Workhouse Angel

by Holly Green

  ‘You again! I’m not talking to you. Not after what happened to Lizzie.’

  ‘That’s exactly why I am here,’ James said. ‘I feel really bad about Lizzie losing her job and I want to help if I can.’

  ‘Help? You’re a bit late for that.’

  ‘Can you at least tell me where she lives now, so I can make the offer? I went to her house but it’s all boarded up.’

  The woman gave a brief, bitter laugh. ‘Oh, I can tell you where to find her, but it’s not round here. You’ll have to go up the hill if you want to see her.’

  ‘Up the hill?’ James queried.

  ‘Up Brownlow Hill. She’s in the workhouse.’

  ‘In the workhouse! Can matters have got so desperate so quickly? I know she and her father were both sacked, but had they no savings to fall back on?’

  ‘Not a penny. Her da had been ailing for months. How he kept working as long as he did I’ll never know. They’d spent every last penny on doctor’s bills. The shock of losing his job finished him off.’

  ‘He’s dead?’

  ‘Dropped down dead the day after he was sacked.’

  ‘Dear God! Is there no other family?’

  ‘No. Lizzie’s ma died years back and the brothers are both away at sea. The mean bastard they rented the house from turned Lizzie out the day after the funeral. Where else was she supposed to go?’

  James put his hand in his pocket and took out a coin. ‘I shall go up there directly and see if there is anything I can do to help. Thank you for telling me, miss …?

  ‘Biggin, Flo Biggin. And I don’t want your charity. Keep it for them as needs it.’

  James had often seen the grim bulk of the workhouse at the top of the hill but he had never been inside. As he banged on the great door his heart seemed to twist in his chest at the thought that this was where May had grown up. When the porter opened a small wicket, he presented his card and asked to see the governor. The porter scrutinised the card suspiciously, but evidently decided that it was safer not to argue and led him along a narrow roadway to a bleak courtyard and up a flight of stairs to the door of the governor’s office.

  The governor was a small man with thinning hair and surprisingly bushy eyebrows and sideburns. He looked at the card and then at James, his expression wary, almost defensive.

  ‘What does Weaver and Wooley, Solicitors, want with me?’

  James made his tone reassuring. ‘It’s a small matter concerning one of your inmates. Elizabeth Findlay?’

  ‘Findlay?’ The governor appeared to search his memory. ‘Ah yes, came to us quite recently. Is she in trouble?’

  ‘No, no. Not at all. We just think she may be able to help us with our enquiries into another matter.’ He was tempted to mention Angelina, but decided not to complicate matters. The truth was that, now he was here, he did not know quite why he had come.

  The governor peered at him out of the thicket of eyebrows and whiskers and then shook his head impatiently. ‘Very well. Very well.’ He touched a bell on his desk and a lanky youth appeared from an inner room. ‘Take this gentleman to Mrs Fosdyke’s office. Mrs Fosdyke,’ he added by way of explanation, ‘is the superintendent in charge of all the female occupants.’

  Mrs Fosdyke, a lean figure composed entirely, it struck James, of sharp angles, was less easily satisfied as to the reason for his request than the governor. In the end he fell back on the well-worn cliché of client confidentiality and, her curiosity baffled, she passed him into the hands of a thin, pale-faced girl with instructions to take him to the infirmary.

  ‘The infirmary?’ James queried with alarm. ‘Is Miss Findlay ill?’

  ‘No. She volunteered to help out as soon as she arrived here.’ Mrs Fosdyke sniffed. ‘It is unusual. Those who come to us are not usually so public spirited. No doubt she is hoping for favours of some sort.’

  James thought that from what he had seen of Lizzie Findlay it seemed quite in character.

