The Winter Orphan

by Cathy Sharp

  ‘I think I may have traced the girl,’ Arthur’s agent told him when he returned to the inn near Sculfield, after two weeks in London. ‘I found a farmer and his wife and they told me that they rescued a young girl who had run away and took her to a workhouse just outside Alton.’ He paused as Arthur frowned. ‘I inquired of the matron there but she said she could not give me details of the inmates without the master’s permission and he had gone to market that day.’

  ‘At last,’ Arthur said and looked at his agent with appreciation. ‘I should like to meet this farmer and speak to him. If we know where Bella is I shall approach the master and make arrangements to take her away – unless she is content to stay there.’

  ‘I did not like the woman who called herself Matron,’ his agent said. ‘She has mean eyes and I would say she can be spiteful.’

  Arthur laughed and then nodded. ‘I know what you mean, Bennett. Thank you for all you’ve done. You will take me to meet this farmer in the morning, please.’

  ‘Of course, sir,’ Bennett agreed. ‘He seemed a decent sort – told me he would have kept her but he was afraid Karl Brett would demand money from him if he refused to return her. I have made inquiries and Farmer Green and his wife are considered good folk. They rent their land and are not rich – but his wife Polly said that she had wanted to keep Bella. She thought a lot of her, but her husband told her they could not afford to keep the girl.’

  ‘I wonder what Bella wants,’ Arthur said thoughtfully. ‘I have not decided what is best for her if she is to be happy.’

  ‘In the morning we could go on to the workhouse and ask to see her.’

  ‘Yes, but I would speak to the farmer first,’ Arthur said. ‘You have done well, Bennett, and I must pay what I owe you.’

  ‘I would see this business finished,’ Bennett said and smiled. ‘It has been a pleasure working for you, Mr Stoneham. I am always ready to serve you.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Arthur nodded. The man had proved useful many times over the past few years. ‘I hope to be done with searching once the girl is found, but there may be other work you can do for me. I can always use the services of an honest man.’

  Bennett inclined his head and left. Arthur glanced at his gold pocket watch. He wanted to speak to Hetty as soon as possible but the hour was late. He would wait until the next day, because what he had to say to her was important and should not be done hurriedly.

  Hetty glanced out of the window. Arthur’s letter had said he would be back soon and she longed to see him, even though she told herself her hopes were foolish – and yet … He had offered her a marriage of convenience and she had refused him but he’d hinted in his letter that he had something important to say to her.

  Did he mean to ask her again? She had regretted her refusal since Arthur’s departure for London. To be his wife – to be his lover – was all that she truly desired of life. Would it be more painful to wed him knowing that he did not love her as she loved him – or worse if her refusal drove a wedge between them? If she lost his friendship and his trust it would be a terrible grief to her.

  Hetty looked out of the landing window. Something was moving about out there – was it Hobbs or had Arthur returned? She could quite clearly see a man’s shadow approaching the front door and she walked down the stairs eagerly, running to the end of the hall just as it opened and a man entered. The lights were low for she had intended to retire and she had locked the door but not bolted it – and whoever had opened the door must have a key. Hetty frowned as she saw the man was shabbily dressed and looked as if he had been living rough for weeks … surely it could not be Master Brent? Had he dared to come here, even though he must know that he was being hunted for his crimes? She sensed that it must be he for there was something about him, and the way he moved, confident of his surroundings and yet wary, that sent shivers down her spine.

  Halting abruptly, Hetty stared at the intruder. She felt a shiver of apprehension and fear. He had not closed the door and she considered trying to run past him as he moved purposely towards her, but there were others who were more vulnerable here, children and elderly folk who relied on her, and Hetty was no coward. She planted her feet on the ground and looked at him sternly.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded. ‘If you are Master Brent how dare you come here after what you did? You are a wicked murderer and you will hang for your crimes!’

  ‘Be quiet woman,’ he grunted. ‘I’m here to get what belongs to me – and to teach you a lesson.’

