Becky, who had for years promoted the education of country girls and their emancipation from domestic or industrial servitude, was determined to discover who Alice Grey was and help her, if it was at all possible to do so.
"Now, Alice," Becky began, but she got no further, for the boy coughed long and hard, and his mother interrupted her.
"Please, ma'am, let me take him to the apothecary first, else he will be very sick. He's had no sleep; he's been coughing all night," she pleaded.
"There is no need, Alice, I have sent for Mr Thomson already. He should be here within the hour. Meanwhile, we will ask Mrs Bates to give Tom a spoonful of honey and a hot drink to soothe his throat," said Becky, rising to ring for the maid.
Having sent the boy to the kitchen, she returned to her seat.
"As I was about to say, Alice, I am inclined to let you stay here for some time, but if I am to do that, I need to know something about you. Where do you come from? Who are your parents? And the boy's father, who was he and where is he now?"
The girl looked very dubious about answering all these questions; it seemed when she had decided to take a chance and camp in an empty barn on the property, she had not counted on being found and quizzed in this way. When she remained silent, Becky began again, this time more gently.
"Alice, do you understand what I am trying to do? I should like to help you and Tom. I do not feel it is safe or seemly for a young woman like you and a little boy to be wandering the countryside working in the fields and sleeping rough, as you have been doing. You could be in grave danger, or you could be caught by the police for trespassing and thrown into prison, and young Tom would be sent to the poor house. Think on that."
At this the girl's eyes widened, and she looked most alarmed.
"They wouldn't?" she said, her voice barely audible.
Becky was quick to respond, "Oh yes, they would; but have no fear, I do not intend to call the police and hand you over to them. However, should you keep doing this for much longer, entering farms at night and sleeping in barns, you will be caught, and someone less charitable than I will do it."
The girl looked as though she had understood, and Becky took her chance to ask a different question.
"Tell me, before you came to work in these parts, what did you do and where did you live?"
This time Alice, having contemplated for a while, spoke very quietly. "We lived in Blessington, ma'am. It's a small village not far from Ramsgate. I used to work as a kitchen maid in one of the big houses up there. It was hard work—up at five and working all day until everyone else was in bed, but they fed us well and gave us a clean room to sleep in. The lady of the manor, Mrs Bancroft, was very kind—she let me keep Tom with me, so long as he got into no trouble."
"Why did you leave? Or were you sent away?" asked Becky suspiciously.
The girl looked horrified. "Oh no, ma'am, I was not. I did leave on my own account, ma'am, because it was not possible to go on working there."
"Why not? Was the work too hard? I thought you said your mistress was a kind woman."
"Indeed she was, ma'am, and it was not the hard work—I am quite used to hard work, and I have no complaints about the mistress or the work; it was…" She tried and failed to get the words out and had to be persuaded.
"You must tell me, Alice, what was it made you give up a place in a household where you and your son were comfortably lodged and you had paid work for as long as you wished. There must have been a reason. I could make enquiries and find out, of course. The Bancrofts must be well known in Kent, and my sister Mrs Burnett, who has lived in this county all her life, is certain to know the family or someone else who does. I could ask her to make enquiries…"
The girl reacted immediately. "Please, ma'am, don't do that. I do not wish to do or say anything that will make trouble for Mrs Bancroft. She was very kind to me—to both of us. But I could not stay, ma'am. It was impossible."
"Why?" Becky persisted, beginning to get a sense of what was to follow. "What was the problem?"
There was a long pause, and the answer when it came did not surprise her. "It was one of the gentlemen, ma'am, a good friend of the master's. He used to stay at the house whenever he came down to Kent, and he began to pester me. I think I escaped his attentions for a while, only because of Tom clinging to my skirts; he was scared and wouldn't leave me, not even when he was bribed with sweets or money. He even got a clip over the ear once for refusing to go away.
"But one night when Tom was asleep, he came down to the room I shared with the scullery maid, having waited until she had gone out. He was drunk and tried to force himself upon me. I fought him off, but I was very afraid; I screamed, and the cook heard me and came to my rescue, ma'am.
"On the very next morning, I told Mrs Bancroft I wanted to leave; I think the cook had already told the housekeeper, and Mrs Bancroft said she knew what had happened. She said she was sorry to lose me, but she didn't try to stop me. I think she knew she couldn't protect me, ma'am. The gentlemen had gone out very early that morning to shoot on a neighbouring manor, and I got away before they had returned."
Appalled though not shocked, for she had heard many such tales and not all of them had ended as well, either, Becky did not doubt her story. There were many men who thought that any young servant girl who took their fancy was fair game, and some hosts who were willing to turn a blind eye.
"How did you get away?" she asked.
