The Workhouse Children

by Lindsey Hutchinson

  ‘Accident in the laundry, Mrs,’ Liza mumbled.

  ‘Oh Christ!’ Ada sighed. ‘What’s happened now?’ Liza shook her head, keeping her chin on her chest. ‘Right! Let’s go and sort it out!’ Ada snapped as she walked forward, closing the door behind her.

  Liza fell in behind her as Ada strode toward the stairs. Just as Ada made to descend, Liza stepped to the side and swung the knife round, burying it hilt-deep in the woman’s neck.

  ‘That’s for Phoebe Townsend!’ Liza rasped in Ada’s ear. Ada’s hands moved to remove the knife, but Liza held on to it. Shocked eyes stared into Liza’s and recognition dawned. Ada’s mouth opened to try to speak but she could only manage to emit a gurgling as Liza twisted the knife before pulling it free, making sure to step back quickly as she did so. ‘Say hello to the devil for me, Ada… I told you God sees all!’ Liza said quietly before pushing the woman down the stairs.

  As Ada fell, Liza heard the grunts coming from the woman who bounced off the steps and then lay sprawled at the bottom, unmoving.

  Rushing into Ada’s living room, Liza threw the blood-covered knife on the table and returned to the top of the stairs. Descending the stairs, Liza could see the woman was dead; the open eyes unseeing. Stepping over the prone woman, she dashed along the corridor to the kitchen. Putting her boots on once more, Liza slipped quietly through the door and went straight to the sink. Pouring water into a bowl, she washed the blood from her hands and checked her clothes for tell-tale signs. Seeing spatters of blood on her apron, Liza grabbed the nearest knife and stabbed her hand. Yelling out, she waved her hand about. The cook rushed over with a cloth, pressing it to the wound. No one realized the blood on Liza’s apron and boots was not her own.

  *

  In Bilston, the coronation celebrations came to an end in the early hours of the morning and everyone drifted back to their respective homes to sleep off the ale and tiredness. The street would be tidied later in the day.

  The newspapers the following day were full of the pomp and circumstance of the ceremony at Westminster Abbey. The country now formally had a new King. The gossip around Cara’s supposed affair was virtually forgotten, having moved quickly on to whether this new king, Edward VII, would rule as long as Victoria had before him, and if life for his subjects would improve in any way.

  Sitting in his study, Joseph Purcell was furious with himself. He realized in his haste that he had chosen entirely the wrong time to start the rumour about Cara Flowers. He was an idiot; he should have known the timing would coincide with the new king’s coronation day. The money he’d paid to Fred Tulley for his part in the plan had been wasted, but worse was the fact no one had believed the gossip anyway!

  Purcell sipped his tea, believing Cara led a charmed life. No matter what, Miss Flowers came out on top. With the amount of luck she had she must have been born with a horseshoe on her belly! He reflected on her achievements of the past couple of years. She had emptied and closed the ‘Spike’, moving the people into work and housing. She had opened a cake shop, which was doing a roaring trade. She was engaged to a brilliant young lawyer and she had reduced the ‘Bread Line’ by half. Not bad going for a woman who was only just in her twentieth year.

  Donning his knee-length black coat, Joseph grabbed his hat and cane and set out for the courthouse. He had work to do and anyone brought before him today would suffer his wrath no matter what the crime committed.

  *

  Cara strolled around the gardens of her home in the sunshine before sitting beneath one of the large trees. She had promised Martin she would begin planning their wedding, but so far she just hadn’t found the time. There was more work to be done in the town and she had a missing mother to find.

  Her brother, Charlie, was now fourteen years old and was working alongside the men, erecting the houses on the site of the old ‘Spike’. No sooner a house was finished than it was occupied by the former inmates lodging with her other tenants. As many as possible needed to be habitable before the winter months set in. The allotments were providing fresh fruit and vegetables and being sold on and Cara was now receiving rent from them too. ‘Cara’s Cakes’ was doing a brisk trade and profits soared.

  Her sister, Daisy, at twelve was fast becoming an accomplished baker under the tutelage of Gracie, and Molly and Sam Yale were making plans for their own wedding.

