by Mary Wood
Tired, Amy huddled in a doorway not far from the brazier. She’d wandered aimlessly and confused around the town of Blackburn for the last few days. She was uncertain which direction they had come in from Clitheroe, which she knew would lead her to the Bowland Hills. Crossing those would get her home to Pradley, where she had a chance of finding shelter, and maybe even Ruth.
No one hereabouts would help her. Most folk gave her a wide berth; some spat at her and others gave her a piece of their mind, calling her scum and telling her to get off their streets – if only she could, she would.
Dirt and grime clung to her and her clothes. Life these last few days – she’d lost track of how many – had been spent huddled in one doorway after another, begging for pennies and trying to glean some warmth and shelter.
Each day she managed to get a farthing or a halfpenny – enough to buy a tattie at the brazier at night. And the man who sold them had given her a drop of tea with it, even though she hadn’t enough to pay, though he’d shooed her off as soon as she had her food, telling her she weren’t to sit near, for fear of putting potential customers off approaching him.
He’d been gone some time now and so, as she’d done other nights, Amy crept back over to the brazier to sit near to the heat it gave off before its last embers died away. The frozen grass had melted and blackened within a foot of the brazier, and it was a patch of this that she curled up on and drifted into sleep.
A sharp pain woke her. Twisting round, she saw the outline of a man about to kick her, as she was sure he had just done.
‘Leave me alone. I’m not doing any harm.’
‘Gerrup. I need to take a look at you.’
‘What for?’
‘Gerrup, or you’ll feel me boot again.’
Cringing away from his raised foot, Amy rolled over and stood up.
‘Nowt a good wash won’t fix. I’ll take you in, if you’re prepared to work.’
Hope seeped into her. ‘Take me in where, Mister? Are you in need of a hired help?’
‘Aye, that and more. Come on.’
Though trepidation lurked within her, Amy obeyed. What the ‘more’ could be, she didn’t like to think, but the thought of shelter and a job was too big a lure to stop her following him. She could turn it down, if she didn’t like it.
Brushing the sleep out of her eyes, she tried to get the measure of him. If she could see him properly, it might help her to decide whether to go with him. A short way away in front of them she could see something shining, in the direction they were heading. She would follow him until they reached it, and then she would be able to take a look at the man. The light turned out to be a gas lamp swinging in the breeze, below a sign saying ‘Apothecary’. It illuminated his silhouette. ‘Hold on a minute, Mister. I have a stone in me shoe.’
‘Hurry up, then. I’ll not hang around.’
Though one minute the light shadowed him as it moved away from him in the wind, when it came over him she could see him clearly. A man in his middle years with a paunch on him, he’d lost most of his hair, and his face had the rough texture that pockmarks give. His clothes looked tailored: he wore a three-quarter coat with slim-legged breeches that didn’t improve his shape, and high boots. She had him down as a man of means, but not of breeding or manners. To her, it seemed strange that he should be roaming the streets at this time of night looking for workers. And not asking if she had any training or references didn’t fit, either.
‘Right. Are you coming, or do I have to drag you?’
‘Why should you drag me? I ain’t tied to you. I can walk away, if I like.’
‘Not if I have owt to do with it. I’ve a mind to have you, and have you I shall, willing or not. I’ve seen you about these last few days. It strikes me you’ve nowhere to go, so what I have to offer will be a blessing to you. Aye, and once you get used to it, you’ll like it an’ all.’
‘What is it?’
‘Stop asking and let’s get going. Me need’s a pressing one, and I’ll satisfy it here and now if you keep dawdling.’
There was only one pressing need Amy knew men to have, and what little she knew of it all, they’d do anything to get it. Well, she weren’t about to let this man do it to her, no matter what he offered.
She turned and was about to run, but he moved quickly for a big man. His hand grasped her arm. The wrench he gave her was so fierce that she lost her balance and landed on the ground. ‘Leave me, Mister. I ain’t wanting to go with you, and you can’t make me.’
