The Workhouse Girl (11 page)

Sarah screwed up her face and sipped the hot broth. It was surprisingly tasty and she smothered a sigh of relief. ‘It was the smell of the medicine, miss,' she said apologetically. ‘It turned my stomach.'

‘You'll get used to it. I make all my own remedies from herbs that I gather during my excursions into the countryside. I'll take you with me when the weather permits.' Miss Fitch laid her spoon down, staring hard at Sarah. ‘But if you prove to be lazy I will be very strict and punish you, and if you are stupid I will sell you to the raddle man. You know what he is, don't you?'

Trembling, Sarah pushed her plate away. ‘No, miss.'

‘He is red all over and folks say that he is the devil incarnate. If you are bad he will come and get you. Do you understand?'

‘Y-yes, miss.'

‘Good.' Miss Fitch stared at Sarah, chewing the tip of her finger with a thoughtful expression. ‘I think I might grow to like you, given time.'

Sarah decided that the safest option was to agree to everything this strange person said, and she nodded. ‘Yes, miss.'

Miss Fitch rose to her feet. ‘My name is Elsie Fortunata Fitch,' she proclaimed, flinging both arms open in a dramatic gesture. ‘But as I hate standing on ceremony you may call me Elsie. What is your name, girl?'

‘At the workhouse they called me Sal Scratch, but my name is Sarah Scrase and I'm not afraid of the raddle man.'

Elsie threw back her head and roared with laughter. ‘You may be just a child, Sarah Scrase, but you've got spirit. Finish your meal and then you can start helping me by clearing up some of this mess.' She jerked her head in the direction of the overloaded dresser and her bed in the corner, which was piled high with what looked to Sarah like rubbish. ‘There's no need to pull a face,' Elsie said sternly. ‘I may not be the tidiest person in the world, but I am a woman of science. I answered my calling when I was a girl and I have never regretted my decision to devote my life to healing the sick, whether they be human or animal.'

Sarah finished off her soup and wiped the bowl with the last of her bread. She stood up. ‘I'm ready, miss – I mean, Elsie.' She frowned. ‘Are you sure you want me to call you by your Christian name, miss?'

Elsie had moved to the range and was stirring yet another pan which was bubbling away on the hob. ‘Ah, but I'm not a Christian, Sarah. I am a child of the forest, a pagan princess. Herne the Hunter and the Greek god Pan are amongst those whom I worship.' She paused, waving the spoon in the air so that droplets of something brown and sticky fell onto the flames and ignited with a fizz and a pop. ‘I am kin to the green man and he shares his bounty with me.' She took the pan off the hob and made a dash for the table, setting it down on a charred wooden board. ‘Now find me some bottles, Sarah. There should be some on the dresser, or maybe I put them under my bed. On the other hand they might be outside on the deck.' She chuckled. ‘I call it the deck because my home is like a small boat, floating on the marsh.'

Sarah scuttled about, searching everywhere for the bottles and discovering them one by one in the most unexpected places. She set them in a neat row on the table and watched Elsie fill them from the saucepan, spilling more of the liquid than she was actually getting in the bottles. ‘What is that stuff, Miss Elsie?'

‘Miss Elsie! I rather like that title. It has a certain ring to it. You may call me that, Sarah, if it suits you better.'

‘Thank you, Miss Elsie.'

‘I do rather sound like a stage actress of some repute.' Elsie brushed her curtain of hair back from her forehead. ‘I was not always a recluse. I had a different life once upon a time, but that was many years ago before I turned my back on society, and men in particular.' She leaned towards Sarah, breathing heavily. ‘They're all rotten to the core, Sarah Scrase. They'll break your heart if you let them.'

Sarah decided that it would be wiser not to argue and she perched on the edge of a chair, leaning her elbows on the table and watching Elsie bottle the noxious-smelling brew. She still did not know what the mysterious elixir was, or what it was for, but her eyelids were growing heavy and her limbs felt leaden.

Elsie put the cork in the last bottle with a satisfied sigh. ‘There. This is my remedy for coughs and colds. It will soothe a sore throat and lull the sufferer into the arms of Morpheus.' She looked up, frowning. ‘You're half asleep already, child.'

‘We were travelling all night and it was cold. I wish Grey would come back.'

