by Anna Jacobs
‘Take something to eat. You need to keep up your strength,’ Jane said loudly, then lowered her voice to add, ‘Do you have somewhere to go, someone who’ll hide you until you can get out of town?’
Cassandra nodded.
‘When I give you the word, you must hit me on the head and make your way out of here.’
‘I can’t hit you.’
‘Mmm. Good cake, this,’ she said loudly, then whispered through a mouthful of crumbs, ‘Unless you do, I shan’t let you escape. If they think I’ve helped you, they’ll make me sorry. You’ll have to hit me hard enough to raise a bad bruise then I’ll pretend to be unconscious.’
Cassandra swallowed a mouthful of cake that felt like grit going down her throat. ‘All right.’
Jane took another bite. ‘Once you’re out of the room, turn left and use the back stairs. It’s up to you after that. I can’t tell whether the stairs will be clear, but at least I can give you a chance of getting away.’ She raised her voice, ‘Eat up! We don’t want you fainting on us.’
Cassandra swallowed another mouthful, giving a tiny nod as she did so.
Another whisper. ‘One more thing. After you’ve escaped, stay hidden. Don’t try to bring the police into this. They’ll believe your aunt rather than you. She’s great friends with that fat Vicar and he believes whatever she tells him.’
‘That’d mean letting her get away with it.’
‘People like them do get away with things, especially ladies who seem respectable. You should see the gentlemen who come in here. Pillars of the church, some of them. Now, we’ve no time to argue. Eat something else and I’ll ring for the tray to be taken away.’
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘You don’t know where your next meal is coming from. Eat.’
As the maid cleared away the tray and left, Jane went to open the door for her, saying loudly before she closed it, ‘Change into these clothes now. I’m sick of seeing you in rags.’ She almost closed the door, listening intently as she peered through the narrow gap. ‘Right. He’s gone. But he’ll be back. So be quick about it.’
Cassandra took off her clothes, glancing nervously towards the door. The bodice she’d been given was cut very low and she hesitated to put it on.
‘Do it quickly before I regret my generosity.’ Jane was back at the door, keeping watch. When Cassandra was dressed, she came across to her. ‘Now hit me from behind so I can’t see it coming. Quick, before I change my mind.’
Cassandra picked up an ornament and took a quick swipe at Jane, who crumpled to the ground and didn’t stir. She looked down at herself, horrified at the sight of her half-exposed breasts. She couldn’t go out like this. She pulled the shawl from around Jane’s shoulders, but the other still didn’t stir. Out in the street Cassandra would need to put it round her head to hide the short hair that people would be bound to notice. But inside here, she needed to look like the others, so she draped the shawl over one arm.
With a last regretful glance at Jane, she moved quickly to the door, listening to make sure no one was outside, opening it slightly to look, then slipping out and down the narrow back stairs. At the bottom a door shut the back stairs off from the next landing. She started to open it, heard voices and jerked back, peeping through the gap.
A man walked past, fondling a young woman and they disappeared into a room.
Her heart pounding so hard she had difficulty breathing, Cassandra listened to check that no one else was coming then crept down the next flight of stairs. This time there was no door at the bottom and to her horror a man came out of a room just as she stepped on to the landing. Somehow she found the courage to force a smile and walk past him as if she had a right to be there.
He strolled down the front stairs, hardly giving her a second glance. She could hear voices and laughter below. The sounds seemed to echo in her head and for a moment she froze from fear of going further. Then she pulled herself together and hurried down the final flight of back stairs.
At the bottom she paused again to get her bearings. The kitchen area was to one side and people were bustling around, one tired-looking man pouring wine into glasses, an old woman drawing a jug of beer from a barrel in one corner. They saw her but didn’t give her a second glance.
A young woman came in from outside and walked into the kitchen, saying, ‘That’s better. I was bursting.’
Cassandra guessed the door led out to the privy. She wanted to run, but forced herself to walk slowly towards it. Almost sobbing with relief that no one had tried to stop her, she opened the heavy outer door and stepped outside.
The chill of the night air made her brain feel more alert and as another door nearer the front of the building opened, she moved quickly across the yard into the shadows. There she waited until a man had gone across to a low building which smelled like the privy.
She went in the same direction but opened the back gate and went out into an alley between the rows of houses. Only then did she give in to the temptation to run, moaning in her throat and stumbling along like a drunkard.
At the end of the alley, where it met the next street, she stopped, out of breath. Recognising where she was, she pulled the shawl tightly over her head and round her shoulders then set off walking through the streets. The skirt was fuller than she was used to, the petticoats swishing as she walked, and she was petrified of meeting someone she knew. Or worse still, meeting someone who thought she was a streetwalker. She was sure she looked like one.
She was going to the Raineys. They would help her and surely her sisters would have left a message for her there ... if they’d been able to.
She had no idea what she would do after that, where she would go, but she believed Jane, that it wouldn’t be safe to involve the police. She intended to go as far away from Outham as she could. And one day, somehow, she’d find her sisters again.
Pandora sat by the window in the big single women’s room of the migrants’ hostel, still angry at the embarrassing examination the doctor had made of her person. But it was no use complaining. They were here now and it was better to do as they were told and not make a fuss.
