The Price of Desire (7 page)

It was nigh on noon by the time they reached the tall gates of the workhouse. Her heart beating with trepidation, Caroline led them through and into the stone-flagged courtyard beyond. The courtyard itself was deserted, but she could hear sounds of industry in the distance—the muted clatter of breaking rocks and the thud of axe against tree. No voices, though. The world of the workhouse seemed to be inhabited by silent ghosts and machinery, not with living and breathing beings.

She looked around the courtyard, trying to get her bearings. Tall brick walls surrounded her on all sides so that she did not know which way to turn.

The workhouse was so big—larger by far than she had imagined it to be. Were there really that many poor people in her parish? She would not have thought there were half so many. Her hands shaking, she picked up the heavy brass knocker on the closest door and let it fall. It hit the door with a resounding clang that seemed to echo on forever.

Before the sound had completely died away the door opened and a thin-faced woman stuck her head out. “Visiting hours are ten till twelve on Fridays only,” she said, and she made as if to shut the door again.

“We are not here to visit,” Caroline said in a rush. “But to stay.”

“To stay?” The thin-faced woman opened the door a little wider and looked them up and down with an assessing stare. “I haven’t seen you before. Are you from this parish?” she asked suspiciously.

“From Bloomsbury,” Caroline confirmed. It was the wealthiest part of the parish and would be home to few of the paupers in the House.

The woman’s eyes narrowed at the name, and the door remained largely closed. “You don’t look so destitute to me, with your fancy black clothes and boots and all. You sure you haven’t come from one of those Welfare Societies to make trouble here?”

“Our father died, leaving more debts than we could pay. We have nothing.”

“Hmmm.” She pursed her lips as she opened the door a little wider and ushered them into a bleak waiting area with bare brick walls and a cold stone floor. “Come on in, then, and I’ll ask the master to take a look at you. But don’t say I didn’t warn you if he finds out you’re shamming. He won’t treat you kindly.”

Beatrice stepped forward as the woman was about to leave them again. “Can we have something to eat while we wait? We’ve been walking all day on only a few blackberries and a morsel of bread and my sister is not strong.”

The woman gave a slightly malicious chuckle as she made her way to the door. “Dinner’s over for the day. You’ll have to wait till supper for a meal. That is, if the master lets you stay at all.”

By the time the master of the workhouse arrived, the afternoon had almost disappeared into evening. Overcome with the twin effects of hunger and exhaustion, Teddy and Dorothea had eventually ceased their fretful quarreling, slumped onto the bare stone floor, and subsided into an uneasy sleep. Beatrice and Louisa sat at one end of the plain wooden bench that was the room’s only furniture, their heads on each other’s shoulders and their arms wrapped around one another, each one giving the other the only protection they could afford. Next to them sat Emily, her hands primly folded in her lap but her head lolling on one side and her mouth slightly open in sleep.

Only Caroline, squashed as she was at the far end the bench, and sick with apprehension over the coming interview with the assessor, felt no inclination to slumber. The blisters on her feet throbbed and the pain in her empty stomach was as sharp as the twist of a knife, but all her physical discomfort was nothing to the ache in her heart.

Her father—his greedy speculations and wild schemes to double his fortune in no time at all—had made them sink so low. If only he had been content with all he had: a fine house, a fine family, and an income plenty large enough for all their needs. They had needed nothing more.

Just a few weeks ago she had loved him dearly. He had been her father, her protection from the world, even sometimes her friend. It was hard to remember that now, surrounded by her hungry and exhausted siblings and knowing that his greed and cowardice had brought them to such straits. And yet for all that, she could not hate him. It would be easier if she could.

No, her hate was centered on Captain Bellamy, on the man who could have rescued them all if he had chosen to. His mean, penny-pinching offer of keeping her was more insulting than anything else could ever be, more insulting even than the suspicious look on the face of the master of the workhouse who was now approaching her. He was a sandy-haired man of about her father’s age, though with a rough, weather-beaten face that told of the hardships he had lived through, and a gammy leg that he supported with a stick.

