by Hazel Aitken
Sairin sagged against her and Hannah hoped the girl would sleep, overcome with emotions and weariness.
“I acted for the best, you have to believe me,” Martha Phipps was saying.
Hannah turned on her. “I don’t have to believe anything you say. Frankly, I don’t know what or who to believe. You have treated me with disdain ever since we met; you are friendly with a man who is involved in some shameful business concerning young girls; you have engineered to have certain girls taken to a place called Brookwood, and I have seen for myself that you paw the girls, playing with their hair. Why should I suppose you know the truth from a lie?”
“You don’t know anything. You’ve never suffered. It was always Polly this and Polly that. So charming, so pretty; Polly who got herself a man.”
“Polly will get herself a gaol sentence. Your sister is as embittered as you, twisted too. Whatever turned the pair of you into such fiends?”
“You’re always on about your doting father; such a wonderful, compassionate, understanding parent. We were terrified of our papa. At eight years old, I fainted when I feared a reprimand and a beating from him. Our mama was a cold-hearted woman and weak; she pretended all was well but she knew, and she let him take a strap to us, time and again.”
“What was his profession, or was he a landowner?”
“He was the third son of landed gentry and he was forced to go into the church. He didn’t believe, he didn’t care about his flock, but he kept the rules. He boxed himself in with rules and regulations. Spare the rod and spoil the child, and that sort of thing. But he enjoyed chastising us. We knew he did. It gave him power over the powerless.”
It seemed she had known no warmth or affection. It explained so much about her and her sister. Mary Wilson might be past redemption but Martha Phipps may have acted in what she believed to be the best interests of her pupils.
“Your father sounds very cruel. I don’t think you are entirely so, Miss Phipps, but your sister is cruel and probably capable of killing a baby, as Sal said.”
There came a gasp from the dark interior and momentary silence. “What do you mean, Polly killed someone? Polly killed…never! Oh, Lord have mercy, they’re driving too fast.”
The coach rocked from side to side and Sairin stirred against Hannah. The night hung like a pall, shrouding the countryside with only the merest pinpricks of light showing here and there as if through slits in black velvet. Occasionally, when the clouds parted, faint moonlight shone on frosty fields and at the roadside remnants of snow froze as the temperature fell. Hannah pulled her cape more closely around her and the child whilst Martha Phipps huddled in a corner of the well-upholstered interior.
She seemed to have shrunk; Hannah sensed it. If she had trusted Mr Meredith then she had suffered a harsh blow, the shock of disillusionment and the toppling of an idol, but it was hard to feel pity owing to the unkindness and petty cruelties she had perpetrated. But was she innocent? Had she really believed the pretty ones were being trained for domestic duties? If so, she was an innocent abroad in a world that was often devious and corrupt. Something stirred in Hannah’s mind.
“Did your pupils write sentences on paper and did you pass on what they wrote to Mr Meredith?”
“Why do you want to know? He was good enough to present us with paper and pencils for our lessons and asked that he might see the results. It’s not against the law, you know.”
“I’m not saying there was anything amiss. It’s just that I received an anonymous note and when I was minding your class, the writing of one of the girls seemed familiar. Do you remember what the girls wrote?”
“I can’t recall. Oh, they’re going too fast,” Martha Phipp’s voice rose an octave. “We’ll be in the ditch.”
Surely by now someone would have worked out where they were being taken. The porter would have mentioned that Hannah had set out for Blackfriars Lane. Even if Mrs Wilson had left number fourteen, Dr Lisle, and Mr Gidley, who knew about Brookwood, would raise the alarm and set out to find them. Mr Meredith and his driver companion must fear pursuit as they whipped the horses to make speed.
Time ceased to have meaning as the occupants reeled from side to side and then as Hannah acknowledged her fear that Brookwood may not be their destination, the coach slowed. With narrowed eyes she peered from the window and saw they were turning into an elaborate stone gateway, pillars topped with carved gryphons, the mythical beast, half lion and half eagle. Hadn’t she heard that in legend they were supposed to guard treasure?
