Draping her wet shawl over the back of a wooden chair, Peg removed the fireguard and stood the chair in front of the fire. Before long, steam began to rise as her shawl started to dry out. Swinging the bracket holding the kettle over the fire, Peg dashed upstairs and slipped off her wet clothes. Dragging a thick cotton nightdress over her shivering body with another warm shawl about her shoulders, Peg took her wet clothes to dry out by the fire next to her shawl.
Another bracket on the opposite side of the fireplace held her dinner. In the pot were vegetables from her garden which had cooked gently while she’d been at the market. Slicing some cooked lamb from the tiny pantry, she dropped it into the pot and replaced the lid. Making a cup of tea Peg salivated at the aroma of lamb stew with home-made bread for her dinner.
Her meal eaten, Peg glanced around the small living room, leading her to recall the story of being found on the step of the back door to the cottage by the woman who had lived there, Rufina Meriwether, many years before. Peg remembered the woman fondly as she sat toasting her toes by the fire. Rufina had told Peg the story many times and as she gazed at the flames dancing in the hearth, she heard it again in her mind.
Rufina, on returning from the market one day, had found the child in a basket on the doorstep. Rufina had never married and although she would have loved to have had children of her own, she did not want the burden of a husband. Consequently she had carved out a life for herself in her small cottage giving up all hope of ever having a child. She had determined whoever had left the child on her doorstep obviously couldn’t care for her, so she had taken her in. If the mother wanted the baby back, she would know where to find her. And if not, the baby was better off without her. Rufina had vowed to be the best mother she could be and named the baby Peg, added to which was her own surname of Meriwether. They had lived together for those last eighteen years – for no one had ever returned to claim the child – until Rufina had died of pneumonia the previous winter.
Peg felt again the sadness at the loss of her foster mother, the woman who had been all things to her; mother, teacher and friend. Rufina had taught her how to grow the vegetables she now sold in the market; what to plant in which season; how to harvest and what to sell or keep. Peg had an affinity with the land and she was well rewarded for her efforts. Rufina had taught Peg to read and write; how to do her numbers and how to calculate money. She had also left her this cottage and the means to support herself which was more than many women in the area could hope for. Rufina had been the only mother Peg had ever had and she had loved her with all her heart.
With a sigh, Peg climbed the stairs to bed, and pulling the bedclothes over her head, she shut out the noise of the storm raging outside. Comfortable, warm and with a full stomach, she was soon sound asleep.
*
Peg rose early the following morning seeing the sun pouring in through her bedroom window. As she ate her breakfast, she suspected the ruts on the heath would be like a quagmire despite the morning sunshine, so she decided to stay home and rescue any vegetables in her plot that the storm had not ravaged.
Sitting in the sun, she strung onions to be hung in the pantry, boxed shallots for the market and collected and washed the green beans the wind had ripped from the plants that grew around their wigwams of canes. By midday the sun was hot in its zenith and Peg decided to chance a trip over the heath to the market. Loading her cart and filling a bottle with water, she set off.
Dragging the cart in the heat of the afternoon was hard work and Peg stopped to take a drink from her bottle of water. As she quenched her thirst, her peripheral vision caught sight of a rider coming from the direction of the market. Reining his horse close to her cart, he jumped down.
‘Hello wench,’ he said.
Warily nodding her greeting, Peg eyed him suspiciously.
‘You off to the market then?’ he asked, casting a glance at the produce on her cart.
Peg rolled her eyes as she said sarcastically, ‘No, I’m walking my dog!’
‘Hey, there ain’t no need for that,’ the man said as he stepped towards her.
Peg placed her bottle of water on the cart near the boulder which she used as a wedge and rested her hand there.
‘Cat got your tongue?’ the man laughed as he stepped closer to her. Peg ignored the question but kept her eyes on him. She knew where her boulder was without having to look down. ‘You know what…’ the man began, ‘you are ignorant! You should answer when someone speaks to you.’
Shrugging her shoulders, Peg moved one hand to the cart handle, the other she left near the boulder. She didn’t like how this was going and she felt her stomach clench at the uneasy feeling.
