Without Sin (16 page)

Clara’s eyes shifted towards Meg and then widened. ‘What of?’

‘What?’ Percy was mystified.

‘What of? What did the boy die of?’

Percy shrugged. ‘I don’t know . . .’ Now they both gazed at Meg.

Meg bit her lip. She knew only too well that her brother had died of diphtheria, but would Miss Pendleton and her brother want the fact known? An epidemic in the workhouse was something to be
feared. Already there were two more suspected cases amongst the children, but the matron had isolated them at once and Dr Collins visited daily. But Meg didn’t want Mr Rodwell or Miss Finch
to hear about it any more than Isaac wanted it known beyond the workhouse walls. She faced them squarely. ‘I don’t know. You’d have to ask the doctor – or the
matron.’

‘Well, I hope it was nothing infectious, girl,’ Clara said and took a step backwards. ‘I think I’ll be going, Percy. I’ll see you tonight.’

‘Thank you, my dear. I shall look forward to it.’

‘Don’t be late. Theobald hates unpunctuality.’

As the shop bell tinkled at her departure, Meg busied herself with tidying the shelves. She could not trust herself to meet Percy’s eyes. She knew her runaway tongue was in danger of
saying far more than it ought to.

The work was not as physically hard as farm work and yet, for some reason, Meg found it very tiring. Maybe it was having to be quiet and polite all day long, with a smile
permanently plastered on her face. She was constantly alert, trying to anticipate Mr Rodwell’s every need. There was so much to learn, much more than she had ever dreamed. All the different
garments, the different sizes, different fabrics and qualities. And when the new stock began to arrive – stock that was new even to Percy and something of a mystery to him – Meg was
busier than ever. He was already looking to her to take charge of it. To price it and put it away. Even to display it, although he was still embarrassed to have ladies’ undergarments on show.
A new counter had been installed on the right-hand side of the shop and all the drawers and shelves behind were given over to women’s wear. Meg lost count of the number of times she climbed
the stairs to the cluttered rooms above the shop to dump piles of men’s vests, long johns, socks and shirts to make room for the ladies’ garments. But at least now she could see the
rooms on the first floor for herself. She had been right; they were only used as storerooms and untidy, higgledy-piggledy storerooms at that! They weren’t even proper stockrooms, Meg
realized. Oh, she’d taken plenty of old stock up, but she had never once seen Percy bring anything down into the shop. The rooms were just a dumping ground for rubbish, she was sure.

She would ask him, Meg determined, if she could tidy the rooms out, give them a good clean and sort out all the stock. If she worked hard and pleased him, he would take her on permanently as his
assistant and then she could ask him if she and her mother might live above the shop. She would tell him how much better it would be to have someone living on the premises. She could light the
stove before he even arrived. She could sweep and dust and clean the shop after it closed. He wouldn’t have to stay late at night to do these tasks, as she knew he often did.

Percy was speaking to her, dragging her back from her plans. ‘When you serve the customers, Miss Kirkland, you must let them know – delicately, of course – that we now stock
such – erm – items.’ He waved his hand towards the drawers containing ladies’ underwear.

Meg smiled to herself and was crafty enough not to explain every little detail about the new stock to her employer. The less he knew about ladies’ apparel the more he would need to rely
upon her.

She was enjoying the work, but every night her head whirled until it ached with all the information she had tried to absorb. And there were still chores in the workhouse awaiting her at
night.

On the Saturday evening at the end of her third week working in the tailor’s shop, Meg trudged wearily home.
Home!
she thought in disgust as the huge building loomed out of the
dusk.
Fancy having to call the workhouse ‘home’
. They had been in the workhouse now for almost seven weeks and Meg was even more desperate to leave it than she had been when they
had first been admitted. Then she had truly believed that they would only be there for a few days at the most.

‘If I ever meet up with him again,’ she vowed, thinking of her father, who had caused all this, ‘I’ll kill him. And
her
.’

She still wasn’t sure which betrayal hurt her the most: her father’s or her friend’s.

But tonight, as she opened the gate into the yard, her steps quickened. Something was banishing her tiredness and unhappy thoughts. She couldn’t wait to tell her mother. She had left the
shop that evening, calling, ‘Goodnight,’ to Mr Rodwell and leaving him to close up. In the street she had paused for a moment to glance up at the windows above the shop. If they were
all cleared out, as she planned, there was plenty of room for her and her mother to live up there. She hugged the idea to herself, feeling more positive and hopeful than she had for weeks. As she
hurried through the workhouse gate and across the yard, she was vaguely aware of someone calling her name. But, intent on sharing her wonderful idea with her mother, she paid no heed and ran inside
and up the steps into the women’s day room.

