The Girl in the Ragged Shawl

by Cathy Sharp

  CHAPTER 8

  Eliza felt the oppressive misery in the house. Fred’s son crept about like a mouse, red-eyed and silent. His mother had been an invalid much of his young life, but she’d always had a kind word and a peppermint sweet for her son, and now he was just another slave, to be shouted at and beaten by his father like the other servants.

  Eliza saw him sitting miserably in what had once been his mother’s chair by the fire in the kitchen on the Sunday after they’d buried her, though it was two years since Mistress Roberts had come down to the kitchen to sit, so Mags had told her. The funeral had been held and family had come and gone to mourn the poor lady, who was now in her grave. Pike’s father had gone out drinking with friends and was intent on a card game to raise his spirits, so Mags said.

  ‘What’s to become of that wretched lad now, I don’t know,’ Mags said and wiped her eyes on her apron. She too had red eyes, because in her way she’d loved her mistress and tried all she could to save her. ‘Here, take him one of my currant buns, girl, and a glass of warm milk sweetened with honey – but don’t linger. There’s work fer you to do and the Lord help yer if yer neglect it the mood the master’s in.’

  Eliza took the bun and milk as she was bid and Pike looked at her, his eyes so tear-laden that they threatened to spill over. ‘Mags sent these for you,’ Eliza said. ‘The milk is sweet and the cake tastes good.’

  ‘You have the milk,’ he said and gave her a half-smile. ‘I’ll eat the cake, but I’m not sure I can keep it down. Every time I think of Ma lying there dead, the baby lifeless and blood all over her legs – and him out in the yard killing a pig not three hours later – it turns my stomach’

  ‘I kept bein’ sick for weeks, after I came here,’ Eliza said. ‘It’s this place and the smell.’

  ‘You should run away while you can,’ Pike said suddenly. ‘It’s what I’m goin’ ter do as soon as—’ He went quiet as the back door to the yard opened and his father lurched in, clearly the worse for drink.

  ‘What’re you doin’ sittin’ ’ere, runt?’ Fred Roberts muttered. ‘There’s been enough messin’ about over that useless bitch upstairs this week – get through in the shop and clean up ready fer termorrer.’ His mean eyes turned on Eliza. ‘Get to your task, workhouse brat, or I’ll flay the skin from yer back.’

  Eliza moved away from him, her heart thumping but his son drew his attention from her.

  ‘My mother is dead havin’ the child you forced on her!’ Pike stood up to his father for the first time ever in Eliza’s hearing. ‘You’re a rotten bully and I hate yer.’

  Before he finished speaking the butcher slashed at him with his great fist, felling him to the kitchen floor, where he lay stunned and bleeding. Seeing his son lying there with blood on him seemed to enrage Fred Roberts even more and he started to kick at the boy’s stomach with the toe of his boot.

  ‘Leave him be!’ Eliza darted at him, throwing hot milk into his face and making him splutter. He gave a roar of rage and swung at her, but she dodged out of the way and he lurched unsteadily on his feet; in that moment, his son pulled at his ankle and jerked him off balance, Fred crashed down and hit his head on the edge of a heavy joint stool. ‘Is he dead?’ Eliza’s frightened voice brought Mags to investigate.

  ‘Nay, his head’s as thick as a block of wood,’ Mags said scornfully. ‘He’ll sleep it off for a while – but I shouldn’t want to be you tomorrow, lad – or you, girl. If he remembers what either of you did he’ll thrash the pair of you.’

  ‘I’m goin’ now.’ Pike was on his feet. ‘If I were you, Eliza, I’d do the same – or he’ll thrash yer.’

  Mags laid a restraining hand on Eliza’s arm as Pike rushed from the room and they could hear him in the parlour, pulling open drawers and making a racket.

  ‘Let him get on wiv it, girl,’ Mags said. ‘Master will like forget what you did and if he catches that boy he’ll kill him – not that I blame him for runnin’ off.’

  They heard the sound of footsteps pounding up the stairs and again drawers were pulled out, things knocked over and thrown about, and then the butcher’s son came down, carrying a big bundle done up in a shawl.

  ‘I’ve taken some of my mother’s bits and his money,’ Pike said. ‘You tell ’im what I did, Mags. Don’t let him blame you or the girl. I’m goin’, and if I die of starvation when the money has gone I’ll never come back.’

