The Workhouse Girl (3 page)

‘You ain't so big now, dearie.'

‘Please sing a song. I'm scared of the dark.'

Nettie gave her a hug and began to croon a lullaby, filling in gaps where she had forgotten the words by humming. Sarah tried to imagine that it was her mother's sweet voice singing her to sleep and eventually she drifted into a state of oblivion. But it was not to last. She was rudely awakened by the creaking of the hinges on the cellar door and the sound of heavy footsteps on the flagstone floor. Blinded by the light from a lantern held above their heads, Sarah and Nettie struggled to their feet.

‘If you girls think last night was your punishment, you got another think coming.' Workhouse master Trigg raised his arm and the familiar sound of the Tickler swishing though the dank air made Sarah go weak at the knees.

MATRON TRIGG HATED
her and did not bother to make a secret of it. Sarah suffered miserably at her hands, but there was nothing she could do to prevent the sadistic bullying that continued to make her life a living hell. She bore the name Sal Scratch with as much dignity as she could muster, but she often found herself wishing that she really was the devil's daughter. If that were the case she would invoke her satanic father and beg him to do his worst to Matron Trigg and the workhouse master. She would like to watch them suffer in purgatory together with Stoner and the midwife who would not allow her to say her last goodbye to her dead mother.

The only respite that Sarah could look forward to was the three hours she spent in class every morning except Sundays. Apart from Nettie, who was her only true friend, there was only one person in her small world who treated Sarah with any degree of humanity and kindness, and that was the schoolteacher, Miss Parfitt. The girls had nicknamed her Miss Perfect, and to Sarah she was the next best thing to a saint. With lustrous dark hair and smiling brown eyes, Pearl Parfitt was not only beautiful but she smelled of lavender and spoke in a soft melodious voice, quite unlike Matron Trigg's metallic tones.

It was rumoured that Miss Parfitt had been engaged to be married, but her fiancé had been killed in the Crimean War, and the gold-mounted mourning brooch which she wore at the neck of her starched white blouse contained a lock of her dead love's hair. Whether or not it was true, the notion of a broken-hearted young woman who had forsaken the world to devote her life to the poor and needy lent Miss Parfitt a romantic, almost mystical aura that was not lost on Sarah. She clung to every word her teacher uttered and did her utmost to earn her praise, working hard in every lesson and impressing Miss Parfitt with her ability to remember the passages from Shakespeare that she had learned parrot-fashion backstage at the Theatre Royal. If Miss Parfitt was curious about this fount of knowledge in one so young and underprivileged, she was too well trained to single Sarah out in a class of girls most of whom could barely write their own names. But as the months went by she gradually drew the information from Sarah and encouraged her to further her education.

After a year of enduring the torments of the workhouse Sarah had learned to live with the monotonous routine, the near starvation diet, the rigorous discipline and the punishments that were meted out with blatant disregard to fairness or clemency. There was one shining light in Sarah's blighted existence. She thought of her beloved Miss Parfitt as her guardian angel, although there was little that even an angel could do to protect her from continued persecution by Matron Trigg, and there were the all too frequent beatings meted out by the Tickler. The cane had a mind and will of its own, according to the workhouse master, who simply provided the muscle.

Sarah survived with Nettie's help, but a few months before her tenth birthday she had to face a situation that threatened to destroy her fragile world. The older boys and girls were summoned to appear before the workhouse master, and Nettie was amongst them. Sarah clung to her hand, but a warning glare from Matron Trigg was enough to send Nettie on her way without a backwards glance. There was silence in the classroom until the door closed, leaving the younger children alone with Miss Parfitt.

‘Please, miss,' Sarah said, putting up her hand. ‘Where are they going?'

Miss Parfitt met her anxious gaze with an attempt at a smile. ‘There are kind and generous mill owners and other men of business who take on pauper apprentices. Your friends are old enough to go out into the world and be trained to do useful work and earn their own living.'

‘Nettie is only eleven, miss.'

‘That's correct, Sarah. You will get your chance one day too. Now I must ask all of you to get on with your sums.'

‘No.' Sarah leapt to her feet. ‘I won't.' She ran to the door, wrenched it open and raced after the orderly procession of children as they marched towards the main hall. She caught up with Nettie, and despite Matron Trigg's efforts to prise them apart she clung to her friend, refusing to let go.

