The Workhouse Girl (8 page)

‘I understand. Hurry along, and perhaps Cook would be kind enough to let us have a cup of tea and some of her delicious gingerbread. It's nearly Christmas.'

The next evening Sarah and Nettie put on the dresses that Miss Gant had made for them to wear on Sundays and special occasions. Nettie's gown in blue and crimson tartan was worn over a small crinoline and just skimmed the tops of her high buttoned boots. Sarah's was identical, but shorter.

‘I never had anything so grand,' Nettie said, executing a twirl and almost knocking the milk jug off the kitchen table.

‘You're supposed to be a young lady,' Cook said severely. ‘If you don't act like one I'll ask Miss Gant to make your skirt shorter, like Sarah's.'

Sarah glanced down at her beautiful dress and frowned. ‘Why do I have to wear short skirts like a little nipper?'

‘Because you are just a nipper.' Dorcas tweaked the bow on Sarah's bonnet. ‘You're not ten yet and Nettie's had her twelfth birthday, although she acts like a six-year-old at times.'

Nettie opened her mouth as if to argue but Cook held up her hand. ‘That was the doorbell. Run up and answer it, Nettie. It'll be Miss Parfitt, I expect.'

Nettie flew up the stairs, taking two at a time and almost tripping over her skirts as she ran. Moments later she reappeared, her face shining with excitement. ‘Miss Parfitt's here and Franz, the head sugar baker.'

‘Mr Beckman to you, miss,' Dorcas said, pursing her lips.

Nettie shrugged her thin shoulders. ‘Anyway, the mistress says come upstairs, all of you, including Betty.'

‘Are you sure that's what she said?' Cook turned to glare at Betty who had covered her face with her apron and was uttering a sound like a braying jackass. ‘I'm sure she doesn't mean you, you stupid girl.'

‘Madam said everyone; even her.' Nettie shot a disdainful look at Betty. ‘Madam said we should all partake of a little Christmas cheer before going out into the cold night.'

‘Oh lawks!' Betty screeched through the folds of material. ‘I never had no Christmas cheer.'

Cook seized her trusty umbrella and hooked the apron from Betty's grasp. ‘You may come upstairs, but only if you promise not to say a word.'

Betty's eyes widened until they seemed in danger of popping out of her head. Sarah could see that she was frightened and she held out her hand. ‘Come with me. I'll take you upstairs.'

Dorcas pushed past her, tut-tutting. ‘Leave the silly thing down here where she's content to stay by the fire. I'm not going to miss my night out for anyone.' She marched up the stairs with Nettie racing after her and Cook following at a slower pace.

Sarah took Betty by the hand. ‘There's nothing to be scared of. If I can do it so can you. There's nothing to worry about.'

‘I won't say nothing.' Betty plugged her thumb in her mouth.

‘Good girl.' Sarah led the way and they found everyone assembled in the front parlour. The aroma of hot spiced wine wafted through the open door and Sarah gave Betty a gentle push over the threshold.

Mrs Arbuthnot smiled benevolently. ‘Merry Christmas, girls.'

Sarah was about to return the compliments of the season but she stopped short, gazing at Miss Parfitt in admiration. Her teacher had abandoned the severe grey poplin dress and cape she wore on schooldays for a gown of magenta cotton sateen with a matching velvet cape and a bonnet trimmed with cream rosebuds. ‘Oh, Miss Parfitt, you look so fine,' she breathed.

Miss Parfitt blushed prettily. ‘Thank you, Sarah.'

‘You are beautiful. Like an angel.'

‘That's not true, dear, but it's kind of you to say so.'

‘The little girl is right.'

Everyone turned to stare at Franz Beckman who until that moment had been standing quietly by the fireplace with an empty glass clutched in his hand.

‘Well now,' Mrs Arbuthnot said hastily. ‘This is all very pleasant and I hope everyone has a truly wonderful evening. It is Christmas, after all.'

Cook raised her glass. ‘Merry Christmas, ma'am. And thank you for giving us such a wonderful treat. I'm sure we are all very grateful.'

Mr Arbuthnot acknowledged the toast, smiling broadly. ‘It's a pleasure to reward our loyal servants for all their hard work during the year, Mrs Burgess.'

‘Perhaps we had better leave, sir,' Franz said, placing his glass on the table. ‘We don't want to be late for the show.'

‘No indeed.' Dorcas directed a pert smile in his direction. ‘How right you are, Franz, and we all feel much safer knowing that you are accompanying us.'

