The Winter Orphan. Cathy Sharp
I – I am not wed.’
‘You have borne a child and I thought perhaps …’ She moved her head negatively, the hint of tears in her eyes. ‘I do not recall much but they called me a whore. They said I wore no wedding ring.’ An anxious look came to her face. ‘I cannot remember clearly … but I know I bore a child, a living child. They told me the child died immediately after she was born, but they lied; I heard her cry – and I heard them say she was healthy. Bella told me they gave the child to someone in a carriage.’ She whimpered with distress. ‘They stole my baby and threw me out. It was so cold and I did not know where to go … I wandered across the fields until I found the high road in the hope I might come to a place where I could find work. I saw a sign for Winchester, where I think I once stayed for a time though I do not recall anything of that city, but it was in any case many miles hence and I knew not where to go …’
Arthur shook his head for Winchester was a good day’s journey by carriage pulled by fast horses and would take days or weeks to walk that far – and she was in no condition to go anywhere.
‘Who are “they”?’ Arthur asked gently, realising that a great wrong had been done her.
She took a deep shuddering breath, then began, ‘Mistress Brent is the mistress of the workhouse near the village of Sculfield. I was close to my time and the villagers told me to go there, but I wish I had given birth in the fields for then I might still have my babe.’
‘You are not Romany?’
‘No, I am sure I am not,’ she said. ‘I was wearing clothes that might have belonged to a gypsy but I think they were given to me before – before I lost my memories …’
‘Perhaps you travelled with the gypsies? Perhaps they attended a fair in Winchester and that is why the name attracted you …’ Arthur suggested. ‘No, do not struggle to remember. It does not matter for now. In time we must hope that your memories will return but for now, what shall we call you?’
‘They called me Jane but it was not my name.’ She gave a cry of despair. ‘Please, do not call me by their name! I think … I believe the name Meg means something to me, though I know not why.’ She nodded and looked at him in appeal. ‘Please call me Meg – and your name, sir?’
‘I am Arthur Stoneham – and you need have no fear of me. I shall help you if I can, Meg.’
‘Yes, I have been aware of you,’ she said and a smile lit her face for a brief moment. ‘You gave me brandy when I could feel nothing but icy cold.’
‘So you were aware of me.’ Arthur nodded. ‘I will make no promises, except that I can find you a home to stay in while your memory returns. As for your child, I shall see if Mistress Brent will yield the truth to me.’
‘She will lie to you as she did to me.’
‘Very likely, but there are other people who may not be as tight-lipped. Money will make some folk talk – and as it happens, I know one of the guardians of the Sculfield workhouse slightly. Now, you mentioned someone called Bella?’
‘Bella is a child of perhaps eleven summers. She brought me food and milk and, the night I was thrown out, told me she had seen my babe given away. But I do not think she knows more. The master of the workhouse is a man called Walter Brent and his wife is the mistress. He is a harsh man. I have seen him strike an elderly man down, and the boys go in terror of him. I think even his wife suffers at his hands, though she is spiteful and cruel. You should take care, sir, for they are evil people.’
‘As I said, I promise nothing except that I shall try.’ He smiled at her. ‘I shall leave you and Sally will bring you clothes that belonged to one of her maids. Perhaps not what you would wish to wear, but better than the rags we found you in.’
‘Thank you, you are very kind. The clothes will do very well.’
‘I shall find better for you as soon as it may be arranged.’
‘Why will you do so much for me? You know nothing of me.’
‘I hate injustice,’ Arthur said. ‘I believe that Fate brought you to me last evening and who knows, She may yet be kinder still. I shall visit this workhouse and discover what I can …’
‘You wished to see me, sir?’ Mistress Brent looked at Arthur uneasily as he was shown into her sitting room. She offered her hand a little tentatively. ‘I am Norma Brent.’
‘Good day, madam. My name is Arthur Stoneham,’ he said and he spoke evenly, giving no hint of his anger. ‘I have come to make inquiries on behalf of my cousin by marriage – Mistress Meg Stoneham. She recently gave birth within these walls to a living child – a girl. Meg tells me that you took the babe from her and told her it had died.’
‘That gypsy wretch your cousin?’ Mistress Brent looked at him in disbelief. ‘I do not believe it – how could that be?’
‘She had an unfortunate accident upon the road and was set upon by some rogues. My cousin and I have been searching for his wife for some weeks and had almost given up until we were told of a young woman taken ill and brought here,’ Arthur lied easily. He had decided that this woman would lie whatever he did and the only way was to scare her – or bribe her. ‘We had offered a reward for her recovery because my cousin loves her and is anxious to hold his child …’
He could see her mind working as her eyes tried to avoid his. She was deciding whether it would be worth telling him the truth and risk being accused of stealing a child or easier to lie to him.
‘Then I wish that I had better news for you, sir,’ she said, making up her mind to stick to her story. ‘We called the young woman Jane, for she could not recall her own name, and she wore no wedding ring …’
‘We believe it was stolen from her along with her clothes, all of which were expensive,’ Arthur said embroidering on his tale of misfortune. ‘But you have news of the child, I hope?’
‘I fear that the babe died almost immediately it was born.’ Mistress Brent held fast to her story. Arthur was sure she lied. There was something in her eyes and a slight unease in her manner. He had not been sure of the truth until then, for Meg might have been mistaken. Though he believed her an honest woman, a woman in the aftermath of a hard labour could easily have misheard, believing she heard her child cry when there was no cry at all. ‘We tried to tell her but she became abusive and we were forced to put her out.’
‘Into the bitter chill of night? Had she not been found and cared for she might have died,’ Arthur said sternly. ‘I do not think that Sir Arnold and Lady Rowntree would be pleased to hear of such heartless behaviour, madam. Nor do I believe that the babe died. There are witnesses who will testify otherwise.’
‘Liars all!’ Mistress Brent said furiously, her face red with temper now. ‘Besides, none would dare to speak against me. And if you blacken my name you will be sorry. You can prove nothing!’
‘You think not?’ He smiled wryly. ‘I have met bullies before, madam. I assure you that my word goes a long way in influential circles. As it happens, I know Lady Rowntree – we have served on a charity committee together in the past. She and her husband set this workhouse up to help the poor of this parish. I cannot think she knows what goes on here. Once I tell them of your cruelty – and explain that I think you sell the children and babies—’
‘Lies! You can prove nothing.’
Arthur’s eyebrows rose. ‘I wonder how many more children you’ve sold, madam. How many years does your reign of tyranny stretch? How many lives have you ruined or blighted?’ He was merely guessing, using Meg’s rather vague memories of her time here and his own instinct, gained from years of experience, but the look in her eyes was enough to make him certain he knew, though he had no proof.
‘My husband will thrash you for slighting