by Valerie Wood
‘Then they’ll go downstairs,’ she mused, ‘and won’t come up again until bedtime.’ She looked down at the infant and touched his tiny cold hands. ‘I shall have to leave you’, she murmured, ‘because I don’t know where I’m going. I only know that I can’t stay here.’
She placed the child on the bed and lit the lamp, then washed herself and tidied the room, taking the soiled sheets from the bed and heaping them in a corner where Mrs Anderson would attend to them. She took her own few possessions from the drawer and wrapped them in a bundle, then listened once more at the door. She heard Hugo’s coarse laugh and a band of hatred tightened around her chest. Deborah’s thin voice called out and the authoritative voice of her maid answered her. Their footsteps sounded on the stairs, followed by the pad of Mrs Purnell’s feet as they all went down for supper.
There was no-one about as she slipped down the stairs to Hugo’s room. A lamp was turned low and a fire was burning brightly in the hearth and already the bedcover had been turned back for him. She moved one of the pillows and carefully placed the child on it, still wrapped in her shift. ‘Sleep well, poor baby,’ she whispered and bent to kiss his forehead. Then she made the sign of a cross on his brow. ‘Heaven bless and keep you.’
She placed the shilling which she had taken from the few Mrs Anderson had given her and placed it on the pillow beside him, then rising up she glanced around the room and gave a sudden gasp. Above the fireplace and directly opposite the bed, where Hugo would see it as he lay between his sheets, was the portrait of the naked woman which he had forced Emily to look at, saying that it resembled her.
The portrait had been removed from his wife’s room since their return from Italy and only Hugo could have moved it, for Emily knew that no-one else had had instructions to do so. As she stared at the portrait she felt a real fear. His desire for her then was unsated, his covetous appetite not yet satisfied. She trembled at the realization that his lechery still reached out towards her. She wanted to scream and shout in her own defence, but she could only remain silent. No-one would believe her. She was a fallen servant girl and he a gentleman. A babe lay dead, her own life altered beyond belief, and she wanted revenge.
She picked up the poker which lay in the hearth and plunged it into the coals as if she was plunging it into Hugo Purnell’s heart. It sizzled and she turned it until the tip was red hot. She withdrew it and, holding it high, sank the burning end into the picture. The canvas curled and smoked, leaving a black circle. She gave a wild smile and her eyes gleamed. She lifted the poker and struck, again and again, striking the canvas and the gilt frame until it splintered and the image of the naked woman hung in shreds.
She backed away, awestruck at the damage she had done, and hastily threw the poker down, where it slowly burned a small hole in the carpet. Her heart beat with a violent intensity and she glanced fearfully around the room as if to see if anyone was watching. She put her hands to her mouth to stop herself crying out. What had she done? What would they say? They would know she was the one who had caused the damage. She gave a sudden laugh. They would also know whose child it was lying in Hugo’s bed.
Quietly she opened the door and looked out into the corridor. There was no-one there. She crept back to her own room, trembling with fear and anger, her hands shaking as she gathered up her bundle. There were sounds of voices coming from the dining room and the smell of food drifted up from the kitchen as she crept downstairs, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten all day. She crossed the hall and unlatched the door and heard Dolly’s voice as she came up the kitchen stairs. She closed the door quietly behind her, went down the steps and into the dimly lit street.
The wind blew cold. A north-easterly wind which she remembered Sam used to say came from the steppes of Russia, though he had no idea what or where those steppes were. She pulled her cloak about her, gathering up its warmth and felt weak, physically and mentally. Take hold of yourself, Emily, she chastised herself. You’re young. Your body is strong and healthy, it can withstand pain. She scurried on, not knowing quite where to go but heading towards the High Street, where she knew there would be plenty of people about and where she could hide if anyone should come looking for her.
She drew abreast of the King’s Head Inn and stopped. There was warmth and the sound of people singing and the smell of food coming from its interior. It was an ancient inn built of brick and timber with overhanging mullioned windows and she stood in the doorway and looked in. She had never been in an inn before and she hesitated about doing so now, but she leant against the door jamb, feeling faint and dizzy.
