Читать книгу The Girl in the Ragged Shawl - Cathy Sharp, Cathy Sharp - Страница 8

‘It is time the rules were reformed,’ Arthur said to a group of men as they moved to leave the inn parlour that had been their meeting place. ‘Some of them are too harsh – and I believe the wardens should be more strictly regulated.’

‘You would relax the rules for the undeserving and regulate the hard-working men and women who enforce them?’ one of the board members asked incredulously. ‘Have you lost your wits, Stoneham?’

‘No, Sir Henry, I think not,’ Arthur replied. ‘I believe that the rules were set up in good faith but they are open to abuse by the master and the mistress – and I think it is time they were reviewed. Just as I do not believe that a master should be allowed to beat his servant for some small misdemeanour.’

‘Good grief! You would turn society on its head,’ Sir Henry said, staring at him with eyes that bulged in disbelief. ‘You cannot imagine what chaos could ensue, my dear Stoneham. Your compassion does you credit – but they are cunning wretches. You must not believe a word they say. A servant who complains of his master’s whip has probably stolen from him – and if dealt with firmly would be sent for a year’s hard labour. He is lucky to escape with a beating.’

‘Come, sir,’ Toby said and raised a lazy eyebrow. ‘Are all the poor undeserving wretches?’

‘Most – and if not they are usually insolent and impertinent and should be kept in their place or a man will not be able to keep hold of his property. Only those that prove their worth and know their place should be promoted.’

‘And what if I had proof that the rules were being abused and vulnerable girls harmed?’ Arthur asked.

‘Well, in certain circumstances we might have to replace the master and the woman who assists him as matron or whatever.’ Sir Henry yawned, obviously bored. ‘These meetings are tiresome. I must be off to my club – good-day, gentlemen.’ He tipped his hat and went on his way muttering about reformers.

‘You see what I am up against,’ Arthur said, and his gaze followed the baronet in disgust. ‘Any mention of reform and they fear for their property.’

‘Sir Henry does not speak for us all,’ a deep voice said from behind them and they turned to see another of the governors looking at them with interest. ‘I agree that the rules may need updating.’

‘Major Cartwright …’ Arthur nodded. He was not inclined to make an ally of the old soldier and yet it seemed that he might have to take what votes he could get. ‘I believe that some of the punishments used on children are too severe.’

‘Ah yes, the poor young ones,’ the major said but looked odd. ‘Well, I am not against reform. You may rely on me if you need my vote – good day, gentlemen.’

Arthur watched him leave. ‘Why don’t I trust that man?’

‘I’ve met his sort before …’ Toby shook his head. ‘Not sure you are right not to trust him, but he might be an ally if you need one, Arthur.’

‘I’m glad you decided to sit in this morning,’ Arthur said. ‘Now, I propose to treat you to a dinner at my club to make up for all the boring chatter you’ve been forced to endure.’

‘And so I should think,’ Toby said and twirled his Malacca cane with its silver knob. ‘At least you got the money for the new drains passed so it’s not all bad, my friend.’

‘Tell me, Molly, is that my brat in there?’ Master Simpkins smiled and touched her swollen belly. ‘I dare swear I’ve swived you enough to claim it.’

Molly laughed and reached for the tankard of strong ale on the table beside her, drinking deeply from it and wiping her chin with the back of her hand before kissing him on the mouth and thrusting her tongue inside. He tasted of strong ale and his breath smelled, but she’d known worse and she tolerated him. Robbie could be coarse, and he’d taken her virginity by force when she was a young girl, but she’d more or less forgiven him because she accepted that it was her lot in life. Robbie wasn’t the worst of the men she served and these days she used him as much as he used her. He was weak, a creature of lust and greed, and yet he could be generous if he chose. Because of Robbie, Molly was able to come here to have her child and leave again when she chose.

Few knew that he was part owner of the whorehouse where she worked and lived, though he had nothing to do with its daily life, but Molly had discovered it long since. It made her smile to think that his sister was ignorant of what her brother got up to in his quarters.

Oh, Mistress Simpkins had her own dirty little schemes but Molly would bet that Robbie was as ignorant of what his sister was up to as she was of his part-ownership of the brothel. However, whereas Molly could accept Robbie’s involvement, she hated his sister and what she did with a deep vengeance. Grown women selling themselves for money and a life of comparative ease was one thing, but condemning children to the brutality of the evil men that used them was quite another. If she’d thought that she could stop Joan Simpkins from selling the children she would have told Robbie, but she knew he would either disbelieve her or be unable to control his sister; Joan was the stronger of the two and though she held her post through him, he seldom interfered with her.

