Without Sin

by Margaret Dickinson

  She was enjoying the work, but every night her head whirled until it ached with all the information she had tried to absorb. And there were still chores in the workhouse awaiting her at night.

  On the Saturday evening at the end of her third week working in the tailor’s shop, Meg trudged wearily home. Home! she thought in disgust as the huge building loomed out of the dusk. Fancy having to call the workhouse ‘home’. They had been in the workhouse now for almost seven weeks and Meg was even more desperate to leave it than she had been when they had first been admitted. Then she had truly believed that they would only be there for a few days at the most.

  ‘If I ever meet up with him again,’ she vowed, thinking of her father, who had caused all this, ‘I’ll kill him. And her.’

  She still wasn’t sure which betrayal hurt her the most: her father’s or her friend’s.

  But tonight, as she opened the gate into the yard, her steps quickened. Something was banishing her tiredness and unhappy thoughts. She couldn’t wait to tell her mother. She had left the shop that evening, calling, ‘Goodnight,’ to Mr Rodwell and leaving him to close up. In the street she had paused for a moment to glance up at the windows above the shop. If they were all cleared out, as she planned, there was plenty of room for her and her mother to live up there. She hugged the idea to herself, feeling more positive and hopeful than she had for weeks. As she hurried through the workhouse gate and across the yard, she was vaguely aware of someone calling her name. But, intent on sharing her wonderful idea with her mother, she paid no heed and ran inside and up the steps into the women’s day room.

  ‘Mam,’ she cried, flinging open the door. ‘Mam, where are you? I’ve had the most marvellous idea. If only . . .’

  She stopped, hesitating in the doorway as her gaze swept around the room. Several faces turned towards her, others did not look up, and Meg had the strange feeling that it was deliberate. No one spoke.

  ‘Where is she? Where’s my mam?’ she asked of no one in particular. Now everyone lowered their gaze and turned away. Only one woman stood up and stumbled across the room towards her.

  Ursula Waters stood before her. Her thin, bony hands clasped Meg’s shoulders, her fingers digging painfully into the girl’s flesh. Young and strong, Meg quickly shook her off.

  ‘You ask where she is?’ Ursula shrieked, her eyes wild, spittle showering Meg’s face. ‘As if you didn’t know. You’ve planned it, I bet. You’re a scheming little hussy and she’s no better than she should be.’

  ‘Waters, I don’t know what you’re on about.’

  But Ursula continued to scream at her, tears now coursing down her thin, lined cheeks. ‘Fancy, a mother who’s just lost her child, two, if you count the miscarriage. And look at her now. Carrying on like a common trollop off the streets. I felt sorry for her. I did. I did. But not any more. Oh, not any more.’

  Now it was Meg who gripped the woman’s shoulders firmly. ‘Waters, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Just tell me – where is my mam?’

  Waters’s face contorted into an ugly grimace. ‘With him,’ she spat. ‘With the master.’

  Meg blinked, still unable to understand why Ursula was so upset. ‘She’s gone to see him, you mean? What about? Is something wrong?’

  ‘Oho, there’s something wrong all right, but not the way you mean,’ Ursula said bitterly. ‘Oh no, everything’s all right for her. Very “all right” now.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘She’s gone to him.’

  ‘Yes, you said that, but—’

  ‘Moved in with him. Moved her belongings into his room. She’s – she’s with him. Your mother is Mr Pendleton’s new – new fancy woman.’

  Eighteen

  Meg’s mouth dropped open and she stared at the woman in front of her in horror. ‘Wha— what do you mean?’

  Ursula’s lip curled. ‘You know exactly what I mean! A girl of your age and brought up on a farm too. Oh, don’t play the innocent with me.’

  Vaguely, Meg heard a movement behind her. Someone else had come into the room, but she hardly noticed. She was so caught up by the terrible things this vindictive woman was saying about her mother. ‘But – but my mam would never – she wouldn’t . . .’ Meg was incensed. Her green eyes blazed and she raised her hand as if to strike Ursula. But before the blow could land, someone standing behind her caught hold of her wrist and held it fast.

  ‘Don’t, Meg.’ Jake’s voice was soft in her ear. ‘It’ll cause you more trouble. Come away. Leave her.’