He inclined his head. ‘Thank you, Miss Dorcas.'

‘Then off we go,' Cook said, tucking her umbrella under her arm. ‘Go back to the kitchen, Betty.'

‘Not fair,' Betty wailed. ‘Want to go. Always left behind.' She began to sob loudly.

‘Now, now, dear, there's no need to get yourself in a state.' Mrs Arbuthnot laid her hand on Betty's shoulder. ‘You may have an orange and some walnuts if you do as Cook says.'

‘Perhaps we ought to leave quickly,' Miss Parfitt said, gently. ‘It won't be so upsetting for her once we are gone.'

Franz moved swiftly to her side, proffering his arm. ‘May I?'

With a sidelong glance at Miss Parfitt that spoke volumes, Dorcas marched out of the room. ‘Some people have all the luck,' she muttered, tossing her head.

‘Behave yourself, Dorcas.' Cook hurried after her. ‘Come along, girls.'

Sarah put her arm around Betty's heaving shoulders. ‘Do you want me to take you back to the kitchen?'

‘Want to go too,' Betty said, hiccuping. ‘Want to see the show.'

‘For heaven's sake come on.' Nettie caught Sarah by the edge of her cape. ‘She'll forget what she was making a fuss about afore we've got halfway down the street.'

Mr Arbuthnot stepped forward to pat Betty on the head. ‘There, there, girl. You heard what the mistress said. Go downstairs and you will have a treat.'

Mrs Arbuthnot snatched an orange, some nuts and an apple from the fruit bowl. She offered them to Betty. ‘Here you are, child. Let Sarah go and you shall have all these nice things to eat.'

Betty howled even louder and Sarah was close to tears herself. She disengaged her hand from Betty's clutch and took off her new cape. She wrapped it around Betty's shoulders. ‘It ain't fair that I get all the good times and you get none. You go with them and enjoy yourself.'

‘Really, my dear, that's not necessary,' Mrs Arbuthnot said hastily. ‘I'm sure you've been looking forward to the outing just as much as anyone, if not more.'

Taking off her bonnet, Sarah placed it on Betty's head and tied the ribbons beneath her chin. ‘I was very nearly born in the theatre, ma'am. I seen more actors, dancers and singers than I've had hot dinners, so it don't seem right that I should go and poor Betty should not.'

Mrs Arbuthnot opened her mouth to speak but her husband held a finger to his lips. ‘Sarah has a point, my love. It's a noble gesture and I applaud the generosity of spirit shown by such a young child.'

Nettie put her head round the door. ‘Come on, Sarah. The others have left and we need to run to catch them up.'

‘I'm staying here, Nettie. You take Betty with you. She's never seen a show and it is Christmas.'

‘What? Me take the simpleton?'

Mr Arbuthnot's brows drew together in a frown. ‘Sarah has made a kind gesture, Nettie. I'm sure you would not want to upset the mistress and me.'

‘I don't mind staying behind,' Sarah said earnestly. ‘You can tell me all about it when you come home. I'd like that.'

‘All right, but I think you're nuts. C'mon then, stupid.' Nettie stomped out of the room, dragging Betty by the hand.

Mrs Arbuthnot gave Sarah a hug. ‘You are a dear, sweet child. That was a very nice thing to do.'

Sarah heard the front door close and was already regretting her decision. She had to bite back tears as she waited for Mrs Arbuthnot to wrap the fruit and nuts intended for Betty in a table napkin.

‘There you are, my dear.' Mrs Arbuthnot pressed the bundle into her hands. ‘You may take this down to the kitchen and make yourself a cup of hot chocolate as a special treat.'

Sarah bobbed a curtsey. ‘Thank you, ma'am.' She retreated below stairs and settled herself in Cook's rocking chair by the range. Sending Betty in her place had been the right thing to do, but she could not help wishing that she was seated in the gallery, watching the show and clapping madly at the end of each act. She wiped her eyes and took a bite from the apple, which was sweet and delicious. She ate it down to the core and tossed what remained into the fire. She was just deciding whether to peel the orange or save it for later and share it with Nettie when the sound of a bell jangling made her jump. She looked up and saw that it was the front door. Perhaps it was carol singers, she thought with a frisson of excitement. They would certainly liven up a dull evening. She leapt off the chair, placed the napkin and its contents on the table and ran upstairs, but as she stopped to check her appearance in the hall mirror she realised that she was still wearing her best frock. She hesitated, but the caller was obviously growing impatient as they hammered on the knocker.

