The Pretty Girls

by Hazel Aitken

  “I believe I have discovered something of Rosa’s history. It was the name Rae that set me on the right track, and that’s thanks to your research, Mr Gidley.” He nodded in the master’s direction. “I wished to be sure of certain facts and made a visit to the rector of Longwell because he has long been acquainted with families, both notable and less so, in that area. He informed me that a daughter of the Stuart-Rae family died away from home some twelve years ago. He did not officiate at her funeral. The dates did not tie up with your records.”

  “How intriguing.” The matron leaned forward. “This is like a novel.” Dr Lisle ignored the comment. “He gave me a letter of introduction to Lady Stuart-Rae, the widow of the late baronet who was killed whilst hunting. I found her a very poor soul, not old but worn with sorrow.”

  “To lose a beloved spouse…” began Mrs Stannard, although her glance rested on Mr Gidley as she spoke, “…an appalling loss.”

  “Frankly, I don’t think she gave a damn about him, begging your pardon, ladies. He was a dictator, a bully, an autocrat whose will was law. How could any woman love such a man? No, she has mourned the loss of her daughter. I heard the story, unwittingly implied by the rector. Let me try to give an impression of the lady and tell the story in her words. She is small and nervous, dressed in unrelieved black as is the custom but I have the notion she may have worn mourning for years. Now that the burden of a tyrannical husband is lifted, she seemed eager to talk.”

  “How old is she?” put in Hannah. “I am trying to picture her. Is she grey haired?”

  “White. Completely white beneath her mourning cap, but I judged her to be in her early sixties. A kind gentle face, a woman who has suffered grievously. She had two sons and a daughter, Helena, who at nineteen was to have married a man chosen by the late baronet, but according to her mother, the girl was desperate to avoid a loveless marriage. Whether that precipitated what happened, who can tell?” He broke off and looked at his rapt audience.

  “Do continue, doctor. We are enthralled.” This was Mrs Stannard. “What happened?”

  “She eloped with one of the grooms, a magician where horses were concerned, I was told. An Irishman, over here to escape the famine raging in his country. The baronet was like a maddened bull, his widow said. He had wide-ranging contacts, tracked them down and brought Helena home. She swore they had been married by a priest and their intention had been to travel to London. To give him his due the Irishman followed and the dogs were set on him, tearing him to pieces. When Helena’s condition became obvious, her father planned to place her in a lunatic asylum.”

  Hannah was speechless with horror and it was the matron who voiced thoughts that were churning in both their minds. “Does Agnes Blair fit into this story?”

  “She does. At the time she was employed by the family as housekeeper and the baronet suspected she enabled his daughter to escape. He could prove nothing but Mrs Blair was dismissed without a reference. One might say she is another victim. How long has she been here?”

  “Certainly not ten years, two or three at the most. I wonder what her story has been and poor Helena’s in the two years before she was admitted a decade ago,” John Gidley pondered. “However, we are no nearer knowing why the child is at risk. Have you any theories, doctor?”

  There was a short silence during which the only sound was the crackling and hissing of the log fire.

  “It seems that Helena’s younger brother, Duncan, a publisher, journalist or something along those lines, has offered a huge reward for information leading to the whereabouts of his niece. His mother has a deep longing to meet the child.”

  “I have met Mr Stuart-Rae,” said Hannah, “but if what you say is true, he would not pose a risk to Rosa. I can see why someone treated me badly in a desire to obtain information if they wanted the reward, but who was it visited number fourteen and seemed to have designs upon her?”

  “Dear me, what a complicated business,” the master began, just as there was a loud knocking on the door panel. “Well, come in.” He sounded less patient than usual.

  “Mr Gidley, sir, such a to-do,” The speaker was a thin faced woman who often supervised some of the girls. “The little Welsh girl is missing. Her father is beside himself.”

  “In a place this size she’s lost her way. Come along, Hannah, we’ll sort this out.” Mrs Stannard rose and Hannah followed. “Who saw her last?” the matron was asking of the woman who merely shook her head.