  He had assumed that the workhouse was a single, large building but discovered that it was in fact a complex of buildings, like a small village. His journey through the narrow streets in the wake of his little guide filled him with a cold despair. He saw men and women reduced to a shabby uniformity in their workhouse clothes, listlessly engaged in repetitive tasks, their faces blank and without hope. What future could there be for them, he wondered? And how had May survived a childhood spent here and become the warm-hearted, vibrant person he knew?

  His first sight of the infirmary surprised him. He had expected to find conditions of squalor and suffering, but the rooms were orderly and clean and nurses in uniform moved between the beds. His guide left him at the door of the female ward and he stood for a moment looking about him at a loss, until a woman who had been bending over one of the beds straightened up and came towards him. Her appearance struck him like a sudden burst of sunshine from a cloudy sky. Her skin was the colour of polished copper, her nose straight, cheekbones high and eyes like liquid amber. To be confronted with such unexpected and exotic beauty left him for a moment speechless.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she asked, her voice warm and slightly accented. ‘You look lost.’

  James swallowed and pulled himself together. ‘My name is James Breckenridge. I work for a firm of solicitors. I am looking for Elizabeth Findlay.’

  ‘Lizzie? I’ll fetch her. I hope you have some good news for her. She does not deserve to be in here.’

  She moved away, leaving James painfully aware that he had no such good news. What had possessed him to come here, he asked himself? What help could his apologies be to a woman who had been brought to this, and through his fault?

  When Lizzie came towards him from the other end of the room he was shocked to see how much she had changed in a few short weeks. Her cheeks were sunken and her face had lost the healthy glow he remembered. She stopped in front of him, her expression telling him nothing.

  ‘Mr Breckenridge? What do you want with me, sir?’

  ‘Lizzie … Miss Findlay …’ he floundered. ‘I don’t know what to say. I had no idea until today that that short conversation between us had such terrible consequences for you. I came … I came to apologise. But now I see that apologies are totally inadequate. Is there anything at all I can do?’

  He expected her to reject his apologies, to turn on him with fury and contempt. Instead she said with the faintest hint of an irony, ‘Thank you for offering. But there’s nothing, unless you happen to know of a respectable family that need a nursemaid and aren’t too choosy were she comes from.’

  ‘I’ll make enquiries,’ James promised, knowing there was little hope. ‘I wish … I wish sincerely that I had never involved you in my inquiries but I never imagined …’ he trailed into silence.

  There was an awkward pause, then Lizzie said, ‘Did he find her – Mr Kean, was it? – did he find Angelina?’

  ‘Not so far,’ James said. ‘We … we are still working on it.’

  ‘That’s terrible! Whatever can have happened to her?’

  ‘We don’t know, but we hope someone has taken her in and is looking after her.’

  ‘Oh, I do pray they have! Poor little girl. Dumped here and then adopted by people who treated her so badly. She deserves something better.’ She turned to the copper-skinned woman who was hovering nearby. ‘Dora, you’ve been here a few years, haven’t you. Do you ever remember a little girl with golden hair who was left outside the gates one night?’

  The woman came closer. ‘Golden hair? Did you say her name was Angelina? There was a child they used to call Angel.’

  ‘Angel!’ James exclaimed. ‘Yes, that would be her? Did you know her?’

  ‘Not exactly, but I heard tell of her. There was a fire here, a few years back, in the girls’ dormitory. It turned out one of the girls had taken a child from the nursery up to bed with her – lord knows why – but when the fire broke out she gave the child to a friend and then went back to help another girl who was trapped. She got her hands burned a
nd so she was sent here to be treated. The governor had her and the other girl put in a room to themselves – well, the other one had been badly disfigured when a burning beam fell on her. But the first one, the one who went back to help, all she was worried about was the child she called Angel. Couldn’t wait to get out of here and go back to the nursery to make sure she was all right.’

  James gazed at her in amazement. ‘The girl, do you happen to remember her name?’

