Workhouse Angel

by Holly Green

‘I suppose so,’ she said doubtfully.

  ‘If he’s lonely and wants a little cuddle, where’s the harm in that? And he sends you wonderful presents, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And it wouldn’t surprise me if he didn’t give you something even better than sweets and flowers, when he gets to know you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ she repeated.

  ‘Come along, let’s get you back to the lodgings. You look worn out,’ Ma said. ‘I’ve got a treat for you when we get back. A nice cup of hot chocolate to help you sleep.’

  The following evening she was sent for again to meet Mr George. He asked her to sit on his lap again and when she did so he reached into his waistcoat pocket and produced a slender box.

  ‘See what I have for you here?’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Open it and see.’

  She opened the box and found a necklace of pearls. ‘Oh! It’s beautiful! Thank you.’ For a moment she forgot that he smelled of whisky and his moustache tickled and when he tapped the side of his face she kissed his cheek without being asked.

  ‘There. That’s good. Let me put it on for you.’

  He took the necklace and she felt his hands on the back of her neck. ‘So, turn round and let me look at you. Perfect! I knew pearls would be the right thing.’ He stroked her cheek. ‘They are real, you know. Not these artificial ones you can get these days.’

  ‘Of course they are,’ Finnegan put in. ‘We wouldn’t expect anything less from a gentleman like you, sir.’

  Angelina continued to sit on his lap. It would have been ungrateful to do anything else; but she grew increasingly uncomfortable. He had his arm round her and pulled her close against him and there was something hard pressing into her hip. He asked her if she knew any other songs and if she had ever performed with anyone except Finnegan’s company. Then he wanted to know if she had ever been to London. She shook her head.

  ‘Maybe I’ll take you there, one day,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t think I want to go there,’ she said.

  ‘What? Not go to one of the greatest cities in the world? You should see London! The theatres there are much bigger and the ladies and gentlemen who attend them are the cream of society. You would be amazed to see them in all their finery. And they would love you. You would have the whole city at your feet.’

  As soon as she could, she faked a yawn and Finnegan took the hint. ‘Our little angel is tired. I must take her home.’

  Mr George insisted on another kiss before he let her go, but finally, to her relief, she was out of the room. Ma threw up her hands in amazement at the sight of the pearls.

  ‘What did I tell you? That’s worth a few little kisses, isn’t it?’

  It was Catriona’s reaction, when she arrived at the theatre the next day wearing the pearls, that made her feel that perhaps they were indeed worth a few kisses.

  That night Mr George was not there, to her relief, but the next day was Sunday and at lunch Finnegan called her to his side and told her that she had been invited to take tea with him at the Gresham Hotel.

  ‘Do I have to go?’ she asked.

  ‘Don’t you want to? You don’t know what he might have for you this time.’

  ‘I don’t want him to keep giving me presents,’ she said. ‘I don’t really like him. I don’t like sitting on his lap.’

  ‘Listen,’ Finnegan said, ‘you have no idea where this could lead. A gentleman like that could open all sorts of doors for you. I mean he could introduce you to some very important people. Don’t you want to be a real star? Not just here, in this little company, but in London or America. With a voice like yours you could go anywhere, but you need the help of a rich man like Mr George. Just think, if you were to perform on the London stage, all sorts of young men would be queuing up to take you out to dinner – wealthy men, men with titles. You could marry into the aristocracy if you play your cards right. Now, run and put the lavender silk dress on. I think we may have to fit you out with a few new gowns at this rate.’

  They took a hansom cab to the hotel, an unusual extravagance. Angelina hoped that they would be sitting in the restaurant, where she saw other ladies and gentleman taking tea, but instead they were directed to a private room. Finnegan tapped on the door and when they received the invitation to enter he put his hand on her shoulder.

  ‘In you go. I’ll be back to collect you in an hour.’

  He gave her a push and before she could protest she was inside and the door was closed behind her. She was alone with Mr George.

  ‘Ah, here you are, my sweet,’ he said. ‘I’ve been waiting for you. Come over here and sit down.’

  There was a table laid for tea with a lavish selection of sandwiches and scones and cakes. Mr George pulled out a chair for her, as if she was a grown up lady, and she sat down.

