He took her coin and ran back to the tavern. But he did not go in, and the other children followed him as he ran past the entrance and disappeared into the darkness. How stupid of her! Servants obeyed her, but why should anyone else? She wondered if she dared go in herself. What if the butcher were in there celebrating a good day at the market? She approached a dingy window and lingered in the shadows.
‘Are you looking for business? ’Cos if you are I’ll thank you to move on.This is my patch.’A woman of her own age loomed out of the shadows. In spite of the chilly air her gown was cut low at the neck and half of her skirt was hitched into her garter to expose a worn shoe and a white leg without a stocking. The woman looked her up and down. ‘You won’t get no trade dressed like that, love. Pretty face, though.’
The woman smelled of drink but Olivia was too exhausted to be concerned. She placed her bag by the wall and leaned against the damp stone. ‘I - I’m hungry.’
‘Aren’t we all? Wait there.’ The woman went inside and, through the dimly lit glass, Olivia glimpsed the drinkers, men in moleskins and tweeds who should have been in their homes at this late hour. She heard their raucous laughter. She undid the fastenings on her cloak to locate her leather purse, lodged safely in the inside pocket. She would need another coin for the food.
‘This one?’ She was startled by the male voice. He had come outside with the woman and he flung back both sides of her cloak to look at her. Then he tipped her chin up towards the yellow glow from the window.
‘
Aye, you’re right. She is a pretty one. Well, my dear, why don’t you come with me?’ He tossed the woman a coin and she disappeared into the tavern.
He was respectably dressed and reminded her of the pit manager at Mexton. But he also smelled of drink and tobacco, which reminded her of Uncle Hesley. She backed away, alarmed.
‘Hey! Where are yer going?’ He grabbed at her cloak and hauled her towards him. ‘I’ve just paid good money for you.’
He had no food for her - he had bought her, as Jessup had last night. She kicked his shins and wriggled out of her cloak, leaving it trailing in his hands. She ran across the dirt track, soft underfoot with mud and droppings from the earlier beast market, and into the darkness of the buildings beyond.
‘Come back ’ere!’ the man shouted. She heard him yelp, and when she glanced back he had stumbled over her cloak and was cursing the mire on his own clothes.
She hid in the shadows and caught her breath. Her money was tied inside her cloak! And her jewels were in her bag, which was still by the tavern wall where she had placed it. She would have to go back. She waited for the man to leave and picked her way back through the mud. But her cloak and bag had gone. Taken, she guessed, by the woman.
She had lost her money and her jewels, and her boots smelled of the privy in high summer. She was cold and hungry. Her back, legs and arms were tired and sore. Dear heaven, she would not survive if she could not look after herself better than this. None of her reading had prepared her for life on the streets. She realized that she did not have the wit to survive in this dangerous place alone after dark. Not yet, she thought with determination. She would learn. Others had and so could she. But she dared not linger. Hunger must wait. She had to find somewhere safe to spend the night.
Olivia hurried to the back of the building where she might find an outhouse or stable. But this was a tavern, not an inn. There were no horses, no kitchen to prepare food for hungry travellers, only a locked brew-house and a stinking yard that was dark and empty. Too frightened to approach a door for help, she did not know what to do next. She sat on a mounting stone and thought briefly of her foolishness in leaving her home without a thought for where she would go and how she would survive.
No, she was not foolish. She could not,
would not
, go back to the humiliation and misery of Hill Top House. But cold fear crept around her heart. She had to get away from the town, where she might be recognized by tradesmen and word sent to Hesley. It would be better to go now, at night, when decent folk were asleep in their beds. She shivered. She no longer had a cloak to protect her from the weather. But she straightened her spine.Without her bag to weigh her down she could move more swiftly, more quietly, and out of sight.
She stumbled down the hill to the navigation, keeping close to the walls and avoiding any building with a glimmer of light at its window. After a while she forgot her hunger as her legs grew tired. She chose the Doncaster direction, she knew not why, only that she had heard Sheffield, though nearer, was the worst for smoke and squalor. And there was more farmland towards Doncaster in which she felt she might be safer.