  Meg struggled against his grasp, but Jake held on grimly. He put his arm about her waist and dragged her bodily from the room, whilst Meg still shouted and cursed at Ursula. She shook her fist. ‘You wicked, evil woman to say such things. I’ll – I’ll . . .’ But she could think of nothing bad enough to threaten.

  ‘Come away, Meg,’ Jake urged, all the while pulling her out of the room. Once in the passageway, he pulled the door shut and leant against it, barring her way back inside. ‘Just calm down, will yer?’ He spoke firmly now. ‘And I’ll explain it all.’

  ‘What is there to explain? She’s got it wrong. My mam wouldn’t . . .’ She fell silent, her mouth open. She squinted in the half-light of the passageway to see Jake’s face more clearly. His expression was sober, pitying almost. ‘She wouldn’t . . .’ she protested again, but now her voice was feeble and cold uncertainty was stealing over her. She shivered and Jake drew her close. Her head resting on his shoulder, neither of them caring for once who saw them, Jake whispered, ‘What she says is true.’ As he said the words Meg stiffened and would have pushed away from him, but he held her firmly. ‘Not – not perhaps like she’s making it sound. That dried-up old prune is jealous. That’s what’s the matter with her. Just ’cos your mam is young and pretty and old Isaac is taken with her. Who can blame him, eh?’

  Now Meg sobbed against his neck and clung to him. ‘Oh, Jake, it’s not true, is it? She wouldn’t – couldn’t – take up with a man like Mr Pendleton.’ She paused and then added in a pitiful tone that tore at the boy’s heart, ‘Could she?’

  Jake stroked her hair tenderly. ‘Isaac likes the ladies. Always has. But he’s kind to ’em. Even when he – well – when he moves on to the next, he sees that they’re well cared for. He finds them a job in the town or even a job here.’

  Slowly Meg raised her head and looked at him. Her mind was working again. ‘You mean – that Waters was once – you know?’ It was what the woman herself had implied, but Meg hadn’t believed it possible.

  Jake nodded. ‘It was before I can remember, but that’s what they say. After, he tried to set her up with a nice little job in the town. Working in a little shop, they said. Ever such a nice, genteel sort of job, but she wouldn’t go. She wanted to stay here in the workhouse. Can you believe it?’

  Meg swallowed and said huskily, ‘Yes, yes, I can. I see it all now. I see why she’s – she’s so bitter. She still loves him and it must hurt her to see him take up with younger women.’ She felt a fleeting pity for the lonely spinster. Then another thought struck her. ‘But I thought Mr Pendleton had his eye on her . . .’ She couldn’t bring herself to say Louisa Daley’s name but there was no need, for Jake laughed softly. ‘The schoolmarm, you mean?’

  Meg nodded.

  ‘Oh aye, well he had. But the young doctor’s got in there first and I ’spect old Isaac doesn’t want to upset him. Dr Collins does the workhouse quite a few favours. He attends folk here without sending in a bill a lot of the time, but I reckon it’s because he can see Miss Daley when he visits.’

  Meg sighed and shook her head. ‘It’s all too much for me. I can’t take it in. Me mam. How could she? How could she?’ She shuddered at the thought of her mother lying beside Isaac Pendleton in his bed. ‘It’s disgusting. She’s disgusting.’

  ‘Aw, don’t be like that, Meg. Your mam must be feeling so bad, what with losing her baby, then her little lad . . .’ Jake bit his lip, not wanting to refer directly to her fath
er’s desertion, yet the thought was in both their minds. ‘And Isaac will be kind to her. He’s a good man, really.’

  ‘How can you say that after the way he beat you? That was cruel.’

  Jake shrugged. He had known no other life than within the walls of the workhouse. He had no means of comparison. ‘I’ve sometimes thought he’s a bit harder on me than the other lads, but then –’ he grinned – ‘I’m more trouble to him than they are. And I’ve always got the matron on my side.’

  ‘She likes you,’ Meg murmured absentmindedly, her mind still in a tumult of emotions concerning her own problems. ‘She’s not what I imagined the matron in the workhouse would be. I thought she’d be horrible. More like Waters.’

  ‘Aw, come on, Meg. Poor old Waters is an unhappy woman.’

