by Mary Wood
‘You’re a pretty thing. Ma Perkins will rub her hands together at the sight of you. Eeh, the gents pay well for someone a bit different. You ever been with a man, eh?’
‘Naw. And I’m not sure what you’re offering, but I could do with a drink and some food, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Aye, I do. Come along with me. The house is only just down the road. Ma Perkins will put you reet. She’s kindly, if you keep on the right side of her. Just do as she asks of you and your life will change.’ The girl gave a funny little laugh, but, although wary of her and what she was getting into, Ruth liked her.
‘I’ll give owt a try, ta. Me name’s Ruth – what’s yours?’
‘Lottie. Does you need a helping hand?’
‘Aye, I could do with a lift. If you put your arm underneath mine on me good side, that’d be grand. By, I’m glad as I met you, Lottie.’
‘You never said what you’re doing here.’
‘I’m just wandering. I got separated from me sisters and brothers and I keep hoping to see them, or at least where they may have been taken.’
‘Who took them?’
Pulling herself up, Ruth cautioned herself. Could she really trust this girl? ‘Oh, I – I mean, if anyone found them. Anyroad, I’ll carry on looking after I’ve had a bite to eat.’
The girl let out the funny little laugh again. It seemed to convey a message, but Ruth had no idea what it meant.
Inside the house, enlightenment began to dawn on her. She’d never seen anything of a whorehouse, but she’d heard of them, and had once heard her da telling her ma of one in Blackburn. He’d been into the market with some livestock, and a girl had approached him. He and Ma had laughed till they cried at the tales her da had come out with, but Ruth hadn’t understood all they’d said. Now, as she stood in the hall of this three-storey house, she knew she was in such a place. Everywhere was decorated in a ruby red. Velvet curtains hung over the many doors leading off the hall, and each was tied with gold braid. Half-clad girls sat on the stairs, giggling down at her, as she stared at the buxom woman who greeted her.
‘I’m Ma Perkins. Lottie here tells me you’re a virgin, girl. That right?’ The woman had bright-red hair. Her face was even more made-up than Lottie’s was, and her frock was cut so that her two huge wobbly breasts looked set to escape.
‘I – I . . . That’s none of your business. Lottie said she was bringing me here for a drink and sommat to eat.’
‘You’ll get that, all right. But first you need a bath and to get into some proper clothes. You’re going to bring me in a mint – that is, if you’re a virgin. Now answer me question!’
Feeling intimidated, Ruth nodded.
‘No man’s ever laid a finger on you, is that true?’
Ruth nodded again.
‘Good. Lottie, take her to the bathroom and give her a good scrubbing. Dress her in that white gown. We’re going to make a packet from her, especially as she’s a cripple an’ all. I know a few who like it a bit different. Go with Lottie, there’s a good girl. There’s some nice stew for you, when you’re ready. That is, if a punter hasn’t arrived by then. Janet, run to the gentlemen’s club and put the word out, love.’
As the woman spoke to all and sundry in one sentence, Ruth found her own voice. ‘But I don’t want to go with a man. I won’t. I’ll be off, and you can stuff your stew!’
‘Now, now. Here, Lottie, take her bloody crutch from her. She’ll have to do as we say, then.’
‘If you do that, I’ll fall on the floor. I can’t stand up without it. Please, let me go. Please.’
A slap sent Ruth reeling. ‘Do as you’re bloody told, girl. Pick her up, Lottie, and get the bitch ready.’
Ruth’s face stung; her body, already weak, folded. Two girls helped her up. They spoke kindly to her, bringing her to tears. With no strength to resist, she went along with them, all the while praying to God to help her, as He had done earlier. But this time He didn’t answer her prayers, and there seemed no way out of what she thought might lie in store for her.
4
Frederick, the New Earl of Harrogate
In His Brother’s Footsteps
‘Mama must be brought back to Beckstone Abbey. Bertram should never have moved her out, on his succession. It wasn’t as if he had a family to put in residence there, for God’s sake! This house needs repairs that are beyond our purse. I, as the new Earl, will see to closing it at once.’
Frederick and his uncle, Jacobite, the family lawyer, were in the dower-house. The house was a short drive along a leafy lane from Beckstone Abbey, which was situated just outside Northallerton. A sprawling mansion, Beckstone Abbey – the Rollinson family’s country seat – had a long history. After being sacked and taken from the monks who had built it, it had been given to an ancestor of Frederick by Elizabeth I. Why, it was not known, but rumour had it that this ancestor was numbered amongst Elizabeth’s favourites, with a special place in her heart. Frederick loved the tales of the first Earl of Harrogate and, from his picture, which hung in the great hall of the Abbey, knew that he resembled him in appearance, even though he had inherited the look of his French ancestors, too.
Not having been home since his father’s funeral just over a year ago, Frederick was shocked to see the conditions that his mother had endured. In dire need of replastering and decorating, the dower-house walls showed signs of damp, and mildew blackened a patch behind his mother’s sofa. The furniture was shabby and the carpet ragged. Frederick was appalled, and not a little angry with his late brother. ‘What the hell was Bertram thinking, Uncle? I wish I had come home sooner. I would have at least tried to dissuade him from making Mother live here. But I just couldn’t face seeing the place without Father here, and with Bertram lording it over me. Now I wish that he could do so.’