‘Well, is tha going in or coming out, my lovely lass?’ a voice behind her called out and as she turned to answer, the sudden movement brought a curtain of blackness which engulfed her and she pitched forward in a crumpled heap on to the inn floor.
Chapter Seventeen
‘Mrs Purnell, please! You must take your medication.’
‘I will not and you can’t make me.’ Deborah stared obstinately at the maid, who was holding the bottle and spoon.
‘I’ll tell Mr Hugo,’ Alice menaced. ‘He’ll make you take it. Like he did last time.’
A flicker of fear shadowed Deborah’s face. She hated being held down. Last time it was the doctor and Hugo who had held her, whilst a nurse pinched her nose and poured the fluid down her throat. But she didn’t think Hugo would do it when they were in his mother’s house. Mrs Purnell, Deborah had discovered, didn’t like a fuss over anything.
‘Come along,’ Alice wheedled, ‘be a good girl.’
‘Don’t you dare talk to me like that!’ Deborah shrieked. ‘Just remember your place.’
‘Beg pardon, ma’am.’ The cynical look of disdain was lost on Deborah as her maid bobbed her knee in apology. The familiarity which Mr Hugo had shown towards Alice had assured the servant that she could do and say, within reason, anything she wanted in this household.
She approached Deborah again with the bottle tipped and the spoon at the ready. ‘You don’t want Mr Hugo to get cross, do you, ma’am?’ She smiled as if at a child. ‘Come along now.’
Deborah let her get close and then with a sudden swing of her arm she let fly, pushing the maid off-balance and spilling the syrupy liquid all over her. She ran towards the inner door which led to Hugo’s room and pushing it open dashed inside and locked the door behind her. ‘You take it if you have a mind to,’ she shrieked through the door, ‘because I won’t. And I shall tell my papa about you.’
She heaved a small sigh of satisfaction. She hadn’t won many battles since marrying Hugo. He seemed always to get the better of her and, although at first he had been kind and patient, whilst in Italy he had been increasingly bad tempered with her, making her take the horrid medicine as well as leaving her alone with Alice whilst he went out. And when she objected, he shouted at her and threatened that he would lock her up if she didn’t behave.
She wrinkled her nose. There was a strange smell. Not the usual smell of pomade which Hugo used for his hair dressing, but an acrid smell of burning. She looked towards the fire. It was burning low and needed a stir. Where was the poker? She glanced around. Why was it on the carpet and not in the hearth? She picked up the poker and saw it had burned a hole in the carpet. She drew in a breath and threw it into the hearth. Hugo might think she had done it. Then her eyes travelled upwards. The painting which Hugo admired so much was torn and burnt, and as she stared, Hugo, with Alice behind him, opened the bedroom door.
He too stared at the painting. ‘Who’s done this?’ he demanded. ‘Deborah?’
‘No. No! It wasn’t me, Hugo,’ she stammered. ‘The fire must have burnt it.’
He strode across the room and, taking hold of her by the shoulders, shook her. ‘This is deliberate. If I thought you –!’
‘No, sir. Miss Deborah was with me until a few minutes ago,’ Alice interrupted, fearful that she would be blamed for not watching her mistress more closely.
‘Then who –?’ He glanced around th
e room. ‘One of the maids?’ His eyes lit on the bed, noticing the disarranged pillow and Alice too looked towards it. She gave a small cry and put her hands to her mouth.
Deborah ran towards the bed. ‘There’s a baby. Hugo! Oh, a tiny little baby.’ She smiled and bent to pick it up. ‘Is it for me?’
‘Leave it,’ he roared. ‘Don’t touch it.’
Alice drew near and peered at the baby. She screwed up her mouth. ‘Stillborn by ’look of it, sir. Never drawn breath. I’ve seen ’em afore.’
‘Fetch Mrs Anderson’, he bellowed, ‘straight away. And then both of you get out.’
Mrs Anderson, her face pale, clasped her hands tightly together as she entered the room. She had been to check on Emily only ten minutes earlier and found her room empty. She had been unable to go up before as her attention had been required by Mrs Purnell, and she had no idea whether or not Emily had given birth or where she had gone. In her ignorance she assumed that Emily had left to have the baby elsewhere. She gaped at the still form in the bed and then looked up at Mr Hugo.
