Standing at the doorway of Abel’s study, Hortense wondered what she might find if she searched. Entering the study, she moved to the desk and lit the oil lamp standing on the shiny surface. In the pool of dim light, Hortense pulled out a drawer and lifting out the papers she held them closer to the lamp to scan them. Business papers. Replacing them, she searched the other drawers in the desk, which threw up nothing of interest to her.
Hortense felt her anger build as she looked around the room… nothing. She was not sure what she hoped to find, but she searched the whole room nevertheless, to no avail. Dousing the lamp, she strode from the room and banged the door behind her in sheer frustration suffused with disappointment.
Chapter 2
Orpha Buchanan had walked for hours not knowing where she was or where she was going. Her legs ached and her heart was heavy with sadness.
Darkness was descending and fear began to take hold. She knew she would have to spend the night out on the heath and as she looked around for some form of shelter, it all became too much for her. Orpha burst into tears. She was cold, hungry, and alone, besides being on scrubland in the middle of God knew where. Trying to pull herself together, she glanced around again. A little way ahead was a small hedge. Walking towards it, she sat down, leaning her back against it. This would have to be her bed for tonight, and as it grew darker, her fear heightened.
Orpha awoke the following morning unaware she’d even fallen asleep. After a moment, everything came flooding back to her in a rush – she was out on the heath because her mother had thrown her out and warned her never to return.
Getting to her feet, she stretched out her aching muscles and answered a much needed call of nature. Not sure of the direction in which she’d come, her mind retraced her steps of the previous day and making her decision she strode forward. Again, she walked for hours and saw nothing and no-one. She was all alone and it felt like she was the only person left in the world. Before she realised, darkness began to surround her once more. It was time to stop for the night, again. Seeing the crumbling wall of what she considered might have once been a cottage, she walked towards it. Sitting on the scrubland she felt her despair envelop her and tears begin to form. On a huge sigh she lay down. She had spent one night out on this God forsaken heath; she could do it again. Eventually she would come to an inhabited area and then she could maybe look for work of some sort to earn enough to feed herself. The thoughts cheered her a little and feeling thoroughly exhausted she fell asleep.
Orpha woke in the early hours just as dawn was breaking. She had slept well considering she had been lying on the bare earth. Rising, she rubbed her aching back before setting out once more. As she began to walk across the heath, she heard the rumble of cart wheels coming towards her. Standing aside for the cart to pass on the track, she was filled with fear as it stopped close by her.
‘Hello wench,’ shouted a man sat on the driving seat.
‘Good morning,’ Orpha replied warily.
‘Where you off to?’ the man asked as he jumped from the cart and stood facing her.
‘Wednesbury,’ Orpha gave the timid reply. An uneasy feeling crept over her as the man stared into her eyes. She knew the man was going in the direction she was coming from; the place she was fleeing, so thinking quickly she had blatantly lied to him hoping he would go away and leave her alone.
‘Wednesbury eh? Well you’re going in the wrong direction.’ Rubbing a hand over his whiskers, the man added, ‘I can give you a ride if yer want.’
Orpha watched the stare turn into a lascivious grin. ‘No… thank you, I prefer to walk’ she said as firmly as she could muster whilst taking a step backwards. This was what she had feared might happen which had given rise to her telling the lie in the first place.
‘Now then, girlie, don’t be like that,’ the man said, stepping towards her. ‘A girl with such pretty green eyes as yours shouldn’t be so offhand.’
Her senses screamed at her to walk away, so Orpha began to stride out without acknowledging his words.
‘Oi…’ She heard the word and then footsteps behind her before she felt the grab of her arm, then she was swung round to face the man from the cart.
Snatching her arm away, Orpha rounded on him, ‘You let me go this instant!’
‘You don’t yell at me, young lady!’ the man said, grabbing for her once again.
Terror gripped her as she tried to snatch her arm back for the second time, but he had a firm hold on her.
Shaking her, he yelled into her face, ‘Stop yer wriggling, girlie, I only want to talk to you.’
‘Get away from me!’ Orpha yelled back, still struggling to free her arm.
