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‘I fear the roof has been patched so many times that one big storm might bring it down,’ the workhouse master told Arthur. ‘And I do not believe that the present budget will stretch to a new roof, sir.’
‘Nor I,’ Arthur replied. ‘Leave it with me, Docherty, and I shall request some advice regarding the cost.’ It would not be easy to convince the governors that more money was needed for the upkeep of the workhouse, and Arthur was aware that much of the cost of a new roof would fall on him. However, to leave it much longer would be to risk it giving way in the first storm.
The men had already eaten their meal and left to get on with the work they did here at the workhouse. Several of them recognised Arthur and tipped their heads to him, though a few had looked at him resentfully. Now the women and girls were coming in to take their places at the long tables. Once, the inmates had all been served together but the new mistress preferred that the women and girls eat separately but he noticed that some whispering went on as the two groups passed at the door.
Arthur watched as the women quietly took their places, voices low and respectful. He watched the women serving the meal and noticed one elderly woman in particular. She wore a grey puritan bonnet, a grey wool dress and a white apron, much as the other women, but there was something about her that was different. As Arthur watched, seeing the hands, misshapen and gnarled with age, she lifted her head and looked at him – and then very deliberately winked before returning to her task of ladling out stew into the enamelled plates.
‘That woman is a little old to be working, isn’t she?’ Arthur murmured to the warden beside him.
Master Docherty looked at her and frowned. ‘That’s old Moll,’ he said. ‘She is old, but stronger than you’d think. I imagine she’s had a hard life, though I know little of her. She turned up a few weeks ago and said she’d decided to come in because she was ready.’
Arthur nodded. That wink had told him that Moll had more spirit than most of the inmates. If she was ‘ready’, then she had quite probably decided that she would come here to die. Many of the older folk did that once the struggle for life outside became too hard.
‘Take care of her,’ he said to Master Docherty. ‘It won’t hurt her to do light work if she’s up to it – but give her a few extra perks, please, and I will reimburse you for them.’
‘Certainly, sir,’ the master said and nodded. ‘I rather think Moll enjoys her beer. An extra ration at night now and then won’t hurt.’
‘No, indeed,’ Arthur said and smiled. ‘Well, Master Docherty, I shall see what can be done about your roof. I congratulate you on the cleanliness of the place. It is a vast improvement on what it was.’
‘That is down to my wife,’ the master said, looking pleased. ‘Mistress Docherty is a good woman and will be sorry to have missed you, sir, but she was called out to visit an elderly couple. They cannot manage now he is too old to work but they are reluctant to come in.’
Arthur nodded. There was a stigma about the workhouse and few would willingly come in, unless they had good reason like Moll, who, he was almost sure, had come here to die in a bed rather than on the streets.
Arthur took his leave. Some young lads were sweeping the yard as he crossed it and one of them grinned, doffed his cap and bowed. ‘Do yer need someone to ’old yer ’orses, sir?’
‘I’m walking today,’ Arthur said and smiled. Taking a shilling from his pocket, he tossed it to the boy. ‘Come to me when you’re fifteen and I’ll see what I can do …’
‘Jem Carter’s me name, sir!’
Arthur smiled as the lad caught the shilling and called out his thanks. Some it was easy to please, for others there was little he could do …
CHAPTER 3 (#uf6d309d4-64fc-56fb-a737-0b90c85f94d8)
It was spring, now, and the weather was beginning to get warmer. Her mother was dead and Lucy felt the weight of sorrow heavy on her shoulders. A few weeks before she died, her mother had called Lucy into the bedroom and told her that her time was short.
‘I’ve done my best by you since your father died, but have little to leave you,’ she’d said tonelessly. ‘My sister would have you, but she is a harsh woman and I think you would find it unbearable to live in her house. I have written to your father’s only relative, Mr Stoneham, care of his lawyer, telling him that I am dying, but he has not replied. You must care for your brother and sister – for I can do nothing more.’
Lucy had wept bitter tears in her own room but knew she must be strong. She was now sixteen but earned only a few shillings each week and knew that it would be hard to manage without her mother’s guiding hand. Ma had mentioned the name of their father’s rich relative but Lucy expected nothing from him for she knew that her mother had refused his help after Pa died, because of her pride. Mr Stoneham’s lawyer had offered financial help but Ma had refused it and nothing more had been heard from Mr Stoneham. Now Lucy had Ma to bury and did not know how she would manage it.
