by Mary Wood
Amy only had a second to be glad about this, before her head stung with pain as the man wrenched her off his leg by her hair. Before she could recover, the door shut with a bang. The man had gone.
No one moved for a moment. In the silence Amy was sure all could hear her teeth chattering and her bones shaking. Lettie spoke first. ‘Amy, lass, are you all right? What’s gone on here? Amy, you’re covered in blood and . . . Oh, my God, Lil! Lil!’
All except the sewer workers were let off their duties and set to cleaning up the dormitory. Lettie helped Amy to sort herself, showing her where the rags, which were clean but still showed stains, were kept for the women on their monthly, and where to put the soiled ones. Hugging her, Lettie said she was pleased to see that Amy weren’t ‘caught for a babby’. ‘Eeh, lass, giving birth is sommat bad to go through; but the taking of your child after – by, I’ve heard some wailing that’d cut your heart in two, and I wouldn’t want that for you.’
Amy hadn’t answered this. She couldn’t think right now about what might have happened, but only of the task she and Lettie were carrying out. It wasn’t a nice task, but they didn’t mind and they would rather it was them than anyone else. As Lettie washed Lil’s torso and Amy washed her arms, Lettie said, ‘Eeh, she were a devil, but not in an evil way, God rest her. She’d like it that we’re doing this for her.’
The still figure of Lil, once into everything that didn’t concern her, lay peacefully now. Her waxen face, though sunken onto her cheekbones, bore the slight trace of a smile.
‘I called her “Mam”,’ Amy muttered.
‘Aye, someone said. Is that water still hot? We can get the worst off her back with it, afore we get some of it clean. Help me turn her. Have you put kettle on?’
‘I have.’ Crossing over to the stove to bring more hot water over, Amy had the sensation of the hair on her arms being brushed by a dozen fingers. ‘Eeh, Lettie, I’m not liking this place. It gives me shudders. And the smell!’
‘It’s a morgue, that’s why. There’s still a couple of old bodies over there. Undertaker don’t seem to bother to turn up when he should. I’ve had them rotting afore he’s took them. It’s on account of them being paupers. He don’t get much for shifting them. They have no service, or owt like that, just being shoved in a rough grave.’
‘Will Lil have a service?’
‘I doubt it. She’s no money as I know of. But we’ll give her a send-off, eh? There’s a few as liked Lil, so we’ll get them all together and sing some hymns.’
‘I don’t know any. Does you know some, Lettie?’
‘Aye, you’ve heard that “Amazing Grace”, haven’t you? I love that, and that clever bloke – him as is allus shuffling about and reading stuff; some call him “the professor” – he heard me humming it one day and were telling me as it was written by someone involved in the slave trade, and I reckon as that’s what we are in, an’ all. Only we’re the slaves, we’re not selling them, so I reckon that would be a fitting hymn. Besides, Lil would often hum it, so she must have liked it.’
Lettie began to hum it now and the sound made Amy feel better, as did their decision to have a service for Lil. She’d have liked that for Ma and Elsie, but she never knew what happened to them. Her da had a service. Sad it was, but nice. It was like a proper goodbye.
These thoughts had hardly settled when a lad put his head around the door. ‘Warden said as Amy’s to come at once to the office. There’s a bloke asking after her.’
Lettie’s face held a worried expression. ‘A bloke? What kind of bloke? It ain’t one of them police, is it?’
‘Naw, he don’t look like one.’
‘Is – is he a toff?’
‘Naw, he’s young and kindly-looking. Phew, it stinks in here. How does you stand it?’
‘Because we have to. How does you know he’s kindly? You know a lot, for a messenger.’
‘He ruffled me hair when I opened the door for him, and said I was a good lad when I showed him to the warden. He talked to me like I were somebody.’
‘Aye, well that’s nice for you. Run along and tell warden we’re nearly done here, and that Amy must change afore she comes up. Tell him what we’re at, then he’ll understand.’
As Amy prepared to go and see her visitor, she tried to imagine who the stranger was. She felt disappointed the caller wasn’t likely to be the Earl. The lad would have known the Earl was a toff.