Grabbing the front of her dress, he pulled her hard towards him and Orpha heard the material tear and saw his eyes feast on her. Wrapping his arms around her, she felt herself leave the ground as he lifted her. In a split second, Orpha landed on her back on the heath all breath pushed from her lungs. Before she could get to her feet he was on her, pulling again at the cloth of her dress.
As his weight pressed her body into the ground, Orpha pushed on his shoulders, but he was too heavy for her; she could not escape from beneath him. The man laughed as she grabbed the back of his jacket, trying now to pull him off her. She kicked out and screamed into his ear, ‘You get off me… leave me alone!’
‘I don’t think so, girlie,’ the man laughed in her face before clamping his lips on hers.
Shaking her face free, Orpha screamed again, ‘Get off me!’
The man’s chuckle turned into a gurgle as he was lifted into the air and thrown aside like a puppet.
‘Best do as the lady says,’ a sonorous voice said.
Scrambling to her feet, Orpha tried with fumbling fingers to pull her dress together at the front where the man had tried to rip it from her. Looking up now, Orpha saw who had come to her aid. A young man with blonde hair and bulging muscles stood with legs astride in a protective stance in front of her.
‘She’s a whore!’ the carter spat.
‘She’s a lady!’ the young man shouted as he rounded with a hard punch to the other man’s jaw, sending him sprawling on the hard ground. ‘Now get yerself off and don’t let me see you again, or else…’
Seeing the bunched fists and the stance of a bare-knuckle fighter, the man scrambled to his feet and after rubbing his jaw he climbed back onto his cart. Spitting on the ground, he said through clenched teeth, ‘I’ll be seeing you again, lad.’ Flicking the reins, he urged the horse away.
‘Not if I see you first!’ the young man shouted after him, then turning to Orpha he asked, ‘Are you all right, miss?’
‘Yes… yes, I think so. Thank you, Mr…?’ Orpha again was trying to close her torn dress.
‘Lucas, Ezekiel Lucas… most people call me Ezzie.’
‘Thank you, Mr Lucas, I’m most grateful,’ Orpha said, fumbling with her clothes. She felt the blush rise to her cheeks as she saw him stare at her. Looking up, she noticed his blue eyes twinkle as they gazed into her green ones.
‘Erm… if yer sure yer all right…?’ Ezzie began to step back.
Suddenly his kindness overwhelmed her and, unable to control herself any longer, Orpha fell to her knees on the heath and burst into tears. The feeling of loss and distress enveloped her and her shoulders shook with the force of her crying.
Then Ezzie was on his knees before her, taking her hand in his gently. ‘Look, you’d better come along with me…’ Seeing the fear in her eyes, he clarified his statement with, ‘I live with my mother on a boat on the “cut”. We’re moored up in the Basin near Bradley Lock. It’s not far, and my mother will take care of you. Please don’t be frightened of me, I promise I won’t hurt you.’
He helped her to her feet, before letting go of her hand. Her other hand still held her clothes together tightly as Orpha watched him turn and walk away. In a quandary as to what she should do now, she looked around her. She could either go her own way and risk being accosted again, or she co
uld follow Ezzie and pray what he said about his mother was true. Swallowing her fear, Orpha followed Ezzie.
Orpha’s mind whirled as she walked slowly behind the man who had saved her from the clutches of another. What was she doing following this man? He could be leading her anywhere! But then what choice did she have? She had nowhere to go and no-one to turn to.
On they walked, Ezzie not looking behind but knowing she was following him by the sound of her tread on the heath.
Eventually reaching the canal and seeing all the boats lined up, Orpha’s fear began to dissipate a little. Watching as Ezzie climbed up onto a boat named ‘The Sunshine’, she saw his hand extend out to her.
Biting her lip, Orpha held back then heard a woman shout, ‘Is that you, our Ezzie?’
‘Yes, Mother,’ he called back, his arm still stretched out towards Orpha. ‘I could do with a bit of help here, Mum.’
A woman’s head popped out of the hatchway followed by an ample body as she looked at Orpha standing on the towpath holding onto a torn dress. Casting a stern look at her son, he shook his head saying, ‘She was being attacked on the heath, and I thought it best to bring her here to you.’
