Half a Sixpence

by Evie Grace

  Catherine glanced towards the window where the rain was trickling down the panes of glass. As much as she craved the outdoors, her baby would never survive the winter weather.

  ‘I’ll stay,’ she said reluctantly.

  The workhouse bell rang again for breakfast. Annie brought porridge, bread and milk. The milk was sour, the porridge was blackened at the bottom of the bowl and the bread was stale, but Catherine forced herself to eat. She put the baby to her breast and, this time, she fed.

  ‘What’s her name?’ the nurse asked.

  ‘Agnes,’ Catherine said, her heart breaking all over again as she thought of Matty and his request. ‘Agnes Ivy.’

  On the second day, Agnes started to screech, repeatedly pulling her legs up and forcing them straight. Catherine tried putting her to the breast, but she turned her head away. She paced up and down the ward, rocking Agnes in her arms to soothe her, but nothing worked.

  ‘Please don’t leave me,’ she murmured, pressing her lips to her forehead.

  ‘Why are you crying, Mrs Matthews?’ the nurse asked.

  ‘My baby’s sick. Look at her. What can I do?’

  ‘It’s nothing serious. She has the symptoms of bellyache. The safest remedy is a few drops of peppermint in sweetened water.’ She turned to the girl who was sweeping the floor. ‘Annie, go and fetch a hot flannel. Each time the bell rings, you lay it across the infant’s back to ease the pain.’

  While Catherine tried this remedy, the medical officer called in to the ward to add his contribution: a little gin for the fractious child, and no onions or cabbage for the mother. The nurse wondered aloud if Mr James could be persuaded to provide a bottle of gin for the lying-in ward – for medicinal purposes.

  Over the next few days, Agnes grew stronger and the bouts of colic less frequent without the aid of gin, and within a week, Catherine was back in the oakum room with her baby swaddled against her breast.

  ‘Perhaps there is a chance that you’ll meet your papa one day after all,’ she whispered as she wielded the spike and separated the endless strands of tarry rope. Although her head told her that Matty would never return, her heart still harboured hopes that he would find his way back to her. In the meantime, she had to find some way of supporting herself and Agnes. She had no desire to remain at the Union any longer than she had to, but how could she possibly begin to build a life on the outside?

  Over the next few weeks, the professional ‘in-and-outers’ like Drusilla came and went, and came back again, much to Mrs Coates’s chagrin, and it appeared to Catherine that the only way to leave the Union for good was inside the parish coffin.

  At Christmas, the inmates had a day off. There was a service with singing which reminded her of the choir at the Church of Our Lady at Overshill, followed by a feast of baked beef, plum pudding and strong beer. Mr James had provided snuff, tobacco and oranges out of his own pocket for the end of the meal, and he’d ordered all the fires to be lit and piled up with extra coal against the cold.

  Catherine carried Agnes into the yard to escape the smoke and general merriment for a while. It was quiet outside and she took time to watch the few snowflakes that drifted down from the ochre sky.

  Drusilla called to her from the doorway.

  ‘I have somethin’ that’ll be of interest to you,’ she said as Catherine approached.

  ‘I doubt it.’ Catherine kissed Agnes gently on the forehead.

  ‘You don’t want to stay here for the rest of your days, do you?’

  ‘Of course not, but I’ll only profit by honest labour.’

  ‘Oh, listen to you. You’re such a prig. If you think like that, you’ll never get out of here.’ Drusilla tapped the side of her nose. ‘Just between us, I’ve managed to get my hands on some snuff and a bag of oranges.’

  ‘You stole them,’ Catherine accused her.

  ‘They were just lyin’ around, going beggin’. Anyway, I need someone to carry them out for me, and I thought of you. You still owe me a few favours, after all.’

  ‘I owe you nothing,’ Catherine said firmly, but Drusilla continued.

  ‘My plan is that I take care of Agnes while you carry the goods out wrapped in her shawl. I’ll arrange the handover at the Bear. No one will suspect a thing. Oh, come on. This will give you a few spare shillin’s to spend on the child.’