Now the coach moved slowly along a narrow drive bordered on both sides by trees and shrubs and eventually emerged into a circular forecourt in front of a house of huge proportions, two wings having been constructed on either end of what appeared to be an early Georgian residence. Lights shone from Palladian windows in the central section whilst those to be seen in one of the extensions possessed a muted orange glow. In the other most of the windows were darkened and in only a few dim lights burned.
As the carriage drew level with the house, grooms appeared to hold the reins before taking horses and carriage to the stable block, and the two men, Jasper Meredith and his companion, jumped down and opened the door. Sairin, waking, and finding herself in a strange place, gave a sob and clung to Hannah. Martha Phipps rallied and hissed at Mister Meredith.
“You have betrayed me. You told me…” He pulled her from the vehicle and shook her roughly, his anger barely contained.
“You repulsive old sow. You were glad enough to receive a small reward every so often, cash to warm your grasping hand.”
“But I put it in the poor box. I didn’t keep a penny.”
“Then you’re a bigger fool than I thought.”
Hannah could bear no more. “Leave her alone and let us go. You’re the one who is repulsive.”
Now, she and Sairin were pulled onto the drive by the man she was beginning to think of as Mister Cologne. Did he own this place? Were they to enter the wide front door that was half hidden behind Corinthian pillars?
“Get a move on,” Jasper Meredith spoke. She was prodded again in the back.
Taking Sairin’s hand, she gave a gentle squeeze before bending down and whispering, “We shall be rescued, wait and see, cariad.” She remembered the word of endearment Elias Williams had used.
“Hurry up, I said.” A hand poked her roughly again and her temper flared. Lifting her skirt, she kicked backwards, catching his shin.
“You bloody bitch. I’ll enjoy taming you.”
They mounted several wide steps and a door surmounted by an ornamental fanlight opened to reveal a high-ceilinged reception hall possessing black and white star patterned floor tiles and gas lamps held high on ornate wall mountings. It seemed stark, almost bare, apart from long sofas against white walls and a few oil paintings depicting sombre faced men and unsmiling women. Mr Cologne disappeared.
Wide stairs swept to an upper storey and the party was propelled towards them. How Hannah longed for Eliza’s cosy kitchen or Mariah Simpson’s welcoming sitting room.
Martha Phipps was silent now, her eyes downcast and her figure hunched as if she nursed a pain in the region of her heart. Perhaps she did, thought Hannah. Sairin too crept along quietly as they reached a wide landing and were led towards a white panelled door which opened as if of its own volition. A girl, slim and pretty, her breasts almost exposed in the blue lace gown she wore, ushered them into a different world.
They trod on thick soft purple carpet. There were scarlet upholstered sofas and a quilted chaise longue. From a distance came light music and laughter; some raucous as if the perpetrator had taken a few too many glasses of wine, some soft and beguiling; and somewhere someone wept.
Hannah knew immediately the type of place where she found herself and recoiled, and the child sensing her withdrawal clung more closely. Miss Phipps, Martha, as Hannah now thought of her, stared around in horrified fascination until she received a thrust that sent her forward several paces.
“S
ummon Marnie,” Jasper Meredith ordered, and the slim girl in blue turned at his bidding, appearing a few moments later with a tall, fine-featured woman who at first glance might have been the lady of a great house, or perhaps a theatrical performer. Her fair hair was swept upwards and secured by a diamante comb. Her well-cut dress was of dark blue shimmering silk and the hand she extended was well manicured and shapely. However, on closer inspection Hannah noticed that the thick paste covering her face did not quite disguise small sores around her mouth and her long lashed grey eyes held no expression. Hannah ignored the outstretched hand and bent over Sairin.
