The Workhouse Girl (24 page)

‘I can hear footsteps. I think our time is up.' Moorcroft placed his arm around her shoulders. ‘I'll take care of everything, Tobias. I did nothing to help Elsie when she was alive and this will be my way of making amends. It's the least I can do.'

The turnkey appeared in the doorway. ‘Time's up. Back to the ward, mister.'

Grey's brave attempt at a smile made Sarah want to cry, but she made a conscious attempt to look cheerful as he was led away. She did not speak until they were safely outside the gates. ‘How will we help him, Mr Moorcroft? He shouldn't have to pay more money to Trigg. It's just not fair.'

‘Indeed it's not, but that would be for a court to decide. The most pressing matter at the moment is to get Tobias out of jail. I'll speak to Mr Fitch again, although I don't hold out much hope, and I'll have a word with my brother. The Court of Probate Act of 1857 decreed that all wills must be sent for probate, thus avoiding long and costly disputes in Chancery. I think it quite possible that Tobias is her principal beneficiary and that in itself will help him out of his present difficulties, but what are we to do for you?'

‘I could return to Blackwood, sir. I have good friends there who would take me in, but I can't abandon Mrs Arbuthnot. The poor lady has suffered terribly on my account. Her husband might be alive today if it weren't for me.' She gulped and swallowed, giving way to the tears that she had been desperately trying to hold back.

Moorcroft took a spotless white handkerchief from his pocket. ‘Take this and dry your eyes, my dear. Don't give way to despair just yet. I must return to my office, but you'll be hearing from me either this evening or first thing in the morning. I'll send you back to Wellclose Square in a cab.'

‘I think I should go to Wych Street first, sir. I must get Grey's things and make sure that Boxer is being cared for properly. He'll need his horse and cart when he comes out of prison.'

Moorcroft raised his hand to hail a cab. ‘That can wait until tomorrow. Leave matters with me today and go back to your friends before they start worrying about you.' He waited until the hansom drew to a halt. ‘Take this young lady to Wellclose Square, please, cabby.' He pressed some coins into the man's outstretched hand. ‘See her safely to the house.'

‘You took your time,' Nettie said, wiping her sticky fingers on her apron. ‘I just finished the last scrap of cake, but there weren't much left anyway. You'd think the mourners hadn't eaten nothing for weeks. They fell on the grub like bleeding gannets.'

Sarah gazed at the empty plates on the dining table and her stomach rumbled. ‘It's all right. I'm not hungry.' She moved aside as Dorcas bustled past her carrying a pile of crockery.

‘Where've you been, young Sarah? It wasn't very respectful of you to waltz off like that so soon after the poor master was laid to rest.'

‘I'm sorry, Dorcas. I was hoping to find us somewhere to go tomorrow.'

‘Well you needn't have bothered. We're not leaving here. We're going to lock the doors and Franz has promised to bring some of the sugar bakers to stand outside and fend off Trigg and his bullies. Let's see who comes out on top then.' Dorcas marched out of the room with the light of battle in her eyes.

‘She's not right in the head,' Nettie said as the door closed. ‘Trigg will send the bailiffs in and then the missis will lose everything. It'll finish her off, mark my words.'

Sarah slumped down on one of the mahogany dining chairs. ‘I tried my best, really I did. I went to see Mr Fitch and he all but threw me out of the house, and then his solicitor, a nice man called Moorcroft, took me to see Grey in prison.'

‘He never did?' Nettie's green eyes widened in astonishment. ‘So that's where you've been all day?'

‘Yes. But we didn't get very far. I saw Grey and he looked awful. I don't think he'd eaten for days and he certainly hadn't washed, and him so particular about his personal cleanliness.'

‘We've got more to worry about than whether or not your bloke's had a wash,' Nettie said, wiping her fingers on a napkin. ‘Anyway, I've done me bit for the mistress and now I've got to get back to the theatre. We've got a show tonight.'

Sarah thought quickly. ‘I'll come with you.'

‘You'd be safer staying here where the others can keep an eye on you.'

‘I don't care what Mr Moorcroft said. I'm going to make sure that Boxer is being looked after and then I'll go to the lodgings and pack up Grey's things.'