‘You did right, lad, c’mon wench don’t hang about there, get yer arse on the boat so we can get going.’
Still hesitant, Orpha looked from mother to son and back again, then the woman shuffled to the side of the boat and very nimbly jumped down.
‘It’s all right wench, I can see you’re afraid, my name is Edna and we’re making for Birmingham if you want a ride. You’ll be safe enough with us.’
Orpha burst into tears, her heart-rending sobs shaking her young body.
‘Now, now…’ Edna said as she took Orpha’s arm and helped the girl aboard ‘The Sunshine’. With Ezzie at the steering, Edna pulled the girl down through the hatchway and, giving her an old dress, said, ‘It ain’t much but it’s better than the one you got on. I’ll be up top when you’re ready.’
Orpha calmed somewhat as she looked around her. Never having been on a boat before she was amazed how cramped it seemed, and yet there was a place for everything and everything in its place. She shuddered as she thought of the saying her mother was so fond of using. Her situation was dire, and yet the mother and son who were now busy navigating the canal had come to her rescue. She’d heard the stories about the ‘cut-rats’ being looked down on for choosing to live on the canals rather than in houses, but these people seemed very nice, at least what she’d seen of them so far. Orpha smiled to herself as she imagined what she must look like in the dress Edna had given her, but she was grateful for the woman’s kindness. Climbing up through the hatch she smiled and nodded her thanks to Edna who was talking with her son. Orpha’s eyes roamed the deck of the boat and its cargo which seemed to stretch out a long way forward. She wondered how Ezzie managed to control the craft from the back just by moving a piece of wood from side to side. Edna made tea and brought cake up from the tiny galley and again Orpha felt indebted to this woman and her son.
As the boat chugged along, Orpha thought about what she would do once they reached their destination. She could try to find her father, but she guessed he might not be in Birmingham, where he sometimes had work. It was a chance in a million she would see him there. Orpha wanted so much to tell her father about the abuse she had suffered at her mother’s hand, but she could not return home; she was too afraid. These thoughts left her none the wiser as to what to do when they eventually docked.
After a couple of hours, they moored up once more. The three of them sat around a tiny table in the belly of the boat.
‘Now then, what’s yer name, wench?’ Edna said, sipping tea from a tin mug.
Glancing at the stew and dumplings and a massive chunk of home-made bread set before her, Orpha muttered, ‘Orpha Buchanan. Thank you, Mrs Lucas, this looks delicious… but I have no money to pay you.’ Shyness descended on her as she eyed the food hungrily.
‘I don’t want no bloody payment, Orpha!’ Edna said sharply, then seeing the girl’s tears fall silently she softened, ‘Eat yer dinner, girl, it’s good for you.’ Cuffing her son round the ear playfully, Edna said to him, ‘This wench has good manners, you could learn a lot from her.’
‘Thank you, Mother, this is scrumptious,’ Ezzie said sarcastically then blew her a kiss.
Despite her misery, Orpha managed a smile along with mother and son before they all began to devour their food.
Over tea later, Orpha related how her mother had thrown her out after years of physical and verbal abuse; of trying to find her father without having to go home where her mother was and then getting lost; she finished her tale with the assailant on the heath.
‘Blimey wench!’ Edna gasped. ‘All that and you’re only what… fourteen?’
Orpha nodded shyly, although of late she had felt much older.
‘Well, as I told you, we are on our way to Birmingham, maybe you’ll see yer father there, and don’t worry… Ezzie can sleep up on top of the boat, so you can have his bed.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Lucas, but I couldn’t impose on you and your son further, you’ve already been so kind,’ Orpha said, lowering her eyes. Secretly she wished she could stay with these lovely people, but propriety had forced her hand.
‘Edna, my name’s Edna, wench, and it aint no imposition. Now, Ezzie, get yer stuff and get up on top.’
Smiling, the young man grabbed a blanket and climbed through the hatch, closing it quietly behind him.
Lying in Ezzie’s bed, Orpha heard him settle himself for the night on the deck of the boat. A shudder ran through her as she remembered the attack on the heath, to be replaced by the warm feeling of seeing Ezzie throw the man away from her.
