The Workhouse Girl

by Dilly Court

  Upstairs in the parlour Moorcroft stood with his back to the fire, gazing anxiously at Mrs Arbuthnot. ‘I’ve bought us some time, ma’am. But your maid has gone to fetch help, and I’m afraid that this could turn nasty.’

  She raised her eyes to his face and her bottom lip quivered. ‘Do you think that Trigg was telling the truth?’

  ‘Is it true that your husband remortgaged the property, Mrs Arbuthnot?’

  She looked away. ‘Yes, I’m afraid he did. James was desperate to raise the funds in order to rebuild the sugar mill but it all went wrong. The money was lost and my poor husband was so ill that I hadn’t the heart to tell him.’

  ‘You’ve known about this for some time?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I tried to make ends meet by taking in commercial travellers and then I had to sell or pawn anything that was of value. I kept up the payments for as long as I could, but there were doctors’ bills and so many expenses. I’m not a business woman, Mr Moorcroft.’ Her voice broke on a sob. ‘But I did my best.’

  Sarah laid her hand on her shoulder. ‘You’ve been very brave, ma’am.’

  ‘Quite heroic,’ Moorcroft said, clearing his throat. ‘But now I know more of your circumstances I think we should face the inevitable.’

  ‘You mean that I’ll lose my home.’ Mrs Arbuthnot’s face crumpled and tears rolled unchecked down her cheeks.

  ‘I’ll do anything I can to help, ma’am. Please don’t cry.’ Sarah looked around the room, realising for the first time that the shelves were bare of ornaments. The ormolu clock that had once graced the mantelshelf with a garniture of two matching candelabra had also disappeared, and there were faded patches on the walls where oil paintings of rural scenes had once hung. She sent a pleading glance to Moorcroft. ‘What can we do?’

  ‘The first thing must be to find alternative accommodation,’ he said slowly. ‘And it would be wise to remove as many of your possessions as possible, Mrs Arbuthnot. I’m afraid that the arrival of the bailiffs is a definite possibility if you still owe money.’

  ‘I don’t know if Cook has paid the tradesmen,’ she said, holding her hanky to her streaming eyes. ‘I’m not very good at handling money or keeping the household accounts. I’ve been leaving it to her.’

  Moorcroft drew Sarah aside. ‘I think you ought to start packing Mrs Arbuthnot’s personal effects and anything of value that you can find. She may have to leave in rather a hurry.’

  Sarah nodded wordlessly. She knew that it made sense to be prepared to evacuate the house but she did not know where to begin. Leaving Moorcroft to comfort Mrs Arbuthnot, she went downstairs hoping that Dorcas might have returned, but she found Cook collapsed in her chair with the sherry bottle held to her lips. Betty eyed her warily as she cowered in the corner, stuffing the remains of the cake into her mouth.

  Sarah could see that neither of them was going to be much help and she was about to go upstairs and begin packing when she saw Dorcas and Franz coming down the steps. She ran to open the door. ‘Well?’

  Flushed and breathless Dorcas smiled triumphantly. ‘Franz is going to help. Tell her what you told me, Franz.’

  He entered the kitchen, dragging off his cap. ‘There’s an empty house in Elbow Lane. I know it because I walk that way when I call for Miss Parfitt at the school. One of the sugar bakers bought the place for his aged parents, but they died last year and he wants to sell it.’

  ‘Hold on, Franz,’ Dorcas said angrily. ‘You never said nothing about buying the house. The mistress is all but bankrupt.’

  ‘I’ve been saving my earnings for some time and I intend to purchase the property, but I don’t want to live there until I have a wife to make a home for me.’

  Dorcas blushed rosily. ‘Oh, Franz. Have you anyone in mind?’

  ‘That’s for me to know. I won’t speak up until I’m ready and in the meantime I would gladly let Mrs Arbuthnot live there until she finds somewhere better. It is in a poor state and I would not charge rent. An empty house is not good.’

  Dorcas’s mouth turned down at the corners and her eyes narrowed. ‘You’re not thinking of proposing to the schoolteacher, are you? She thinks she’s a cut above you, Franz Beckman.’

  ‘Again, that is for me to know.’ He turned to Sarah. ‘Will you take me to the mistress? I would like to speak to her personally.’