‘Can’t I?’
Her back scraped along the ground as he grabbed her feet and dragged her along. Before she could scream, he had her in the ginnel.
‘Naw, leave me!’ Kicking out, she caught him on the knee. For a moment he let go. Amy scrambled onto all fours and then stood up. A fist hit her in the face. The sting of it brought tears to her eyes and sent her reeling backwards. A wall stayed her fall. In desperation she raise her foot again. This time she aimed between his legs as she had done at the jailer, but the man caught her foot and upended her.
Flat on her back with the air forced out of her lungs, Amy could do nothing but take his weight as he came down on her. ‘Yer forcing this on yourself. I didn’t want to have yer till I’d cleaned you up. Are you clean down there?’
She couldn’t answer. Panic gripped her. If she didn’t get air, she’d die!
He raised his upper body. Amy gasped. Relief mixed with pain as her bruised ribs screamed against the expansion of her lungs.
‘I asked you if you were clean?’
‘Naw . . . I – I haven’t had a wash in days.’
‘I don’t mean that kind of clean. Have you the pox?’
‘Naw. Look, Mister, please let me go. I ain’t never done it. I don’t know how – you’re hurting me!’
‘A virgin! Well, ain’t I the lucky one? I had it in me head that you were plying your trade. Right, well, this might hurt, but like I said, you’ll be glad you had it. And if you’re good, I’ll take you on, and for returned favours I’ll see as you’re looked after well, with just a few chores to do in me house.’ His hands groped her small breasts. ‘A pretty little well-formed girl like you will give a lot of pleasure.’ Leaning back once more he undid his breeches.
‘Naw, please don’t.’ Desperate to escape, Amy reached out around her, feeling for something – anything – to hit him with, but there was nothing.
His cold hand touched her thigh and then pulled at her bloomers. Her struggle exhausted her. His breaths panted on her face, droplets of his spittle landing on her. ‘Naw, don’t . . .’ Clawing at his face and eyes as though demented, she uttered a scream that echoed in the still night. Before she could release it all, a blow from the back of his hand sent her head jolting backwards.
The weight of him lessened. His moan told of his agony. Lifting himself to a kneeling position, he held a hand to his eyes. ‘You vixen! My God, you’ve torn my eye sockets. I’ll kill you!’
Amy could do nothing to stave off the blow. It sent her body backwards with a force that crashed her head into the wall.
The blackness that swallowed her into its depth brought a blessed relief, until the horror of all that had happened came to her in flashes that terrified her.
Images of George and Seth hanging from ropes, their eyes swollen and bursting from their sockets. Then flames licking around Ruth’s feet, her flesh melting away from her face, leaving only her skull. Now Ma, Da and Elsie sailing on a sea of cloud in a turbulent boat, calling to her, but when she went to rise to go to them, she couldn’t. They disappeared over the horizon.
As she was catapulted from the blackness, a terrible noise assaulted her ears. Her throat rasped and burned, bringing her the knowledge that it was she herself making the noise. A hand clamped over her mouth.
‘Naw, me little one – naw.’
Opening her eyes, Amy looked into a wizened face. The angel of death?
A smell came to her, one she remembered from sitting with Elsie in th
e hospital. The hand clamping her mouth hurt. She wanted to bite it, but instead she remained still and quiet.
‘That’s better. Now, if I take my hand away, you mustn’t start again. If you do, they’ll take you to the madhouse and you’ll never get out.’
Amy tried to nod her head to the woman so that she would release her, but the nod turned into a shiver – a violent tremble of a shiver that seized her whole body and seemed to rattle the teeth in her head. She couldn’t stop it or control it. Confusion clogged her brain. Where am I? How did I get here? But most of all, the terrifying thought: who am I?
She must have said this all out loud, because the woman answered her. ‘You’re in workhouse hospital, lass. Police brought you in and, as for who you are, you’re Iva and I’ll take care of you. You’re me little Iva, and you’ve come back to me.’
