The Workhouse Girl (35 page)

As if on cue, one of the bells on the servants' board began to jingle. It lurched to and fro on its spring and they stared at it in disbelief. ‘God save us,' Parker whispered. ‘It's his ghost.'

‘Nonsense,' Sarah said in a low voice. She gave him a gentle shove towards the doorway. ‘It's the doorbell. We've got a visitor, Parker. Best go and see who's there.'

He shook his head. ‘Not me. It'll be him, come to tear our hearts out.'

Lemuel jumped to his feet. ‘Who's going to tear your heart out, Parker?'

‘Sit down and finish your dinner,' Mary said firmly.

Jonah abandoned his meal and went to stand beside his brother. ‘Let's go and see who's at the door. I ain't afeared.'

Sarah shooed them back to their seats. ‘It's not a ghost and no one need be afraid. I'll go and see who it is. Now sit down and finish your dinner.'

It was bitterly cold in the entrance hall and whoever was standing on the step outside was now hammering on the knocker. Sarah wrenched the door open and came face to face with an irate Mrs Trigg. Snowflakes clung to the ostrich feathers adorning her hat and settled like lace on her three-tiered cape. Her mouth dropped open as she stared at Sarah. ‘What the bloody hell are you doing here?'

‘I might ask the same of you,' Sarah said, hoping that she sounded more confident than she was feeling.

‘You cheeky little bitch.' Mrs Trigg pushed past her. ‘This house belongs to Mr Fitch and you're trespassing.'

Glancing outside Sarah could see Mrs Trigg's coachman huddled up on the driver's seat of the barouche. She beckoned to him. ‘Come in. You'll freeze to death out there.'

‘Leave him be,' Mrs Trigg snapped. ‘He's paid to do his job.'

The driver tipped his hat to Sarah and hunched down beneath his many-caped greatcoat so that only his nose was visible beneath the brim of his hat. Sarah closed the door. ‘That was a bit harsh, even for you, Mrs Trigg.'

‘You haven't changed, Sal Scratch. Trigg shouldn't have spared the rod in your case.'

Sarah drew herself up to her full height. ‘He didn't as I recall. Anyway, what right have you to come barging in here?'

‘I told you before. Me and Trigg are Mr Fitch's agents. I've come looking for my old man who was supposed to come here and collect . . .' She gave Sarah a penetrating glance as if calculating how much she knew. ‘He came to collect items belonging to the master.'

‘I suppose you mean the contraband left here by the smugglers. I think the excise men would be very interested in that piece of information.'

‘And the police might want to question you about the disappearance of the criminal Tobias Grey. He's the only one who would have brought you here, so where is he now? I'll warrant he's hiding here somewhere.' Mrs Trigg looked round as if expecting to see Grey materialise from beneath a dust sheet.

‘I told you yesterday that he was lost at sea.'

‘More's the pity, if that's true. I'd have liked to collect the bounty on his head, but that's not my main concern. My old man must have come here as planned because the goods have arrived in the warehouse, but I ain't seen hide nor hair of him.' She picked up a Chinese vase and examined it as if assessing its value. ‘Not that that's out of the way. Trigg goes off on his jaunts and turns up when he's a mind to, but he's been away longer than normal this time. You wouldn't know anything about it, would you?' She put the vase down, glaring at Sarah.

‘No. Why should I?'

‘Don't take that tone with me, girl. It's a simple question: have you or have you not seen my husband recently?'

Sarah thought quickly. ‘He was here some time ago when they collected the merchandise, but the men left and he went with them.'

‘You're sure of that, are you?'

‘Quite sure.'

‘And if I was to look round this old mansion, am I right in thinking I'd find the nippers from the fisherman's cottage? The ones what owes Mr Fitch a month's rent?'

‘Would you rather see them freezing to death in the snow?'

‘I'm just doing my job. You're not supposed to be here and neither are they. I want to see Parker.'

Sarah could see that it was useless to argue. ‘Very well.' She crossed the hall to open the drawing room door. ‘If you'll wait in here I'll send him to you.'

‘Hoity toity,' Mrs Trigg sneered. ‘You didn't learn them manners in the workhouse.'

