Cathy Sharp - The Winter Orphan

When Marie’s baby was brought to the workhouse, Florrie had asked to be allowed to care for her. Florrie had never had the chance to marry and have a child of her own and she’d been glad to do what she could for the motherless babe. She cared for the babe as if Bella were her own and, even when she left the workhouse for a short time, her thoughts were with the child she cared for, though she did not dare to show it for fear of reprisals from the unkind mistress.

For the first few years of Bella’s life she was left to the care of anyone who took pity on her. Mostly, that was Florrie and a young woman, Maggie, who had taken her to her own breast. Maggie had given birth to a stillborn child in the workhouse and so was able to suckle Bella. She’d been kind enough in her way, but she ran away when Bella was weaned. She’d told Florrie what she intended and asked her to care for the child.

‘I would take her with me, but I must find work as a housemaid and with a babe I would have no chance. Still, she is like my own and I pray you care for her.’

Florrie had promised. She would have cared for Bella in any case, because she too loved the child and she’d shielded her as much as she could from the mistress’s spite, but it was impossible to prevent Mistress Brent venting her temper on the girl as she grew older, for the more she resembled her mother, the more the mistress hated her. Had Florrie been able to find permanent work she might have taken the child with her, but that had never been her fortune – especially after she had been accused of theft, and though it was a lie, most employers believed it and dismissed her once they learned of it. So, in the end, Florrie had given up all hope of a life outside the workhouse and took what comfort she could from her work and the child.

Florrie had never understood why the mistress hated little Bella so much. How would the child fare at the chain-maker’s forge? Florrie could not think that she would survive the terrible conditions for long – but what could she do to help the young girl she loved? She had only a few shillings and she feared she would starve if she left this place, as so many did when they could not earn their keep.

The only person who might help her was Lady Rowntree. Florrie only ever visited her grand home when she was summoned. The work was more usually sent in and the mistress received payment but Florrie was given a few shillings a week and excused rough work so that her hands were always soft. She had considered it a reasonable exchange for her labour, because outside the workhouse she would have to find her own board and lodgings and, even if Lady Rowntree had still given her work, she might struggle to pay for rent and food. Yet now she wondered if it might be possible to make a home for herself and Bella elsewhere. She made up her mind to speak to Lady Rowntree when they next met – but what of Bella in the meantime?

Florrie’s eyes stung with tears. She knew that a change in her circumstances might come too late for Bella. Even if she could find regular work and a place to live, she would still have to save the money to buy Bella’s bond, and by then the girl might have fallen ill and died …

‘Mistress Brent asked me to put her to chain-making,’ Karl said to the woman who looked at him wearily when he brought Bella to the cottage that first evening. It was situated outside the village, backed by open fields and a wood. ‘She must want the brat dead, because she’d not last five minutes in the furnace room. I’ll give her to you, Annie. You’re near yer time and exhausted, and I’d not see yer die before my son draws breath.’

Annie nodded, putting a hand to her back. She ached so much that all she wanted was to lie down and sleep forever. Her life was almost as hard as the wretches that worked for her husband in his forge; he worked them hard and showed no compassion. It surprised her that he had given this girl to her to ease her burden – she knew that he cared little for her – but of course, she thought, he wanted a son! Their first two children had been girls – and both had died in their cots within days of being born. If Annie had been rebellious enough to have such thoughts she might have wondered if her husband had smothered her daughters; he had not wanted them, scowling savagely at her each time he discovered that she’d given him a daughter. However, she was a docile girl and accepted that she must obey her husband in all things. Her father had beaten her when she was at home and Karl had not yet raised his hand to her, even though he never praised her for keeping a good table and a clean kitchen. Yet she had fallen for three children in less than three years and knew that she pleased him in this. If she gave him a healthy son he might be kinder to her.

Annie breathed easier as her husband went back to his forge. He never liked to be away too long for he believed the men and women who worked for him would cheat him if they could – though as they were paid for the work they did by weight it was not possible.

‘Well, girl, what is yer name?’ Annie asked irritably. She felt tired, dirty and huge and she wanted to be rid of the burden inside her womb but knew that only if she gave birth to a living boy might her husband let her rest for a while. If she lost this child, or bore a daughter, he would make certain her belly was full again before she’d had time to heal.

‘Bella,’ the girl said in a whisper. ‘What can I do for you, mistress?’

Annie sighed with relief. She’d feared the girl would be sullen and a trouble, for why else would Mistress Brent wish her dead? Now she saw that Bella was lovely, her sweet gentle face looking anxious but not cowed. She smiled, because it seemed Karl had given her a more precious gift than he’d realised.

‘My name is Annie but yer had best call me mistress or Karl will have the hide off yer back. He’s a harsh man, though he’s never beaten me yet, but there are other ways to break a woman’s spirit and at times I’ve been close. Yer lucky he brought yer to me, Bella, for yer would have died in the heat of the forge. I shall need yer to work hard, for I’m near worn out carrying his son – and I do not want to lose the babe.’

‘I can scrub and clean, sew and write my name – but I do not know how to cook,’ Bella said and looked anxious.

‘Yer can peel spuds fer his dinner,’ Annie said, ‘and put the kettle on the hob, Bella. I need to sit down afore I fall down. I’ll teach yer to cook – me ma taught me afore she died and there was not another cook better than Ma in the whole of England.’

‘The food in the workhouse was terrible,’ Bella said. ‘We ate gruel and bread and a thin stew sometimes – on a Sunday.’

Annie nodded, for she knew the workhouse near Sculfield, which was less than five miles from her own village of Fornham, its reputation well known to locals as being an awful place where none in their right mind would go unless they were starving.

‘You’ll eat better than that here,’ Annie said. She went to the table and cut a slice of fresh bread, spread it with butter and then a thick layer of strawberry preserve and handed it to Bella as she placed the kettle on the hob. ‘Get that down yer, child. Yer will labour ’ard because there is much to do ’ere. Karl has two nephews who live with us; they work in the furnace room and oversee the others – and they’re always ’ungry. I never seem to stop washing and cooking – and the mess they make!’ She shook her head. ‘Karl is jealous of his brother for having two sons. His first wife died ’aving a fourth child – and none of them lived beyond a few weeks. They were all girls. Karl wants sons to take over the chain works when he dies. It would grieve him to leave it to his brother’s sons.’