  Hetty stood unmoving as he approached her and then quickly dodged to one side as he tried to strike her. He made a grab at her arm, but he was slow and she kicked out backwards, hearing him cry out as her heel struck his shin. She tore herself from his grasp and ran for the door, wrenching it open and calling out for Hobbs. Brent came after her and she saw he had a short club, which he swung at her head. She screamed and ran outside as he struck but he was quicker this time and he caught her a glancing blow on the side of the head, which sent her to her knees in a daze. As he was about to strike her again a shout came from beyond her in the darkness and someone came rushing towards her. Hetty was vaguely aware of shouting and a struggle as she fell to the ground and lay there in a daze while the fight continued.

  It was some time later that Hetty came to her senses. She was lying on a settee in her parlour and Marta was kneeling beside her, bathing her head with a cloth dipped in cold water. Hetty tried to sit up and felt her head swim with the effort. Giving a moan, she lay back against the cushions.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked, putting a hand to her head, which felt sore and ached dreadfully.

  ‘You were attacked,’ Marta said. ‘It was Master Brent. He hit you, you screamed, and Hobbs and one of the other guards came and Hobbs felled him – and the magistrates’ men have been and taken him away in cuffs!’ She rushed the words out without pausing for breath and ended on a little sob. ‘It’s a mercy you’re not dead, Mistress Hetty.’

  ‘You say the magistrates’ have him locked up?’

  ‘Yes, they came and took him, chained his wrists and his ankles they did.’

  ‘Thank goodness for that,’ Hetty said, because it meant that others were safe from his vindictive revenge. Then she felt the pain in the side of her head and moaned slightly as the room shifted and her senses whirled. ‘I remember him hitting me – I think he has money hidden in the house and hoped to find it.’

  ‘How did he get in?’ Marta asked.

  ‘I think he must have found a key,’ Hetty said. ‘Perhaps he had been searching for it and found it at last. I do not know – but he must have had the key hidden somewhere in the grounds or outbuildings, I think, and was only now able to recover it for he would surely have used it before if he’d had it earlier. And the bolts were not drawn as they have been each night. I had left them until last in case Mr Stoneham came … If the bolt had been in place his key would have been useless and I think he dared not break windows before this for he knew there were men patrolling the grounds.’

  Marta shook her head. ‘It is a wonder you were not badly hurt, Mistress Hetty.’ She was clearly distressed by the thought. ‘That wicked, wicked man!’

  ‘I think he would have killed me if Hobbs had not come.’

  Marta dabbed at her wet eyes. ‘I would not have liked that,’ she said. ‘No one has ever been as kind to me as you.’

  Hetty smiled at her. ‘You deserve kindness, Marta.’

  ‘There’s many as deserve it and don’t get it,’ Marta said and crossed her hands over her middle. ‘I’ll miss you when you go back to London and there’s no saying I shan’t. Whoever Lady Rowntree sends to take your place, it won’t be like havin’ you here.’

  Hetty nodded and smiled, but her head ached and she said she would like to go upstairs to rest. Marta asked if she would like a cup of hot milk with honey but Hetty declined. She was feeling distinctly unwell and all she wanted was to lie down and sleep.

  Hobbs said he would rema
in in the house that night, though Hetty believed the danger was past. Nothing had been seen of Mistress Brent since she left the workhouse and she hoped that the former mistress had more sense than to return. Marta insisted on accompanying her up to her bedchamber, fussing about her until she saw how pale Hetty was and apologised, at last leaving her to rest alone.

  Hetty could not understand her feelings. She must be having an attack of the nerves for she felt like weeping and it was years since she had let down her guard and allowed tears, but now they came and there was no stopping them. She wept into her pillow as if her heart would break.

  When at last there were no more tears, Hetty rested on her bed, though she had not undressed and her sleep was light, restless, and broken by troubling dreams. In the morning she had a headache but was determined not to let it show. She dabbed her forehead with lavender water and combed her hair over a dark bruise. She thought that Arthur would call at some time during the day and she did not want him to see how foolish she had been the previous night, though there was no disguising the large bruise spreading over her face.

