The Winter Orphan. Cathy Sharp
seemed a little annoyed that he had been brought from his warm house to tend a woman he did not consider sick, for bearing a child was the law of nature. Arthur kept his counsel, paid him generously and thanked him for his advice – which was that she should have rest, good food and be kept warm.
‘She is young and with some food inside her will soon recover her strength, sir. I think these young women are often back in the fields within days of giving birth.’
‘You think her a country woman?’
‘She is dressed like one of the travelling folk,’ the doctor said disparagingly. ‘Be careful, Mr Stoneham – these people can take advantage if you let them.’
Arthur nodded, giving no answer except to thank him for his time once more. He was angry, for he had seen nothing in the young woman’s features to suggest she was Romany and would not have cared if she was, but he would have thought by her speech that she was more likely to be of good family, although he supposed the clothes she wore might have belonged to the kind of woman the doctor had mentioned.
A knock at the door made Arthur turn to greet the plump woman who had arrived with a hot toddy and a glass of warmed milk.
‘I’m Sally, the landlord’s wife, and I thought you could do with something to warm you, sir,’ she said. ‘I brought the milk in case the young lady was feeling able to drink it.’
‘At the moment she sleeps,’ Arthur said. ‘I wonder if you could bring me up a cold supper – I do not feel able to leave her just yet.’
‘How would it be if I sat with her for a while, sir? You go down and my husband will bring you soup, bread and then cold meat and pickles – if that will suit?’
‘It sounds like a feast,’ Arthur said and smiled, for Sally had a kind face. ‘She woke once and I think she has recently lost a child.’
‘The poor girl,’ Sally said. ‘I know how that feels, for I lost one of my own – though I now have two strapping sons.’
‘I am glad to hear of your present happiness,’ Arthur said and drank some of his hot toddy. ‘I shall take this with me, Sally. Please watch this lady while I avail myself of your husband’s hospitality.’
It was an hour and a half before Arthur returned to the bedchamber. The landlord’s wife was bathing the young woman’s forehead and smiling as she tended her. Clearly, she had taken to her patient and was caring for her as she would one of her own.
‘Thank you for your kindness, Sally.’
‘It was a girl I lost, sir. She would have been just a little younger than this young lady if I am not mistaken, for she can be little more than eighteen.’
‘You think her gently born?’
‘Oh yes, sir. Her hands have known work but only in the past few months – and her skin is soft and white, her features gentle. I believe her to have been ill-treated, Mr Stoneham – there are marks of a beating on her back no more than a few months old.’
Arthur’s eyes narrowed in question. ‘You bathed her to ease her fever and discovered scars?’
‘Aye, sir, I did. Who would beat a young woman who was bearing a child? I do not understand such cruelty, for my John is a good man. What kind of a man could do such a thing?’
‘I fear there are many such,’ Arthur told her, frowning. ‘I daresay there is a sorry tale behind her appearance but she is not alone in her suffering; there are many more …’
Sally nodded but made no further comment. She took her tray and left the room, saying she would return later but he must ring for her if he needed her help. Arthur thanked her and sat in the armchair by the fire, stretching out his long legs and leaning his head against the winged back. He felt warm and he had dined well. The young woman seemed to be resting and he might as well sleep if he could; time enough when she woke to discover the mystery that had brought her to a lonely road for him to find on such a night. It could not be mere coincidence. This was meant to be and Arthur sensed that he was meant to find her.
‘I had thought Mr Stoneham would have returned by now,’ Ruth Jones said when Hetty visited the kitchen at the refuge in the East End of London for fallen women where the pair both worked and lived. ‘You don’t think he would … you know, in his grief for the poor lady?’ Her distress showed in her eyes at the thought and Hetty was quick to reassure her.
Made warden of this spacious and comfortable home for unfortunate women, by a man she both admired and cared for, Hetty smiled. It had, she thought, once been the house of a wealthy merchant and had several good bedrooms, which enabled them to take in more women needing a place to call home.
‘No, Ruth, I do not think that Arthur Stoneham would take his own life, no matter how much he loved Katharine. He knows that too many people rely on him – besides, it is the coward’s way, and Arthur is no coward. You must not think such things. I daresay he has been delayed for some good reason and will return when he is ready.’
Ruth nodded and looked more cheerful. ‘Bless you, Miss Hetty, thank you for puttin’ my mind at ease. The master had seemed restless for a while and then, when Miss Ross agreed to wed him – well, I’d never seen him as happy. It was such a tragedy.’
‘Yes, it was,’ Hetty agreed, though privately she had her doubts that Arthur would have found lasting happiness with Katharine Ross. No doubt Katharine had felt some tenderness towards Arthur, perhaps loved him in her gentle way – but not with the wholehearted passion he deserved. But perhaps Hetty was biased, because she loved him herself, loved him with a passion she knew matched his own capability for love, though she would never have stood in his way. She cared only that he found peace and happiness for he had surely suffered enough remorse for any man.
At that moment a knock came at the door and Ruth went to answer it. Hetty looked for her to return, hopeful of some news concerning Arthur. Instead she was followed by a young girl Hetty had come to know well in recent weeks; she had, no doubt, brought medicine for one of their ladies.
‘Here’s Eliza come with herbs for our Sarah’s cough …’ Ruth announced. ‘I asked her to step in and take a glass of milk and a biscuit.’
Hetty nodded her approval. Eliza worked and cared for the apothecary, taking her cures to those in need and sometimes visited them at Hetty’s behest, for her ladies had often suffered and needed medicines to help them overcome their ills. A young, pretty girl, Eliza had both compassion and courage, for she had survived the cruellest upbringing in the workhouse.
Hetty knew that Arthur believed Eliza was his child, born of a young country gentlewoman, long dead now, and through misfortune given to a workhouse where she had suffered terribly before being rescued.
‘I am happy to see you, Eliza dear. Come, sit with us and tell us how you are – and Miss Edith, too.’
Eliza smiled. ‘I am well, ma’am, though I fear Miss Edith is not as strong as she might be.’
‘I am sorry for that,’ Hetty said looking at her with sympathy. ‘You know you may come to us if you are worried or distressed and we shall do our best to help you. My door is always open to you, Eliza.’
Eliza smiled at her sweetly and in that smile, Hetty saw something of the man she admired, and in her heart had always loved. Arthur only needed to see that smile to know for sure that she was his daughter, but Hetty knew that for the moment his grief had made him blind to anything but his memories of Katharine and her loss. He worried what to do for Eliza for the best, because she loved Miss Edith and to take her from the woman who had given her a home might distress her, and yet he wanted her to have the life she deserved. Once he’d managed to set his grief aside, he would undoubtedly put his mind to ensuring Eliza’s future happiness.
‘Miss Edith told me to make sure that Sarah