The Girl in the Ragged Shawl

by Cathy Sharp

  ‘Go to your room and stay there until I allow you to come down,’ Miss Edith said. ‘You are a wicked, ungrateful girl and if I lose my home it will be your fault.’ She took hold of Eliza’s arm and half dragged, half propelled her up the stairs to her room, pushing her inside.

  ‘Where have you hidden it?’ she demanded bitterly. ‘Show me instantly or I shall thrash you.’

  Eliza raised her head, looking her in the eyes. ‘I would never steal from you. You are unjust,’ she said but Edith ignored her protest and began to pull the covers from the bed. She threw the pillow down and searched beneath the mattress and brought out a silk kerchief tied in a knot. Her eyes were accusing as she looked at Eliza. Opening the kerchief she revealed several half crowns and a florin. ‘How could you? After all I have done for you? And what have you done with the rest?’

  ‘I’ve never seen that money or the kerchief before!’ Eliza said, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. ‘I swear that I did not take it – someone else must have put it there.’

  ‘I should have known you were set in your ways,’ Edith said sadly. ‘I was there that day in the market when your friends raided the baker’s stall and I was told you were a wicked girl – and yet I believed there was good in you.’ She looked at Eliza coldly. ‘You cannot have spent so much money; it must be hidden somewhere. I shall give you a little time to come to your senses and return the money to me.’ She turned and left the room, leaving Eliza alone.

  Eliza sat on the edge of the bed and bowed her head, letting the tears flow. She felt as if her heart was broken, the pain so sharp that she did not know how to bear it. Miss Edith had treated her as if she were her family and Eliza had known happiness for the first time in her life, but now it was all destroyed. Miss Edith thought she was a thief. She believed Eliza would take all her money and then lie to her so how could she have ever truly liked or trusted her? It was unfair and it hurt so much to know that she was not truly trusted or loved.

  Eliza was sitting with her head bowed when the door of her room was thrust open and, as she looked up, she saw Malcolm’s gloating face.

  ‘I told you I’d get you sent back to the workhouse where you belong,’ he crowed. ‘She won’t keep you now you little slut. You’re in for it good and proper, workhouse brat!’

  Eliza stared at him but would not give him the answer he craved. She brushed her hand across her wet cheeks, refusing to let him see how broken she was. He was laughing as he shut the door and ran back down the stairs.

  Eliza looked about her at the room she’d come to think of as home. It smelled of the lavender bags she’d made and placed in her drawers. She loved it and the little things that Miss Edith had given her – a journal to write her letters in and simple books to learn from, as well as the hand cream, soaps and her clothes.

  She could take nothing with her. Nothing in this room was truly hers. Eliza felt so alone and this time the hurt of rejection was strong and painful, because she had loved Miss Edith. She was torn between staying here and standing her corner. She had not touched a penny of Miss Edith’s money, had always given her every farthing of her change when she returned from shopping and never looked for payment, thinking herself fortunate to be given a comfortable home, clothes to wear and good food to eat – and she had loved the work she’d done. Now she was to be sent back to the workhouse in disgrace, accused of theft. If she was not sent for trial, she would be condemned to a life of drudgery at the workhouse, for who would ever want to employ her now?

  Eliza’s heart ached, and her pride was hurt. She had stolen food when she ran wild with Tucker, but only when she was told it was necessary and forced to take her part. Eliza had her own sense of justice and the last thing she would ever do was hurt someone she cared for.

  Yet she could not let Miss Edith send her back to the workhouse as a thief. She would rather starve on the streets. It would be better to die of hunger than live in the workhouse after she’d known what life could be like in a real home. Eliza wondered if she could find Tucker or any of his friends in their old haunts. Time had passed and she’d become used to good living, but she would prefer to take her chance in the back alleys she’d known so well to a life of misery in the workhouse.

  Miss Edith had burned her old things, save her shawl, which had been washed and mended, so Eliza had no choice but to take the clothes she was wearing. As her determination not to return to the workhouse hardened, Eliza made up her mind. She would write a note to Miss Edith and tell her that one day she would send back the things she’d run away in.