  Half an hour later, the female quarters had been searched thoroughly and staff volunteers were combing the male wards. Elias Williams seemed shrunken and withdrawn, a man bearing too many burdens. “I shouldn’t have left her, see, but I was fetching materials from a warehouse other side of the city.”

  “So you’d have been gone about three hours?” Hannah asked and he nodded sorrowfully. “She wouldn’t have run off, would she?”

  “It’s not a prison,” Mrs Stannard observed. “In the summer time the old folks work the vegetable gardens and they’re not fenced in, and though boys and girls have separate yards those areas are not walled. People do go out, you know, but I cannot see why Sairin should have left the place when she knew you were returning, Mr Williams.”

  It was red-headed Fran Noone who offered the first clue when she met with Hannah. “She was talking to Miss Phipps. I saw ’em, miss, in the big classroom they were and Sairin looked upset. Just before tea, miss.”

  “Well, where is the Phipps woman?” the matron said heatedly. “Find her, will you, someone.”

  Hannah was one of several staff accompanied by some of the more reliable inmates who set out to look for her without success, and finding Agnes Blair huddled in her room she spoke to her gently.

  “Have you seen Miss Phipps?”

  Agnes looked at the floor and shook her head. “I dinnae see anything. I dinnae ken anybody.”

  “This is very important. A girl is missing and she was seen with Miss Phipps late this afternoon.”

  “She’s a snell body, sharpens her tongue every mornin’ I’ll be bound, but a fondness for the bonnie ones. Aye, that’s Miss Martha Phipps. Out to rescue the ones that might be led astray, but I dinnae care for her, mysel.”

  “Did you know her before you came here? Was she employed by the Stuart-Rae family?” An unruly thought crossed Hannah’s mind and she pursued it despite the urgency of her search for Sairin.

  Agnes raised her head and her gaze was unblinking. “I didnae ken the besom until I came here.”

  That seemed straightforward enough but had the woman seen her with Sairin?

  “The wee lassie was greetin’; ye ken, weepin’. They were awa’ oot the door and the Phipps women saying she’d find the bairn’s Da. Miss Morley, ye’re a guid lass yersel’, ye’ll not let the master put me awa’ on account o’ whit I did?”

  “You haven’t done anything and nobody will put you away, that’s a promise, Agnes. You’ve been very helpful.” With a whisk of her skirts, Hannah was out of the door and ran until she found Mrs Stannard. “I think Miss Phipps has her.” Briefly she related what Agnes had said. “They may have left the buildings.”

  “Thass reet enough,” the porter said. “Coupla hours back. The teacher and the fair-haired lass. The little’un crying and the woman saying she’d put things reet.”

  “Which way did they go?” Hannah’s breath steamed in the cold night air and she shivered. “Did they walk into the city?”

  “They didn’t walk anywhere. Hailed a cab. Not many of them around here so I noticed particular like.” His thin face twitched. “I can tell you where they were headin’,” he added on a triumphant note. “Friar’s something or other.”

  Why go there? What was Miss Phipps’s connection with Blackfrairs Lane, if that was where she was taking Sairin? Was she part of an organisation that abducted young girls? Of course, she had to be. That was why she had taken an interest in Molly Tinsley, and God help that poor girl, her thoughts ran as she dashed indoors to find Mr Gidley or Dr
Marcus Lisle. Neither was to be found in the study.

  “Searchin’ for the lost lass,” she was informed by all whom she asked. The clock was ticking and whilst she delayed, every passing minute brought danger closer to poor frightened Sairin. If she had been taken to number fourteen, she, Hannah, knew precisely where to go and how to get there.

  Snatching a cape from a peg behind her bedroom door and scooping coins into a drawstring purse, she left the building and after speaking hastily to the porter, was in the road leading into the city. There was no cab in sight and few people around as she scurried along, heart hammering and feet slipping on pavements that were now frosty. Don’t let me be too late, was her silent prayer.