She followed the towpath past the iron works and the wharves, past empty and laden barges moored for the night. She went around locks and under bridges until she was dropping with weakness and fatigue. She must not faint! If she rested she might fall asleep and freeze to death by the canal. She did not want to die. She shivered and wrapped her arms round herself for warmth. Then, with a flash of inspiration, she hoisted her skirts and stepped out of her thick petticoat. The cold air swirled around her legs until the heavy skirt fell back into place. Quickly, she slipped the warm flannel over her head so that it formed a cloak and tied the tapes about her neck.
It began to rain, a steady, soaking drizzle, so she found shelter under a bridge. It was dry at least, but the chill penetrated her bones. Why was it always colder by water? It weakened her so much that she could barely stand. She leaned against the brickwork for support. Her head spun and her vision, such as it was at dead of night, blurred. She was going to faint. Her eyes were closing. She must pray. Yes. Her prayers, learned by heart from Miss Trent, would keep her safe. The words came and went in her mind as consciousness ebbed. She was in God’s hands now.
It was still dark when Olivia woke, stiff and thirsty, dishevelled and grubby. Her feet and hands were freezing. Her corset was digging painfully into her flesh where she had slept on it. She wanted to take it off, but she needed its warmth. As she emerged from under the bridge she saw that the sky had cleared and the first signs of dawn were easing away the blackness of the night.
She heard a distant voice - ‘Gerrup, girl, goo on, goo on’ - and glimpsed a cowman bringing in his herd for milking. A farm! Food and drink! She retreated under the bridge until he had passed overhead with his six cows.There was enough light for her to make out a cowshed in the distance and a barn. There would be a pump for water and warm straw, perhaps, to comfort her stiffness.
The cowman led one of his beasts into the barn; she was lowing constantly and her belly bulged on both sides. There goes my resting-place, she thought. He was unlikely to leave his beast for any length of time until she had calved. But a young girl joined him to herd the others into the milking shed. Perhaps she would let Olivia have a ladle of milk.
Olivia approached cautiously and leaned against one of the wooden stalls. ‘Good morning, miss. I wonder if I may have some milk?’
The maid jumped. ‘Ooh! Where you come from?’
‘The canal.’
‘Traveller, are you?
‘Yes.’
‘You got summat to put it in?’
She shook her head.
‘You must be new on the barges not to know to bring a can,’ the girl scoffed.
‘Yes.’
‘Well, it’s not far. Go back and get one and I’ll fill it for you.’
‘May I - could I have some to drink first?’
‘If you milk her yoursen, aye. Mam’s poorly today and I’m on me own. There’s a stool and bucket over there.’
Olivia looked around.
‘
I
-
I don’t know how.’
‘You don’t know how to milk a cow? Blooming ’eck, I’ve been milking since I were walking!’
Olivia guessed this was not quite true. At Hill Top House she had learned how to scald cream and churn butter, but the farmhands, assisted by Mary and Eliza, milked the cows. Why hadn’t she waited to plan her escape? Had she left in too much haste? Never! She could not have tolerated Hesley and his ways a minute longer. She had made the right decision and she would not go back. Ever.
But she must have food and shelter. And work of some sort for she had no money. Unless . . . She fingered her gold wedding band. ‘I’m very hungry,’ she muttered.
‘Wait till this is full, then.’The young girl squeezed the cow’s udder rhythmically for several minutes. Then she stood up, lifting the heavy wooden bucket with both hands.
‘Perhaps a little of that?’ Olivia ventured.
‘Don’t you go putting no dirty hands in there! It’s for cheese.’ She went through a gap in the stone wall and returned with an empty bucket.
‘You have cheese?’
‘You want some o’ that an’ all?’
‘And some bread. How much will that be?’
‘I’ll have to go indoors for bread.’
‘Please?’ she begged.
The girl stared at her. ‘You don’t look like you’ve come off the barges.’
Olivia thought again of how hopeless she was at finding food and drink. She must do better than this or she would die. She felt faint and staggered. ‘Some water, please.’