  I swear I would never steal from you. I loved you as my friend, but I can never return to the workhouse, she wrote and signed her name.

  Folding the paper from the journal, Eliza left it on her bed. She looked through the back window and saw that Miss Edith was out in the back yard. Now was her moment. She must leave now before Miss Edith had the gig ready to take her back to the workhouse.

  Running down the stairs, Eliza took a deep breath before opening the door that led through the shop. No one was there and Eliza realised that it was time for Malcolm’s dinner hour. She breathed a sigh of relief and slipped out of the side door into the passage that led into Halfpenny Street. Once out in the streets, she headed towards the market, following the small winding lanes and alleys with the sureness of familiarity. She had no money to buy food, but she had learned to read and write and reckon numbers during her time with Miss Edith. If she asked politely, surely someone would give her work. She did not mind what she did, but she would start by asking the stallholders if they had work for her.

  ‘Eliza, where are you?’ Edith opened the bedroom door and looked in. She had been thinking since her outburst earlier and realised that she’d been unfair. In her sudden fear and distress she had attacked the nearest person, but she ought to have thought things through more carefully. Eliza had worked honestly and diligently all these weeks, so why would she suddenly steal from her? And surely if she had she would have run away before the theft was discovered? Besides, Edith wasn’t sure that the girl knew she had money hidden in the corner cupboard.

  She should have taken her savings to a bank or bought a heavy strong box and hidden it under her bed, but she’d never trusted banks and thought they would despise her small savings. Besides, no one had ever stolen from her before. Although the takings in the shop till had seemed to be rather less than usual of late, she had not thought to question it, blaming herself for inattention. But was it possible that someone had been stealing from her? And if not Eliza, it could only be Malcolm. But why would her cousin suddenly take from her – unless it was because he feared that Edith intended to leave her property away from him? Because he resented Eliza being taught all things he ought to have learned …

  Remembering the look of resentment in his eyes when she’d brought Eliza to her home, Edith realised that he’d been surly over it from the start and that anger had built. If Eliza had not taken her money it could only have been her cousin.

  ‘Eliza …’ Edith glanced around the room. The girl was not here. Why had she disobeyed her? Seeing the piece of paper torn from Eliza’s journal lying on the bed, she quickly moved to pick it up and read the few words in Eliza’s careful hand. ‘Oh, Eliza, you foolish girl. I would never have sent you back to that place. Surely you could not think it?’

  Tears stung her eyes as she went along the hall to the parlour where they had spent so many happy evenings by the fire, checking all the rooms one by one. Of course Eliza was not there. She must have run away when Edith was out in the yard.

  Hearing the shop door bang, Edith went downstairs and saw Malcolm enter. He had his arms filled with parcels and was about to stow them under the counter. When she spoke to him, he jumped and looked at her, guilt all over his face, and in that instant she knew what she had begun to suspect earlier was true. Of course it wasn’t Eliza that had stolen from her. The girl had no reason to steal; her cousin, on the other hand, had expensive tastes.

  ‘What h
ave you been buying?’ she asked as he tried to hide his packages. ‘And where did you get the money for so much?’

  ‘I’ve been savin’ for Ma’s birthday,’ Malcolm said but she could see that he was lying by the way his eyes avoided hers and the red flush in his neck. He was lying, and he’d been caught in the act.

  ‘Show me what you’ve bought – and any money you have in your pockets.’ Malcolm shook his head and tried to dodge past her, but Edith caught his arm and grabbed hold of his jacket, turning both pockets out. The gold coins came tumbling forth, three sovereigns and one five-pound piece. ‘Is this all you have left of my money? What did you spend it on?’

  She let go of him and scooped up the money, thrusting it into her apron pocket, and then she began to open the parcels: whisky, brandy, expensive cigars and a box of chocolate truffles.

  ‘I suppose these were for your mother,’ Edith said and thrust the chocolates at him. ‘You can take them, because it is all you will ever get from me. Get out and don’t return. I do not employ thieves!’

