The Girl in the Ragged Shawl

by Cathy Sharp

  Eliza nodded but did not answer. In the workhouse Joe’s stories had sounded wonderful, because they offered freedom from a life of hardship and cruelty, but she could never forget Miss Edith and how happy she’d been working in her kitchen. It was a fine thing to make cures for people when they came to her for help, and Eliza thought she would like to have spent her life helping Miss Edith. Yet she’d experienced a strong bond with Joe, so she put her memories of Miss Edith to one side, feeling happy that she was with Joe again and that she could eat without begging or running the risk of being caught as a vagrant. If the constable took her, Eliza knew they would send her to prison or back to the workhouse and she doubted that she would ever escape it again.

  Arthur was tormented by what he’d seen in Ruth’s parlour that day. It might be a coincidence, for anyone could have found that fob lying in the wood – but surely no one but Sarah would know it had been his and only she would have given it to her child.

  Was Eliza his daughter? If he was honest, Arthur had sensed something the first time he saw her. He could never have guessed that she was his, for he had not even known then that Sarah had borne his child – and even now, when he suspected that her brother Henry had lied to him, Arthur found it difficult to accept.

  Why had no one ever told him the truth?

  A man’s pride, perhaps, or a vindictive intention to prevent him from knowing that his child had been born. There was so much that was still hidden and all that he suspected was still conjecture, but he knew now that he could never rest until he was sure.

  Toby wondered at his leaving town so close to Christmas. ‘Where are you going?’ he asked when Arthur told him he intended to visit the country. ‘It seems a strange time to be leaving on business.’

  ‘It is something I must settle – should have done so long ago,’ Arthur told him and smiled. ‘Do not be concerned, my friend. I shall be gone only a few days.’

  He chose to ride rather than drive and took with him only a change of linen in his saddlebags. It would be easier on horseback, and he needed neither his manservant nor a groom, for his business was personal. It would, Arthur knew, be useless to approach Sarah’s brother for he would merely repeat his lie if it was one. First, Arthur must visit Sarah’s grave; he should have done it years ago but something had held him back – grief or pride, he could not be sure now why he had left after that fight with her brother.

  He had given much thought to what he might learn since he saw that trinket in Ruth’s hands. What fate had caused her to find and keep it for Eliza all this time? Many another would have sold the mount long before this – certainly it would have disappeared had it fallen into Miss Simpkins’ hands. Arthur could not but think that he was meant to see it, and yet nothing was certain. Perhaps he was snatching at straws in the wind, because he wanted it to be true. He wanted that trinket to be a message from the woman he’d wronged.

  His mouth settled in a grim line for hope had lit a flame in him and if it were to be extinguished, it would leave him emptier than before …

  Arthur visited the churchyard and hunted for Sarah’s grave. At last he found it, but it was badly neglected, and the simple wooden cross at its head had fallen sideways, the name Sarah hardly discernible now, and there was no surname. He felt angry as he saw how dreadful her brother had been, refusing to allow the use of the family name because she had shamed him so. Surely she deserved a decent stone and her resting place should be cared for by someone!

  ‘Forgive me,’ he said. She had been too young to die and he was responsible. ‘If I could give you back your life I would …’

  Laying the flowers he’d brought with him on her grave, Arthur said a prayer and made a vow that he would have a stone erected. Only the name Sarah was on the cross; he’d been almost certain of it and now he was sure: if her child had died with her, it had not been named or buried here. He felt bitter regret that he’d done nothing all these years.

  Leaving the graveyard, Arthur decided to visit the village doctor and ask the questions he needed answering – but first he must speak to the parson. If these men still lived and worked here, perhaps one of them would be prepared to tell him the truth.

  As he walked from the graveyard, Arthur saw a woman entering. She looked at him, and it seemed for a moment as if she knew him and would speak, but then she went on. He looked back but saw nothing that made him think he might have known her.