With this, the woman covered her with something and then moved away in a shuffling manner, rather than walking, and as she did so she called back, ‘Whatever you do, don’t start shouting again, Iva, me lass.’
Iva? Why can’t I remember being Iva, or recall the woman who seems to be saying she’s me ma? Flashes of her nightmare came back to her: a young woman burning, a man and a woman, and a little girl on a cloud, drifting. Who are they? Why does it matter so much to me that they are not here?
When the woman returned a few minutes later, she had a blanket with her, but now Amy didn’t want it, as every part of her had become hot and clammy. She needed air! Her lungs gasped for it. Panic overcame her, as her lungs wouldn’t expand.
‘Oh, me lass, no. Not this. Not the croup.’
‘H – help me . . . Please, h – h – help me.’
The woman seemed frozen and oblivious to Amy needing her to fetch help. Her voice droned on, saying the same thing over and over: ‘Oh, dear God, not me little Iva. Don’t be taking me Iva from me again.’
12
Katrina
A Shattered Happiness
‘Katrina, you look very beautiful. I find myself falling in love with you and may take you from under Lord Frederick’s nose.’
‘Really, Lord Bellinger, don’t be so ridiculous! You, marry? I don’t think so. At least not for a long time. Though eventually you will need to, to produce an heir.’
His amusement at this put a smile on Bellinger’s face, enhancing his rakish good looks. Two ringlet-type curls had fallen onto his forehead, escaping the neat rolls of his naturally curly hair. His violet eyes held an expression akin to a cat that had got the cream. His lips remained full as they revealed his even, white teeth. He wasn’t as tall as Frederick, but still gave her at least four inches, so that she had to look up at him. His voice had a husky note as he said, ‘But I am smitten. And besides, you are only marrying Frederick for his title – and he you, for your money. Me, I could give you a title, and our union would be the merger of two very important families in the cotton-mill industry. Besides, we would fare well in other areas of our union, and you wouldn’t have to shore me up financially, darling.’
‘My Lord, this is very disloyal of you. Your poor friend is at home and unable to attend such a function, due to the propriety of his mourning and it being only two months since his brother died, and you try to steal his betrothed!’
‘Betrothed? I understood from Lord Frederick that you hadn’t finalized things.’
‘Oh? But we are engaged . . . I mean, well, there has been no formal announcement or celebration, but there couldn’t be yet, with Frederick in mourning.’
‘I’m only having fun. Come into the Regency Room. I have some new artworks to show you. Lord Frederick tells me that you are a talented artist?’
‘Oh no, My Lord, I wouldn’t go so far as that! But I do love to paint and have a liking for Renaissance art.’
‘Mmm, a bit too religious and fantasy-based for me. I like more grit in my paintings.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Something a bit risqué. Goya offers both, and it is one of his that I have just acquired. A nude.’
Katrina glanced around her to cover her blush. There were about fifty guests, some seated, others milling around socializing in this beautiful room. From the silk curtains to the damask covering the sofas and chairs that were arranged around the walls, everything was in a luscious silver-grey, giving a feeling of complete elegance. The floor in the centre of the room was of highly polished oak, ideal for dancing. This was edged to the walls by a pale-blue carpet. From the ceiling hung the most magnificent chandelier Katrina had ever seen. She couldn’t count the number of candles it held, but each one lit up the glass that contained it and added lighting to the room that created an air of romance.
A delicious meal had been enjoyed by all, in the equally sumptuous dining hall. Three long tables had been set, with a top table for Lord Bellinger and his honoured guests – all lords and ladies, except for one elderly duke.
It was an annual occasion, Lord Bellinger’s Ball, held in late March, and many more would attend later, when the entertainment and dancing would begin. Only a chosen few sat down at his table. Katrina had never been invited before. However, her new status, already known to many, had made her worthy of being added to the guest list. Frederick had urged her to accept. ‘You will represent me . . . us, my dear. I would like to present you to my friends myself, of course, but everyone will understand and there will be a formal introduction of you, once a decent time has elapsed.’