  In another instant he was out of the kitchen door and running across the yard. Eliza went out and watched him go. A part of her wished she’d gone with him, but he wasn’t Joe, he wasn’t her friend. Eliza had hardly exchanged one word with the butcher’s son until this morning. It had taken his mother’s terrible death and his father’s behaviour to make him leave. She went back to the kitchen. The butcher was still lying on the ground, twitching and snorting a little in his drunken stupor.

  ‘Should we wake him?’ Eliza asked. ‘Won’t he take harm lyin’ there on the cold floor like that?’

  ‘What do you care?’ Mags asked and looked at him with barely disguised disgust. ‘He’s no better than the beasts he slaughters – and that poor woman’s in her grave because of him. If the lad hadn’t already taken his till money I might have done the same – but I reckon he’s got a pot of gold somewhere. One of these days I’ll know where he hides it and then I’ll take it and go.’

  ‘Where would you go?’ Eliza looked at her in wonder.

  ‘I’d have me a nice little cottage and I’d bake pies and cakes for the market – maybe I’d bottle fruit in summer. It would be a good life, Eliza.’ Mags grinned. ‘I’ve put up with that pig for a long while, girl. I reckon I deserve something for all me trouble – I’m pretty sure his money pot is in his bedchamber, and I intend to find it. When I do I’ll be off – and now you’d best clean the Mistress’s chamber thorough, because I intend to sleep there tonight, and you can ’ave my bed for yerself.’

  ‘You’ll sleep in mistress’s bed?’

  ‘Aye,’ Mags grinned at her. ‘You need not look like that – it were ’im as told me to do it, and I knows why. ’E’ll be after me every night, same as he were ’er, but I intend to get something out of it, don’t you worry. I’ll have me own little cottage afore I’m done …’

  Eliza nodded, picked up her cleaning cloths and went upstairs. She was not sure what Mags was planning, because the master would flay her alive if she took his money, especially after what his son had done. His temper would be more vicious than ever when he woke up – and they had both best keep out of his way.

  When the master woke his temper was no better, though he did not seem to recall the part Eliza had played in what had happened. However, once he discovered that his son had fled, taking the money from the till as well as other valuable items from the house, he raged like a frustrated bull, knocking Mags aside when she spoke to him and overturning a kitchen stool.

  Eliza was coming from the pantry with a dish of brawn for their supper when he barged into her and sent the pork jelly flying so that it landed on the floor and was ruined.

  ‘You careless little bitch!’ he raged at her and struck her on the side of the head, sending her to the kitchen floor on her knees and while she knelt there trying to recover her senses, he kicked her side and made her cry out in pain.

  Eliza got to her feet, eyeing the butcher in fear as he glared at her and she thought he would strike her again, but then the yardman called to him that a pig had arrived and he swore, spat at Eliza and told her to clear up the mess she’d made.

  Eliza stood staring after him as he went out and slammed the door. Tears were burning behind her eyes, but she refused to cry. Her fingers curled into the palms of her hands and she felt a surge of rebellion. The ruin of the pork brawn was not her fault; it was his and he was a bully and a brute. She wasn’t going to stay here and let him treat her like this! The thought was there in her mind, but the next thought came swiftly. Where could she go? If she returned to the workhouse Mistress Simpkins would only send he
r back to this man who treated her like a slave.

  ‘Get on with yer work, girl,’ Mags said. ‘If he comes back and it’s not done he’ll half kill yer – and me too.’

  Eliza looked at her rebelliously. Mags had given her food and seen her clothed but there was no love in her. The only person who had ever loved Eliza was Ruth – and perhaps Joe – and she wanted them. She wanted them so badly but there was no one to help her.

  Dropping to her knees, she began to clean up the mess the master had made, resentment burning inside her.

  Eliza did not know what woke her that night, but then she sensed someone near her bed and she could smell the blood and fat on him and knew it was the butcher, because the stink never left him even if he washed; it was ingrained into his skin. Shrinking back against the pillows, Eliza hardly dared to breathe as she sensed him coming nearer. Then he was close to the bed and she felt his hands tugging at the blankets. She held them close up to her neck, shaking with fear, but he pulled them from her with one wrench and she could see his bulky shape bending over her.

