The Workhouse Girl (40 page)

‘We'll get by,' he said, smiling. ‘To tell the truth I'm glad to have you on my own without Tobias sticking his oar in, or that Gaston fellow acting as if he owned the place. What's he to you, anyway?'

‘That's a tale in itself.' She put a hunk of bread on a plate with a generous portion of the cheese and passed it to him. ‘Eat first and we'll talk later over a cup of coffee. I'd give anything for a cup of tea, but they don't seem to drink tea in this part of the world. I used to watch Cook when she brewed coffee for the Arbuthnots, so I know how it's done.'

Alone in her saggy feather bed with draughts whistling through cracks in the windowpanes and the wind soughing in the trees like a spirit in torment, Sarah lay wide awake and troubled. From the room next door she could hear Davey's rhythmic breathing and Grey's fevered ramblings. She found herself wishing that Nettie had stayed, but it would have been selfish to deny her the chance of achieving the fame and fortune she had always craved. Eventually she sank into a fitful sleep haunted by visions of Trigg's spectre rising from the branches of the yew trees to seek vengeance for his untimely death. He was advancing on her with his skeletal hands outstretched, fingers clawed and his tattered clothing flapping around fleshless bones. He was shaking her and she cried out in horror.

‘Wake up, Sarah. It's me, Davey.'

She opened her eyes and tried to sit up, still half asleep, but he pressed her gently back against the pillows. ‘You were dreaming,' he said gently. ‘But I need you to come quick. Tobias has taken a turn for the worse.'

She was wide awake now and she leapt out of bed. ‘What's the matter with him?'

‘I dunno. He's a funny colour and his breathing is sketchy. I saw my pa suffer this way when he was taken poorly.'

‘Oh, God. No.' Sarah hurried into the back bedroom and bent over Grey, feeling his forehead. ‘He's feverish. I wish I had some of the medicines that Miss Elsie used to make, but I have a horrible feeling he's gone beyond that.' She straightened up. ‘We need help.'

Davey laid his hand on her shoulder. ‘I'll go to the village and see if I can find a doctor.'

She shook her head. ‘No, Davey. You should be resting and anyway you don't speak French, and neither do I. I'm going to run to the inn and see if I can catch Gaston before he leaves for Calais.' She made for the door. ‘Stay with him and bathe him with cold water. Try to bring his temperature down.'

Within minutes she was dressed, wrapped in her cape and tying her bonnet ribbons beneath her chin. She left the cottage and headed for the village. It was light now and a heavy frost had dusted the countryside with silver. A pale sun turned ice particles into diamond necklaces tossed carelessly over twigs and bare branches, but she was in no mood to appreciate the beauty of a winter's day. Her breath curled around her head as she ran, taking care to avoid the cast-iron ruts in the frozen mud and leaping over the potholes.

She arrived at the inn and paused for a moment in order to catch her breath. The door was ajar and she went inside to find the landlord, swaddled in a long white apron. He was busy wiping the tabletops but he stopped, eyeing her suspiciously, and addressed her in rapid French. She had no idea what he was saying and she tried to communicate with sign language, but he stared at her as though she was quite mad. ‘Gaston Fournier,' she shouted. ‘I wish to speak to him.'

‘Ah! Monsieur Fournier.' He nodded his head and then shook it, pointing to the doorway, gesticulating and gabbling at her in a foreign tongue.

The truth dawned upon her slowly. The man was trying to tell her that she was too late. Gaston and Nettie had gone. But she could not give up now. Grey's life depended upon her. ‘Doctor,' she said in desperation. ‘My friend needs a doctor. He needs medicine.'

‘
Un médecin
.' The landlord grinned. ‘
Docteur.
'

‘Yes. We need a doctor.'

His smile faded and he shook his head. ‘
Non
.' He turned his back on her.

She left the taproom, wondering what to do. It was obvious that there was no doctor in the village, but without medical help Grey would be lucky to survive. It was not so long ago that they had made the dash from Blackwood to London in the hope of saving Miss Elsie, only now it was Grey's life that was hanging by a thread. Sarah knew enough about medicine to realise that lung fever was invariably fatal, but Grey was a young man and physically strong.