  ‘It was a long time ago. Mary, was it? Mabel? No, May! That was it.’ She looked at James. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Oh, it’s just that … I think I have met her – after she left here, of course.’ He did not know why he prevaricated, why he did not say outright that she was his fiancée. Some lingering sense of shame, a wish to dissociate the May he knew from this place, prevented him.

  Lizzie was staring at him in surprise and to change the subject he looked around him and said, ‘I admire you both for volunteering to work here. But conditions are not as bad as I expected.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have said that three years back,’ Dora said. ‘It was terrible then, but since Miss Grey came here there’s been a transformation. She’s a trained nurse, worked under Florence Nightingale down in London. Mr Rathbone persuaded her to come and work here and she’s done wonders.’

  ‘William Rathbone?’ James said. ‘I know his reputation well. He is one of our leading philanthropists.’

  ‘A very great man,’ Dora confirmed.

  A voice from further down the ward called querulously ‘Nurse!’ and Dora turned away. ‘I must get on. If Miss Grey catches me gossiping I’ll be for it.’ She smiled quickly at James. ‘I hope you find the little girl.’

  ‘I must get on, too,’ Lizzie said. ‘Thank you for coming to see me.’

  ‘Oh, please don’t thank me! I wish I could do more.’

  ‘Oh well, if you do happen to hear of someone who wants a nursemaid …’

  ‘I won’t forget,’ he assured her. He offered his hand and she shook it.

  Over dinner that night he raised the subject with his mother, with little hope of success. To his surprise she said, ‘As it happens, I can think of someone who might be interested. Jane Jackson came to see me the other day. Her daughter is married to Mark Winter and they are in desperation at the moment. They have three little ones, all under the age of five, and their maid has had to go off to look after her father, who was injured in an accident on the docks. I think they would be glad of anyone who would help out. It would only be temporary, of course, but it might be a fresh start for the poor girl. If you are sure that you can guarantee that she is reliable.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I’m sure she is.’ James did not know how he could be so sure, but he did not stop to question the fact.

  Next day he called on the Winters and explained the situation, glossing over the reason why Lizzie had lost her job and simply saying that the girl she had been looking after had been sent away to school, making her redundant. Mark Winter went to the workhouse to interview Lizzie and twenty-four hours later she was happily installed in charge of the three little ones.

  Nothing more was said about the partnership with Weaver and Woolley over the next days and James wrestled with a variety of different concerns. First and foremost was the question of how best to respond to his employer’s offer. Apart from his unwillingness to hurt Weaver’s feelings, he sensed that once he had turned it down the atmosphere in the office would change. He would no longer be the up-and-coming pupil, but would be seen as an ungrateful dog who could no longer be trusted. As well as this, now that Weaver had recalled the quest for Angelina to his mind, he was worried about what might have happened to Richard, particularly in view of what he had learned about McBride’s recent activities. On top of everything, it was clear that his mother’s health was failing and she required more care and attention than he was able to provide. It was getting too much for Flossie as well, so he decided that the time had come to employ nurses, one for the daytime and another for the nights.

  He continued to accept invitations to concerts and parties, as a much-needed reprieve from his worries. It was always as part of a group of friends, but once or twice he was surprised to find himself left alone with Prudence. One evening he walked her home after a concert and she asked him to come in while she found a book she had promised to lend him. Her parents had gone to bed and when she had handed him the book there was a hiatus, during which they looked at each other in silence. She was looking exceptionally beautiful that night and he found himself wrestling with an impulse to kiss her. Something told him that he would not be repulsed, but he controlled himself. If he let that happen, there could be only one outcome.

  Next evening he was sitting beside his mother’s bed, reading to her, when she put her hand over the book.

  ‘That’s enough for tonight. I want to talk to you.’

  ‘What about, Mama?’

  ‘About Prudence.’

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘She has been to see me once or twice, you know, with her mother.’

  ‘Yes, you told me.’

  ‘Such a pretty girl! And so accomplished. She will be an ornament to any man’s home.’

  James was beginning to feel uneasy. ‘I’m sure you’re right, Mama.’