She’d never given up hope that he would come for her, but then she’d no way of knowing what that mean Lord Bellinger had told him about her. Who this could be, she couldn’t imagine, but at the lad’s description, she didn’t feel afraid.
Wearing her clean apron – the one they were allowed to wear only once a week, on a Sunday when the vicar came to take a service – Amy stood in front of the stranger and waited.
‘I’m Haydon Green. I find people, when others are looking for them. You’re Amy Dovecote, I believe?’
‘I am, Mister.’
‘Well then, my mission is almost accomplished. I was commissioned by the Earl of Harrogate to find you and your sister. Have you any idea where your sister might be?’
The relief nearly brought Amy to tears. It was funny how good things had that effect on her, and yet she found it hard to cry at bad things. ‘Me sister may have gone back to Pradley over Bowland Hills, or at least she’d have tried, I reckon. There was a bloke there as wanted her, and he had a lot of power, so he might have saved her. But I doubt she’d have made it.’
‘Don’t underestimate willpower, young lady. It can surmount a lot of things, even a club foot, which I understand your sister is afflicted with. And I have it in good faith that there has not been a body found on the Bowland Hills, so there’s a lot of hope. Especially as the police have given up the search for her.’
‘What will happen to her, if you find her? Will you hand her over to the police, Mister? If you do, she could hang.’
‘I don’t think so. The Earl is considering her options and making deals. He is hoping that she will get no more than a short sentence and will then be released into his wardenship. He wants to find you both a job, and a home.’
‘Humph! Seems a lot for an earl to do, for a couple of wenches who had a hand in the demise of his brother. What’s his game?’
‘That is not for you to know, Warden. The Earl’s business is his own. He obviously feels responsible for these girls’ welfare, and the whys and wherefores of that are for his own counsel.’
The warden reddened at this, but stood his ground. ‘Well, that’s as may be, but the welfare of this girl is my responsibility until she is released from these premises, under the conditions of the Poor Law that binds her here. So, my business or not, I must ask a lot of questions and satisfy those whose business it is.’
‘The Earl’s solicitor will see to all of that, man. You will receive a copy of his application for your files, but that is all the involvement you will have.’
‘Have I to come now, Mister? Cos there’s stuff I need to do. And I’d like to ask the Earl a question an’ all,’ Amy said.
It was the warden who answered. ‘Well, you have a side to you. Naw, you can’t leave here now – not until I have the proper paperwork from the court, which states that I can release you to this Earl. A funny business all round, if you ask me. I’ve never heard the like!’
The Earl’s representative winked at her. ‘Go along and get on with what you were doing. The warden is correct: you can’t be released until all is in order, and I couldn’t do anything about that until I found you. I have now, so it won’t take long. Just be patient. Now, this question you have for the Earl, what is it? I’ll pass it on to him.’
‘It’s about me friend, Lettie. She wants out of here. She’s hard-working and she’s only in here because the pox took all her family. It ain’t what she’s used to and—’
The warden snorted in disgust. ‘Shut your mouth, girl. I’ll not stand by while you make out there is sommat wrong with this pla
ce. It’s better than the street, where the likes of you come from.’
‘I – I didn’t mean—’
‘A civil tongue wouldn’t go amiss, Sir! You may run a respectable place here and a much-needed place for the homeless, but that doesn’t mean to say those shackled to it have to like it. Now, Amy, run along and leave things to me. I will of course mention your friend, but first I would like to meet her – if you have no objections, Sir?’
‘Am I to bring her, Warden?’
The warden glowered. ‘Very well. But any such meeting is to be conducted here in my presence, and I’m to be allowed to say my bit. Is that understood?’
The meeting had gone well. Lettie was shocked at Amy daring to ask for such a favour for her, but was thrilled, too. ‘Eeh, Amy, lass, it’s me dream to walk out of here. Fancy you knowing an earl and him looking for you! Put warden’s nose out, that did.’
