A Cornish Girl

by Gloria Cook

  There was much thrashing of foliage and Rachel hated every moment. She had never felt so cold and had been foolish not to have tied on a bonnet and pulled on gloves. As if a scratchy limb of a bush had suddenly reached out for her she was tripped up by the ankle and she fell, her arm and brow striking the ornamental stone border as she hit the hard pavement. ‘Owwah!’ she screamed in shock and pain, then exclaimed in anger, using words that would shock her menfolk.

  She lay sprawled, catching her breath, waiting for the pains that would signify the extent of her injuries. Doubtless she was bruised and had a cut or two. Damn it all! Then she realized she should be pleased; she would exaggerate her hurts to give a perfect reason for James to attend her.

  She looked up through the corridor of her shawl and felt a trickle of blood wetting her cheek. She pulled her head back sharply. ‘Ugh! What on earth!’ A face was staring at her – a dirty, crazed face, with huge wild, yellowy eyes, and tats of hair. Rachel gagged at the stench of the creature. The shock made her scramble to her knees. A moor spirit had pounced on her. The superstitious, especially among the mining folk, whispered of fantastical and dangerous creatures coming forth from hellish dens in these kinds of destructive conditions. This aberration had deliberately brought her down! In her present mood Rachel was angry rather than scared. ‘Get away from me!’ She snatched up a handful of stones, raising her hand in threat.

  The creature shot back under a hydrangea bush, curling into a ball, throwing its clawing hands in front of its face. ‘No miss, no miss,’ it blubbered.

  Rachel’s temper died away. This was nothing supernatural. It was a woman, some homeless wretch, quite young, thin and bony and in rags, and most definitely an imbecile. Rachel got to her feet cautiously, feeling darts of pain here and there. She gazed down at the intruder. ‘Did you leave the gate open? What do you want?’ Both questions were unnecessary. Of course the woman was responsible for the banging gate and she was here looking for shelter. She had probably been too afraid to come to the door and ask for help; instead through her retarded mind she had reached out in an unfortunate manner. Now she was scared and whimpering, and probably fearing a beating for making ‘miss’ take a tumble. Many would feel the right to deal her a few blows and turn her away. Rachel’s heart, however, was touched with compassion. ‘Do you want food? To get warm by a fire, is that it?’

  ‘Please miss, please miss.’ The woman played her scraggy fingers along her thin, blistered lips.

  ‘Wait there. I won’t be long. I must close the gate before it drives me mad.’

  The gate was swinging towards the post when Rachel reached it. The powerful force of the wind made it easy for her to end its journey, but she had to shove on the gate with her body to hold it in place while she lifted the trigger of the lock and let it fall back in place. At last the gate was shut firmly. She returned to the beggar.

  The woman had emerged from the bush and was up on her filthy bare feet. She was unsteady on bowed legs, her trunk stooped. She was bobbing as if bowing in subservience. Altogether she made the height of an average twelve-year-old. Her horrible eyes, red-rimmed from some infection, were agog and on Rachel pleadingly, but suspicion and fear was uppermost. More than hope of a little charity, she was expecting a brutal rejection. One would be hard put to discover a more pitiful creature.

  Anger against her past tormentors welled up in Rachel. Her own hurts were forgotten. ‘Come with me. I’ll take you inside.’ Her movement towards the beggar was met with a timid trembling retreat, the woman wrapping her scarecrow arms round her scrawny body, ready to curl up again in defence.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’m not going to harm you.’ Rachel used a firm tone, which she felt the woman was more likely to respond to. She stepped past her. ‘Follow me. I’ll find you some food. You may shelter in the kitchen till the wind blows itself out.’ She sensed the air. The wind was easing off, as if it had suddenly exhausted its prolonged fit of temper.

  Rachel went on a little way then looked back. The woman was hunched over on the same spot, darting her head at the porch and then the gate, as if unable to decide whether to take up the offer of hospitality or flee. She was probably frightened her fate would take a cruel twist once she entered the cottage.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Rachel called above the soughing lament, beckoning to her. ‘You can trust me. Come along now. It’s too cold to linger out here.’

