Workhouse Waif

by Elizabeth Keysian

  George Merriwether had just settled down into his First Class carriage. It seemed he was not to suffer any unwelcome company today, so he put his feet comfortably up on the seat in front and shook out his newspaper. It was only a short trip to Warbury, and he’d made it so many times, the speed of the train journey had long since ceased to impress him. As he sat back, the cushion pushed his hat forward, so he chuckled and flung it carelessly onto the seat in front. This seemed like a good game, so he picked it up and shied it at the seat again, glancing through the window as he sat back once more.

  “Great Scot!”

  The train had just whistled and begun to heave its way out of the station, yet here was some foolish young girl breaking into a run alongside. She’d never make it to the Third Class accommodation in time, and would probably do herself an injury in the process.

  “Once more unto the breach!” he exclaimed. Flinging open the carriage door, he yelled, “Here, give me your hand!”

  He had time to see an astonished, pretty face glance up at him and then, not giving her time to decide, he hauled her up into his carriage and slammed the door as the platform rushed away beneath them.

  “My, that was a close shave! Don’t often see young ladies running races with the train. You’ll never beat it, you know, far too much horsepower. And even one horsepower is a lot more than one human power. Human power, eh? That’s rather good.”

  Bella stared in amazement at the young man who’d just hoisted her effortlessly off her feet. Then she looked around. “I don’t think this is where I should be.” She struggled to catch her breath.

  “It was as far as you were going to get in one piece, my dear. And now you’re here you may as well keep me company. I don’t mind a bit of company… of the right sort.”

  “But my ticket—”

  “If the conductor comes, I’ll sort it out for you, don’t worry. Where are you off to?”

  “Warbury.” She hesitated, then added, “Sir.”

  “Ah! Same as me—jolly good!” The young man rustled in his pocket and brought out a crumpled paper bag. “Toffee?”

  Bella stuck her hand nervously into the bag and pulled out a sticky, sweet-smelling cube. She turned it over and examined it.

  “Better in the mouth than in the hand.” exclaimed Mr Merriwether, and threw one into his own.

  Bella copied him, then pulled a face. “My Lord, it’s sweet!”

  “Sweet? Ha, that’s a good one. But chew on, Miss… whoever you are—it’s a treat. I’m rather partial to them.”

  Bella wanted to ask some questions but found her teeth were stuck together, so she just sat, carefully avoiding the gentleman’s hat, and stared at him. This had to be the first time in her life she had actually seen anyone cheerful. She had seen gentlemen before—Mr Finchdean on that one occasion, the Master of the workhouse, occasional inspectors or members of the Board of Guardians—but this one was like none of them. He was openly friendly, openly confident—as if he had not a care in the world. And if the gold watch-chain peeping out from his waistcoat pocket was anything to go by, he certainly had no fear of poverty to discomfort him.

  Georgie shifted slightly in his seat. My, but she was a fast one, staring at him like she would eat him up. He had never been subjected to such a candid inspection before. What kind of woman had he landed himself with?

  “And, er, what takes you to Warbury may I ask?”

  “You can ask,” said Bella thickly, still struggling with her toffee. “I’m going to find work there. I was ill for a little while, but I’m well enough to travel now.”

  “Indeed?” The gentleman raised his eyebrows. “And what kind of work do you do?”

  “Well, teaching, really, but I’ve no hope of that. So, I’ll go and present meself to the woollen factories. If they’re having a good year, there’ll be loads of work.”

  “Maybe I can help you. I run a dye-works myself, but if that’s not what you’re interested in, I know Mr Henstridge is looking for weavers, but I doubt they’d let you go on that right away. Great Scot! Now I think of it, can you really teach?”

  “I’ve been a monitor since I was eight or thereabouts. Miss Ainsty said I should be a teacher. She said I was bright enough.”

  “Jolly old Miss Ainsty, eh? Look, it just so happens that—oh dear! There’s smuts coming in.”

  Georgie leapt up and shoved the window shut. Bella watched his movements and then caught sight of the countryside speeding past at a sickening rate. She paled and pushed herself back in her seat. Her injured back protested at the pressure, but she ignored it.