‘The Arbuthnots showed me how decent people live. They were good people and your husband ruined them.'

Mrs Trigg marched into the drawing room. ‘Send Parker to me now.'

Having made the children promise to stay out of sight in the kitchen, Sarah hovered outside the drawing room attempting to catch snippets of the mainly one-sided conversation between Mrs Trigg and Parker. His monosyllabic answers were gruff and to the point but Mrs Trigg ranted on and on, trying to extort more information from him. Having stood as much as she could bear Sarah burst into the room. ‘He's told you everything he knows. Leave him alone.'

Mrs Trigg bore down on Sarah like a fury. ‘Don't speak to me like that, you little whore. I think you both know more than you're telling me.'

Sarah faced up to her even though she was inwardly quaking. ‘Why don't you ask the men who do your dirty work?'

‘I sacked them for being drunk and lazy, but I'll get to the bottom of this.' Mrs Trigg glanced out of the window. ‘Just look at the bloody weather. I'd better get going while the roads are still passable, but when I report to Mr Fitch I'll tell him what's going on here.' She fixed Sarah with a basilisk stare. ‘You won't be so cocksure when you're living on the streets and selling your body for a couple of pennies to spend on blue ruin.' She snatched up her reticule and opened it, taking out a small purse which she tossed to Parker. ‘That's your wages from the master. It'll be the last you get so don't spend it all at once.' She flounced out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Sarah ran to the window and saw the coachman clamber stiffly to the ground. She could only imagine what he must be thinking as he opened the carriage door for Mrs Trigg and waited while she settled her bulk in the luxurious interior. He resumed his seat on the box and the pair of matched greys moved off slowly with their hooves slipping on the icy crust of the new-fallen snow. ‘She's gone,' Sarah said, breathing a sigh of relief. ‘At least she didn't snoop around.' She turned to Parker. ‘You're certain that the body is well hidden, aren't you? It won't suddenly appear and give the game away?'

‘No fear of that. When Master Toby returns we'll be able to bury the corpse where no one will ever find it.' Parker weighed the purse in his hand. ‘You'd best take this and get in some supplies before we're completely cut off by the snow. Take them damn kids with you and let them work off their high spirits.'

Sarah took the money and tucked it into her pocket. ‘You're right. We might be snowed in for days.'

‘We can't keep the children here, you know,' Parker said as she was about to leave the room. ‘She'll tell the master about you and the nippers and that'll be the end of it. You'll have to find somewhere else to live.'

She stared at him aghast. ‘But you don't mind us being here, do you, Parker?'

A slow smile deepened his wrinkles into furrows. ‘Bless you, no. It's done me a power of good having young company. Maybe we should have murdered the old faggot and buried her alongside her man.'

‘Don't tempt me,' Sarah said with a wan smile. ‘She made my life a misery when I was in the workhouse. I thought I was rid of her, but no such luck.' She went to find the children.

There was no sign of a thaw and although the sun shone in the daytime the temperature dropped at night and the ground froze. More snow fell and drifts piled up at the side of the house and half buried the yew tree tunnel. Parker took the boys out daily and they helped him saw fallen branches into logs, piling them on an old sled they had found in the coach house and dragging them back to the shelter of the stable block. Sarah had often watched Mrs Burgess making pastry and kneading bread dough, and when she discovered a book containing the former cook's recipes she decided to experiment. Her first attempts at making bread turned out something halfway between a brick and a ship's biscuit, but she persevered and soon the delicious aroma of baking filled the kitchen and filtered into the depths of the house.

Marooned by the weather they settled into a daily routine, and Sarah had the satisfaction of seeing Mary regain some of her childhood as she played hide and seek with her brothers. Their laughter seemed to bring the old house back to life and Parker began to warm to their presence, although he liked to grumble and complain that he had not had a day's peace since the children arrived to plague him. The weather had temporarily put a stop to the free traders' activities and it also prevented any further visitations from Mrs Trigg. They were able to enjoy the preparations for Christmas without fear of eviction and Sarah found herself wishing that they could stay like this forever. Without Grey and Davey the outside world held little attraction for her.