  ‘Now, help yourself to whatever you like,’ he said, pouring tea into delicate china cups.

  The days were long gone when she had been glad to eat anything that Leary or Danny and the others could find or poach, but the normal fare at the lodgings where the company stayed was adequate but basic. Sandwiches of white bread with the crusts cut off and cream cakes were impossible to resist. Angelina decided that tea with Mr George was not as bad as she had thought it would be.

  He waited until she had eaten her fill – or rather more than that – and then moved away from the table to an easy chair.

  ‘Did you enjoy your tea?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Mr George.’

  ‘Good. Now come over here and see what I’ve got for you.’

  She went to him and he reached out and pulled her onto his lap.

  ‘Let’s see, I’ve got it somewhere. Now where did I put it?’ He pretended to hunt in his pockets and finally produced another box, smaller than the last one. ‘There, have a look in there.’

  She opened the box to disclose a brooch, set with sparkling stones.

  ‘That blue one is a sapphire,’ he told her, ‘and the little shiny ones are diamonds. Now what do you think of that?’

  She had heard her mother talk of the jewels her friends wore, usually comparing them disparagingly to those she owned, and she knew that sapphires and diamonds were very costly. ‘It’s lovely,’ she said, ‘but I think it’s too expensive for me. I should be afraid to lose it.’

  ‘What a clever little creature it is!’ Mr George said. ‘You are right, of course. This isn’t something you could wear every day. But one day, when you are a great lady, you will need things like this.’

  ‘I shan’t be a great lady,’ she said, with a giggle.

  ‘Oh yes, you will, if I have anything to do with it. I tell you what, suppose I keep it safe for you, until you are a little older? Is that a good idea?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said with relief. ‘I think it is.’

  ‘But then you won’t have had a present for today.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Oh yes it does. See that box on the table over there? Why don’t you look inside that and see what you find.’

  She slid off his lap and went to the table. Inside the box was a bonnet of fine straw, decorated with blue flowers and silk ribbons.

  ‘Oh, it’s beautiful!’

  ‘Try it on. That’s right. It suits you perfectly. Come here and let me tie the ribbon for you.’

  She went to him and he tied the ribbons under her chin, then cupped her face in his hand.

  ‘That’s worth a kiss, isn’t it?’ She reached up and gave him a peck on the cheek. ‘No, I mean a proper kiss. Like this.’

  He slipped his hand round the back of her neck and pressed his mouth hard against hers, so hard that she felt her lips parting and then his tongue, wet and slimy, in her mouth. She struggled but he held on to her and his other hand, hot and clammy, slid under her skirt and gripped her buttock.

  ‘Now then,’ he whispered, still holding her, ‘you’ve had a lovely present and there are plenty mo
re where that came from. All you have to do is be nice to your Uncle George. It’s not much to ask, is it?’

  ‘Let me go! Let me go!’ she sobbed. ‘I’m going to be sick!’

  His grasp slackened for a moment and she twisted away and threw up into the box that had contained the bonnet.

  ‘Now then!’ he exclaimed. ‘This won’t do. This is no way to behave when someone gives you a treat. Come along. Wipe your mouth and have a drink of water. You’ll be well enough in a moment.’

  He gave her a clean handkerchief and she wiped her face and took a sip of the water he offered her. She knew she needed to get away, but she was afraid that if she tried to leave he would prevent her.

  ‘Too many cream cakes,’ he said severely. ‘You will have to learn when enough is enough.’ His tone became conciliatory, almost wheedling. ‘Don’t worry about it. Come and sit on my knee again and we’ll have a nice little cuddle.’

  She backed towards the door. ‘I want to go home.’

  ‘You can’t go until Mr Finnegan comes to fetch you. You can’t go back on your own. You’ll get lost.’

  ‘I’ll wait for him downstairs.’

  ‘The hotel people will not like that. They will want to know what you are doing. Now, be a good girl and come and sit down.’

  ‘I’ll sit here, then.’ She took a chair on the far side of the table.

  He shook his head reproachfully. ‘I really thought better of you than this. Such an ungrateful girl! Don’t you want the beautiful brooch? Look, here.’ He took the brooch out of his pocket and held it out to her. ‘I tell you what. Why don’t you keep it, after all. You can show it to your friends and make them jealous. I’ll wager no one else gets presents like this.’

