The Pretty Girls

by Hazel Aitken

  “Maybe the babies are farmed out. But there are other things too that are worrying. Rosa, for instance. The man who visited the house with what I am sure were bad intentions and Mrs Wilson’s complicity, and none of that connected with next door.”

  “One thing leads to another, there are sometimes undreamt-of connections, but what causes me most anxiety is your safety and that of Rosa, as you call her. If, as Sam Webster believes, you were watched and suspected of spiriting the child away, and worse, if it is thought that you know more about Sal than you do, you are in danger. A change of lodgings may not alter that.”

  Hannah shuddered. “Rosa is safe at present. I shall find somewhere else for Mama and myself to live and things will get back to normal. I am sure of it, Dr Lisle.”

  “I certainly hope so. In the meantime, I have told the woman Nellie that with or without her permission I intend to call at the house until the ailing mother and child are on the path to recovery. Promise me you will not visit Blackfriar’s Lane and if you walk alone, keep to busy well-lighted streets.”

  By the time Hannah left the building, the weather had changed and frost had been replaced by sleet that was whipped into her face by a strengthening wind. The prospect of Eliza’s warm kitchen and hot food was comforting and she must pay the Websters. She had enough money for the next few days and if Mr Gidley kept to their arrangement, she would receive a month’s wages at the end of December. She would also write to her mother informing her of a change that would be welcome. Poor Mama, how she had hated the attic room, and no wonder. It must be quite wonderful for her to be back in Longwell and enjoying comforts and pleasant companionship.

  Eliza greeted her pleasantly and Rosa gave a bright smile. The child’s hair had been washed and tied with a red ribbon and her clothes brushed. Others of her garments had been laundered and now aired in front of the range on which a large pot bubbled and a kettle sang. Old Mr Webster was holding his own, she was informed and, if she was good enough, Hannah might keep an eye on him when Eliza went out for an hour or two. “I am helping at the local ragged school and would hate to let the children down. I have baked bread for them.” She picked up an envelope. “Sam said this was delivered to the shop.” Hannah recognised her mother’s handwriting. “And this,” she held out another, “must have been pushed through the letter box as it has no postal stamp on it.”

  In the privacy of the bedroom and by the light of a small oil lamp, she read her mother’s words:

  “…Mrs Simpson is kindness itself. We attended a delightful service on Christmas day when the Reverend Lovatt-Browne was in his element. Such beautiful wreaths and decorated pews and the church quite beautiful. How I have missed it all, my dear. I hope the celebrations at that place brought you some cheer. I could hardly bear to think of you in that frightful attic room, so maybe the alternative was better. We, that is Mariah and I, are visiting mutual acquaintances this afternoon. Goodbye for now my dearest daughter, your affectionate Mama.”

  Hannah smiled. Mama was like an excited child and just as selfish, completely caught up in the activities of the moment. Was she being too hard on her? She thought not. There was something childlike about her mother, but she was very dear all the same and Hannah missed her.

  The second envelope was of poor-quality paper and the uneven script in a hand unrecognised by Hannah.

  She slit open the other letter and unfolded it. At first she made no sense of the scrawled sentence, the letters were badly formed and most of her workhouse pupils might have done better. Then as she deciphered the words, her heart beat faster. It was one of those hateful anonymous notes full of underlying threat: “…I know where you are…”

  “Hannah, you look troubled. Did you receive bad news?” Eliza was full of concern as she ladled rich stew into bowls and placed them on the table. “My goodness, but you are pale.”

  Rosa glanced up and Hannah forced a smile. “My mother is well and very contented. I am tired after all the alarms and excitements. Tell me, what have you been doing, Rosa?” Eliza flashed her a perceptive glance and said no more.

  It transpired that the girl had been immensely useful and Eliza had even sat with her feet up for an hour whilst Rosa listened in case old Mr Webster needed attention. Later Eliza sent Rosa to check on the patient and turned to Hannah. “Something is amiss. When you sat down to eat you looked as if someone walked on your grave.”