  It was tempting. She would never be able to leave the workhouse without money, and a little put away would be a start. She was torn, but the prospect of what would happen if she was found out aiding and abetting a thief was unbearable to contemplate. She would lose Agnes for certain.

  ‘I couldn’t possibly. You know that Mrs Coates will lose her position here if the gentlemen of the Board find out that more supplies have gone missing.’

  ‘Who cares? You have to help yourself in this life. No one else will.’

  ‘I won’t take advantage of the guardians’ generosity of spirit, nor undermine Mrs Coates’s security for anyone, least of all you.’

  ‘I’ll get you back for this, Miss Rook,’ Drusilla hissed, her face so close to Catherine’s that she could feel her spittle on her cheek. ‘In the meantime, I’ll find someone else to act for me.’

  Catherine turned away and walked around the yard.

  On the afternoon of New Year’s Day, Mr James and Mr Rufus arrived at the Union, causing a flurry of excitement among the inmates who came rushing to the dining room. Even some of the lunatics were brought down from the ward for the occasion. Catherine joined them with Agnes in her arms.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she asked Mrs Coates who was standing just inside the door.

  ‘The brothers have made it their mission to give out money every year, sixpence for every adult and threepence for each child.’

  ‘They give to make themselves feel better,’ Drusilla cut in. ‘Often, I wonder what would have happened if Sir William had been allowed to have his way. Jervis and I would have had our own lands and wealth beyond measure. We would have risen way above the brewers and merchants.’

  ‘It was a terrible time. All that bloodshed for nothing. My nephew was one caught up in it and killed, God rest his soul. My poor sister followed him to the grave not long after.’ Mrs Coates handed Catherine a heavy iron key. ‘Will you fetch the rest of the snuff that was left over from Christmas? It’s in the office. Mr James wishes to distribute the remainder to his workers.’

  ‘I’ll go,’ Drusilla cut in, trying in vain to snatch the key. Catherine was immediately suspicious. Something wasn’t right.

  ‘I’d be grateful if you would come with me, Mrs Coates,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure I have the strength to turn the key in the lock.’

  ‘Are you not feeling well, Mrs Matthews?’

  ‘I have felt better,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll come with you then,’ Drusilla offered, showing off the strength in her wrists. ‘I wouldn’t let that one go alone, Matron. She knows all the tricks of the trade, how to lie and deceive.’

  ‘What do you mean? I’ve found Mrs Matthews to be honest in our dealings so far, which is more than can be said for some.’

  ‘Her name is Miss Rook. She was not so long ago betrothed to a criminal, one convicted of murder and transported across the sea: the man, in fact, who betrayed his own brother, my beloved husband, Jervis Carter.’ Drusilla wiped an imaginary tear from her eye.

  ‘Is this true?’ Mrs Coates frowned. ‘You have misled me?’

  ‘I was engaged to marry Matty Carter, the prisoner who was sent to Tasmania with his brother. He was wrongly accused and convicted. It was Jervis who set Matty up, not the other way round,’ Catherine said quietly. ‘When we go to the office, I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find that that snuff has gone. Drusilla asked me to smuggle it out on her behalf and I refused.’

  ‘That’s a lie.’ Drusilla raised her voice, attracting the attention of the other inmates. ‘I saw you take the snuff, and the box of oranges. I tell you, Matron, you’ll find them underneath Miss Rook’s mattress.�
� She was smirking as she and Catherine walked along the corridor and back to the ward where Mrs Coates joined them in front of the row of beds.

  ‘It’s that one,’ Drusilla said gleefully, pointing at Catherine’s.

  Mrs Coates lifted the mattress and there was the snuff and the box of oranges. Catherine felt terrible about it, even though she wasn’t responsible for putting them there.

  ‘Oh, Mrs Matthews.’ Mrs Coates’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘How could you?’

  ‘I told you so. I saw her hidin’ the goods this morning after breakfast.’

  ‘You didn’t,’ a voice piped up from beneath a mound of sheets in the far corner of the room.

  ‘Annie?’ said Mrs Coates. ‘What are you doing lying abed at this time of day?’

  ‘I’m not well,’ the girl said, slowly sitting up.

  ‘You should be on the medical ward, not here.’