  Closer to the city the streets were busier. It was getting late but some shops appeared to be doing a brisk trade with the New Year celebrations but days away. Sam was in the apothecary’s, grinding ingredients into powder, his head bent over a pestle and mortar, but there was no time to delay and he did not see her as she hurried past. Leaving behind the gaslight glitter she turned into the road leading to her destination and only when she came to Blackfrairs Lane did she slow her steps and approach with more care. Next-door-Nellie’s was unlit, according to Dr Lisle, the inhabitants having fled. Hidden by the holly hedge until she had rounded it, dim light showed through the glass front door panel of number fourteen, but to lift the brass knocker and announce her presence would be foolish.

  Cursing the darkness, yet thankful for what light a sliver of moon gave in a clear sky, Hannah walked past number fourteen looking for a path that might lead to the back of the house. There was access at the side but it was overgrown with weeds and rank ferns, and the smell of decay was all about her. She would have turned back but for the faint sound of voices apparently issuing from within and crept towards a window from which shone pale flickering light. Her boot caught on a sharp stone and the echoing noise caused her to hold her breath. Conversation ceased for a minute or two and a shadow darkened the window space. Crouching low, Hannah stifled a gasp when some living creature she had disturbed shot out of the tangled weeds. Her heart hammered but she remonstrated with herself, thoughts of Sairin emboldening her resolve.

  “Do it for me, Polly. Keep her here.” The pleading voice was high-pitched with anxiety. “She’d be safe because it’s the last place they’d look.”

  Polly? Surely the voice was that of Martha Phipps but who was she addressing? A step or two closer and she might be able to peer into the room and discover the identity of Polly whom Sal said had killed a baby. Polly who almost certainly had connections with Next-Door-Nellie; but what possible connection had either of them with the workhouse teacher?

  She moved slowly and purposefully, pushing aside the dirty ferns and trying to keep her footing only to hear what must be a slate crack beneath her foot, the sound of a pistol shot in the gloomy shadows. The flickering light was extinguished, a child’s fearful cry was cut off. Retracing her steps with utmost care Hannah stood hesitantly, indecision paralysing movement and at that moment a carriage drawn by two horses turned into Blackfrairs Lane and halted outside the house. A horse whinnied and stamped on the cobbles; someone alighted from the vehicle and approached the front door which at that moment was thrown open. Light spilled out and catching a glimpse from her hiding place she saw a male figure push aside a woman who stood on the step.

  “Mr Meredith, thank goodness you are here. The child has been in the most dreadful danger…” The words were cut off and the door slammed. Across the street a couple halted and stood for a few moments as if waiting for an interesting development, then continued on their way. It was not the kind of area where people interfered in the affairs of neighbours because, as Hannah knew very well, to do so might be risky. Better to see nothing, know nothing and do nothing that would stir a pot of poison.

  Sairin’s pale frightened face filled her mind. Making no sense of what she had just witnessed, Hannah crept closer to the front door. There had to be a connection between Martha Phipps and Mr Jasper Meredith, but he had merely pushed her aside when she had indicated help was needed. If the child was to be transported in the waiting carriage, there would be no knowing where she might be taken and no way of following. It was imperative to know.

  Now, darkness was her friend. She flitted across the front of the house and stood in the porch, her ears straining for sounds. Nothing. Holding her breath, she turned the door handle and pushed gently. The door opened silently and she entered. A green glass oil lamp stood on the table, replacing the one she had shattered when last in this miserable place. Voices were now audible and fearing discovery, Hannah moved swiftly to the foot of the stairs intending to climb to the first-floor landing. Too late, a door was opening and swiftly she darted to the side of a vast cast iron hallstand and hid in the folds of the outer garments hanging on it.

  “I…really do not understand, Mr Meredith. We…that is I…I thought we were keeping the girls safe. The pretty ones. You asked me to keep an open eye for the ones who would attract the gentlemen and we would be certain they escaped harm. You said Brookwood was…”

  “Hold your noise, you stupid fool. Who but you would believe such a pack of lies? I am not delaying a moment longer. The girl comes with me.” There was the sound of a child’s loud wail which ended on a high-pitched squeal.

  “No, no, you can’t take her. For a start there will be an outcry. I shall raise the alarm.”

  “You won’t because you’re coming too. Not that you’d be of use to any man but I’m not leaving you here.” His voice was a sneer and in a corner of her mind, Hannah was aware of the particular cruelty of his words.