‘You really are sweet on that chap, aren't you?'

‘Don't be daft, Nettie. He's like a brother to me. I told you that.'

‘I can't stand around arguing, but you'd better let Mrs Burgess know where you're going this time. She was worried sick when you took off like that.'

‘All right, I will. Wait for me, Nettie. I won't be long.' Sarah hurried off to tell Cook and found her sitting by the range with her cap askew and her cheeks suspiciously red. She greeted her with a tipsy smile. ‘So there you are, love. We was wondering where you'd got to.'

Betty looked up from the stone sink. ‘Have you come to help us, Sarah? Me hands is red raw from washing all those dishes.'

Dorcas stopped piling dirty plates onto the wooden draining board, turning to Sarah with an angry scowl. ‘You should be doing this, my girl. You need to pay for your bed and board.'

‘I'm sorry, Dorcas. But I've been trying to find us somewhere to go when Trigg evicts us tomorrow.'

‘He won't,' Dorcas said flatly. ‘We're going to lock ourselves in. Franz will save us.'

‘He won't be able to stop the bailiffs from coming in. Whether we like it or not, Trigg's the legal owner and he's got rights.'

Cook hiccuped loudly. ‘Pour me another sherry wine, Dorcas. I need something to keep me spirits up.'

Dorcas snatched the bottle from the table and put it on the mantelshelf out of Cook's reach. ‘You've imbibed enough today, Mrs Burgess. You should have a nap and sleep it off.'

‘I never had no sherry wine,' Betty moaned, splashing greasy water onto the floor.

‘You're daft enough when you're sober,' Dorcas said acidly. ‘Lord help us if you was swipey. Get on with the washing up, or you'll feel the back of my hand.'

Sarah made a hasty exit.

Nettie was staring into the mirror adjusting her colourful bonnet decorated with ostrich feathers. She gave Sarah a sheepish grin. ‘Sorry, but I can't stand mourning garb. It don't do nothing for me.'

‘You wore it to the funeral and that's what matters.' Sarah opened the front door half expecting to see Trigg standing on the step, but there was only a pigeon strutting about pecking up crumbs left by the mourners. ‘Come on, Nettie. Stop titivating or we'll never get there.'

Nettie flounced out of the house. ‘We'll have to walk to Cable Street to catch an omnibus. A cab ride would be nice but I ain't got the necessary, have you?'

Sarah shook her head. She had just enough money to pay her bus fare, and that would leave her with tuppence for a baked potato and a cup of tea which would be her supper. ‘At least it's stopped raining,' she said, glancing up at the streaks of blue sky in between the pot-bellied clouds. ‘I don't think I could stand being soaked twice in a day.'

Nettie started off along the street swinging her reticule and tossing her head so that the plumes on her bonnet waved like pennants in the breeze. ‘You should try for a job in the theatre. You could sell programmes or show people to their seats. I'm sure I could persuade the manager to take you on. He's a personal friend of mine.' She waltzed off with Sarah hurrying to keep pace.

They parted outside the theatre and Sarah went straight to the mews where Boxer was housed in a dilapidated stable along with several other work horses. It was obvious that some of the owners shared the accommodation, as there were piles of grubby blankets in the stalls and oddments of tattered clothing. Meals must have been eaten and discarded as there were rat droppings everywhere, and the smell of horse dung laced with ammonia caught the back of her throat, making her retch.

Boxer whinnied in greeting and rubbed his head against her shoulder, pushing her against the wall as if pleading with her to take him from such a dreadful place. His water bucket was empty and there was no hay in the manger. Sarah was horrified and she knew that Grey would be furious if he found out that the stableman had neglected his duties despite payment in advance.

There was no one about to help her but on further exploration she found bales of hay and straw in the loft, which must have been intended as feed and bedding for the animals. It was obvious from the state of the stables below that the stall had not been mucked out for days and the horses had remained unfed. Perhaps the stableman intended to make a profit by selling the bales, or maybe the owners had not paid for the upkeep of their beasts. Whatever the reason she was disgusted to find Boxer existing in such dire conditions.

