She could understand his feelings for those children, hadn’t she felt the same herself, hadn’t wanting to help them been the reason for her almost selling that brooch; but where she had only thought about taking those two children from that institution, Luke had actually tried. But even had he succeeded where would he put them? He had no place . . .
‘Gideon asked the same.’ Luke answered the question she had not realised had left her lips. ‘But I’d sorted that. I went first to the neighbour of the Elwells to ask would they let the two little ’uns stay with them so long as I paid for their keep . . . I told ’em the little wench wouldn’t need much and if they let the lad work in the nailing as he had with his own father and mother then they could keep whatever he earned on top of what I paid ’em . . .’ He paused, the plea for understanding dying from his eyes. ‘I give the rest no thought,’ he continued dully, ‘I give no mind to the fact it would be you who suffered for what I done, you who would bear the brunt of my giving half of my wage every week, you who would have no place to live or sleep ’cept in a hayloft . . .’
‘Is that what has been worrying you . . . was that the awful news you have kept from me?’ Saran’s laugh rang across the empty heath. ‘Luke, it is the most wonderful thing I ever heard, to offer what you did; but maybe God will be good and I will find work and a place for us to live, that being so perhaps the children will be released.’
‘You don’t understand.’ Luke shook his head. ‘They already be taken from that place, Gideon agreed . . .’
The Elwell children were no longer in that workhouse! Thanks to Luke, the children of the couple who had been so kind were no longer locked away, but all he worried about was herself being deprived of the comfort of a bed. Lord! Her heart shouted. She would sleep on stone and thank heaven for the privilege. ‘They are with Livvy’s neighbour?’ The words grazed past the lump filling her throat and she smiled at him. ‘Luke, I’m so proud of you.’
‘No . . . don’t say that!’ He jumped to his feet, his strangled cry full of heartbreak. ‘You ain’t heard it all, I ain’t told it was too late, that the Elwell lad were already gone, teken by a man the day before!’
She had risen to stand beside him yet somehow she was alone in the world, her senses stilled by the shock of those words. The Elwell boy was already gone from the workhouse, taken by a man. But the man would not be Edward Elwell, he would not reclaim one child without the other, not take his son yet leave his daughter.
‘I were too late! That lad be gone and it’s my fault!’
The pain and self-accusation contained in the words reached into the void that had so suddenly surrounded Saran, returning her to reality.
‘How can you say that?’ she said gently. ‘You tried your best and I’m proud of you.’
‘No!’ He brushed away a hand that would have touched him. ‘I’ve done nothin’ to be proud of, I left it too late to help that little ’un, as well as going back on my word . . . you see, it ain’t just yourself breaks a promise.’
Startled by the vehemence of the cry a rabbit ran past their feet, its white tail bobbing as it rushed headlong for the security of its burrow. Watching it Saran wanted only to emulate its action, to hide away from the world and its ills, but that could only be done in dreams.
‘Luke.’ She did not touch him, only spoke quietly. ‘Whatever promise you have broken I know it was not done for yourself but for the Elwell children; surely you must see I would happily have done the same.’
‘Would you, Saran?’ He turned sharply and in the purpling dusk she saw his eyes held a depth of grief. ‘Would you agree to go with Gideon Newell . . . for that was the bargain I made.’
Luke had agreed she would go with Gideon Newell! Blood surged in one wild gush through Saran’s veins. How could he have struck such a bargain . . . how could he have thought . . . ? But it was not Luke’s action she questioned, she had known the horror he held for any workhouse; had she not listened to the anguish as he had talked of it those first nights on the heath, heard it cry from him as he had slept? His agreeing to such a demand had been made on the strength of that same torment being visited upon the Elwell children, given at a moment when his strength of mind had been at its lowest. Gideon Newell had seen that and taken advantage of it. But for what reason, what motive could he have for taking her away from Luke . . . did he want a whore, a sixpenny girl to be got without paying the sixpence? Or was it that he saw profit of a different kind, the sort her stepfather had indulged in . . . was Gideon Newell another Enoch Jacobs?