  ‘I couldn’t be bothered to move, which is why I can tell you that it was Drusilla who did what she’s accusing Mrs Matthews of. One of the oranges came rolling out. I didn’t say nothing. I lay here silent until she had gone, then picked it up and ate it. I hope I’m not in any trouble.’

  ‘No,’ Mrs Coates sighed. ‘Drusilla, what do you have to say for yourself?’

  ‘I’m not sayin’ anythin’.’ She was already at the side of her bed, scooping up a few possessions from underneath it, and wrapping them in a sheet before rushing out through the door.

  ‘Go,’ Mrs Coates called after her. ‘Return to the gutter where you belong.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we stop her?’ Catherine said.

  ‘What good would it do? She’ll have a hard time surviving on the streets in this weather. She won’t be allowed back here again. That’s punishment enough, I think. As for you …’ She looked Catherine in the eye. ‘I reckon you have suffered more than enough too. Let’s say no more about this, Mrs Matthews. Thank you, Annie. Please take yourself up to the ward later and see Nurse.’

  Catherine went back down to the dining room where she overheard Mrs Coates speaking to Mr James.

  ‘I can assure you that there won’t be any more trouble in that direction, Mr Berry-Clay.’

  ‘I’m happy to hear that,’ he said.

  The beadle thumped one of the tables with his fist.

  ‘Line up. Line up!’ he bellowed.

  Catherine was last to receive the coins from Mr James. He smiled and gazed down at Agnes.

  ‘She is a very bonny infant. She is healthy?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, sir.’ Catherine bobbed her head as he handed her the money, ninepence in total. Her heart beat faster. This was the beginning, a sign of better things to come. Drusilla had gone, she could continue living as Mrs Matthews without threat of being unmasked, and she reckoned that she’d found an ally in the girl, Annie.

  Life in the Union continued quietly for several months. When Agnes reached eight months of age, Catherine was obliged to leave her with the other children while she worked. She didn’t like it, but she trusted Annie, who’d been moved from the lying-in ward to the children’s ward, to look after her.

  ‘You’re needed to assist with the laundry,’ Matron said, calling Catherine to her after breakfast one morning. ‘I’m a couple of pairs of hands short.’

  ‘I’d rather not,’ she said.

  ‘It isn’t your place to say so.’

  ‘Of course not. I’m sorry. I’ll go.’

  It was hot, hard work and her hands were soon red and raw. As she forced one sheet after another through the mangle, turning the handle until they spilled from the rollers into the basket on the other side, she began to recite a rhyme that she had learned at the farm.

  ‘They that wash on Monday have all the week to dry. They that wash on Tuesday are not so much awry.’ It reminded her of how Matty would drop by at the farmhouse to catch sight of her or snatch a kiss. Her chest hurt. She missed him more than she’d thought possible.

  ‘Hey, stop your dreaming. I said, Mr James wishes to speak with you, Mrs Matthews,’ Mrs Coates interrupted. ‘He has asked for you in particular. He’s most insistent.’

  Catherine looked down at her apron – it was soaked through.

  ‘I can’t go like this. I’m not respectable.’

  ‘I don’t think you’re in a position to have scruples. You’ll do. Quickly, he’s waiting for you in the meeting room.’

  ‘What business can he have with me?’ Was she in some kind of trouble? Was she about to be banished from the Union?

  ‘That’s up to you to find out.’

  Catherine abandoned the mangle and made her way to the meeting room.

  ‘That’s no reason for all of the rest of you to stop and gawp,’ she heard Mrs Coates shouting.

  She wiped her hands on her apron and pushed a stray lock of hair back beneath her bonnet, before taking a deep breath and knocking on the door.

  ‘Please, enter.’

  She pushed the door open and found Mr James sitting at the head of the table with some papers in front of him. He smiled.

  ‘Close the door,’ he said.

  She pulled it shut and stood in front of him with her hands behind her back and her head bowed.

  ‘I prefer to do business with people who can look me in the eye.’

  She looked up, uncertain.

  ‘That’s better. I like to be direct when conducting my affairs, but this is a somewhat delicate matter that I wish to broach with you. I have a proposition that could take you away from the Union.’

