by Hazel Aitken
“You are so clever, dear,” murmured Belle. “I don’t know what I would do without you. You are your father’s child in every way. You nursed me through that horrid bronchial trouble and…” she broke off and called Hannah to the window. “Oh, dear me, and it is such a miserably cold day for anyone to be outside.” Hannah’s heart beat fast. Surely she had not made a mistake over the mortally injured child taken to the workhouse? Surely it couldn’t be Sal outside in the freezing air.
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Chapter Eleven
The pair of them gazed down into the backyard next door where a young woman leaned against the wall of the house, her body slumped in an attitude of despair and weariness. Dark hair fell to her shoulders and she wrung her hands; whether to warm them or as testimony to her obvious distress, Hannah could not be sure.
As they watched the woman…no, she was little more than a girl…turned her head as if listening, then straightened herself and stood erect, pulling a mantle around her, but not before Belle and Hannah had noticed her bulging abdomen. As Belle tried to pull Hannah away, the girl glanced up and must have seen the pale blobs of their faces at the window. Even from a distance her expression was one of entreaty.
“Poor girl, she looks miserable, all alone and having a baby,” whispered Hannah.
“Do you know what I think, Hannah?” her mother spoke slowly. “It could be that girls, unmarried that is, and in a certain condition, come next door to have their babies.” An air of suppressed excitement shook her, as thoughts tumbled over one another. “It would explain the cries from the attic room through the wall. I should have known. God knows I could not suppress my cries when you were being born. One should not speak of such things but you are a doctor’s daughter and you have heard talk.”
“Mama, there is something I have not told you. Do you remember that soon after we arrived some weeks ago, I told you about the poor child I had met in the street outside? A small girl that horrible rough woman called Sal? Well, Sal had only that minute told me that someone named Polly had killed a little baby.”
“Oh, Hannah!” Belle put a hand over her heart. “You don’t think…no, such things don’t happen. But suppose, just suppose that girls do give birth next door…well, many a baby dies at birth. I expect one did and Sal saw something. It would account for what she said. A child distraught by the sight of a dead infant, being wrapped or carried, a mother’s cries and so on.”
Hannah considered whether to tell her mother about the child brought to the workhouse, injured and dying, whom she was sure was Sal. So far she had not mentioned it or the funeral. No, she would say nothing to distress Belle although she was privately certain that she was sturdier in mind and body than was the impression given by a succession of minor ailments and her complaints. Besides, she did not frame the thought but it hovered in the back of her mind; Sal had seen or thought she had seen something and Sal was dead.
Now she recalled other curious incidents; there were indeed cries from beyond the wall, and when she had gone next door with the tartan dress, the podgy moon-faced woman had been expecting someone and it had almost certainly not been a friend as she declared. Hannah’s thoughts returned to the occasion and she recalled the sharp, accusing tone. “Oh! And what about the foggy night when someone had been bundled into a coach…” She shuddered.
“Mama,” she said, changing the subject, “you must certainly accept Mariah Simpson’s invitation. It will do you good to get away. I shall be perfectly all right and will try to make sure Rosa has some good moments.”
“You mean Leary. I suppose she could always accompany you to that place for their celebrations.”
“I am not in need of company,” Hannah replied firmly. And Rosa would be about as keen to enter the workhouse as you yourself, she thought. “But I shall keep an eye on her in your absence.”
*****
“Molly Tinsley’s gone, miss,” Fran Noone greeted her next morning when having helped wash and dress the smaller children Hannah supervised those she regarded as her girls.
“Gone where? Is she ill?”
“Don’t know, miss. I think she went last night. She had supper but wasn’t there for bed.” That was Fran, echoed by another child who added that she was quite sure Molly had not been ill or sickening for anything. “She ate all her bread and bacon. It was fatty, miss, but she ate it. See what I mean?”
Hannah was determined to ask Miss Phipps for information and came straight to the point when the women met at the end of lessons. The odour of stale sweat was once more evident. Why didn’t the woman wipe her under-arms with a slice of fresh lemon which would counteract odours?