His confession almost over Luke choked with tears. ‘I’ll go see Gideon, tell him it be off between us, that I won’t—’
‘No, Luke,’ she interrupted quickly. ‘If you go back on things then so can he. He can tell the Board of Governors that after all he finds he has no use for Livvy’s daughter, and she could be taken back to the workhouse. I couldn’t face up to being responsible for that.’
‘But I can tell them I be paying for the little ’un, for her keep.’
Much as she wanted to accept that, Saran knew she could not. There were too many flaws, flaws a man who could strike such a deal would, without question, take advantage of.
She tried to explain without too much hurt. ‘Luke, you said the authorities would not give the child into your care because of your being under age . . . I too am under age, don’t you think Gideon Newell would use that against us?’
It took several more long minutes to convince Luke that she was right, that they could not chance that little girl, already deprived of her family, being deprived a second time, being taken away from the only friends she knew. But in the end he had nodded, consenting that she should appeal to the man’s sense of right and wrong.
But did Gideon Newell care for any difference? Luke fell silent as they came to the town, lost in a world she guessed was filled with raised fists and sneering faces, a world he would willingly have given not half but all of his earnings from the tube works to save Livvy’s children from . . . except for her! Always her. She had been a bind on the boy from the time of his finding her tied to a tree and she was still a drag on him. It was she he worried over, she who should have a bed and a roof over her head. Well, that problem had been resolved; her going to wherever it was Gideon Newell planned to house his acquisition would relieve Luke of the burden.
‘Saran . . . Saran, be you sure?’
It was Luke who first caught sight of the tall figure standing opposite the tavern, his features just beyond the pale glow of its lanterns.
She could not go through the process of assuring him again, repeat the pretence she was willing to sacrifice herself when in reality it appalled her, but the horror of having one child dragged screaming from her filled her soul, there was no room for another.
Gripping the boy’s chin she forced him to look at her. Praying her voice would stay firm, she said quietly, ‘Go find Ben, ask him to let his wife know we are back safely. No, Luke . . .’ she shook her head, preventing the interruption leaving his lips, ‘we must stick to what was agreed. Do what I ask . . . you have my word I won’t go from here without telling you first.’
The sound of running feet rapping the cobblestoned yard died away yet still the figure she knew watched her from its island of shadow did not move. Did he want her to walk to him, was her subjection to begin from this very moment . . . was he so eager to prove his mastery over her? But wasn’t that exactly what he was now, her master? No money had changed hands yet he had bought her . . . bought her as some man in a Walsall beerhouse had bought her mother and sister and now he had come to claim his purchase.
A flame of anger searing her throat she drew a long breath. He could force her to lie with him but never to smile or speak a civil word. Gideon Newell’s bargain would prove no real conquest.
As instinct fought defiance, Saran stepped backwards, her breath releasing itself as the figure crossed the street with an easy stride.
‘Miss Chandler, how nice to see you again.’
Desperately trying to control senses that were suddenly careering like a runaway carriage, colour sweeping her cheeks, Saran looked into the handsome face smiling down at her.
‘Mr . . .’ she stammered, ‘Mr . . .’
‘No, not mister.’ His eyes reflected the gleam of the tavern lanterns as he reached a hand towards her. ‘We have an agreement, remember; there is to be no more miss or mister between us, only Saran and Jairus.’