Unless she could find five pounds, they would bury Ma in a pauper’s grave. The vicar had been to visit and asked what hymns she wanted sung in church and he’d told her that it would cost six pounds for the burial if they wanted a good oak coffin. All they had in the world was the eighteen shillings in Ma’s purse and two shillings Josh had left in his pay packet that week. As a lowly apprentice at the factory, he received only three shillings and sixpence a week.
‘Where are we goin’ ter get five pounds?’ Josh asked anxiously. Kitty was whimpering, crying for her mother. Lucy had given her bread and jam and it was all over her face.
Lucy picked up a flannel, wet it and wiped her sister’s face. ‘Crying won’t bring Ma back,’ she reproved and received a resentful look from Kitty, who at eight years old, and the baby of the family, had been her mother’s favourite.
‘I want Ma!’
‘So do I, but she’s dead,’ Josh said. ‘Stop that row, Kitty. We have to talk about what we’re goin’ ter do next.’
Lucy’s eyes went to the corner cupboard. Ma had loved it and she loved it too, but it was one of the few things of value they owned. ‘I suppose we could sell the cupboard,’ she said half-heartedly. ‘And we could sell Ma’s weddin’ ring or her gold pin that Pa gave her …’
‘Not the weddin’ ring,’ Josh said. ‘The pin and the cupboard and her clothes – you could sell her shoes at that stall …’
‘Josh!’ Lucy was distressed. ‘Must we sell Ma’s things when she’s hardly cold?’
‘Do you want Ma buried in a pauper’s grave?’
‘No, I don’t,’ Lucy said and tears trickled down her cheeks. ‘I can’t bear it, Josh! Why did it have to happen?’
He shrugged and looked miserable. ‘There’s Dad’s writing box in the tallboy,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘It may be worth more than the cupboard.’
‘We can’t sell Dad’s box whatever happens,’ Lucy said. ‘Supposing he comes back and asks for it?’
‘He’s dead,’ Josh said, and he was angry. ‘The box is mine as head of this family now he’s gone – and if I decide we’ll sell it, we will.’
Lucy supposed he was right. Men usually inherited everything and he was nearly a man, even though nearly two years younger than Lucy.
‘Where do we sell whatever we need to sell?’
‘There’s Ruskin’s stall on the market for the clothes and I’ll ask around for the furniture,’ Josh said and ignored Lucy’s reproachful look. ‘Ma isn’t goin’ to want her clothes, Lucy. We should let the things we like least go first – because we’ll need to sell a bit at a time or they’ll cheat us.’
‘What do you mean? Why should we sell more than we need for the funeral?’
‘Because they won’t let us stay here,’ Josh said. ‘We haven’t always paid the rent on time since Pa went – and now there are just us three the landlord will want us to leave.’
‘Where shall we go?’ Lucy had not thought she would have to leave their home and for the moment she was stunned, leaving her brother to make the decisions.
‘I’ll find us somewhere,’ he said, assuming the mantle he’d taken for himself. ‘But we have to sell some bits of furniture, because we shall only be able to afford a room – so the tallboy and the parlour furniture go first and then we’ll see.’
Lucy looked at the set of his face and knew he was hating this as much as her, but it had to be done. They must sell the things Ma had been so proud of and keep only small bits and pieces they could easily take with them. Besides, it looked as if they would have to sell most of what they had to cover the cost of the coffin and burial in hallowed ground …
Lucy counted the coins in her purse. She had five half-crowns, six shillings and several sixpences and pennies. It was all they had left in the world after paying their debts and the rent owed for the cottage they were leaving that day.
Lucy hadn’t seen the room Josh had found for them yet, but she guessed, from the look in her brother’s eyes, that it was not what they’d been used to. He’d loaded most of what they still owned on a barrow he’d borrowed and taken it on ahead. They’d managed to keep their mattresses, their father’s box, Ma’s sewing box, the corner cupboard and a few blankets, some crockery and their own clothes and trinkets. Their clothes were in three leather bags, which had belonged to their parents, and that was all they had left in the world.
Lucy was loath to sell her mother’s few bits of jewellery and she wore Ma’s wedding ring around her neck on a ribbon which was sewn together so it could not come untied and be lost. The little gold pin with a cabochon ruby was pinned inside Lucy’s frock, but that was all they had left. A gold cross and chain and a silver brooch had been sold, as well as a gold stock pin that belonged to their father. It had been Josh’s by right but he’d preferred to keep their father’s writing box.