“Molly is a lucky girl, Miss Morley, although it is no business of yours. She was picked to undergo domestic training at an establishment in the country. She will be able to get a better job than scullery maid or maid of all work. It is a step up for her.”
“But she is only nine, possibly ten. Surely she’d be better learning to read and write properly?”
“You think you know it all, don’t you, Miss Morley? Well, you don’t. What does your sort know about anything? You are an ignorant young woman and that is my last word.”
“It is not mine, Miss Phipps. Why couldn’t Molly have said goodbye to her friends? Why should she be whisked away just before Christmas? She would have loved the band and singing.”
“Who is to say she won’t have the same where she is now?” Miss Phipps replied, quite forgetting that she was supposed to have spoken her last word on the subject. “Besides, most of the celebrations are pagan nonsense.” With that, she turned her back rudely and walked off.
Later Hannah had the temerity to knock on the Master’s door. “Come along in,” she was invited and opened the door cautiously. “Sit down, lass, what’s the trouble?” It wasn’t her business, that was true, but she had to know more about Molly Tinsley’s whereabouts. Would it be possible to visit the motherless girl?
“You do well to concern yourself,” John Gidley said when he heard the reason for her visit, “but rest assured nothing is amiss. One of our guardians is acquainted with a philanthropist, a wealthy man who is eager to help those who can’t help themselves. It had to come to his attention – don’t ask me how – that young untrained servants were often put upon and bullied. Worse, there are cases where girls have been starved, beaten and even worked to death.” He sighed unhappily and placed his podgy hands together on the desk. “This man’s intention is to have them receive basic training and place them with good families, maybe a shopkeeper’s or even a vicar’s, where they should be well treated. I doubt they’ll be valued much for that’s not the way of the world, but let’s hope they are respected. What do you say, Miss Morley?”
“It is a worthy idea but why did Molly leave so suddenly?”
“That is easily explained. We had a guardian’s meeting last night, discussing Christmas plans and so on, and Mr Jasper Meredith…you’ve met him…told us that his friend had a place for another suitable young girl, but that others were interested and we should make a quick decision. The long and short of it is Miss Phipps, when requested, suggested the child Molly Tinsley. The relieving officer will check on her progress, be assured.”
“Will she be permitted visitors, sir? How far away is this…establishment?”
“Twelve miles, out towards Bolton way, called Brookwood, I think he said. No visitors to begin with, I’m told, as it is unsettling. Frankly, I think a friendly face is a comfort but it’s not for me to say in this instance. Is that all, Miss Morley?”
She jumped to her feet murmuring an apology for taking up his time. “I like to keep a finger on the pulse, so to speak,” he told her, “and I like my staff to take an interest in their charges, so save your apologies, lass, and help us get ready for the Christmas season. The young children are to receive gifts, courtesy of local traders and shopkeepers. Spinning tops and balls, picture books and the like. The carter is out collecting them.” He r
ubbed his hands together. “Have your pupils finished making decorations?” She nodded. “Good, good, the tree will look splendid.”
*****
Sam Webster grinned from ear to ear when Hannah entered the apothecary shop and as usual, he flicked back the fair fringe that threatened his eyesight. Yes, he was sure that ‘old man Lawson’ would not object to Mrs Morley waiting in the premises for her conveyance. Would Hannah be waiting with her, he asked hopefully.
She smiled and raised an eyebrow. “The season of goodwill being upon us and all that, I’ve permission to leave early and see Mama on her way, and I shall arrange for a hansom to transport us here from Blackfriar’s Lane.”
Sam, it seemed, had only Christmas day as a holiday and was spending it with his widowed father and older sister who kept house for them. “You’d like Eliza, she’s nice,” he said simply.
