The Winter Orphan

by Cathy Sharp

  ‘Hush, Marta.’ Florrie shot a warning look at her friend. ‘If someone tells her what you say, they’ll shut you in the cellar and starve you.’

  ‘They can’t let me die,’ Marta said in a belligerent tone. ‘It’s not lawful – and Lady Rowntree would close this place down if she knew some of the things they do. It was she and her husband who endowed this place and they are still the guardians of it.’

  ‘I think he is too ill to care what happens here,’ Florrie said, shaking her head. ‘Her ladyship might – and Miss Rosalie would be shocked. She’s a lovely young lady, she is – and so grateful for our work. She told me that she has not seen better embroidery than ours, Marta.’

  The chatter had turned to other things then, but Bella did not forget the woman who had lost her mind. When the poor lost woman had given birth, Bella had been sent to the sickroom with cloths and saw a healthy child born – but later she heard that Jane had been told it was dead and, in pity, stole a cup of milk and some soft bread from the kitchen and took it to her. The woman had looked so sad and ill and Bella had felt drawn to her. Poor Jane had wept and thanked her and her tears had remained in Bella’s memory.

  Bella saw everything that went on in the workhouse. She was small and slight and no one took much notice of her – unless the mistress chanced to look her way when she felt inclined to punish someone. Bella had seen Jane’s babe carried from the workhouse one evening, two days after the birth, wrapped in a thick blanket. It could only have been Jane’s babe, for there were no others in the house, and she knew that the babes of young unmarried mothers were routinely sold to people willing to pay for them; fine ladies who longed for a child and could not bear them would pay well for a healthy babe, particularly a boy. If a family entered the workhouse and a woman gave birth, she would be allowed to keep her babe until the father took them out in the spring to find work. Only if the woman was alone and had no one to help her was the babe stolen from her.

  Bella had felt so sorry for the woman they had named Jane. It was the reason she’d gone down to the yard the previous night and told Jane that her child lived and what she’d seen. She had tried to help her, but she’d been caught when she was returning to the dormitory and that was why she was sitting on the stairs now, awaiting the mistress’s summons. She knew she would be beaten and it would hurt, but she would try not to cry. Mistress Brent liked to see her cry and would just beat her all the harder.

  ‘Bella, come here!’ She rose and walked up the last few stairs to the woman waiting for her and her heart raced wildly. Mistress Brent was smiling and that meant trouble. She was looking forward to inflicting punishment. Bella was sure it made her happy to see others in pain and distress. ‘Come in, girl.’

  Bella went into the dark room that the mistress called her office. There was a desk and a chair and a mahogany tallboy, in which she kept her cane, her papers and other things, but no pictures or ornaments or anything personal.

  ‘You stole from the kitchens last night. No, do not try to lie to me. It is the only reason you would be coming from the kitchens late at night – and, I’ll swear, it is not the first time,’ Mistress Brent said and glared at her. ‘You will be beaten and then you will go without supper. I despise thieves – and I have decided that I shall not keep you here. The gypsy threatened that I should be cursed if I sold you and swore she would come back for you – but she lied. I no longer believe in her or her curse.’

  ‘What gypsy?’ Bella looked at her fearfully, for it was the first she had heard of this curse. ‘I do not understand you.’

  ‘No, nor shall you – but know that you are scum, the child of a whore, and deserve all that you get. Your mother deserted you, left you to die in the snow on the church steps and then gave up her worthless life. You are cursed and I should have sold you years ago but I thought – well, now it is time.’ She shook her head as if shaking off something that haunted her, a flicker of something like fear in her eyes. ‘Yes, I shall keep you no more, for you have proved that you are a thankless wretch.’

  Bella shivered, the terror mounting inside her. She had been beaten before and half-starved – but from the look in the mistress’s eyes there was worse in store for her.

  Raising her head, she looked into the cold eyes that raked over her. ‘I do not care if you sell me – anywhere would be better than here!’