  The woman was clearly petrified. Her sight was on Rachel and was full of pained uncertainty. Rachel thought the dreadful fear and longing in those wretched eyes would haunt her forever if she was unsuccessful in helping this pathetic scrap of humanity. She went back to the woman. She must take things slowly. ‘It’s all right to come with me. You’ll be perfectly safe, I promise you. Do you understand me?’

  The woman nodded, to Rachel’s relief.

  ‘My name is Rachel. What’s yours?’

  ‘Miss Rachel! What on earth are ’ee doing out there?’ Dora shouted from the doorway, letting a small channel of lamp light escape from inside. ‘I couldn’t believe my ears when I heard the door go then felt an icy blast whooshing through the house. “What’s she up to now?” I said to myself. Oh, you got someone with you, have you? Who’s that then? Someone in trouble, is it? Can’t think of another reason for being out on a day like this, when even the angels wouldn’t care to flutter a wing outside heaven.’

  Once Dora got started she’d rattle on and on. Rachel ignored her. ‘Are you coming inside?’ She spoke soothingly to the woman as if to a child. ‘That’s only Dora by the door. She and I will look after you. You can have some nice hot chicken broth, and I’ll fetch you something warm to wear. Would you like that?’

  ‘Yes miss,’ the woman gasped at last, nodding like a cork on a string. ‘I come, I come.’

  Trying not to mind her rank smells, Rachel stretched out a hand and was pleased the beggar allowed her to help her along. ‘Just a little way to go, then we’ll go into the kitchen and you can sit down. We must do something about your poor feet.’

  ‘Yes miss, thank ’ee.’

  ‘Good grief!’ Dora stood aside to clear the way into the hall, waving her hand in front of her crinkled nose. ‘That’s Alice Bowden you got there. She’s daft in the head, as I’m sure you can tell. Her mother had a bad birth, that’s how she’s like she is, although her mother is a heavy drinker too. What’s she doing here, for goodness’ sake? How did she get here?’

  ‘It’s easy to see,’ Rachel said. ‘She ran, as best she could; there’s mud splashed up her legs.’ A lot of Alice Bowden’s crooked legs were on show, her skirt a long time in tatters.

  ‘She can rarely be coaxed out of doors. Never been this far in her life, I’m sure. Aw, she smells like a privy and is crawling with lice, but then that’s no surprise to me or to anyone else in Meryen. Ugh, she’s got boils on her neck. Glad I don’t live near her family.’ Dora closed the door. ‘Aw, Miss Rachel, you’ve got blood on your face. Did she hit you? She’s usually a terrified little thing, but she might lash out, I suppose, in fright. Her brother’s got some terrible temper on him. He’s a brute. There’s—’

  ‘Bowden?’ Rachel interrupted. ‘I heard something about a miner of that name dying recently.’ Watching Alice shiver and shake, with her arms wrapped about herself, probably a defensive habit, sadly out of necessity, Rachel took off her shawl and swung it around the woman’s slight body. ‘This will help you keep warm, Alice, dear.’

  Alice’s vacuous eyes fluttered in surprise then she clutched the shawl about her, rubbing her sallow cheeks against the soft plaid wool in childish delight.

  ‘Aw, Miss Rachel, Mr Jowan gave you that,’ Dora tutted. ‘What’s he going to say? Yes, you’re right. A Bowden did die, just a fortnight ago. ’Twas this creature’s father, hung himself he did – suicide, shameful. But p’raps I shouldn’t be too hard in his case, not after what went on in his house all the time. There was always men—’

  ‘Shut up, Dora.’ Rachel aimed irritation at
the servant. Short and rubicund, Dora was as curious as a cat, and bluff, with an inclination to find glee in others’ troubles. Each Monday morning she rushed in to work and before she’d tied on her apron, blurted out a breathless account of the gossip gleaned from the chapel pews the day before. Rachel usually didn’t bother to listen. She had no burning interest in the ordinary copper-mining folk, but she did in Alice Bowden, who came from such stock. ‘Have some consideration in front of these poor ears. Heat up the broth, please. Then you can tell me about Alice’s life – discreetly. I take it she’s unable to speak properly?’