“You’re the ones who want emergency admittance?” he barked, his voice gruff. His sharp gaze took in the picture they made—wrinkled black gowns, unkempt hair, and pale, exhausted faces.

Caroline got to her blistered feet and dipped into an awkward curtsey. “We are.”

He stopped in front of her, leaning heavily on his walking stick. “You’re in fine clothes for paupers.”

The sneer in his tone cut into Caroline’s heart and brought tears into her eyes. If he did not take them in, they had nowhere else to go. “We have no others.”

“Your parents? Where are they?”

“Both dead. My mother died ten years ago, when Teddy was born. My father….” She stopped to swallow the lump in her throat. “My father died just a few weeks ago.”

“He left you nothing?”

“Only debts that we could never pay.”

He looked them up and down critically. “You and your sisters look like strong enough lasses. Did you not think of looking for work instead of coming here to live off the generosity of your betters?”

She had not thought the bread of charity would be so bitter to the taste or so hard to stomach. “We were in mourning for the death of our father. By the time we realized what a state of desperation he had left us in, the bailiffs were in the house. They took everything. They would have taken the clothes off our back if they had not been too ashamed to turn us out into the street naked.”

“You have no relatives to take you in? No grandparents, uncles, cousins?”

Did he think she had not scoured her memory and her father’s papers for any trace of a relative who could be induced to take them? She could find no hint of any living relations on either side. “None.”

“No friends?”

“None that would take in the impoverished brood of a bankrupt. No doubt they feared his ill-fortune was catching.” She knew her bitterness was unjustified. Six additional people to feed, house, and clothe would be a huge burden for even the closest friend to willingly take on. She had not been able to bring herself to ask so much of any of her father’s friends, and none of her own were in a position to assist her so much. Still, not to receive a single unsolicited offer of support was galling. When the chips were down, she had no one to depend on but herself.

“No other offers of support?”

The thought of Captain Bellamy set a nasty taste in her mouth. “None that I could accept.”

His green-eyed gaze seemed to go straight through her, reading the secrets she did not confess. “You are proud for a pauper.”

“I have nothing left but my pride. You cannot condemn me for holding onto that for as long as I can.”

“Paupers cannot afford pride, lass.” His voice was still sharp, but not unkind. “It’s best that you learn that sooner rather than later.”

She shrugged. Truth to tell, she had little enough of her pride left anyway.

“We’ll take you in for now.”

Her legs almost buckled under her with relief. Tonight they would sleep in a bed and not in a ditch. And they would eat. Her stomach rumbled loudly at the thought of food. “Thank you.”

“We’ll put you in the temporary section for the rest of the week. On Monday the Board of Governors will meet and they will decide in the end whether or not any or all of you will be allowed to stay.”

A bed and food for the best part of a week was better than nothing. Surely the Board of Governors would take pity on their sad story and allow them to stay until she could think of a way to support them all. “Thank you.”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” he warned. “The six of you look strong and fit and ready for work for the most part. The Board of Governors has little patience for able-bodied paupers and other malingerers. They are just as likely to toss you all out of doors again as give you free food and board for a day longer.” He jerked his head at Teddy and Dorothea, who, their cheeks flushed with sleep, were slowly disentangling their clothes and sitting up on the floor. “Though they might make an exception for the two youngsters and keep them till they can be apprenticed out.”

“You will let us stay until then?” How small her hopes and aspirations had fallen that she was thankful for so little.

“The last epidemic of cholera nigh on cleaned us out. Most of our inmates lacked the strength to fight it and half our beds are empty now. You may as well stay as not. Wait here and I will send the matron to see to you.”

Caroline subsided onto the bench again as he limped out again. Could it possibly get any worse than to be grateful for a mere week in a cholera-infested workhouse?

The thin-faced woman who had opened the door to them bustled back into the room a short while later. “Come along with me. He says as you can stay for the week.” She shooed them out the door, flapping her apron at them as if they were recalcitrant chickens. “Too softhearted for his own good, I’d say,” she muttered under her breath as she led the way through a bleak, deserted courtyard and into a forbidding brick building on the far side.