Shaking his head and with a smile lifting only the corners of his mouth, the man walked forward and grabbed Peg’s arm, yanking her hand from the cart handle.
In one movement, Peg picked up the boulder and snatched her arm from his grip as she took a step back. Holding the rock high so he could see it, she snarled, ‘You touch me again and I’ll stove your head in!’
Throwing back his head, he laughed, ‘I don’t think you will, pretty wench…’ His eyes roamed her body with a lecherous grin.
Seeing his intent, Peg raised the rock higher and took another step backwards away from the man, in an effort to widen the distance between them. ‘What is it you want?’ she asked through clenched teeth.
Closing the gap with another step forward, the man said, ‘I love a girl with spirit, how about you and me have a little fun before I go home to the wife?’
As he rubbed his hands together, Peg’s anger rose and she shouted, ‘You think you can accost me on the heath, have your way with me then ride off home to your wife? I think not!’
Looking around him and seeing no one, he spread his arms and said, ‘And who, may I ask, is going to stop me?’ The grin creased his face again.
Chancing a quick look at the ground around her Peg saw loose rocks and boulders lying within easy reach. Her eyes quickly snapped back to the man standing in front of her. ‘I will,’ Peg said, showing a bravado she didn’t feel.
‘I doubt that,’ the man said. ‘Now then, let’s you and me have that fun I spoke about.’ Stepping towards the girl with the pretty green eyes, he faltered as the rock glanced off his forehead above his right eye. ‘You bitch!’ he shouted as his hands covered the injured spot.
Peg used that moment wisely to gather more rocks and stones and began to hurl them at the man. Each finding its mark, the man covered his head with his arms before he fell to his knees cursing. Peg aimed a rock at the man’s horse standing grazing nearby and caught it a sharp blow to its flank. With a whinny the horse bolted away in the direction of its home.
Turning his head to see his horse galloping off, the man scrambled to his feet glaring at Peg.
‘Want some more?’ she said, a rock held firmly in each hand.
‘You bitch!’ he said again. ‘You’d better hope we don’t meet again!’ Turning away from her, he began to run after his horse.
Collecting her boulder then grabbing the handles of her cart, Peg pulled hard and ran in the direction of the market, her strength fuelled by the adrenaline coursing through her body.
‘Bloody hell, wench, what’s got your knickers in a twist?’ Lottie Spence, a friend and fellow stall holder asked as she helped Peg pull the cart next to her own stall.
‘I’ve just been accosted on the heath!’ Peg puffed.
‘Christ! Are you hurt?’ the older woman asked, her concern evident.
‘No, but he scared me, Lottie.’ Peg felt the adrenaline drain from her body leaving behind an ache in her arms and legs.
‘Hey wenches,’ Lottie called across the market, ‘Peg’s been accosted on the heath, be careful on your way home.’
Stallholders gathered to discuss the incident, deciding to return home in pairs or groups as far as was possible.
Turning back to Peg, Lottie said, ‘You need to tell the police about this, see what they can do about it.’
‘I can’t walk all the way to Walsall Street to the police station, it’s miles away, besides there’s not enough time now… I’ll go tomorrow,’ Peg answered as she shakily set up her cart.
Staying Peg’s hands, Lottie said sternly, ‘Then run down to the ironworks over the back of the timber yard and tell the men what’s happened and ask for an iron bar for protection. They’ll give you one for nothing when they know what it’s for. Go on, I’ll watch your cart.’
Thanking the woman, Peg ran hell for leather to the iron works in All Saints Road. Lottie had been right, Peg got her small iron bar free of charge once the workers heard her story.
Dragging the empty cart home that afternoon with her iron bar on the top, Peg’s heart sank as she trudged the heath and saw a rider coming towards her. She wished some of the other women lived out her way then she wouldn’t have to make this journey alone. Stopping and grabbing the bar, she hid it behind her long skirt. This could just be someone riding home. But then on the other hand…
The horse’s hooves rucked up the heath as the rider yanked hard on the reins, bringing them to a stop near Peg’s cart.