  ‘I don’t want it.’

  His tone changed. ‘You are being a very foolish child, you know. There are many, many girls who would love to have a rich uncle who gives them presents like this. And I’ve told you, I can make you a star, a real star. Don’t you want to go to London and perform in a big theatre? You will live in first-rate hotel, or perhaps have a beautiful house of your own, and have a carriage with white horses to pull it and rich young men falling at your feet and asking you to marry them. Wouldn’t you like that?’

  She bit her lips and looked at the floor. The prospect he painted was tempting, but was the price too high?

  ‘Well?’ he said. ‘What do you say to your Uncle George? All he wants is a little cuddle.’

  She got up. ‘Very well. But I don’t want you to kiss me again like that. I didn’t like it.’

  ‘Then I won’t do it again, I promise. Come here.’

  She let him pull her onto his lap again and he folded her close and jogged her up and down as if she was riding a horse, singing a song about a ‘galloping major’. The movement made her feel sick again, but she endured it without complaint until, to her enormous relief, Finnegan appeared at the door to take her home.

  ‘Take her home, Finnegan,’ George said smoothly. ‘She’s been a little unwell. Too many cream cakes, I’m afraid. Show Mr Finnegan the brooch, darling.’

  She showed him and could see he was surprised and impressed. His manner to Mr George became almost obsequious.

  ‘Well, sweetheart, we’ll meet again soon,’ George said. ‘Kiss me good bye for now.’

  She pecked his cheek and hastily drew back and he laughed. ‘Such a shy little thing! Run along now.’

  Outside in the street Finnegan said, ‘Well, aren’t you a lucky girl?’

  ‘I don’t like him!’ she said fiercely. ‘He tried to kiss me. He put his tongue in my mouth. That’s why I was sick, not because of the cakes.’

  ‘Oh?’ Finnegan looked taken aback. ‘Did he? Did you tell him you didn’t like it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He said he wouldn’t do it again.’

  ‘Well, there you are then.’

  ‘I don’t want to go back there.’

  ‘Listen, Maeve, he’s given you that brooch and the necklace. You mustn’t be ungrateful. I’m sure he won’t kiss you like that again.’

  In the hackney cab she sat back in her corner in silence. She did not want to have to spend more time with Mr George, but it was hard to see how she could get out of it. She began to cry, silently.

  When they reached the lodgings, Ma took one look at her face and exclaimed, ‘Goodness me, whatever is the matter? Are you ill?’

  ‘He gave her cream cakes for tea and she ate a few to many,’ Finnegan said, with a chuckle.

  ‘It’s not that!’ Angelina cried. ‘I don’t like that man. I don’t want to see him again, ever!’

  She ran upstairs and slammed the door of her bedroom. Inside, she tore off the pretty bonnet and, throwing herself on the bed, wept as she had not done for many months.

  Later, when she was calmer, she heard Finnegan and Ma talking. Their room was next to hers and the walls were not thick, and it was clear that they were having an argument.

  ‘I want to know just what you think you are doing with that poor child,’ Ma said.

  ‘Nothing. Nothing wrong, anyway,’ Finnegan responded. ‘She doesn’t know how lucky she is.’

  ‘Lucky?’

  ‘Yes. This could be the making of her – and of us.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Think about it. She’s got the talent to go to the very top, but she won’t get there without help, the sort of help a man like that can give her – a man with money and influence and important friends. If he decides to take her up, the sky’s the limit. And, as her manager, I go with her. That means us, Ma! No more flogging round the countryside with this crew of second-rate talent, trying to scrape a living. No more cheap lodging houses. The best of everything – first-class hotels, fine dresses for you, champagne, whatever you fancy.’

  ‘And for that you would sell that sweet child’s innocence to an old roué like that? Shame on you, Michael Finnegan. That’s all I can say. Shame on you! I want no part of it and I won’t stand by and let it happen.’

  A door banged and feet stamped downstairs and then there was silence.

  Later that evening, Ma came into Angelina’s room with some soup and a slice of bread.

  ‘I don’t suppose you want much to eat, love, but try to get this down you.’

  Angelina sat up on the bed and took the bowl. ‘Thank you, Ma.’