  The parson was in his study, composing his sermon for the coming Sunday service. He rose as his housekeeper announced Arthur and looked at him inquiringly. It was obvious that he did not know Arthur’s name and wondered what his business might be.

  ‘Good day, sir.’ Arthur sat in the chair he was offered. ‘I know you are busy and so will come straight to the point. I believe you took the service when Sarah York was buried almost fourteen years ago?’

  ‘John York’s sister?’ The parson looked surprised. ‘And you wish to know because …?’

  ‘I cared for her.’

  For a moment the parson hesitated, then inclined his head. ‘That unfortunate young woman … Yes, I remember very well. Sarah died of a putrid fever, some twelve weeks or more after the birth of her child.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘I thought it such a waste of a young life …’

  Sarah had given birth to his child! For a moment Arthur was too stunned to speak, and then he managed: ‘Yes, it was, but women too often die in childbed.’

  The parson shook his head. ‘As I recall, she had recovered from the birth of the babe but was later struck down with a rabid fever that affected several villagers. Her child was more than three months old when she died, a lusty babe that did not take the sickness.’

  ‘Sarah did not die of a broken heart?’ Arthur’s throat was so tight he could barely force the words from frozen lips.

  ‘It was her brother that broke her heart, for he put her from his house when he discovered her condition, and she was forced to beg a home from anyone who would have her. She was taken in by Mistress Burns, an elderly lady of good reputation but little money, and sadly dead these past seven years. She gave Miss Sarah a home, but expected her to work for her living as her servant – and I think it was Sarah’s weakness after the birth, coupled with the hard work she had not been used to, that made her succumb to the fever. We lost several villagers that winter, but Sarah was the youngest.’

  ‘And her child?’ Arthur’s heart raced. ‘Tell me, sir – was the child a girl?’

  The parson looked at him in silence for a long time, and then inclined his head. ‘The child lived, but Mistress Burns would not keep her when Sarah died. She brought the babe to me and I arranged for her to be taken to the Sisters of Saint Catherine.’ His gaze narrowed. ‘Was that child yours, sir?’

  Arthur met his gaze, which was surprisingly free of condemnation. ‘Yes, Sarah’s child was mine. She never told me she carried the child – nor that she needed help. Had I known …’ Tears stung his eyes and he dashed them away angrily. ‘Forgive me, I thought Sarah dead of the unhappiness I brought on her.’

  ‘You were told that? John felt his sister had shamed him and he was angry when he threw her out, but when she died he blamed himself …’

  ‘He blamed me,’ Arthur said. ‘I deserved it, for I did not treat Sarah well. I seduced her and deserted her carelessly and so the blame for her death must lie with me.’

  ‘Yet you would have helped her had she told you …’ Something in the elderly churchman’s eyes touched Arthur and he looked away. ‘I think you have paid for your carelessness, sir. God does not demand that we should go on suffering for a past sin forever, Mr Stoneham.’

  ‘Do you know what happened to my daughter, sir?’ Arthur asked. ‘I would find her if I could.’

  ‘My maid Janet visited Sarah many times before she died, and it was she I entrusted the child to. She takes flowers from our garden to Sarah’s grave every week – and I believe she has just returned from there. Shall I ask her to come in?’

  ‘If y
ou would be so kind – for I wish to know where the babe was taken.’

  He managed to contain his urgency as the housekeeper was summoned and then the maid fetched. Arthur recognised the woman he’d seen entering the churchyard as he left earlier that morning but he did not speak as the parson explained his errand.

  For a moment the woman stared at him, then she nodded. ‘I took the child to the Sisters, as my master bade me, sir, but they said they could not keep her. I believe she was given to a woman who had no child, but she was not of this parish. She and her husband had travelled here from London to be blessed, for it is said that if a childless woman makes a gift to Saint Catherine’s shrine she may be blessed with a babe of her own.’

  ‘And so the Sisters gave the child to this childless woman?’ Arthur tried to read the woman’s mind, but her eyes were dark and secretive and he suspected that she did not speak the truth. ‘Do you know the woman’s name?’

