by Dilly Court
Chapter Fifteen
Silhouetted against the sulphurous glow of gaslight, Eloise could just make out the shape of a tall woman dressed in black. In her fevered mind, it was the angel of death who dragged the perambulator and its tiny occupants through the portals of the institution. Eloise stifled a low moan of pain and she fell to her knees on the wet pavement, burying her face in her hands.
How long she knelt there on the cold paving stones she did not know. She seemed to have entered a nether world; a strange place where nothing was real. Her cramped limbs, hunger and thirst were as nothing compared to the agony of having given her babies into the hands of strangers. There was a painful void where her heart had once been and she wrapped her arms about herself, rocking to and fro in her despair. A chill mist had crept in from the river without Eloise even noticing it, and the sky had lightened to a grey dawn. The measured tread of booted feet caused her to look up, and through eyes blurred with tears she found herself looking into the stern face of a police constable. 'Move along now, miss, or I'll arrest you for being drunk and disorderly.'
Automatically, her hand flew to her dishevelled hair. She had lost her bonnet somewhere along the way and her long tresses had come loose from the chignon at the back of her neck. She brushed a stray lock from her eyes and scrambled to her feet, but she had lost all feeling in her lower limbs and she stumbled against the wall of the gatehouse. The constable was eyeing her with undisguised contempt and she realised then just what a sight she must present. 'All right, officer,' she murmured. 'I'm going.'
'Go home, miss.'
Eloise nodded and turned away. She could not bear to see herself mirrored in the eyes of this complete stranger. A small vestige of pride made her hold her head high and she limped away in the direction of Doughty Street, but she turned off at the corner of Mecklenburgh Square and she waited there until the constable had continued on his beat. By this time she knew what she had to do. She was not going to be parted from her children for a moment longer than was necessary. Stopping a passing costermonger who was pushing his barrow along the street, Eloise enquired as to the whereabouts of the nearest public bathhouse. Having thanked him for his help, she set off to follow his directions. It was just six o'clock in the morning, according to the clock on the wall of the bathhouse, but it was already open for business and Eloise went inside, checking the prices carefully before purchasing a ticket. She could not afford first class, but a warm bath in the second class section would cost her tuppence. It was an agonising decision, but she must appear to be clean and decent if she was to seek work at the Foundling Hospital.
As she soaked in the tub filled with warm water Eloise washed her hair and scrubbed her whole body with the tablet of harsh carbolic soap. She lay back and watched the thick scum float to the surface, taking with it the worst of the ingrained grime from the dust yard. At home she had always taken cleanness for granted, barely understanding why Papa bothered to mention the need for bodily as well as spiritual cleanliness in his sermons. Now she felt so much older and wiser. Although she had rebelled against her father's strict moral code and rigid rules, she felt that she understood him a little better now that she had experienced the harsh realities of life first hand. She had been such a green girl before her marriage, sheltered by her parents and pampered by those who loved her. Even after she had married Ronnie, she had still been protected from the grim spectres of poverty and disease. What a spoilt little simpleton she had been in those far off days, she thought, as she wallowed in the rapidly cooling water. She might have helped to raise money for good causes at church fetes and musical evenings, but she had not truly understood the desperate wants of the poor and needy. As she dried herself on a coarse huckaback towel, Eloise felt ashamed of the person she had once been: a silly girl who thought only of herself. She had thought that Papa had been both unkind and unfair in his treatment of her, but now she could understand his reasons for sending her to live in Yorkshire with the Cribbs. He had done what he considered to be right, and he had known just how difficult life could be for a young widow without the means to support herself and her children.
Eloise scrubbed at her skin until it glowed pink. She glanced down at her slender body, which was now too thin to be considered beautiful in the artistic sense. Her breasts, which had been full and voluptuous when she was feeding her babies, were now small, and her waist so tiny that she had no need for stays, which was just as well since hers were frayed and the whalebones broken or had come out completely. She sighed as she put on her only change of clothing, a calico blouse and a navy blue serge skirt, both of which were patched and darned, but were reasonably clean, and she slipped her bare feet into her down-at-heel boots. Having towelled her hair until it was dry enough to twist into a knot at the base of her neck, she secured it with some hairpins which she had found scattered about on the floor. Then, with renewed strength and purpose, Eloise left the bathhouse and set off at a brisk pace towards the Foundling Hospital.