Seeing the man jump down, Peg thought, God help me… it’s the same man!
Standing in front of the girl, legs astride, his hands on his hips, he said nastily, ‘I thought you’d be coming back this way.’
‘Well you thought right,’ Peg said. Despite the fear and panic she felt, she noted he had, once again, not bothered to tether his horse, Peg thought, Some people never learn.
Balancing her weight evenly on both feet Peg waited, her heart beating like a drum and her breath coming in gasps.
The man glanced at Peg’s hand still on the cart handle and realised her other one was behind her skirt. He was sure the hidden hand held a boulder.
‘I’ve got a lump the size of an egg on my head,’ he said, pointing to his forehead where the rock had hit him earlier in the day.
‘So it would seem,’ Peg answered.
‘It’s your fault!’ he shouted.
‘I can’t argue with that,’ Peg stood her ground.
‘Good, because you’re gonna pay for it now,’ the man said, striding towards her.
Leaning slightly forward at the waist gave Peg a solid stance and she brought her arm round, revealing her iron bar which was far easier to manipulate than the boulder had been.
The man stopped abruptly as he saw the bar in her hand. ‘What do you think you’re gonna do with that? I’m a man and it stands to reason I’m the stronger!’
‘You may be stronger… but I’ve got the weapon!’ Peg said as she waved the bar in front of her. ‘You want to chance your arm… see who comes off best?’
Anger blazed in him as he strode towards her, his arms stretching forward in order to grab her, and he yelled, ‘I’m gonna teach you a lesson you’ll never forget!’
Peg shouted, ‘Forget this!’ and she swung the bar up before bringing it smartly down on his left arm. She heard the bone break a split second before the man screamed out his agony.
Grabbing his injured arm with his right hand, he said through jaws clamped together, ‘You bitch! You broke my bloody arm!’
‘Yes, and I’ll break the other bugger an’ all if you don’t leave me alone!’ Peg’s voice rose in anger even as she moved away from him. Watching him weighing up his options she thought, This bugger’s not going to stop!
As if he’d read her mind, Peg watched as fury bubbled up in him and he began stepping forward and kicking out at her. As he neared her again, Peg held the bar with both hands. She stepped back as he strode on one leg and kicked out at her with the other. To an onlooker it must have looked like a bizarre dance out there on the heath, the man stepping and kicking as he approached the girl. Peg chose her timing well and as he lifted his left leg to kick her again, she swung the bar in a sideways swipe and caught him hard at the side of his knee. Again she heard the bone crack just before a scream left his throat.
Dropping like a stone onto his right side, the man yelled, ‘You’re bloody mad!’
‘Yes I am!’ Peg said as she carefully moved towards him, the bar held above her head, ‘Mad as hell that you thought to accost me for the second time today!’ Knowing, due to the injuries he sustained, she had the upper hand, Peg went on. ‘So you thought to teach me a lesson I’d never forget, did you? Well, now, it seems to me, you’ll be the one never to forget. I suggest you listen very carefully to my next words. Don’t you ever try this with another woman, and should you see me in the future… you turn and go another way. Do you understand me?’
The man lay with closed eyes moaning in pain and said nothing.
‘DO… YOU… UNDERSTAND… ME?’ Peg yelled down at him. The man opened his eyes to look at her and nodded. ‘Then we have reached an agreement,’ Peg said as she lowered the bar. Walking to her cart, she placed the bar on the top, grabbed the handles and dragged it to where the man lay writhing in agony.
Spotting the horse nearby, she stopped to pick up a stone. Tossing it slightly in the air and catching it again Peg shook her head at the man. He groaned as he saw her intention. Peg swung her arm and the stone flew from her fingers, hitting the horse on the rump. The man groaned again as he watched his horse gallop away once more.
‘How the bloody hell am I to get home now?’ he rasped through the pain of his broken bones.
‘That’s your lookout, you should have thought of that before,’ Peg said before adding, ‘and, while you wait to be rescued by a kind passer-by, think about this… how will you explain to your wife how you got to be in this state?’