Orpha slept soundly for the first time in years that night not being at all disturbed by Edna’s snores.
Chapter 3
In another town far from where Orpha was fleeing for her life, Peg Meriwether looked out of the window of her tiny cottage. The sky was blue but she could see grey clouds beginning to gather. She needed to visit the market in the town to sell the vegetables she had grown in her large garden which sprawled at the side and behind her cottage.
Peg’s two-bedroomed cottage stood in St. George’s Ward of Wolverhampton, which was very close to the small heath which separated her from All Saints Road. If she crossed over the road, it would take her into Raby Street which ended at Cleveland Road. This was where the cattle market stood and just behind it the makeshift street market had been set up by a group of people who had elected a market inspector. It was he who dealt with the powers that be to allow the market to stand each week. The Great Western Railway sliced the town into two halves and wharfs and basins for the mooring of barges were dotted everywhere. Wolverhampton & Staffordshire General Hospital was situated on Cleveland Road and the Wolverhampton Union Workhouse lay further down the same road.
Grabbing her shawl, Peg began to carry the baskets of vegetables out to her two-wheeled handcart kept at the back of the cottage. Closing the back door, she grabbed the handles of the cart and, dragging it behind her, she walked in the direction of the town. It wasn’t too far across the heath and before long she was nodding to the other stallholders of the market as she steered the cart to her pitch. As the H-shaped legs flipped down from near the handles, Peg took the boulder from the cart and wedged it behind one wheel. Satisfied the cart would not move, she began to arrange the baskets of vegetables, laying them out for all to see.
She watched as the market filled up with women who rushed from one stall to the next in an effort to beat the oncoming bad weather, to be home before the threatened downpour started. A crack of thunder caused all eyes to turn to the sky. Grey clouds rolled together and a chilly wind blew around the market stalls. Peg pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders and keeping one eye on the sky she prayed the rain would hold off until she got home.
At last, having sold all her produce, Peg replaced the boulder wedge on her cart; flipped up the legs an
d secured them under the cart. Then waving her goodbyes to the other stallholders she set off for home.
Halfway across the heath, she cursed when one of the cart wheels slipped into a deep rut and stuck fast. Peg pulled then pushed the cart trying to free the wheel, but it wouldn’t budge. Standing back, she looked at the wheel and muttered, ‘Bloody hell!’ Again she tried to extricate her cart, energy spent, to no avail. Lightning flashed around her and a rumble of thunder sounded, then the first few drops of rain began to fall. Peg looked up at the darkening clouds and under her breath said, ‘That’s just what I needed…’
Another flash of lightning and a crack of thunder immediately followed; the storm was overhead now. The rain fell quickly and in no time at all it was lashing her face as she worked furiously at the trapped cartwheel. The ground was beginning to turn muddy and Peg’s side button boots slipped as she pushed and pulled the cart. Out of sheer frustration, Peg gave the wheel a good kick, yelling, ‘Oh bugger it!’ Kicking viciously again at the wheel, she saw it move slightly in the rain-soaked ground. Holding the handles of the cart, she pushed and at the same time kicked the wheel. Again it moved. ‘Right you bugger,’ she said as she gave another good hard kick. The wheel sprang free and as Peg yanked on the handles, she muttered, ‘Thank the Lord for that!’
She’d had no intention of leaving her cart on the heath overnight, she relied on it for transporting her vegetables to market, which was her only form of income. Besides, some thieving bugger would have pinched it by the time she went back to reclaim it.
When she finally reached home, Peg was soaked to the skin and shivering with cold. Pushing the cart to the back of the cottage, she dashed in through the back door. Taking off her shawl, she shook it in the tiny kitchen, then she took off her muddy boots. The living room was warm and she was glad she’d banked the fire up before leaving for the market. She’d piled ‘slack’ – tiny coal chippings mixed with water – onto the embers in the grate. This helped to keep the fire in, and as the water evaporated, the coal chippings fused together to burn slowly. It was a practice used at night in the winter and by morning a good fire would be burning in the hearth.
The Lost Sisters: A gritty saga about friendships, family and finding a place to call home Page 3