Domini Mortum

by Paul Holbrook

‘I do, Your Honour.’ She held her head high. ‘Mister Gardener owed me money. My brother and I had been helping him on his stall and, at the end of the day, he refused to pay me. I took my payment; that is all.’

  ‘And where is Mr Gardener?’ the judge asked. A response came in the form of a tall, bearded man, who rose up from his seat at the side of the court.

  ‘I am Harold Gardener, Your Honour,’ he said, pulling his hat purposefully from his head.

  ‘And is this true, Mr Gardener? Did you have this child and her brother under your employment and then refused them payment?’

  ‘She worked for me, Your Honour. She was a good grafter, did more than most. That’s what made it even harder for me when she ended the day stealing. I would have employed her again but a day’s wage is not a loaf of bread in my eyes.’

  The judge snorted in disbelief. He had obviously never needed to wonder about the worth of a day’s work before.

  ‘If a day’s work is not a loaf, Mr Gardener, then what is it worth?’

  ‘Half a loaf.’

  ‘Half a loaf of bread?’ His eyebrows raised above his spectacles. ‘Then why did you not pay her?’

  ‘I meant to, after she had worked another day for me,’ Gardener replied in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘I saw no reason in tearing a loaf in half and leaving the rest to ruin. Best to give her one loaf when next she worked.’

  ‘And when would that have been?’

  ‘It could have been the next day, it could have been a week later. I have others working for me like this, they never complain… or steal.’

  ‘Liar!’ shouted the girl. ‘You’re well known for cheating people. I only worked for you because we hadn’t eaten anything like a meal in a couple of days.’ She was silenced by the judge, who spoke over her to direct his own anger at the stallholder.

  ‘Mr Gardener, I would think that if a person was asked to do a day’s work, only to be told that they might be paid in the future – and only if and when they were needed – then they would be as defiant and forceful as this young lady; and they might even be of a mind to ensure that payment was received even if they had to take it without warrant.’

  There was a murmur throughout the assembled public and I saw that the two other members of the press had started to furiously scribble in their notepads: ‘Judge admits that stealing might be just’ would be the headline in the following days.

  ‘No, Mr Gardener,’ he continued. ‘In light of the facts presented before me, which include your very own words, I do not believe that young lady has stolen from you. In fact, I think that I would have preferred a very different case to be held in my court this morning; for I believe that you yourself are the thief in this matter.’

  Gardener made to speak but was held silent by the forbidding hand of Judge Edwards as he turned to the counsel for the prosecution.

  ‘Mr Warriner, I know that you have little control over the cases which you are asked to bring into my court, but I find that you have wasted my valuable time this morning. It is my judgment that this coster should pay monies to the court of no less than three shillings and I ask that he not be brought before me again, lest I feel of a mind to give him a custodial sentence.’

  The judge shuffled in his seat, raised himself up and peered down at the young woman and the boy beside her. ‘Now then, young lady, I wish to address the matter of your living circumstances. I see from your arrest papers that you are at present living on the streets. Is this correct?’

  Before Miss Griffiths had a chance to reply, Warriner immediately saw his chance at redemption and jumped to his feet.

  ‘M’Lord, if you do not wish to see a young woman and her child of a brother wandering the streets, might I suggest that the young lady and her brother be released from the court and taken to a place of safety? I am a trustee at a suitable house where unfortunates such as these are put to good use and given good Christian guidance and protection.’

  ‘No!’ cried Alice. ‘We have been in places like that before. I do not wish to return. I would rather we starve on the streets. I promise to find somewhere to live, Your Honour, I just need time to do so.’

  The judge nodded in agreement before continuing. ‘I am sure that you speak very well, young lady, but the facts of the matter are that you and your brother are, at present, homeless. The basis of your innocence is now of no consequence. I agree that you were within your rights to take what was owed to you, but I cannot release you onto the streets if you cannot give an address. You give me little choice but to ask the court to arrange for you and your brother to be taken to the workhouse, where you will be given a bed and a roof and whatever gainful employment is seen fit for you.’