  ‘No, sir, only that Sister Mary told me they would give the babe to a woman who had come to pray at the shrine.’

  Arthur thanked her and gave her a gold sovereign, which she slipped into her pocket hastily before being dismissed. Arthur thanked the parson for his help, offered a donation of several guineas for his church restoration, and left. He had decided that he would go to the Sisters of St Catherine’s and ask them for the truth. If Eliza was his daughter, and she’d been given to a woman who longed for a child, why had the childless woman given the babe away?

  As he mounted his horse, he was aware of someone looking at him from the windows upstairs and when he turned to look saw the pale face of the maid who he felt instinctively had lied to him – perhaps because she had been afraid to tell the truth in front of her master.

  CHAPTER 21

  ‘A child brought to us by Janet, who is maid to Parson Strong?’ the nun asked and frowned as she looked through the well-worn register. ‘I can see no record of it, sir. We cannot care for new-born babies here, though we take in orphans of the parish for a short time before sending them on to a workhouse that will accept them. The child would have been registered here had we received it.’

  ‘Would you have given a babe of three months to a woman who had none of her own? A woman who had come to the shrine to pray?’ Arthur asked her, and she looked at him solemnly.

  ‘We abide by the law in this house, sir. We do not have the right to give away children brought to us. Our rules are that orphans with no surviving relative, must be given into the care of the guardians of a workhouse, and if such a child was brought to us that is what would have happened to it – but we have no record of such a child being brought here in the year you mentioned.’

  ‘Thank you for your help, Sister.’

  Arthur questioned her no further. He had suspected the parson’s maid of lying and now he was certain. For some reason she had not obeyed her master but she had not wanted to confess it in front of him – perhaps because she feared dismissal from his service. She was a woman of thirty-odd years, plain and poorly educated. It would not be easy for her to find another job without a reference from her master and he was unlikely to give her one if he discovered that she had deceived him.

  Arthur must return to the village and speak to the maid alone this time – and he thought that the best place would be in the churchyard when she visited Sarah’s grave the next day as he suspected she might.

  And Arthur indeed found the maid visiting Sarah’s grave the next morning. She saw him but made no attempt to flee, simply waited for him to come to her.

  ‘I thought you would come back,’ she told him. ‘Sarah was too proud to ask for your help, though I begged her to. She was never meant for a servant’s work and her mistress drove her hard. There was no true charity in Mistress Burns and she gave Sarah and her child a home only because she did not have to pay her for her work.’

  Arthur nodded grimly; her words made him wish that he had come years ago for Sarah’s sake, but it was all too late. ‘You saw Sarah often before she died. Did she hate me for what I did to her?’

  Janet smiled oddly. ‘Did you never know how much she loved you, sir? Sarah loved your child and she forgave you for deserting her – as she forgave her brother for turning her out. When she died she gave me something she found of yours when walking in the woods. It was a lucky token – a halfpenny set in gold with a diamond clasp that once fastened to your watch chain.’

  ‘I threw it away after I fought her brother …’ He frowned. ‘But I thought Sarah already dead then. Her brother told me so.’

  ‘No, sir, she was not,’ Janet said. ‘Her brother lied to you – the grave you were standing by yesterday was that of a beggar who shared Miss Sarah’s name and who died within our parish. If you had searched further, you would have found Miss Sarah’s grave.’

  For a moment Arthur closed his eyes as anger fought the grief. ‘So Sarah lived when I came here, when I fought with her brother?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Had you walked into the village then you might have found her and saved her from her fate.’

  ‘Then where is her grave?’

  ‘She lies in a secluded spot which I tend. I waited here today for I suspected you’d thought that this poor place was her grave because of the name. Come, follow me, and I will show you where she lies. I took your flowers to her, for I knew that she would like them.’

  Arthur shook his head in disbelief: Sarah’s brother had tricked him, lied to him and prevented him from finding Sarah and making amends. Anger raged and he wanted to kill the man who had hurt her to spite him. However, when he saw the well-tended grave with a small headstone in a quiet corner of the graveyard, he felt tears sting his eyes and his rage became sorrow.