She started walking, planning to retrace her steps and return to the cottage. She could only hope and pray for some divine intervention that might save his life. She came to a sudden halt as she reached the village church, and a vision of Miss Parfitt reading the lesson in the workhouse chapel came forcibly to mind. She would have given anything at that moment to see her former teacher and ask for her advice. Closing her eyes, she could hear Miss Parfitt's gentle tones and she seemed to be telling her to go into the holy place and pray. Never particularly religious and raised by Miss Elsie, whose pagan rituals had coloured their daily lives, Sarah entered the stone building.

She stood in front of the altar, pressing her hands together as she had when saying her prayers as a small child. She could feel the cold rising through the stone floor and there was the familiar smell of musty hymnals and dampness that she associated with the church in Blackwood, but there were also the less familiar odours of hot wax from the votive candles placed before a statue of the Virgin Mary, and the heady fragrance of incense.

The silence was tangible but the creak of door hinges followed by swift footsteps on the aisle made her spin round. A priest wearing an ankle-length soutane and a black biretta was hurrying towards her and she felt suddenly guilty. ‘I – I'm sorry, Father,' she stammered. ‘I shouldn't have come in without permission.'

He smiled. ‘You are English.'

She bit back tears of relief. Here at last was someone who understood what she was saying. ‘I need your help, Father.'

‘You have come to see the Englishmen?' He motioned her to take a seat. ‘This is a small village. News travels fast.'

‘One of them is very ill. He needs a doctor.'

‘We have no doctor in this village.'

‘Then I have no choice. I must take him home to England.' She realised even as she uttered the words that this would be a risky procedure, but she could not leave Grey to die in a foreign land. The priest was silent, watching her closely. She thought quickly. ‘I want to hire a carriage to take us to Calais, Father. Can you help?'

‘Have you money, my child?'

She jingled the gold coins in her reticule. ‘I can pay.' She glanced at the offertory and took a coin from her bag, placing it in the collection plate. She noticed that the priest did not refuse her gift. ‘Will you help me, Father?'

‘I think it can be arranged, my child.'

 

She ran all the way back to the cottage. The priest had agreed to make the necessary arrangements and she felt light-headed with relief. It was only when she walked into the bedroom and found Davey sitting at Grey's bedside that she realised the full implications of taking her old friend back to England. If Trigg's body had been discovered he would be facing a trial for murder.

Davey looked up expectantly. ‘Did you find a doctor?'

‘There isn't one in the village and I was too late to catch Gaston. He'd already left the inn by the time I arrived.'

‘Tobias is in a bad way.'

Sarah perched on the edge of the bed, taking Grey's limp hand and clasping it as if she could pass some of her own life force into him by touch alone. ‘I met a priest who speaks English,' she said slowly. ‘I gave him money to hire a vehicle to take us to Calais, Davey. We're taking him home.'

His eyes narrowed. ‘Is it worth the risk? Mightn't he get better if we care for him here?'

‘I can't cure this. He needs proper medical attention.'

‘But he could face the hangman's noose if we take him home.'

‘And he'll almost certainly die here if he doesn't get proper medical attention. I've just about enough money left to get us back to England. I couldn't afford to put him in a hospital here, but if we can get him home I know Mr Moorcroft will help. The Fitch family is worth a fortune and if Grey has inherited Blackwood House he's a rich man in his own right. I think we have to take the risk.'

‘What does this chap mean to you, Sarah?'

Startled, she looked Davey in the eye. ‘What sort of question is that?'

‘You've gone to such lengths on his behalf, and he's been lurking in the background ever since I've known you.'

‘That's silly. Grey's been like an older brother to me. He could have abandoned me but he saved my life, and I'll always be in his debt.'

Davey leaned towards her, his expression unusually serious. ‘He abducted you, Sarah. He did it on Trigg's orders but he was the one who stole you away from the people who loved you. He might have had a fit of conscience but he didn't do the right thing and return you to the Arbuthnots. He took you to live with that crazy woman and you were just a kid.'