  ‘We can’t go back to the workhouse, Your Honour,’ Miss Griffiths pleaded, pulling her tearful brother into her embrace. ‘I know what them places are like; I don’t want to go to our deaths.’

  I watched the girl and her brother intently; she was an attractive thing, too good to be wasted on the workhouse. Perhaps I could stand for her, and even offer her temporary shelter? She came with baggage, but he looked half fed to start with and it wouldn’t cost much to feed them. It was an unnatural thought that I had, not normal for me in the slightest. Providing charity was not something that I had ever done before but, looking at the girl before me, I decided that it could reap its benefits.

  Judge Edwards had now clearly become bored and pulled out his watch; lunch was imminent. ‘I’m afraid you give me little choice, young lady. No one else will give you an address, will they? It is the only option in this matter. Now, I see that it is time for a short break in proceedings. We will return in one hour when I shall see the next case.’ He stood to leave, causing a bustle among the court as all made to rise.

  ‘I will stand for her, Your Honour!’ I cried, jumping up; the eyes of the court all fell suddenly upon me.

  The words that came from my mouth surprised even myself.

  What a fool I was.

  ***

  I have always been a solitary type. Even as a child, I never craved or needed the company of others. Whether it be sitting in my rooms drawing, or walking the streets of York, my most comfortable and enjoyable times were those that I spent alone.

  It was because of this natural inclination for solitude that I found myself quite shocked by my offer of shelter to the girl and her brother.

  ‘You may stay for as long as it takes for you to find yourself some regular work and afford lodgings of your own. I am sure it will be soon,’ I said, as we entered my rooms. Despite my father’s best hopes for me as a gentleman of London, my place of residence was a humble one. Barely furnished, it consisted of four rooms: a bedroom, a small kitchen, a bathroom and a living area, which held a set of chairs and my writing desk, upon which I would spend the majority of my hours at home either drawing or writing. ‘Use the cushions from the chairs,’ I said as we entered the living area. ‘I have spare blankets that you may use to make some kind of bed for you both. Will that suffice?’

  The girl looked wholly dumbfounded by my offer, although I think it was in a good way. I was glad that she had not read the thought that had passed through my mind in court.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ she replied. ‘We will be no bother, I promise. I have some friends who can help me; it’ll be for no more than a couple of days. We are both so grateful.’ She held the boy close to her; his eyes had not left me for one second since leaving the court.

  Benjamin was his name. He was unnaturally quiet and I wondered if he were a mute. Even when I asked him a direct question, he would not answer and instead pushed himself tighter into his sister’s arms. After a few attempts at pleasant conversation, I decided that I was wasting my time with him and continued talking to the girl. I did not refer to him, for I did not want to draw attention to his presence at all; if the child wished to be rude and non-communicative then I would leave him to his misery. If the girl met my needs, I felt sure of my ability to persuade her to drop him in return for a place of sa
fety and security.

  Alice, despite my earlier worries that she would be a foul-mouthed and opinionated brute, turned out to be quite pleasant when engaged in conversation. She was well read, aware of the affairs of the world and enthusiastically interested in my work. She told me how much she enjoyed the illustrations she had seen on the covers of The Illustrated Police News, and had often wondered about the sort of man who was employed in this task. She asked to see examples of my work, which I showed her without question; normally I would have refused such requests, unless they were from potential publishers or buyers, but I found her nature somewhat disarming and before long I found myself enjoying the pleasant surprise of her company. In some ways she reminded me of Victoria and, as our day went on, the image of Mrs Coleman’s daughter began to appear within my mind, much to my shame.

  My estimations of Alice’s age were correct as she told me that she was nineteen, ten years older than her brother. Alice and her brother, like myself, had a father in the clergy. Their mother had died giving birth to her third child, a baby girl who survived her. Their father coped with the death of his wife through drink and gambling, leaving the care of Benjamin and the newborn child to their older sister. Very soon he had established large and insurmountable debts, losing both his parish and, as a result, their home into the bargain. He had ended up in debtor’s prison, the baby was given up for adoption and Alice and her brother found themselves placed in the Paddington workhouse. Their father lost to them, and their baby sister never to be found, Alice and Benjamin spent just over two years in the workhouse before deciding that a life on the streets was a better option.

