The Workhouse Girl (13 page)

She nodded, although it was untrue; she could not have felt worse. All her hopes of returning home had been cruelly dashed and, yet again, the workhouse master's evil influence had blighted her life. She took a deep breath. ‘Did she mention Nettie?'

‘Not in so many words, but she did say that they all missed you, and would rest easier now they knew you were all right.'

‘But I'd rather go home, Grey. I like Miss Elsie well enough but it's lonely out here on the marshes and she acts oddly after she's smoked that funny pipe of hers and she goes out at night, dancing about in the moonlight. I've seen her.' Sarah lowered her voice. ‘And sometimes she forgets to put any clothes on.'

He threw back his head and laughed. ‘That sounds like the sort of thing the mad woman would do.'

‘It's not funny,' Sarah said angrily. ‘I don't belong here, Grey. If I went back to Wellclose Square I wouldn't need to have lessons from Miss Parfitt. I could go out cleaning like my mother used to do, and I'd give my wages to Mrs Arbuthnot to pay for my keep.'

‘We'll have to wait and see how it goes, nipper.' He linked her hand through the crook of his arm. ‘I'll keep an eye on you from now on. I'll leave it awhile, but give it a couple of months and I'll pay another visit to Mrs Arbuthnot and see how matters have progressed. Maybe I can do something to help them.'

‘You'd do that for me?'

‘As I said before, I've felt guilty for my part in the Triggs' schemes and I want to make amends. I can't promise anything, but I won't abandon you here on the marsh with my mad aunt. On the other hand, she's not a bad old stick, and you could do worse than stay here for a while, especially while the Triggs are at large. I'll do everything I can to see them put away for a very long time.'

‘You told me that you were a bad man, but you were wrong, Grey. I think you're a good man pretending to be bad.'

He threw back his head and laughed. ‘That's the first time anyone's said that about me, kid. I don't think Elsie would agree with you.'

‘She calls you Tobias. Is that your real name?'

‘That's what I was christened, twenty-three years ago.' He came to a halt at the edge of the copse where Boxer had been waiting patiently. ‘Climb up on the cart and I'll show you how to handle the reins. We'll make a country woman out of you yet.'

‘Are you a country man, Grey?'

He picked her up and tossed her onto the seat, climbing up to sit beside her. ‘I was once, but now I'm a man from nowhere in particular.'

‘That sounds very lonely.'

He thrust the reins into her hands. ‘Tell Boxer to walk on. I'm hungry and Elsie makes good soup.'

Sarah flicked the reins. ‘Walk on, Boxer.' She uttered a cry of delight as the animal obeyed her command.

‘Give him his head,' Grey said, leaning back in the seat. ‘He knows the way.'

Grey left soon after he had finished his meal, promising to return soon. Sarah wished that he would stay longer, but there was barely room for her and Miss Elsie in the cottage and Grey's presence seemed to make everything seem smaller than usual and more crowded. It was not until the cart disappeared into the evening mist that the full impact of the disaster that had befallen the Arbuthnots began to dawn upon her. With the factory razed to the ground they would have lost their livelihood. They might even lose their home and what would happen to Nettie and the others then? If only she were older she might be able to help them, but if she tried to return home now she would only add to their burden. She leaned on the railing watching the fingers of fog curling around the reed beds and swallowing up the tufts of sedge. She shivered as the sea fret chilled her bones and she was about to go indoors when a shout from the marsh made her turn her head, and she saw Davey Hawkes leaping from tussock to tussock as he crossed the boggy ground. ‘Ho there, Sarah. It's me, Davey.'

She waved and waited eagerly for him to join her on the deck. He dumped a creel at her feet. ‘Herring,' he said breathlessly. ‘Is the old lady in? My dad needs some of her linctus for his cough. He was took bad again last night.'

‘Come inside.' Sarah glanced at the wicker basket. ‘We'll leave it out here where it's cooler.'

‘There's a dozen or more fish. The ones you don't eat can be salted or pickled, if you know how.'

‘I don't, but I'm sure Miss Elsie does.' Sarah opened the door. ‘Miss Elsie, there's someone to see you.'

‘What do you want, boy?' Elsie peered at him. ‘It's Davey Hawkes, isn't it?'

