Cathy Sharp - The Girl in the Ragged Shawl

‘Where am I to sleep?’ Eliza asked looking about her.

‘You’ll sleep with me in the attic when we’ve finished for the day,’ Mags said. ‘Master, his son and the mistress have the only bedrooms on the upper floor, ’cos she won’t sleep with ’im. She says he stinks of meat and so he ’as his own room, though he goes to her when he’s a mind to it whether she will or no – three children that poor woman’s had, not counting the one she’s carryin’, and only one lad lived. God knows how many miscarriages she’s had in-between. You’d think he’d let her rest now, but he’s always at her like a ruttin’ ram.’

‘What do you mean?’ Eliza asked, though at the back of her mind she thought she knew. Men and women were strictly segregated in the workhouse, but the rules were broken sometimes and occasionally a man managed to sneak into their dorm. Eliza had once asked what was going on beneath humped blankets and Ruth had told her it was all for a bit of comfort and nothing to worry about, but Mistress Simpkins had spoken to her and Joe of rutting and made it sound bad and dirty, and Mags had the same tone in her voice. ‘Do you mean what men and women do for comfort?’

‘Lawks, but she’s an innocent,’ Mags said and shook her head. ‘You watch out the master don’t catch you in a dark corner or you might find out – and you won’t like it, girl.’

‘I’m called Eliza.’

‘Are you now?’ Mags nodded. ‘Well, if you answer to it, it will do.’ She put a glass of a whitish liquid in front of Eliza and a bun.

Eliza sniffed at the glass. It smelled sharp and she sipped it, feeling the cool taste on her tongue. ‘This is nice,’ she said. ‘Thank you, Mags.’

‘It should stop you feelin’ sick for a bit,’ Mags said shrugging her broad shoulder. ‘Eat yer bun, because I want yer to start work as soon as yer’ve done. The bedrooms want turnin’ out and that means polishin’ as well as sweepin’ – and then there’s this floor to be scrubbed. I suppose yer know how to scrub and clean?’

‘Yes, I can scrub. Mistress didn’t give us polish but I can learn.’

‘If yer willin’ ter work ’ard yer’ll be all right ’ere,’ Mags said. ‘I’ll just put me pie in the oven and then I’ll take yer upstairs. You had best meet mistress fer a start. She may want her pot emptied and that will be one of yer jobs, Eliza. Yer’ll be workin’ from mornin’ ’till night and ’er upstairs will ’ave yer on the run all day if she gets the chance.’

‘How is your latest project coming along?’ Toby asked Arthur when they dined together at Toby’s club one evening in May. He was in a mellow mood. The weather had improved of late, he had spent a pleasant day riding in Richmond Park, and he had recently bought a horse he intended to race at Newmarket. ‘Have you made progress with your drive to reform that workhouse?’

‘Very little,’ Arthur admitted ruefully. ‘Master Simpkins promises everything but delivers little – however, I think him weak rather than truly evil. His sister is another matter. I just do not trust that woman. I have been talking with some of the other members of the Board about her conduct, but unfortunately they seem to think her exemplary in her behaviour.’

‘How can that be?’

‘I fear that most of my fellow members believe that those unfortunates in the workhouse deserve their fate. They tell me the rules are strict because they need to be, and I cannot deny it – but I can smell the rottenness, Toby. I know things are wrong in that place, but until I have proof that she has broken the rules I can do nothing. I have no power to dismiss her without proof.’

‘Then pay the workhouse an impromptu visit on some pretext.’

‘Yes. I have been thinking of setting up a home for fallen women—’ He saw the wicked smile in his friend’s face and laughed. ‘No, not that kind of home, you idiot – a place where those who are destitute may go to rest, rather than the workhouse.’

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