She marched up to the entrance with a determined lift of her chin and her head held high. She rang the bell and waited. Her pulses were racing and her hands were damp with sweat, but at last she heard footsteps and the door opened. A young maidservant eyed her suspiciously. 'Yes? What d'you want?'
'I've come about the position advertised in the newspaper.' The lie tripped off her tongue in a manner which would have shocked Papa, but Eloise did not feel guilty. She was going to get into the building even if she had to break a window or batter down a door.
'I dunno nothing about that,' the maid said, shaking her head. 'You'd best write to the matron.'
She was about to close the door when Eloise pushed past her. 'I would like to see the matron now, this minute.'
'They're all at breakfast.'
'Then I'll wait here.' Eloise moved to a wooden bench and sat down. They would have to carry her out; she was not going to budge until she had seen someone in authority.
Muttering beneath her breath, the young maid scuttled off down the echoing corridor and then there was an eerie silence. Eloise was desperate to find Joss and Beth, but somehow she managed to control the impulse. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap as she took in her surroundings. The high vaulted ceiling was supported by marble columns, and a wide stone staircase rose majestically from the black and white tiled floor. A stained-glass window on the mezzanine imbued the vast entrance hall with a solemn church-like atmosphere. It was hardly home from home, and Eloise felt for the poor little foundlings who grew up in this impressive but austere place. She thought of Annie and hoped that she would not think that she had deserted her, but most of all her thoughts were with her babies who were somewhere in this building, confused, frightened and wondering where their mama had gone. Eloise heard someone coming and she rose to her feet. As the woman approached her, Eloise was certain it was the same person who had taken the perambulator into the building. Her heart leapt inside her breast, but one look at the woman's hard features and Eloise's optimism took a tumble. This was no kindly mother figure. The woman's face was thin and lined with deep clefts between her eyebrows creating a permanent frown. 'What can I do for you?' she demanded in clipped tones.
Her shrewd eyes reminded Eloise of green glass beads and they seemed to bore into her soul. 'I came in answer to the advertisement in the newspaper.'
'That's impossible. We haven't advertised for months.'
'It might have been slightly out of date, but you required a teacher.'
'You are mistaken. I must ask you to leave.'
Eloise stood her ground. 'If you do not need a teacher, perhaps you require an assistant or a nurse. I am quite capable of turning my hand to anything.'
'No. We need no one. Please go, or must I summon the porter to have you thrown out?'
'But you must need some help. Please won't you give me work, Miss . . .'
'Miss Marchant. I am the matron of this hospital and I can assure you that I don't employ women of your sort.'
'How dare y
ou!' Eloise felt as though something had snapped in her head and she quite literally saw a flash of red before her eyes. 'Don't speak to me like that, Miss Marchant. Everyone, no matter how humble, deserves to be treated with respect.'
'What on earth is going on here?'
An angry voice from the doorway made both women start and turn round to face Barton Caine, who had just entered the building and was standing quite still, staring at Eloise with a look of puzzlement. 'Do I know you, young woman?'
Eloise bobbed a curtsey and bowed her head, unable to meet his gaze. 'No, sir.'
'Then who are you and why are you creating a disturbance here?'
Miss Marchant moved forward to place herself between Eloise and the governor. 'She forced her way in, sir. I was telling her to leave just before you arrived.'
Caine walked slowly towards them and came to a halt in front of Eloise. 'What can I do for you, ma'am?'
Quick to detect a softening in his tone, Eloise raised her head to meet his eyes and was once again struck by their intense shade of blue, and despite his stern expression she sensed that this was a man of intelligence and reason. 'I need work, sir.'