  ‘I’m the head parlourmaid,’ Dorcas said, pushing Sarah out of the way. ‘She’s not even employed here, and all our troubles are due to her in the first place. If Mr Arbuthnot hadn’t taken her and that flighty carrot-headed girl from the workhouse, none of this would have happened. I would have been a married woman and Cook wouldn’t have a tendency to take nips of the cooking sherry when things go wrong.’ Dorcas sent a warning look to Sarah as if daring her to argue, and tossing her head she flounced up the stairs. ‘Come on, Franz. Don’t stand there gawping like a fish on a slab. The bailiffs could turn up at any moment.’

  He paused at the foot of the stairs, glancing over his shoulder with a hint of a grin. ‘And she wonders why she is still unmarried.’

  The decision was made and Sarah suspected that it was Moorcroft who had persuaded Mrs Arbuthnot that there was no alternative but to leave as quickly as possible. Cook was sobered up with cups of strong coffee. She was still slightly groggy and unsteady on her feet but she rallied sufficiently to help Betty pack up the kitchen utensils and the crockery, together with any foodstuffs they found in the larder. Franz had sent for some of his fellow workers, who carried everything to the waiting cart. Dorcas and Sarah concentrated on the rest of the house and the first load was sent off to Elbow Lane with Franz on the driver’s seat and his mate Heinrich at his side.

  Pale-faced but seemingly resigned Mrs Arbuthnot went to her room to sort out what she intended to take to her new home, leaving Sarah and Dorcas to accomplish the rest of the packing. They decided between them that the large furniture would have to be left behind but they would need beds, bedding and anything else that they could pile onto the cart.

  It was mid-afternoon and Franz, accompanied by Dorcas and Betty, had just driven off with the fourth and last load when Trigg arrived with the bailiffs and a mob of tough-looking individuals. They seemed mildly disappointed to discover that there were only women and a middle-aged solicitor in the house, and that the occupants were not going to put up a fight.

  Moorcroft examined the documents and acknowledged their validity. With her head held high Sophia Arbuthnot walked out of her home and Moorcroft handed the keys to Trigg. Sarah was glad to see that some of the men had the grace to look shame-faced as the dignified widow walked past them. The bailiffs moved on and even Trigg seemed to be more subdued than normal, but that did not prevent him from seizing Sarah by the arm and pressing his face close to hers. ‘You’ll keep, girlie. But don’t think I’ve done with you.’

  Moorcroft stepped in between them. ‘I hope you’re not threatening my client, sir.’

  Trigg backed away. ‘Of course I ain’t, guv. Just passing the time of day with a sweet young thing what used to be my ward all those years ago.’

  Sarah was tempted to ignore him, but concern for Grey overrode commonsense. ‘Isn’t it enough for you that you’ve robbed an innocent woman of her home, Mr Trigg? Why don’t you act like a gentleman and drop the charges against Tobias Grey? He’s done nothing to you.’

  ‘He crossed me, girl. I never forgets and I never forgives. I ain’t finished with him by a long chalk.’

  ‘Come away, Sarah,’ Moorcroft said, tucking her hand in the crook of his arm. ‘Don’t waste words on a man of his ilk.’

  ‘Look down on me, would you, squire?’ Trigg took a menacing step towards him. ‘We’ll see who comes out on top, and it won’t be you, lawyer.’

  The house in Elbow Lane was squashed between two warehouses like the jam in a sandwich. Sarah accompanied Franz with the last load of possessions from Wellclose Square, while Mrs Arbuthnot and Moorcroft followed in a hansom cab and Cook togethe
r with her precious copper pots and pans travelled in a growler.

  Sarah climbed down from the cart, peering up at a tiny patch of blue just visible above the rooftops. The dark canyons between the manufactories and industrial buildings seemed to linger in a state of perpetual twilight. The ground shook beneath her feet as carts and drays thundered past laden with barrels, sacks and crates. The docks were just a street away and the shouts of stevedores, warehousemen and porters competed with the sound of the flapping of sails and the creak of wooden masts as sailing ships prepared to enter the docks. Unfamiliar odours emanated from the buildings; tobacco, molasses and roasting coffee beans struggled to overpower the stench of the Shadwell Basin and the festering mud on the foreshore. She felt as though she had entered another world, far different from the peace and quiet of the salt marshes as they slumbered beneath acres of open sky.

  ‘Here,’ Franz said, leaping off the driver’s seat. ‘Take the lightest things into the house. I’ll bring the rest.’

