Returning to her thoughts, she recalled how, quite suddenly, Abel had seemed happier, not appearing to dwell so much on the loss of Eugenie. Was that when the boy had been born? His spending more and more time away from home made perfect sense to her now. When he was not here with her, he was away with his mistress and their son!
Snapping her mind back to the present, Hortense realised she had to be rid of Abel’s boy too – she didn’t want an heir out there when Abel died. She had resigned herself to continue to live with Abel and his money, but this discovery of him having a son had spurred her desire to be rid of him once more. But what of the boy’s mother? Who was she? Where was she? Maybe Hortense could dispose of them all at the same time… If they lived as a family – then they could die as a family! It would serve them right! She thought spitefully.
*
Hortense watched Abel scan the daily newspaper over the breakfast table the next morning and her thoughts turned back to the young man on the street in Birmingham. Seeing again in her mind his sparkling green eyes and mop of raven black hair, the anger swelled in her. Abel was taking her for a fool and she would not stand for it!
Grabbing her shawl, Hortense strode out to the stables and was delighted the trap stood ready for her. Nodding to Jago, the stable boy, she climbed aboard and set off on yet another jaunt to Birmingham. She had decided against taking the train as she hated being cooped up in the carriage with other people, especially those with unruly children. She also didn’t like the noise of the engine and the smell of the steam constantly surrounding it. At least the air was a little fresher outdoors, provided one didn’t breathe too deeply, otherwise the lungs would clog with the filthy waste from the collieries. Hortense needed to see that boy again. She needed to discover the truth about him and whether or not he was, in fact, Abel’s son.
The noise of the people assaulted her ears and the smell of the town made her nose screw up as she guided the trap through the streets. She could smell the engine at the station, which was still belching out steam; it was a quick way to travel but the odour of that awful steam clung to everything. Searching the crowds as she walked the horse through the throngs of people, she looked for sight of the boy.
Coming again to the dressmaker’s in the high street, Hortense scanned the street before she made her way into the shop. Ordering more gowns, although her heart was not in the choosing of the material, she left the dressmaker who was gushing her thanks. The time spent in the shop had allowed her to contemplate the boy, his mother and where and how they lived. Moreover, she contemplated how she could dispose of them in one fell swoop. Looking up and down the street once more, Hortense’s eyes scanned for sight of the boy. She hitched up her skirt and wandered along pretending to look into shop windows, but she looked only at the reflections of the people passing by. Finally reaching the conclusion she would probably not see the lad again she strode off back towards the trap in a foul temper.
Hortense felt disappointment sting at not seeing the young man again. She needed to find out who he was and, most importantly, if he had any ties to Abel. She needed proof of identity before she could construct a plan that would see her free of the green-eyed family.
A thought sent a barb to her heart as Hortense only now realised that if the boy was Abel’s son, there may be more of his children in that household. She had only seen the boy… but there could be others… Abel could still be producing for all she knew. She had to find that boy, she had to discover all there was to know about him and his family – but how?
*
A couple of days later, Hortense halted the buggy outside Harrison’s Tea Shop and she climbed down. She had decided that if she sat by the bullion-paned window with tea, she could see people passing by. She had made up her mind to do this every day if needs be.
Struggling to get the nosebag over the horse’s head, a voice floated over her shoulder.
‘Can I help you with that, madam?’
As she let go of the nosebag into the strong hands that lifted it over the head of the horse, Hortense turned and found herself looking into green eyes once more. What a stroke of luck!
‘Thank you, young man,’ she said, smoothing her skirts with her hands in order to get her surprise under control.
‘I see you are quite well despite our collision the other day,’ he went on with a smile.
‘Indeed,’ Hortense managed as she searched his face for anything that could possibly give her a clue to his identity.
The boy smiled, holding out his hand, ‘My name is Zachariah Buchanan,’ he said politely.
Hortense felt the colour drain from her face as she stared at the boy with her husband’s surname smiling at her. Rapidly trying to regain her composure, she shook his extended hand, saying, ‘Hortense… Eldon.’ Thinking quickly, she had used her maiden name.
‘I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs Eldon,’ Zachariah said, smiling again. ‘Are you feeling unwell, madam?’
‘No, Mr Buchanan, I am just a little tired,’ Hortense felt only the corners of her mouth tilt up in a tight smile.
‘Then if you will excuse me, Mrs Eldon, I am late for an appointment at Beaty Bros., my tailor.’ Extending his hand once more, they shook before he went on his way.
Rummaging in her bag on the pretext of looking for her purse, Hortense watched the boy out of the corner of her eye. She saw him step into a shop with the name Beaty Bros., above the door. Beaty Bros., was an expensive shop… how could he afford the clothes from there? Did he work? Could it be Abel’s money the boy was spending?
Going into the tea shop, she sat by the window, keeping a keen eye out for Zachariah Buchanan leaving the tailor’s. Hortense knew meeting the boy again was a chance in a million and she was determined she would not waste the opportunity to learn more about him. She hardly dared blink in case she missed him coming out of the shop and her eyes watered as she stared hard through the window.