Composing herself, Sarah went to open the door, but it was not carol singers who were standing on the steps. The mere sight of workhouse master Trigg was enough to make Sarah open her mouth to scream, but he clamped his hand over her face and lifted her off her feet before she could make a sound. She felt herself spiralling helplessly into a black pit of oblivion.

SARAH OPENED HER
eyes to almost total darkness. One moment she had been safe at home and now she was in a conveyance of some kind, hurtling through the city streets at an alarming speed. Then, in a terrifying flash, she remembered everything. Workhouse master Trigg had kidnapped her. She could feel his evil presence even if she could not make out the features of the man slumped in the seat opposite her. The smell of unwashed bodies and stale tobacco lingered in the confines of the hackney carriage, and she wrinkled her nose in distaste.

‘Don't move a muscle.'

She recognised that voice and was stricken with fear. ‘Where are you taking me?'

Trigg leaned towards her and she was sickened by the stench of his foul breath. He clamped his hand on her knee. ‘That would be telling.'

She shrank even further into the leather squabs. ‘Mr Arbuthnot will be cross.'

Trigg released her with a coarse laugh. ‘He'll be cross? He's the one who ruined me and the missis. It was his lies to the workhouse governors that got us dismissed without a character between us. I want Mr Arbuthnot to suffer and I've only just begun.'

‘It's not my fault,' Sarah whispered. ‘It's got nothing to do with me. Please let me go home, sir.'

‘I should have got ten pounds for you. Arbuthnot owes me a fiver and if I can't get if off him then I'll have to look elsewhere. Now shut up or you'll feel the back of my hand.'

Sarah cowered away from him, curling up in an attempt to keep warm. Her teeth were chattering, and the fine woollen dress so carefully made by Miss Gant was no protection against the bitter cold. She wished that she had not given her cape to Betty, and if only she had gone to the theatre as planned she would have been safe now. Her good deed had gone horribly wrong. She covered her face with her hands and stifled a sob.

The rumbling of the carriage wheels and the clatter of the horse's hooves on the frosty cobblestones seemed to go on forever, but then suddenly the rhythm changed and the carriage slowed down and came to a halt. Trigg thrust the door open and scooped her up with one arm as if she weighed less than a feather. He clambered to the pavement. ‘Say one word and I'll snap your neck,' he growled as he hitched her over his shoulder. ‘How much, cabby?'

Upside down and fearing for her life, Sarah did not hear the response, but she felt Trigg reach into his pocket and hand the money to the cabby, who drove off without a word. She was tempted to put up a fight or scream for help, but there did not seem to be anyone about. Trigg began to stride along and she was left hanging over his shoulder like a sack of coal. Each jolt made it even harder to catch her breath, and by the time he set her on her feet she was feeling sick and dizzy. He unlocked a door and thrust her into a dark passageway. ‘Move along there or I'll help you with the toe of me boot.'

As she felt her way along the damp wall her feet crunched on the carapaces of a seething mass of what could only be cockroaches: no other insect was as large or smelled as bad. The floor seemed to be alive with them and she had to stifle a cry of horror as something large and furry ran across her feet. The alarming thought crossed her mind that they must be breeding rats the size of feral cats in this dreadful place. The sounds of raised male voices and women's screams filled her ears, and somewhere in the building a baby was crying.

‘Stop there.' Trigg leaned across her to thrust a door open, and he gave her a shove that sent her sprawling onto the flagstone floor.

‘So you got her then?' Mrs Trigg rose from a stool by a desultory fire.

‘Yes, my love. Trigg always does what he promises.'

She crossed the room to drag Sarah to her feet. ‘That dress will fetch a bob or two. Take it off, girl.'

Sarah stared at her in horror. ‘What?'

‘You heard me.' Mrs Trigg stood arms akimbo. ‘D'you want to feel the Tickler's anger?'

‘N-no, ma'am.' Sarah's hands were trembling violently as she attempted to undo the tiny pearl buttons at the back of her bodice.

Losing patience, Mrs Trigg whipped her round and finished the task. ‘Now take it off.'

Too frightened to offer any resistance Sarah stepped out of the gown and wrapped her arms around her thin body. The cold air seemed to bite into her flesh as if an unseen entity was trying to eat her. She glanced anxiously at Mrs Trigg, who was staring greedily at her underwear. ‘I'm freezing cold, ma'am.'