  She smiled. ‘You’re a gent, Franz.’

  ‘I’m used to heavy work.’ He stroked Boxer’s muzzle. ‘You’re due for a rest, I think.’

  Sarah heaved two baskets of food from the back of the cart. ‘Are there any stables round here? Boxer belongs to my friend, and this conveyance is his livelihood.’

  ‘There’s the yard at the refinery. The cart will be safe there and there are several horses in the stables. One more won’t make much difference.’

  ‘Thank you, Franz. I don’t know what we’d have done without you today.’

  ‘Miss Pearl would want me to help you. I do it for her.’

  She nodded. Everyone loved Pearl and she could understand why Franz was smitten, but she could not help wondering if Miss Parfitt felt the same or what went on beneath her calm exterior. As far as Sarah could tell her wonderful Miss Perfect went through life like a silver swan gliding over a glassy lake, serene and unruffled by the world around her. How wonderful, Sarah thought, to be untouched by the turbulent emotions experienced by ordinary mortals.

  The front door was open and she stepped into the narrow entrance hall, almost tripping over a box of books that someone had left in the middle of the floor. ‘Dorcas,’ she called. ‘Where are you?’

  A door to her right opened and Dorcas stuck her head out. ‘I’m trying to light the fire and the bloody thing keeps going out. Come and give me a hand.’

  Sarah put the baskets on top of the box and took off her bonnet and shawl. ‘What can I do?’

  Dorcas thrust a pair of bellows into her hands. ‘Get the damn thing going. We’ve tried to make the place as homely as possible for the mistress. Miss Parfitt says that first impressions are the most important and we all know what a terrible wrench it must be for madam to leave the house she went to as a young bride.’

  Sarah took the bellows and went down on her knees in front of the grate. She worked them vigorously. ‘It’s not too bad,’ she said, trying to ignore the peeling wallpaper, chipped paintwork and patches of damp creeping up the walls.

  Dorcas grabbed a broom and began sweeping the floor. ‘Looks like they kept pigs in the kitchen,’ she muttered. ‘And why there’s sawdust on the floor in the front parlour beats me.’ She swept the dust into the hall. ‘Lay the rugs down when you’ve seen to the fire,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘At least the poor lady will have somewhere decent to sit this evening. Miss Parfitt’s seeing to her bedroom with the help of that Heinrich fellow. I can hardly understand a word he says but he’s willing enough if you can make him understand what you want.’

  Sarah concentrated on the task in hand and after a few minutes the flames took hold, producing a welcome blaze. She would have liked to sit there and enjoy the warmth, but there was still work to do and she rose to her feet. Having laid the rugs on the floor and set the furniture straight she took a moment to look round to see if there were any finishing touches that would make Mrs Arbuthnot feel more at home. The small house in a poor area was undoubtedly a comedown from Wellclose Square, but it was better than living on the streets and quite palatial compared to Miss Fitch’s humble abode on the marshes. Satisfied that she could do no more, Sarah went to retrieve the baskets from the hall.

  Dorcas swept the last of the dust into the street. ‘No one will notice a bit more rubbish on top of what’s already there,’ she said with a grim smile. ‘Come with me, and I’ll show you the rest of the ground floor.’ She bustled on ahead. ‘That will have to do as the dining room,’ she said, thrusting a door open so that Sarah could peer inside a small, dark room that smelled of damp and dry rot. Dorcas closed the door with a sigh. ‘God alone knows what Mrs Burgess will say when she sees her kitchen, and Betty will have to sleep in the washhouse or the outside privy, but don’t say nothing to her about it. I’ve set her to cleaning the range and she’s not happy.’ She led the way to the room in question where they found Betty sobbing quietly as she attempted to scrape the rust off the range. It was quite obvious that no one had cleaned it for a very long time, let alone applied a coat of blacklead.

  Sarah rolled up her sleeves. ‘I’ll give you a hand, Betty. We’ll need to get a fire going as soon as possible or it’ll be bread and cheese for supper.’

  ‘There’s a pie and eel shop round the corner in the High Street,’ Dorcas said, licking her lips. ‘I like a bit of eel pie and liquor with some mashed taters.’

  ‘I doubt if Mrs Arbuthnot would agree.’ Sarah dipped a scrubbing brush in a bucket of cold water. ‘But I don’t think we’re going to get this thing working today. Did you pack the blacklead, Dorcas?’