‘You're forgetting one thing, Davey. If Grey hadn't left me with Miss Elsie I would never have met you.'

‘And that would have been a tragedy because I love you, Sarah. I've always loved you since we was nippers, but I'm just a fisherman and the man lying in this bed was born into the gentry. He's not a villain like Trigg, he's a rebel like Miss Elsie, but at the bottom of it they're a different breed from us, Sarah. You and me are cut from the same cloth.'

She rose swiftly to her feet. ‘Davey, I don't know what you're talking about. It doesn't matter how I feel about Grey or even you at this moment. Whatever happens I'm not going to let him die in this miserable cottage, far from home.'

He pushed back his chair and stood up. ‘I can see you've made up your mind, no matter what I say.'

‘The most important thing is for Grey to have proper medical attention and to get you home to Mary and the boys.' She was quick to see the flicker of doubt in his eyes as she mentioned his family and she pressed home her point. ‘There's something I haven't told you, but you'll find out sooner or later.'

‘What is it? Tell me, for God's sake.'

‘I didn't mention it before because you were ill, but Mary and the children were evicted. She couldn't pay the rent and Mrs Trigg, acting for the landlord who happens to be George Fitch, threw them out and put another tenant in your house.'

‘The bastard. Where are they now? What's happened to them?'

‘They're safe and well. I took them to Blackwood House and Parker is looking after them, but if Mrs Trigg finds out she'll tell George Fitch, and the poor little things will be homeless again. They need you, Davey.'

‘You took care of them for me. I won't forget that.'

Grey moaned and his eyelids fluttered. He peered up at Sarah and there was a flash of recognition in his eyes. ‘Sarah?' His voice was barely a whisper.

She clasped his hand. ‘Don't try to talk. I'm here and I won't leave you.'

Something like a sigh escaped his lips and his head lolled to one side. For a terrible moment Sarah thought that it was the end, but leaning over him she could feel his breath soft against her cheek. She straightened up with a determined lift of her chin. ‘We must get him to Calais before nightfall. I don't fancy his chances if we stay here a day longer.'

‘Someone's coming.' Davey stood up to look out of the window. ‘I think your priest has done his best, but we won't be travelling in style,' he said, chuckling.

She stood up and hurried to his side. ‘It's not funny, Davey,' she said, gazing in dismay at the farm wagon below. The ancient carthorse looked as though it was ready for the knacker's yard and the driver could have been any age from sixty to ninety. The priest climbed down and made his way up the path to the front door.

‘Don't you dare make a joke of this,' Sarah said angrily. ‘Stay here and I'll let him in.' She left the room and ran downstairs to open the front door

The priest brushed past her and stood in the middle of the room, gazing around with a critical eye. ‘It's a decent enough place,' he said slowly. ‘It would make a good home, but the people in the village will not come here.'

A shiver ran down Sarah's spine as she remembered the dead bird and Nettie's dire foreboding. ‘Why not, Father?'

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘It is how do you say in English?' He frowned thoughtfully. ‘Ah yes, superstition. There was talk of witchcraft but that was long ago.'

She was about to question him further when Davey appeared at the top of the stairs. ‘I need help to get Tobias out of bed. I can carry him over my good shoulder but I can't lift him on my own.'

‘I have done enough. I have to go now.' The priest made for the door. ‘God go with you, my child.' He left the cottage and Sarah had to run to catch up with him. ‘The purse, Father. You forgot to give it back to me.'

‘The driver has been paid.' He put his hand in his pocket and drew out the depleted leather pouch. ‘You should leave quickly. Word has got round that you are living in this cursed place and the villagers are angry. Who knows what they will do.' He strode off with his robes flapping around him and his sandals making slapping sounds on the frozen ground.

Sarah weighed the pouch in her hand and sighed. It was obvious that the driver had received a generous sum of money for his trouble, but he was huddled on the driving seat like a malignant goblin, staring straight ahead. She had been planning to ask for his assistance but one look at his surly profile was enough to make her change her mind.

She hurried back to the cottage and went upstairs to join Davey in the sick room. ‘We must leave right away.'