The waitress ambled over to the woman sat in the bow window and cursed under her breath when she recognised her as the customer who had been so rude to her a few days before.
Hortense kept her eyes on the street as she said, ‘Tea… please.’
Wonders will never cease! the waitress thought as she shuffled away. Returning with the tea tray, the girl poured the tea before being dismissed with a wave of Hortense’s hand. Maybe they will, the waitress added to her previous thought.
Suddenly Hortense’s view was blocked by two women who stopped to chat with each other outside of the tea shop. Damn! She could lose sight of the boy if he came out of the tailor’s now! Throwing coins on the table, she rushed out through the tea shop door just as Zachariah Buchanan strode out onto the street. Dragging the nosebag from her disgruntled horse, she climbed up into the trap and very slowly urged the horse forward to follow where the boy would lead. Seeing him pay a lad who held his horse’s reins, Zachariah swung into the saddle and trotted away along the cobbled high street.
Flicking the reins, Hortense felt the trap pick up speed as she kept the rider in full view. Feeling excitement flow through her, she kept the horse to a pace that allowed her to watch where Zachariah rode, but that would not allow him to realise she was following him.
The trap rolled and bumped over the cobbles, shaking her to the bone. Hortense began to wish she had left the trap at home and rode the horse instead. She prided herself on being an excellent horsewoman and the thought of a saddle was preferable to the hard seat of the trap.
Passing riders and carriages on their way to Wednesbury, Hortense continued her journey in the opposite direction. She fervently prayed she would not lose sight of Zachariah now. Her heart was beating fast as she followed the boy on the horse. If he should glance backwards, he would see her, he would know she was following him. She swallowed hard and, listening to her better judgement, she slowed the trap.
Trailing him along Corporation Street, then between the rows of houses either side of Aston Street, she saw him quite suddenly turn into a driveway on t
he left of the row of houses and she slowed her horse. Glancing into the driveway as she passed, she nodded with a smile as she watched the young man jump down from his saddle. Assuming she had just discovered where Zachariah Buchanan and therefore her husband’s illegitimate family lived, she encouraged the horse forward and turned the trap for home revelling in her good luck.
Chapter 5
The narrowboat made its way along the canal system and Orpha delighted in waving to other ‘cut-rats’, canal people, as they passed by. She heard the news shouted from boat to boat as they chugged along the waterways in the sunshine. Unable to contribute to the coffers, Orpha made herself useful making tea and helping with the meals as the boat pulled into the stopping places along the way. She washed the dishes and put everything back in its place before joining Edna and Ezzie on deck to chat away the evening hours. She felt guilty at Ezzie giving up his bunk for her and being relegated to sleeping on deck, but he didn’t appear to mind one little bit. Orpha found herself slipping easily into the ways of the canal people and thought how hard they worked for such little reward.
Having eventually reached Birmingham, Orpha gave her thanks to Edna and Ezzie Lucas as she jumped down onto the towpath of the Basin at Old Wharf. She was sad to be leaving them but headed off with the woman’s words ringing in her ears… If you don’t find your father, come back here to us, we’ll be here a while to unload the boat.
Orpha walked down Bridge Street not really knowing where she was going, or if she would see her father. Knowing he conducted business there at times, she felt it a safer bet than returning home to face the wrath of her mother. All around her were factories and houses, and as she walked on she began to realise just how big Birmingham city was.
The fear she had felt on leaving the boat and heading for the town was swamped by awe as she took in the sights, sounds and smells. People pushed past her as she slowly walked along looking all around her. She wrinkled her nose as the smell of boiling meat reached her nostrils. She heard children laughing as they ran down the cobbled road. She didn’t notice women staring at her attire. The dress she’d been given hung from her small frame and was held up by an old belt to prevent her tripping on the hem. Having visited the large town regularly with her father, Orpha was now traversing the streets alone in an area not familiar to her.
Passing Queen’s College and the General Post Office, Orpha was amazed at the network of streets spread out around her; she stopped quite suddenly as she turned into the high street.
Catching her breath, Orpha’s eyes settled on a horse and trap stood outside a shop. That was her mother’s trap she was certain of it! Squinting in the sunlight in order to see better, she saw a woman step through the shop doorway onto the street. It was not her mother! Orpha’s heart skipped a beat as she watched a woman glance anxiously around her.
Leaning against the wall, she took a deep breath; she’d had a nasty scare. Looking again around the corner, she released her held breath. Orpha shook her head; her fear of her mother had her imagining things.
*
As the afternoon sun began to set, Orpha made her way back to the basin where the barges moored up. The search for her father had been fruitless and although at one point she saw a young boy who looked like him, but of course it was not him. Not knowing now what she should do, her mood was disconsolate as she trudged back to the basin. At least Edna said she could stay with them overnight on their boat. Checking the names on the boats as she walked along the towpath, her heart weighed heavily as she realised ‘The Sunshine’ was not in its mooring place on the canal. It was gone… she was too late!
Turning back towards the town, Orpha wondered where she could spend the night now. She had no money and as darkness began to creep over the buildings like a shroud she again wandered the streets watching as the shops closed down for the night.
