by Cathy Sharp
How could he have used a beautiful innocent girl so falsely? Youth, pride and the selfish desires of a wild young man were no excuse for what he’d done. What had he been thinking when he rode away and left her weeping for love of him? She was the daughter of a school teacher while his uncle was a rich landowner, Arthur his sole heir, and a match between them would never have been approved. He’d known that when he’d wooed her with sweet kisses and so carelessly stolen her innocence. What had possessed him to treat such a gentle girl so cruelly? No fortune was worth such regret as he felt now.
Wracked with remorse after her death, he had embarked on an orgy of drinking, gambling and whoring. Yes, to his infinite shame he had once used those unfortunate women he now protected so fiercely, and it was one of them who had nursed him back to health. He had stood on the edge of a black hole, his sanity almost gone, his health ruined. Arthur thought that he had subconsciously been determined to kill himself the way Sarah had, save that Hetty, a whore but a loving woman, had brought him back from death’s door, nursing him and holding him as he wept out his bitter hatred of himself in her arms.
As he grew stronger, his health gradually restored, she’d told him her own story, a story that might have belonged to so many unfortunate girls. Betrayed by a man she trusted, Hetty had fallen for a child. The man wanted nothing to do with her and told her to find someone to get rid of it for her, but Hetty refused. She’d borne her child despite all the hardships and she’d placed her daughter with a decent family in the country, far from the life she was forced to live to support the child.
‘I must make certain she is well and happy, it no longer matters about me,’ Hetty had told him and smiled. ‘Sometimes, I’m lucky enough to find a man like you, Arthur Stoneham, and that makes up for all the rest.’
‘Don’t you hate me for using you – for using your body like all the men who so mistreat you?’
‘I don’t feel used by you,’ she told him and smiled. ‘You made me feel love for the first time in years, Arthur. The men you speak of are beasts and do not deserve to be spoken of in the same breath as you. I care for you and I thank you for making me realise that I am worth more than this.’
In saving Arthur’s life, Hetty had also saved her own, for she was determined to begin again, to lead another life and be the woman she had been meant to be until a rogue destroyed her.
Arthur had given her money to start over somewhere new and she was now teaching needlework to girls at an exclusive school. He had not seen her some years, but he knew where she lived and worked and would never forget that it was her love and kindness that had made him realise that he too could begin again. He could never forgive himself for killing Sarah with his careless cruelty, but he could make amends – he could help other women who had been ill-treated, and perhaps one day he might be able to redeem himself in his own eyes.
‘Where are you going, workhouse brat?’
Eliza stared at Miss Edith’s cousin but did not answer him. She had known he disliked her from the moment she came to his cousin’s house, but he lost no opportunity to call her names and to pinch her. Whenever she fetched something from one of the jars or passed by him behind the counter, Malcolm took the opportunity to pinch her or tug at her hair if it was not wound tightly into a plait about her head.
‘I’m speaking to you, slut,’ Malcolm snarled and pinched her arm as she took down a glass jar from behind the counter. The shock of the sharp pain almost made her drop the jar but she clutched it to her chest, staring at him defiantly. Tears of anger and pain were building inside her but she would not let him see.
From experience in the workhouse, Eliza knew that once a bully sensed he or she was getting to you they never ceased to torment you. To let Malcolm reduce her to tears would mean that she was at his mercy.
‘Please let me pass. Miss Edith needs this jar.’
‘Please let me pass,’ he jeered, making faces at her. ‘Miss Prissy. Anyone would think you born to decent folks but you’re a workhouse bastard, that’s what you are – and if you think you’re going to worm your way in here and take what’s mine, you’ll be sorry.’
‘Please, let me do my job,’ Eliza said refusing to be drawn.
‘Eliza, surely it doesn’t take all day to find the rosewater?’ Miss Edith was looking in at them from the kitchen door and her eyes narrowed as she took in the situation. ‘Malcolm, let her pass. I hope you haven’t been teasing her again. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. Please behave decently or I may have to let you go.’