  “What’s this? Don’t like travelling, eh?”

  “I’ve never been anywhere. This is my first time on a train.”

  “There’s nothing to worry about. If you don’t like it, don’t look at it. As I was saying, I actually happen to know of someone who’s looking for a teacher. There—that’s brought the roses to your cheeks, hasn’t it? Yes, Henstridge has a school for the factory workers’ children—he don’t like them starting work before they’ve learned their ABCs, you know. Anyway, the teacher there’s been suffering from some gruesome ailment, so they’re looking for someone to help out, or even take over, I think. Sorry I can’t be more precise, but I know it was mentioned over port the other day.”

  Bella accepted another toffee and sat sucking it thoughtfully. “He’s a factory owner, is he? That wasn’t the place where the fire was, when all them folk was put out of work? Miss Ainsty told me.”

  “No, no. Same town, different mill. Yes, that was a bad business, very bad.”

  “Can you get this Mr Henstridge to meet me?”

  “Oh, you won’t be dealing with him directly, not at first. But an application to his man of business will get you an interview—I can help with that—and then the school governors will cast their eyes over you.”

  Not that she stood much chance, he thought mournfully—she didn’t look quite the sort they’d be looking for. Too young, very poorly dressed, pretty features but a rather puffy complexion—and look at those hands! She looked as if she’d worn them to the bone along with the rest of her. Still, a few good meals and some country air would probably do her the world of good.

  “You’re going to Warbury too?”

  “Indeed. Just been in Bristol supervising a shipping order of dyestuffs.”

  Bella’s eyes widened. She had lived in Bristol all her life, and knew it was a great port but had never even seen a ship. There was a sudden loud blast on the train’s whistle. She nearly shot out of her seat.

  With a sympathetic smile, Georgie said, “You’ll get used to it, Miss… dammit, if I’m going to be your knight in shining armour, I need to know your name.”

  “Bella Hart.”

  “From?”

  “Bristol.”

  He waited, but nothing more was forthcoming, so he puffed out his chest, offered his hand and said, “George Merriwether at your service. But call me Georgie. All my friends do.”

  The girl looked at his hand as if she didn’t know what it was for. He frowned for a moment, then laughed and reached forward to take her hand.

  “I’m being polite! And you’re supposed to return the compliment. At least when you’re in polite company. Shake hands, do.”

  Bella shook hands and slowly began to smile. It was the first time in her entire life that a man had touched her in friendship rather than lust or anger. Her heart gave a little leap, and as she smiled at Georgie, he grinned back, entranced by the change in her expression.

  “Friends, eh?” he said.

  “Friends,” stated Bella firmly as she settled back against the cushions to admire the opulence of her surroundings. Georgie watched her and chuckled. She smiled again. When she asked for another toffee, he gave it to her without demur.

  “Lord!” she whispered to herself when Georgie finally picked up his paper to find something to read to her. “I’ve landed on me feet and no mistake!”

  Chapter 14

  “I
met an interesting character on my trip today, Jack,” Georgie swilled his brandy around the glass.

  “I daresay you’re going to want to tell me all about him.” Jack Henstridge sounded bored.

  “Not him—her.”

  Jack frowned. “Look, Georgie, the town hasn’t yet recovered from your torrid affair with Marie Froggatt. I had hoped, for dear Harriet’s sake, there were likely to be no more similar occurrences.”

  “Oh, don’t be such a starched shirt, Jack. Anyway, I love your sister to pieces, and the Marie thing was a total aberration. No, I was thinking of this young lady in a light that could be beneficial to you.”

  “To me! What kind of man do you think I am?”

  “I don’t mean in that way, you idiot, although she is rather a darling… or will be, when she gets a bit of flesh on her. No, I know you’re not short of women. You seem to be fighting them off these days. I don’t know why you push them away, old chap—you ought to be out there enjoying yourself while you’re still young.”

  Jack’s expression remained closed, so Georgie went on, “No, the point is, you see, that the girl has been training to be a teacher.”