  ‘Good Eliza, pretty girl,’ he said in a foolish voice that made her think he was drunk. ‘Pretty little Eliza for me to stroke …’

  Eliza screamed as she felt his hands on her shift, tearing at it in his eagerness. She wriggled away from his searching hands and jumped out of bed, running on bare feet through the open door towards the narrow stairs that led to the landing below, her frantic screams bringing Mags to the door of her bedchamber as he came after her.

  ‘Yer dirty old bugger!’ Mags yelled. ‘Get orf her, Fred Roberts, or I swear I’ll bloody kill yer. Sweet talkin’ me into takin’ the mistress’s place and now yer want ter throw me over fer that brat. I’ll castrate yer, yer filthy swine!’

  Mags threw herself at Fred as he hurtled down the narrow attic stairs towards her. She was a big woman and strong, well able to fight and wrestle him, and Fred Roberts had been drunk ever since his wife died and his son ran off.

  ‘Get out of me way, yer old hag,’ he muttered and tried to wrestle her away from him, but Mags had him in a bear hug and was determined not to let go of him. Eliza stood sheltered in the doorway of the late mistress’s bedroom while the two fought, bit, scratched and punched each other. There they stood at the top of the stairs, seemingly locked in an eternal struggle, grunting and swearing at each other, and then, suddenly, Mags gave one almighty push and thrust him backwards; he teetered at the edge of the stair for a moment and then fell, tumbling down and down to the hall below.

  Fred groaned once, as he hit the bottom stair with his head and his neck cracked. The force took him forward so that he rolled over in the narrow hallway, his legs twitching for a moment before he lay still. Mags stood staring at him for several minutes and then threw a scared look at Eliza.

  ‘Gawd blimey, I reckon ’e’s dead,’ she said and went down the stairs gingerly, clearly frightened. She bent down next to him and put a finger to his throat. She sighed with relief as she felt his pulse, and then he snored loudly and Eliza gave a little giggle of relief. For a moment she’d thought the master dead.

  ‘It’s a mercy for you he isn’t killed,’ she said. ‘I bet he’ll have a nasty bruise on his neck in the morning.’

  ‘Well, you won’t be here to see it,’ Mags retorted. ‘Put yer dress on over yer night-chemise, for ’tis cold on the streets and it’s out there yer must go – and afore he wakes.’

  ‘You’re sending me away?’ Eliza looked at her uncertainly. ‘Why – what have I done?’

  ‘I’ve put up with that bugger fer years and now the mistress has gone I intend gettin’ what I deserve,’ Mags told her. ‘I’m not havin’ yer ’ere to cause me more trouble, so off yer go. Dress and put yer boots on and I’ll give yer a shawl to keep yerself warm, Eliza. I’ll pack some food and there’ll be two shillin’ from the housekeeping pot, ’cos yer’ve earned it – but ’tis all I can give yer.’

  Eliza stared at her, stunned into immobility. ‘Where should I go?’

  ‘Back to the workhouse yer came from if they’ll ’ave yer – or look fer work on the market stalls at the corner of Bull Lane. What should I care?’ Mags glared at her and Eliza felt as if she’d slapped her. The woman had not been unkind but now she looked at her as if she hated her.

  Returning to her room, Eliza pulled on her one dress over the nightshift Mags had given her when she first came then slid on her boots and put her own ragged shawl round her shoulders. Mags was waiting downstairs in the kitchen. She thrust a bundle made out of another old shawl at Eliza.

  ‘Be careful where you eat that food, girl, for there’s some as would kill for a piece of bread,’ she said gruffly. ‘I’m sorry you’ve got ter go, but if yer stay he’ll likely beat the hell out of yer. God knows what he’ll do to me in the morning if he remembers what happened this night.’

  Eliza nodded. She’d been kicked, beaten and made to work all hours since she came here. Even the workhouse would be better than staying here to be mauled and used by her master.

  Eliza brushed the tears from her cheeks. Mags had the door opened and almost thrust her through it. It was only as she was speeding through the yard that Eliza realised she had no idea where to go. The master had brought her here in his cart and she had not seen which way they turned. She did not know where the workhouse was, or the market Mags had spoken of, and even though she could recall the name Mags had given her, she did not know where to find the lane. Glancing back, she saw that the door had been shut and bolted against the night and knew it was no use returning to ask.