Malcolm’s eyes narrowed with malicious hatred. He moved aside in obedience to his cousin’s instructions, but Eliza knew that she would pay next time she was alone with him.
‘Does Malcolm often annoy you?’ Miss Edith asked when they were alone in the kitchen. She measured three drops of rosewater into the mixture she was preparing, and then added some scented oil. The cream she was dispensing into small glass pots was used for both the hands and face, to keep them soft and smooth and she’d given Eliza a pot for herself when she first came to live with her. It smelled and felt wonderful on the skin and smoothed the roughness of hands that were red and sore from having them in hot water too often in the workhouse laundry.
‘He does not like me,’ Eliza said at last since her employer was waiting for an answer. ‘I do not know why.’
‘I daresay Malcolm is jealous,’ Miss Edith said looking thoughtful.’ She shook her head and indicated that Eliza could now place the lids on the pots. ‘You must tell me if he goes too far. I believe he keeps bad company. His mother cannot control him since his father’s death – and I think at night he goes drinking with rough creatures. I do not approve but I should be loath to send him away for his mother needs him to work.’
‘Oh, you must not do that for my sake,’ Eliza said. ‘I do not let him upset me. There were many unkind people in the workhouse.’
‘Yes, I daresay.’ Miss Edith looked at her sadly. ‘Come and sit down, Eliza. I want to speak to you – to tell you why I came to the workhouse that day and asked for you.’
Eliza went to sit in one of the chairs next to the kitchen range. Miss Edith stood looking into the fire for a few moments, and then she sat down opposite Eliza.
‘My father was a kind and generous man. I remember when I was small he would sit me on his lap and tell me that my mother was a sweet angel and that his heart had broken the day she died …’ Miss Edith took out her handkerchief and blew her nose daintily. ‘I believed that he spoke of his wife and grew up believing that I was his flesh and blood – but it was not so, Eliza, though I was named for her. Edith’s baby daughter died soon after she entered this world and it broke her heart because the doctor said that she was too delicate to carry another. Indeed, she made herself so ill that my father thought she would die – and so he went to the workhouse and he bought a girl child, a baby of a few weeks, and brought that child back to his wife. She loved me from the moment he placed me in her arms and I was brought up as her own until she died of a fever when I was just five years old.’
‘Miss Edith …’ Eliza looked at her in concern, for the story brought a lump to her throat. ‘When did you discover this?’
‘Not until my father was close to death. He gave me a letter from my mother and told me to read it. She told me that the happiest day of her life was when I was put into her arms.’
‘Did you cry? I think I should’ve cried …’ Eliza brushed a tear from her cheek.
Miss Edith smiled and inclined her head. ‘Yes, I cried, and I mourned her all over again, and I mourned my father who had never been able to tell me the truth for fear of hurting me. He loved me, you see.’ She wiped away a tear from the corner of her eye. ‘My father left everything to me. The house, and the business, and as I have told you, he gave me all the schooling I needed to carry on his work – which is what I have done.’
‘Is that why you chose a girl from the workhouse, because you came from a workhouse?’
‘Yes. It was n
ot the one that I found you in, for my father found me somewhere in the country. I never knew where. I think Father was afraid that I might try to find my family, but I thought that foolish. My parents were the people who had raised me and given me love; I needed no other.’ Miss Edith smiled at her. ‘I asked Miss Simpkins about you – because of all the girls there I thought you special. There was something fine about you, about the way you held your head so proudly. Miss Simpkins told me your mother was gentle born but said she did not know her name or where she came from – only that she said she would return for you but had never done so.’
Eliza blinked hard. ‘Ruth told me my mother was a lady, because my shawl was so fine – but I thought she just said it to please me.’
‘I cannot tell you the truth of it, Eliza. I think if your mother could have returned for you she would have done so long ago – but if you wished to look for her when you’re older, I should never try to stop you.’