‘Yes, miss.'

‘Your father's poorly again?'

‘It's his chest, miss. He can't sleep for coughing.'

She frowned. ‘Has he seen the doctor?'

‘Can't afford it, miss.'

She rose from her chair and selected a bottle from the shelf above the mantelpiece. She thrust it into his hand. ‘This will help.'

‘Thank you, miss.' He clutched the medicine in his hand, shifting from foot to foot.

‘Was there something else, boy?'

‘I'm worried he might have the same disease that took Ma and me brothers.'

‘I'm not a physician, but I've seen many cases of consumption, Davey.' Elsie moderated her tone. ‘I think that your father is suffering from bronchitis or bronchial catarrh, which is debilitating but not fatal.'

Davey's grin almost split his face in two. ‘Thank you, miss. It's been difficult at home since Ma was took.'

‘That's very sad,' Sarah murmured, knowing only too well the suffering caused by the loss of a beloved parent. She wanted to give him a hug, but decided against it as Davey was a big boy and might not appreciate the gesture.

‘You are the eldest child, are you not?' Elsie said thoughtfully.

‘I am, miss.'

She took another bottle from the shelf. ‘Laudanum, Davey. Your father will know how much to take.'

‘Does that cost more than a dozen herring, miss?'

‘There's no need to worry about that, but you could do something for me in return.'

‘What's that, miss?'

‘I believe your father has use of a vehicle when he takes the catch to market.'

‘The fishermen have an arrangement with the butcher. He lets them borrow his horse and cart on market days in return for part of the catch.'

‘Do you think you could drive me there next week? If I can sell my stock of medicines I'll be able to buy some much needed supplies. Would that be possible?'

‘It would, miss. Can Sarah come too?'

Sarah clapped her hands. ‘Oh, please say yes.'

A rare smile creased Elsie's features. ‘I suppose so.'

As he had promised, Davey arrived on market day to drive Sarah and Elsie to Maldon. The butcher's cart was stacked with wicker baskets filled with glassy-eyed fish which smelled of the sea, but a lingering odour of animal fat and dried blood emanated from the scrubbed boards. Wedged between Davey and Miss Elsie on the driver's seat, Sarah was too excited to care about minor discomforts and she was filled with the simple joy of being out and about on a beautiful day. The narrow lanes had been touched by the magic of springtime, and the whole world seemed to be coming alive again. The stark black branches of the blackthorn were disappearing beneath a creamy-white burst of blossom, and hazel catkins danced in the breeze. In the fields ploughed furrows were misted with green shoots and the sun shone from a cloudless sky.

For the first time since she had been snatched from her home in Wellclose Square, Sarah felt a surge of optimism well up inside her, and she wanted to sing like the skylark hovering overhead. When they arrived in town it was a relief to climb down from the cart and stretch her legs. The market was already in full swing and Davey had barely finished unloading the fish before they were surrounded by eager customers. Many of them had come to see Elsie and she was soon lost in a press of people who wanted her attention and advice. She listened patiently as each one described their symptoms and revealed a variety of rashes, septic cuts and swollen limbs. She prescribed the appropriate medication and some paid with cash while others struck a bargain with goods. This, Sarah discovered, was how Miss Elsie came to have such a wide selection of second-hand clothes. The baker's wife complained of crippling headaches and insomnia and was willing to exchange a bundle of her daughter's outgrown clothing in return for a bottle of medicine made from meadowsweet, and another containing a tincture of valerian.

Sarah could not wait to examine the clothes and to her delight she found herself the proud possessor of an almost new cotton print gown, a red flannel petticoat similar to the one that Mrs Trigg had taken from her and a crocheted shawl that was very nearly perfect, apart from a few moth holes.

By midday Elsie had either sold or bartered her entire stock and she treated them to hot pies from the bakery. She had even been moved to give Sarah a halfpenny to spend on sweets, and after much indecision Sarah purchased a poke of barley sugar and some peppermint creams.