  Jack put his glass down. “Ah.”

  “There! I knew that would interest you. Anything that could be to the benefit of your damned mill, and your foolish notions of educating everyone up so they’ll be better workers, and happier ones. Anyway, I took the liberty of recommending her to Mrs Day as a lodger. You and your father and the Governors or whoever can look her over in the morning.”

  Jack narrowed his eyes at his friend. “Since when have you been a good judge of feminine intelligence? I can’t have just anybody working with the children. That would defeat the object.”

  Georgie smiled. He had a good answer for this. “I’ve been a great admirer of female cleverness since I got to know Harriet better.”

  “I concede—my sister’s a bright girl. And much better company than the usual sort a man like you would meet at dances and the races. You’ll be lucky to get her Georgie. In fact—I’m sure you don’t deserve her.”

  “I should feel guilty to deprive you of her company, of course. You’ll be even lonelier then.”

  “Lonely? Ha, what rot. I have my work. And I am not, at this present moment, considering matrimony, so you can take that knowing look off your face. Now, what were we talking about? Ah, yes. I’ll tell Father about this young teacher tomorrow. He can arrange for her to be tested, references checked, that sort of thing. What did you say her name was?”

  “She told me Bella, but I think for official purposes, it must be Isabella. Isabella Hart.”

  Chapter 15

  Bella’s interview was not as fearsome as expected. The previous teacher—a widow, called Mrs Day—had suffered a minor stroke, and the school had struggled on with an unsatisfactory monitor doing the teaching. There was an exchange of looks when Bella’s workhouse background became known, but it was decided to put her on a few months’ trial.

  She felt like a dog with two tails. Who would have thought there was a world of decent folk, of great opportunities out there? Her new landlady, Mrs Day, was glad to have assistance in the house and more than willing to explain to Bella how the classes should be run. She was given a couple of day’s respite in which to find her way around and get the room sorted before the children returned on Monday. Everything was turning out perfectly.

  The school was almost opposite Henstridge’s Woollen Mill. While Bella set about cleaning the classroom, she kept the door open, occasionally peering out to watch the activity going on. Sometimes, just for pleasure, she would step outside the door and stand in the sunshine—simply because she could.

  It was like heaven, this freedom. As she dusted the stuffed animals and curling maps on the walls, she could hardly believe she would be earning a wage for what had been done in the workhouse for meagre meals and the clothes you stood up in. She’d have to pay for lodging of course, but that was low since the invalid Mrs Day expected her to work some of it off by keeping house. And with regard to food, why, she would actually be able to choose what she bought, limited only by the contents of her pocket.

  The new freedom and the privacy were so pleasant, Bella was annoyed when a figure shadowed the open door, and a girl flounced in.

  “Afternoon, Miss. I’m Phoebe Froggatt, as looked after the school when Mrs Day went sick and I’ll be helping you while you get settled. La, but it’s busy at Henstridge’s.” She glanced out the open door. “They’re just unloading the wheel for their new beam engine. I never seen anything so big. That’s Kenneth Johnson over there, helping load her into the pit. What a job!”

  The girl paused and stared at Bella. Then she pushed her straggling dark hair behind her ear. “You alright, Miss? You feel unwell?”

  With trembling fingers, Bella took down a book and examined its cover. “Pleased to meet you, Phoebe. Froggatt—an unusual name. I… I wonder if I’ve heard it somewhere before?”

  “Oh, you will of if you lived around here, Miss. There’s hundreds of us. Pa’s dead now, mind, so unless Ma marries again, there’s not much chance of anymore in my lot. Cousin Marie works up at Merriwether’s. She’s maid-of-all-work at the moment, but she’s her heart set on housekeeper one day. I reckon she could do it—she’s got the nouse.”

  Marie Froggatt? Damn her bad luck! Just when everything looked set fair. “Does she live near here, your cousin?”

  “Not at all. We hardly ever see her from one quarter to the next. No, she has an attic room all to herself, lucky trollop—the house has a hundred rooms, she tells me.”