  ‘You think so, do you?’ Fire flashed in the mistress’s eyes. She was angry and Bella was suddenly frightened. She had spoken out of turn and defiance was always met with more punishment. ‘You may think you are ill-treated here, girl, but there are other places much worse and you will soon discover that you had a life of ease here within these walls.’

  Bella kept her head high, but inside she was frozen with terror. What did the mistress intend to do with her?

  ‘It is time you knew the truth of who and what you are! Your mother was an impertinent bitch too,’ Mistress Brent said harshly. ‘She came here weeks before you were born but she was too proud to accept her lot and she defied me.’ A cruel smile touched her mouth. ‘She begged me to send you to her sister if she died but I refused and so she ran away. I know not how she lived, but she came back here, begging to be let in hours before she gave birth to you. I turned her away and she crawled off to die in the fields where she belonged. However, the vicar found you at his door and brought you to me, demanding that I take you in. She had wrapped you in her own wool shawl – far too good for one of her kind! – and so I knew you for her brat. I kept you here to let you learn humiliation, but it seems you are as defiant as the bitch that spawned you. So now you will learn to regret you defied me …’

  Thin spittle had come from the mistress’s mouth as she ranted, trickling down her chin. Her eyes flashed with temper and her arm jerked back and forth as she lashed Bella’s back and shoulders.

  ‘The gypsy came one night. She threatened me with terrible things if I did not keep you and care for you, but she never came back.’ Mistress Brent’s arm arced once more, bringing down the cane across Bella’s shoulders. ‘She dared to threaten me – but I’ll not harbour a gypsy brat a moment longer!’

  Bella set her teeth, refusing to cry out as the thin stick bit into the flesh on her legs and back. The tears would come later as she lay in her bed being tended by some of the women, but no – it seemed that this time she would not be given even that courtesy. She was to be sold to a new master.

  ‘Defy me to the end, would you? Well, you leave tonight. You will feel the pain as your wounds fester and the maggots eat your flesh, and then see if you do not feel like crawling back to beg my pardon,’ she said and laughed. ‘But do not bother, for I shall not admit you.’

  Bella raised her head and looked at her. ‘You are a wicked evil woman. You lie and you steal people’s babies – and I hope you rot in Hell!’

  Mistress Brent lashed out, striking her across the face twice. ‘Get downstairs! Someone will come for you soon.’ She thrust Bella from her room and pushed her so that she stumbled on the stairs outside, but managed to save herself from falling.

  Bella’s face and legs stung and her back felt sore and tender as she walked slowly to the bottom of the stairs and made her way towards the hall. Florrie was waiting there and she looked at her with pity in her eyes.

  ‘Why did you do it, Bella? If you were hungry I would have given you some of my food.’

  ‘I took some food to Jane whose child they stole,’ Bella said as the tears coursed down her cheeks. ‘They lied to her and I told her the truth – the babe lives.’

  ‘Oh, Bella, no wonder the mistress picks on you,’ Florrie said sighing. ‘Let me bathe your legs and back.’

  ‘Mistress said I was to wait here until someone came.’

  ‘Well, they can ask for you. I’ll not let you go before I tend your hurts, child.’

  ‘I don’t want you to be in trouble …’

  ‘Oh, she dare not punish me for Lady Rowntree favours me and I could ask for a position in her house. I
stayed here because of you, Bella, and my friends – but if she raised her hand to me I would leave.’

  Bella let Florrie lead her to the kitchen where her hurts were tended and she was given a cup of milk and a piece of bread to eat. She had ceased crying when another woman came looking for her.

  ‘He’s come for the girl,’ she said. ‘You’d best hurry, Bella, or goodness knows what she’ll do – I think the devil has got into her today.’

  Even the women chosen to help the mistress disliked her. Bella felt fear ripple through her, because she knew that wherever she was being sent must be much worse than this house. The trustee took hold of her arm, holding it firmly.

  ‘You have to go, Bella. She’s made up her mind to it and there’s no help for you here.’