  ‘You brought that workhouse brat here and were planning to leave it all to her,’ Malcolm shouted furiously. ‘This belongs to me and my mother – it should have been left to us when Uncle Tom died – not you, a bloody workhouse brat.’

  Edith opened the door, her face white with temper. ‘Give me the keys. You may leave now, Malcolm. If I ever see you near this shop again I shall tell your mother what you have done – and I shall report it to the constable.’

  ‘Workhouse slut!’ he yelled as he threw down the keys and ran past her, thrusting her out of the way. ‘I never wanted your rotten job and I hope you both rot in hell.’

  Edith stared after him for a moment, closing her eyes in distress. She pocketed the keys he had discarded and looked at the parcels he’d abandoned on the counter. She could use the brandy for medicine and cooking, but the cigars were of no use to her. It had taken her so many months to save a little nest egg and Malcolm had spent most of it in a single day – and worse than that, Edith had blamed Eliza and now the child had run away. Where would she go – not back to the workhouse, that much was certain. She’d lived on the streets for weeks once before and perhaps she was capable of doing it again, but it was winter now and the weather was bitter. If all she’d taken was her dress and that old shawl she’d kept despite the newer one Edith had given her, she could freeze to death in this weather.

  Edith’s cheeks were wet with tears as she realised how much she had come to love the child she’d taken in. Eliza was like the daughter she would never have and she was going to miss her. She would miss her every day …

  CHAPTER 19

  ‘I have found the youngest of those girls work in my house. She wishes to work in a kitchen and our cook is willing to teach her. Mary is a gentle girl and my aunt approves of her. The middle girl is called Bella and she has become apprenticed to a milliner, because she is good with a needle – and Rosa, the eldest, has found work as a scullery maid with my aunt’s friend.’ Katharine Ross paused and sipped the tea Ruth had made for her. ‘I came to tell Mr Stoneham for I thought he would wish to know.’

  ‘My master will be sorry to have missed you,’ Ruth said, understanding that her mistress was disappointed that he was not there. ‘I shall give him the good news.’

  ‘I shall bring the Christmas gifts for our ladies later this week,’ Katharine went on. ‘There are gifts for Cook and you too, Ruth. You do such good work here and we are both happy to leave things in your care. I am sure you know that as well as his work trying to reform the workhouse, Mr Stoneham is busy negotiating the purchase of a new property, which will be a home for women and children.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. Mr Stoneham and his friends are always helping others. It is kind of you to think of us, ma’am. Cook and me be lucky to have found such a place – and we think the world of Mr Stoneham and his friends.’

  ‘Yes, I imagine so.’ Katharine sighed. ‘My aunt and I have tried to tempt Mr Stoneham to various evenings of pleasure over Christmas, but he seldom bothers with such affairs.’

  Ruth inclined her head but made no comment. She continued to look after Miss Katharine until she took her leave, and then went into the kitchen to speak with Cook.

  ‘Did Miss Katharine like those almond comfits I made special for her?’ Cook asked looking at the plate, which was empty.

  Miss Katharine had eaten three but Ruth had taken the rest and wrapped them in a bit of muslin. She had made up her mind to visit Eliza and thought she would give her the rest of the sweet biscuits as a little gift. Ruth had another special gift for Eliza in her coat pocket, but she was in two minds whether she should give it to the girl. If Eliza was content where she was, such a trinket might stir up restless feelings and a longing for something she could never have.

  ‘I’m taking what Miss Katharine left for Eliza,’ Ruth told Cook now. ‘Molly said she was living at the apothecary shop in Halfpenny Street. I spoke to Mr Stoneham about it but he was busy and said it might be better if he talked to Miss Richards first, but ’tis almost Christmas and I want to be certain she is safe and happy.’

  ‘Do you doubt what Molly told you?’

  ‘No, but she only glimpsed her smiling at the window. I want to be sure she is all right – and I’d like to see her.’