  Hannah pulled the note from her pocket. “This is what was pushed through the letter box. I have to find other lodgings, and quickly. You too are in danger as long as I remain here.”

  “It is probably some mischief maker, someone who dislikes you and wishes to cause you alarm. Can you think of anyone in particular? Have you crossed anyone?”

  “Don’t you see, it has to be connected with Mrs Wilson or Next-Door-Nellie…of course, you don’t know about her; I’ll tell you what Dr Lisle told me, but some other time,” she finished as Rosa re-entered, flushed with the importance of being promoted from a maid of all work to nursing assistant.

  Having been introduced to Mr Webster who was nothing but a mound beneath a heap of blankets, and having reassured Eliza that all would be well in her absence, Hannah watched the older girl leave, weighed down with baskets. “It’s no use offering to help me,” she said. “You must stay with Father, and Rosa must not set foot out of doors until we are sure she will be safe. It’s a dreadful night but I have eighty or more boys waiting for me, poor young things. Keep the meal hot for Sam, he’ll be home before me,” she added.

  Apart from tending to the old man when he coughed and holding a cup to his lips, Hannah was free to sit with Rosa beside the fire, whiling away time with storytelling. “What’s your story, Rosa?” Hannah asked gently. “Do you remember anything before the workhouse?”

  “I might have been born there. My mother died but I don’t know when. I don’t think I knew her.”

  “I think you may be older than you believe. I know some girls grow up more quickly than others, but you are more than nine or ten, Rosa.”

  “You could look it up, Miss…Hannah, I mean. They write down everything in the work’ouse.”

  Why hadn’t she thought of it? Of course, the records of admissions and minutes of every meeting ought to be kept and those for previous years should be in Mr Gidley’s office.

  “I will ask tomorrow,” Hannah promised. “You are a bright girl. Fancy that, I never gave it a thought.”

  There came the sound of the stamping of boots and Sam was home, his fair hair wet with sleet, his face tired and anxious, but his smile enveloped them both. “If Eliza’s out, it means Father is improved.” He rubbed his hands to warm them. “I’ll go in to see the poor soul.”

  When he returned to the kitchen, a bowl of Eliza’s thick stew steamed in readiness, bread and butter “to fill the corners” as Hannah told him, and to finish a creamy milk pudding. He sighed with pure contentment and ate heartily. When he could eat no more, Hannah took away the dishes and as Rosa jumped up to attend to the invalid, she laid the worrying note before him.

  “I don’t wish to cause you more anxiety but I think you should know that Eliza found this pushed through the letter box. She thinks, or says she does, that it is fairly harmless. Someone bearing me a grudge because I have upset them in some way.”

  Sam examined the badly scrawled words. “I don’t like it,” he said. “You’d an idea you’d been followed and I saw a man loitering outside the apothecary shop, and there is no doubt the danger at number fourteen is real enough.” He rose abruptly. “What if Eliza is accosted and threatened until she confesses that she knows your whereabouts? I must go and meet her.”

  Guilt flooded Hannah. It was she who had put the Websters in danger. In an agony of mind, she tidied the kitchen and attended to Mr Webster, still coughing but less feverish. Patiently she spooned gravy into his mouth and in answer to the unspoken question in his eyes, told him that she was a friend of his daughter and Sam had gone to meet his sister. Please, let
them come home soon. Don’t let anything terrible happen to Eliza.

  It was with heartfelt relief that Hannah greeted the brother and sister when they appeared. “Almost blown home by the wind,” announced Sam before he went to see his father. “It’s wild out there and the sleet will turn to snow, I am sure of it.”

  Eliza hung her cloak beside the range and lifted the boiling kettle. “Things went well tonight. The boys are such poor young creatures, half-starved and filthy, their skin scabby and itching. We gave them soup and potatoes, and they tore at the bread. There’s an astonishing woman who teaches at an industrial school during the day and an elderly man connected with one of the Methodist churches. Sometimes a charming curate calls in to lend a hand. Oh, and we had a newcomer this evening. Quite the gentleman!”

  “How are you funded?”