The pain of his brother’s loss brought a lump to Frederick’s throat. Though Bertram had been such a different character from him – staid in his ways, which often caused arguments between them – he wasn’t a bad brother. They just had a different outlook and their values were different, too. Bertram thought everyone could better themselves if they tried, and loathed those who didn’t. He took no heed of their circumstances and was repulsed by the poor. Frederick always thought that was born of fear. They themselves had been so close to poverty and had faced losing everything. But to Frederick, Bertram’s point of view was hypocritical; he saw no reason to hate those who were already poor, just because you were afraid of joining their ranks. However, Bertram was a bitter man. He found it hard to hold his head up in society when his purse couldn’t run to what his peers had. He’d been determined to find a bride who could provide him with the money the family so dearly needed. Frederick hadn’t thought he stood a chance, as there was nothing attractive about Bertram.
Not a strong person, Bertram had suffered many illnesses as a child, and for some reason had never developed physically in the same way that Frederick himself had. This lack of height also contributed to his manner, as he tried too hard to assert himself, which made him come across as much harsher than he really was. But for all his faults, Frederick had loved Bertram; and, yes, looked up to him, if he was truthful.
A cough from his uncle brought Frederick out of his thoughts. Composing himself, he apologized and asked his uncle to continue.
‘Bertram had plans to completely overhaul the dower-house, once his finances would permit. His priority, and your mother’s, was to keep your fees paid. They both recognized that you needed a trade. His motive, and your mother’s in residing here, was so that Bertram would have no obstacles in the way of bringing a new bride home. He wanted to be able to offer a home free of any encumbrances, and for his wife to have freedom in how she ran things and the way she wanted to do the renovations that were needed.’
Guilt entered Frederick. He knew that his education was a strain on the family purse, but that didn’t excuse Bertram’s decision. ‘But to even consider letting Mama live here! She will be fetched immediately
from hospital and restored to the comfort of her own quarters at the Abbey.’
‘I agree, Frederick – it was a bad idea of Bertram’s; he could at least have waited until he had the funds to do up the place first. But as for bringing Lady Eleonore home immediately, well, that will be the decision of the doctor who is taking care of her. He may not allow her to travel for a while. I am sure the Arkwrights will make her comfortable until then.’
‘But with this place closed, I can afford to have a nurse to care for Mama twenty-four hours a day. Her doctor has to agree.’
‘Your finances are not that simple, my dear boy. Closing this place and ridding yourself of the extra staff is just one of the changes you need to make. The Rollinson fortune has diminished to the value of what little land is left, and the leased properties standing on it. Not only have death-duties taken their toll – and there will be more of them to pay – but also your father made some very bad investments. I tried to encourage him to put what money he could spare into the cotton industry, but he thought it traitorous to those of his farmers who lived and worked on your land and had lost a big part of their livelihoods.’
‘I know, and he was right in a way. My father was very young when automation began to take over and, as he always did, he took a romantic view of it all and saw himself as the champion of his own father’s tenants. He remained steadfast to the idea that the factory system should never have been allowed, and that it was the cause of the death of the cottage industries with which many of our tenants’ wives supplemented the family income. But Father had not enough foresight to realize that if he failed, or rather the family business did, then they would, too. If he had invested and prospered, then compromises could have been found. Look at the growth of Blackburn. More food is needed to sustain the many people flocking in to work in the factories. Father could have helped his tenants by using his profit from investing in the mill industry to increase their arable and animal farming of the land, and everyone would have benefited.’
‘You are right, of course. But no, they took the most stupid action they could. And I, being the younger son, couldn’t bring any influence to bear, though I tried, God knows, I tried.’
Frederick knew that his uncle was referring to the misguided decisions and actions taken by his father and grandfather. They had funded the tenants to riot, which resulted in the smashing of the power looms at Carr’s mill – all to no avail, as there was no chance that the factory system would not go ahead. Their actions led to them having to sell the land that those same farmers had leased from them. Land that had been in the family for centuries.
‘Anyway, we cannot change history, but it angers me that your father made things worse and brought the estate almost to its knees, as his soft-hearted ways led him to allowing rents to get into arrears, which – coupled with his gambling habit – ate into what was left and practically bankrupted the estate. You need to watch those traits, Frederick, as you have inherited them both, my boy.’
Frederick knew what his uncle referred to, and felt deeply for him. Being the second son, Jacobite had to take up a career or be faced with becoming a vicar; and he could only advise his family in their financial affairs. He’d rarely been listened to. Frederick had been looking at a similar future himself, as he too was the second son. He had taken steps to avoid being forced to become a man of the cloth. The very idea makes me laugh. Good God! Nothing could be further from my nature.
Well, he was no longer the second son, although he couldn’t contemplate the enormity of the task facing him, as the concerns that his uncle had outlined weighed heavily upon him.
