still, determined to be strong.

  ‘I don’t trust you one bit.’

  Cat swallowed. ‘Thank you for my clothes, Mrs Lewis. I’ll tell Mr Tomkins what good care you’ve been taking of me.’

  Mrs Lewis raised one thin, grey eyebrow, then slammed the door behind her.

  A small fist pattered against her door.

  ‘Come in.’

  Nelly poked her head into the room. Her lips smeared across her face as she tried to contain her excitement. ‘I’ve got something for you.’

  She bustled into the room, her arms full of peach-coloured material. She stood before the fire, and with a flourish like any good showman, revealed the dress. The silk shimmered, and the sash around the waist glistened like a pink stream in the sunshine. Sheaves of golden corn were stitched around the circle of the skirt at calf-height. The short sleeves were puffed and pleated.

  ‘It’s one of Master’s mother’s gowns.’ She shook her head in disbelief as she looked between the dress and Cat. ‘No one’s been allowed in her room for years. And then you come along, and suddenly he’s making me go snooping for a dress for dinner for you!’

  ‘He wants me to wear that?’

  Nelly rounded on her. ‘And what’s wrong with it?’

  ‘Nothing’s wrong with it. It’s too grand for me.’

  Nelly dipped her head to the side and studied the dress. ‘Mmh. But it’s what Master wants. I’m to take your measurements and fit it for you, ready for dinner tomorrow.’

  ‘I’m to dine with Osborne?’

  ‘You're to dine with the master, yes.’ Nelly stressed the title, and laid the dress over the armchair and found her measuring tape from her apron pocket. ‘Stand in the middle. Arms up.’

  Cat did as she was told, and the tape was cold through the cotton nightgown as Nelly pulled it tight around her waist.

  Cat took this time to observe the maid – the girl’s clear but dull skin, the wisps of mud-brown hair that escaped from under her cap and tickled her forehead, the scent of overcooked vegetables and carbolic soap that clung to her body. Nelly was still suspicious of Cat, but she was warming to her. If she could become a friend, Nelly might prove a vital ally.

  ‘I won't know what to do,’ Cat said. ‘I’ve never eaten in a place like this before, with someone like Osborne before.’

  ‘No, don’t suppose you have.’

  Cat let the insult pass. ‘Would you help me?’

  The girl sighed as if it was such a hassle for her, but her voice was breathy and excited when she next spoke. ‘Cutlery, just start from the outside and work in. There’s usually so much food you can’t eat it all, so make sure you have little bits.’

  Cat nodded and hoped she would remember everything as Nelly lifted the tape around Cat’s breasts.

  ‘Drink whatever is poured at any given time, you’ve no need to worry about what goes with what – Mr Dixon does all that.’

  Nelly measured Cat’s neck and her arms, then bent to do her legs.

  ‘It’ll only be you and him, and Master knows you; he won’t be expecting much.’

  She wound the tape up and tipped it into her pocket, then slapped her hands together.

  ‘Think you’ll cope?’

  ‘Thank you, you’ve been most helpful.’

  Nelly did not notice the sarcasm hidden in Cat’s words. She nodded proudly.

  ‘Good. Then I’ll go and fix that dress for you.’

  Cat gasped at her reflection. Nelly had powdered her skin clear and had curled her hair into a work of art, despite its shortness. The dress fitted beautifully, and she stroked the fine material as it cascaded over her hips.

  ‘And these.’ Nelly held out a pair of elbow-length silk gloves.

  Nelly stood back to assess her work, frowning. ‘That’ll do, I suppose.’ She lifted her eyes to Cat and cackled mischievously.

  ‘You think he will like it?’

  ‘I think he will like it very much.’ The girl tutted – was there a hint of jealousy somewhere? ‘Go on. Don’t leave him waiting for you.’ She shooed Cat out of the room.

  ‘Would you show me the way?’ Cat said over her shoulder before Nelly could disappear through a door which looked like part of the wall.

  Nelly gestured for Cat to descend the staircase. Even the bannister was beautiful, with vines and dogs and hunting frescoes carved into the dark mahogany. Everything at Wallingham was so extravagant – she had never seen the likes of it before. At the bottom of the stairs, a cavernous room greeted her. The ceiling was thrice Cat’s height and plastered in yet more ornate patterns. The walls were clad in chestnut-coloured wood, and animal’s heads hung parallel to the chandeliers, their dark, soulless eyes staring across the space towards their similarly stuffed companions. A great fire burned in the left wall, the opening as wide as Cat was tall, and black ash streaked the stone neck of the chimney.

  ‘This is the great hall,’ Nelly whispered, looking around her as if she should not be here. ‘This is where the big entertainments are held. Through there,’ she jerked her head at the door at the far end of the hall, ‘is where Master Tomkins dines. He’ll be in there.’ She stopped and would not take another step. ‘I should be getting downstairs now.’

  Cat twisted her hands together, feeling the clamminess of them inside her gloves. ‘Right …’ She glanced at the door, wondering if her legs would carry her that far. ‘Right, thank you, Nelly.’ This time, she said it without sarcasm. She really was grateful for the girl’s company and did not want Nelly to leave, but to show such feelings would only be a weakness. She could not afford to be weak.

  She rolled her shoulders back and inhaled. Brushing a loose strand of hair out of her eyes, she ma
rched across the vast space.

  Her hand hovered above the doorknob. Should she knock, or enter as if this was all normal to her? She glanced over her shoulder and found herself utterly alone without Nelly to ask for help. She raised her hand, knuckles ready to rap on the door, when it opened before her.

  ‘Miss Davies.’ A man with salted hair bowed to her. She vaguely recalled him as Osborne’s man, Mr Dixon, a butler or a valet perhaps; Cat didn’t know the correct titles. The man lifted his head, smiled warmly, and ushered her inside.

  The room was a miniature version of the great hall, except for the table, which heaved with candelabras and cut glasses and crockery and polished silver. At the head of it, Osborne rose from his seat, dressed in his finest suit, his thick hair slicked to one side, his sideburns glistening with scented oil. He did not smile immediately; his eyes roamed over her figure before they came to rest on her face. Then, he beamed.

  ‘Miss Davies, you are looking well.’

  Cat bobbed into what she hoped passed for a demure curtsey. ‘I am well, sir, and it is because of your kindness.’

  ‘Come.’ He gestured to the chair to his left. ‘Sit. I thought you might like it here, close to the fire, so you might keep warm.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Tomkins.’

  Dixon pushed in her chair as she sat down.

  ‘Call me Osborne, please. I do not wish us to be so formal with each other.’

  ‘Wine, Miss Davies?’ Dixon held a decanter before her. She nodded and hoped it was the right decision. She waited until Osborne drank before she sipped from her glass.

  The alcohol trickled down her throat, warming her. She rested against the back of the chair, willing herself to relax; she looked prettiest when she was relaxed, and Osborne was obviously a man who admired beautiful things.

  Osborne downed his drink in one and pushed his napkin to his lips. His cheeks were a little flushed, his gaze a bit too unsteady.

  ‘You have a beautiful house–’

  ‘I am afraid I have–’

  They talked over one another, each of them stopping abruptly to let the other one continue. They laughed awkwardly.