  ‘Well, I’d say that was more ’n obvious, isn’t it?’ Dora sniffed, but kept her voice low and led off to the warm roomy kitchen. ‘She lives down below Edge End, in what can only be described as a hovel. Her mother had a large brood, but all except for Alice – and Silas, the first born, a miner at the Carn Croft – they all quickly followed one another to the churchyard. That was just as well, since the whole family’s not right in the head, although I always belonged to be a bit sorry for the father. He was a quiet, God-fearing man in his youth.’

  Rachel ushered the shuffling Alice along and placed a chair at the hearthside. ‘Sit down, Alice.’ Instead Alice lowered her wobbly balance down on a carved three-legged stool; it was for decoration rather than a seat. She hunched up, pulling on her ear lobes, her mouth sagging open.

  ‘Glad she knows her place,’ Dora muttered. ‘I won’t have to wash her stink off the chair.’

  ‘Have some charity,’ Rachel hissed. ‘The poor thing looks as if she’s never known a kind word in her life.’

  ‘Why do you care?’ Dora dragged the pot of broth on to the hob of the range. ‘You nor none of your family have ever bothered much with anyone ’cept yourselves. Well, you’ve taken something on now, mark my words. Alice Bowden coming this far like this can mean only one thing. Trouble. She’s run away from something that terrified her. Got to be Silas; he must have given her a thrashing. You might end up regretting helping her.’

  Most employers wouldn’t tolerate such blatant disrespect but Rachel did not mind having someone to spar with. She made a face. Dora’s first assertions were true. The Kivells had been resident in the area centuries before the village had sprung up and had kept to their own land and self-contained community of Burnt Oak, a mile and a half from the village. Originating from the Norman invasion, they had inter-married with the lawless and gipsies, evolving into a dark, brooding, suspicious clan. Nearly a decade ago, with the world branching out into industry and opportunity, they had begun to network into society and move away, including overseas. Kivells had taken over many of the businesses in Meryen. Rachel was one of the Kivells who was not happy to stay put. To start afresh in some distant place would be necessary if she was to have a future with her married lover.

  ‘My family may not tend to seek out people in trouble but we have never refused hospitality to those who turn up on our doorstep.’ Looking down at the huddled shivering mortal stinking out the kitchen, she felt more and more sorry for her. ‘It’s different when you’re faced with someone like Alice, poor little thing.’

  ‘Little? She’s nearly up to her twentieth year.’

  ‘Well, that makes it even more sad. I hope she’s not being interfered with – you know what I mean.’

  ‘Doubt it’s that.’ Again Dora crumpled her nose at Alice’s repulsive condition, but a fleeting moment of sympathy appeared under her squiggly eyebrows. ‘But you never know. Silas is always drunk and has any number of rogues in the house. ’Tis a God-forsaken place, always violent quarrels going on. The father left his wife, Judy, with child again. That’s a shame. She’s always drunk on rot-gut gin, no mother at all. Be better if this baby’s another that don’t survive.’

  ‘It seems a crime to allow Alice to go back to the life you’ve described.’ Rachel sighed, cutting thick slices of bread and lavishing them with butter. ‘But we’ve got no right to keep her here. After she’s eaten, I’ll send her home. Do you think she’ll be able to find her way back?’

  ‘Debatable.’ Dora frowned.

  ‘Well, I’ll take her back. Make sure everything is all right for her to go inside.’ Rachel brightened at an idea. ‘I’ll take her along to Dr Lockley. He can prescribe something for her sores and boils and to get rid of the lice. I need to see him anyway, I’m hurting all over.’ She gingerly stretched her painful arm.

  ‘You can’t take her there!’ Dora was appalled. ‘You’d be wasting his time and your money. Alice hasn’t got the sense to take pills, put on potions and make up poultices, and her mother won’t bother to do it for her. And Mrs Lockley wouldn’t thank you for turning up on her doorstep with someone so filthy and disgusting. She’s a refined lady, comes from the upper class. Married down the scale she did, that’s why she’s stuck out here where she don’t belong. Anyway, one of your uncles is the apothecary. Are you sure you’re up to a walk to the village, Miss Rachel? Why not let me ask the doctor to call here on my way home.’