  Ruth said nothing of the trinket in her pocket. She knew it was valuable for the mount was gold and set with what she thought were diamonds, even though it only held a halfpenny that had been minted in 1867. The copper had gone dull now, but the gold and the diamonds were still bright, and the halfpenny could be cleaned and made to shine. It belonged to Eliza, for it had been attached to the inside of her shawl the day she was brought into the workhouse and Ruth had always meant to give it to her. She’d kept it hidden from Mistress Simpkins because, had she seen it, the warden would have taken it and sold it for herself. Ruth would give it to its rightful owner gladly, if she was sure that Eliza would not have it taken from her – and that it would not make her long for a mother she had lost long ago.

  Half an hour later, Ruth stood outside the apothecary’s shop and looked up at the landing window. No one was there and when she entered the shop, she saw a woman of perhaps thirty-something behind the counter. She was serving a customer and giving her strict instructions on how to use the medicine. Ruth waited her turn, thinking that the apothecary looked pale and tired, her eyes a little red as if she’d recently been crying.

  ‘Yes?’ she asked as Ruth hesitated. ‘How may I help you?’

  ‘I wondered if I might speak to Eliza Jones. I’m her friend, Ruth.’

  The woman looked as if she’d been slapped and her face went even paler. She hesitated a moment, then, ‘I’m afraid Eliza isn’t here any longer. She ran away two days ago.’

  ‘Eliza ran away?’ Ruth felt coldness at the nape of her neck. ‘What did you do to her? I was told that she was happy here – what made her run off?’

  The woman blinked hard, perhaps because Ruth’s voice was harsh with disappointment and worry. ‘I fear it was my fault,’ she said at last. ‘You said your name was Ruth? And you are Eliza’s friend from the workhouse?’

  ‘I nursed her from a babe,’ Ruth said, ‘and loved her as if she were me own. I give her me own name of Jones for she was my child in all but blood. I be worried for her for months after Mistress Simpkins sold her to that man – and then I be given a good job and I had to leave, but I still think of my Eliza and hoped to find her here today.’

  Miss Edith came round from behind the counter and locked the shop door. ‘Please, will you come into the kitchen, Ruth? I should like to explain to you what happened. It is my true desire to find Eliza and I wondered if you knew where I might begin my search?’

  Ruth trudged back to the refuge with a heavy heart. She made herself a pot of tea and took it into the parlour she called her own and sat down to think. Miss Edith had seemed genuinely upset because of the misunderstanding and regretted what she’d said in her first distress
at losing her savings.

  She had explained, with tears in her eyes, ‘My first thought was that it must be Eliza because she had access to the kitchen at all times, but I should have known that she would never do such a thing. My cousin must have sneaked in when we were both out and taken the money. He counted on me blaming Eliza and sending her back to the workhouse – he always resented her, because he thought he was entitled to all that my father left me.’

  Seeing Miss Edith’s remorse for her unkindness in accusing an innocent girl, Ruth felt able to forgive her and told her all she knew about Eliza’s background.

  ‘I saw her mother bring the babe to the workhouse that day. She was a person of gentle birth and modest dress – she must have been a girl betrayed, for she was no whore. She wept to give her child to Mistress Simpkins and I’d swear she paid for her to be well cared for – not that Eliza saw a penny of the money.’

  ‘I know she was ill-treated in that place and I wanted to help her but now …’ Edith dabbed at her cheeks. ‘I do not know where she could have gone.’

  ‘Nor I, but there is little we can do but pray and hope my master can find her.’

  Miss Edith looked thoughtful. ‘Why do you think her mother took her to the workhouse? Surely a convent or a church might have been better?’

  ‘What would they have done but hand her on to a workhouse?’ Ruth said. ‘Nuns seldom care for the children unwed mothers take to them, unless they run a school, and then they do not want babes. Sometimes they find good homes for them, but often they simply give them to the officials to deal with and the result is the same.’

  ‘Yes, I daresay you are right,’ Miss Edith agreed. ‘I believe my own story was much the same, but I was luckier. My father’s child died and so he took a babe from the workhouse and brought her up as his own – and I meant to do the same.’

  ‘Was Eliza happy here until this happened?’

  ‘I believed so,’ Miss Edith sighed and held back a sob. ‘If I could only take back those cruel, cruel words.’