  Everything in her garden was rosy, but Cara could not shake the unsettled feeling that wrapped around her most of the time. This past year had been a flurry of constant activity and worry, but her achievements had seen success. Now Cara Flowers felt… redundant.

  Thirty-Six

  The scream that reverberated around the workhouse had the women come running to see what the commotion was all about. Fred Tulley wasn’t far behind them.

  ‘What’s all the bloody noise about?’ Fred yelled as he approached the group of women gathered at the bottom of the stairs. Pushing his way through, he saw his wife lying on the floor.

  ‘Ada?’ His voice was hoarse with shock as realization dawned. Ada Tulley was lying dead in a pool of blood. ‘Christ Almighty!’ Ada…?’ Fred looked around at the women, then he shouted, ‘You… get to my office and telephone for the police!’ The frail woman he pointed to took to her heels. ‘Right you lot, get back to work, I’ll deal with this.’

  The muttering women slowly moved away from the grisly scene, Liza Townsend among them.

  Fred stared down at his deceased wife hardly able to believe his eyes.

  This was how the police found him half an hour later; still standing by his wife’s body with a blank look on his face.

  The police sergeant was told by the Inspector to escort Mr. Tulley to his office where they should stay. The two constables were instructed to round up the women in the dining hall and take statements from each. The Inspector himself would call in the coroner and get the body removed.

  It was evident the woman had been murdered by the amount of blood pooled around her upper body. On closer inspection the knife wound to the neck could be seen clearly, confirming his suspicions. The position the body lay in supported the Inspector’s conclusion she had fallen or had been pushed down the stone stairs. His eyes moved up the steps to the small landing. Pound to a penny there would be more blood splatter in that area.

  Picking his way carefully to the landing, he saw the blood spots on the floor and wall. Looking around, he saw nothing more. No sign of the murder weapon here.

  The door to Tulley’s quarters stood ajar and the Inspector pushed it open with his elbow. Stepping inside, his eyes immediately found what he was looking for. The knife used to kill Ada Tulley was lying on the table, dried blood coating the blade. Leaving the knife untouched, he strode to the office and informed Tulley of his findings.

  ‘This is looking bad for you, Mr Tulley,’ he said.

  Fred gasped, ‘I didn’t do it! It wasn’t me!’

  Shaking his head, the Inspector left the room, nodding to the Sergeant as he went.

  The dining hall was in an uproar, the two constables struggling to keep order and take statements. The women were yelling that a murderer was on the loose in the workhouse; they could be the next victims; they could be murdered in their beds. The yelling and chaos stopped in a heartbeat as a shrill whistle sounded across the room. All eyes went to the Inspector who stood in the doorway, his fingers still in his mouth.

  ‘Right,’ he said as he strode forward towards the constables, ‘let’s have some order here! Ladies…’ he addressed the distressed women, ‘please answer the constables’ questions quickly and quietly. Once you’ve given your statement you can then go about your business.’ A nod to the constables and the Inspector walked smartly from the room.

  Making his way to the bone crushing yard, the Inspector had the men sit on the floor before explaining his reason for being there. Taking out his notebook and pencil, he made detailed notes of what he was told about the altercation between the Tulleys. He learned quickly that Fred had struck and st
abbed Ada on a previous occasion. One man who had also been in the workhouse in Bilston told of hearing Fred shouting, ‘Ada, tonight you die!’

  Meanwhile, Fred Tulley sat at his desk, with the sergeant standing guard by the door.

  Fred said, ‘I need to telephone my friend, he’s a magistrate.’

  The sergeant nodded once.

  Tulley’s shaking hands held the telephone, ‘Joseph… you have to help me! Ada has been murdered and the police think I did it!’ He explained the situation then listened to Purcell’s answer. ‘But Joseph, we had an agreement. The police are going to put me in jail for something I ain’t done!’

  The telephone line went dead and Tulley looked at the earpiece held in his hand with total disbelief. Slamming it on the side of the stand, he looked at the sergeant standing in front of the door, hands clasped behind his back. The sergeant smirked and then resumed looking out of the window over Tulley’s head.