‘What's going on there?' Trigg demanded from his lofty position on the dais which put him head and shoulders above the assembled businessmen, who were looking on in amazement. ‘What's all that racket, Mrs Trigg?'

‘Nothing that I can't handle, my dear,' Mrs Trigg said, tugging viciously at Sarah's hair, which had grown considerably in the past two years and had come loose when Matron slapped her round the head, knocking her cap to the ground.

‘What sort of discipline do you call this, Trigg?' A rubicund gentleman with mutton-chop whiskers glared at Sarah, shaking his head. ‘Appalling conduct.'

‘Send the child back to the classroom, ma'am.' Trigg's fleshy features flushed crimson and his eyes bulged in their sockets. He ran his finger round the inside of his tight shirt collar. ‘Get her out of here.'

Matron Trigg grabbed Sarah by the arm, tugging with all her considerable might but she only succeeded in pulling both girls off their feet and all three of them ended up in a heap on the floor. ‘You'll pay for this, Sal Scratch,' she hissed.

Nettie scrambled to her feet and helped Sarah to stand. ‘You got to let go, dearie,' she whispered. ‘I can't take you with me. I dunno where I'll end up, and if you don't do as she says we'll both be sent to the cellar for a month on bread and water.'

‘You'll be lucky if you're let out this side of Christmas,' Matron Trigg groaned as she floundered on the floorboards in a tangle of hoops and red flannel petticoats. ‘Help me up, someone. Don't gawp at me, you bloody fools.'

A dapper gentleman wearing a grey frock coat and top hat hurried to her assistance. With some difficulty he raised her to her feet. ‘There you are, ma'am. No harm done, I think.'

‘No harm?' Matron Trigg pushed him away. ‘That daughter of Satan has been the cause of nothing but trouble since the day she came to this establishment.' She fanned herself vigorously with her hand. ‘Mr Trigg, do something.'

‘Stoner.' Trigg's voice echoed off the rafters. ‘Stoner, get in here now and take that devil child away.'

‘Just a moment, sir.' The gentleman who had come to Matron Trigg's assistance peered at Sarah. ‘This person is very young and is in an obvious state of distress.' He leaned closer. ‘Is this your sister, little girl?'

‘No, sir. Nettie's me best friend. I ain't letting go of her. You can cut me arm off and I'll still cling on.'

‘I am so sorry, Mr Arbuthnot.' Trigg stepped off the podium and hurried to his side, panting from the exertion. ‘This has never happened before. We run the workhouse on very strict lines. Discipline is paramount when dealing with the scum from the gutters.'

‘Harsh words indeed, Mr Trigg.' Mr Arbuthnot laid his hand on Sarah's shoulder. ‘This child appears to be genuinely distressed.'

‘She'll be punished severely, sir. Mark my words.' Matron Trigg moved to her husband's side. ‘We won't tolerate such indiscipline.'

‘That's not what I meant, ma'am.' Mr Arbuthnot turned to Nettie. ‘How old are you, and what's your name, my girl?'

‘Nettie Bean, sir. I'm eleven but I'll soon be twelve.'

He turned his attention to Sarah. ‘And your name and age, my dear. Don't be afraid, I merely want to ascertain the facts.'

‘Sarah Scrase, sir. I'm nine, but I'll soon be ten.'

Mr Arbuthnot's lips twitched but he maintained a straight face. He turned to the workhouse master. ‘They're just children, Trigg. Is there no way these two girls could stay together?'

A murmur ran through the waiting gentlemen and one of them stepped forward. ‘This is all very well, Arbuthnot, but we're here to do business. I want six strong lads for my manufactory at Wapping and I can't afford to waste time like this.'

‘I'm sorry, Crawley, but this seems to me to be a matter of conscience.'

‘We're all here to do our best for the poor unfortunates,' Matron Trigg said with an obsequious smile. ‘Might we get on with the business in hand, sir?' She grabbed Sarah by the ear. ‘Come with me, sweetheart. I'll take you back to the classroom where you were studying the bible.'

Taken by surprise and wincing as Matron Trigg pinched her earlobe, Sarah loosened her grip on Nettie's arm. ‘No. Don't let her take me, sir.' She sent a pleading look at Arbuthnot. ‘I can read and write, and I can recite Shakespeare. I work hard, sir.' She held out a calloused hand. ‘I didn't get these from sitting on me backside all day, sir.'