"The hay cart, ma'am. Mrs Bancroft paid me my full wages for the month, even though it was a few days short, and she gave me some more money to pay the carter, and he took us all the way to Wingham."
"And when you got there, where did you live?"
"Nowhere, ma'am. We needed the money for food. I couldn't afford to pay for lodgings, so I had to work, and most places would not take you in with a child, unless he could work too. So we've been working the farms and hop fields, sleeping in barns and outhouses ever since," she said simply.
Alice sat with her hands in her lap, resignation written upon her face. Looking at her hands, neat and small, but coarsened and brown with exposure and hard work, Becky was amazed by her resilience. She did not wish to embarrass her further, but there was a question to which she had to have an answer.
"Alice, when we were out in the garden, I heard you tell the gentleman, Mr Bingley, that Tom could speak until the night the police took his father away. Is that true?"
"Yes, ma'am," she replied. "He could say little words like 'Papa' and 'Mama,' and he would sing to himself all day long. He was a happy little boy."
"And when did they take his father away?" asked Becky gently.
Alice looked down at her hands, which were clasped tight together.
"When Tom was two years old. It was not right, ma'am; he was accused of stealing from his employer… but he never did it… He was innocent, but the police would not listen. They took him away," and there were tears rolling down her face as she said, "Please believe me, ma'am, my husband was no thief; he never stole anything. He was a good, hardworking man."
Becky was deeply moved. "Where is he now, Alice?" she asked gently.
The girl wiped her tears away with her sleeve and said, "I do not know, ma'am. Some say he is in jail, and others say he was sent to Botany Bay. I don't rightly know what has happened to him, ma'am."
"And have you no parents? No other family?"
The girl replied quickly, "No, ma'am, they died when I was little."
Becky's heart went out to her, and she struggled to control her voice when she asked, "Does that mean you are alone, except for the boy?"
"Yes, ma'am," the girl replied.
They were interrupted by a knock on the door. The housekeeper came in to say Mr Thomson the apothecary had arrived to see Tom, and Alice went with her.
Later, after Mr Thomson had prescribed some medication for the boy, and he was put to bed in the room Mrs Bates found for them, Alice returned and Becky sent her with one of her older servants to inform the hop f
armer that she would not be able to return to work in his fields. When Alice looked surprised, not understanding her instructions, Becky explained, "Tell him your boy is sick and needs looking after. Make sure you get all the wages due to you, mind. When you return, Mrs Bates will find you some work to do."
The girl thanked her, uncomprehending, as if in a dream; she was still unable to believe what was happening to her.
Becky had not yet decided what she would do about Alice; she wanted to know more and speak with Catherine before deciding how to proceed. However, of one thing she was quite certain—she was determined that the girl was not going to return to the hop fields.
***
When Becky joined the others, they were enjoying the soft sunshine on the terrace. They were eager for information, and this time she had more to tell them.
Although she did not intend to reveal any of Alice's secrets, she was able at least to satisfy their curiosity to the extent that they accepted her judgment, that the girl could not be turned over to the police, nor could she be permitted to return to her hazardous, itinerant way of life—roaming the countryside looking for work and sleeping rough in barns and outhouses.
"It is only a matter of time before she will either be picked up by the police and thrown into prison or meet some even more dreadful fate," said Becky.
Anna agreed with her. "It is quite astonishing that she has survived this far; she seems so young."
"She certainly does, but she is also surprisingly strong and stubbornly independent," said Becky, and Catherine pointed out that many young women were compelled to do the same when they were either deserted or widowed.
"There is no help for them, except the workhouse or the streets. Many, especially if they have a child to support, try to keep body and soul together by working in the fields or factories, where they are often exploited; it really is a cruel and depressing world," said Catherine.
Later, when Becky and Jonathan met to discuss the matter of Mr Tate's American estate, he was not at all surprised when she raised the question of Alice Grey. In truth, he had been expecting it.
"Jonathan, before we even begin to discuss the subject of my husband's money, I wonder if I might ask your advice on another matter?" she asked, and Jonathan was quite agreeable.
"Of course, please ask, and if there is any way I can help, I should be happy to do so."
Becky smiled; quite clearly he was still as kind and obliging as ever.
"I wonder, is there some means by which we can discover what has become of a young man who was accused of stealing from his employer? Alice Grey's husband was taken away by the police some two or three years ago; she says she has had no information about him."
Jonathan looked disbelieving. "I find that very hard to believe, Becky," he said. "Even felons have some rights. In fact, those who were transported to Australia were usually allowed to take their wives and children with them, unless they had committed a capital offence, of course," he explained, and Becky looked confused as he went on.
"In the case you speak of, I would point out that stealing from one's employer is a serious offence, but it is no longer a capital crime; I am quite certain his wife would have been told what his punishment was."
"She claims he was innocent."