  ‘Please, I don’t want to leave you …’

  Bella looked back at Florrie imploringly but the woman gave a little shake of her head. ‘I’ve done all I can for you, child – may God be with you …’

  Bella shook her head. Sometimes, she did not believe in God. How could there be a God when he let people like Mistress Brent rule their lives? People said they were lucky to live in the workhouse, because otherwise they might starve – but folk who said that knew nothing of the hardship and cruelty behind those impressive wrought-iron gates.

  As she was taken into the hall, she saw a large man standing there, waiting. He had big arms and shoulders and untidy lank hair that hung about his shirt collar. His ruddy face was unshaven and there were black marks all over his skin. She could smell a sharp, metallic odour that seemed to emanate from him.

  ‘So this is the brat,’ he bellowed in a voice calculated to put fear into the stoutest of hearts. ‘She’ll not last five minutes – but I’ve been paid to take her so come on, brat. I’ve got no time to waste.’

  Bella was given a little push towards him. Now the stink of him was much stronger and her stomach rebelled. The food she’d been given in the kitchen rose up her throat and splashed out of her mouth on to the floor, some of it landing on his boots.

  ‘Little pig!’ the man yelled and gave her a smack on the side of the head. ‘You’ll learn not to waste your food – and never to spill it on Karl Breck. I’m your master now, brat, and you’ll clean these boots as soon as we get back to the works.’

  Bella found her arm taken in a grip of steel and she was propelled out of the house. A weary-looking horse and a wagon stood outside and Bella was unceremoniously tossed up into it, landing on a pile of old sacks. She felt the pain of her back and legs where she’d been beaten, but the tears that spilled now were because she feared for the future, not for what she had suffered at the mistress’s hands.

  Where was she going and what would happen to her now? Bella had no true friends, though Florrie had been patient with her, teaching her how to refine her skills as a seamstress, so she would not break her heart over those she left behind, but she was terrified of this man who said he was her master and she lay shivering as the dusk gathered around them and they were driven away from all she had known.

  CHAPTER 3

  Florrie’s anger had begun to smoulder after the brute she knew to be a chain-maker in the village of Fornham, which was some four miles or so from the Sculfield workhouse, took Bella away. She liked the young girl who had refused to be cowed by the harsh regime at the workhouse, enjoying the time they spent together in the sewing room and teaching her to improve her skills. Now the talent Bella had shown in her needlework would be wasted. She would be put to the drudgery of chain-making, which was hard enough for strong men but a destroyer of women and innocent children. The young ones often lasted only a few months, for the work was both tiring and dangerous – the heat of the furnaces was intense and it burned the unwary, scarring arms, legs and searing faces. Bella’s delicate complexion would be lost if she toiled over those wicked fires.

  Women and children earned only a few pennies a day, because the work was paid for by weight. Men made the thick chains used by ships and heavy industry and were paid a fair price for their labour, but chain-making was known to be a bad trade for women and girls. The chains they made were smaller and lighter and yet they took many hours to fashion; it was a trade only the desperate would choose, when there was no other work to be had – and Bella had no choice. She’d been indentured to a master who would work her to death and that was what Mistress Brent hoped for. Florrie suspected it was unlawful for the Mistress to sell Bella the way she had, but Mistress Brent cared nothing for the law. The guardians of the workhouse trusted her and neglected to inspect or control her and she ruled much as she pleased with none to gainsay her. Bella had dared to defy her – as had Bella’s mother – and this was her revenge, Florrie knew.

  Florrie recalled the delicate young woman who had spent some three weeks in the workhouse before running away from its strict regime. Later, Florrie had heard that Bella’s mother had given birth one cold winter’s night and died in the fields. She had told the warden that her name was Marie but Florrie thought it was not truly her name. She herself had only recently come to the workhouse at that time and had formed a friendship with Bella’s mother who’d told Florrie a part of her story.

  ‘I was attacked,’ Marie had confided as they sat together over their sewing, her eyes dark-shadowed as she remembered. ‘I was alone in the woods and – and I was attacked and – and violated. I never saw his face, for he was masked with a thick scarf …’

  ‘Oh, you poor girl,’ Florrie said.