  She reached out and gripped his hand, with a strength that surprised him. ‘There will be plenty of young men eager to carry her off. Don’t wait too long or you will lose her.’

  The words struck James like a slap on the face. He had been so glad to abandon his cloistered way of life and enjoy the companionship of his friends that he had sleep-walked into what he now realised was a very compromising situation. His mother was assuming that he intended to marry Prue. Was everyone else thinking the same? Was Prudence expecting it?

  He murmured some soothing platitudes to his mother and settled her down for the night, then sought his own bed; but he had little sleep.

  Next morning the same dilemma revolved itself in his brain. Had he gone too far to draw back? What would the consequences be if he did? How could he manage to convey to Prudence that all he wanted from her was her friendship and her company? How much pain would that cause? He was still brooding over that next morning as he sorted through the mail that was waiting on the doormat when he arrived at the office. He was brought up short by a letter personally addressed to him. It was not stamped and must have been hand delivered but he recognised the handwriting.

  ‘Richard!’ he exclaimed aloud. ‘Thank God!’

  He opened the letter and found a hastily scrawled note inside.

  James.

  I am in dire need of your assistance. I have been kidnapped and am being held to ransom. The sum demanded is £100, which I can meet, just, from my own resources, but under the circumstances I am unable to draw on them. I know you will not be able to lay your hands on such a sum, but perhaps Mr Weaver will be able to oblige. I can promise to reimburse him when I am free.

  If you can raise the money you must bring it as soon as possible to the Gresham Hotel in Sackville Street, Dublin. Tell the desk clerk that you have a delivery for Mr Macready and you will be contacted. Do not go to the police or the authorities if you wish to see me alive.

  I apologise for putting you to this trouble, but I fear that if you cannot come to my assistance things will go hard with me.

  Your friend,

  Richard Kean

  James rushed into his superior’s office without pausing to knock and thrust the letter in front of him. Weaver read it through, grim-faced.

  ‘By God, I was afraid of something like this. I smell McBride’s hand behind this.’

  ‘You’re right, I’m sure,’ James agreed, ‘though I’m surprised it’s a case of ransom. I would have expected something … well something more radical.’

  ‘Murder, you mean? So would I. But we must be grateful for small mercies.’

  ‘Can you find the money?’

  ‘Oh yes, no problem there. But I don’
t like the idea of sending you to deliver it.’

  ‘Why? It has to be me. I’m ready to go.’

  ‘I just wonder if this isn’t some ploy of McBride’s to secure you both at one go. Once you are in Ireland what’s to stop his associates, whoever they are, disposing of both of you?’

  James swallowed and cleared his throat. There was a good deal of sense in Weaver’s remark. ‘I have to take that chance,’ he said. ‘We dare not involve anyone else. If we did and Richard paid the price I should never forgive myself.’

  Weaver frowned in indecision for a moment, then he nodded grimly. ‘You are right, and I applaud your courage. Can you be ready to take the night boat?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Go home and make what preparations you need. When you get back here I shall have the money for you.’

  James did as he was bid. He told his mother that he had to go away for a couple of nights on business, without giving any further details, and made sure that the nurses knew exactly what to do in his absence. As he kissed his mother goodbye, it occurred to him that it might be for the last time.

  By nightfall he was on board the ferry, with a bulky parcel wrapped in brown paper in a briefcase under his arm.

  Twenty

  James entered the lobby of the Gresham Hotel with a queasiness in his stomach that was not just the after-effects of a rough crossing. He went to the desk and told the clerk that he had a delivery for Mr Macready, and the man told him that he was expected and should go up to room 201. Outside the door he stood for a moment, trying to slow his racing heartbeat; then he knocked and was told to enter.

  There was only one man in the room, to James’s relief – a middle-aged, respectable-looking chap. He rose from an easy chair as James entered and extended his hand, as if this were just an ordinary business meeting.