Snaking their way through the corridors, they eventually came to a room with a bare stone floor in which stood a couple of tubs of water.

“Wash yourselves,” the matron ordered brusquely, her hands squarely on her hips.

Caroline and her sisters looked at each other helplessly. The matron surely could not expect them to strip in front of her, and in front of each other, and wash themselves in a common tub.

She did expect it. “Hurry up. I haven’t got all day,” she snapped at them, as they did not move.

Beatrice stalked over and tested the water in the tub with the tip of her finger. “It’s freezing cold,” she stated. “And besides, it’s dirty. You cannot mean for us to wash in that.”

Caroline looked closer and saw the soap scum that lay on top of the water in the tub. Beatrice was right—the water was already filthy. They would not be the first people to bathe in it. The thought of sharing bathwater with the other inmates of the workhouse positively turned her stomach. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Emily was looking as green as she felt.

“Take it or leave it—it’s your choice—but nobody enters the workhouse without a bath. It’s the rules. We don’t want any vermin in here.”

Caroline could not help but voice a shocked protest. “We don’t have vermin.”

The matron sniffed. “So all you paupers say. I never met a single one of you who wasn’t fair crawling with lice and bugs. Now are you going to bathe or I am going to turn you out again?” The malice in her voice left Caroline in no doubt as to which option the matron would prefer.

Slowly, reluctantly, Caroline kicked off her boots and peeled her stockings off her blistered feet. What choice did they have? As far as she could see, they had none at all. If they did not bathe in that filthy water, they would not be allowed to stay. And if they could not stay, they would starve.

The stone flags of the floor chilled her feet to the bone but she did not hesitate. Discarding first her dress and then her chemise, she stepped over to one of the tubs.

“Don’t forget yer bloomers,” the matron cackled. “You’ve got to have a proper bath, mind. None of this wipe here and there with a washcloth and call yourself clean.”

Her face burning, Caroline stepped out of her bloomers, kicking them over to the rest of her clothes.

The matron’s cackle grew more throaty at the sight of Caroline’s nakedness. “You’ve got pretty, white skin for a pauper, I’ll say. Now, into the tub with you.”

She climbed awkwardly into the tub, shivering as the cold of the water seeped into her bones. Taking hold of the coarse bar of yellow soap on the edge of the tub, she scrubbed herself all over as quickly as she could. Just as she was about to clamber out again, she felt the matron grab her head and push it under the water. Startled, she fought back until she surfaced again, spluttering and coughing out the water in her lungs.

“Yer hair needs washing, too,” the matron said, taking the bar of soap and rubbing it roughly through Caroline’s long hair, careless of the painful tugs she was administering.

Caroline’s head was aching by the time the matron dunked her head a second time. This time, however, she was better prepared and managed to take a deep breath before being submerged in the water, and did not have to fight against the sensation of drowning.

“That’s better,” the matron said approvingly as she let her go again. “There’s no use in fighting me.” She showed her brawny arm off with pride. “There’s not many women as can boast of a stronger arm or a harder fist than I have.”

Privately Caroline thought the matron’s brawny red arm was no cause for boasting to begin with, but she wisely held her tongue and clambered out of the bath in silence.

The matron tossed her a grimy towel, and she rubbed herself dry with relief. As she reached for her clothes again, the matron shook her head and snatched them away. “You can’t wear those in here, missy. It’s pauper’s uniforms for you.” She picked up a shapeless gray gown from a pile in the corner, held it up against herself and gave a nod of satisfaction. “That’ll do.” She passed it to Caroline. “Put this on.”

Instinctively, she recoiled from the garment, this last indignity too much for her to swallow.

The fierce look returned to the matron’s face. “What’s the matter now?” she inquired acerbically. “Pauper clothes not good enough for you, are they?”

Caroline gestured toward her black gown. “Can we not wear our own clothes? Our father died.”