  Meg stared at him. ‘How is it,’ she asked slowly, ‘that you seem so – so sensible and – and knowing, when you’ve never hardly been outside the workhouse?’

  Jake tweaked her nose playfully. ‘I’ve always kept mi eyes and mi ears open. I’ve met lots of fellers in here and they all had a story to tell and they’ve liked talking to me. About their lives, their families and how they’d come to be in here. Well, I listened, Meg, and I learned. I learned a bit of readin’ and writin’ in the school room but I learned a lot more about life by listening to them fellers.’ Now his ready smile widened. ‘And now I’m not going to be here for much longer. That’s why I came looking for you, to tell you.’

  Meg suddenly realized that Jake should have been nowhere near the women’s quarters. His news must be important for him to take such a risk.

  ‘I’ve got that job on Smallwood’s farm. I start on Monday.’ His eyes were shining. ‘Only one more day, Meg, and I’m out of here. And it’s all thanks to you. If you hadn’t taken me out wi’ you that day, I might have been stuck in here for the rest of mi life. But now I’m getting out and I ain’t coming back. Not ever.’

  Meg felt a lump in her throat that had nothing to do with the news about her mother. She touched his shoulder. ‘I’m glad, Jake. Real glad for you. But I’ll miss you.’

  He laughed aloud. ‘Oh, you’ll still be seeing me. I’ll be down to that there shop you’re working in to get the mester there to mek me mi first proper suit. You see if I don’t.’

  Meg couldn’t bring herself to seek out her mother. She didn’t want to speak to her or even see her. And she certainly didn’t want to encounter Isaac Pendleton. That night she lay in the narrow bed in the women’s dormitory. The empty bed beside her, where her mother had slept, taunted her. Meg stared into the darkness, listening to the breathing, snores, even murmurings of the other women in the room. Sometime during the early hours of the morning she must have dozed fitfully, but when it was time to get up she awoke with a blinding headache. She was sorry it was Sunday. She wanted nothing more than to escape to the sanctuary of the tailor’s shop. But she had to endure the glances and the whisperings of the other women, the long walk into the town to morning service and another long, restless night.

  Unable to face breakfast on the Monday morning, she was about to slip out of the gate when she heard Albert’s voice.

  ‘ ’Morning, lass. Now, you weren’t going off wi’out saying ta-ta to me, were you?’

  Meg sighed inwardly and turned to face the old man limping towards her. She tried to smile, opened her mouth to speak, but before she could utter a word, he said, ‘Aw, lass, what’s wrong? You ill?’

  Meg bit her lip and shook her head. ‘No,’ she said huskily. ‘I didn’t sleep too well.’

  ‘Ah!’ was all the old man said, but somehow he managed to put such a depth of understanding into that one sound that Meg’s eyes filled with tears. Impatiently, she dashed them away with the back of her hand, determined not to let anyone see her cry. At least, anyone other than Jake.

  She glanced at Albert and saw the sympathy in the old man’s rheumy eyes. ‘You – you know, don’t you?’

  Albert nodded.

  Bitterly, Meg said, ‘I suppose everyone knows.’

  ‘Aye well, you can’t keep secrets, lass, in a place like this. But look at it this way, yer mam’ll be well looked after. I’ll say that for ’im, if he teks to a young woman, he treats ’em well, treats ’em fair. And I’ll tell you summat else an’ all, he doesn’t cast ’em aside when he’s done wi’ ’em either. He sets ’em up in some nice little job that should see them all right for the rest of their days, so to speak.’

  ‘That’s what Jake said,’ Meg murmured.

  ‘Well, ’e’s right.’

  Meg bit her lip, but the words would not be held in. ‘But it’s the shame, Albert. How could she? My mother? That’s not how she’s always brought us—’ She pulled in a shuddering breath when the appalling truth hit her. She was now the only child left. ‘It’s not how she’s always brought me up to behave.’

  ‘No, lass, I don’t expect she did. But life has dealt her a lot of bitter blows lately, hasn’t it? She’s down there –’ he pointed towards the ground – ‘in the depths of despair and old Pendleton can be very kind when he wants to be.’

  Meg turned away. They all seemed to be on Isaac Pendleton’s side. No one seemed to understand how she felt. But she answered Albert politely. ‘Thank you for talking to me, Albert.’