  ‘Did you do this?’

  ‘Some of Sarah’s friends provided money for the stone and I have always tended it. I loved her, for she was kind to me …’

  ‘You say she gave you the lucky halfpenny she found in the woods. What did you do with it? Please tell me the truth, for it is important.’

  ‘I fastened it to the inside of the babe’s shawl, and I gave the child to a woman who came to worship at the shrine of St Catherine. I saw her weeping because she had no child – and she saw the babe I was meant to give to the Sisters. She asked if I would give her the child and looked at the babe so tenderly that I thought it was what Sarah would want.’

  ‘That trinket was found fastened to the shawl of a babe given to the mistress of the workhouse in Spitalfields. If your story is true, why would a woman who wanted a child give away a babe that had been given to her?’

  ‘I do not know, sir. She begged me to let her have the babe and I did so, because I knew that the Sisters would not keep the child – they would have sent it to the workhouse.’ Janet hung her head. ‘I lied to you yesterday because my master would’ve been angry that I disobeyed him.’

  ‘Yes, I understand that,’ Arthur said. He could not find it in him to be angry with her. Janet had told him the truth. It was Sarah’s brother who had lied to him – he who had destroyed the chance his sister had to make a better life, because had Arthur known the truth he would have asked her to be his wife. Bitter regret swept through him, and then anger because his child had been denied both her mother and her father. ‘Tell me, do you know the name of the woman to whom you gave Sarah’s daughter?’

  ‘She said her name was Flora Miller and she and her husband came from London.’

  ‘Did she pay you for the child?’

  ‘No, sir! I swear it,’ Janet said. ‘I did what I thought was right for Sarah’s child and the grieving woman.’

  ‘I think her tears were false and meant to deceive you.’ Arthur was angry now. ‘That child was taken to a workhouse and given to the mistress who treated her ill.’

  ‘I would swear on my dear Sarah’s grave that it was not so, sir. Had you seen the woman’s face when I placed the babe in her arms, you would have believed, as I did, that she would always love and cherish the child.’

  ‘It is a myst
ery,’ Arthur said, because the riddle of that lucky token in Eliza’s shawl had deepened. ‘If you have told me the truth then I must accept it, but I am no further forward in my quest to discover my daughter.’

  ‘Forgive me, sir. Had I believed you cared, I would have brought the child to you in London …’ Janet met his eyes. ‘Sarah hoped you would come and find her. Even to the end she believed in you, and that’s why she gave me the token to show you if you came looking …’

  ‘And I did come, but her brother lied to me. He told me she was dead some three months before she left this life. I saw the pauper’s grave and believed it hers.’ Arthur felt the bitterness of that deception, and yet with it came a lightening of the load of grief and guilt he carried. John York had played a large part in his sister’s demise. ‘Thank you for telling me the truth, Janet … I should like to reward you.’ He took a pouch of gold coins from his greatcoat pocket and counted out twenty, offering them to her, but she shook her head.

  ‘I do not deserve it, sir. I should have brought the babe to you in London, but …’ She sighed, for it was too late for regrets.

  Arthur pressed the coins into the maid’s hand and walked away. It was time that he returned to London. His search for the truth of Eliza’s birth went on. If she was his daughter, as he now believed, he would protect her, but he would not force her to leave Miss Edith unless she wished it.

  His mind was filled with thoughts of regret as he turned his horse toward the London road. If Janet had entrusted his daughter to a woman who truly wanted a babe, why would she give it to Mistress Joan Simpkins? He would have to find a way to force the truth from her even though it went against the grain to bargain with that witch …

  Returning from her nightly walk about the workhouse, Joan was startled to see Sadie standing outside in the corridor and a light on in her sitting room.

  ‘What is the matter now?’ she asked crossly. ‘If someone is ill they may wait for the morning, for I will not call the doctor out at this hour.’