‘I've just told you that men are dangerous,' Elsie said sternly. ‘Keep away from the male of the species. They'll be nice to you until they get what they want and then they'll abandon you. Tobias won't be coming back until the spring when he brings me a fresh supply of things that can only be purchased in London. He has his uses, but like all of his gender, he is not to be trusted.'

Sarah nodded. ‘Yes. I mean, no.'

Elsie moved to Sarah's side just as she was about to slide off the seat. She lifted her in her arms and carried her to the bed where she dumped her unceremoniously on a pile of old clothes. ‘You can lie there for now,' she said, covering her with a greatcoat that smelled of rotten fish. ‘Tomorrow we'll arrange things differently, but I have work to do before I can rest.' She moved away and Sarah closed her eyes, sinking immediately into a deep and dreamless sleep.

In the weeks that followed Sarah realised that there was little or no chance of escaping from her present situation and returning to London. The vast expanse of saltings was covered twice daily by the incoming tide, and the marsh interlaced with channels of brackish water created an effective prison. The cart track was the only route to freedom, but as far as she could remember it was several miles to the nearest village.

She had to come to terms with the fact that she was ill-equipped to undertake the long journey back to London as she had neither money nor warm clothing, and the worst of the winter weather was yet to come. The garments that Mrs Trigg had forced upon her were no protection against the cold, and she dressed herself in oddments taken from the pile of clothing that Elsie used as bedding. These were moth-eaten and in desperate need of a wash, but that presented yet another problem. Water had to be fetched from a stream more than a mile away and it was too precious a commodity to waste in the washtub, which was used for anything other than the purpose for which it was originally intended. Elsie's personal hygiene was questionable, but Sarah had been brought up to value cleanliness. ‘We might be poor,' her mother had often said, ‘but it costs us nothing to keep clean.' This, Sarah thought now, might have been a slight exaggeration, but she could recall her mother's work-worn hands, chapped and sore from constant washing and scrubbing floors, and she vowed that she would never let Ma down. All she had now of her early years were memories of days before they were forced into the workhouse, and she clung to them steadfastly.

Every morning as she trudged across the marsh to fetch fresh water she hoped that Ma was looking down at her from heaven with a smile of approval. Even in the worst weather she washed her hands and face in the cool spring water before filling two wooden buckets and hefting them back to the place she now called home. Her next duty was to follow the track to the edge of the marsh where stunted trees and bushes grew in abundance. She collected wood for the fire and stacked it on a pallet, securing it with a length of rope which she then tied around her waist, dragging her load homewards like a beast of burden.

It was only at night, when she lay on a straw-filled palliasse by the range and settled down to sleep, that she allowed herself to think of Nettie and everyone in the Arbuthnots' house in Wellclose Square. She struggled with the agonising pangs of homesickness and tried hard not to give way to tears. She wondered if they missed her, or if they had given her up for lost. In the beginning she had looked out across the marshes, hoping to see a search party scouring the countryside in their efforts to find her, but no one came. There was only Miss Elsie, who with her labours for the day ended would sit in the rickety rocking chair by the range, smoking a strange-looking pipe, the detachable bowl of which she heated over a small lamp before putting it back on a bamboo stem and inhaling the vapour. It was not long before she sank into a state of oblivion and Sarah would eventually fall asleep.

One cold winter's morning when she had nothing better to occupy her time, Sarah was tidying the dresser when she discovered some writing paper in one of the drawers and a bottle of ink. She waited until Elsie had left the cottage to go outside and commune with nature, which she did regardless of the weather, and, safe in the knowledge that she would be undisturbed, she wrote to Mr Arbuthnot, begging him to come and take her home. The only problem was that she had no way of getting the letter to him. She shed a few tears and folded the note carefully before hiding it in her palliasse, although she feared that it would remain there for some time. Elsie had promised to take her to market when she made her next trip to the nearest town, but it had snowed heavily and now they would have to wait until the roads were passable.

By the end of February they were running out of rations and survived mainly on bread and vegetable soup. Elsie had a sack of flour stowed away in a cupboard and another filled with carrots, turnips and potatoes, but supplies were dwindling away. There were a few strings of onions still hanging from the beamed ceiling together with bunches of dried herbs, and the remains of a flitch of bacon smoked gently in the chimney breast. They would not starve, but their diet was frugal and monotonous. Occasionally Elsie braved the elements and made forays across the marshes to the estuary, where she bartered her potions for fresh fish. At first she went alone, but in March when the worst of the winter weather appeared to be over, she offered to take Sarah with her.