‘Mam,’ she cried, flinging open the door. ‘Mam, where are you? I’ve had the most marvellous idea. If only . . .’

She stopped, hesitating in the doorway as her gaze swept around the room. Several faces turned towards her, others did not look up, and Meg had the strange feeling that it was deliberate. No one
spoke.

‘Where is she? Where’s my mam?’ she asked of no one in particular. Now everyone lowered their gaze and turned away. Only one woman stood up and stumbled across the room towards
her.

Ursula Waters stood before her. Her thin, bony hands clasped Meg’s shoulders, her fingers digging painfully into the girl’s flesh. Young and strong, Meg quickly shook her off.

‘You ask where she is?’ Ursula shrieked, her eyes wild, spittle showering Meg’s face. ‘As if you didn’t know. You’ve planned it, I bet. You’re a
scheming little hussy and she’s no better than she should be.’

‘Waters, I don’t know what you’re on about.’

But Ursula continued to scream at her, tears now coursing down her thin, lined cheeks. ‘Fancy, a mother who’s just lost her child, two, if you count the miscarriage. And look at her
now. Carrying on like a common trollop off the streets. I felt sorry for her. I did. I did. But not any more. Oh, not any more.’

Now it was Meg who gripped the woman’s shoulders firmly. ‘Waters, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Just tell me – where is my mam?’

Waters’s face contorted into an ugly grimace. ‘With
him
,’ she spat. ‘With the master.’

Meg blinked, still unable to understand why Ursula was so upset. ‘She’s gone to see him, you mean? What about? Is something wrong?’

‘Oho, there’s something wrong all right, but not the way you mean,’ Ursula said bitterly. ‘Oh no, everything’s all right for her. Very “all right”
now.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘She’s gone to him.’

‘Yes, you said that, but—’

‘Moved in with him. Moved her belongings into his room. She’s – she’s
with
him. Your mother is Mr Pendleton’s new – new
fancy woman
.’

Meg’s mouth dropped open and she stared at the woman in front of her in horror. ‘Wha— what do you mean?’

Ursula’s lip curled. ‘You know exactly what I mean! A girl of your age and brought up on a farm too. Oh, don’t play the innocent with me.’

Vaguely, Meg heard a movement behind her. Someone else had come into the room, but she hardly noticed. She was so caught up by the terrible things this vindictive woman was saying about her
mother. ‘But – but my mam would never – she wouldn’t . . .’ Meg was incensed. Her green eyes blazed and she raised her hand as if to strike Ursula. But before the blow
could land, someone standing behind her caught hold of her wrist and held it fast.

‘Don’t, Meg.’ Jake’s voice was soft in her ear. ‘It’ll cause you more trouble. Come away. Leave her.’

Meg struggled against his grasp, but Jake held on grimly. He put his arm about her waist and dragged her bodily from the room, whilst Meg still shouted and cursed at Ursula. She shook her fist.
‘You wicked, evil woman to say such things. I’ll – I’ll . . .’ But she could think of nothing bad enough to threaten.

‘Come away, Meg,’ Jake urged, all the while pulling her out of the room. Once in the passageway, he pulled the door shut and leant against it, barring her way back inside.
‘Just calm down, will yer?’ He spoke firmly now. ‘And I’ll explain it all.’

‘What is there to explain? She’s got it wrong. My mam wouldn’t . . .’ She fell silent, her mouth open. She squinted in the half-light of the passageway to see
Jake’s face more clearly. His expression was sober, pitying almost. ‘She wouldn’t . . .’ she protested again, but now her voice was feeble and cold uncertainty was stealing
over her. She shivered and Jake drew her close. Her head resting on his shoulder, neither of them caring for once who saw them, Jake whispered, ‘What she says is true.’ As he said the
words Meg stiffened and would have pushed away from him, but he held her firmly. ‘Not – not perhaps like she’s making it sound. That dried-up old prune is jealous. That’s
what’s the matter with her. Just ’cos your mam is young and pretty and old Isaac is taken with her. Who can blame him, eh?’

Now Meg sobbed against his neck and clung to him. ‘Oh, Jake, it’s not true, is it? She wouldn’t – couldn’t – take up with a man like Mr Pendleton.’ She
paused and then added in a pitiful tone that tore at the boy’s heart, ‘Could she?’

Jake stroked her hair tenderly. ‘Isaac likes the ladies. Always has. But he’s kind to ’em. Even when he – well – when he moves on to the next, he sees that
they’re well cared for. He finds them a job in the town or even a job here.’