  “In our case by charitable donations and we meet in a warehouse lent by a business friend of the Methodist. You probably know the Ragged Schools Union was started in London some years ago, making it more official, but there is so much more that could be done, educationally and socially.” She sipped tea and Rosa put in, “Have you ever heard people say their tea is so strong a mouse might tap dance on it? Hannah heard the expression somewhere. It makes me laugh.”

  Eliza smiled lopsidedly and put an arm around Rosa before continuing, “What worries me most is the biting cold and the lack of footwear. We have been donated blankets and clothes, so the worst rags, and believe me that’s what they are, can be discarded. If only we might interest the wealthy class in the city.”

  “Perhaps your new volunteer?” suggested Hannah. “Is he a businessman?”

  “A journalist, I think he said. Duncan something or other. There is never time to talk much but he helped organise things and talked to the boys, and he was a source of much interest, probably because he wore a watch and chain. It’s a wonder he still possessed it at the end of the session!”

  Sam clattered in. “Father really does seem to be mending but it’ll be a while before he is up and about. Hannah…” he shifted uncomfortably, “I’ve been thinking about suitable lodgings for you. I mean, you are welcome to stay but there will be your mother and…”

  Hannah rescued him. “I’ve been thinking too. Bearing in mind all that has happened, I may have conceived a clever plan, although the success of it depends on other people.” She had the attention of all three and placed a hand on Rosa’s thin arm. “Suppose Rosa stayed with you for a while, just until matters settle. Is that possible?”

  Eliza glanced warmly at the girl. “Of course. You’d be safe here and I like your company.” She is the kindest creature ran Hannah’s thoughts before continuing. “My mother is staying in our home village and her hostess, Mrs Mariah Simpson, could almost certainly be prevailed upon to extend the stay. I propose to visit within a day or so and ask her. As for myself, I am also going to ask Mr Gidley if I may stay in the workhouse for a while. There shouldn’t be any difficulty. Many of the staff have rooms there and his Christmas visitors will be departing anyway.”

  Sam’s relief was almost palpable and then as if aware of it he hastened to reassure Hannah that his concerns were for herself and Eliza should she have been followed to Chandler’s Court.

  “I know it,” Hannah said swiftly, putting him at ease. “And who knows, by this time tomorrow I may be installed at the workhouse!”

  ****************************************

  Chapter Fifteen

  The weather worsened overnight and by morning snow lay several inches thick. Hannah pitied the poorly clad crossing sweepers, young boys, many of whom might have been better off under the workhouse roof. Removing a mitten, she felt in her reticule for a few coins which she pressed upon a particularly ill-nourished lad before walking slowly and carefully to her destination. Horses pulling a variety of carts and conveyances took their time despite the oaths and urgings of the drivers.

  Mr Gidley greeted her with his usual bonhomie and entreated her to warm herself at his office fire. Soon she was telling him of her predicament, leaving out salient points as she had done when speaking to Mrs Stannard, and finishing with an enquiry about accommodation and the financial implications.

  “Don’t worry yourself about that, lass. As I see it, the only problem is the weather; it’s put paid to travelling far and that means my visitors and the Welshman’s daughter are stuck here for a few more days. Mrs Stannard is the one to ask and I’ll see to it.”

  “There’s something else, Mr Gidley.” She told him briefly about Rosa and her promise to seek more information about the girl’s origins. “Have you records of ten, possibly twelve years ago?”

  “Somewhere hereabouts.” He looked helplessly round the room. “You can have no idea of the chaos we inherited and we’re at the point of getting past paperwork into some kind of order. Still, it should be in a leather-bound volume and I’ll do my best. You say her surname is Leary?”

  “That’s what she is called and says she has known no other name, although she has chosen to be known as Rosa.”

  “Very fancy and a sight better than Leary for a lass, and I guess you had a hand in that, Miss Morley. You’ve a soft heart and it does you credit.”

  His kind tone almost persuaded her to tell him about Rosa’s recent ordeal and her own involvement, but he was getting to his feet and she did the same.

