Pauper's Gold (29 page)

‘And to what do we owe this intrusion? One of your mill girls in trouble, is it, James?’ She rose gracefully from the table and moved towards the door. ‘I hope this has nothing
to do with you.’

As she passed close by Hannah, she glanced down, and then she faltered on her path out of the room. A small frown puckered her smooth brow as she stared into Hannah’s face. Then her glance
swivelled towards her husband and Hannah saw the fleeting anger cross the woman’s face. Through gritted teeth, Emmeline muttered, ‘Quite obviously, it has.’

Then with an angry swish of her long skirts, she left the room.

‘I’m sorry,’ Hannah faltered. ‘I shouldn’t have come.’

‘Then why did you?’ the man asked harshly, standing up and throwing the newspaper he had been reading at the breakfast table to the floor. He strode towards her to stand over her,
angry and intimidating. But Hannah stood her ground.

She looked up into his face, into the bright blue eyes, sparkling with anger. And whilst his hair was thinning now and greying at the temples, she could see that it had once been thick and
golden and curly.

There was no point in prevaricating. Even his wife had seen the striking likeness of this stranger to her own daughter. Another daughter who also took after her father.

Hannah licked her lips. ‘I . . . I believe you are my father.’

James frowned. ‘Do you indeed? And what makes you think that?’ He was trying to avoid the obvious and they both knew it.

‘Because my mother was Rebecca Francis.’

James looked startled. ‘Was?’ His surprise was not at Hannah’s existence, but at her use of the past tense when speaking of her mother.

‘She’s dead,’ Hannah said baldly, and was gratified when he winced. ‘She’s been dead for almost four years, but a fat lot you cared.’

‘I . . .’ he began and then stopped. He could not deny his callous treatment of Rebecca, and his defiant, stony-faced daughter, now standing before him, was living proof.

Put on the defensive, he said harshly, ‘So, what do you want now? To be welcomed into the bosom of my family, I suppose. Well, you can think again. My wife—’

‘Ah yes, your wife. She seemed to suspect the truth very quickly, didn’t she? And I’ve just seen your children.’ Hannah put her head on one side, regarding him with
calculated impudence. ‘I think she saw the likeness between me and your daughter. Your
other
daughter.’

He stared at her. ‘You’re out to make trouble, I can see that.’

But Hannah shook her head. ‘No, I’m not and – you probably won’t believe me – but if I’d known that I would run into your wife and that she would see the
likeness, I wouldn’t have come here. Really I wouldn’t.’

‘So – why did you come?’

‘I need a job. That’s all I want from you – a job. Nothing more. Except maybe—’

‘Ah – I thought there would be more.’

‘Except maybe a job for a friend of mine. A girl called Nell. We’ve both worked at—’ She had been about to state the name of Wyedale Mill, but then something held her
back. Maybe he knew the Critchlows. Maybe in his anxiety to be rid of her, he would send word to Mr Edmund.

‘In a cotton mill,’ she went on. ‘I’m sure the work can’t be so very different.’

‘You expect me to give you a job in my mill?’ His tone was incredulous. ‘And have all the workers gossiping. Have you any idea what you’re asking?’

‘Yes. I’m asking you to make up for getting my mother pregnant when you were already married. For not marrying her when you could’ve done. For letting her – and me
– be sent into the workhouse without lifting a finger to help us. For letting her die there.’

James flinched and glanced away. ‘Well,’ he said gruffly, ‘when you put it like that, I suppose I do owe you something.’ For a moment, he was thoughtful.
‘I’ll see what I can do. It won’t be at my mill. I can’t have that. But I do have contacts at other mills in the town. I’ll ask around.’

‘Thank you. And don’t forget – something for my friend too.’

He stared at her. ‘By, you’re a feisty little thing, aren’t you?’

‘I’ve had to be,’ she told him grimly, and James Gregory had the grace to look ashamed.

‘So – how did you get on?’ Bessie was anxious to know. ‘Tell me all about it.’

So Hannah told her it all in detail. ‘And his little girl. She’s the image of me. Can you believe that?’

‘Aye well, it happens, love. I’ve known cousins – and distant cousins at that – be like two peas from the same pod.’

‘I asked him to get Nell a job an’ all.’ Hannah bit her lip and looked at Bessie worriedly. ‘Do you think I should’ve done that? D’you think I’ve pushed
me luck?’

‘Nah, love. It’s no more than he owes you. You could have demanded a lot more. Just mind you stick to your side of the bargain, though. Once you get your job – and one for Nell
– you keep right away from him and his family.’