‘When I was cold and hungry and hurt from a beating I longed for my mother to come for me,’ Eliza said truthfully, ‘but she never came. And I do not think it would be possible to find her unless she came looking for me.’
‘You are a sensible girl,’ Miss Edith said. ‘I did not try to look for the woman who left me in the workhouse and I have been happy enough – especially since you came to join me.’
‘Thank you for telling me,’ Eliza said but frowned. ‘Your father left everything to you – but did his family mind that? Did they know that you were adopted and resent it?’
‘How did you become so wise?’ Miss Edith said and smiled oddly. ‘My uncle told me that he had never resented me because I gave his brother peace of mind – but I think when he died and left his widow the house but very little money, she did resent me. She asked me to give Malcolm a job and I agreed – but I fear he does not enjoy his work here.’
Eliza nodded, but said nothing. It was not her place to say that she thought Malcolm considered that all this ought to be his and was concerned that it should be one day. Miss Edith’s story explained why Malcolm resented Eliza so deeply. Her father had adopted a child from the workhouse and left all his possessions to that child – and Malcolm was afraid that she might do the same.
‘Well, I wanted you to know the truth,’ Miss Edith said and stood up. She took her little cash box from the mantelshelf and unlocked it with the key she wore on a little chain about her neck. ‘Here are four half-crowns. I have written a shopping list and I want you to go to the market for me, Eliza. I have several prescriptions to make up today, and I have no time to shop but we must eat, so you must go.’
‘Yes, Miss Edith.’ Eliza looked down the list. It was easy for her to read simple words now and she nodded. ‘I will hurry back because I know how busy you are – and we must not keep our clients waiting.’
Her employer nodded her approval. ‘Off you go then, Eliza. Mind you buy only fresh meat and fish and be careful with the change.’
CHAPTER 17
Molly stood outside the house in Coke Street and hesitated. She’d been told she would find Mr Stoneham here, because it was his refuge for fallen women and his housekeeper had said that’s where he’d gone that morning. Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward and rang the bell twice. A few moments passed before the door opened and Molly sighed with relief when she saw a woman she knew well.
‘Ruth,’ she said. ‘May I come in please? I have a message for Mr Arthur Stoneham.’
‘Molly!’ Ruth looked astonished. ‘Are you in trouble, lass? We’re full to bursting but I can let you sleep on the couch if yer’ve nowhere to go.’
‘It’s not me,’ Molly said in a rush. ‘I’ve come because of some young girls. That bitch is goin’ ter sell them to a bloke this afternoon and he’ll take them straight to the whorehouse – and you know what will ’appen then.’
‘You’d best come in,’ Ruth said and led the way through to a small parlour where Arthur and another woman were speaking. The woman looked surprised, but Arthur was instantly alert. ‘Begging your pardon, sir, but may I speak with you? I be sorry to intrude but Molly wants to speak with you urgently, sir,’ Ruth said.
‘I’ve seen you before this, haven’t I – at the workhouse?’ Arthur said to Molly and frowned. ‘Have you come asking for a place here?’
‘No, sir,’ Molly said. ‘I’ve heard you’re a good man, sir – and I know you were interested in the child Eliza, but Mistress Simpkins sold her to the apothecary and she’s all right there – it’s three others I’m worried for.’
‘You know where Eliza is?’ Ruth asked, catching hold of her arm urgently.
‘Yes, she be not far from here – with Miss Edith Richards, the apothecary. She’s all right – it’s the girls that witch Joan Simpkins means to sell to the whorehouse this afternoon that need help.’
‘Quiet, Ruth,’ Arthur warned as Ruth would have asked for more details of Eliza. ‘This is important. You know for certain that the girls are to be sold this afternoon – how?’
