Cathy Sharp - The Girl in the Ragged Shawl

‘You’re tired, Eliza,’ Ruth said as Eliza swallowed a little of the liquid which tasted better than usual. ‘They work you to death in that damned place – and you’re not strong enough for such labour.’

‘I’m all right,’ Eliza said and summoned enough strength to smile at her. She looked around her but could see no sign of Joe. ‘Have you seen or heard what happened to Joe, Ruth?’

‘No, my lovely, I be none the wiser than you. ’Tis whispered he was beaten but Jigger told me he was made to sweep up in the rope store. Mebbe the master thought he was better at work than in the hole. Though it seems he has not been sent for his supper.’ It was forbidden for the men to speak to the women but there were times when a trustee like Jigger was sent over to their side of the workhouse to do some work and he always passed on messages, even though he risked a beating for disobedience.

‘Joe will be so hungry,’ Eliza said, because she knew what it felt like to be beaten and sent to bed with no supper, though often Ruth smuggled something to her, even if it was only a crust of bread.

An idea came to Eliza as she ran the last little piece of her bread round her soup plate and swallowed it. She was still hungry even after their meal and she knew Joe’s stomach would be aching from the pain of hunger. She looked along the line of women and children. Not one of them had left a crumb of bread. No food was ever wasted on this side of the dining room because there was never enough.

If she wanted to smuggle some food to Joe she would have to go to the kitchen and beg something from Cook. She thought the kindly woman might be sympathetic, because she sometimes gave Ruth bits of leftover food from the master and mistress’s table. Master liked his food and did not stint on what he gave Cook to provide for his meals; the mistress contributed nothing for her food but dined with her brother and shared his. Yet even so there was often a piece of soft white bread or a small corner of cheese left over. Cook was fair and would share the extras with the inmates who were currently in her favour. Most people took care never to upset Cook, because the scraps she dispensed could mean the difference between survival and near starvation, particularly on the women’s side. The men’s food was a little better and they had a nourishing stew three times a week with potatoes and sometimes carrots or turnips in season. So Cook saved her scraps for the women and children.

Eliza made an excuse that she needed to relieve herself and stole away to the kitchens when the inmates were lining up for evening prayers. Every night after supper, the master led them in prayers of thankfulness for what they had been given and gave them a little lecture on the evils of sloth and idleness. Eliza was unnoticed as she slipped out of the hall and ran to the kitchens.

Cook was polishing one of her saucepans when she entered, breathing hard. She looked at the girl through narrowed eyes as Eliza struggled for breath.

‘You want something for Joe, don’t you?’

‘Yes, please, Cook, if you will be so kind as to give me a piece of bread and a little milk.’

‘I cannot spare the milk, child, but I have bread – and there’s a piece of cheese, and …’ She hesitated, then went to the pantry and brought out a half-eaten pie, from which she cut a chunky slice. ‘This be apple pie, Eliza. I doubt you’ve ever tasted it, but ’tis tasty and will help moisten his mouth. ‘I’ll wrap it in a bit of linen and you can hide it inside your tunic. If mistress sees it we’ll both be in for it so be careful.’

‘Yes, I will thank you. You be so kind to us, Cook.’

‘Well, well, ’tis only right,’ she muttered beneath her breath. ‘It breaks a body’s heart to see what that woman makes folk suffer. When I was a lass I worked in the kitchen as the lowest of the low, Eliza, but Cook fed me and she taught me about good food. She would turn in her grave if she saw what I have to put up with here for she believed in good ingredients, and if you tasted her apple pie you would think you’d gone to Heaven.’

Eliza’s interest was caught. ‘Where did you live when you were a girl, Cook?’

‘I don’t remember the name of the house,’ Cook said with a sigh, ‘but I recall ’twas near the sea. I think ’twas on the South Coast, near a place called Bournemouth but I never went there in my life. When Cook retired, mistress made me Cook in her place for I had learned all that I could and she took me with her when the great house was sold and they came to London town. The family had fallen on hard times and it was a much smaller house. The master drank, you see, and lost his fortune. Then he died and mistress was forced to sell up and go to live with her sister. She took her personal maid but the rest of us were let go.’

‘Did you come here as an inmate then?’

‘No, I worked for an elderly gentleman for some time – but in the end he died too and then I cooked for working men on the docks at a canteen there for it was all I could find. They were rough-tongued but it was well enough, until I fell afoul of a rogue. He persuaded me to run off with him and be his mistress and like a fool I did, and he left me when I became pregnant. That was when I came here until I had the child and it died soon after it was born. I would have left then for I could always find work but the late mistress asked me if I would cook for them; she was a good woman and I stayed for her – and here I be until this day. It be not such a bad place afore the old mistress died – though we did often suffer the cholera and ’twas that killed her. Mr Stoneham told the master it be the old water pipes and he put in fresh and since then ’tis not visited us.’

‘I’m so glad you stayed here,’ Eliza said, and her eyes stung with tears. ‘You and Ruth are all that makes this place bearable.’

‘Well then, child, off you go,’ Cook said. ‘Keep that food safe and take the lad a little water in this cup. You must bring it back to me when you can.’

‘Yes, Cook. I shall.’ Eliza left with her precious bundle inside her clothes. Cook’s kindness had made weepy and she felt tears on her cheek, which she swiped away with the back of her hand. Cook’s story was sad but not as bad as many of the men and women who came to the workhouse. She’d had a good life until she allowed a rogue to deceive her.

It was dark when Eliza crept from her bed and moved noiselessly between the rows of sleeping women. To reach the boy’s dorms Eliza had to leave the women’s wing and cross to the men’s side, which she did by climbing through a window that had no bars because it led only to the inner courtyard. The main door of the men’s wing was locked, and she was not privy to the key, but it was easy enough to go through the window at the back of the workroom where the men made hemp ropes. This was never locked, because the room needed plenty of fresh air while the men worked, and Eliza was aware of it as were most of the inmates, and she was not the only one to use it that night. When she entered the workroom, she saw one of the men entering through the window. His name was Jamie and he had a wife and son in the workhouse; he’d spoken to her kindly a few times in the past. He put his finger to his lips.

‘You will not tell you saw me?’ he said, because if he was discovered out of his dorm he would be punished. She shook her head. ‘Good girl. Joe’s not in his dorm but in the cellar. My boy is sick in the infirmary, and I sneaked out to visit him. Master sent him to bed after the work was done, but he told me that mistress put Joe in the cellar. I thought I would take him this later.’ Jamie pulled a piece of bread and a little stone bottle out from under his shirt, which he offered to her ‘Water.’