Josh had taken some of their money to pay the new landlord. Because they were young, Mr Snodgrass had asked for a month’s rent in advance and Josh had paid him.
‘You can’t blame him,’ Josh said when they’d discussed it. ‘Why should he trust us?’
Lucy wondered if they could trust the landlord, but she didn’t challenge Josh, because he’d searched for the room and was proud that he’d found them somewhere to go. He was two years her junior but considered himself the man of the family. Mr Pottersby next door had hinted that they should go to the workhouse.
‘Kitty is not yet nine and should be in care of the wardens,’ he’d said to her. ‘You and young Josh can work, but what’s she to do all day? You won’t be able to afford to send her to school. Be sensible, lass, and put her in the workhouse. They’ll take care of her until she’s old enough to work – and then you can fetch her home.’
‘I’ll never let my sister go to the spike,’ Lucy told him proudly. ‘My father would want us all to be together.’
‘You’re a good lass.’ Mr Pottersby shook his head sadly. ‘The wife would take the little one in but we can’t afford to keep her …’
‘You’ve been good to us, sir,’ Lucy admitted, because his wife had sometimes brought her mother hot food in the middle of the day, when Lucy was working and could not look after her. ‘But Kitty wants to be with us.’
‘Well, I’ll wish you luck, Lucy,’ her neighbour said. ‘And if you want to sell that cupboard of yourn, I’d give yer thirty shillings fer it.’
Lucy had already been offered three pounds and refused it, so she shook her head and smiled. ‘Thank you, but we shall keep it to store our bread and cheese in. I’ll remember your offer if I need it, Mr Pottersby.’
‘Well, orf you go then – and give me your key. The landlord says I’m to keep it until the new tenant comes this afternoon.’
Lucy turned back to look at her home, tears hovering. She’d been happy there as a small girl when Pa was home from the sea, and now she was leaving it all behind to go to a place she was certain she would not like half as well …
The room was in one of a row of terraced houses in a dirty, narrow lane that didn’t even have a name, and the whole house stank of urine and stale, boiled cabbage. The windows were grimy, the dull grey lace curtains in holes, and the flooring was nothing but bare boards.
Kitty started crying as soon as she got inside and Lucy felt like joining in. Even with the peg rugs they’d brought from home and their mattresses and bits and pieces, it looked awful.
‘Oh, Josh – there isn’t even a table or a chair,’ Lucy said. ‘I thought there would be something.’
‘The room I saw and paid for was better,’ Josh said and looked as if he too wanted to weep. ‘It had a carpet on part of the floor, a bed and a table with chairs, and a chest of drawers – but when we arrived today, the landlord said someone else paid him more for it and this was all he had left for us. He said take it or leave it.’
‘Did he give you some of your money back?’ Lucy asked and saw the answer in his eyes. Josh had been cheated and made to look a fool and now he was angry and hurt, but there was nothing he could do. Having seen the landlord on her way in, Lucy would never have trusted him with their precious money, but it would only humiliate Josh to say so. He’d thought he was making a home for them and now he felt shamed.
‘I’ll look for somewhere better,’ Josh promised and Lucy forced herself to smile at him.
‘We’ll both look,’ she said. ‘I know it isn’t easy, especially when we both have to work …’ She hesitated, then, ‘What are we goin’ to do with Kitty when we’re at work?’
‘She’ll have to stay here,’ Josh said, then made a groaning sound. ‘I know it isn’t fit – but it’d cost money to send her to school, because she’ll have to pay for her dinner – and her clothes aren’t good enough.’
Lucy frowned. ‘Is there a charity school in this area?’ If she could take her sister to a school and leave her for the day she would feel much easier. Kitty was sensible most of the time – she’d attended a local school and she’d helped look after their mother in the last days of her life. Yet she was only eight years old and they could hardly leave her in this dreadful place all day, especially if their cheating landlord was around.
‘I think there’s a church school,’ Josh said. ‘They might take her – it would cost a penny or two a week for her food but not much.’
‘It’s Sunday tomorrow. I’ll go and ask after the service.’ Lucy sighed. She’d been working as she talked and now the room looked a little better. ‘We’re goin’ to move as soon as we can, Josh. And I’m goin’ to ask that awful man for some of our money back before we move.’
‘I already did,’ Josh said. ‘We’ve been cheated, Lucy, and there’s nothing we can do – but I’ll know better next time.’