  Late in the afternoon, Alice and I (accompanied by her dumb shadow) journeyed out from my rooms and visited the last of the stalls at the nearby market to buy some food that she promised to cook. To be quite honest, I had not had a home-cooked meal since Mrs Coleman’s fare back in York and the thought of such secretly filled me with some excitement.

  Alice’s skill in the kitchen was basic but adequate and, for that first evening that she and her brother stayed with me, I found myself almost forgetting about Sibelius Darke and the murders of those poor servant girls.

  ‘You live a strange life, Mr Weaver,’ Alice said as we stood in the kitchen late on that first evening. She had settled her silent brother down to sleep after dinner and we had adjourned to the kitchen, where we sat at my small table.

  ‘Strange? My life is not strange, it is the way I have designed it and it pleases me very much. I answer to no one; I have the time and space to complete both my work and my interests, and am very much the master of my own destiny. What is so strange about that, other than it is probably the deepest wish of any sane man?’

  She smiled and looked down at the glass of port wine that I had poured for her, having retrieved the bottle from the back of one of my sparse cupboards.

  ‘I think I said it wrong,’ she said. ‘I meant that you are strange, you are quite unexpected in many ways.’

  ‘Why thank you, Miss Griffiths!’ I laughed. ‘Firstly you criticise my lifestyle, then you further insult me by telling me that I am odd as well. Is there any other aspect of my persona that you wish to mock?’

  She looked at me, thoughtful for a moment. ‘I am sure that I could find plenty. Where would you like me to start?’

  My laughing stopped and I looked at her shocked, but relieved when her face broke into a smile of its own.

  ‘Mr Weaver, I say that you are strange and unexpected, because despite your cries to the contrary, you can be quite friendly and kind. I know that you say how much you prefer your own company to that of others but, when your barriers come down, you can be most charming. And what other man in London would have offered to take in two strangers to save them from the workhouse? None I would say, none other than those who would do it for purposes other than plain good nature.’ She paused suddenly and reached out her hands across the table to touch my own. ‘Unless of course you had other purposes in mind.’

  A vision of Victoria suddenly flashed before my eyes at her touch and I withdrew my hands quickly. Pulling my chair away from the table, I stood.

  ‘I would say that you were correct in your first assumption, Alice. You and your brother are guests in my home until you are able to find more permanent accommodation. I am not that kind of man; I was in the past but no more. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a long day ahead tomorrow and will bid you good night.’ I walked towards the door, turning as I did so and catching her expression, which was a mixture of shock and guilt. ‘Do not be upset by my reaction, Alice. Be thankful. I have a cruel nature and a tendency to hurt those who become close to me. Sleep well.’ And with that I left her and took to my bed, thinking of Victoria, of terrible shame and of guilt-sodden regret.

  ***

  In the later years of my youth I became a sullen and rude individual. I spent long hours out of the house, working as an apprentice artist and writer at the York Herald. Out of working hours, I would tour the pubs of the city, observing the harder side of life around me. Often I would not return home until late in the evening, sometimes worse the wear for drink, and Mrs Coleman would fuss around me, attempting to get me to eat something wholesome before I retired to my room.

  My father was rarely at home either. Since Mother’s incarceration, it would seem that he had been freed to spread his ministry further, spending long hours, like me, around York aiding the ‘welfare’ of the fallen and broken. I knew this to be a lie, of course. I did not know what he did on those evenings away from home, but I doubted it was to help anyone but himself.

  My anger towards him was immense. He was immoral and disgusting to me, having failed in his duties as a husband and a father. He had had his own wife locked away to pursue these addictions and had left me to my own devices and the care of his house staff.