  Once out of the yard, she looked up and then down the lane. It was early, still not truly light, and despite it being nearly summer she felt chilled – or perhaps that was just fear. Eliza had longed to be free when she was kept in the workhouse and thought it would be a great adventure to run away, but that had been with Joe. If Joe was with her she would not be anxious or afraid. It would be fun to travel with him – but alone in a huge city she knew only from her journey from the workhouse to here, Eliza was suddenly very alone. She shivered, for a moment so frightened that she could hardly put one foot before the other.

  She had no idea which way to go, but hearing footsteps coming from the left, she turned right and began to run this way and that, down one lane, up another, across to yet another, her scurrying feet carrying her in panic and in the opposite direction to the market Mags had told her of and the workhouse where she believed her friends to be.

  CHAPTER 9

  ‘How do you progress with your investigation into the running of the Spitalfields workhouse?’ Toby asked when they met for luncheon that day at their club. ‘I spoke to my father about your conviction that all was not well, and he happens to agree with you. He is all for reform but thinks it will be difficult to bring about. However, he is very willing to lend his support to you – and will engage to speak before the Board if you should need his help. He is acquainted with Bishop Hendricks, who I believe is a member?’

  Arthur inclined his head. ‘Yes, but in name only. I’ve never known the Bishop to attend a meeting – indeed, of the ten members only three or four regularly attend and another three come once a year for the budget.’

  ‘That makes it difficult for you if the three are set against you – you should insist on a full board meeting, my friend.’

  ‘I intend to once I have the information I need.’ Arthur smiled grimly and glanced at his gold pocket watch. ‘I have a mind to visit a certain Mr Fred Roberts this afternoon. He is a butcher and one of the women at the spike claimed that Eliza had been sold to him. Mistress Simpkins gave me a false location, but her brother supplied the true direction. I intend to investigate just what kind of a man he is.’

  ‘A butcher?’ Toby raised his brows. ‘At least she may eat well there – do you require any assistance?’

  ‘Not yet, though if I’m not seen again you may come looking for me,’ Arthur said wryly and Toby laughed.

  ‘I think you well capable of dealing w
ith this butcher,’ he said, ‘but now there’s something important I wanted to tell you concerning the lady I spoke of.’

  Arthur wrinkled his brow. ‘I’m not sure I recall …’

  ‘No, I daresay you have too much on your mind, but the lady has expressed a desire to meet you – and I’ve told her you will attend my father’s evening affair. Now you can’t refuse me, Arthur. I believe you will find Miss Katharine Ross a lady after your own heart.’

  Eliza’s first night on the streets was spent wandering from one lane to another, looking for somewhere to rest. It was not until the sun had been up some hours that she found herself in a busy street where the pavements were wide and thronged with people shopping and going about their business. Carriages rattled over the cobbles and horses jostled each other in the press of traffic; some well-dressed children were rolling a wooden hoop down the road, followed by their nursemaid, and two dogs quarrelled in the gutters. As she wandered further, Eliza saw a small park next to a church and went to sit on a wooden bench, pulling out a piece of bread from the bundle inside her shawl and eating it. She removed the cork from the small glass bottle that Mags had given her, sipping water as she looked about her with interest.

  In the sunshine, things no longer looked so frightening, and, as she’d walked, she’d watched laden carts being drawn by heavy horses up the wide street – wider than any she’d ever seen – and wondered where she was. There were shops everywhere and they seemed to sell all kinds of things; some had pots and pans hanging outside while others were dark and dingy places that had wire mesh at their windows. Books, second-hand goods, with everything from a penknife to a pair of boots jumbled up together in the window; a silk merchant’s window overflowed with bales of jewel-like materials, and a shop selling hot bread, fresh-baked pies and cakes that smelled delicious and made Eliza’s tummy rumble. Everyone seemed to be in a hurry and Eliza was too nervous to ask anyone for help. When she saw someone she knew by his dress to be a vicar leave the church and walk towards her, she almost fled but then decided he did not look unfriendly and stayed where she was.