‘You’re not a bad old sod,’ she told him now. ‘I can’t let yer ride me, Robbie love, ‘cos I’m too big – but I’ll give yer a treat if yer like.’ She moved her hand suggestively to his bulging breeches and smiled. ‘You’m be hung like a horse, me darling. It must be painful fer yer with yer breeches so tight … let Molly ease yer.’

‘Yer the best, Molly. Yer always look after me,’ he said and pulled her in for a kiss. ‘Get on with it then – and take your time.’

Joan Simpkins paused outside her brother’s door listening to the disgusting sounds coming from inside. He and his whores thought she was ignorant of what they did in his rooms, but she’d learned what he was long ago – even before his wife died. To hear him speak of his wife anyone would think he’d adored the woman he called a saint, but if he had loved her it had never stopped him indulging his baser needs with whores.

She frowned and turned away, making her own secret tour of all the wards while her brother was otherwise engaged. He had no idea that she overlooked his side of the workhouse, but she knew all the spyholes and enjoyed watching men, women and children as they moved about their quarters or lay in their beds, believing that no one but their companions knew of what they did in the hours of darkness; their misery satisfied her and eased her own self-pity.

Joan had learned of the baseness of these creatures when she was but a young girl. Spying on them, she saw the furtive couplings between certain types of men, and it pleased her that she knew their secrets – the filthy beasts were no better than animals to her mind. She grudged what comfort their couplings gave them for she thrived on the suffering of others. When gentlemen instructed that these creatures should be treated as human beings she hardly knew how to contain her ire. Men like Mr Stoneham, used to the luxury of clean linen, warm fires, and all the wine and choice foods he desired, had no idea what kind of beasts they dealt with here; ignorant, filthy, base creatures who would do nothing to help themselves unless prodded to it. They rutted like animals and deserved no better treatment.

Joan also knew that some of the men fought off those others and sought their pleasures with the women, sometimes their wives if they could find a way, but often another young woman taken with her consent and, at times, without. The strict rules meant that the men and women were segregated and locked in their own wings to prevent this kind of thing, but they were cunning and some had discovered how to move about the workhouse even after the doors were locked at night. When she discovered where their illicit key was hidden she would take great pleasure in punishing the culprits. For the moment it amused her that they believed themselves safe.

Joan had not interfered even when she witnessed the rape of a young girl by her own brother. It had amused her to watch for the girl was nothing but an impertinent upstart – and pretty. She deserved her fate.

Soon afterwards, the girl had come to her and confessed she was with child. Joan had told her she had her just deserts for fornicating and offered her a choice – she might go to an asylum for correction or enter a whorehouse. The girl had chosen the life of a whore, which just showed that Joan was perfectly justified in her opinion of her character.

Molly was a slut and always had been. She was a whore at heart and there was no more to be said, but it irked Joan that she seemed to enjoy her life. Why should she be happy and free to come and go when Joan was tied to her post, not by duty but the need for money? When she left this place it would be for good and she needed a great deal of money to live in comfort – or she would one day find herself once more in a place like this but as an inmate.

Eliza lay snuggled up to Ruth beneath the blanket they shared. Now that she was thirteen she was allowed to sleep on the women’s wing instead of being sent to join the other young children at night. Lying close to her friend was the only way to keep warm and Eliza liked being with the woman she called friend, but this night she found it hard to sleep. Joe had told her about his life while he ate his meal in the kitchen and Eliza felt an aching need inside her to see what it was like to be free, to travel wherever she wished.

The only place she’d ever been taken to was the church at the end of Farthing Lane. It was a treat on Sunday and she was given a clean dress on the days she was allowed to go, but that was not often. A group of children and women and a few men went every week, because the Board of Governors insisted that the inmates hear the word of God, but Mistress Simpkins did not allow everyone from her ward to go. A few women and girls were chosen and supervised by Mistress Simpkins and Sadie, and they were dressed cleanly with aprons and little white caps over a grey dress. Eliza sometimes wondered why the men and women did not just walk away on these outings, for neither Sadie nor the mistress could have stopped them, but when she asked Ruth, she’d told her that they simply had nowhere to go.

‘Life is hard in here,’ she’d said looking sad, ‘but it can be terrible cruel on the streets, Eliza. Here we be given food every day; it may not be much and ’tis often hard to stomach, but it is better than no food at all. The men bring their families in when they be close to starvin’. I tried to live on the streets and it’s no place for children, my lovely. There are dangers out there that we be protected from in here. The women won’t leave without their kids and the men won’t leave their families here alone so they stay until work is offered and they can sign themselves out, though many are back in a few months when the work dries up. ’Sides, if they walked off in the uniform they could be taken up fer stealin’.’

