by Cathy Sharp
‘So, you have returned from the country,’ Katharine Ross said that morning when they met at the home in which they shared a charitable interest. ‘I trust your time was well spent – and that you enjoyed Christmas Day?’
‘I lunched with Toby,’ Arthur said and smiled, for she was wearing his brooch at the neck of her gown. ‘I wished that I might call on you, Miss Ross, but I thought you might have guests.’
‘My aunt had friends to lunch, but we spent the evening alone,’ Katharine said and sighed. ‘I should have been very happy to see you, my dear friend …’
‘Will you walk with me?’ Arthur asked. ‘I know it is cold, but I would be private with you.’
‘I have my carriage, could we not drive in the park?’
‘Even better,’ he agreed and offered his arm. ‘I wish to talk to you, Miss Ross – Katharine – and I do not wish to be overheard.’
Katharine looked at him and a dimple appeared in her cheek. She looked so lovely that Arthur felt his heart contract for love of her and his courage almost failed.
‘What is it that you wish to say to me?’ she asked as they settled into the comfortable squabs in her carriage, and her driver set the horses in motion.
‘I have a confession to make,’ Arthur said and saw her lips curve. ‘I daresay it would not come as a surprise if I told you I admire you a great deal, Miss Ross?’
‘A mutual admiration, I daresay,’ she said and gave him a roguish look.
‘If that were all I had to tell you I should be a happy man.’ Arthur hesitated, then, ‘I would wish to ask formally for your hand, Katharine – but I am not worthy of you. No …’ He held up his hand to prevent her as she would have spoken. ‘Please hear me out for I think I may lose your good opinion once you know me for what I am.’
Katharine’s smile was lost as she saw how serious he was, and Arthur felt his throat contract. He found it difficult to speak the words but knew he must.
‘I believe the child Eliza – whom you know of – may possibly be my daughter. I deserted her mother after seducing her, for though she was a girl of gentle birth she had no fortune and I, a foolish young man, thought an uncle’s wealth more important than the sweet girl who loved me, for my uncle told me I must marry a girl of his choosing and it was not she.’
Katharine stared at him in shock, all colour gone from her face, and Arthur felt as if a knife had plunged into his heart. She did not speak and he explained further, telling her that he had regretted his cruel desertion, informed his uncle he loved another, and tried to contact Sarah – but had been given to understand that she had died of a broken heart.
‘It is only recently that I have learned that Sarah bore my child – a daughter,’ Arthur said, and explained that the babe had been given to a childless woman and yet later brought to the workhouse in Whitechapel: something he’d discovered only after seeing the trinket Ruth had kept all these years.
‘So you have only the trinket to guide you,’ Katharine said, finding her voice at last.
‘And an instinct that told me the child meant something to me.’
‘And now she is lost … oh, how difficult this is for you.’ Tears of sympathy hovered in Katharine’s eyes.
‘I am torn between the need to find Eliza and the urge to force that witch at the workhouse to tell me the truth of why she was taken there.’
‘Perhaps I might speak to Miss Simpkins for you?’ Katharine suggested. ‘I might pretend to come from Eliza’s mother – to be her aunt. I could offer her money for the truth.’
‘You would do that for me?’ Arthur asked in wonder. ‘Do you not turn from me in disgust now that you know what kind of man I am?’
Katharine smiled and touched his cheek with her gloved hand. ‘I have always known what kind of man you are,’ she said gently. ‘A man who might make a mistake and be sorry for it – a man of great kindness and generosity.’
‘Katherine!’ Arthur seized her hand and kissed the fingertips. ‘Do you really not hate me?’
‘I really do not hate you …’
‘Then, dare I hope? But no, I ask too much …’
Katharine seemed to hesitate, then: ‘I suggest that you come to luncheon and meet my aunt,’ she said, ‘for I may have feelings for you that are quite the opposite of what you feared …’ Her lovely eyes twinkled with mischief. ‘Yet I shall not admit them until I have been courted for at least three months – my poor aunt would be horrified if I announced my betrothal to a man she does not know.’