‘Well, you walked past a stream on your way from the canal.’ But she fetched her some fresh water in another bucket with a wooden ladle. While she was gone, Olivia tugged at her wedding band and when the dairymaid returned she held it out in her palm. ‘Is this enough payment?’ She added quickly, ‘It was my mother’s. She’s dead now.’
‘I’ll ask me mam.’ The girl took the ring and went off in the direction of a low stone building. Olivia wondered if she would steal from her as the street boy had. It seemed a long time before she returned.
Olivia sat with her back against the wooden stall as the cows, waiting to be milked, shifted and grumbled restlessly.The water refreshed her. She drank copiously and was on her feet when the dairymaid returned with two bread cakes, a hunk of cheese wrapped in a cloth and two apples.
‘Me mam says you can keep the calico ’cos your ring was real gold.’
‘Thank you.’ Olivia began to tear at the bread with her teeth straight away.
‘Ta-ra, then,’ the girl said and moved her stool to the next stall.
‘Good day to you. And thank you.’
The sun came up over the water meadows and she sat in its rays to eat her breakfast. She had enough food for the day and lingered, trying to work out a plan. Although she felt bedraggled and must look a sight, her gown was neat and made of good cloth, which had impressed the dairymaid. She was clearly not some street woman like the one who had stolen her bag. And she had to earn a living somehow.
Fortified by food, she felt well again, and she knew she could work hard. But her demeanour and skills were those of a well-born housekeeper and no one would be foolish enough to give her a trusted position without knowledge of her background. She was obviously too educated to be a kitchen-maid or farmgirl.
There were not many options for her. But she was pretty - a beauty, Jessup had said - and that was something she could sell. After all, her body had been used for gain twice already in her life: the first time when she had become Hesley’s wife so that he could have her fortune, and last night when he had not thought twice about forcing her to pay his gambling debt. She could not accept being used in that way, but an unscrupulous man like Jessup expected it of her. It was what men did with women they did not respect. And, she thought painfully, it was what women did for payment when they had no alternative. At the moment, she had none.
If she was considered a prize by her husband’s gambling friends, others would pay for the privilege of using her body. Is that not what her uncle had done with Miss Trent? And with others before her? There must be more gentlemen like him, without a wife or, indeed, seeking comfort outside the marriage bed. She had an idea of what she was worth. Jessup
’
s wager had given her an indication. She would be able to pay rent on a cottage and employ a servant. All she needed was to get away from the town where she might be recognized.
She reflected on these ideas as she walked along the towpath, dodging into hedges when heavy horses drawing barges plodded by. No doubt there was money to be made from bargemen, but that was not what she had in mind. A horseman, smartly dressed for business in town, had passed her and given her more than a passing glance. She wondered if he would ride back the same way at the end of his day.
The weather was cold but dry and she made good progress. When she spied a farm building set back from the canal, she trudged across the fields. She found that it was not locked and contained straw. She slept for a long time on the warm bedding and ate more bread and cheese when she woke up. She had no idea of the time as the clouds now hid the sun and the sky was grey. She found a stream, drank and washed, drying herself on the calico square. She had continued to reflect on her idea. Ahead, there was a lock and an inn. If she had money, she might buy a bed for the night.
She saw the rider returning on the towpath, which brought her to her senses. What was she thinking of? He might be as evil as Hesley. To be well attired meant nothing. Jessup had looked like a gentleman but had not behaved as such. She searched for a gap in the scrubby hedgerow in which to hide as the rider went by. In her haste her toes caught at a root, throwing her off balance. A searing pain shot through her ankle. She yelped and sat down heavily, choking back her annoyance. If she had wanted to attract his attention she could not have done better.
He reined in his horse. ‘Good afternoon, ma’am. Are you in some difficulty?’
‘No, sir. Good day to you.’ She hoped he would continue his journey.
‘You are in pain, I think.’
‘No, I - I am resting.’
‘In the hedgerow? I saw you fall. Does it hurt very much?’ He dismounted and tethered his animal to the hedge. ‘I noticed you on the towpath this morning. Have you been walking all day?’