'You need work.' His tone was measured. 'Is that all?'
'Allow me to deal with this, Mr Caine,' Miss Marchant said stiffly. 'This woman is obviously a beggar or a woman of the streets. Let me ring for the porter and he will send her on her way.'
Caine eyed her coolly. ' I 'm sure that you have pressing duties elsewhere, Matron. Go about your business and I will deal with this.'
Miss Marchant bristled visibly, but she nodded her head and sailed off with an offended hunch of her thin shoulders. Eloise breathed a sigh of relief, but a wave of dizziness washed over her and she swayed on her feet. She must not faint, she told herself severely. She would not faint . . .
'Sit down, please.'
Caine had placed his hand beneath her elbow and guided her back to the bench, where Eloise sat down more suddenly than she would have wished. This was not going as she had hoped. 'I'm all right, thank you, sir. It was just a little dizzy spell.'
'What is your name?'
She hesitated. She had not given it much thought, but it occurred to her suddenly that it would be foolish to give her own name. 'Ellen, sir. Ellen Monk.'
'Well, Miss Monk, tell me why you want to work here so badly?'
'I just need work, sir.' Caine was silent for a moment and Eloise could feel his eyes upon her as if he was trying to read her thoughts. She glanced up and met his cold scrutiny with an attempt at a smile. 'I was a servant, unfairly dismissed without a character, and I have no money.'
'And no family?'
'I am an orphan, sir.'
'And for what offence were you dismissed?'
'I was innocent, sir. Falsely accused of – of . . .' Eloise hesitated. If she said she had been accused of theft that would leave some doubts as to her honesty in the governor's mind. She thought quickly. 'It was said that I was on intimate terms with the butler, but it was not the case. I was dismissed instantly and he was not.'
'And where did this incident occur? Who was your employer?'
'I was lady's maid to the wife of a prominent gentleman who would not thank me for bandying his family's name in public'
'I admire your loyalty, even in such dire circumstances, or I would if I believed this taradiddle. I think that you are a liar, Ellen Monk.'
It was true, of course, but Eloise was acting a part and she was angry for the sake of the wronged servant girl, Ellen Monk. She leapt to her feet. 'It's true, sir. Every word is true.'
'You are no servant girl. You speak like an educated young woman, Miss Monk. Would you care to tell me the truth?'
'I need work, sir. You can think what you like of me, but I am begging you to give me a chance. I'll scrub floors if necessary. I don't mind what I do.'
Caine angled his head, staring at her thoughtfully. 'Let me see your hands.'
Startled, Eloise held her hands out for him to examine. His fingers were long and lean, but surprisingly gentle as they turned her hands palm upwards. Despite her attempts to scrub them clean, there were still traces of dirt beneath her chipped fingernails and small blue scars where cuts and blisters had healed, trapping coal dust beneath the skin. A slight twitch of his winged eyebrows betrayed his surprise and he gave her a long, calculating look. 'These are not the hands of a lady; nor, I would imagine, those of a lady's maid.'
'I am a hard worker, sir.'
'And you are willing to be a maid of all work?'
'As I said, I will scrub floors if necessary.'
'Very well then, but I must warn you that the work is hard and the hours are long. You will live with the servants, obey Matron at all times, and your wages will be six pounds a year, paid quarterly. Do you still want the position?'
Eloise nodded emphatically. 'When do I start?'
'Come with me. I'll take you to Miss Marchant and she will assign you to your duties.'
Miss Marchant was in the refectory supervising the older children as they filed off to begin the day's lessons. The girls, as Caine explained in a low voice, were going to classes that would equip them for life in service and the boys were being educated for careers in the armed services, but mainly the Navy. Eloise stood behind Caine, watching the children as they marched out of the hall silently and in single file. Her heart ached for the orphans and abandoned children who had never known the love of a parent, but even so she had to admit that they looked healthy and were probably quite happy in their ignorance of any other kind of existence. Caine waited until they had gone before informing Miss Marchant of his decision. It was obvious from her tight-lipped expression that she did not approve, but it was equally plain that she dared not go against the governor's wishes. 'Very well, sir. I'll take Monk to the kitchens myself and introduce her to her duties.'