Lucy nodded. She’d let him handle the move, because he’d wanted to, but in future she would make sure she knew what he was doing. It was hard enough to earn the few shillings they were paid each week and they could not afford to waste it.
‘Can you get a fire goin’ in the grate?’ she asked her brother. ‘I want to heat some soup for our tea. We’ll need to buy bread, in future, and it isn’t easy to cook anything here except in a saucepan.’
‘There’s a pie shop on the corner,’ Josh said and bent to start building the fire with the paper, wood and coal they’d brought with them. ‘I could bring us something home at night when I come from work.’
‘Yes …’ Lucy realised they would have to change the way they lived. She’d managed to buy food cheaply on the market, but unless she had somewhere to cook properly they would have to buy hot food from a shop or one of the stalls on the street corners, and that was bound to cost more. ‘Yes, we can do that sometimes, but I can toast bread over the fire, Josh – and a little soup is much cheaper.’
Josh looked angry. ‘I didn’t do very well, did I? You’d better look after the money in future.’ He took some copper coins from his pocket and slammed them down on top of the corner cupboard. ‘I’ll be back later …’
‘Where are you goin’?’ Lucy asked but he was gone, shutting the door with a bang.
‘I want to go home!’ Kitty started whining and crying. ‘I’m cold and I’m hungry …’
‘I’ll make you some toast and soup as soon as I’ve got the fire burning properly,’ Lucy said and used the cheap brass Vesta case that had been her mother’s to strike a match and light the paper Josh had stuffed into the grate. It caught immediately and she layered wood on it, then a few pieces of the coal Josh had brought on the barrow.
In future Josh would have to bring a bag home on his way from work and he needed to make a small barrow for himself, because the larger one he’d borrowed had already gone back to its owner.
Lucy’s eyes stung with tears as she prepared their meal. Life had never been easy but it was going to be a lot worse now …
Lucy spoke to the Reverend Mr Joseph the next day, after morning service. She explained their predicament and he immediately told her that Kitty would be welcome in his school. There would be a payment of one penny a day for five days a week, which covered the cost of hot soup and bread for lunch and a cup of milk; it was very reasonable and just within her means. Lucy thanked him and he nodded, giving her a sorrowful look.
‘It is hard to lose one’s parents, especially for such a young girl as you, my dear,’ he said. ‘I expect your brother has taken charge of the family, as he should being the man of the family, but you will have the care of your little sister – and she will be quite safe in my charge.’
Clearly, he believed that her brother was older, the protector of his family. Lucy said nothing to make him change his mind, because she knew that if people thought they were not fit to have charge of their own lives they would be forced into the workhouse.
Lucy thanked him and turned away, holding Kitty by the hand. It was a cool morning, the sun overcast by dark clouds, and the drab streets seemed unusually empty, only an old man bending to pluck something from the filth in the gutter and a ginger cat licking itself on a windowsill. As she walked home, Lucy thought about the new dress she would make for her sister; she’d kept a couple of Ma’s best dresses, which had been made of good material, for when Pa was alive money had not been so tight, and she could cut them up for Kitty so that she looked decent for school. Pa had been the third son of a country parson, and made his way in the world as a sea captain until the storm had taken his life and cargo. As she turned, Lucy almost bumped into a young girl. She had beautiful pale-blonde hair and looked to be a similar age to her own.
‘Forgive me,’ Lucy apologised. ‘I wasn’t lookin’ where I was goin’.’
‘Nor was I,’ the other girl said and laughed. ‘My name is Eliza Jones – and I work for Miss Edith Richards as her assistant. She’s an apothecary and I’m taking the Reverend Mr Joseph a cure for his rheumatism – but you mustn’t tell him I told you.’
Lucy smiled, assuring her she would not. ‘I’m Lucy – I’ve just been arranging for my sister Kitty to start school with Mr Joseph tomorrow,’ Lucy said and pushed her sister forward. ‘Say hello to Eliza.’
Kitty hung her head and mumbled something, but Eliza smiled and bent down to look at her. ‘You are a lucky girl to be able to learn your letters, Kitty. I never learned until I went to live with Miss Edith and I should’ve liked to learn when I was your age.’
‘I want to go home,’ Kitty said and a tear trickled down her cheek. ‘I want Ma …’
‘Ma died,’ Lucy said and looked at the other girl apologetically. ‘Kitty is only eight and doesn’t understand what it means when someone dies.’