  ‘Bastard!’ Fred muttered, then sweeping his arm across the desk sent everything crashing to the floor.

  The sergeant smirked again.

  After many hours of questioning and taking of statements the Inspector was adamant he had found the perpetrator of the crime. Fred Tulley was the only person not to have an alibi. Not one inmate could – or would – attest to the man’s whereabouts at the time the crime was committed. As far as the Inspector was concerned the case was cut and dried: Fred Tulley was guilty of murdering his wife.

  Ada’s body was taken away by the coroner’s wagon and women set themselves to cleaning up the blood at the top and bottom of the stairs.

  Liza Townsend had watched all the activity from the sidelines. She had given her statement to the constable and the kitchen workers and cook had sworn Liza had been in the kitchen the whole time. They had explained about Liza’s accident and how the cook had tended to her injured hand. The bandages proving their words. She had been cleared of all suspicion.

  Knocking on the office door, Liza faced the sergeant who opened it.

  ‘I want to sign myself out,’ she said with a worried expression plastered across her face, ‘I don’t feel safe in here anymore!’

  The sergeant looked at Tulley who nodded. Liza was signed out under the assumed name she entered with and was told to leave immediately. Liza was relieved Fred Tulley had not recognized her. She was aware he had other things on his mind.

  Just as Liza stepped through the front door, she saw the black Mariah, the police carriage, arrive at the workhouse drawn by two black horses. She watched as the only door – at the back with bars on the window – was opened and Fred Tulley was bundled inside still yelling his innocence. The carriage set off to rattle across the town to the police station situated in Lower Walsall Street. Tulley would be held in the cells until such time as he was to appear in court, and then he would be going to jail… for a very long time.

  Liza smiled and followed the Mariah out of the workhouse gate.

  Liza strode towards the basin at Waterloo Wharf. With luck she could hitch a ride on a boat headed for Bilston. The canal towing path was dotted with basins and wharfs, so it was likely someone would be going her way. Strolling along the towpath in the sunshine, Liza stopped often to ask if anyone was going to Bilston.

  The narrowboats moored up were painted in bright colours, their nameplates sitting proudly on the sides. Buckets and kettles, also painted with bright flowers, sat on top for sale to any who would buy. The barges were being loaded and unloaded, their cargo piled onto carts bound for factories, shops and the market. The noise of the canal people, ‘cut-rats’ as they were locally known, filled Liza’s ears and she revelled in it. It was the sound of freedom. The smell of the canal water reached her nose and she breathed it in, along with the aroma of fish coming from one of the barges close by.

  She heard the chatter and banter of the folk working the canal and a deep serenity settled over her. She had avenged her daughter and whatever happened now, Liza felt she could die in peace.

  Seeing an older woman struggling with a large crate on the towpath, Liza rushed to lend a hand. Dragging it to the waiting cart, her good deed was rewarded with the offer of a ride… to Bilston. Accepting gratefully, Liza dragged the last few crates to the cart and hitching up her long skirt, climbed aboard the boat.

  *

  Liza Townsend had left Bertha Jenkins’ house more than a week ago, leaving no word as to where she was going, and now Bertha was dishing up her supper of faggots, made from pork shoulder and pig’s liver, with onion gravy, when there was a knock on her back door. Tutting loudly, Bertha opened the door and there on the doorstep stood Liza Townsend.

  ‘Hellfire and damnation! Wherever have you been, wench? I’ve been worried sick…’ Bertha ushered Liza indoors and immediately divided up her supper between two plates.

  Over supper Bertha wanted to know all, but Liza refused to divulge where she’d been or what she’d been up to. ‘Bertha, ask no questions – get no lies. I’m very grateful to you for taking me in, you were the only one in the whole town that would. But… please don’t ask me where I was. I had something very important to do.’

  ‘All right wench, I understand.’ Bertha said. ‘Just answer me this – did you do that important thing?’

  Liza nodded and so did Bertha. They had reached an understanding.

  Bertha explained, ‘I had to tell Dr Cooper of your sudden disappearance but I will let him know you’re back tomorrow. He will be fine with it – he is a good man.’