‘Bless you, sweet Katharine!’ His eyes answered hers with an unspoken challenge and she nodded.
‘I will help you discover the truth about the child, Arthur,’ Katharine said, ‘and I pray to God that we shall find Eliza very soon.’
CHAPTER 24
‘What will you do today?’ Joe asked as they ate their breakfast of bread and cheese, washed down by half a cup of milk each. ‘I plan to visit my father this morning, as I told you, and it’s best you don’t hang around here alone, Eliza. Some of the men who stable their horses here are not good men. It’s all right when I’m here to protect you, but you should go up to the house and ask the ostler’s wife to give you a job.’
‘Yes, Joe, I will,’ Eliza promised, because she knew he worried about her since one of the customers had tried to grab her a few days earlier. ‘I won’t stay here alone.’
‘I shall be back by the time the clock strikes four this afternoon,’ Joe told her. ‘Pa will be out of prison in another week or so, Eliza. We’ll be orf then and it will be better. You’ll be safe with me ma and Bathsheba and my brother. John be younger than me, but he’s a good lad.’
‘Bathsheba will teach me to make peg dolls and baskets to sell at the fairs,’ Eliza said, repeating what Joe had told her so many times. ‘I am looking forward to it – especially now ’tis not so cold.’
‘The winter ’as been ’ard,’ Joe admitted. ‘You would never ’ave survived alone on the streets, Eliza. I know you had friends before and you managed, but the winter was too cold and if we’d not had our place ’ere you might have perished. We be lucky to have bided ’ere all this time.’
‘I’ve been happy,’ Eliza said and hugged his arm. ‘I do love you, Joe, and I always shall …’
She did not tell him that she had other plans for her day. Before she left London with Joe and his family, she wanted to say goodbye to Miss Edith. Perhaps now that so much time had passed, her former employer would have stopped being angry and might listen to her – and she wanted to ask if Miss Edith would go to the workhouse and speak to Mistress Simpkins. If she could discover where Mr Stoneham lived, she could write to Ruth and tell her that Eliza was travelling with Joe.
Perhaps when she had earned a few coppers of her own, Eliza might be able to write to Miss Edith and to send her a letter to pass on to Ruth – and perhaps one day she might find a way of letting them know where they could write to her. It all depended on whether Miss Edith still thought Eliza was a thief.
Eliza waited until Joe had left for the prison. He could not walk all the way there and back in a few hours and must take the omnibus or a hansom cab, but that would cost a whole shilling and so he would walk part of the way and save sixpence. So Eliza had plenty of time to walk to Miss Edith’s house while he was gone, for it would take no more than an hour.
She heard the ostler’s wife call to her as she left the stable yard, but merely waved a hand at her. Usually, Eliza was happy to perform any tasks the kind woman asked of her, because she gave them food and milk, and her husband allowed them to sleep in the hayloft. On her return she would go up to the house and ask what Mrs Ostler wanted. They called her that, just as they called her husband Ostler, though they knew their names were Will and Jenny.
Walking slowly but steadily, Eliza retraced the way she had come with Joe all those weeks earlier. She had not been back to the market, because she had no money to spend. Joe gave her food and Ostler’s wife had given her a blanket and a comb for her hair, also
some soap to wash herself, but no one gave her money. She regretted it, because she would have liked to buy a gift for Joe – and something for Mrs Ostler before they left, but no one thought she needed money.
When she came to the market, Eliza’s nose twitched at all the exotic smells. She was tempted to linger by the stalls, looking at things she would have liked to buy. She saw a penknife with several attachments and thought how Joe would love it, but when she tentatively asked the price the stallholder said it was five shillings. Eliza could never have afforded so much and she shook her head, walking away reluctantly. A little further on she saw a stall with pretty scarves fluttering in the breeze but did not bother to ask the price. The only thing she might have bartered was the tortoiseshell comb Mrs Ostler had given her but she did not think she could buy either the penknife or the scarf with the few pennies it might raise.