He’d not had an unpleasant life to date. His allowance hadn’t come up to that of some of his peers, but he had done well at the poker games, winning more often than losing – to the point where some at his club had barred him from their tables. His genius in maths helped. His interest in the subject had been piqued by his mother’s talk of knowing the eminent mathematician Siméon Denis Poisson in her youth in France. Frederick had wanted to emulate the man, and had studied his theories. One of the eminent gentleman’s papers, in particular, had been very useful: ‘Poisson’s contribution to Fourier analysis, definite integrals, path integrals, statistics, partial differential equations and calculus of variations’ – very handy in applying the mind to a game of poker. Not only that, but Frederick’s chosen path lay within it, as he wanted to become a professor of maths. He was in his third year at Oxford, but this awful tragedy would change all that. Now he had responsibility for a near-bankrupt estate! And it didn’t sound as though his uncle had a lot of faith in him, which wasn’t altogether fair.
‘I am not like my father, Uncle. We differ in that I am a winner at the tables. That has stood me in good stead whilst trying to manage my finances on a pittance. But that aside, where do I stand? What about Mama’s money?’
‘Practically gone. There was little left of her family’s fortune after the French Revolution. Your maternal grandfather was astute enough to get out what he could, but the bad management of this estate has dwindled it away. The saving of everything – even the earldom, come to that – was due to the prospective marriage of Bertram to Katrina Arkwright. Her father was to put things right: shares in his many businesses, a very large dowry, and a legacy after his and Lady Ver— I mean, Mrs Arkwright’s death. The residue of his estate, after his second daughter had been taken care of, was to come to Bertram and Katrina. A considerable amount – and huge collateral to offer the bank. All our problems would have been solved.’
‘Well, I don’t think Bertram and Katrina were in love, so maybe I could step in?’
‘Yes, I’m glad that has occurred to you, as nothing had been announced and the coming union was, as yet, known only to close family. And as I happen to be Arkwright’s family and business solicitor, too, there was no other legal party involved, either. All of which means that you could take Katrina’s hand without any scandal, and I can arrange that.’
‘Thank you, Uncle. Poor Bertram, I know from his letters that he was very excited to be marrying Katrina. I will miss him. He was a good brother – I know he had his ways, but he loved me and I loved him. And poor Mother adored him, which shows in her agreeing to move out of the Abbey. She would want to give his marriage every chance, although she is also very fond of Katrina, and I believe they would rub along well together. Bertram’s death is going to break her heart. I could personally string up the bloody family who were responsible!’
‘Oh, I think their fate is sealed. Whichever way you look at it, it was their fault and therefore the charge will be murder on two counts. I would say that, unless there are some under-fourteen-year-olds amongst them, none of them will escape the gallows.’
Later that evening, sitting alone in the largest drawing room of Beckstone Abbey, Frederick found it hard to take in all that had happened.
In his times of trouble, relaxing in this room always settled him and gave him comfort. It had a shabby elegance about it. Its grand gold-and-silver brocade suite had faded and worn long ago, and the wine-coloured, elaborately patterned carpet had become threadbare in patches, for this room had always been the hub of the family and many feet had trodden it. It was a room where the men had smoked their cigars after the ladies had retired to a smaller sitting room, in the days of the rich gathering for dinner. Then there had been the recitals. He’d sat through many, played on the piano in the corner by one or other talented – or sometimes not – young lady showing off her skills. Now, it seemed a lonely place and its familiarity didn’t soothe his aching inner self.
This morning had been the start of a normal day. With his brother absent when he’d arrived from Oxford, he’d planned to make the most of his solitary state and do a bit of fishing, as he hadn’t been to the lake in an age; and after that he’d thought he’d perhaps track down the gamekeeper and indulge in a little shooting. Maybe even bag something that Cook could prepare for him, with the fish he’d have caught earlier as an appetiser, as there wo
uldn’t be anything big enough in the water at this time of year to make a meal. The prospect had been very pleasing to him. Now he wallowed in misery and felt very alone.
How his mother would feel when she came to, he couldn’t imagine. In fact he should go to her. Yes, why it hadn’t occurred to him to do so immediately he didn’t know, but then he had been in deep shock. And with his uncle wanting to collect some things for his mother, it had seemed a good chance to chat with Jacobite and at least be with one of his family.
He would set off first thing tomorrow. But before that, he must acknowledge the Arkwrights’ telegram, which had delivered the bad news to him, and at the same time give them warning of his impending visit.
Crossing the room to his mother’s desk, he sat down to compose the note. With it done, he allowed his thoughts to mull over things once more.
Maybe while he was in Blackburn he could see how the land lay with regard to the arrangement for Katrina’s marriage to Bertram passing to him. He couldn’t see any objection to it. He had none himself. He rather fancied Katrina, as it happened. She was very beautiful and, from what he’d seen of her, had a good sense of humour and a pleasant enough demeanour. Yes, they could fare very well together – better than he imagined she would have done with Bertram. The thought occurred to him that Katrina might even be relieved at the turn of events.
Funny how the world goes round. Katrina’s mother had been forced to marry a commoner to secure her family’s seat, and now he was having to do the same. Not that Katrina was altogether a commoner – no, she would be acceptable, by way of being the daughter of a lady, even though her mother had given up her title to marry for money.