‘Aye, I know.’ Amy gave a giggle that came from the deepest part of her, which she never thought would laugh again. It set Lettie off, and soon they were doubled up and slapping each other playfully.
‘Eeh, don’t. Me sides hurt, but then who cares? We’re getting out of here, lass. We’re on the up and up.’ With this, Lettie did a little dance along the corridor, and Amy copied her until they met in the middle and took each other’s hands and did a jig together.
Then Lettie burst into the chorus of ‘Amazing Grace’, and Amy had never heard a sweeter voice, or a more beautiful and rousing song. ‘Eeh, it beggars belief that a man as could sell slaves could write sommat like that.’
‘Aye, well, he was converted to Christianity later and became very famous and was a good man, so he made up for it, or so the professor told me.’
This made Amy feel better and she joined in the singing, thinking the line ‘That saved a wretch like me’ was more than fitting for her and Lettie. She hoped it was for Lil, too, and that she had gone to heaven and was holding her Iva in her arms.
17
Marcia & Frederick
Marcia’s Devious Plotting
Marcia looked peeved at the announcement that Bellinger had brought Henrietta with him to dinner. Now she would be the odd one at the table, with no one to sit opposite her. How dare he, after flirting with me? I had every hope of using his attentions towards me to make Frederick at least aware of my presence and to see me as a woman – maybe even a desirable one!
It seemed everyone except Marcia and Katrina knew that Henrietta was coming. One consolation was that Katrina’s face was a picture, when she heard Henrietta being announced. It hadn’t passed Marcia by that her sister had preened herself in an extra-special way before Bellinger’s arrival.
It would serve Katrina right. That was a rotten trick she had played on Frederick. The poor soul still thought it was he who had deflowered his bride. Well, she knew differently. She had hovered around the west wing that night – she hadn’t known why, and realized it was a strange thing to do – and, in doing so, had heard and seen what had gone on.
Stupid Katrina: naive to the point of being ridiculous. She had an air about her as if she were Bellinger’s only conquest. Good Lord, the man’s reputation was well known. Marcia herself could have him at the drop of a hat, but she didn’t want him. No, Katrina had taken the man she wanted. How happy she’d been to hear that Katrina was betrothed to Lord Bertram Rollinson, for that news had opened up a dream inside her. It would have meant that his brother Frederick would be in close contact with the family, and she – Marcia – would have an opportunity to seduce him. But, with the twist of fate that prevailed, brought on by the handiwork of that bloody family who’d killed Bertram, all her own hopes had been dashed.
Her anger had shown this afternoon in her insulting the very man she loved – flaunting her flirtation with Bellinger in the hope of making Frederick jealous, and hinting to him the truth of his wedding night, in the further hope that he would seek her out, wanting answers. This would have given her the chance to expose his unfaithful wife and declare her own love for him. But he hadn’t done that. Still . . . there was always tonight, and who knew what might happen?
The atmosphere rather pleased her, as it turned out. Henrietta and Katrina were still showing only a cold politeness towards each other, and Bellinger peeved Henrietta by being overly attentive to Katrina. That silly sister of hers couldn’t handle such situations in the sophisticated way they warranted; spilling her drink and jumping whenever someone spoke to her made it obvious that she was distressed about something. Well, she knew what it was and would take every opportunity to hint that she did.
‘Really, Katrina, what is the matter with you? You are as clumsy as a young girl in love in the presence of her beau, instead of acting like the married woman you are.’
Her mother’s sharp rebuke of, ‘Marcia, that wasn’t called for, and was not a fitting comment to make in front of our guests’ didn’t embarrass her; she just giggled. And neither did it detract from the pleasure of seeing Katrina further confused, whilst trying to hide the deep blush the remark had caused.
Marcia hadn’t missed the chance to hint to Katrina that she knew of her tryst with Lord Bellinger, so she knew her sister had taken the full impact of her remark to mean exactly what she intended. ‘Sorry, Mummy, I was only playing. I thought to make a joke of Katrina’s obvious discomfort, and help to put her at her ease.’