  ‘Tha’s all right, lass. Any time.’

  As she walked away from the shadow of the workhouse towards the town, the young girl’s mind was in a turmoil. She could scarcely take in all that had happened. And she still couldn’t believe what they were saying about her mother.

  Her little family had been hard-working, honest, trustworthy and loving towards one another. And now, in the space of only a few weeks, her father had deserted them for a pretty face and a flighty nature. Because of his betrayal, not only of his family, but of his employers too, they had lost their home and their livelihood and faced the shame of the workhouse. Another baby had been lost and then poor little Bobbie had died. Yet Meg knew she could have faced all that if only she still had her mother. But what Sarah had done was beyond forgiveness. Meg had felt bitter and unforgiving towards her father, but it was nothing compared to how she now felt about her mother.

  As she neared the shop and saw Mr Rodwell opening up the door, Meg made herself a promise. I’ll see mi mam tonight and, if it’s true what they’re saying, then that’s it. I don’t want anything to do with her ever again.

  And I’ll tell her so.

  Nineteen

  Meg worked hard that day, throwing herself into each task with a kind of desperation. She was aware of Percy’s anxious glances and knew he could sense that something was not quite right. But he said nothing; perhaps he thought the cause was ‘women’s troubles’, a subject far too delicate for any man, especially a bachelor, to approach.

  Meg worked on, never pausing to give herself time to think, to dwell on the hardships and disappointments life was throwing at her. The only person she spared a brief thought for was Jake, but even thinking of him starting his new job at the farm revived her own bitter memories. She unpacked all the new stock as it arrived and arranged it. She dressed the right-hand window, which Percy had now given over to ladies’ wear. She stayed on long after the shop had closed to sweep and tidy up and she even made a start on the storerooms above, in the hope that she could persuade Percy to let the rooms to her. If only she had a proper home for her mam to come to, she was sure that she could persuade Sarah to leave Isaac Pendleton. Meg still hadn’t given up hope entirely.

  ‘There’s a lot of stuff up there, Mr Rodwell. Is it to be thrown out?’

  ‘Oh, dear me, no. I couldn’t throw any of it away. I mean, someone might ask for something one day . . .’

  Despite her inner unhappiness, Meg found herself smiling. When pigs might fly, she thought, but said demurely, ‘How about offering some of the things for sale at less money? I mean, you could even put some in the window showing the marked-down price. You know how the farmers who come into the town on market day love a
bargain. And they’re not the sort to want fancy clothes.’ She giggled mischievously and her green eyes twinkled at him. ‘Some of those long johns I’ve carted upstairs to the storerooms are just what the old farmers still wear. I used to see Mr Smallwood’s hanging on the line on wash day.’

  Percy stared at her. ‘Do you know, Miss Kirkland, I think you could be right. How clever of you to think of it. We’ll do it. Yes – yes – we’ll do it.’

  Late in the afternoon the shop bell clanged and Meg looked up, hoping that it was a female customer for her to serve. In spite of her own worries, she really enjoyed serving in the shop, guiding the customers towards their purchases, giving an honest appraisal, handing out compliments when something was just right, a tactful, ‘Perhaps you might like to try this instead . . .’ when something really didn’t suit.

  ‘Always try to be honest with your customers, but do it in such a way that they hardly notice that you’re really saying, “That looks absolutely dreadful and I wouldn’t let you walk out of my shop wearing it in a hundred years,”’ Percy had taught her. It had made her laugh when he had said it. Today she didn’t feel like laughing, but she plastered a welcoming smile on to her face as she glanced up to see who had entered the shop.

  Her smile faded when she saw Clara Finch advancing towards the counter, her hands folded neatly in front of her, her lips pursed to nothingness.

  ‘My dear,’ Percy greeted her, hurrying out from behind his counter. ‘What a nice surprise.’

  ‘I don’t think it will be, Percy, when I’ve said my piece.’

  Percy gave a nervous laugh. ‘Oh dear, that sounds ominous. What have I done now?’ His tone was jovial and yet Meg had the feeling that there was a hint of truth in his statement, as if he often did things that displeased his fiancée.

  ‘It’s not so much what you’ve done, Percy, but you are perhaps guilty of a lapse in common sense.’