  Mrs Coleman, although I know she was disappointed by my lack of presence in the home, felt maternal love and worry for me. She would urge me to eat well, always having a breakfast ready for me each morning, no matter how unwell I felt, and would ensure that my clothes were kept clean and my appearance presentable before I left the house for work. I complained loudly and bitterly at this suffocating behaviour, but knew deep down that she meant the best for me and was only trying to replace the care that Mother would have provided if she had not been imprisoned. What she thought of my father’s actions I can only begin to imagine, as I am sure she knew the true nature of his ministries.

  However, my relationship with Mrs Coleman’s daughter, Victoria, was somewhat different. I took advantage of my position as the son of her employer in a terrible way. I abused her good nature; I lied to her, giving her hope; and then I cast her away when my actions caused a problem. For it was when I had not long passed the age of eighteen that she fell pregnant and my world began to fall apart.

  She came to me with the news in secret; she was excited and took it as a sign that we should be together. I had put these thoughts into her head for years, with the grievous intent to get what I wanted from her, and now she discovered how untrue my words were.

  ‘Are you sure it’s mine?’ I asked her coldly.

  Her eyes were suddenly red rimmed as she realised that there would be no happy future for her in all of this. There would be no fairy tale of the young servant girl saved from a life of servitude by the dashing son of her employer; a fairy tale, I regret to say, that I had fed at every given opportunity since first drawing her into the dark folds of my affections.

  ‘We will go to see my father about this; he has been helping poor unfortunates like yourself for years. He will know how to fix the problem.’ Her face was like melting ice, slowly drooping in the realisation of her circumstance. ‘But there will be no mention that it is mine, none at all. As far as my father and your mother are concerned, I am merely helping you in this terrible situation. There is a way out of this for both of us, but if you talk of what has gone between us I will make sure that both you and your mother are put out ont
o the streets. Do you understand me?’

  Still she did not speak, but nodded her head. There, it was done.

  She told a good tale to my father when we went to see him. A tale of a delivery boy whom she had met but once and whom she had never seen again. I am not sure that he believed her, yet he played along and spoke to Mrs Coleman amid her tears and anger at her foolish daughter. All the while, Victoria did not speak of what had gone between us and I, for my part, did not involve myself in any of the discussions or actions hereafter.

  It was decided that the child must go before being born. Father knew of a ‘discreet friend with medical experience’, whose services he had called on in the past for circumstances similar to these. Mrs Coleman took my father’s assurances of the man’s abilities in good faith and, less than a week after Victoria’s admission to me, she was taken in Father’s carriage to a property on the south-western fringes of the city for the procedure.

  The maid did not survive.

  ***

  I left my rooms for court duty the following day before either Alice or Benjamin awoke. They had both benefited from a bath the previous evening and at that moment, curled up on their cushions and bedding, they did not at all resemble the homeless waifs that they had appeared just twenty-four hours previously. I had told them to dispose of their old clothing and given them some of my old shirts to wear, as well as trousers, which they had rolled up to fit, much to our hilarity the previous evening. I had promised to take them out later in the afternoon to purchase suitable new clothes and shoes.

  I wondered how long it had been since they had both slept safely under a roof – probably not since before their father was taken from them.

  Throughout the next week I remained stuck on court duty and the days were dull, full of petty burglary and deceit, with only a smattering of violence and bloodshed. Alice and Benjamin spent their days either searching for work or making my rooms more homely. On the first couple of nights I found myself a little uncomfortable upon coming home to a cooked meal and something close to family life, but I admit that I came to be thankful for the snap decision to take in lodgers. Although remaining unnaturally quiet, Benjamin began to speak a little in my presence. This ‘conversation’ was limited to one or two words but it was progress in my eyes and, although I still harboured intentions in the depths of my mind to discharge myself of the boy, it was better than having a noisy child running around, disrupting everything. Alice, on the other hand, was fine company, well educated up until her father’s downfall, and equally well read. We would spend our evenings sitting quietly talking and telling each other about our past lives. The act of sharing felt strange, and of course I did not mention all of the details of my childhood and the dalliances and deaths, but she was interested and seemed to enjoy my company. She continued to promise that their stay with me would be short but I did not press her on this matter; I was content with the situation.