Peg smiled as the man closed his eyes again and let out a sob.
Grasping the cart handles, Peg Meriwether walked home without even a backward glance.
Chapter 4
Hortense Buchanan drove the trap to Birmingham herself in order to be fitted for some new gowns and dresses; it was high time she and Abel resumed an acquaintance with the socialites of the town. Having failed at trying to poison Abel with the mushrooms in order to inherit his wealth, she had decided to make the best of living with him for now. At least she would still have money and the niceties of life. She had already inspected her wardrobe; she had decided new gowns were definitely the order of the day. Abel’s depression at losing his daughter was dragging her down too, so she thought to lift her own spirits with her favourite pastime… shopping.
Stopping the horse outside Lawsons Dressmakers shop in the high street, Hortense berated herself; Birmingham city was becoming far too busy to bring the trap, she should have travelled on the railway. Carters, horses, traps, people walking and milling about, it was extremely uncomfortable to even walk down the street. The smells of unwashed men and the sight of dirty children rampaging around began to thoroughly annoy her.
With a huge sigh, Hortense stepped down from the trap and instantly collided with a young man walking past her. Losing her grip on her bag, it fell to the ground and the young man bent quickly to retrieve it.
‘Madam, please forgive me, I was entirely at fault,’ he said.
Moving her eyes from the bag being passed to her, Hortense allowed them to roam over the boy in front of her. He wore a fine-fitting tailored outfit and his brown leather riding boots shone in the sunlight. Her gaze swept upwards and Hortense gasped as shock rattled her to her core. A wide smile showed even white teeth and a mop of unruly raven black hair fell over sparkling emerald green eyes!
‘I hope you are not hurt,’ the young man said as Hortense tried to regain her composure.
‘No… no, I’m fine thank you,’ Hortense stammered.
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ the boy said, ‘in that case I’ll be on my way. Good afternoon.’ With that the boy marched down the high street, leaving a bewildered Hortense standing with her mouth open.
Sitting in Harrison’s Tea Shop a few moments later, Hortense tried desperately to gather her wits. The boy’s smile, his hair, his eyes… It could not possibly be a coincidence. The
likeness between the boy and her husband had taken her breath away.
The waitress came over and stood by Hortense’s table and waited, saying nothing.
‘Tea!’ Hortense snapped.
‘Would madam like anything else?’ the waitress asked sarcastically.
‘Had I wanted something more I would have asked for it!’ Hortense snapped again.
The waitress said nothing as she turned on her heel and strode away, bristling with indignation, her white cap bobbing on her head. Moments later she returned with a tray of crockery and slammed it on the table in front of the woman who had been so rude to her. Let her pour her own tea! she thought as she walked away, her long black skirt and white apron swishing around her side button boots.
Hortense did pour her own tea as thoughts of the young man whirled in her brain. She guessed him to be around sixteen years old. She knew Abel had no siblings, so if he and the boy were related this could mean only one thing - Abel had a son!
Her heart tightened in her chest as she considered the ramifications of the situation. Her husband had, or had had, a mistress! Moreover, she had given him a son!
Throwing coins on the table, much to the disgust of the disgruntled waitress, she dashed outside in the hope the young man would still be in sight. Hortense realised her hopes were in vain as she looked up and down the street… the boy was gone.
*
Finally sitting in her kitchen again, tea in hand, Hortense worked through the scenario in her head.
After Eugenie had ‘disappeared’, she and Abel had struggled in their relationship; he had blamed her for the loss of his daughter. Yes, she was to blame, but he’d never know that for sure. Abel had been distant with his wife for a very long time and now she thought of it, he had stayed at the so-called business meetings in the Gentlemen’s Club longer than at any time before, even staying overnight on occasions. So, she suspected he had lied to her… he had not been at the Club at all… he’d been with another woman! Why had she not seen it before? Feeling stomach acid burning her insides, Hortense poured milk into a cup and drank it down.
The Lost Sisters Page 4