  CHAPTER 19

  The note from Hobbs reached Arthur the next morning as he came downstairs to breakfast in the inn parlour. He took it and scanned it swiftly, frowning as he read what had happened to Hetty.

  Damn Brent!

  ‘Is something wrong, sir?’ his host asked anxiously as Arthur pushed the hot chafing dishes away and jumped to his feet.

  ‘With your breakfast, nothing,’ Arthur said. ‘Forgive me, I must not tarry. If my agent calls for me tell him that I shall see him tomorrow. Something has come up and I must postpone our engagement.’

  ‘Yes, sir, of course,’ the landlord replied, relieved that his food was not at fault.

  Arthur picked up his hat, gloves and riding whip and went out to the stables. His horse was saddled and he set out immediately for Sculfield and the workhouse.

  Hetty had been hurt! The words had leapt out at him in letters of fire and he was both angry and anxious. Angry that Brent had managed to slip past his guards and get to Hetty, and anxious for her welfare. If anything happened to her …

  Arthur realised that he would be devastated. He had always accepted that she was there, ready to smile at him when he was low and laugh with him when he was happy. Her advice was always good and her manner warm and inviting. She was not a lady in the way that Katharine had been, delicate and precious – no, she was much more. Hetty was there to support and comfort, to guide him when he needed it and to love him … yes, he realised that he had always known she loved him – somewhere deep inside he had known.

  It had been a shock to him when he finally understood that what she had always given him was unconditional love. He had never seen the comfort he’d found in her arms when he was young or the advice and warm friendship she’d given him later when she was no longer a whore as love – but now he saw quite clearly that it was: a very special, unselfish kind of love. Not many men found a love as honest and true as Hetty’s and so when he’d offered her less than she’d always given him, he had hurt her and she’d turned him down, but now …

  Arthur could not be sure what this anxiety and fear meant at the moment. All he knew was that he could not bear to lose her. He could think only of Hetty as he rode and the injury to her head. Katharine had died of head injuries – if Hetty died he might not be able to bear it.

  His feelings and thoughts were too muddled to make sense. All he knew was that he wanted to find Hetty well and not lying prone in a bed. He could not bear to see her fade day by day and then be snatched from him. Katharine had been taken from him, but he had always thought of her as a delicate flower that must be nurtured and protected. Hetty was … Hetty was his strength, his rock, the life force that gave him strength. Hetty was everything. He knew that now. How could he have been so blind all these years? Without Hetty he would not have become the man he was today. He could hardly bear his thoughts as he rode swiftly towards the village and then the workhouse.

  When he arrived, dismounting hurriedly, Hobbs and the other guards were talking in the driveway. Hobbs broke off and came to greet him and take the reins.

  ‘I thought you would wish us to continue our patrols, sir. Brent is in the magistrates’ cell and they sent for you to go and give evidence this afternoon, sir. I daresay it is safe enough here now but …’

  ‘You and your men will continue to patrol until we discover what happened to that murderous wife of his,’ Arthur said, restraining his impatience. ‘Thank you for your letter – how does Hetty today?’

  ‘I have not seen the lady this morning, sir – but I understand she has a headache and a nasty bruise.’

  ‘I shall go in,’ Arthur said. ‘You will also give evidence this afternoon, Hobbs, but the other men must remain here …’

  ‘Yes, sir, as I thought.’

  Hobbs went back to the others to give orders and Arthur ran towards the house and into the main hall. He was about to start up the stairs when Hetty came out of her parlour. She stopped, hesitated, and then smiled and held out her hands in greeting.

  ‘Arthur … you’re back …’

  ‘I arrived last night and thought it too late to call – but I wish I had done so, Hetty!’ He took her hands in his and stood looking into her face. ‘That brute hurt you, my dearest. Should you be downstairs? Ought you not to rest?’

  ‘It is just a bruise, Arthur,’ she said and took her hands from his, touching the side of her face hesitantly. ‘Does it look very bad?’

  ‘You look as if you have a black eye and more,’ he said with a gentle smile. ‘I feared much worse – are you sure you’re well enough to be up?’

  ‘I do not like lying in bed for no reason,’ she said and turned her face from him. ‘I shall not die, Arthur. Fortunately, he only hit me once.’