‘Oh, I will. There’s nothing more I want from him,’ Hannah declared stoutly. But deep in her heart, she knew that there was. She wanted him to be a father to her. A real
father. But, young though she still was, life’s knocks had put an old head on her shoulders. Hannah knew that her dearest wish could never be.

Smiling bravely so that this kindly woman would not guess her heartache, Hannah asked, ‘So, when can we fetch Nell and her little boy?’

Bessie beamed. ‘How about right now?’

‘Do we have to pay anything to get them out, Hannah, ’cos I haven’t any money?’

It was the only thing worrying Bessie. As far as having them come to live with her, she couldn’t wait. Especially having a little one running around again. Children had been her life and
she missed them dreadfully. To Bessie, life had no meaning without a child about the house.

‘I don’t know,’ Hannah said. ‘Goodbody’s a grasping devil. I think there was some sort of “arrangement” between him and the Critchlows – if you
know what I mean.’

‘I can guess,’ Bessie said grimly, as she rammed her Sunday-best hat on her head and stuck a hat pin in it to hold it firm. She squared her shoulders as if ready to do battle –
as indeed she was. ‘Right then, I’ll be off.’

Hannah hugged her. ‘Oh, Auntie Bessie, you don’t know how much this means to me. Nell was so good to me – to us – when we first arrived at the mill. I do so want to help
her now. I only wish I could come with you, but I daren’t. I just daren’t. If Goodbody was to recognize me—’

‘No, no, love. You stay here. I’ll do my best.’

‘I know you will.’

*

After Bessie had left, Hannah roamed around the house, once more restless with anxiety. In her mind, she travelled every step of the way with Bessie. She imagined entering the
gates of the workhouse and being met by an unhelpful and belligerent master. She could see him shaking his head and ordering Bessie off the premises. Already she could see Bessie trudging home
alone, defeated and dispirited. But Hannah’s imagination was running riot and Bessie was faring better than the girl feared. Getting Nell and her son out of the workhouse was easier than
either of them had anticipated.

Bessie’s determination carried her all the way to the back gate of the building where she demanded admittance. ‘You again!’ the porter greeted her. ‘Taken a liking to
this place, ’ave yer?’

Bessie’s answer was a derisive snort. ‘Not likely. I ain’t coming in, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’ve come to get someone out.’

The old man laughed. He still had enough spirit to joke with her. ‘Aw, teken a fancy to me, ’ave yer? Come to tek me home with yer?’

Bessie smiled. ‘I wish I could, love. I wish I was a millionaire and could tek the lot of you in here home with me. ’Cos if I could – I would.’

The porter’s face softened, his expression wistful. ‘Know what, missis. I believe yer.’ He sniffed, drew the back of his hand across his face and said, ‘So, how can I
help you? ’Cos if you’re fetching just one poor sod out of this place, I’ll help you in any way I can.’

‘It’s two. At least, I hope so. A girl called Nell and her little boy.’

The man’s face brightened even more. ‘Aw, that’s grand. She’s a lovely lass and he’s a grand little babby. Shouldn’t be in here. Shouldn’t have been born in here. No one should.’ He sighed. ‘But there, that’s how it is. Poor girl got taken in by some bastard, I suppose,
who didn’t want to know?’

‘That’s about the size of it,’ Bessie murmured.

‘Well, you’re a good ’un to take ’em on.’ He nodded at her. ‘Relation of yours, is she?’

Bessie shook her head and pressed her lips together. She was on the point of telling him everything, all about Hannah and Nell and even about the master and mistress of this place, but it
wouldn’t do. Instead, she smiled. ‘But I’m hoping we’ll be like family.’

‘She’s a lucky lass,’ he said gruffly. ‘I hope she’s properly grateful to you.’

Now Bessie said nothing. She didn’t know Nell, didn’t really know how they’d all get along together. But she was fond of Hannah, very fond, and she was doing this for her.

‘Right then, I’ll take you across to see the master.’

Bessie followed him as he hobbled painfully across the yard, into the back door of the building and through what seemed like a maze of dark passages until they came to a door. The porter raised
his hand and knocked sharply. On being bidden to enter, he opened the door and poked his head around it.

‘Someone to see you,’ he said curtly. Bessie could tell at once that there was no love lost between this man and the master of the workhouse.

‘Show them in then, man,’ Bessie heard the thin, high-pitched voice demand from beyond the door.