“Come along, come along.” The woman’s North Country accent was barely noticeable, a mere hint, but her impatience was obvious. The two women and child were an inconvenience although had she observed it, Hannah would have seen that the dull grey eyes rested on Sairin’s pretty face and hair a moment too long. Doors, each painted in a different soft hue, were positioned at regular intervals along the wide corridor in which the three stood huddled, seeking comfort from the proximity of one another.
Ahead flitted a couple of young women, skirts frilled and flounced, shapely ankles encased in black silk. Giggling and chattering they disappeared into one of the rooms and from another emerged a slightly older woman immaculately dressed in green satin as if for an evening at the opera, her glossy dark hair caught in a shimmering net. Gemstones sparkled at her throat. Evading their gaze but nodding almost imperceptibly to the woman who accompanied them, she quickened her steps as she went ahead, then turned onto a landing from which stairs descended. From below came the chink of crystal and the origin of the music they had heard when first they entered this part of the house. Now the joyless mirth was louder, floating upwards from whatever activities took place below.
“I will put them in here for now but we’ve a full house tonight so it won’t be for long.” The woman called Marnie addressed Jasper Meredith as she paused before a primrose coloured door that opened into a room that swirled with colour and was dominated by an ornate bed, gold painted curlicues framing the padded yellow satin headboard. Coals glowed in a wide marble hearth. Her cold glance rested on Martha Phipps and she remarked, “So what do you propose we do with her? I don’t deal in waste material, Jasper.” Hannah received a fleeting look from Marnie: “Cleaned up, we might make something of this one.” Then her gaze lingered on Sairin. “A little beauty here, though. Well done, Jasper my dear,” she added softly, her voice the hiss of a snake.
The two women and girl were pushed into the opulent room and Hannah tightened her grip on the child. Marnie and Jasper Meredith withdrew and no key was heard to turn in the lock. That meant one of two things. They would not be in the room for more than a minute or two, or any attempt at escape would be futile because Brookwood was secure.
Martha Phipps gazed at her surroundings with revulsion and Hannah thought she might be on the point of vomiting. Sairin flopped onto the bed and hid her face in folds of satin. Hannah tried the door handle and it turned.
“Don’t leave us,” Martha pleaded. “I insist we stay together.”
“Insist all you like but this may be our only chance. Besides, Molly Tinsley might still be in this hellhole, and if she is, I have to look for her. Take care of Sairin and stop whining.”
The corridor outside, well lighted with soft glowing gas lamps, was empty, but for how long? Hannah closed the door behind her and stood for a moment, considering. There were alcoves, not large but they might afford brief concealment if she was in danger of discovery. There were closed doors from behind which came whispers and moans, laughter; she could barely imagine what might be taking place behind them, and there was one, painted white, from behind which came the sound of whimpering. For a moment she stood at the head of the stairs leading to downstairs apartments but she had no intention of descending.
Molly Tinsley would not be there, but where was she, assuming she had not been passed on as if she was a piece of merchandise? If so, she might be anywhere; London perhaps, or even on the continent. What Hannah knew was limited but she had heard of a trade in girls and young women who became subject to abuse and disease, most never to return to their homes again. Her late father had encouraged Hannah to read the publications of the day and some reports had been harrowing. Of women luring girls away from a parent or guardian whilst they were distracted. Such an evil person was known as a procuress, she recalled.
The whimpering could not be ignored and Hannah crept back towards the door and turned the brass handle. The door opened. In the dim light from an oil lamp which stood on a low table, she saw the form of a young girl lying curled in the foetal position upon a wide bed decked in white flounces. A canopy of soft pale material drifted across plump pillows so that the whole appeared almost to resemble a scene from a childish fairy tale.
Swiftly Hannah crossed to the bed and laid a hand against the girl’s cheek. It was cold and moist, and the thought registered that the girl might have imbibed a narcotic. If so, she would react slowly or not at all to outside stimuli.
The figure turned slightly and stared at Hannah who reached for the oil lamp and held it high, its light revealing a girl no more than twelve or thirteen years old, clothed in what resembled childish night attire, a voluminous garment, lace trimmed. Virginal. Hannah could only hope the victim was the same, but judging by the disturbed bed linen, she doubted it, and despite the effects of whatever drug had been administered, the face that looked up at her was marked by emotional trauma and deep shock.