Frederick’s bemused appearance at this further enhanced Marcia’s enjoyment of the situation. She watched as he tried to catch Katrina’s eye, his look quizzical.
Bellinger rose to the challenge, but then he would. ‘My Lady Katrina – such an apt title for such a beautiful and deserving lady – please don’t be uncomfortable in our presence.’ He smiled at Henrietta, who graciously smiled back and nodded at Katrina.
Poor Henrietta. She has no idea . . . I could almost feel sorry for her, and now Katrina is blushing even more and stammering. It is all going better than I dared imagine!
‘No, really, I – I’m not. I – it is all behind us now.’
Her father’s scowl pleased Marcia even more. She was having a delicious evening; she had to keep it going. ‘Surely, Lord Bellinger, it isn’t for you to compliment a lady who is not your fiancée, and in front of her at that – and in the presence of her new husband, who hasn’t done so?’
‘Marcia!’
This from her father made her feel like a child. She wouldn’t have been surprised to hear him tell her to leave the table, but Mother stepped in. ‘It was a nice compliment, Lord Bellinger. I am sure, though, that Marcia – like me, and surely Henrietta, too – is feeling left out of your flattery.’
‘The opportunity hadn’t presented itself, Madam. I am dazzled by the beauty and elegance around the table, particularly that of my fiancée, as I told her, the moment I picked her up tonight.’
His bow to Henrietta had her giving a pleased, good-little-girl-rewarded kind of smile. Marcia felt sick to her stomach at Lord Bellinger’s ability to wriggle out of anything. And then, as if prompted, Frederick joined in. ‘I have to agree. We are honoured to have the table graced by such beauty, and particularly Katrina’s. My dear, you do look very beautiful tonight. I am so proud that you are my wife.’
Katrina’s look of gratitude held what Frederick might mistake for something else, and his smile showed his fondness for his wife. If she didn’t have the knowledge she had, Marcia would say they were a young couple in the throes of that first flush of consummated love – a picture that was the last thing she’d intended as the outcome of her mischief-making.
Though she had to admit that Katrina did look beautiful. Marcia was sure the extra effort her sister had put into her appearance was for Lord Bellinger’s benefit. A natural beauty anyway, with her dark, sultry looks that emulated their mother’s, Katrina wore a gown of peacock-blue tonight. The half-moon shape of the neckline showed off her pearl-like skin, from the nape of her neck to her bare shoulders. A single strand of black jade beads further enhanced her skin tone and p
rovided just enough jewellery to complement her gown. The puffed-out short sleeves had a lace trimming to match that of the lines of lace on the bodice, which finished at the nipped-in waistline. The style showed Katrina’s hour-glass figure to perfection, as did the skirt, which, with its many petticoats and supported by a framed under-petticoat, had an exquisite bell-shape that finished in the perfect small bustle. Her hair, pinned on top of her head and falling in ringlets around her face, had been dressed impeccably, with pearl beads threaded through it.
Poor Henrietta; although she was a delicate lady with clear-cut features and a nice figure, her almost plain ruby-red dress buttoned up to her neckline made her appear slightly frumpy, and well and truly in Katrina’s shadow. As, I must admit, I am. And I made such an effort!
The gown Marcia wore, and now hated, was of a beautiful pink satin in a style that gathered under her bust and flowed to the floor – no petticoats held it out, no bustle enhanced her shape. She’d chosen it thinking she would look vulnerable, and that it would attract the eyes of the soft-hearted Frederick. She had failed. His eyes and his attention were on his wife. Katrina really doesn’t deserve it! Besides, I am just as pretty as her, though I do have less delicate features, as my face is more clear-cut – something I like about myself. And everyone says that my dark eyes are beautiful and reflect my mood. Often that has been sensuous and drives men wild. Why isn’t that so with Frederick!
‘Well, Sir, I must say, you put on an excellent table and we are honoured to be your guests.’ This lie from the pompous Bellinger did have the effect of changing the subject.
‘Thank you, Lord Bellinger, though it is my wife who sees to such things and is to be congratulated. Tell me, how are things in your corner of our industry?’