‘Do you suppose they’ve let her go yet?’ Maia said from beside her.
‘No. Our aunt said they wouldn’t do that till our ship had sailed.’
‘Do you believe her promise not to harm Cassandra?’
‘I don’t know. Sometimes I do, other times I don’t. What other choice had we but to do as she ordered? I’m quite sure she’d have carried out her threat and cut off Cassandra’s thumb.’
‘She’d have done it herself without flinching. She’s ... very strange.’
‘Mad, don’t you mean?’
‘Yes.’
A group of young women who slept in the corner bunks on the other side of the room burst into raucous laughter. Others sat quietly. Some looked so thin it was amazing that they could walk, and though the food provided was unappetising, they’d fallen on the evening meal like wolves, eating every scrap on their plates, gristle and fat included.
About sixty young women were to sail on the Tartar, they’d been told, including the three sisters. It would take three months or so to get to Australia.
The hardest thing was that they’d not know whether their eldest sister was safe.
12
Halfway to the Minister’s house, Cassandra remembered the money and locket she’d hidden in the cottage. She’d kept it for an emergency, as Mrs Southerham had intended, and this surely was one. It must still be there.
Could she retrieve it? Dare she?
She drew in a long, shuddery breath. She had to try. Without money you were utterly helpless.
Changing direction, she walked towards the cottage, keeping to the shadows, her feet in the soft indoor shoes making no noise except when she trod in a puddle by mistake. Whether her feet got wet or not seemed so unimportant she didn’t even try to avoid other puddles. The important thing was to move as quickly as possible, retrieve the money and get to the
Minister’s house before anyone discovered she was missing.
The cottage was dark. Had it been let again? Would there be people inside it sleeping? If so, the money was lost to her.
She went to peer into the front window, but could see nothing, because the slender crescent moon had gone behind some clouds. The air was damp with the promise of more rain. Taking a deep breath, she crept round to the rear and fumbled on the lintel over the back door where they’d kept the spare front door key. But it wasn’t there any more. She felt her way along the lintel a second time, to no avail.
Did that mean there was someone living here again?
Should she give up? No. It was her money and she needed it desperately. That thought made her stiffen her spine. She found a stone, used the shawl to muffle the sound and smashed it against the kitchen window. Even so, the noise of breaking glass seemed very loud and she waited before moving again, just in case someone was inside the house.
But no one came to investigate. Shaking her shawl carefully to get rid of the bits of broken glass, she reached inside for the window latch. A sliver of glass stabbed into her but she managed to get the window open. She felt the warmth of blood trickling down her arm but ignored it.
She carried an old wooden tub across to the window and stood on it, managing to squeeze through the small opening only with difficulty. She landed on the slopstone, jarring her hip on the tap that dripped into it.
Relief shuddered through her as she looked round. There was no furniture so the house must be empty. But just to be sure, she waited again.
She heard the soft pattering of a rat above her then a floorboard creaked, making her stiffen in fear. Her heart pounded in her chest as she listened but there were no other noises that might indicate people. Floorboards creaked all the time, she told herself. If there was no furniture there’d be no one here. She had to believe that.
Trying to make no sound at all, she crept across to the stairs and climbed them slowly, all her senses alert.
The second flight of stairs leading to the big attic room were even harder to climb. It was so dark here that she’d not have seen anyone standing at the top. She felt a jolt of terror as one stair creaked beneath her foot and pressed one hand to her chest as if that would still her pounding heart.
As she came up into what had been her bedroom, tears filled her eyes. She had only slept here for a few nights, but she’d loved this room.
Fool! she told herself. Get this done quickly. If they’d found she’d escaped they’d already be out looking for her. She hadn’t long to find a hiding place.
She went across to the loose floorboard in the corner and tried to pry it open. It was harder without a tool of any sort, but desperation made her use her fingernails, heedless when they broke or splinters stabbed into her. She got it open enough to pull out the little leather bag of money and the locket, clutching them to her breast, unable to move for a moment or two as relief shuddered through her.
What was wrong with her, standing here like a fool? She should be hurrying away. She hung the locket round her neck and stuffed the bag between her breasts. Turning, she made her way outside again, still moving quietly, even though she knew now there was no one inside the house.
Not daring to run because that would look suspicious, she hurried through the streets, muffling a sob of relief as she reached the Minister’s house without meeting anyone.
She didn’t dare knock on the door because that would wake the maid, but she knew which was the Raineys’ bedroom so flung clods of earth from the flower bed up at the window. Someone came to look out. It seemed dangerous to call out, so she looked up and waved, praying whoever it was would recognise her.
There was just enough moonlight to see the pale blur of a face staring down at her. Mr Rainey, she thought. She put one trembling finger to her lips, hoping he could see it and realise he needed to be quiet.
He waved one hand and vanished.
It seemed a very long time until the front door opened and by then she was wondering whether they’d even want to help her after what had happened to her. People called women who’d been used by men in that loathsome way ‘soiled doves’. Were you still a soiled dove if you’d been forced? She didn’t know, was only holding on to her wits with the greatest of efforts.