Ruth was fast asleep and snoring gently, and Eliza wished she might sleep, but her rebellious nature kept her wakeful. One of these days she was going to run away. She would like it to be with her new friend Joe, but if not she would go alone. Eliza knew her chances of surviving on the streets alone at her age were slight; she had to hold on, to endure the mistress’s spite for another year or so. When she was older she could ask for work and might be given it. At the moment she was too young and slight. Most people wanted a strong girl to do all their chores and Eliza might not look strong, even though the years of hardship had toughened her. They would want an older girl or a woman and that was why she was still here after so many years.

Yet perhaps if she and Joe ran away together they could manage. In the country, perhaps, folk were kinder than in town …

‘I’ve been lookin’ round,’ Joe told Eliza the next morning when they met after breakfast. It was a time when the two sides mixed in the dining room and then dispersed, each to their own work. ‘I’ve been put to work with the men making hemp rope. There’s a man called Bill and he knows a way to get out, though he says he’s not ready to leave yet. I asked him to tell me, but he said if I used it, it would spoil his chances when he goes, but if there is one way there must be others.’

‘No talking!’ Eliza looked up and saw the mistress watching them. ‘Get to your work, girl, or you will feel my stick.’

‘Don’t you dare hurt her,’ Joe said and moved in front of Eliza. ‘Lay a finger on her and I’ll see you dead – I’ll lay a curse on you and you’ll die in agony, withered and alone!’

For a moment the colour left Mistress Simpkins’ face and Eliza thought she saw fear in her eyes, but then in a moment it had gone.

‘I do not believe in your curses, gypsy,’ she said and raised her stick bringing it down hard, but Joe was too quick for her and seized it, twisting it from her hand with a flick of his wrist. ‘How dare you? I shall see you are flogged for this – and you’ll have no food this day.’

Joe stared at her defiantly and then broke the stick over his knee and flung down the pieces. She raised her hand and struck him again about the face but though he flinched he stood firm, his eyes daring her to touch him again.

‘Now then, now then,’ the master’s voice made Eliza spin round for she had not noticed his approach, but Joe and the mistress had not taken their eyes from each other as if neither would give in. ‘What has this boy done to upset you, sister?’

‘He is a disobedient, dirty gypsy and he needs to be punished. He broke my stick and he dared to threaten he would put a curse on me.’

The master looked at Joe severely. ‘Did you do as the mistress claims, boy?’

‘Yes, sir, ’tis true. She be goin’ to hit Eliza and I told her I’d curse her if she did – so she tried to hit me with her stick and I broke it.’

‘Did you indeed?’ For a moment it looked as if the master approved of Joe’s action but then he frowned. ‘Well then, well then, boy – what am I to do with you? This won’t do, you know. I cannot allow you to defy the mistress – even though you are in my ward, not hers.’ His thick brows met as he looked at his sister as if sending her a challenge.

‘He must be flogged and sent to the hole – and no food today, none!’ Mistress Simpkins’ voice had reached a shrill pitch that made the master frown.

He reached out and took hold of the collar of the worn and much-patched jacket Joe was wearing. ‘You come along with me boy,’ he said looking angry. ‘You have upset the mistress and you must be punished.’

Eliza watched as Joe was dragged off, holding back her tears. She was so angry and yet so frightened for Joe. He’d been rebellious from the start because he was used to living free and he didn’t understand how hard life was in the workhouse. Open defiance made the mistress lose her temper and she had been known to beat a child until the blood ran in one of her rages.

‘What are you staring at, girl?’ the mistress snapped suddenly making Eliza jump. ‘Get to your work or you’ll find my stick about your shoulders.’ A glint of temper showed in her eyes as she looked down at the stick Joe had broken. ‘Don’t think that will save you. I’ve another stronger and thicker that that gypsy brat won’t break.’

Eliza turned and walked towards the laundry. Her heart was racing wildly and she wanted to run but she made herself walk. She must never show fear, never show weakness. If the mistress once thought she could break you, she would never let up.

Eliza’s back felt as if it were breaking when she finished her day’s work. She’d filled the vats with hot water from the copper and then stirred ten piles of dirty clothes into the water that had turned a muddy brown colour by the time she’d finished the last. They were only allowed to heat one tub of water a day but they used two tubs of cold water to rinse the clothes, so that when they were mangled for the last time they smelled reasonably fresh and the dirt had gone. Once the washing was hanging high above their heads under the vaulted ceiling, they had to empty all the vats and tip the filthy water into the ditches that ran past the rear of the laundry out into the gutters in the lane and finally into the sewers. It was back-breaking work and all the women were exhausted by the time they were told to take their places for the second meal of the day in the dining-hall.

Ruth was waiting for her and had saved a place for her. Every day Ruth fetched a piece of the coarse brown bread and soup for them both, as well as a cup of water.

