Shattered Dreams

by King, Rebecca

  “What do you mean you threw her out?” Harry growled when he asked the bar keeper if he had seen her.

  “Sat over there nursing a beer for the better part of two hours,” the bar keeper snorted in disgust as he nodded to the far corner of the room. “Get her kind in here a lot, we do. They arrive on the bloody post chaises, and don’t have anywhere to go, and then think they can move in here instead of paying for a room. So, I threw her out.”

  He didn’t stick around for Harry to ask him anything else, and hurried to the other end of the bar to throw more ale at the customers.

  Harry slammed out of the tavern, and looked up and down the main street for several minutes while he contemplated what to do next. The ticket master had assured him that the last post chaise of the day had left several hours ago. The next one to leave wouldn’t go until tomorrow morning. Unfortunately, the man had not sold any tickets to any young ladies and he had been on duty all day, so Harry knew that Tilly had chosen to ignore his advice, and hadn’t left town. He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or not.

  With his options now exhausted, Harry stood on the side of the road and tried to think what he would do if he was in Tilly’s situation. He hated to even contemplate the possibility, but knew that there really was only one place in the area that someone in her situation would turn to: the poor house.

  He slowly; reluctantly, looked at the huge, draconian building that everyone in the area feared the most, and began to pray that he was wrong. Determined to find her, he headed toward it anyway.

  Tilly studied the huge stone fortress ahead of her, and shuddered. Her steps grew leaden as she walked toward the massive black building. It stood sentry-like on top of the hill, like a prison of the worst kind. She had doubts upon doubts upon doubts as she eyed the massive front doors bracketed by rows upon rows of small, barred windows. It was horrifying just to look at.

  The coinage in her pocket jingled as she walked, and even that seemed to echo her doubts.

  Would they even let her in if she had money in her pocket? Would they allow her inside at all?

  She had no idea. She had never been to a poor house before. It was the very last place she had ever thought she would end up, but she was left with no choice now.

  At least in Tooting Mallow there was a safe place for her to sleep at night, even if it wasn’t her place of choice. If she bought a post chaise ticket out of town, she may not find somewhere to stay in the town she went to because she would have even fewer coins than she had now. She would just be moving with her problems.

  For some reason she didn’t want to consider too closely, her thoughts turned repeatedly to the man she had just left in the Rectory. Mr Harrington Tingay. He had seemed a nice, affable gentleman, who had been kind and considerate toward her. If she had any dire issues, as a last resort, she could go and ask him for advice – couldn’t she? After all, the letter she had received had come from his house; surely he would help her.

  She sighed deeply when she suddenly realised that she had left her letter with him. She briefly contemplated whether to go back and fetch it. To her consternation though, before she could decide whether to or not, the front door to the poor house opened silently to let her in.

  She stopped on the driveway for a moment, and studied the gloomy depths that seemed to beckon her to embrace the darkness. She slowly began to walk toward it, but wondered if she was walking a pathway that would take her straight into Hell.

  Even from a few feet away she could feel that it was several degrees colder inside than out, and suddenly wanted to turn around and hurry back to the relative safety of town.

  Unfortunately, she knew that she would just be kicked out of the tavern again, and there really was nowhere else she could go.

  With Mr Tingay’s words of warning echoing in her ears, Tilly took a deep breath, and entered Tooting Mallow’s poor house.

  Harry cursed fluidly as he watched her disappear into the darkness, and the huge wooden door close behind her with a heavy thump.

  He called out, but knew that she was too far away to hear him. His curse was loud as he lengthened his stride to catch up with her. Although he was angry, at least he knew where she was, and could get her out of there before they even finished completing the register. He could buy her out of there if he bloody well had to; anything but allow her to remain in that pit of misery. He wished now that he had taken a moment to warn her to stay away from the poor house as well, but then was aware that he should not have even let her out of the Rectory doorway.

  His curses were loud as he stomped toward the heavy oak door and lifted his fist. His thumps were so loud that he could hear them reverberate around the stone walls inside. Nevertheless, he continued to knock until the sound of the bolts being slid back greeted his ears.

  The door swung open silently and a tall, rather dour man appeared before him.

  “What do you want?”

  “I want the young woman who has just entered here,” Harry demanded.

  “Nobody has just entered here,” the man replied briskly, and tried to close the door.

  Harry placed the flat of his hand on the wooden panelling and stopped him. His eyes met and held the warden’s. “I saw her enter here about two minutes ago. Don’t lie to me, I know she is here,” he declared flatly. As he spoke, he tried to peer around the man only for the warden to move and block his view.

  “Tilly!” he called loudly.

  “There ain’t no Tilly here,” the man grumbled. “Go away.”

  “I saw her enter here just minutes ago,” Harry persisted. “She was about this tall, with green eyes and long brown curly hair in a bun thing.”

  When the man continued to look blank, Harry fought a bitter curse of frustration, but persisted anyway. What the hell was going on? He wasn’t sure if the man was deliberately being obtuse, or hadn’t been the one who had let Tilly inside. Whatever the case, Harry was not going to leave without her, and would push the man out of the way so that he could go inside and find her himself if he had to.

