The Winter Orphan. Cathy Sharp
to face her. There had been a time when she feared the mistress, the more so because she had not thought she could manage to live outside these walls, but since Bella had been sent away, Florrie had begun to realise how much she hated her life here and these people who ruled the inmates with harsh cruelty. Of course there were rules; there had to be, for the workhouse was there to ease the plight of the destitute – but when run by corrupt and greedy masters like the Brents it became a place of suffering and sometimes worse.
‘I have earned my keep – as any magistrate would testify.’
Mistress Brent lowered her gaze before the accusation in Florrie’s. ‘You will be a fool if you leave here,’ she said at last. ‘I’ll give you six months before you return here or to another such institution.’
Florrie did not answer her. Much depended on whether or not Lady Rowntree would give her a position in her household. Mr Stoneham had promised to see what he could do to help her – but how much reliance could she place on a man she did not know? If she left here without a position secured she would have nothing to live on until she could find work. She’d been given a few small gifts of money by Lady Rowntree when she was particularly pleased with her work, but the money she earned was taken by Mistress Brent to pay her keep. Like the other inmates Florrie was entitled to a few pennies each week for her work, but she knew that she earned many guineas for the mistress of the workhouse by her exquisite needlework. Surely she could earn enough to keep herself? But she would need help to set up her own little establishment, unless Lady Rowntree would take her on, so it would take courage to actually leave here.
Florrie was thoughtful after her encounter with Mistress Brent. She had threatened her with exposure and it was not only the beatings she inflicted on children and vulnerable old people who had nowhere else to go that she could speak of – there was the mystery of the missing boy. Except that it was not a mystery to Florrie. She knew exactly what had happened to young Arthur Meaks and where he was – and she thought that if Mr Stoneham kept his word to her, she would tell him what she knew. Florrie had hoped he would return, though she knew where to go to find him; it was just whether or not she had the courage to leave the security of these walls that had been her home for so long.
The young woman paused as she entered the inn’s private parlour. Toby stood and inclined his head. Although not as tall as Arthur Stoneham, he was lean and strong-looking, his hair light, his eyes hazel green and his complexion clear. His smile was meant to put her at her ease.
‘I believe you are Mr Stoneham’s friend, sir?’ she said.
‘Toby Rattan,’ he said. ‘Arthur told me that your name is Meg?’
‘I do not truly know it is, sir – but the name seemed to mean something to me and I do not wish to be called by the name they gave me.’
Something in her eyes touched Toby’s heart. He was filled with a sudden fierce anger against the people who had hurt her, both those at the workhouse and the others who had brought her down. He was also aware of a desire to protect her. In that moment Toby knew that he would stay here and help Arthur sort out the nest of vipers at the workhouse, but also that he would help discover who had taken Meg’s child – and when he did, he would bring it back to her.
‘Meg is a pretty name and it suits you,’ Toby said. ‘Arthur is a good man – and between us we shall leave no stone unturned in seeking the child you bore.’
‘He saved my life and you are kind,’ Meg said and blushed because the way he smiled at her made her feel safe and warm. ‘I was lucky that Mr Stoneham found me.’
‘He has asked me to help him. We shall not allow this injustice to go unanswered, Meg. Believe me, if your babe lives then we shall find her.’
Meg nodded and gave him her hand. ‘I thank you, Mr Rattan, and I pray that God will help you in your search.’
Toby kissed her hand gently.
‘I am honoured to serve you,’ he said. ‘Arthur has gone to meet someone but he will be back shortly. I give you my word, both Arthur and I will make certain that in future you are protected and cared for.’
Her shy smile made Toby smile in response. She was lovely and, he believed, innocent of all guile. Her story must be a tragic one and he was determined to discover it.
‘It was very good of you to see me,’ Arthur said when he was shown into Lady Rowntree’s elegant parlour. Its shades of green, rose and cream had a faded, restful aura and suited the beautiful woman in her later years. ‘Forgive me for intruding this way but it is important.’
Lady Rowntree smiled. In her day she had been a great beauty, the toast of London drawing rooms, and she still retained the elegance of manner and English-rose complexion that had once had the men vying for her hand. ‘Mr Stoneham, we have met on various occasions and I know you to be a man of humanitarian principles which accord with those of my family.’
‘I thank you – that is high praise,’ Arthur said and went forward to bow over her hand. ‘I know it was your family that endowed the Sculfield workhouse.’
Lady Rowntree frowned. ‘Have you come to ask for someone to be admitted?’
‘No, Lady Rowntree, I come to tell you of injustice – and I believe ill-management on the part of the mistress and master there.’
Lady Rowntree sighed and nodded, showing no sign of outrage or surprise at the accusation. ‘Then I shall hear you, for I have sensed that things were not right for some time past. When I visit, the children are always well-dressed and all say they are fed and happy, but last time I saw fear in some of their eyes and it made me unsure but my husband is unwell, and I fear he may not recover, and I was afraid to stir up something I suspected might be deeply unpleasant.’
‘Then I may speak frankly?’
‘Of course. Please, do sit down – may I ring for refreshments?’
‘I thank you, no. I have breakfasted not long since.’ Arthur sat down on one of the beautiful mahogany sabre-leg chairs so that he was on her level and she did not need to look up at him. ‘I am sorry that your husband is unwell, ma’am. It is not the time to be worrying you – but it has come to my attention that Mistress Brent is unfit to be a warden of the workhouse. I have not as yet met her husband but she is a liar and a bully. I have been told that she steals the children of unfortunate women driven to have their babies within her walls. I cannot say that she is paid, for I have no proof but I suspect it.’
‘Why else would she do it?’ Lady Rowntree looked sad. ‘When she and her husband were employed, we made it clear that we wished the house to be run on compassionate lines. Naturally, there must be rules, but no woman should be forced to give up her babe without her consent – and I personally instructed that there should only be a physical beating if it was necessary in extreme cases of violence.’
Arthur nodded, because it was what he would have expected of a philanthropic woman. ‘Then you would not agree with vulnerable girls being beaten for no reason – and given to masters who may work them to death?’
‘Certainly not!’ She looked shocked. ‘Violent men must sometimes be restrained for they would take advantage and cause trouble for others – but I do not see why a child should ever be beaten. There are other ways to discipline them, if need be.’
He smiled, reassured. ‘Then we are in accord, my lady. I know a girl of eleven was recently sent to the local chain-maker’s establishment, perhaps in the hope that she might be worked until she was exhausted, for many such children have died in such places. As it happens, in this case the man gave her to his wife who was then expecting and has recently had a child – but it makes me wonder what has happened to other children. I should like your permission to inspect the house and grounds – and examine the records.’
Lady Rowntree hesitated momentarily, and then inclined her head. ‘Yes, I believe that must be the way to proceed. My husband and I are the chief guardians but others have made donations and must be told of any wrongdoing – and an investigation will provide the truth. I would