  Miss Phipps seemed to be sickening for something and by the sound of her cough, it might well be influenza. Had she liked the woman better Hannah would have felt more sympathy but her complaint brought out the worst aspects of her personality, and the wails and cries from some of her pupils indicated that physical punishment was being inflicted. Hannah was about to investigate, although reminding herself that it was not her business and Miss Phipps might seek retribution, when a girl burst into the classroom announcing, “Miss Phipps feels faint, Miss.”

  When summoned, Mrs Stannard took over, and Miss Phipps, having been revived with strong smelling salts, was escorted to her room and bed.

  “I am afraid you will have two large classes to oversee, Miss Morley, and by the looks of it for the next few days. I shall not expect you in the receiving ward as you will be fully occupied but I can send a couple of the older female inmates to lend a hand.”

  “If I need help, I promise to let you know. I shall set work and we shall learn songs and poetry, and as the girls cannot go outside, perhaps they may do physical exercises in their classrooms?”

  “Whatever you think best. Oh, and about accommodation here. It will be perfectly feasible in a week or so, but I gather you need something immediately. In that case, it will mean sharing with the Williams girl if she and her father, our new tailor, have no objections. Such a pretty girl,” she added inconsequentially.

  The day passed much as Hannah had planned and the pupils were very well behaved. Unnaturally so in Miss Phipps’s class and several were very subdued, red smarting knuckles telling their own story. It was impossible to crowd everyone into one room so her time was spent between the classes. Whilst some copied from the blackboard onto their slates, the others learnt verses, and so it was, turn about. Walking amongst the girls in Miss Phipp’s class, she cast her eye over their work and it was when she came to one particular girl, a pale weepy-eyed wisp, that she halted. The child’s writing looked rather familiar. How puzzling; she had not previously seen the work of these older girls but surely…No, it was impossible that this child had anything to do with an anonymous note.

  Late in the afternoon, Mrs Stannard informed her that she might make arrangements to have her belongings delivered as no objections had been made about sharing a room with Sairin Williams. “From tomorrow, which gives you time to bring your belongings.” Then she added," Mr Gidley would like a word with you but nothing to worry about."

  His office seemed overheated after the chill of the classrooms and the Master himself looked uncomfortably hot. The wide desk was piled with books and ledgers, and he pulled forward an impressive outsized
volume, handwritten pages bound between leather covers.

  “This contains some of the patchy records for the last decade or so; let me see, 1848 onwards. Lists of admissions, births, deaths and so on, but not all recorded, I am sure of it. I’ve glanced, no more than that, and I can see no one by the name of Leary. You are welcome to search for yourself. Of course the book remains in this room, lass.”

  “Thank you, Mr Gidley.” She flashed him a grateful smile. “I would love to look, but tomorrow, maybe, when I am staying under this roof. I have to get back to my friends and it’s been snowing all day. It’ll take a while.” He nodded amiably.

  “Quite so, quite so. Tomorrow it shall be.”

  The snow muffled sounds but the pavements were well trodden. There were still a fair number of folk about and noisy sounds and harsh laughter from a couple of public houses, light from the premises spilling into the darkness which was reassuring.

  There were fewer horse-drawn vehicles owing to the road conditions, but one had kept pace with Hannah for some while as she walked as quickly as she could on the freshly falling snow and then left the main street and its lights, and turned into the lane leading to Chandler’s Court.

  The small carriage turned too and Hannah halted, aware of incipient danger. The carriage stopped too. A moment later she attempted to run, but her boots gained no grip and she was about to fall on her face when a pair of strong arms pulled her roughly towards the vehicle.

  Her screams brought no response, her wriggling body was captive and held fast. A second man, presumably the driver, came to the aid of her captor and she was bundled into the carriage followed by her aggressor.

  “Shut up, I tell you. On your way, driver,” and he pulled down the blinds so that the interior was black. The horse, stumbling and sliding as its hooves sought purchase, set off slowly, the small conveyance jerking and unsteady so that Hannah was thrown against the man who sat beside her and inhaled the strong smell of an expensive cologne.