‘Well?’ he demanded. ‘Whose child is this? And what is it doing in my bed?’
She licked her lips and whispered. ‘I don’t know, sir.’
‘You don’t know!’ He put his face close to hers. ‘I think you do,’ he hissed. ‘It belongs to that little slut Emily, who’s seeking to lay the blame on me.’ He shook her by the arm. ‘Isn’t it?’
‘I don’t know, sir,’ she trembled. ‘She’d gone into labour it’s true, but I don’t know what happened or where she is. Her room’s empty. She’s gone!’
‘Who has gone?’ Mrs Purnell stood in the doorway, brought upstairs by the commotion. ‘What is happening, Hugo!’
‘That little drab whom you are so fond of, Mother. Emily. She has given birth to a bastard in our house and seeks to lay the blame at my door by leaving it in my bed!’
‘Emily? But I would have known. Anyway, she wouldn’t do such a dreadful thing. She’s a good girl.’ Mrs Purnell crossed the room to look in the bed and then recoiled. ‘We must send for a doctor and a priest. It doesn’t look healthy.’
‘It’s too late for that, Mother.’ His eyes flashed from his mother to Mrs Anderson and then back again. ‘I think that she was so ashamed of how far she has fallen that she has murdered the child.’ His mouth twisted into a thin, hard line. ‘We must send for the constable straight away.’
Emily came around to find herself lying in a chair by a fire and surrounded by a crowd of interested faces. ‘Oh! Where am I? What happened?’
‘You’ve just fainted, m’ dear. And you’re in ’King’s Head, ’best inn in town.’
The woman who spoke was elderly, with a white apron over her dress and a pleated bonnet on her grey hair. ‘Seems to me’, she said, ‘that you’re in need of some victuals.’
‘Yes,’ Emily whispered. ‘I am hungry. I haven’t eaten all day. I – er, I’ve just come off ’York coach.’
The woman raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh, aye? Running late is it?’
Emily flushed, caught out in her first lie.
‘You don’t need to tell me owt,’ the landlady said. ‘I keep my own counsel. What folk get up to is nowt to do wi’ me.’
‘Could you let me have a room for the night,’ Emily ventured, ‘and a little supper?’
‘Aye, if you can pay,’ she nodded. ‘In advance!’
‘I can pay. Could I see the room, please?’
The inn had many small rooms with smoky fires and the stairs were narrow and steep. As Emily wearily hauled herself up them she felt that she could sleep where she dropped. But she pulled back the sheets on the bed she was shown and saw that they were clean, and putting her hand on them felt that they were aired. ‘Thank you,’ she said when the woman told her the terms. ‘If you could include a bowl of soup and a little chicken in ’price, I’ll take it for tonight and tomorrow night.’
The landlady agreed, glad to have a quiet resident and money in her hand and when she brought up a bowl of steaming soup and a plate of cold chicken, Emily was sitting by the fire with her shawl around her and her stockinged feet in the hearth. She had let her hair down and was plaiting it in a single braid over her shoulder.
‘Pretty hair,’ said the landlady as she put down the tray, ‘lovely colour,’ then added, ‘I’ll send ’maid up with a warming pan, though as you already noticed, miss, I keep my beds well aired. But it’s a cold night and if you’ve been travelling far –’. Though she had stated that she kept her counsel, she was obviously very curious about Emily. ‘You’re onny a young lass to be travelling alone at this hour of night. It’s not safe. ’Town is full of footpads and ruffians!’
‘I haven’t much money,’ Emily confessed. ‘No-one would want anything that I have.’
‘Don’t be too sure about that,’ the woman said darkly. ‘Some villains would take ’boots off your feet and ’bonnet off your head if you weren’t looking.’
With this dire warning she left her and after the maid had brought up the hot coals in the warming pan and run it about the bed, Emily undressed and climbed into bed and, with her hands clasped together, made a silent prayer for the dead child and another one for herself.
She slept for most of the next day, exhausted by the trauma of the birth, though she roused herself to drink the hot chocolate which Mrs Thomas, the landlady, sent up for her. In the evening the maid knocked on the door to enquire if she would be down for supper. ‘No, thank you,’ she said, ‘though if you would build up ’fire I’ll take a little soup up here.’ She dared not ask for more as she wanted to conserve what money she had.