  ‘Thank you, Dora, but I’m sure I can manage the walk. I suppose you’re right about taking Alice to the doctor. Well, we’ll have to do our best for her, and I’ll get something from my Uncle Henry. As for myself, I’ll see how I feel when I get back.’ Rachel decided to have James call on her; she didn’t really want to chance coming face to face with Charlotte Lockley. She watched Dora ladle soup into a tin bowl – the good china could not be risked on Alice. Taking the bowl, she put it on a small wooden tray with the bread and butter and a spoon then tapped Alice on the shoulder. ‘Sit up straight,’ she intoned slowly to break through the woman’s mental fog. ‘Eat this all up.’

  In shocked audience, Rachel and Dora glanced at each other as Alice rapidly gobbled down the food, making slops down her front, which she licked off before scrabbling for every crumb of bread, even those that had hit the floor. ‘Poor thing is starving.’ Rachel was unable to repress a shudder. ‘We’ll give her some more. You pack up some food to take with her, Dora. I’ll make up a bundle of my old clothes. I’ve kept some things from my younger days, which should fit her of sorts. I knew people lived in terrible poverty but I had no idea some lived in such a degrading manner.’

  ‘None of us see what we don’t want to. Well, I don’t advise you to go inside her home, Miss Rachel. That will open your eyes even more.’

  Shortly afterwards Rachel was dressed in her warmest outdoor things and back in the kitchen. ‘Got the food ready, Dora? Good. Put these stockings and boots on her feet.’

  ‘Why me?’ Dora bristled, backing away as if she was about to be contaminated with pestilence. ‘You brought her in here. Get a live-in servant if you want someone to go that far. I’m only paid to do the housework, and it’s time I got on with it. I’ll be late going home at this rate anyway. First off, I’ll have to light a lot of scented candles to get rid of the beastly smells in the house. I’m not having your visitors saying I’m a poor housekeeper.’

  Rachel glared at Dora, then looked down at Alice’s feet, flopped and spread out on the mat. She couldn’t imagine a more gruesome sight – hard brown flesh, fungal-infected nails, weeping blisters, protruding bones. She swallowed. ‘I’ll pay you double for today if you do it.’

  Dora pulled the footwear out of her hands. ‘Double it is and will be no more than I deserve! You’re tough as nails most of the time, Miss Rachel, but this shows up the squeamish side in you.’ Dora took a mighty breath, held it in, then sank to her knees in front of Alice. Alice was oblivious at first to someone trying to push a woollen stocking up over one of her feet. But then, aware of sudden pain Alice shrieked and lashed out, swiping Dora across the top of the head. Dora flung the stocking down and jumped up, red-faced and gasping and waving an angry hand in front of her nose. ‘Ruddy creature! I’m not trying that again.’

  Alice whimpered and rocked backwards and forwards, her eyes desperate and on Rachel.

  ‘I’m sorry, Dora,’ Rachel said, horrified. ‘I should have known better. Her fe
et hurt and boots would only rub her feet raw and she’d be worse off. You wash your hands and get on with your work. I’ll take Alice away from here. How do I find her house?’

  ‘It’s a hovel, not a house, don’t forget. I still want my extra money. Miss Rachel, you just be very careful. Don’t be gone long or I’ll start worrying about you. You’ll need to go all the way down Edge End, the row of houses just past the greengrocers. Her place is a little crumbling cob cottage set back on its own. You’ll smell it a long way before you reach it.’ Looking at her hands in disgust, Dora sped to the back kitchen and the carbolic soap.

  Left alone with a snivelling Alice, Rachel glanced out the window. Although the light was better and the wind was now blowing only from the east and would be at their backs, it was going to be a rough journey. She went to Alice’s side and tugged gently on the shawl. ‘I need to wrap this round you tighter for the walk home, Alice, dear.’

  Gazing up out of baleful eyes, Alice allowed Rachel to wrap the shawl round her head, cross it over at the front of her and tie the ends together behind her waist. Alice’s fetid odours were unbearable but Rachel braved her way through. ‘Up you get now, Alice. I’m going to take you home.’

  She was curious about Alice’s life and utterly determined to see her right. Alice had reached her heart and at this moment she was her champion. ‘Can you carry this?’ She held out the bundle of clothes.

  ‘Yes miss.’ Alice nodded like a puppet as she wrestled up.