  “Nobody has entered this poor house since last Thursday, I tell you,” the man replied huffily.

  “I have just seen her come here,” Harry reiterated. “Let me in. Go and check with your governor if you don’t believe me. She walked in here about two minutes ago. You can’t have processed her that quickly. She has to be around here somewhere. Go and look for her, man.”

  “I am telling you that nobody has entered here for the last few days,” the man sighed. “Now, are you going to go, or do I have to throw you out?”

  “Who are you?”

  “The Head Warden,” the man replied.

  “Your name?”

  “Who are you to be asking?” The warden challenged.

  “Tilly’s husband,” Harry lied. His instincts warned him that for now, he needed to keep his association with the War Office, and the Star Elite, a secret.

  “Well, you should know where your wife is,” the man replied with a snarl. “Now get out of here, and go and look for your wife somewhere else.”

  “What’s your name?” Harry demanded with a scowl. If he had to get Sir Hugo to help get Tilly out, then that is what he would do. First though, he had to have names.

  “Cruickshank,” the man snarled. “What’s it to you?”

  Before Harry could say anything else the door slammed shut, and the bolts were slid across for emphasis. Harry stared blankly at the wood panelling, mere inches from his nose, while he tried to work out what had just happened. He hadn’t imagined seeing Tilly just enter the building. She had even been carrying the same bag she had clung on to so desperately in his study.

  So, why had they denied that she was there?

  As he turned away from the building, he gave it one last careful look before he reluctantly walked back down the driveway.

  “In ‘ere,” the warden growled as he pushed a door open to a small square room that was barely big enough to accommodate a single bed.

  “Don’t I
need to sign a register, or something?” Tilly asked rather timidly.

  “The governor ain’t here. You will do it when he gets back next week,” the man growled as he nodded toward the cold and empty room. “That’s your room. Learn the rules, keep your head down and you will survive.” His plump lips curled into a grotesque smile as he eyed her up and down; and laughed when she instinctively took a wary step back. “Just,” he added snidely.

  With that, he ambled off.

  Tilly turned to face her room, and felt her stomach churn with dread. She couldn’t help but feel that there was something wrong with this entire scenario, only couldn’t quite make her mind up why.

  She had never been to a poor house before. They were just something she had only vaguely been aware of having existed, but they had never impacted on her life before, so she had never really considered what they were all about.

  Tilly put her bag on the floor at her feet, and listened to the heavy thump of the door being closed at the end of the long corridor. Although she tried to remind herself that she was not a prisoner, and this was no jail; it was an institution, and had a rather controlled feel about it that made her feel somewhat trapped.

  It didn’t help her feeling of imprisonment when the sound of doors being closed echoed around the stone walls, were accompanied by the distant rattle of keys. She hurriedly made her bed up with the coarse sheets that were neatly folded at the end of the bed but, unfortunately, without the light from the warden’s lantern, she had no idea if it was made properly. Still, she had to get into bed now, because she was going to cry, and already shook so badly from cold that she had to get beneath the sheet and try to get dry, if not warm, before she died from frostbite.

  It horrified her to watch her breath fog out in front of her face even in the darkness, but there was no fireplace within the room, and didn’t appear to be any form of heating in the building whatsoever. What did everyone do when it came to the long, winter months?

  “Hello,” a young voice suddenly whispered.

  She jumped up, and whirled around as she studied the shadows near the doorway in search of the owner of the voice. To her surprise, a young boy of about ten or eleven years of age stood in the doorway. His grin was somewhat sheepish as he peered at her, but he didn’t wait for her to beckon him in. With a quick peek out into the corridor, he hurried inside and nudged the door closed behind him before she could speak. He turned to her with a conspiratorial smile, and held his hand out in a rather gentlemanly fashion that was at odds with his age.

  “I am Zack; pleased to meet you.”

  Tilly smiled at him as she shook his hand somewhat officiously. “Tilly.”

  “You are new here, aren’t you?”

  In spite of his bedraggled appearance, his accent was soft and cultured, and she couldn’t help but be curious to know how on earth he came to find himself in such a place as this. Aware that he still waited for an answer, she nodded.

  “What do we do about candles around here?” she whispered as she eyed the small stub he held in one grubby fist.

  “You have to earn them. Work hard, keep your mouth closed, and you can trade things.”

  “But I don’t have anything to trade,” Tilly whispered with a frown.

  “You have to work for your bed and food here. It’s not much, but it is an existence. It is dry, and as cold as Hades in the winter. You need to find something you can trade so you can get shawls and the like. Thieve it if you don’t have a penny to buy anything. Once you have got something, you can trade it for the things you need. Try to get something that you can spread out. You know, break up. That way, one thing can be broken down into several things you can trade.”

  Tilly stared at him in horror as the realisation dawned of just how desperate her life had become. Through the gloom, she watched him nod toward the bag at her feet.