"Of course, and it is possible there has been some miscarriage of justice. It is not unusual to hear of such cases, but nevertheless, I would still be confident that Alice Grey knows what became of her husband."
"Is there some way we could discover officially what sentence was imposed upon him?" Becky asked.
"If you could persuade Alice to give you some details—his full name, place of residence, the assizes at which he was tried, the date of the case—yes, we could attempt to find out. Anne-Marie's husband, Colin Elliott, has some useful contacts in the Home Office; I am sure he would be happy to try."
Becky thanked him and promised to do her best to get all relevant information to him before long.
As to the disposition of the moneys from Mr Tate's bequest, Becky indicated that she was perfectly content to leave all administrative matters in Jonathan's capable hands, if she could be permitted to use some of the proceeds on a few pet projects.
"May I ask what projects you have in mind?" he asked, and Becky replied with some alacrity. "I should very much like to donate some of it to the Hunsford parish school," she said. "Catherine has said nothing to me, but I do know she needs more materials and would like to hire more staff in the New Year. It would make a great difference to the work she is doing, and I should like very much to help."
Seeing that he appeared not to have any objection, she continued, "Then, there is the home for destitute women, which the church used to run until the money in Lady Catherine's benevolent fund ran out last year. Mr Jamison tells me it is likely to be closed, and there will be only the poorhouse for the women after years of work. They are mostly widows and older women with no children to support them. I should like to take it over."
Jonathan was silent, contemplating her proposition for a while. He could see she was very keen, but when he spoke, his words were measured and cautious. "I cannot see any difficulty with the school—it's an established institution, to which you can donate without any reservation. The home for destitute women, though it is a worthy enterprise, might require a good deal more work and planning before we know how much it is going to cost. I suggest we talk to the parson, Mr Jamison, and discover if he has any facts and figures for us. We may also need to see the local council."
That he was willing to accommodate her wishes and had not instantly turned down her requests seemed to bode well for their association, Becky thought. There were a few more matters to be discussed; none of them resulted in any controversy, and they were soon done.
Their business concluded, they went out to join the others.
Luncheon was served on the terrace, and afterwards, Becky and her guests walked about the grounds enjoying the pleasing ambience of Edgewater, where sky, woods, and water combined to create a most charming prospect. Anna Bingley was especially appreciative of the opportunities afforded her to sketch and paint; she was working on a watercolour of the poplars in the spinney across the lake.
Becky was delighted to have a picture of her favourite vista.
"Thank you, Anna, that will have pride of place in my study, and it will remind me of these delightful days we have had together. I do wish I had learnt to draw; I am quite hopeless at it," she confessed ruefully.
When Catherine and Frank Burnett thanked Becky for her hospitality and prepared to return to the Dower House, Becky could not resist giving her sister a hint of the good news she had in store for her.
"I am not able to tell you much more, dear Cathy, except that Jonathan has agreed that I may use some of the money from Mr Tate's estate to assist the work of the parish school. When we have agreed on amounts and other formalities, I shall tell you everything."
Catherine was elated; she knew there was a great deal to be done at the school, and any help would be most welcome. As they parted, she embraced her sister and thanked her for her generosity.
***
Over the next few days, Becky, with Jonathan's assistance, made further enquiries about Alice Grey and consolidated her plans for the refuge for destitute women. Mr Jamison proved helpful, having been involved in a similar project while serving in a parish in Southampton.
"There were many widowed or incapacitated women, who had no homes or families, nor anywhere to go to but the poor house, where the conditions were so wretched, many would rather die of exposure than enter there and subject themselves to the indignities that prevailed," he explained. "Families were often broken up when husbands and wives or male and female siblings were separated, while inmates were issued with regulation drab clothing and not permitted to keep any of their own property."
Mr Jamison painted a depressing picture. "While it claimed to dispense charity, it was no better than a prison," he said.
The cit
y parish he had served had determined, together with other neighbouring parishes, to set up a refuge for destitute women and children, in order to get them off the streets, he said. It had provided a much better alternative.
Becky's enthusiasm was infectious, and Mr Jamison was soon expressing his complete support for her scheme to take over the old home, promising whatever help he could give. It was, he said, only the question of money that worried him, because there were sufficient volunteers from the two parishes of Hunsford and Lower Apsley to help him manage the place.
As they talked and Becky asked more questions, Jonathan Bingley took notes. Becky was gratified indeed; it meant he was taking the proposal seriously, and on further discussion, it became clear to her that he was genuinely interested.
"If it is a proposition that can be supported responsibly, I should be happy to recommend it. I understand your charitable motives, Becky, and I sympathise with them entirely," he had said, raising her hopes that he would agree to let her fund the project.
Woman of Influence (Pemberley Chronicles) Page 6