She was about to leave the market when she heard a commotion behind her and saw that some children were stealing from a stall selling bread and cakes – and in that instant she recognised Tucker. She froze as she heard the enraged cries from the owner of the stall and then a constable blew his whistle and all hell broke loose as men and women started shouting and chasing the children. Tucker was coming towards her. He saw her, gave a start of recognition, and thrust a loaf at her, telling her to run. Eliza just stood where she was, stunned and unable to think. She was not even aware that she was holding a stolen loaf until a large hand descended on her shoulder.
‘Here’s one of ’em, officer,’ a man said. ‘She’s been hanging around all morning.’
Eliza tried to protest. She had only been there a short time and she’d done nothing but look, but she could see the look of satisfaction in the constable’s eyes as he grabbed hold of her arm.
‘She looks a bit different from some of the others,’ he said with a slight frown, ‘but the proof is in the pudding – and she’s one of ’em all right. She’s got one of your loaves, Bert, and I saw the leader give it to her and tell her to run.’
‘I didn’t take it. I was just standin’ here,’ Eliza protested.
‘Aye, but you’re one of them,’ the baker said coming up to them. ‘I recognise her, officer. She used to hang around with the gang and she’s got the bread – what more proof do yer need?’
It seemed the constable did not need more proof. He brought out a pair of handcuffs and put one on Eliza’s wrist and the other on his own belt, fastening hers so tightly that it cut into her flesh. She wanted to scream and protest her innocence, but the men and women were jeering and complaining.
‘They be nothin’ but a nuisance them kids. ‘Tis time they was stopped. Make an example of her, officer. Hang her – that would give them somethin’ to think about.’
Eliza looked at the man who had spoken and knew him. He was the man she’d asked about the penknife. No doubt he thought she’d been planning to steal from him. Her throat was tight with emotion and she wanted to weep but instead she stuck her head in the air and said nothing, her pride making her stubborn. Why did everyone think she was a thief? She’d only once taken some food and that was because no one would give her work.
‘Keep yer head up, girl,’ the constable said, and his tone was not unkind. ‘We don’t hang young ’uns fer stealin’ a loaf of bread these days.’
‘I didn’t steal it – he pushed it into my arm,’ Eliza said, and then wished she hadn’t as she saw disbelief in the portly constable’s eyes. ‘I live at the stables at Friar’s End with Joe and Mrs Ostler – Jenny.’ He gave her a stern look. ‘I help in the kitchen sometimes and Joe works with the horses.’
‘So what were yer doin’ loiterin’ round the market?’
‘I just wanted a present for Joe but I have no money …’ Eliza faltered as she saw the look in his eyes. ‘I was only lookin’!’
‘Save it for the magistrate in the mornin’,’ he said. ‘My job is just to bring yer in, girl. Likely, they’ll give yer a month in prison to teach yer a lesson.’
Eliza shivered as she saw the hard set of his mouth. He thought her guilty, just as the magistrate would in the morning. She might find herself locked up in prison somewhere and she’d heard terrible tales of the punishments handed out in the past. Men and women in the workhouse had talked about prison fever and people dying in their cells of starvation or sickness and she did not know how much was true and how much invented to scare the children into being good.
Eliza wished that she had never ventured near the market. She should have gone straight to Miss Edith’s house. Miss Edith might think her a thief but she didn’t believe her old mistress would have sent for the constable. Tears burned behind her eyes but she held them back. Crying was a sign of weakness and she had to stay strong. Whatever her punishment, she must take it and hold her head high. In the past, Eliza had been beaten and she’d gone hungry and she’d known bitter despair, but then she’d found happiness and that thought would sustain her throughout the ordeal to come …
‘You wanted to see me?’ Joan Simpkins asked in a belligerent tone. The elegant woman who had been shown into her office was exactly the kind of woman she disliked most. ‘If you’re looking for a baby I’ve none to sell at the moment. Give me your name and I’ll be in touch when one is available.’