Davey had sold all the fish, although most of the money would go to the other fishermen. He offered to pay for his food but Elsie waved the coins aside, telling him that it was in payment for transport to and from the market. ‘We will eat like kings when we get home,' she said, heaving a sack of potatoes into the trap. ‘And tomorrow, Sarah, I'm going to take you for a long walk and we'll collect the plants I need for my medicines. You may come too, young Davey, if you are not going out in your father's boat.'

‘Thank you, Miss Elsie,' he said with an apologetic smile. ‘But I'm to crew for Saul Samson until my dad's well enough to go to sea again.'

Sarah was quick to hear the note of despair in his voice and she patted him on the shoulder. ‘You will come and see us again, won't you?'

‘I'll need medicine for Dad, so I expect you'll be seeing a lot of me from now on.'

Elsie hitched up her skirts and climbed into the trap. ‘Your father is a good man, Davey. If you need more medicine for him you only have to ask.'

‘My dad's a proud man. He won't take what he can't pay for.'

‘Then I will visit him at home and give him a talking-to. In fact, I'll call in first thing tomorrow morning and Sarah will accompany me. It's time she met the locals.'

The Hawkes family lived in one of the terraced weatherboard cottages that overlooked the creek and the wooden landing stage where the larger boats and barges unloaded their cargoes. Elsie walked purposefully down the main street of Blackwood village, acknowledging a group of women who were chatting while they waited to take their turn at the village pump. Sarah followed more slowly, taking in the scene, which was new and strange to her. Used as she had been to the noise and stench of the crowded city streets, this quiet backwater came as something of a surprise. Life seemed to move at a much slower pace in the country, but there was poverty here too albeit in pleasanter surroundings.

Cats basked lazily in the sunshine as if sleeping off the night's excesses of hunting and gorging on small rodents, largely ignoring the group of small children who were playing a game of tag. They were grubby and their clothes were patched and shabby, but they did not have the hungry feral look of the ragged urchins that Sarah had seen in London. She smiled at a tousle-haired child in petticoats who could have been a girl or a boy, and received a blank look in return. The others stopped in the middle of their game to gaze curiously at Elsie, who was wearing boots and breeches. She strode along like a man, but her flame-coloured hair hung loose around her shoulders in a riot of tangled curls. Her androgynous appearance was confusing to say the least and Sarah could hardly blame them for staring.

Oblivious to anything other than her own purpose, Elsie marched up to the cottage and knocked on the door. When no one answered she lifted the latch and went inside. Sarah made to follow her but she hesitated on the threshold, blinking as her eyes grew accustomed to the dim light. The room was simply furnished with a table, two chairs and several three-legged stools. In the far corner she could just make out the figure of a man lying on a bed covered with a tattered patchwork quilt. The air was thick with dust and the smell of unwashed bodies, stale food and sour milk.

A girl of about five or six was sitting on the packed earth floor playing with a wooden doll that had lost one arm. She jumped up and ran to the bed. ‘Dada, there's someone here.'

He raised himself on his elbows, peering into the shaft of light from the open door. ‘Is that you, Elsie Fitch?'

‘Yes, Alfred.'

‘I don't owe you any money, do I?'

‘Certainly not. Your son paid me in kind for the medicines. I've come to see if there's anything I can do for you or your children while you're unwell.'

A bout of coughing prevented him from answering immediately and the little girl snatched a tin mug from the table and held it to his lips. ‘Have a sip, Dada.'

He drank thirstily. ‘Thank you, Mary, love. You're a good girl.'

She puffed out her chest. ‘I'll look after you, Dada.'

Elsie beckoned to Sarah. ‘Would you take Mary outside for a moment, please? I need to speak to her father in private.'

Mary backed away. ‘I don't want to.'

‘But I've got some barley sugar in my pocket,' Sarah said, holding out her hand. ‘We could share it with your brothers, but I don't know their names. We don't want to give it just to anyone, do we?'

Mary shook her head.

‘I'll come out when I'm done,' Elsie said, shooing them out of the door. ‘Keep them occupied for a while.'

It was no hardship to escape from the confines of the stuffy room into the sunlit street and Sarah waited outside the cottage while Mary ran off to fetch her two younger brothers. A sudden feeling of sadness threatened to engulf her when she saw Mary pick up the smaller of the twins who had fallen over, comforting him with a hug and a kiss.