Slowly Meg raised her head and looked at him. Her mind was working again. ‘You mean – that Waters was once – you know?’ It was what the woman herself had implied, but Meg
hadn’t believed it possible.

Jake nodded. ‘It was before I can remember, but that’s what they say. After, he tried to set her up with a nice little job in the town. Working in a little shop, they said. Ever such
a nice, genteel sort of job, but she wouldn’t go. She wanted to stay here in the workhouse. Can you believe it?’

Meg swallowed and said huskily, ‘Yes, yes, I can. I see it all now. I see why she’s – she’s so bitter. She still loves him and it must hurt her to see him take up with
younger women.’ She felt a fleeting pity for the lonely spinster. Then another thought struck her. ‘But I thought Mr Pendleton had his eye on
her
. . .’ She couldn’t
bring herself to say Louisa Daley’s name but there was no need, for Jake laughed softly. ‘The schoolmarm, you mean?’

Meg nodded.

‘Oh aye, well he had. But the young doctor’s got in there first and I ’spect old Isaac doesn’t want to upset him. Dr Collins does the workhouse quite a few favours. He
attends folk here without sending in a bill a lot of the time, but I reckon it’s because he can see Miss Daley when he visits.’

Meg sighed and shook her head. ‘It’s all too much for me. I can’t take it in. Me mam. How could she? How
could
she?’ She shuddered at the thought of her mother
lying beside Isaac Pendleton in his bed. ‘It’s disgusting.
She’s
disgusting.’

‘Aw, don’t be like that, Meg. Your mam must be feeling so bad, what with losing her baby, then her little lad . . .’ Jake bit his lip, not wanting to refer directly to her
father’s desertion, yet the thought was in both their minds. ‘And Isaac will be kind to her. He’s a good man, really.’

‘How can you say that after the way he beat you? That was cruel.’

Jake shrugged. He had known no other life than within the walls of the workhouse. He had no means of comparison. ‘I’ve sometimes thought he’s a bit harder on me than the other
lads, but then –’ he grinned – ‘I’m more trouble to him than they are. And I’ve always got the matron on my side.’

‘She likes you,’ Meg murmured absentmindedly, her mind still in a tumult of emotions concerning her own problems. ‘She’s not what I imagined the matron in the workhouse
would be. I thought she’d be horrible. More like Waters.’

‘Aw, come on, Meg. Poor old Waters is an unhappy woman.’

Meg stared at him. ‘How is it,’ she asked slowly, ‘that you seem so – so sensible and – and knowing, when you’ve never hardly been outside the
workhouse?’

Jake tweaked her nose playfully. ‘I’ve always kept mi eyes and mi ears open. I’ve met lots of fellers in here and they all had a story to tell and they’ve liked talking
to me. About their lives, their families and how they’d come to be in here. Well, I listened, Meg, and I learned. I learned a bit of readin’ and writin’ in the school room but I
learned a lot more about life by listening to them fellers.’ Now his ready smile widened. ‘And now I’m not going to be here for much longer. That’s why I came looking for
you, to tell you.’

Meg suddenly realized that Jake should have been nowhere near the women’s quarters. His news must be important for him to take such a risk.

‘I’ve got that job on Smallwood’s farm. I start on Monday.’ His eyes were shining. ‘Only one more day, Meg, and I’m out of here. And it’s all thanks to
you. If you hadn’t taken me out wi’ you that day, I might have been stuck in here for the rest of mi life. But now I’m getting out and I ain’t coming back. Not
ever.’

Meg felt a lump in her throat that had nothing to do with the news about her mother. She touched his shoulder. ‘I’m glad, Jake. Real glad for you. But I’ll miss you.’

He laughed aloud. ‘Oh, you’ll still be seeing me. I’ll be down to that there shop you’re working in to get the mester there to mek me mi first proper suit. You see if I
don’t.’

Meg couldn’t bring herself to seek out her mother. She didn’t want to speak to her or even see her. And she certainly didn’t want to encounter Isaac
Pendleton. That night she lay in the narrow bed in the women’s dormitory. The empty bed beside her, where her mother had slept, taunted her. Meg stared into the darkness, listening to the
breathing, snores, even murmurings of the other women in the room. Sometime during the early hours of the morning she must have dozed fitfully, but when it was time to get up she awoke with a
blinding headache. She was sorry it was Sunday. She wanted nothing more than to escape to the sanctuary of the tailor’s shop. But she had to endure the glances and the whisperings of the
other women, the long walk into the town to morning service and another long, restless night.