'Thank you, Matron.' Caine acknowledged her compliance with a nod of his head. 'And now I must return home. Maria is unwell and I must be there when the doctor calls.'
'Nothing serious, I hope, sir?'
'I think it's just a chill, but one cannot be too careful.' Caine turned on his heel and strode away.
Eloise was hardly interested in his domestic arrangements. All she could think about was finding Joss and Beth and being able to reassure them that Mama was not far away. She would tell them that they were playing a game in which she was not Mama, but merely Ellen, the maidservant, although she knew they would not understand. Beth was still little more than a baby and only just beginning to say a few words, but Joss, who had mastered quite a large vocabulary, might prove to be a problem. Still, she comforted herself with the knowledge that very young children were adaptable, and once they were assured that she had not deserted them they would be content. As soon as she had saved enough money, she would take them away from this place, but that was in the distant future. Now she must convince the disapproving Miss Marchant that she was a good and reliable worker.
'Follow me,' Miss Marchant said coldly. 'I want you to know that I disapprove heartily of how you wheedled your way into this venerable institution. I will be keeping my eye on you, and at the slightest transgression, you will be sacked. Do you understand me, Monk?'
Eloise bobbed a curtsey. 'Yes'm.'
'Yes, Matron.' Miss Marchant waited until Eloise had repeated the correct form of address and then she stalked off, leading the way through a maze of corridors to the back stairs and down to the basement kitchens. Eloise's first impression was of steam, heat and noise. Women wearing white mobcaps and starched aprons worked at long trestle tables, chopping up gristly cuts of meat, preparing vegetables or shredding suet for the inevitable puddings. The babble of voices ceased on the instant they saw Miss Marchant and they bowed their heads over their work. One woman, obviously the head cook, strode forward to meet them wiping her floury hands on a towel. 'Good morning, Matron. And who is this?'
'This is Monk. Mr Caine has seen fit to employ another skivvy, although I told him that we w
ere fully staffed.' Miss Marchant's expression was hostile as she turned to glare at Eloise. 'You will do exactly as Mrs Cater says, and she will report daily to me, so don't think you can get away with anything, Monk.' She swept up the staircase with a rustle of starched moreen petticoats and the jingling sound of the keys which hung from a chatelaine at her waist.
Mrs Cater peered at Eloise through the thick pebble lenses of her spectacles. 'You don't look much like a scullery maid. Don't think you can get away with airs and graces in my kitchen, girl. I'm a fair woman but I expect people to do their work properly.'
'Yes'm,' Eloise murmured, wondering how soon she could slip away from the kitchens to look for Joss and Beth. 'I'll work hard.'
'Tibbie!' Mrs Cater shrieked at the top of her voice. 'Come here.'
A small face which was almost drowned by an oversized mobcap peered round the corner of a door at the far end of the kitchen. 'Yes, Cook.'
'This here is Monk, the new scullery maid. Show her what to do, and bring me some clean pans. I dunno what you've been doing all this time.'
Tibbie scuttled out of the scullery like a small crab, beckoned to Eloise and then disappeared back into a cloud of steam, which smelt strongly of grease mixed with washing soda and carbolic soap. Eloise followed her, very much aware that the rest of the women were eyeing her surreptitiously, whispering and giggling. She braced her shoulders and rolled up her sleeves as she entered the fog-like atmosphere of the scullery.
Red-faced and sweating, Tibbie was searching through a pile of clean dishes and saucepans for the cooking pots that Mrs Cater had demanded. 'They got to be in here somewhere,' she muttered.
'Here, let me help you,' Eloise said, catching a plate as it was about to fall to the floor.
'Oh, would you?' Tibbie wiped her small hand across her brow, pushing back her mobcap and exposing a head covered with matted mouse coloured hair.