Workhouse Waif

by Elizabeth Keysian

  Her head snapped back in surprise at his compliment. “You’re kind. Everyone round here’s been sort of nice. I used to think Miss Ainsty was the only kind person in the world. I’m glad I came to Warbury.”

  Her rescuer didn’t seem to know how to answer this. He took her by the elbow to escort her across the road and over to Mrs Day’s door.

  “I’d better be off. Keep the jacket on ’til you’re inside. I don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea about this—I’d be a laughing stock. Drop the thing by the tool house when you’ve a moment. But when you do come by,” he added meaningfully, “promise me you’ll walk straight past the beam engine and not linger for a closer look. I don’t want any more drama in the workplace. You should never wear wide skirts in the factory.”

  “How was I to know? Besides, this is my only dress. I might be able to rescue it if I can sew some new cloth around the hem. Oh, don’t blame yourself for the finger marks—I may be able to get them out. I should be grateful to you. You probably saved my life.”

  The man acknowledged this with a brief smile, then turned to go.

  “Oh, when I come up the factory to bring the jacket back, who should I ask for?”

  “I’m not often there, so just give it to Hickett—you know who he is? Good. Tell him it’s Jack’s. Goodbye now, Miss Hart.”

  “Goodbye Mister… Jack.”

  An engineer who wasn’t often at work? This was something she didn’t understand. But then, there was so much she had yet to learn about the ways of folk outside the walls of the workhouse, it was hardly surprising she should encounter some conundrums.

  And Mr Jack Whatever-his-name-was—with his grimy hands and scented soap and haphazard work schedule—was definitely one of them.

  Chapter 19

  “I know this is the right thing to do, Mother.” Lord Henry Sutcliffe, Earl of Linden, tucked his napkin into his lap and cast his eye critically over the sliced beef on his plate.

  “But do you still think you can find her? And after what happened to poor Mr Finchdean—”

  “Agents are two-a-penny. Anyway, I found you, didn’t I, despite the lapse of time and the fact that you had moved on from the workhouse?”

  “Don’t speak of that place, Henry, it kills me to think of it. I wish you would have some pity on my feelings and not mention it again. I can’t bear to think of what going around those places did to Mr Finchdean’s health. It is just so easy to succumb to sickness in an institution.”

  “I have to mention such institutions. And do you not have some pity on your daughter, who is very probably languishing away in a similar sink-pit of disease? She must be discovered and brought to Linden. I cannot abide the shame of my own flesh and blood being buried alive in such an establishment. Do you want her dead of pneumonia too?”

  “But she could be anywhere—it will take months, years, great expense.”

  “It is an expense I can well afford. When will I get you to understand? But perhaps I’m being unreasonable. You have been in want so long, you cannot conceive of riches. No matter—as my mother, you shall have the place in Society you deserve. And you will be recompensed for my father’s sin.”

  “Not so much his sin, Henry, as that of his parents. They were to blame.”

  “You are quite wrong. Had my father been less weak, you would have been married and you, my sister and I, all leading a comfortable life together.”

  “But think of the damage discovery will do to your reputation—you’ve already endangered it by bringing me out of obscurity.”

  “Don’t be foolish. Nobody is going to be that interested in you. What is past is past, so I don’t care who knows about it. What matters is the here and now, my family and the continuation of that family.”

  “If your father were still alive—”

  “If he were still alive, you would not be here. You would probably have died of a consumption or one of the other revolting diseases the impoverished suffer from. He never lifted a finger to save you—he was so cowed by the intractable nature of his father and mother.”

  “You sound as if you didn’t care for any of them.”

  Lord Henry signalled to the footman to bring him the gravy boat. “I can’t say I did. The best thing that ever happened to me was their demise. Now I am my own master and shall do what I think best and be dictated to by no other.”

  “I don’t understand you. I thought you were kind when you went to so much trouble to find me and bring me into your home. But I feel there is a hardness in your nature too, and it makes me a little afraid.”