  Liza smiled her agreement.

  The two women sat before the fire after supper and Bertha chatted on about the coronation of the King and how, if at all, his reign would affect them.

  Liza’s mind was elsewhere. She heard the drone of the other woman’s voice, but nothing registered. Her thoughts swirled around what she’d done. The initial relief had passed and now the realization hit her. She had killed someone! She had committed murder! Her mind told her Ada had deserved all she got, but on the other hand should she have died for it? The woman was evil and had caused the death of Liza’s child, she had taken a life, albeit by proxy. An eye for an eye, Liza thought, desperately trying to justify her actions.

  Liza yawned, she was exhausted. The whole debacle had robbed her of her strength and she knew her dreams would be full of the images which still now played behind her drooping eyelids.

  Bertha Jenkins kept her word and informed Dr Cooper of Liza’s return before going to work the following morning.

  Joshua Cooper decided to go and check on Liza himself and set off in his trap. The wooden wheels rumbled over the cobblestones of the streets and the doctor tipped his hat to those who shouted a greeting. Pulling into Pinfold Street, he halted the horse and jumped from the driving seat. Settling the horse with a nosebag, he rapped on the door to Bertha’s house.

  No words were spoken as Liza served tea and cake. She eyed the man sat at the table in the small kitchen. Liza then repeated what she had said to Bertha the previous night: ask no questions – get no lies. Dr Cooper nodded. Pulling a newspaper from his pocket, he slapped it on the table, pushing it towards Liza. He waited patiently while she read the article he pointed out. When she looked up at him, he tipped his head to the newspaper. Liza merely raised her eyebrows and said nothing.

  The headline read, ‘Workhouse Master, Fred Tulley, arrested for murdering his wife!’

  *

  Joseph Purcell saw the cab coming up the driveway of Brueton House. He watched as the cabbie helped the woman alight before the cab moved away. Opening the door, he said, ‘Miss Flowers! What a delightful surprise, please do come in.’ His anger at her dissipated as he was once again confronted by her beauty. He did not notice the cabbie pull his vehicle to the side of the house to wait.

  Leading Cara into the living room, he offered tea, saying he would be happy to make it as his staff were on their day off. Cara refused the offer.

  ‘My visit to you, Mr Purcell, is for the sole reason of asking why you felt it necessar
y to pass on gossip to Martin Lander? Gossip, I might add, which is completely untrue!’ Cara watched him carefully as she awaited his answer.

  Purcell was confidently calm as he said, ‘I have to say I’m surprised it took you this long to confront me, I thought you might have come before this. However Miss Flowers, I was told in the strictest confidence from a reliable source and assured of its validity. Simply put, I felt Martin had a right to know.’

  Cara’s anger rose as she glared at the pompous man. ‘To be perfectly honest Mr Purcell, I was unsure whether to come at all, but in the end curiosity got the better of me. Besides a man in your position, a magistrate no less, should have known better than to pass on such gossip!’

  Maintaining his calm demeanour, Purcell said, ‘I reiterate, Martin had a right to know, gossip or not.’

  Cara was horrified at the gall of the man and told him so.

  Purcell said, ‘My dear Cara, consider, who would not wish to have an affair with you? You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen!’

  Cara blushed at his words and shifted in her seat as he stood and joined her on the couch. Taking her hand, he went on, ‘Cara, I would give my eyeteeth for one kiss from you.’

  Snatching her hand away, Cara jumped to her feet in pure anger. In her haste, her shoe tangled in the hem of her skirt. Losing her balance, she fell against him and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. Cara struggled against him as he whispered, ‘Don’t fight me, Cara, this is one time you will not win!’

  Grabbing the bodice of her blouse, he yanked it apart, sending tiny cloth-covered buttons flying across the room. Cara hit out at him, trying to beat him off her. Purcell laughed before pushing her back roughly onto the couch. Pinning her with his weight, he slapped her cheek hard and the shock of the blow halted Cara’s efforts to free herself. Pressing his lips to hers and holding her head in place, he kissed her fiercely before saying, ‘I’ve wanted that and more for a long time now.’