  “If I were you, I would break that bag up,” he suggested wisely.

  “Trade my bag?”

  Zack shook his head. “No, break it up. Sell the metal work. It can be used for buckles and the like. Nobody around here has use for a bag.” He grinned at her. “No place to go, see?”

  “How long have you been here, Zack?”

  He squinted and peered at the wall for a moment before he shrugged. “Three summers, I think.”

  She stared at him nonplussed for a moment. “Where are your parents?”

  A shadow immediately fell over his face, and he stared down at his boots for a moment. “I don’t know my dad. My mama died a while ago. One minute she was alright, then they wouldn’t let me see her because she had taken poorly. They buried her within a week.”

  Tilly shook her head in dismay. “I am sorry, Zack. So you are here all alone?”

  She frowned at that. Why hadn’t he been sent to an orphanage, or something? Why keep a young boy, without parents, in a poor house? He couldn’t have run up any debts himself. Surely, if his mother – who owed the debts – was now dead, the debts died with her?

  Although the poor house provided Zack with a roof over his head; life here was hard, and offered very few luxuries, if the lack of heating was anything to go by. Someone like Zack should be in an orphanage at least, where he could be with people his own age, and at least learn the skills he needed to take him through his adulthood.

  A shiver of unease swept through her as she studied him carefully. In the distance, she could hear the heavy thuds of doors being slammed closed. Unless it was her imagination, they seemed to grow closer and closer with each minute that ticked past.

  Zack nodded into the corridor. “I have got to go now. It is lights out. Keep the stub, if you like,” he grinned at her, and placed the candle carefully onto the cold stone floor beside her feet.

  “Are you sure?” she asked.

  “Yes. Besides, I nicked another one from the governor’s office yesterday,” he added cheekily, without any hint of guilt or regret.

  She shook her head at the pride evident in his voice. “Thank you. It is very kind of you.”

  “Just tell them -” he nodded toward the door, “- that you traded it for something.”

  He studied her bag for a moment, then looked her up and down. He tugged one of the buttons off her dress before he turned toward the door. He grinned when she gasped and stared at him in outrage.

  “You have to trade,” he warned her in a sing-song voice moments before he sashayed into the darkness of the hallway.

  Once he had disappeared, she stared down at her dress in disbelief; then hurried to the door to call him back, and demand the return of her button. To her consternation, apart from a warden, who was busy locking all of the doors, there was nobody else around.

  “Lights out,” the man growled when he noticed her.

  She immediately ducked back into the room and closed the door behind her. When the door suddenly rattled, she spun around, and stared at it in horror as the lock was suddenly turned from the outside. She could see the top of the warden’s head through the small bars in the middle of the door, but he didn’t look at her as he secured her into her cell-like room for the night.

  For the first time in her life, she wondered if this was what being a prisoner felt like, and suddenly wished that she hadn’t even contemplated coming anywhere near this hellish place.

  Living under a bush; even in the barn of the busy coaching yard; anything was better than this. She was thankful for Zack’s candle, but studied the small speck of wax, and knew that she needed to preserve as much of it as she could if she ever wanted to be able to see anything in this blasted place.

  She settled into bed, still fully dressed, and stared at the ceiling. It was horrifying to lie there and listen to the man lock the doors, because now she felt truly trapped.

  First thing tomorrow morning, she was going to get out of here, and pay her dues. Then, she would decide what to do with the rest of her life.

  With that promise easing her doubts and fears for now, Tilly settled down and tried to find some way to g
et warm.

  She was there; hidden in the shadows beneath the cedar tree on the front lawn. Her eyes were wide with fear as she stared helplessly at him. Her silhouette was encased in a soft white mist that swirled hauntingly around her, higher and higher it crept, until she started to disappear from view.

  He tried to reach her, but couldn’t get his feet to move fast enough. His chest heaved as he tried to run as fast as he could, but unseen hands held him back.

  A cry escaped him when he saw the tears that streaked her face. He wanted to help her. He needed to help her. If only he could get to her.

  The darkness was going to swallow her any moment now, and he couldn’t stop it.

  “Come back,” he called when she turned around and started to walk away. “Come back, I will help you.”

  She didn’t turn around and, within seconds, vanished into the mist.

  Harry’s eyes shot open, and he stared blankly at the canopy above the bed. His heart pounded in his chest, which heaved with exertion as he waited for the fog of his nightmare to disappear. His heartbeat was loud in his ears, but he couldn’t focus on anything other than the haunted look of helplessness that had been in her eyes when she had left his house earlier that afternoon.

  Although he knew that she wasn’t going to be there, he climbed out of bed and made his way to the window which overlooked the front lawn. Nothing stirred. Moonlight bathed the garden in an eerie glow, but there was enough light to know that she wasn’t there.

  He knew she wasn’t there, and couldn’t possibly be. He knew exactly where she was; and that left him deeply unsettled.

  The coolness of the glass against the fevered skin of his forehead did little to settle his thundering heart, but he remained where he was for a moment while he tried to get his thoughts into some semblance of order.