A ripple of laughter ran around the room and some of the children sniggered. Trigg held up his hand. ‘Silence. This is a serious matter.'

Arbuthnot took out a bulging wallet. ‘Then to settle it, Mr Trigg, I'll give you ten pounds for Nettie Bean and five pounds for the younger girl.'

‘She's too young, sir,' Matron Trigg said, tightening her grip on Sarah's ear. ‘We can't allow a child of this age to leave us.'

Arbuthnot narrowed his eyes. ‘Or is it that by keeping her in this sorry state for another year or two you'll get a higher price for her?'

‘Slander, sir,' Trigg said, bristling. ‘That is a slanderous remark.'

‘Fifteen pounds.' Arbuthnot took the notes from his wallet. ‘I'll have the indentures made out for the elder girl and the young one will be found suitable work in my house until she is old enough to join the other apprentices in the mill. Have you any further objections?'

‘Get on with it, man.' One of the other gentlemen pushed to the front. ‘Like Crawley I haven't got time for all this.'

Sarah could see that Mr Crawley was growing even more impatient, and the others were nodding in agreement. She held her breath, waiting for Mr Trigg's decision.

‘Very well.' Reluctantly, Trigg shook Arbuthnot's hand. ‘We're well rid of her. I just hope you don't live to regret your decision, sir.'

Mr Arbuthnot reached out to take Sarah's hand. ‘You can release her now, Mrs Trigg. I'm relieving you of this young girl in the hope of giving her a better chance in life, and I'd prefer it if she came to us with both ears intact.'

Sarah and Nettie huddled together in the corner of Mr Arbuthnot's private carriage, clutching each other for comfort as the horses maintained a steady pace through the crowded streets. Mr Arbuthnot said very little during the journey and seemed to be more interested in the contents of
The Times
newspaper than he was in making conversation. Sarah stared out of the window and was finding it hard to take in the size and scale of the city. Until now her world had been centred on Covent Garden and St Giles, but she was beginning to realise that London was a much bigger place than she could ever have imagined. The roads narrowed as they approached the heart of the City and the buildings became even more impressive. Her eyes almost popped out of her head when they drove past a huge edifice that looked like a castle. ‘What's that place, Nettie?'

‘I dunno. Never seen nothing like it.'

Mr Arbuthnot looked over the top of his newspaper. ‘It's the Tower of London. That's where wicked people were imprisoned and where traitors are sent to be executed on the block.'

Sarah had no idea what a traitor had done to receive such a terrible punishment, but she decided that she had better be good or she might end up in the Tower. She glanced at Nettie, who looked even paler than normal, and she squeezed her hand. ‘Don't worry,' she whispered. ‘It won't happen to us.'

‘Not unless you do something really bad,' Mr Arbuthnot said with a wry smile. He folded his newspaper and laid it on the seat beside him. ‘We're nearly there.'

‘What will happen to us then?' Sarah had not meant to blurt out the question but she had been studying their mentor's face and had noted the crinkly lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth, which made him look as though he smiled rather a lot. He reminded her of Charlie Potts, who had played character roles in the theatre. Charlie had liked a drop or two of tiddley, but he was a good sort really, and he had a seemingly endless supply of sugared almonds in his dressing room. She licked her lips as she recalled the sweet crunch of the sugar shell and the delicious taste of the almond inside: Charlie could be very generous, especially when he had been taking a glass or two of gin to steady his nerves.

‘I haven't quite decided yet,' Mr Arbuthnot said, eyeing her thoughtfully. ‘You're very small for your age. We'll have to see, but I think my wife might have some ideas on the subject.' His gaze shifted to Nettie and he frowned. ‘Perhaps I should have chosen a strong lad rather than a girl, but I'm sure we can find something for you to do in the sugar mill.'

‘Sugar?' Nettie breathed. ‘You make sugar, guvner? I love sugar.'

Sarah's mouth watered and she licked her lips, imagining endless supplies of sweetmeats. It sounded like heaven.

Mr Arbuthnot smiled benevolently. ‘Perhaps you are the right girl for me, young Nettie. I'm sure we'll find something to occupy you. However, the first thing on the agenda will be to find you girls something to wear other than that hideous uniform.'