On Christmas Eve Parker went into the grounds to cut a fir tree, and although he insisted that the boys were unruly brats who needed a firm hand and a good hiding, he suffered them to follow him providing they kept their distance and did as they were told. They returned, pink-cheeked and smiling, carrying armfuls of holly and ivy with Parker bringing up the rear, dragging a large pine tree. They set it up in the drawing room and Sarah led an expedition to the attics where they found a wooden chest filled with glass baubles. Adding to the excitement Jonah stumbled across another box containing lead soldiers and a wooden Noah's ark complete with animals. Sarah sent the boys downstairs with the decorations and with Mary's help she sorted out the toys that would make ideal Christmas presents. They must, she thought, have belonged to Grey and Elsie and sadly they would not need them again, nor would they be passing them on to their own children. Her eyes misted with tears, but she turned away so that Mary would not see that she was upset by this glimpse into the childhood of two people who had meant so much to her.

‘I didn't think there would be anything to give the boys for Christmas, but we'll wrap these up and put them under the tree.'

Mary glanced enviously at a wax-faced doll dressed in a cotton-print gown and a lace-trimmed bonnet. ‘She's beautiful. I never had a dolly.'

Sarah put the lid on the box. ‘Neither did I, but maybe Father Christmas will be kind to you this year, Mary.'

‘It would be stealing,' Mary whispered. ‘I mean, that lovely thing belongs to whoever owns the house. They might want it for their nippers.'

‘We'll see.' Sarah stood up, dusting cobwebs from her hair. ‘It must be years since anyone came up here. It's a treasure trove.' She held the candle higher and in its wavering beam she could see a wooden rocking horse with a white mane and a crimson velvet saddle. Shrouded in a yellowing cloth she could just make out a doll's house, although it took a stretch of imagination to picture Elsie playing with something like that, or maybe it had belonged to Grey's mother. Sarah could see them in her mind's eye, two little girls playing with their toys in the nursery. She could hear their childish laughter, and for the first time since Elsie died she felt close to her. She passed the candlestick to Mary. ‘I'll carry the box if you'll light the way.'

When the children were safely in bed, Sarah sent Parker upstairs to the attic to bring down the doll's house and the doll that Mary had admired that morning. The boys were too big for the rocking horse and it was with regret that she left it in the cold dark attic with only spiders, mice and bats for company.

She sat by the fire in the drawing room, wrapping the presents for the boys in sheets of brown paper that she had found in one of the many kitchen cupboards. Outside the snow was falling steadily and it was likely that the roads were now completely impassable. They were safe for a while and the house seemed to wrap her in its warm embrace. She was certain that the dour expressions on the family portraits had mellowed a little and were smiling with approval. She would never understand why Elsie had chosen to live in poverty on the marsh instead of occupying her ancestral home, although it was obvious that she had spent a lot of time in the walled garden cultivating the herbs she needed for her medicines. Even so, she had turned her back on the way of life to which she had been born, and she had been a rebel until the last.

Sarah stared dreamily into the dancing orange and yellow flames as they licked up the chimney. She was convinced that Fitch had something to do with the disappearance of Elsie's will. In its absence it seemed likely that he would be the sole beneficiary and if Grey had perished at sea there would be no one to contest his claim to the estate. Fitch was an absentee landlord and involved in free trade. He was as much a villain as Trigg but somehow he had managed to keep one step ahead of the legal system.

Sarah jumped as the door opened and she covered the present she had been wrapping with the folds of her skirt, but it was only Parker, staggering beneath the weight of the wooden doll's house.

‘I dunno why you're spoiling them kids,' he said, placing it on a table by the window. They'll spend the rest of their lives in the workhouse if Mr Fitch has his way, and I'll probably end up there too.'

‘Nonsense. He can't afford to lose you, Parker. You know too much about him. One word from you and he'd end up in prison, which is where he belongs.'

Parker took the doll from inside his jacket and laid it on a cushion. ‘I remember Miss Elsie playing with this when she was a little girl.'

Sarah shot him a curious glance. ‘Really? I can't imagine Elsie playing with dolls.'