  Lord Henry smiled slowly. “Ah yes, one of the tasks of a mother is to make minute observations on the failings of their offspring. I’m afraid it will not work with me. I’m too old to be affected by your opinions.”

  “Too old? Why—you are barely of age.”

  The smile disappeared and the green eyes took on a stern expression. “It is not age, but experience that models a man. I did not bring you here to remind me of my comparative youth. Besides, I do not need to give credence to the views of a woman who allowed herself to be betrayed by the same man not once, but twice, with a child resulting from each liaison.”

  Sarah Hart busied herself with her plate and said in a low voice, “I wish you would not say such things in front of the servants. Send them out of here, do.”

  For once, Henry obliged. He was enjoying the conversation. His mother rose to the bait so easily. It surprised him. He had rather thought that after the experiences she had been through, she’d be impervious to words—but these, more than the hardships she had endured, seemed to wound her.

  After a while, when the high colour had drained from her cheeks, his mother tried again.

  “But if you do find Isabella, how do you know she will want to come here?”

  “How could she possibly refuse? It will be in her own best interests, as it was in yours.”

  “You will force her, then.”

  “It is a matter of necessity, mother. There must be an heir to Linden, and I’m relying on her to provide him. As I’ve told you many times before, I have no intention of marrying, so she is the only hope for the future of the family.”

  “Don’t let your father’s prejudices sway you from the idea. Some marriages are very successful.”

  “Father wouldn’t marry you because he was too proud. In your own weakness, you clung to the idea of him, bringing me up yourself and using me as a bargaining counter to bring him to your side again. And when that didn’t work, you seduced him back to your bed, and Isabella was the result.”

  “No, no, you’ve got it all wrong! It wasn’t like that, Henry.”

  Henry tilted his head, and his eyes were hard. “But he had bigger fish to fry by that time, didn’t he, Mother? A wealthy young girl on the horizon, much approved of by Grandpapa. But when she found out about Papa’s other little family, she dropped him like a hot brick, like the lady she was. There was still you, and the Sutcliffe heirs, despite being born the wrong side of the blanket. But what were you—a butcher’s daughter? Far too lowly to be allowed into the family.”

  Sarah clasped a hand to her stomach and swayed as if she was about to faint. “How can you be so cruel, Henry? To your own mother? You make it sound so… sordid, and it wasn’t like that at all. Truly, you are an ungrateful boy, an unnatural son.”

  “What do I have to be grateful to you for? It is you who should be grateful to me, now that I am doing my duty by you. But your story has been a cautionary tale, Mother. With your example before me, I can hardly be blamed for my cynicism about the relationship between a man and a woman.”

  “Please don’t blame him so much. He did care for me, and for you. He took you in, didn’t he?”

  “No, they took me in, when he caught the typhoid, and it was certain he would die. He couldn’t be allowed to die without issue, so the bastard boy was dragged back to Linden and adopted, while his mother and sister were left in the Poor House. Mother, again you surprise me, that you
can still say a kind word for him after all that has befallen you. I daresay I shall never understand it.”

  “Still, I have every hope of you making a happy and successful marriage. Where I failed, I would like to see my son succeed.”

  Henry sighed and threw back his glass of port at one gulp. “I have already made up my mind, and if you do not yet comprehend that my decisions are unshakeable, you soon will. So, let that be an end to it. My sister will be found, will be brought here and get a husband from good breeding stock. Then we can all be content.”

  Chapter 20

  Bella was scowling at the ruined hem of her dress. She had spent half the afternoon trying to remove the oil stains, and now she was ready with her scissors and needle, attempting to mend the tears. Mrs Day had done her best to assist.

  “I’ve a mind to go and complain about how dangerous the machinery is.” Bella frowned up at her landlady. “I can’t abide the thought of the children going in there to work and likely getting themselves killed. There should at least be safety barriers—you know how the young ones like to run around.”