She realised at once that the girl was incapable of obeying the slightest command and that she herself was in imminent danger of discovery. A brief glimpse of her in the corridor in her worn woollen dress and cape, and the alarm would sound. Crossing to a cupboard she peeped inside and was rewarded with the sight of several dresses hanging on a rail and she made a rapid decision.
Tearing off the dress she wore and bundling it into the cupboard, she pulled the first dress that came to hand from its hanger and pulled it over her head. As her mother would have said, it fitted where it touched, but having fastened the front buttons with trembling fingers, she tied a sash around her waist, smoothed her hair and slipped from the room.
****************************************
Chapter Twenty-Two
In the stronger light of the wide corridor, she saw that the garment was of lilac-coloured silk, well-cut although too big. There was no time to return to the yellow door and Martha Phipps and Sairin; besides, her freedom might be the determining factor in their own eventual release.
Voices, male and female, coming closer caused her to slip into an alcove and from behind an ornate vase containing a monstrous sized fern, she watched as a dimpled girl led her companion, a young man with beaked nose and somewhat the worse for drink, along the corridor and into one of the rooms. She was about to emerge when a dainty girl, no more than nine or ten years old and dressed in the costume of a country milk maid, tripped along the corridor carrying a tray on which were two long stemmed crystal glasses and a carafe of wine.
She paused before a blue door and placing the tray on the deep purple carpet knocked three times, waited a moment and then entered. Less than half a minute later she re-emerged and Hannah wasted no time. As the blue door closed, she stepped from concealment and called to the child who turned, wide eyed. Beckoning her over, she indicated that they should both hide behind the fern.
“I gorra go,” the girl whispered. “Who are yer, anyway?”
“That doesn’t matter. Tell me two things. Do you know a girl named Molly, and is there a way out of here?”
The girl’s mouth became a mutinous line and Hannah wanted to shake her. Instead she said, “I am a friend of Molly’s and have a message for her, and I need to take her home so I have to get out.”
“I think there’s a Molly in the other wing. On the other side of the ’ouse. I don’t know a way out at night ’cos doors are locked, but the gentlemen come and go so they must open.”
“Thank you.” Hannah gave the child a hug. “Better not tell anyone about me in case you get into trouble. What do you do here?” She couldn’t resist asking.
“This and that. I take their coats and hats, and I get drinks and things for them to eat. That’s at night. In the day I clean and tidy and help in the kitchen. It’s all right.”
For now, thought Hannah, but only God knew what might lie ahead for this not-so-innocent child.
The girl sped off and Hannah stood in the alcove pondering her next move. If Molly was within the almost unlighted wing, she was probably not yet part of this wicked establishment, but who could tell? Hitching the mauve gown over her shoulders to prevent it slipping, she heard again the voice of Marnie who was almost certainly the madam in this place and a softer female tone. She shrank back as Marnie and the woman dressed in green silk came into view, pausing a few feet away to talk.
“We need the room. I suggest you take the child…” This was Marnie, and her companion nodded. “I suppose if the younger woman accompanied you, the girl would make less fuss. As for the scarecrow, she’s no use to us. No doubt she can be disposed of,” she shrugged. “Not our problem.” They were making their way towards the yellow door. Hannah leaned forward to gain a better view and then hell broke loose.
“Where’s she gone? Where’s the other one? Call Sir Adam. No, on second thoughts. Think woman, think, what are we going to do?”
“She can’t escape. We’ll search and when we find her…well, I am sure you will think of a suitable punishment, Marnie. Clean her up and throw her to the lions, so to speak. They can have their fun.”
“You’re a clever one. What’s she worth? I wonder! Shut up…” This was to Sairin whose voice rose on a wail. “And you, keep the child quiet and follow me.” Presumably this was to Martha Phipps.