It was cold inside the cottage that morning, even though Sarah had lit the fire earlier than usual. The bitter east wind soughed through gaps in the weatherboard and a chill rose up from the floor. Her teeth were chattering as she made herself ready to go out, but she had to stifle a giggle at the sight of Miss Elsie dressed for the occasion in men's breeches and a leather jerkin with three multi-coloured woollen mufflers wound around her neck. This was comical enough, but her hair seemed to have a life of its own, and even with a man's felt hat pulled down over her ears Elsie's fiery locks managed to escape and twined snake-like around her weathered features.

Sarah knew that she had managed little better, and she was glad that there were no mirrors on the walls to confirm her suspicion that she looked just as odd as her mistress. She had searched the tangled mass of garments on Elsie's bed and discovered a red velvet gown, which must once have been someone's Sunday best but was now patched and threadbare. There was a hooded fur cape that had also seen better days and now resembled the pelt of a mangy fox, but it was warm and would protect her from the biting east wind.

As they set off in the pearl-grey light of dawn she could not help thinking that they must present a very odd sight as they trudged across the boggy terrain. It was hard going and her legs ached as she tried to keep up with Miss Elsie's mannish strides, but she knew better than to complain. They arrived at the muddy foreshore as the boats were being dragged onto the beach and unloaded. Seagulls hovered overhead in great white clouds of flapping wings, and their mournful cries filled the air as they waited for their chance to seize the odd fish. Elsie strode amongst the fishermen with her basket of medicines and to Sarah's astonishment they greeted her like an old and valued friend. They seemed eager to take her patent remedies for everything from warts to inflammation of the lungs and paid her with fish and a large crab, which she passed to Sarah. She took it gingerly but when the creature snapped its huge claws she dropped it onto the mud with a cry of fright. This caused the fishermen to guffaw with laughter and demand to know where the funny little maid had been living all her life.

‘Don't be a baby, Sarah,' Elsie said with an amused smile. ‘Pick it up. That's our supper tonight.'

Sarah bent down to retrieve it but the crab scuttled towards the water and as she attempted to chase it her boots became stuck in the mud. ‘Help,' she cried. ‘I'm sinking.'

Elsie merely laughed and turned back to haggle with a fisherman over the price of one of her nostrums. By this time the crab had reached the water and was swimming for its life, but the more Sarah struggled, the deeper she sank. She uttered a shriek of despair, thinking that she would be sucked into the morass, but suddenly a pair of arms seized her round the waist and she was dragged free and deposited on firm ground. She spun round to thank her rescuer only to discover that it was a boy of perhaps thirteen or fourteen and he was doubled up with laughter. ‘I'm glad you think it's funny,' she said crossly. ‘I could have drowned.'

He shook his head. ‘I never seen anything the likes of you before. I thought you was a funny little dwarf or something.'

‘I'm a girl. My name is Sarah Scrase and you are very rude.'

‘Well, young Sarah, you got to admit you look a bit comical in that garb.' He held out his hand. ‘Davey Hawkes.'

His smile was infectious and she shook his hand. ‘Thank you for saving me.'

‘It was nothing, but I'm afraid you lost your supper. Looks like the crab got away, but I daresay I could find you another one.'

Sarah recoiled at the thought. ‘Maybe not.'

‘I'll tie its pincers up and then it won't snap at you.' He went over to one of the boats and leaned in to pick up an even larger crab. ‘This one will be tasty.' He proceeded to tie the claws with lengths of twine. ‘Here, you can take it now.'

She did not want him to think she was a coward, but she did not like the way the animal was waving its legs and swivelling its eyes in obvious distress. She felt sorry for the poor creature and would have liked to return it to the water so that it could swim free again. She could sympathise with its plight, which was similar to her own. She was just like that crab when it was out of its element. She too was in a strange place and did not fit in. She found herself longing for the cobbled, gaslit city streets, and the smell of hot molasses that wafted from the sugar mills in Wellclose Square. At this moment she would have swapped the sharp, briny air for a pea-souper, and a crippling wave of homesickness washed over her. She bit the inside of her lip so that she would not let herself down by crying in front of the grinning boy, and she held out her hand. ‘All right. Give it to me then. I'm not afraid.'