This had persuaded her. And with propriety being satisfied by partnering her with Lady Henrietta Parvoil, Katrina had allowed herself to enjoy the excitement of mingling in such circles. Had she been a little too overawed and had maybe let herself down? She couldn’t think how, but Lord Bellinger seemed to have a poor opinion of her.
‘Katrina? Have I offended your sensibility? I am so sorry, my dear. I did not realize you were so . . . How can I put this? Prudish isn’t the right word. No, innocent maybe?’
‘Oh? What did you think me? My Lord, I am sure you do not wish to insult me, but your insinuations about my relationship with Lord Rollinson – and in thinking me someone you can talk with, in the manner in which you have engaged me – have offended me. I may be the daughter of a self-made man, but I am also the daughter of a lady. I have had an upbringing that rivals many of those here, and have attended the same schools as some of them. I am not who you seem to think I am. Now I would be grateful if you would arrange for my carriage to be brought to the front entrance to take me home. Please make the excuse that I am feeling unwell.’
With this, Katrina turned and walked out of the room, trying to maintain as much dignity as she could. Tears stung her eyes, humiliation burned her cheeks and anger boiled in her blood. It was an altogether uncomfortable feeling, and not one that was conducive to salvaging her pride.
Somehow she managed to make it to the ladies’ closet – a room delicately decorated and perfumed, with another room leading off, which housed a water toilet. All very convenient, but a maid was needed to be in attendance to help with holding the contraption that the ladies had to wear under their frocks.
Her heart sank at the sight of herself: beautiful, yes, and dressed in the finest of clothes that could be bought. Ruby in colour, her gown belled from her tiny waist and was held with the aid of a cage-like stiff petticoat. She didn’t need the benefit of a corset and wouldn’t have worn one, but for the necessity to hold her bosom in place. The neckline of her gown showed just a tiny part of her cleavage – and that only because, being large in that department, she couldn’t keep it all under the pretty white lace that edged the square neckline of the tight-fitting bodice. The sleeves of her frock were close-fitting to her upper arm and then draped to a point just below her elbow, and were also edged with lace. Around her neck she wore a diamond necklace – an heirloom from her mother’s family. A matching tiara adorned her hair. All perfect and fitting for the occasion, but could this finery make her what she wasn’t: ‘high-born’ to both parents? No, of course not, and nor could it make her acceptable to the likes of Lord Bellin
ger. Not to his inner circle at least, though she had always been on the fringe of it. His behaviour tonight was a reminder of who she really was. Oh God, why did I accept his invitation? I’m a damn fool.
A maid entered the room. ‘Excuse me, Miss Arkwright, but Lord Bellinger begs to be allowed to speak with you. He has asked me to take you to his sitting room.’
‘I cannot go there unaccompanied. Will you please find Lady Henrietta Parvoil and bring her to me? Thank you. Oh, and tell his lordship that I will be with him shortly.’
Henrietta’s face was full of concern as she entered. ‘Katrina, my dear, are you unwell?’
The daughter of Lord and Lady Parvoil, Henrietta had been Katrina’s best friend at school and had always been her defender in matters of her birthright, when many of the other ladies would question her standing and had shunned her in social matters. Not that Katrina gave a jot about it all. If only her mother hadn’t constantly sought to get her into those circles that she herself – or so she maintained – felt glad not to be a part of any more!
‘I’ve had a horrid experience, Henrietta. Please help me.’ Telling Henrietta how Lord Bellinger had insulted her caused Katrina mixed feelings of embarrassment and anger. At the end of her telling, a thought occurred to her. ‘Oh dear, should I refuse Lord Rollinson’s offer, do you think? I don’t want to cause him embarrassment, and I really don’t want to go through this discomfiture every time we socialize with his friends. I mean, it was different when I was just one of the crowd of acceptable guests, to make up the numbers. I could mingle with the others who had some reason for being on the fringe of society. But tonight was my first experience of being part of the honoured guest list.’