  Marie smothered a sob. ‘I was unconscious when Jez found me, Florrie. He and his sister Bathsheba are gypsies. They took me in and cared for me, and I was ill for a long time.’

  ‘How awful for you!’ Florrie could hardly envisage such a terrible fate. ‘Why did they not take you to your home?’

  ‘I did not remember my name or where I lived, then – and besides, Jez was afraid he would be blamed for what had happened to me. He was not supposed to be in those woods.’

  ‘But you remember your past now?’

  ‘Some things,’ Marie said. ‘I remember that I had a sister named Kathy and Papa was a parson but I do not remember where we lived or anything more of my life and I do not know why I was in the woods that night, though I think I may have quarrelled with someone, but I cannot remember him.’

  ‘I am so sorry,’ Florrie had told her, holding Marie’s hand as she saw her tremble. ‘Could the gypsies not help you find your home?’

  ‘Bathsheba wanted to take me back to where Jez had found me when I was recovered from my fever. She thought then I might remember more and she could help me find my family.’

  ‘But then you discovered you were with child?’ Florrie guessed and the young woman nodded. Marie was of a good family, a parson’s daughter, she thought, and would have been too ashamed to return to her home once she knew of her condition, even if she could.

  Marie’s face clouded. ‘Yes … I could not go home to shame my family. Kathy would never have found a husband and Papa could never hold up his head again. Jez told me I should stay with them.’

  ‘Then why are you here?’

  Marie shook her head. She could not be persuaded to finish her story and a few days later she had run away from the workhouse. Florrie had been distressed, especially when she learned that the girl had died in the fields. But why had she run from the gypsies who had befriended her? It was a mystery and had haunted Florrie all these years. During that time Florrie had found work outside the workhouse, but it never lasted for more than a few months and so she had returned to seek shelter – and something else drew her back time and again.

  When Marie’s baby was brought to the workhouse, Florrie had asked to be allowed to care for her. Florrie had never had the chance to marry and have a child of her own and she’d been glad to do what she could for the motherless babe. She cared for the babe as if Bella were her own and, even when she left the workhouse for a short time, her thoughts were with the child she cared for, though she did not dare to show it for f
ear of reprisals from the unkind mistress.

  For the first few years of Bella’s life she was left to the care of anyone who took pity on her. Mostly, that was Florrie and a young woman, Maggie, who had taken her to her own breast. Maggie had given birth to a stillborn child in the workhouse and so was able to suckle Bella. She’d been kind enough in her way, but she ran away when Bella was weaned. She’d told Florrie what she intended and asked her to care for the child.

  ‘I would take her with me, but I must find work as a housemaid and with a babe I would have no chance. Still, she is like my own and I pray you care for her.’

  Florrie had promised. She would have cared for Bella in any case, because she too loved the child and she’d shielded her as much as she could from the mistress’s spite, but it was impossible to prevent Mistress Brent venting her temper on the girl as she grew older, for the more she resembled her mother, the more the mistress hated her. Had Florrie been able to find permanent work she might have taken the child with her, but that had never been her fortune – especially after she had been accused of theft, and though it was a lie, most employers believed it and dismissed her once they learned of it. So, in the end, Florrie had given up all hope of a life outside the workhouse and took what comfort she could from her work and the child.

  Florrie had never understood why the mistress hated little Bella so much. How would the child fare at the chain-maker’s forge? Florrie could not think that she would survive the terrible conditions for long – but what could she do to help the young girl she loved? She had only a few shillings and she feared she would starve if she left this place, as so many did when they could not earn their keep.

  The only person who might help her was Lady Rowntree. Florrie only ever visited her grand home when she was summoned. The work was more usually sent in and the mistress received payment but Florrie was given a few shillings a week and excused rough work so that her hands were always soft. She had considered it a reasonable exchange for her labour, because outside the workhouse she would have to find her own board and lodgings and, even if Lady Rowntree had still given her work, she might struggle to pay for rent and food. Yet now she wondered if it might be possible to make a home for herself and Bella elsewhere. She made up her mind to speak to Lady Rowntree when they next met – but what of Bella in the meantime?