‘No, I come in search of an older girl,’ the woman replied in a soft voice. ‘My aunt fell upon hard times some years ago and brought the babe to you – she asked you to care for her and hoped to return for the child but was unable to.’
Joan felt her stomach twist. It couldn’t be – and yet this woman’s hair was similar in colour to the child’s.
‘How long ago?’ she demanded. ‘Many children are brought in.’
‘My aunt’s name was Flora Miller,’ Katharine said. ‘I believe she called her child Eliza?’
For a moment Joan was too shocked to answer. She took a deep breath.
‘There was such a girl here,’ she said reluctantly. ‘Her mother told me that her husband had been killed in a terrible accident and she was left next to penniless. She begged me to care for her child and I did.’
‘Then the girl is still here?’
‘No one came for her,’ Joan said defensively. ‘I allowed her to go to a mistress … a good woman.’
‘You can tell me where she is?’
Joan thought quickly. She could never permit this young woman to discover the truth of how she had treated Eliza. ‘I am not sure,’ she prevaricated. ‘I shall check my register. Please leave me your address and I will contact you.’
‘Very well.’ The elegant lady rose and placed two gold sovereigns on the table. ‘There will be more if you can tell me where to find Eliza.’
Joan nodded and promised to do her best, but as she closed the door after her visitor a determined look came to her face. She must get Eliza back and make sure she couldn’t tell her tale – and the best way to do that was to sell her to the major!
CHAPTER 25
‘She ran away from you?’ Joan looked at the other woman in disbelief. ‘How could you have given her so much freedom? What did she steal from you?’
‘Nothing,’ Miss Edith said, and the look in her eyes showed Joan that the other woman despised her. ‘We had a misunderstanding and she ran away before Christmas. I was going to come and ask you whether she had found her way back to the workhouse.’
‘I have seen nothing of her. I should naturally have asked you if you wanted her back,’ Joan lied and then frowned. ‘After this bitter weather I very much doubt she is still alive. I do not see how a child of that age could survive alone on the streets.’ Eliza was either dead of cold or starvation, or someone like the major had snatched her from the streets, in which case she might well be dead anyway.
‘Oh, do not say so,’ Miss Edith said and looked as if she might burst into tears. ‘I have prayed that she was safe and well – perhaps someone else gave her work, for she is a good girl and intelligent.’
‘Well, there is nothing more to be said.�
� Joan nodded sharply and took her leave. She wanted no sentimentality, especially when she had been thwarted again. Eliza was worth a small fortune to Joan, but this stupid woman had let her slip through her fingers.
Leaving the apothecary’s shop, Joan was thoughtful. She had to be careful these days, because her brother had begun taking an interest in her side of the workhouse. He’d warned her not to do anything foolish, told her that he would be very angry if she did something that attracted the attention of the governors, and that meant she dared not sell one of the children who had parents who would complain to the master.
It was as she approached the market that she saw some children being chased and the charge of theft was on several tongues. Stopping in her tracks, Joan realised that here was another source of merchandise that she had not considered. Children removed from the streets for petty theft or vagrancy were sometimes taken before the magistrate but more often than not the authorities simply sent them to one of the workhouses in the city. London was a large sprawling city and Joan received only some of those found on the streets in her area, but there must be many more. If she went down to the magistrates’ court, where these children were often held overnight, she might see a suitable girl. She could offer her a place in the workhouse, say that she had work for several girls and see what they gave her. She might have to grease a few palms, but it would be worth it if she found something she could sell – a piece of high-quality merchandise.
Joan had decided to think of the children she sold in this way. It was foolish to consider what might happen to them afterwards; that was not her concern. She needed to please Major Cartwright and then she could retire and forget all this … unpleasantness.
Eliza sat in the corner in the magistrates’ holding cell with several women and children. Most of them had been brought in because they were vagrants and were dressed in rags, their hands, hair and faces filthy, several of them so thin that their eyes were sunken and their skin hung loosely on their bodies.