  ‘Once! That is too much for my liking!’ Arthur exclaimed. ‘The wicked devil! Why could he not fight me if he wished for revenge?’

  ‘You were not here,’ Hetty said and smiled. ‘Besides, he was looking for something and I was in his way. Please, come in and sit for a moment. I will ask Marta to make us some tea.’

  ‘I would prefer us to be alone,’ Arthur said. ‘I have something important to say to you – though perhaps you would prefer me to wait. If your head aches terribly …’

  ‘It is not so very bad now,’ she said, ‘though it did earlier. I suppose it will be sore for a time.’

  ‘Yes, I should imagine so,’ he agreed. ‘You need something cold to press against the bruise, Hetty.’

  Hetty turned and led the way into the little parlour she was using. It was plainly set out, the furnishings old and worn, and yet she had brightened it with sprigs of greenery from the garden. He thought that she deserved a room of pale colours and sumptuous fabrics – and doubted she would ever let him give them to her.

  ‘You must speak to the magistrates this afternoon,’ she said. ‘Will they also need my statement?’

  ‘I will write it out for you and you may sign it,’ he said. ‘I am sorry I was not here to protect you, Hetty. Please forgive me. I was wrong to leave you exposed to such danger – and I am pleased to tell you that everyone will be leaving here in three days for a new home. You may wish to see your friends to their new abode before you return to London.’

  ‘Is that what you wished to tell me?’

  ‘Part of it,’ he agreed. ‘I have bought a small manor house and estate, Hetty. I have wardens to oversee it – but there will be places for craftsmen to ply their trade and it will mean a different way of life. Everyone who can will work – in the kitchens or the bakery or the brewery or the grounds or at some craft of their own, though the children will be taught to read and write and, as they grow older, be given a trade. It will be as much like a large family as we can make it – though a few rules must apply for everyone’s sake, the main ones being honesty and decency.’

  Hetty looked at him and then smiled her approval. ‘I think that would be a wonde
rful idea, Arthur – to take all these children and old people away from this terrible place and give them a new life.’

  ‘It’s the way people used to live on manors, Hetty,’ he said, ‘but there will be no lord and lady, just two wardens to make sure things run smoothly. The residents will work, as we all must, but they will be treated fairly and not as if being poor was a crime.’

  She nodded and looked thoughtful. ‘I am sure that is what the workhouse was meant to be but somehow it went wrong,’ she said and looked at him in a way that made his heart beat faster. ‘Only you would think of such a thing, Arthur.’

  ‘I wanted to take the children away from this house of horror,’ Arthur said, ‘but when I saw what potential the manor has I realised that the way to make a good life for them was to let them learn a trade in healthy, happy surroundings. They will live on a farm but the craftsmen will have their workshops and the children may be apprenticed to them if they wish. When they are old enough, and have a skill, they can leave and start a new life.’

  Hetty stood up and moved impulsively towards him, throwing her arms about him in a loving embrace. ‘You are such a generous kind man, Arthur!’ He did not push her arms away but looked into her eyes. ‘Am I, Hetty? I think I hurt you the other day and that was the last thing I meant to do …’

  ‘I know it was not intentional,’ she said and tried to move away but he held her fast. ‘You loved Katharine and before her Sarah …’

  ‘Each in different ways,’ Arthur agreed, ‘and I thought when I learned of Sarah’s death I deserved to die – but you brought me through that crisis, Hetty. You! I thought that when Katharine was so cruelly murdered I was broken, but you showed me the way forward … you, Hetty; it was you that made me go on living.’

  ‘Arthur – Arthur I do not ask for gratitude …’

  ‘And I do not offer it,’ he said and his eyes bore into hers. ‘I will not deny my love for either lady, for it was true enough in its time – but through it all your strength sustained me. You are the wind that keeps me flying, Hetty. You help me reach for what would otherwise be too far away … but more than that, you are warm and real and loving. You are the woman I need in my life. When I thought I might lose you I realised that I could not live without my Hetty, my rock – my everything.’