Bessie stepped forward, nodding her thanks to the porter as she passed into the room. As she heard the door close behind her, she moved towards the desk. Sitting behind it, crouched over papers
spread out upon its battered surface, was the man Hannah had described to her. Thin, hunch-backed with a rat-like face, beady eyes and a sharp nose. This was Cedric Goodbody.

Bessie licked her lips. ‘Good morning, Mr Goodbody.’

The man grunted, pulled a blank piece of paper towards him and reached for a pen.

‘Another mouth to feed,’ he muttered. ‘Name?’

‘Mrs Elizabeth Morgan,’ she said and he began to write.

‘Age?’

‘Why do you need to know that?’

He looked up and smirked. ‘You drop your pride at the door when you come in here. Age?’

‘But I’m not coming in here. I’ve come to get someone out.’

The man’s eyes glinted. ‘Have you indeed? And who might that be?’

‘Nell Hudson and her son.’

A strange look crossed the man’s face. ‘Have you indeed?’ he said again, but there was a different intonation in his voice now: surprise and a curious kind of wariness, as if
he’d never expected anyone coming to ask for Nell Hudson.

He cleared his throat, dipped the pen into the ink once more and said, ‘Well, I’ll still need to ask you a few questions. Er-hem – for the information of the guardians, you
understand.’

That’s a lie for a start
, Bessie thought, but she held her tongue and merely nodded.

‘Where will the girl and her child be living?’

‘Here in Macclesfield.’

‘Can you support her?’

Now it was Bessie’s turn to lie. ‘Yes.’

He eyed her keenly. ‘You have a husband? A man to support you?’

Now she couldn’t lie. ‘No, but I work.’

‘Oh yes. Where?’

Again, she felt unable to lie. ‘At home. I take in washing.’

The man’s thin lips curled.

‘And . . . and I have a lodger. She works and . . . and she’s found a job for Nell an’ all.’

‘Ah, now that does throw a different light on the matter.’

Cedric bowed his head for a few moments. He was in a quandary. Nell Hudson had been orphaned and brought to the workhouse at the age of eighteen months. At ten she had been dispatched to the Critchlows’ mill, but had recently been sent back to the workhouse when she had become pregnant. Though he had never been told officially, he suspected that Edmund Critchlow was the child’s father. Nell had been the second girl to be returned to the workhouse from Wyedale Mill, heavy with child and calling Edmund Critchlow all the filthy names she could lay her tongue to. But Cedric Goodbody was beholden to the Critchlows. He’d taken the girls back into the workhouse and held his tongue, silenced by a nice little sum that passed each time from Edmund Critchlow into Cedric’s bony hands.

‘And you make sure they stay there,’ Edmund had warned. ‘It’ll be the worse for you, Goodbody, if I ever set eyes on them again.’

Now Cedric raised his beady eyes and glared at Bessie. ‘And where is she going to work?’

Bessie swallowed. Her throat was painfully dry. All this lying was hard work. ‘At the mill.’

‘What mill?’ Goodbody snapped.

‘One of the silk mills.’

‘Here? In Macclesfield?’

When she nodded, he seemed to relax a little, though a deep frown still rutted his forehead. At last, after several moments of deep thought, which seemed an age to the waiting Bessie, he said,
‘Very well, then. I will release her into your care. But you’ll have to sign a paper that you take full responsibility for her.’

Now it was Bessie’s turn to be anxious about what she was taking on. Then she shrugged her shoulders. Oh well, what did it matter. She’d been heading for the workhouse in her old age
anyway before Hannah had appeared. If they all ended up in here, so what? It was no more, no less than she’d expected would happen one day. And in the meantime, well, she’d have a
family of sorts to care for again.

That, more than anything, was worth the risk.

‘Where do I sign?’ She beamed at him.

But I don’t know who you are.’ Nell’s eyes were wide with fear. Much as she wanted to get out of the workhouse, this was like taking a blind leap off a mountain into the unknown. ‘You . . . you could be anybody.’

Bessie chuckled, not in the least insulted by the girl’s misgivings. She’d feel exactly the same in Nell’s shoes. ‘You’ll just have to trust me, love, that’s
all. There’s a home and a job waiting for you. Tek it or leave it,’ she added, hoping that the girl wouldn’t take her at her word and refuse to go with her. She couldn’t
explain it all, for Goodbody was still in the room. And even if he hadn’t been, walls had ears as far as Bessie was concerned. She’d no intention of so much as mentioning Hannah’s
name until they were well clear of this place.