‘Your mother has gone to Heaven,’ Eliza said and smiled at the younger girl. ‘I hope you enjoy school, Kitty. I must go – it was nice to meet you, Lucy. Perhaps we’ll meet again.’
‘Yes, I’d like that.’ Lucy took her sister by the hand. She’d liked the look of Eliza Jones and wished she might have got to know her better, but Eliza was busy and Lucy had a lot to do when she got back to their room. Even though it was such a poor place, it had to be kept tidy and she wanted to speak to the landlord if she could. There must be a kitchen in the house and she ought to have the use of it sometimes – just as she’d learned they all shared the toilet in the back yard. Otherwise, how was she to wash their clothes? If she took them to a laundry the charge would be more than her slender purse could afford.
A surge of disgust went through her as she remembered taking their chamber pot to the closet in the yard that morning. It had stunk worse than anything she’d ever smelled before, making the vomit rush up her throat as she’d emptied their pot into the nauseous pool of sewage. How long was it since anyone had paid the night-soil man to come and clear the waste away? Lucy’s mind moved on to something even more troubling. It had been very late when her brother had come home the previous evening. She’d been waiting up for him, worried, because he’d never been home that late, and when he’d eventually come in at past one in the morning, it was obvious that he’d been drinking.
‘Oh, Josh,’ she’d said to him. ‘What have you done? I thought you had no money?’
‘I didn’t sh-pend any …’ he said and started giggling. ‘My f-friends treat … shed me …’ He hiccupped and grinned at her foolishly. ‘Don’t look at me like that … you’re not my …’ He’d turned away hurriedly and been sick on the floor. The smell had been awful and it had taken Lucy two trips to the tap in the back yard to fetch enough water to wash the stink away.
Josh had apologised before falling on to his mattress and immediately started to snore. Lucy wasn’t sure if he was really asleep, but she hadn’t remonstrated with him. What could she do? She wasn’t his mother and she didn’t have the right to order him around. His recent rise in wages meant he earned almost as much as she did, and he’d always brought every penny home.
Lucy stuck her chin out defiantly. She and Josh had decided that they could manage on their own. They certainly did not want to live in the country with their mother’s sister; Ma hadn’t liked her and so she must be awful. The only other alternative was the workhouse, and Lucy had heard bad things about the one in Farthing Lane. People crossed themselves as they hurried by and Mr Pottersby said he’d rather die than go there. Lucy was determined that neither she nor her brother or sister was ever going to set foot there and she pitied the poor devils who had no choice.
‘I really cannot see why you wish to inspect the kitchens,’ Mistress Docherty said when Arthur made the request that morning. ‘I assure you everything is done in accordance with workhouse rules.’
‘Oh, I am certain that you follow them to the letter, ma’am,’ Arthur replied with a smile that eased her frown. He was a handsome man and not many women could resist that smile; despite her resistance, she softened towards him. ‘I just wish to make sure that your employees are doing as you bid them – I am sure you would not wish your inmates to be cheated of their rights?’
‘Indeed not, sir,’ Mistress Docherty replied, pursing her thin lips. She was a thin woman with a straight back, pale face and dark hair that she wore scraped back in a knot. Her black button boots shone and her black dress was neat, a lace collar fastened at the throat with a cameo brooch. ‘I am looking for a trained cook, but it is not easy to find one who will work for the wages I can offer. One of the inmates does the cooking at the moment, and others help. Her meals are adequate but perhaps might be better.’
‘It is not easy to find cooks of the right quality,’ Arthur agreed.
The mistress of the workhouse insisted on accompanying him to the kitchens, which was slightly annoying as he preferred to talk to the inmates alone so they might talk freely.
A stew was being prepared in the kitchen. It was a long room with low ceilings and dark beams from which hooks were suspended so that pans and skillets could be hung close to the black range where the meal was slowly cooking. The newly whitewashed walls gave it an appearance of cleanliness and the tiled floor had been scrubbed recently. The smell of the stew was quite enticing, and Arthur asked if he might taste the broth. Given a spoon, he dipped it in the liquid and then sipped. It contained more meat than in the past and he nodded his satisfaction at Sadie, the old woman who presided over three others. He noticed that one of them was Moll; she sat by the pot and gave it an occasional stir. As he watched, she tasted it and then, when Sadie’s back was turned, she put in a pinch of salt and winked at Arthur. He smiled back, because he liked the elderly woman’s spirit.