  Ma was silent for a moment, then she said, ‘You don’t like Mr George, then?’

  ‘He’s horrible. He put his tongue in my mouth.’

  ‘Did he, so?’ Ma’s tone was grim. ‘Well, you don’t have to see him again if you don’t want to.’

  ‘Don’t I?’ Angelina’s mood brightened. ‘Really?’

  ‘Really. But if you are not going to see him, I think we should send back the jewellery he has given you, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose we should.’

  ‘Give it to me, then, and I’ll see he gets it back. You don’t need to have any more to do with it.’

  Angelina felt in the little bag she had carried with her and found the brooch. Then she fetched the pearls from the dressing table and handed them over. She was happy to part with the brooch but she couldn’t help regretting the pearls.

  ‘What about the bonnet?’ she asked.

  Ma smiled. ‘I think you could keep the bonnet. Call it a reward for services rendered.’

  For the next few days Finnegan was morose and uncommunicative, but the performances went on as usual and to Angelina’s great relief there was no sign of Mr George. Whether Ma had taken it upon herself to return his gifts and tell him that the relationship was at an end or whether Finnegan had done it, she never knew.

  On the last evening of their engagement in Dublin, Finnegan called the whole company together before the curtain went up. His whole expression was transformed. His eyes sparkled and here was a broad grin on his lips.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I have some wonderful news. Last night there was a
manager from an English theatre in the audience and he was so impressed with the show that he has offered us an engagement over there. I need hardly tell you that this could be the beginning of great things for all of us. On the eighth of October, we open in the Cambridge Music Hall, Liverpool.’

  Twenty Three

  Freshfields

  Rutherglen

  Australia

  July 25th 1868

  Dearest James,

  I read your letter, which I received today, with great excitement. A letter from you is always a cause for celebration, but this one gave me an extra pleasure. How wonderful that Angel’s father has returned to look for her after all these years! I never believed that the McBride’s were her real parents, or that she was his brother’s child. No one could have looked less like a member of that family.

  It is sad that Mr Kean had not been able to see her when you wrote, but as you say in your letter she must have come home from school for the holidays and the McBride’s can hardly keep her shut away, so I expect he has seen her now. But that may not have been enough to persuade the McBride’s to let her go. I do understand the problem of proving that she is the same child that I looked after in the workhouse. If only I had had the skill – or the materials – to draw her then! I have done a little sketch of her as I remember her as a baby, and again as she was on that fateful day when Mrs McBride brought her into Freeman’s and I recognised her. (I say fateful, because after all it was the first time I saw you, and it was the fuss Mrs M. made about it that brought us together. If you had not had the idea of getting your mother to persuade all her friends to write to Mr Freeman on my behalf, I should have been sacked for sure.) I will enclose the sketches, but do remember that they are done from memory so they may not be accurate.

  There is one more thing that might help. When Angel was left at the workhouse she was clutching a rag doll. She called it Raggy and adored it, would not sleep without it; but when she was adopted it was left behind. I don’t think I ever told you about the fire in the dormitory, did I? I had taken Angel to sleep in my bed. It was against the rules, of course, but she was causing so much trouble in the nursery, crying all night, that the woman in charge turned a blind eye. I don’t know how the fire started, but I woke up to find the room full of smoke. I gave Angel to Patty – you remember my friend Patty? – and then I stopped to help one of the other girls. I got burnt – not badly but enough to mean that I was sent to the infirmary. I was desperate to get out and make sure Angel was all right. I’ll never forget how I felt when I finally got to the nursery and was told she had been taken away, and no one would tell me where she had gone or who had taken her. They found the rag doll in my bed when they were clearing up after the fire and thought it was mine. I kept it as a memento, until I saw her again in Freeman’s shop. I knew it was her. I would have recognised her anywhere. I gave it back to her, that day I followed her to the park with her nursemaid. She was playing hide and seek with some other children and I found her crouching under a bush. I hoped she would recognise me, but of course she didn’t. She just took the doll and ran back to her nursemaid. I have put it into the sketch, to see if Mr Kean recognises it. If you get a chance, ask if she still has it. If she does, it would be absolute proof that she is the child I cared for in the workhouse.