She ate the soup and slept once more and the following morning woke refreshed in body though troubled in mind. She washed and dressed and went downstairs. Mrs Thomas greeted her and poured her a cup of coffee. ‘Where are you off to this morning, m’ dear?’ she asked in idle curiosity.
‘Beverley,’ Emily answered swiftly. ‘I have an aunt there.’
‘Ah! Did you not think of getting off ’coach there the other night?’
‘I – er, no. I had some business to attend to in Hull.’ I am useless at lying, Emily thought. I have had so little practice at it.
‘Well you’ve missed ’morning coach. Next one isn’t until five o’clock. Unless you can get a carrier. That would be your best bet, save you hanging around all day. ’Course you’re very welcome to stop here, but I’d have to charge you extra.’
‘No, thank you. I’d best be off.’ She gathered up her bundle. ‘Thank you, you’ve been very kind.’
Mrs Thomas gazed at her. ‘Here,’ she said, ‘have another cup and a slice o’ toast. Can’t have you travelling without summat inside you. You still look a bit peaky.’
Emily put down her bundle gratefully. ‘I haven’t been well,’ she said, ‘though I do feel much better after the rest.’
‘Well, I hope your aunt takes care of you when you get to her,’ Mrs Thomas said sagely. ‘And then you’ll be looking for work, I expect.’
‘Oh yes,’ Emily said eagerly. ‘Do you know of anyone in the Beverley area who would want a maid?’
‘Plenty of people of quality in Beverley would take a fine young lass like you; or else,’ she added, almost as an afterthought, ‘there’s inns and publics if you haven’t a reference.’
That’s the difference, Emily pondered as she sipped her coffee at a table by the window, whilst Mrs Thomas busied herself with a duster. I won’t be able to get a decent place and even if I did, sooner or later I would be found out. There would be somebody who would know Mrs Purnell, and how dreadful if I should meet her face to face.
The door from the kitchen flew open. ‘Mrs Thomas!’ The young maid who had brought up the coals and the chocolate was agog with excitement. ‘You know that young woman that’s been staying? Well, there’s posters up in town wanting to know of her whereabouts –’. Her voice trailed away as she noticed Emily sitting by the window.
Mrs Thomas’s eyes grew hard. ‘How do yo
u know it’s ’same young woman?’
‘It said she had long fair hair, Swedish or Norwegian type it said,’ she whispered. ‘It’s her all right, there was a full description.’
‘Nonsense.’ Mrs Thomas was sharp. ‘Why is she being looked for?’
The maid’s eyes grew wide and her mouth grew slack. ‘It said she’s wanted for ’murder of a bairn.’
Emily dropped her cup, splashing the coffee over the table. ‘No! It’s not true.’
‘’Constables are coming.’ The maid continued to stare at Emily. ‘They’re on their way.’
‘Here?’ Mrs Thomas let out a shriek. ‘Coming here?’
The girl nodded, still with her eyes on Emily. ‘When I saw ’poster I dashed to Blanket Row police station to tell ’em. I knew tha wouldn’t want her stopping here. Not a murderer!’
‘You stupid girl!’ Mrs Thomas fetched a clout around the girl’s head and as she ducked gave her another one. ‘Fetching police here! This is a respectable establishment. We shall have all riff-raff of ’town here, wanting to know all about her.’ She gave her a push. ‘Get down to ’kitchen and don’t say another word to anybody, do you hear?’
She picked up Emily’s bundle and thrust it into her hands. ‘Come on. Be quick. You can be off before they get here.’ She hurried her towards the door. ‘I’ll not say owt if you don’t.’
Emily could barely speak. ‘I never did anything,’ she gasped. ‘In God’s name I didn’t.’
Mrs Thomas didn’t answer, for as she opened the door, a constable and sergeant of the police force stood on the step.
‘Emily Hawkins?’ said the sergeant.
Emily nodded. She felt faint and black spots danced around her.
‘We have to ask you to come with us, miss. It’s alleged that you’ve committed ’sin of murder on a newborn child and wanton destruction of property.’