When she heard the bolt slide and the key turn in the lock, she staggered forward, feeling dizzy now.
‘Don’t let anyone know I’m here.’ She started to sob, muffling the sound with the ends of her shawl, her whole body shaking.
Was she safe now? Would they help her?
If they didn’t, she had no energy left to continue, could think of nowhere else to turn.
Mrs Rainey took one look at her and put an arm round her shoulders. ‘You poor thing. What’s happened to you? Gerald, light the gas.’
‘No, don’t! The people who captured me will know I came here if they see lights on in the middle of the night.’
‘They wouldn’t dare break into my house!’ Mr Rainey protested.
‘No, but they might wait for me to leave it, follow me and snatch me later.’
‘I can’t believe they would risk that.’
‘I’ve seen their faces. They’ll want to make sure I can’t tell anyone who they are.’
‘We must send for the police, then. They’ll know what to do.’
‘I can’t prove anything. My aunt will claim I’m immoral and say I went to that place of my own accord, I know she will. The person who helped me escape said that if I valued my life I should just – vanish. Only I don’t know where to go. I want to be with my sisters but she’s sent them to Australia.’ She burst into tears again, at the end of her tether.
Mrs Rainey patted her arm. ‘Shh now. Don’t cry. We’ll find you somewhere to go.’
‘You won’t tell anyone I’m here?’
‘We’ll have to tell our maid. You can’t hide anything from Phyllis. But she’s been with us for over twenty years and she’s never betrayed a confidence yet.’
Cassandra drew up a mental image of their elderly maid, who attended chapel sitting at the back on her own, very prim and proper, looking as if she disapproved of the world. ‘She won’t want to help me when she knows where I’ve been.’
‘Tell us.’
It was hard and her voice faltered as she told them what had been done to her.
Part way through the explanation, Mrs Rainey unclenched Cassandra’s hand from the bunched skirt material and kept hold of it till she stopped talking. ‘Were you thinking we’d turn you away for something that’s not your fault?’
She could only nod.
Mrs Rainey stroked her short hair. ‘You’re wrong. Is she not, Gerald?’
His answer was slow coming and Cassandra waited, holding her breath, but at last he said, ‘We’d never turn anyone away.’
‘And Phyllis will want to help too, my dear, I promise you. In fact, I’ll go and wake her so that she can help me care for you.’
While his wife was away Mr Rainey said nothing, standing in front of the fireplace looking at Cassandra sadly. When he caught her staring at him, he looked down at his feet as if he didn’t know what to say.
If he couldn’t bear to speak to her or look her in the eyes, what would other people be like? Few people were as warm and caring as his wife.
Mrs Rainey brought the maid downstairs with her and Phyllis said gruffly, ‘There’s enough warm water to give you a quick bath, if you’d like. I don’t need a lamp to find my way round my own kitchen.’
‘Yes, please. Oh yes! There’s nothing I’d like more than a bath – and to get out of these horrible clothes.’
The fact that Phyllis was prepared to help rather than scorning her gave Cassandra her first real hope. She let the two women take her into the kitchen and with only the moonlight to help them, they got the tin bath from the scullery and filled it.
She lay in the warm water, glad there were no lights because she couldn’t stop more tears from rolling down he
r cheeks. Where did they come from, all these tears? Would they ever end?
Mrs Rainey’s voice intruded into her thoughts. ‘You’d better get out now, dear. The water’s going cold.’
She obeyed without a word, surprised to find they were offering her some nightclothes. She hadn’t noticed either of them leaving the room to get them.
When they had helped her dress in a flannel nightgown and wrapped her in a soft shawl that smelled of fresh air and sunshine, they took her up to the attics and made up a bed in the unused bedroom that was meant for a second maidservant.
She climbed into it, feeling as if her limbs were made of lead.
‘No one will know you’re here.’ Mrs Rainey stroked her forehead with one hand. ‘And I’ve brought your money and locket up. You’ll want to know they’re safe, I’m sure.’
‘Thank you. I—’ She gulped, not knowing how to put into words her relief that they hadn’t scorned her.
‘Shh now. Try to get some sleep. And stay here once you wake because people often come to the kitchen door. Either Phyllis or I will fetch what you need. I’ll say goodnight now.’
When she’d gone, Cassandra turned to the maid. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t want to be a trouble to you.’
‘I’m happy to help you, lass,’ the other said gruffly. She clasped Cassandra’s shoulder tightly. ‘I’d shoot those devils myself if I had a gun. Treating decent young women like that! Men may invent railways and who knows what else they’ll invent before they’re through, but they haven’t found a way to stop such wickedness. That’s what I pray for when I go to chapel, for the wickedness to stop.’
These words comforted Cassandra hugely. Neither of the women had recoiled from her. She’d thought they’d despise her ... now.
She still felt dirty, though, in spite of the bath. The word ‘besmirched’ came into her mind and exactly described how she felt. She sniffed back a tear, snuggling down and pulling the soft blanket right up to her neck.
She’d expected to find it difficult to sleep but she was so tired, it seemed natural to let her eyelids close.