  Footsteps fled along the hall and someone brushed past Hannah who buried her face in stale clothing and recollected that her boots might well be on view. With the possibility of detection her heart thudded so uncomfortably, she feared it would burst.

  “Dada,” Sairin’s anguished cry echoed through the house and Martha Phipps was heard attempting to comfort the child.

  “Keep her quiet,” snarled Jasper Meredith. “And Polly, control your wretched sister.”

  Mrs Wilson was heard replying that she’d never been able to control Martha. Why! Hadn’t she turned up on the doorstep that very evening with the girl in tow?

  “Because someone tried to snatch her from the girls’ exercise yard. No doubt one of your henchmen, Mr Jasper Meredith. I…I hate you. You’ve used me and all I wanted to do was save her.”

  “She’d have been safer inside the workhouse,” he taunted, but Hannah was scarcely aware of his words because it was as if a light shone into the corners of her mind. Of course, Polly! It was a nickname for Mary, linked somehow with the name Molly, a derivative. How blind she had been, how lacking in perspicacity. Yet, in fairness to herself there had been no obvious tie between the two women.

  Martha Phipps was cold and prim and outwardly pious, her natural instincts thwarted and her sensitivity blunted, but would she be an accessory to murder? Whereas Polly…Mary Wilson? Polly killed a little baby. Mary who was often absent from number fourteen, whose blanket had been blood-stained, her cuffs likewise. Had she acted as midwife in the house next door? Had she and Nellie controlled the establishment that accommodated single pregnant young women and after the births arranged for the unwanted babies to be farmed out…or disposed of?

  Thoughts whirled in Hannah’s brain and then without warning there was a piercing cry and light running footsteps before Sairin collided with the hallstand, clutching at cloaks and coats and exposing Hannah to the amazed stares of the two women and Jasper Meredith.

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

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Well, well…Miss Hannah Morley! Always where she should not be. Bold, beautiful, and a blasted nuisance. Let’s get going. You too, Hannah; oh, yes, I daresay we can find something for you to do.” His eyes raked her slender figure and it took all her courage to face him.

  He turned at last and striding to the door w
histled to the carriage driver who appeared within seconds; and not the usual type of driver. This man was dressed as a gentleman of taste, grey striped pantaloons exposed beneath a long coat with fashionable wide collar; but over-riding all impressions was the whiff of expensive cologne. Here was her abductor, thought Hannah, and shrank back against the hallstand.

  Two women and a little girl were no match against two men and Mary Wilson, the latter blocking access to the stairs and back of the house, and within minutes they were being bundled into the smart coach; the door was slammed and the two men seated in the driving seat. Hannah tried the door but it was locked or fastened outside. A whip cracked over the backs of the straining animals as with some difficulty the vehicle turned in the street. Faces appeared at windows but the occupants were unaware and minutes later they were edging into the main thoroughfare and gathering speed. Sairin shrank back against soft leather upholstery and clutched Hannah’s hand.

  “Where are we going?” she whispered and Hannah tightened her grip.

  “I don’t know but I shall take care of you.”

  “Brookwood.” Martha Phipps snapped out the word. “That’s my guess. The other man is Mr Meredith’s friend and he owns the place. I don’t know his real name. He’s known as Sir Adam. It’s where they train…at least that’s what I was led to believe…” Her voice trailed off.

  “You thought girls were being trained to become a better class of servant, is that it? Did you really hope to improve their lives?”

  “I did. It’s what I was told. There was no reason to doubt.” Even at this perilous time when there appeared no hope of escape, the other woman’s tone was clipped and controlled.

  Hannah pulled the child against her as the coach bounced along and she was thankful it was well sprung. A gentleman’s possession and doubtless it had been costly. It was also their prison.

  The window blinds were fastened up and as they passed other vehicles and pedestrians, Hannah tried to attract their attention but on the one occasion she managed it, she received a wave of a hand in return. Then they had left the city suburbs and were in the countryside, the combined strength of the two horses giving the passengers a sensation of flying, so fast were they moving.