Five minutes later, trying to analyse her feelings, Saran watched the tall figure stride away towards the Five Ways, the crossroads which were the main arteries of the small town. Relief, yet in some vague way disappointment, had flooded over her as Jairus Ensell had stepped clear of the shadows. Relief – yes, she could understand that, it had been the immediate assuaging of mortification throbbing in her veins; the loathsome meeting she had expected not now taking place had brought the lift of spirits. But what was accountable for the disappointment, the dejection which was with her still? Watching the figure merge with the darkening evening she sifted each thought, rejecting first one then another, but always the knowledge remained that she had not imagined that feeling. It had been there, a quick stab in her heart, a rapid lurching in her veins which had left behind an emptiness, a feeling almost of loss. But that was ridiculous! Impatient with herself she pushed the idea away. All she had felt was apprehension. She had not been freed of the necessity to face up to the bargain Luke had made, she had accepted it; the moment was only delayed, therefore the bitterness of it remained, and it was that and no more which was responsible for her state of mind. Telling herself to think no more about it she turned towards the entrance to the tavern yard.
He had been passing when he caught sight of her and of course could not go on without wishing her good evening. Jairus Ensell’s explanation had been given with a smile, his voice soft and pleasant. She had smiled in return but could muster no warmth to accompany it. ‘I was passing . . .’ Yet she had seen him standing masked in shadow, knowing he watched her. Had his words been a deliberate lie? But then why should he be untruthful, what had he to gain from that?
Hesitating before the wide entrance that gave access to carts and wagons, Saran remonstrated with herself. She was being unfair to the man allowing even a hint of mistrust to enter her mind. He was merely being polite, showing her the same courtesy and respect he had shown before.
Had she news of her mother and sister? Would Luke agree to his driving them both to Darlaston, thus avoiding a tiring walk? Every point of their conversation had been one of his trying to help, of offering assistance while putting no pressure upon her at being refused, only repeating that should she change her mind then please to send word to the George Hotel and the owner would contact him. That way might suit her better than visiting him at his home. He had smiled when saying that, adding that for such a small town Wednesbury had an exceeding long tongue, one which did not always savour truth, preferring the taste of scandal, no matter it was groundless.
Jairus Ensell had spoken and acted like the gentleman he was. Saran pulled her shawl close with a determined movement. He would make no bargain behind a woman’s back, he was a man she could trust. So why was that dullness, that feeling of having something snatched from her, still weighing heavily inside?
‘Miss Chandler!’
One step into the cobbled yard Saran halted, every nerve suddenly tingling, vitally alive.
‘I believe we have an arrangement!’
The world about her fading into the background she turned to face Gideon Newell.
19
‘We, Mr Newell . . . we have an arrangement?’
Her voice cold and hard as hailstones, one word chipping against the other, Saran turned to face the man who had spoken.
‘Would you not say it was yourself has an arrangement? One made with a boy too unhappy to think straight. It didn’t satisfy you simply to take advantage of me, you had to do the same with Luke, a boy willing to do anything, to agree to anything in order to help a friend; but that is what you call yourself, isn’t it, a friend? Then I pray God Luke never makes another friend like you!’
Light spilling over his features showed them set like granite, eyes glistening dark as jet. ‘Miss Chandler—’
He got no further. The anger that had brewed in her a short while before bubbled over and she swept a hand sideways through the air. ‘I know why you are here and you need have no worry I will not keep to what you so carefully hatched. I need a moment to say goodnight to Luke then you may claim your reward.’
‘Reward, Miss Chandler?’ Gideon’s hiss scraped the night. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’
‘You ask that!’ Saran’s temper flared. ‘You who make your sly bargain behind your victim’s back, a man who uses a boy in order to get himself a whore—’
‘Stop that!’
Gideon’s hand grasped her wrist, jerking her towards him, but in her passion Saran was unaware of the ice suddenly crackling in his voice.
‘I won’t stop!’ she flung back. ‘I am not quite your sixpenny girl yet.’
‘Listen to me, you little fool!’
Jerked against him, the anger behind the movement almost driving the breath from her body, Saran refused to be silenced. From tonight she may never have another chance to express her disgust for this man. Forcing enough space between them to enable her to look into his face she snapped, ‘No, you listen to me! I will go with you for, like Luke, I cannot face the prospect of Livvy’s daughter being returned to the workhouse; I will be what you want, a girl you can buy off the streets for sixpence, but I vow—’
‘You don’t need vow anything.’ His tone like the ring of hard steel Gideon flung her away. ‘Is that what Luke told you?’