‘I heard them talking the other night,’ Molly confessed. ‘I wasn’t sure what to do. Robbie might have stopped her if I’d told him, but then she would’ve done it another day. She needs to be stopped for good – so I remembered that you were concerned for Eliza and thought if I told you, you might do something. If she is allowed to get away wiv it, she’ll keep on doin’ it – and there’s lots more I can tell you, sir. I know all their secrets, enough to bring them down and they surely deserve it, the both of them.’
‘Yes, I agree with you. Now, Molly, please tell me exactly what you heard. I need the names and ages of the girls and what is meant to happen.’
‘Master Simpkins will be away at four this afternoon,’ Molly said. ‘That’s when she plans to send them off with Drake – and once he’s got them they’ll be sold to one man after another and used for their pleasure. The youngest be thirteen and the eldest sixteen and they were talkin’ about finding some younger ones.’
Arthur swore and looked angry. He took a turn about the room and then came back to her. ‘We must prevent the girls being handed over. Molly, give me their names and Ruth, can you find room for them here until I can make other arrangements?’
‘I can find them beds for a while.’ Katharine Ross spoke before Ruth had time to answer. ‘My aunt will allow it. I might be able to place one of the girls in our kitchens if she is willing to do such work – and I am certain I can help you find places for the others.’
‘Thank you, Miss Ross, that is generous of you,’ Arthur said. ‘I must act at once. I need another of the governors with me – and Toby – in case they try to stop us taking the girls.’
Molly looked at him. ‘You won’t let them know who told you, sir? If either Robbie or Mistress Joan knew that I’d betrayed them, I’d be in trouble, but I didn’t want her to do to them what she did to me.’
‘You can trust me – and you must tell me what she did to you another day, Molly, and everything you know,’ Arthur said and looked at Miss Ross. ‘I must leave at once if this crime is to be prevented. You will excuse me …’ He inclined his head and left at once.
‘Well, you did those girls a bit of good,’ Ruth said and clutched Molly’s arm urgently. ‘You said Eliza was with Miss Richards, an apothecary – can you tell me where she be livin’? I’ve worrit meself to death over her.’
‘There be a house in Halfpenny Street in Spitalfields. ’Twas one of a row of grand houses that belonged to the silk merchants, long ago.’ Ruth nodded impatiently. ‘Well, one of them grand houses ’as been divided into three shops and the apothecary has one of them.’
‘You’re certain Eliza is there?’
‘Aye, for I saw a friend of mine who visited the shop to buy medicine on the day Eliza was took and her description intrigued me – so I went and asked for some medicine for my chest. I do get a bad cough sometimes in this bitter weather and I see Eliza for myself. She didn’t see me for she was upstairs at the window but she was smiling and I thought she
looked happier than I’d seen her of late.’
‘You did not speak to her?’
‘No, but you could go to see her for yourself.’
It was what Ruth wanted more than anything, but she hesitated; if Eliza was happy she might not wish to be reminded of her time in the workhouse.
‘If you should visit to buy medicine again, you might tell her I would be happy to see her.’
‘You should seek her out,’ Molly said. ‘She asked after you when that witch fetched her back to the workhouse.’
‘Eliza was brought back to the workhouse?’
‘Aye, she was, and put to work in the laundry, but then she was sold again. I reckon mistress didn’t want the butcher to ’ave ’er ’cos he wouldn’t pay no more.’
Ruth was angry. ‘Mistress told Mr Stoneham that she had not seen Eliza since she sent her to work for the butcher.’
‘That was a lie, and you must know she would never confess to her wickedness. She claims that she asks only for the cost of the clothing the inmate is wearing when she leaves.’
Ruth made a scornful noise. ‘She sends them out in the rags they brought in if she can. You know that she cheats those in her care, Molly. She is evil and so I’ve told my master, but he needs proof.’
‘Well, I have brought him proof this day,’ Molly said. ‘He knows that three girls are being sold to a man who will force them into a life of prostitution – what more proof does he need?’