Cathy Sharp - The Barefoot Child

He shrugged, turning away with a frown on his face. In no mood for social events, he ignored what were most likely invitations to a ball or other frivolous affairs. His lawyer attended to anything of importance and Benson would have ensured a missive from him wasn’t missed. He would seek out his friend Toby and then visit Hetty at the refuge and see if she was settled in …

‘What are yer doin’ in ’ere?’ the fat woman demanded as Lucy put her pot of chicken and vegetables into the black range oven, which had a dull, used look and needed a good brush and polish. ‘You ain’t entitled to use the oven – there’s too many of us need to use it already.’

‘Mr Snodgrass says I can, as long as I provide my own fuel, and I’ve brought a bucket of coke with me,’ Lucy said and lifted her head defiantly. The woman smelled of sweat and unwashed clothes. ‘He says we all have the use of everythin’ – the kitchen and the tap in the yard and the toilet. He’s goin’ ter have the night soil cleared and we all have to pay another two shillings next month on the rent.’

‘And who asked you to interfere?’ the woman said. ‘I’m Jessie Foster and I’ve bin ’ere longer than anyone – and your room should’ve been mine when the last lot left. So why don’t you get yer stuff and go while yer can? I’ll make yer sorry if yer poke yer nose in my business!’

‘I’ve put my pot in the oven, and if there’s no room for yours you will have to wait until someone takes theirs out,’ Lucy said.

‘You little …!’ The woman raised her fist in threat.

‘Leave ’er alone, Jessie,’ the other woman who was in the kitchen said. ‘She’s got to cook sometimes, ain’t she? And I’m takin’ mine out now so you’ll have room fer yourn.’ She winked at Lucy. ‘About time someone made ole Snodgrass call out the night-soil man – that yard stinks to ’igh ’eaven.’

Jessie stormed off.

‘It’s too expensive to buy hot food from the pie shop every night,’ Lucy said apologetically. ‘I have to cook somewhere.’

‘Take no notice of ’er,’ the woman said. ‘I’m Sara, by the way. Jessie thinks she owns the whole house – and she’d stop all of us usin’ the yard and the kitchen if she could.’

‘I shan’t use it all the time but I can’t afford to buy all our food ready cooked.’

‘Tell yer what, you give yer dish to me ’fore you go to work of a mornin’ and I’ll put it in in time fer yer supper, love – she won’t bother me …’

‘Thank you, Sara,’ Lucy said and lifted her head proudly. She was determined that Jessie Foster would not intimidate her, because she knew they would have to stay here for a while. Lucy had searched for another room for her family but could find nothing at a price they could afford.

‘No doubt you’re an honest girl,’ one housewife who’d worn a spotless apron told her, ‘but you’re young – what happens if you don’t earn enough to pay me rent? I can’t afford to be giving you a home for nothin’.’

Lucy had sworn that she would pay her rent and be no trouble to her but the woman had set her thin lips and asked her to leave. She’d realised they must stay where they were for the moment and put a brave face on, but at least Kitty was happy at her school. Lucy would make the best of things rather than see her family in the dreaded workhouse.

‘The girl is no more than thirteen,’ the woman lied to the Reverend Mr Joseph, who she had accosted in the street one early June morning. ‘And her brother is younger.’

‘Are you certain the brother is younger, Mistress Foster?’ he asked, frowning because he could hear the spite in her voice. ‘I thought Lucy was older than you say – sixteen, I’m sure she told me, and her brother is the head of the family.’

‘Of course I’m certain! They live in the same lodgings as me – and she’s a right little madam. Marched into the kitchen as bold as brass and demanded that her family had the right to use the oven to cook a meal, same as the rest of us. Well, the oven ain’t big enough for more than four pots to cook in – and there’s six of us rentin’ rooms!’

‘Surely there could be a rota of some kind?’ the reverend suggested gently. She was a regular at his church but he did not like the woman’s harsh and spiteful tone.

‘Mr Snodgrass promised that extra room to me after the last tenant moved out,’ Jessie Foster said. ‘I’ve two grown sons out to work, me ’usband, the girl and me – and that room was promised!’

The reverend nodded, but thought privately that with three men working they ought to be able to afford decent lodgings elsewhere, but he was also aware that all three of the Foster men drank half their wages away in the pubs.

‘Well, what are yer goin’ ter do about it?’ Jessie Foster demanded. ‘The youngest one should be in the spike where they’ll look after ’er proper – and if I ’ad my way that’s where the rest of ’em would be an all!’

‘Are you suggesting that I should visit the workhouse?’ he asked, shocked.

‘Well, its best place for ’em, ain’t it?’ she demanded. ‘I’d go meself but the last time I was there I ’ad words with Mistress Simpkins.’

‘I believe there is a new mistress in the workhouse,’ the reverend replied mildly. ‘I understand she is highly respectable and well thought of.’

‘A new mistress, you reckon?’ A look of cunning entered Jessie Foster’s eyes. ‘Right – well, if you ain’t goin’ ter do yer duty, I’ll do mine …’

‘Why don’t you think about it?’ he suggested. ‘Kitty is well looked after. Her sister works very hard to keep her clean and properly fed. Some of my children have holes in their clothes and dirty faces, but Kitty is always neat and clean.’

‘That’s ’cos her sister boils water in me kitchen all the time – and she’s made us all put together to get the night soil cleared.’

‘I believe God works in mysterious ways,’ the Reverend Mr Joseph said and smiled inwardly. ‘Good day, Mrs Foster. I have to visit a sick parishioner …’

He walked swiftly away, immediately pushing the unpleasant encounter from his mind. If Kitty were in distress he would think it his duty to inform the guardians of neglect, but the child was a bright, pretty little thing and he had no intention of doing anything to harm the family – even though he might have refused to take her had he known the brother was younger than Kitty’s older sister. His conscience nagged at him a little as he went to visit a dying parishioner and ease his passing with prayer. The whole Soames family might be in danger without a responsible adult to look after them … perhaps he might consult someone he’d heard of. She was the superintendent of a charitable home set up by some philanthropists; they admitted women and children to their premises and would surely want to help a family such as the Soameses.

Arthur found the letter from his cousin’s widow when he finally made the effort to go through his pile of mail. It had been sent on by his man of business some weeks ago, when he was out of town, and had somehow been placed right at the bottom.

‘Benson, why did you not tell me about this letter?’ he asked and his manservant looked anxious.

‘Forgive me, sir. I placed it with others from your lawyer. It must have become misplaced.’ He frowned. ‘Was it important, sir?’