Stumbling against the wall which enclosed the stable yard Saran struggled to keep her balance. ‘He didn’t have to, I guessed that much for myself ! That you agreed to go with him to the workhouse is what he told me, that you would have the child released to you. But there was a proviso, wasn’t there? You would do that but in return something must be done for you, Luke had to agree or the child stayed where she was. Does that make you feel proud, Mr Newell . . . does bartering the freedom of a little girl make you more of a man? Not from where I stand. It gives no credit in my eyes, only pity; you and Enoch Jacobs, only two such men would stoop so low.’
Her outburst done it seemed the silence that fell between them would go on for ever yet it was only a moment before Gideon spoke. Each word was crusted with frost as he stared at her.
‘You believe that? You believe I would be part of such an agreement, use a child . . . trick Luke . . . and all for the great prize of a whore? A girl you yourself have said could be got from any backstreet for sixpence!’
‘Yes!’ With her head thrown back Saran glared her disdain. ‘Yes, I believe that.’
‘A sixpenny girl!’ The steel was gone and in its place a quiet scorn seemed to touch Saran’s face. ‘You guessed correctly, Miss Chandler; that is all you are worth!’
Light from the kitchen at his back gilding his thin figure, Ben Mason hurried across the stable yard, calling softly to Saran.
‘Eh, wench, there be a man asking after you, been ’ere half an hour an’ more.’
Still shaking from the anger of moments ago Saran nodded. ‘I’ve already spoken with Mr Newell.’
Lamplight spilling after him in the semi-darkness showed the ostler’s frown. ‘With who? Newell don’t be the name he give to the landlord; said ’is name were Thomas.’
Only a fragment of her mind on what the man said Saran gave no reply.
‘There were no mistake,’ he cast a quick glance towards the kitchen, ‘I ’eard him say your name clear as I says it meself, he spoke it when askin’ the gaffer did he have a room kept for them ’aving private business; Miss Saran Chandler were his very words, did the landlord know of a young woman of that name and where it was her might be found.’
Her attention caught by Luke running to joi
n them, Saran tried to recall the name. Had she and Luke met with anyone called Thomas?
‘Ain’t nobody as I’ve seen in the tavern afore,’ Ben went on, ‘an’ if it be somebody you prefers not talkin’ with then I advises you both to tek off, give it an hour or two before you come back, chance be he’ll be gone by then.’
‘But who is he?’ Her question, directed more at Luke than at the ostler, met with a shrug of the lad’s shoulders.
‘Beats me,’ he said, ‘I ain’t never heard of no Thomas.’
Could he be an officer of the parish, one sent to look into Luke’s part in the business of Livvy’s daughter . . . had Gideon Newell told? But of course not, there was no way he could have seen anyone in the few seconds since her leaving him.
Denying the relief her realisation brought she looked at Luke. ‘Wait for me in the barn . . . no, Luke – no argument, I will speak with this man; far better we find out who he is and what he wants than have to look over our shoulder everywhere we go.’
‘Saran,’ Luke watched the ostler hurry away towards a hansom stopped at the tavern entrance, ‘Saran, do you trust me?’
Already turned towards the kitchen Saran spun round to face the question. A few yards away in the street the sound of laughter drifted on the grey dimness as customers dismounted from the carriage, their voices drifting after them into the tavern; but it was the quiet voice of Luke stayed with her. There was something in the tone, an uncertainty, a doubt she had not heard before.
‘Trust you?’ She frowned. ‘You know I do, Luke.’
His head coming up he seemed to grow before her eyes and when he answered his voice held a new strength. ‘Then show it . . . show your trust as I’ve shown mine in you, trust me in all things or none at all, for this way be no good.’
Sixpenny Girl Page 19