  And she has to clean them all, thought Bella. She took a breath, and her shoulders sank back down. She eyed Phoebe doubtfully.

  “Well, Miss Froggatt,” she said, doing her best to sound like the workhouse governor, Mrs Uphill. “If you’re here to help, go fetch a broom. We’re cleaning. And after that, you can tell me how many children there are at each standard and show me their latest arithmetic and writing exercises.”

  Phoebe Froggatt was inclined to be voluble. Bella soon learned the names of most of the children and the potted history of their families. She found out from Phoebe where the best shops were and the best deals to be got but limited the number of questions she asked for fear of seeming too ignorant. The conversation and the cleaning were punctuated by Phoebe’s trips to the door to see how work on the installation of the new engine was going and—as became apparent—to see if she could catch a glimpse of Kenneth Johnson.

  “So, tell me about Mrs Day.” Bella took an atlas from a high shelf and flicked through it. “When did she get sick?”

  “Don’t you know?” Phoebe leaned on her broom. “Ooh, it was a real battle that day. I reckon she would of beat Jamie Creegan to a pulp if she hadn’t been taken poorly. Mind, I think Jamie deserved it—he’s always pushing it. You’ll have to beat him too—it’s all he knows. I found meself wishing he’d just go ill or not bother coming to school at all.”

  Bella stared at the cane hanging on the edge of the teacher’s desk, and shivered. Could she now inflict such punishment on a child as she had so often received herself? She had never deserved it—it had been pure cruelty in the workhouse. She hoped she wasn’t cruel.

  “There’s some of the littl’uns, over by the factory gates. I bet they’d love to get in there and see what’s going on. Kenneth says it’s a marvellous new machine they’ve just bought. They’re all so clever, the people over there, knowing all about engineering as well as cloth work. I wish I could go over and have a look. Do you think we could, Miss?”

  “Time enough when the children start work there,” Bella said, then paused. She walked past Phoebe into the light and shaded her eyes. There was so much about this town she needed to know, so many things to experience to make up for years of being kept like a slave in a cellar. The factories were important.

  “Well, maybe, when it’s all settled. I’d like to see a beam engine myself.” She gave no clue that she didn’t k
now a beam engine from a hole in the ground. There was only one way to find out.

  “You stay here while I go over,” she told her helper. “Make sure you get on with the cleaning.”

  It was novel to be giving orders instead of receiving them, and Bella’s tread was light as she crossed the road. When she reached the gates, she discovered everything had quietened down. For a moment she hovered just outside, staring up at the building. Like the workhouse, it was brick-built with stone edgings, but there were huge outbuildings too— various sheds and the two great chimneys, the nearest one cold and quiet now. Great piles of coal lay stacked up against the walls.

  “I shan’t need a fire in the winter,” she told herself. “I’ll just come and prop me back up against that chimney.”

  Bella stared at the gates again and reminded herself that there was no reason she couldn’t walk in and walk straight out again. She was free now. She gazed at the groups of labourers, lounging around over their lunch. The men were mostly stripped down to their vests, their thickly muscled arms glistening with sweat and oil. She could feel their eyes on her as she passed.

  “Who’s in charge?” she asked one of the workmen. He stared at her for a moment, then waved his sandwich in the direction of the engine house.

  “’Spect you’ll find the ‘chief engineer’ in there.” He laughed.

  Chief engineer? Would he do, or should she have asked for Mr Henstridge direct? She ventured into the engine house.

  “My Lord!” Resting her hands on her hips, she tipped her head backwards to marvel at the new beam engine. There it stood, with its glistening flywheel, balanced over a pit. The great beam spanned the room, connecting with a vertical shaft via a series of cogs bigger than washtubs. There was no one about, but when Bella heard a noise, she moved towards it, stepping carefully to avoid the filthy bits and pieces that littered the floor.

  Through a half-open door, she could see a small room, its walls lined with shelves and hooks for tools. There was a workman in the room, stripped to the waist and washing himself. He must have heard her come in because he started up immediately, then reached for a shirt which he held in front of himself.