The next two days saw a flurry of activity as Belle fussed over clothes to be packed in a large highly patterned carpetbag. Rosa, when she appeared, eyed the preparations with dismay but Hannah reassured her that she was not going away and planned to obtain a small potted tree that they might decorate together. The girl appeared very anxious and Hannah wondered whether the male caller and his unwelcome attentions were on her mind. It wouldn’t do to ask because if it wasn’t the case, she would merely arouse alarm.
“If Mrs Wilson agrees you can come with me to the workhouse,” she offered. “There’s to be a brass band and treats.”
“I’m never goin’ back there.” Rosa’s lips tightened. “Bad things happen there.”
“It’s getting better, lots of improvements. I wouldn’t lie to you and I tell you truthfully that the new master and matron are trying to make life more pleasant for everybody. We have a big tree covered with decorations the children have made from coloured paper and scarlet cord. At the very top is a big silver star. No candles, though, because the tree might catch fire. The candles are on the sills and in wall sconces and we are putting up streamers.”
“I don’t care. I’m not going.”
“Then I shall see you on my return and if possible, we shall be cosy together. I expect you are making Mrs Wilson’s Christmas dinner?”
“She’s going out,” Rosa said, “She’s always out and good riddance. But I’ll be all right, miss.”
Which is worse? wondered Hannah. To have Mrs Wilson breathing down your neck or to be alone on Christmas day? Well, she would make haste to return in the late afternoon and keep Rosa company.
*****
After bidding farewell to a couple of chattering middle-aged customers, Sam dusted a chair beside the counter and invited Belle to be seated. His boss, the apothecary Mr Lawson, emerged from the back room and shook her hand.
“Welcome, dear lady. Had you a good journey?” Hannah suppressed a smile. The hansom had travelled two streets only but for her mother it had been a big excitement and her cheeks were pink, adding prettiness to her dainty features.
Whilst she and the apothecary were exchanging pleasantries, Sam button-holed Hannah, asking about her plans and expressing an interest in what he called the ‘goings-on’ at the workhouse.
“I wish Rosa would accompany me on Christmas day,” she told him. “I don’t like the child to be alone. But she adamantly refuses although she is frightened of someone who visits the house.”
“My sister would welcome her. Eliza’s kind and friendly. Tell you what, I’ll give you our address. It’s not a mile away, Chandler’s Court, off King Street.” He scribbled on a notepad and tore off the sheet. “There you are.” He handed it to Hannah, ignoring a stern look of reproach from his employer. Then turning to Belle, he announced dramatically, “Your carriage awaits, madam!”
A neat carriage pulled by a black horse was halting outside the business premises.
“Ah, a Brougham,” remarked Sam who was showing off a bit, thought Hannah. “I shall carry your bag, Mrs Morley.”
Her mother embraced her warmly and mentioned that Mr Lawson was most obliging. “We have agreed that I shall send letters to you here, Hannah, as we are uneasy in our minds about …you know who,” she finished in a whisper.
The coachman, not liveried but well attired and attentive, helped Belle into the carriage where she was greeted by another lady with whom she was instantly engaged in conversation. Hannah, standing on the pavement, peered inside before the coachman slammed the door and felt relief wash over her. Mama’s travelling companion seemed pleasantly disposed towards her and her mother had been starved of normal company. Perhaps she had not acknowledged the depths of her mother’s isolation or the strain of caring for her but in truth if this was a happy break for Belle, it also afforded her respite.
“Now don’t forget,” Sam told her, “The child is welcome and yourself also, Miss Morley, which goes without saying.” He blushed furiously and brushed back his blonde hair in what she now realised was a nervous gesture.
“You are a good friend, Sam, and I am very grateful,” Hannah said as the coachman, having taken his seat at the front of the carriage, shouted an instruction to the horse which moved off briskly.
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Chapter Twelve
“Got rid of your mother, then,” Mrs Wilson opened the door of number fourteen and Hannah felt annoyance rise. The woman was spiteful but she was determined not to rise to the bait.
“A stay with a friend will do her a lot of good,” was her reply as she passed the woman and made for the stairs.