  ‘Of course I did, but don’t ask me which box it’s in.’ Dorcas started to unpack the baskets. She held up a bottle of mushroom ketchup. ‘I don’t think Cook will need this for a few days.’ She opened a cupboard and began emptying the contents of the basket onto the shelves. ‘You should have seen the state the larder was in when I arrived. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with me own eyes. There was cockroaches the size of mice. I’m not joking, Sarah. I never seen the like. And mouse droppings – the floor was thick with them. Mrs Burgess would’ve had a fit if she’d seen it. If I could get my hands on that man Trigg, I’d wring his fat neck.’ She stopped talking and cocked her head on one side. ‘I think they’ve arrived. Now we’re for it. Cook will have hysterics. Hide the cooking sherry.’ She rushed from the room.

  Sarah smiled to herself as she heard Dorcas welcoming Mrs Arbuthnot to her new home as if it were a palace and not a shabby three-storey dwelling that had probably been on the site since the time of Good Queen Bess. Moments later Cook sidled into the kitchen, clutching her hanky to her nose and mouth. ‘Is this where I’m supposed to work?’ she demanded with a cry of anguish. ‘It’s little bigger than a scullery.’

  Betty clambered to her feet. ‘Can we go home now, Cook? Me hands is red raw from scrubbing this old monster.’

  ‘Be quiet, you silly girl,’ Cook said, sinking down onto a chair. ‘How am I supposed to make meals on that ancient range? I doubt if it’s had a fire in it this century.’

  ‘It’s not so bad, Cook,’ Sarah said hastily. ‘We’ve got the worst of the rust off it and when it’s been blackleaded it’ll come up a treat, although it might need the chimney sweep before we can light the fire.’

  Cook buried her face in her hands. ‘I can’t even boil a kettle. What have we come to?’

  Dorcas rushed into the room. ‘Stop that, Cook. They can hear you in the front parlour and Mr Moorcroft says we mustn’t upset the mistress. She’s the one who’s come down in the world. I daresay that you and I have seen worse than this in our time.’

  ‘I have,’ Betty volunteered. ‘I remember when . . .’

  ‘Shut up,’ Dorcas said angrily. ‘We don’t care what you can or can’t recall, my girl. Go outside to the pump and fill the kettle with water. We can heat it on a trivet by the fire in the front room. At least we can make a pot of tea and there’s one of Cook’s ginger cakes in the tin, if Bett
y hasn’t been there before us.’

  ‘I’m afraid to go out the back,’ Betty said, clutching the kettle in her hands. ‘There’s rats like bulldogs out there and cats like tigers.’

  ‘Nonsense.’ Sarah guided her towards the back door. ‘We’ll go together and you’ll see that the rats are no bigger than the ones in Wellclose Square.’

  Outside there were two small brick buildings. One, Sarah discovered, was a tiny washhouse and the other housed a privy, which consisted of a bucket placed beneath a wooden seat. The yard was enclosed by a high brick wall with a gate leading into a service alley for the dustman and the night soil collector. There did not seem to be a pump but Sarah found one hidden beneath a stack of wooden floorboards that someone had been chopping up for firewood. She worked the handle and after a few spurts of rust and slime the water flowed freely. ‘There, Betty. Look at that. Nice clean water.’

  ‘Probably comes from the docks,’ Betty muttered as she filled the kettle.

  Sarah thought she was probably right but she did not want to discourage her. If Betty got an idea stuck in her head it was almost impossible to make her see sense, and if she told Mrs Burgess that their water was tainted it would be the final straw. She guided Betty back to the kitchen and Dorcas snatched the kettle from her. ‘You took your time. I’ll see to the tea. Betty, you must finish cleaning the range and Sarah you can go and help Miss Parfitt make up the beds.’ She hurried from the room, bristling with efficiency.

  ‘You’d think she was the mistress of the house,’ Cook grumbled, shaking her head. ‘This is a bad day. A very bad day indeed.’

  Sarah patted her on the shoulder. ‘At least we’ve got a roof over our heads, no thanks to that brute Trigg. Is it all right if I go and help Miss Parfitt, or do you want me to carry on unpacking the kitchen things?’

  ‘You’re a good girl, Sarah. There’s no point getting the cooking utensils out when I’ve got nothing to cook on. You go upstairs and help Miss Parfitt. We’ll all be glad to lay our heads on our pillows tonight.’