Feeling the fear grip her of being alone at night, in a strange town, she once more found herself near the canal towpath. Why did she keep coming back here? What was it that kept pulling her back to this place? Was she hoping to see ‘The Sunshine’ return to its mooring place? In her heart she knew the boat would now be well on its way to some other destination. Sadness weighed heavy as she thought she might never see Edna and Ezzie again.
Orpha sat beneath one of the few trees that lined the towpath, leaning her back on the trunk – at least she felt safer here than in the town. Closing her eyes, Orpha knew sleep would evade her; thoughts tumbling over themselves about the predicament she found herself in. She could trudge the streets forever and never find her father. Sitting with her eyes closed, listening to the sounds of the canal people settling for the night, Orpha made her decision. Tomorrow she would head for Wednesbury and her home regardless of the consequences.
Sitting alone beneath the tree, Orpha heard some revellers coming back to their boats after a good night in one of the many public houses in the town. Drawing her knees up, she tried to push herself into the tree’s trunk in order not to be seen.
She need not have feared; the men laughed out loud when a woman on one of the boats shouted, ‘Shut yer bloody row, you lot, folk here are trying to sleep!’
With that they clambered aboard their own boats and quiet settled once more over the canal. The few lights showing from the candle jars on the boats cast an eerie glow on the towpath and fear crept over the young girl once more.
Wrapping her arms around her drawn-up knees, she dropped her head onto them and sobbed quietly into the night. How had she come to this? Loneliness and despair crawled over her as she wept her unhappiness into the darkness.
The morning sunshine woke Orpha and she instantly felt panic not knowing, at first, where she was. Then she realised she had slept beneath the tree at the basin at Old Wharf. Getting to her feet, she stretched out her aching muscles. Looking around her, she heard the people on the boats begin to stir, and she knew she had to get moving.
Walking the same streets she had trudged the previous day, Orpha made her way into the town. She was hungry and thirsty, not having eaten since the day before, and as she walked, she thought about how to go about getting a day’s work so she could feed herself before going home. Knowing work was hard to come by in Wednesbury, she wondered if it would be as difficult to find here. What could she do? What jobs were available for women? Waitress, barmaid, or going into service… she could knock on a few doors to see if a parlourmaid was needed for the day. Not holding out much hope, she strode on with determination filling her mind.
Walking down Carr’s Lane, Orpha continued on, her new-found determination fuelled by the growl of her empty stomach. Coming at last to the market, she wandered between the closely packed stalls, the sight of the fruit making her hunger all the more acute. The marketplace seemed to stretch out for miles as Orpha wound her way up and down the narrow gaps between the stalls. People pushed and jostled in search of a bargain and Orpha felt giddy with excitement.
The noise of the stallholders shouting out their prices across the market assaulted her ears, but Orpha hardly noticed it, being so deep in the wonder of it all. The aroma of freshly cooked pies drifted on the air and Orpha breathed it in greedily. Once more, her stomach growled its protest of being deprived of food.
Pushing on through the stalls, Orpha found herself at the end of the market and faced with yet another tangle of streets. Walking down Moat Street, she turned into Moat Row, and passing the slaughterhouse Orpha gagged. Rushing forward away from the dreadful smell emanating from the building, she passed a carriage works and walked down into Cheapside. Orpha continued her journey until she found herself in Martineau Street, which ran parallel with Union Street and then into Lower Priory. She had walked three sides of a square and ended up not far from where she had started!
Walking through the market once more she asked at the pitches if anyone could help regarding her search for work. Heads shook as she moved from stall to stall, asking the same question.
All day and into the evening she walked th
e city asking for work, but it looked like she would have to spend another night without a comfortable bed to lie in. As evening drew in, Orpha migrated back to the tree by the canal and chastised herself for not trying to get home to her father. She desperately wanted to see him, but fear of her mother had kept her away.
Orpha wrapped her arms around her knees and lay her head down. Her tears soaked into the ends of her shawl as she cried for her father and what she wished could have been a good relationship between her mother and herself. For all the woman had done to her, she missed her in a strange way.
As her tears subsided she knew she would have to make up her mind about what to do. She wanted to go to her father but she needed to stay away from her mother. Whatever her final decision she had to eat in the meantime and that meant finding some work.
After another miserable night, Orpha took to the streets again the next morning.
Exhaustion, despair and hunger settled on her as she leaned against a shop wall. Her feet and legs ached and looking down at her boots she wondered how long they would last her. She did not hear the man who approached her until he spoke.
‘Out for business?’ the burly man asked.
Looking up, Orpha said, ‘Pardon?’
‘I said, am you out for business?’ the man repeated. Not understanding what he meant, Orpha frowned and shook her head. ‘Shame,’ the man muttered as he walked away.
Orpha frowned again as she watched him go, wondering what his question meant. Quite suddenly the shop door opened, startling her.
‘What you doing here?’ a plump woman yelled, standing with her hands on her hips. ‘You get away from here and ply your trade somewhere else!’
The Lost Sisters: A gritty saga about friendships, family and finding a place to call home Page 5