  Catherine glared at him. What was he suggesting?

  ‘Oh no, Mr Berry-Clay, I wouldn’t even consider it.’

  ‘You mean you like living here? You are content to spend the rest of your life under this regime? It’s strange, but I thought you would have wanted more, your independence, for example.’

  ‘Not at the expense of my reputation and dignity,’ she said, her cheeks burning.

  Mr Berry-Clay frowned, then his red beard trembled as he chuckled, ‘Oh, you misunderstand me. I wasn’t suggesting … I have a wife to whom I am devoted. I would never consider taking on a mistress.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir.’ She wanted to run out of the room and as far away as possible. What on earth had made her think that he’d be the slightest bit interested in someone like her?

  ‘How is your daughter?’ he began again.

  ‘She is well, thank you.’

  ‘I know someone of substance and standing who is happily married. He has everything he can possibly wish for, a beautiful house, servants and wealth. There is but one thing missing, one joy absent from his life. Can you guess what that is?’

  Catherine’s heart missed a beat. She was suddenly afraid.

  ‘No, not that,’ she blurted out. ‘Please don’t ask me to give her up. She is the apple of my eye, my only happiness.’

  ‘I appreciate your fondness for her … little Agnes, but there are occasions when the greatest love of all means sacrificing what you hold dearest to you. Think for a moment. What can you give her?’

  ‘A mother’s love,’ she said simply.

  ‘Agnes would benefit from the love of both a mother and a father. She is bonny and blithe, and no one could fail to adore her. She would want for nothing.’

  Catherine hesitated before asking, ‘Would she learn to read and write? Would she receive a proper education?’

  ‘Oh yes. She’ll have a governess and be brought up as a lady.’

  ‘Can you vouch for these people?’

  ‘Indeed I can. I know them personally.’

  ‘Can I meet them?’

  ‘I understand your concerns, but that won’t be possible. The couple wish to remain anonymous.’

  ‘I’ll be able to see her? Or receive letters at least?’

  ‘That isn’t possible either. It would be too unsettling for the child.’

  ‘No, I couldn’t agree to give her away on those terms,’ Catherine said quickly. ‘It would break my heart.’

  ‘I un
derstand the strength of your maternal feelings, but you must take your situation into account.’ He stood up and looked out of the window, his hands clasped behind his back. ‘This couple is offering to take your child and give her every advantage. In return, they will give you a sum of money to enable you to rent a small home.’

  ‘Why my baby? Why not any of the other workhouse children?’

  ‘Your daughter is a beauty with a bright smile. The others are ragamuffins and street urchins, the children of pickpockets and others of low birth. You strike me as a woman brought low by circumstance.’ He turned back to face her. ‘I realise that this is a decision that shouldn’t be taken lightly, so why don’t you think about it and we will meet again? Say the day after tomorrow, after evening service?’

  ‘I will not consider it further, sir.’

  A shadow crossed his eyes.

  ‘It is the lady’s dearest wish to care for a little daughter. She would cherish her as her own. Take a little time to reconsider.’

  ‘I will not do that,’ she said firmly.

  ‘I don’t think that someone in your position has a choice. I will await your final answer.’ He showed her to the door. ‘Good day, Mrs Matthews.’

  ‘It is not a good day when a stranger offers to take your child.’

  She returned to the laundry, picked up a hot iron and applied it to one of the sheets that had been brought in from the yard, still slightly damp. She was aware of Mrs Coates’s eyes upon her and the unspoken question hovering in the steam that rose from the cloth.

  ‘What did Mr James want to see you for?’ she asked eventually.

  ‘I cannot say.’

  ‘It is a most unusual situation. Have you come into money? Are you leaving us?’

  ‘I told you – she’s a spy for the Board,’ one of the women muttered.

  Another turned her back on her.

  She caught her hand on the iron and winced, but the pain was nothing compared with the agonising thoughts that were running through her head. She’d told Mr James that she wouldn’t consider his suggestion, but she knew she’d be a fool not to think about it.

  When the bell rang for dinner, she rushed out to find Agnes. She was sitting in the dirt in the courtyard while some of the other, older children were pretending to roast a dead rat on some sticks.