  “If you do that, madam, you’ll be out of a job. If the workers complain or go on strike, the masters will just get other labour in from further afield. Then the men fight with them, and there’s all manner of trouble. You just forget it and keep sewing that piece onto your dress and think yourself lucky for what you’ve got.”

  “But if nobody ever says a word, nothing will ever get done.”

  “It’s not your place to do it.” Mrs Day thumped the kettle down onto the range. “Leave it to the better folk, who haven’t so much to lose.”

  “I wasn’t goin’ to make a big fuss about it—I just wanted to talk to Mr Henstridge on the quiet-like, and explain what happened.”

  “All he needs to know, girl, is that you and those littl’uns were in a place where you did ought never to have been, and that’s you done for. That you got caught in the machinery was your own fault. And anyway, if you do make trouble, what’s that goin’ to do for Hickett and that engineer you said let you go in the engine house? Do you want them thrown out to starve in a corner just because you’ve got a hole in your dress?”

  Bella stared defiantly back at the old lady, but after a minute she hung her head.

  “You’d never have dared complain in the Union, now would you? No doubt there was plenty to complain of there.”

  “No, there weren’t no point.” Bella gloomily jabbed the needle into the worn piece of cloth she was using to edge her skirt. She was sitting in her shift as she tried to repair the damage and she wasn’t feeling too warm, or too good-tempered. Suddenly there was a rapping at the door.

  She stuck the needle between her lips and scrabbled into her dress. When Mrs Day hobbled over to open the door, Mr Hickett was standing outside, with a parcel in his hands and a beam on his face.

  He peered into the room and nodded at Bella. “I see you’re faring no worse, Miss.”

  “No, no, I’m fine, now, thank you.”

  “That was a bit of excitement I could do without. But here—to bring the colour back to your cheeks—is a piece from the factory. Master told me to bring it you. He was in a queer mood after your accident. I reckon your next meeting will be an interesting one.”

  Bella stepped forward and took the parcel, thanking Mr Hickett profusely. As she came back indoors, she was grinning from ear to ear and made straight for the table to unwrap it.

  “Look what Mr Henstridge sent. I daresay I shan’t go and complain about his blessed beam engine after all. By, but it’s good there are some kind folk in the world. There was few enough in the Union would even give you the time of day—that’s how mean they all was.”

  “Yes, well,” said Mrs Day, settling back into her chair. “Those with the ready can afford to be kind. Those without can’t. It’s a fact of life. Let’s see the cloth, girl. I doubt it’ll be any good.”

  What the package contained was a portion of dark olive-green fabric in fine West of England wool. There was enough to make a whole new dress.

  “It’s a good colour,” said Mrs Day grudgingly. “It’ll suit you, with those peculiar eyes you have. Now, I wish your hair would grow. I can’t abide having you sit around here looking like you’ve just come off a prison hulk.”

  “It’s growing already, Mrs Day, I can feel it. And it’s got a curl—see, when I pull on this, it springs back.”

  “Now don’t you go getting vain, young woman. Just set to and think about making that new dress. And be sure it’s something sober and decent now, nothing frivolous just because it’s a good colour. You only need serviceable clothes in your position.”

  “If I can mend the old one up nice, I’ll use that for school and the new one for Sundays. That’d be alright, wouldn’t it? I suppose I’ll still be going up to Henstridge Hall, but this time to say ‘thank you’ instead of to complain. If you’ll just give me the directions.”

  “Now hold on a minute, young lady—there’s no reason for the likes of you to be going up there.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “It’s not the way of things. It’s not proper. Townsfolk don’t go calling on the people that live up the hill, not unless they’re heading for the tradesman’s entrance.”

  Bella was too pleased with her gift to care. “Then I’ll go to the tradesman’s entrance.”

  “But a young lady, on her own—”

  “I’m not afraid.” Why would she be? After all, she’d survived a good deal worse than a few snooty stares and whispers in her time. No matter what Mrs Day said, she was going. As soon as she’d repaired her dress, she’d make her landlady a cup of tea, then head out as soon as Mrs Day drifted off into her afternoon nap.