“And you, Miss Morley? What are your plans, may I ask? A young admirer keeps you in town, maybe?” The coldness of her landlady’s eyes was chilling but her interest seemed real enough.
“I am a working woman and shall be occupied with my charges.” She had never informed Mrs Wilson about her work but word got around and she probably knew. “What about yourself?” she enquired, “and what about Ro…I mean Leary?”
“I shall be absent for part of the day at least. The child will be here to admit you when you return. What time do you expect that to be? I do not give keys to lodgers.” There was a sneering note in her voice and not for the first time Hannah noticed that she was well spoken so had probably fallen on hard times. That was easily done as she and Mama knew too well, but the woman’s tone was aggravating and Hannah was not going to hint that her intention was to spend hours with Rosa.
“Oh, late, I expect,” was her airy reply. “There will be a great deal going on.”
Despite the workhouse routine, preparations were afoot. Huge bundles of holly were brought in by the carter, a sad faced, sick looking individual whose legs seemed to be giving him trouble. Inmates decorated the main hall and lofty dining room, and there were low murmurings as the job was completed. The boys, balancing on shaky ladders, hung paper decorations on the upper branches of the fir tree that had been placed in the entrance hall to the main building and later the girls hung cornucopias filled with sweets on the lower branches. Their low exited chatter reminded Hannah of birds and that in the city she saw few of them apart from quarrelsome starlings and sooty pigeons. She missed the noisy rooks and multitude of small birds that had frequented the gardens and fields of Longwell; the blackbird’s liquid notes, the coo-croo of collared doves, and when darkness fell the mournful cry of a predatory owl.
“Christmas morning is no different to any other although being Sunday there will be no lessons,” Mrs Stannard reminded her. “With so many people under our roof we have to maintain a routine. There will be several sittings for the main meal and some of the guardians wish to watch the children enjoy their beef. That’s before they scuttle off to dine on goose and all the trimmings. I am merely making an observation, Miss Morley, not criticising.” Her raised eyebrows told another story and Hannah realised how refreshing and likeable was the matron. She and Mr Gidley made a good team.
On Christmas morning, she rose as usual and making her way to the kitchen presented Rosa with a little parcel containing a hand-sewn purse fashioned fro
m green velvet. “Oh, miss,” breathed the child when she discovered half a crown lurking in its depths, “did you know it was there?”
“Well, of course, you silly muffin, I put it there and Mama made the purse. I suggest you hide it from Mrs Wilson and don’t say a word. Maybe the less we tell her the better, and she does not know that I shall return earlier than usual and we shall deck our own tree. I shall be able to bring some food back with me and we shall make our own fun.” She dropped a kiss on top of Rosa’s unbecoming cap. “You won’t be wearing this tonight. We shall brush your lovely dark hair and turn you into a beauty!”
Breakfast gruel was augmented by jam spread on freshly baked bread and whilst they were still seated in the dining room, the children were presented with the gifts donated by local shopkeepers. Two hours later they gathered around the Christmas tree in the main entrance hall to sing carols and festive songs. Mothers with babies and very young infants were seated close to the tree, Mr Gidley having ordered that chairs be brought for the purpose. Girls were ranged on one side of it and boys on the other. Adults, segregated again, lined the walls.
Hannah was wearing a green dress with ample skirts supported by hoops and fashioned with bell shaped sleeves; around her shoulders was a Paisley shawl. The dress had been new two years ago. She knew that many people knowing of her father’s death only a year ago would be utterly shocked at what appeared to be a lack of respect. But Papa had been adamant in his strong dislike for “mourning crows.” It had been a small joke between them because as a little child she thought he had hated the birds that cawed from the elms every morning. How they had laughed when she was old enough to understand.
“May I compliment you on your admirable taste, Miss Morley? Why! The sight of you must cheer everyone present.” Dr Marcus Lisle was at her side, immaculate in a dark well-cut suit, a gold watch and chain visible.