She heaved a couple of bales down the rickety wooden steps and, looping her skirts above her ankles, she began mucking out the stall. By the time she had finished she was hot, tired and hungry but at least Boxer was well cared for. She gave generous amounts of hay to the other hungry animals before leaving. ‘I'll be back first thing in the morning,' she whispered, giving Boxer a final pat. His lustrous brown eyes gleamed as though he had understood and he pawed the ground, whickering softly.

It was growing dark by the time she reached Wych Street, having stopped to purchase a baked potato and a cup of tea from a street vendor before making her way to the lodging house. She did not relish the thought of a night alone in the cold, dark room, but she was too exhausted to contemplate walking to Wellclose Square, even though the thought of a warm bed and a hot meal was tempting. She had blisters on her heels that had burst and were throbbing painfully and her whole body ached. She let herself into the building and crept along the passageway to the room at the back of the house, but as she drew closer she saw a thin shred of light beneath the closed door. She could hear movement inside the room. For a moment she thought that Grey had been released from prison and had returned, but even as she placed her hand on the doorknob she felt the hairs standing up on the back of her neck. She hesitated, cocking her head on one side at the sound of heavy footsteps as if someone was walking towards the door. She turned and ran.

That night she slept on the straw beside Boxer, and despite the drunken snores of the stableman and the vagrants who crept in from the cold she did not wake up until dawn. She slipped the horse collar over Boxer's head and led him out into the yard, taking care not to disturb the other occupants. She had a quick wash in ice-cold water at the pump before tackling the difficult task of harnessing Boxer to the cart. She had never tried this on her own, but Boxer was a patient animal and eventually, after several failed attempts, she succeeded in putting him between the shafts.

The streets were coming alive as people went about their daily business and the road was crowded with horse-drawn vehicles, market stalls and pedestrians taking their lives in their hands by scurrying from one side to the other. She was shouted at by costermongers, cabbies and carters as she drove through the city, but somehow she managed to arrive in Wellclose Square without mishap, although she had learned a few new swear words on the way. Her legs were shaking as she climbed down from the driver's seat but she stopped to pat Boxer and praise him for his efforts. He nuzzled her hand and she rewarded him with a nosebag filled with hay. ‘Good boy,' she said, giving him a final pat. ‘You've done well.'

She glanced up and down the street to make sure that neither Trigg nor his ruffians were loitering nearby, and seeing no one more suspicious than a nanny pushing a perambulator into the gardens, she was about to go down the area steps when the front door opened and Moorcroft appeared on the top step. ‘Where have you been, Sarah?' he asked anxiously. ‘Dorcas tells me that you didn't return last night.'

She was suddenly conscious of her dishevelled appearance. Her mourning gown was creased and stained where the rainwater had left pale streaks in the black dye. She had put on her bonnet without the benefit of a mirror and her hair hung loose about her shoulders. She knew she must look a sight and she felt the blood rush to her cheeks. ‘There was someone in Grey's room, and I was afraid it might be Trigg, so I slept in the stables with Boxer.'

‘I warned you against such an action, Sarah.' His stern gaze softened. ‘Come inside, my dear. You look exhausted.' He turned to Dorcas, who was standing in the hallway regarding Sarah with her lips folded into a thin line of disapproval. ‘Perhaps we could have some tea and toast in the parlour, please, Dorcas. I want to speak to Sarah.'

‘Certainly, sir.' She stared pointedly at Sarah's crumpled clothing. ‘You'd best go upstairs and tidy yourself before the mistress sees you. We may be locked in the house but there's no need to let our standards drop.'

Sarah glanced anxiously at Moorcroft but he nodded his approval. ‘I'll wait for you in the parlour, my dear.'

‘Don't loiter,' Dorcas muttered, taking Sarah by the shoulders and propelling her towards the staircase.

Sarah changed into the black linsey-woolsey skirt and white cambric blouse that had once belonged to Dorcas but were now too small for her, although she insisted that they had shrunk in the wash. She brushed her hair and secured it in a coil at the nape of her neck. The garments were shabby but at least they were clean and did not smell of the stables and she did not have the time to worry about her looks. Satisfied that she could do no more, she ran downstairs, slowing her pace as she reached the parlour where she found Moorcroft sitting by the fire.

He looked up and smiled. ‘Come and sit down, Sarah.'