  Miss Ainsty really wasn’t the only nice person in the world. The factory owner must be nice too, to send her all this lovely wool. She’d find a way to speak to him, even if she had to fight her way through a whole troop of servants.

  And if she got no joy at the tradesman’s entrance, she’d just march right up to the front door, head held high. Because she was Miss Isabella Hart, schoolteacher. She was no longer just a nobody from the Poor House.

  Chapter 21

  Resplendent in her borrowed bonnet and newly-mended dress, Bella set off up the street. It was a lovely day, and the sense of freedom as she walked up the hill was near to overwhelming. The smoke-clad town was little improved by the golden summer light, but the surrounding hills were a rare sight. The meadows of the upper slopes were bright with summer colour, and the lower smothered in sun-bleached crops.

  She felt so good she almost took her bonnet off, wanting to enjoy the feel of the sun on her head, but Mrs Day’s comment about her workhouse haircut still cut too keenly.

  Coming her way was one of the women she recognised from church the previous week, a hard-looking woman called Mary Addison, whose face was much improved by the smile she gave Bella.

  “Oh, I can’t see as they’ll be bothered,” was her response, when Bella told her what she was about. “You won’t be disturbing the grand folk themselves anyway. Like as not, you’ll only see one of the servants, and they’ll take a message.”

  “What’s the family like?”

  “Don’t mix much with the likes of us, but word gets around, you know, and we’ve all an opinion about our employers, whether we’ve met ‘em or not. Mr Henstridge Senior is a bit of a non-conformist type and likes to put his money into good works—but you’d know that, as he’s endowed your school. I’ve seen his wife once or twice—she looks a smart one. There’s a daughter, ‘bout your age, and tidy like her mother. As for the young master, I wouldn’t know ‘im if I fell over ‘im. Seems he’s been learning his trade away up in London. Wish I could be in London. You been?”

  “No, only Bristol. But there’s great ships there, and the sea nearly comes up to the town.”

  “Ships? My, what a sight! I’ve only just got used to the railway meself. I still jump out of me skin when I hear the train whistle
. I must be off now—I’ve an oatmeal pudding to make.” Mary grimaced. “Hot work for a hot day.”

  As the woman clomped off down the hill, Bella hugged herself with happiness. Wasn’t it wonderful, to be someone at last, instead of nobody? Mrs Addison had said ‘your school’, and was impressed at Bella’s knowledge of Bristol, even though it was second-hand. My lord, but it was the best thing she’d ever done when she walked out past the astonished porter that day.

  She came to a halt in front of the stone pillars at the gates of Henstridge Hall. The great chimneys of Warbury were invisible from here—a stand of trees had been planted to screen that part of the valley. There was a little wood behind it, and downs sweeping up beyond, dotted with sheep.

  What would miserable old Mrs Uphill say if she could see me now? Bella lifted her chin as she strode up the gravel drive towards the huge honey-coloured house. But then she remembered that front doors in grand houses weren’t for the likes of her. She was just beginning to cast up and down for the tradesman’s entrance when she was nearly bowled over by two laughing young people who erupted from the walled garden. Both skittered to a halt on the gravel when they saw her, and the young woman immediately drew herself up straight and assumed a haughty expression. The gentleman, however, gave a hearty roar of pleasure, and seconds later Bella found her hand being enthusiastically shaken by George Merriwether.

  “Upon my word, it’s the waif from the train. What a happy coincidence! I wonder what benevolent god has caused our paths to cross again?”

  “Good day, sir. I’ve just come up here for a word with—”

  “Don’t look so po-faced, Hattie—come over here and say how-d’ye-do to Miss Hart. Miss Hart, Harriet Henstridge.”

  Harriet Henstridge gave Merriwether a meaning look, then held out her hand. She winced when she felt the touch of Bella’s work-hardened one. “If you’re Miss Hart,” she said with studied politeness, “then you must be the new school teacher.”