That day the soup was vegetable but there was a flavour of something more and Ruth told her that Cook had used the bone left over from the master’s ham to flavour their soup and put a little goodness in it.

‘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.’

Eliza thanked him but said, ‘I shall take the water, but you keep the bread. I have food.’ She knew he must have saved the bread from his own ration. She turned back from the window because she knew the way to the cellar well enough.

She returned to the hall and then found her way in the semi-darkness by pressing her hand against the wall until she reached the cellar door. When she reached it she fumbled for the lock and found the key was still there. Mistress left it there so that she could not be blamed if the child died; she’d sworn that Eliza had shut herself in and no doubt she would swear the same of Joe.

Turning the key, Eliza removed it and put it in her pocket. She went inside, leaving the door slightly ajar so that the faint light from a window showed her the steep stairs. Her hand against the wall for there was no rail, Eliza gingerly moved down the steps one by one.

‘Joe, are you there?’ she called.

‘Eliza – is that you?’ his voice answered, and she could just see a dark shape. He had been lying on the floor of the cellar but now he was standing and he moved towards her. ‘Stand still. I can see in the dark; I’ll come to you.’

Eliza did as he told her and the next moment she felt him touch her hands, drawing her in further. She stumbled against something and he steadied her.

‘It’s a wooden crate I found to sit on,’ he said ‘and there are sacks. I made a bed of them.’

‘I did not find them when I was shut in here with the rats.’ She shuddered.

Joe laughed. ‘I be not afraid of them. I like to hear them moving about – and they be clever, rats.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ll tell you when I be ready,’ Joe said, and then, a new note in his voice. ‘Why did you come, Eliza? If mistress finds out, she’ll beat you.’

‘I don’t care. She hits me all the time,’ Eliza told him. ‘I brought you food, Joe. I didn’t want you to go hungry as I did.’

‘How did you get in for I know the door was locked?’

‘Mistress left the key in the door. I nearly died in here, Joe, and she was afraid if you died she would be blamed so she left the key – and I have it, so she cannot lock us in.’

‘You’m be clever like the rats,’ Joe said and hugged her. ‘And brave. Not everyone would do what you have, little Eliza.’

‘You’re my friend,’ Eliza said. ‘I asked Cook and she gave me food – a piece of bread, cheese and a slice of apple pie.’

‘A feast fit for a king,’ Joe said and there was laughter in his voice. ‘Sit here on my box and share it with me, Eliza.’

‘I have supped; it is for you.’ She pressed the parcel into his hands.

‘Nay, we shall share it,’ Joe insisted. ‘It is a bond between us, Eliza. One day we shall leave here. The rats will show us the way and if you give me the cellar key it will make our escape easier and sooner.’

Joe had broken the cheese as he spoke and gave a piece to Eliza. She put it in her mouth and the taste made the moisture run for she had seldom had anything so good and when Joe gave her a piece of the pie and told her to eat it with the cheese she sighed with pleasure.

‘It be like Heaven,’ she said. ‘Be we both dead, Joe?’

‘No, we’re alive, and one day we’ll be free,’ he said and smiled at her. ‘You’m be my girl one day, Eliza. No matter if they part us – no matter what happens to us, you mind what I say. We were meant to be together and one day I’ll make it happen. I swear it on my heart – now swear on yours that you’ll be mine.’ Joe took her hand and placed it over her chest. ‘Swear, Eliza. Swear to be true …’

‘I swear it, Joe. I swear it on my heart …’ Eliza felt the touch of his lips on her cheek and his arm about her. It was at that moment that the door of the cellar was flung open and at the top of the stairs stood the master and the mistress, both holding a candlestick and looking down at them.

‘I know you’re there, you little slut,’ mistress said viciously, though she could not see down into the darkness of the cellar. ‘Your master would not believe you so wicked – but I knew you had stolen food to bring that gypsy brat.’

Eliza wanted to protest that she’d been given the food, but if she did that Cook would be in trouble. The food she gave to the women and children did not belong to Cook; it was the property of the master and Cook could be branded a thief. Eliza knew that she must take the blame.

In the darkness of the well of the cellar, she handed the key to Joe, who slipped it inside his tunic. He squeezed her arm and whispered to her and she nodded, for Joe could see clearer than she in the darkness.

‘Our time will come, believe,’ he whispered as she walked towards the mistress and began to ascend the steps

‘You shouldn’t have put him here to starve like you did me,’ she said boldly as she reached the top of the steps and received a sharp slap across her head.

‘Insolent child!’ Mistress Simpkins took hold of her arm, her fingers digging into her upper arm so that Eliza almost cried out with the pain. ‘I shall tell Cook that you are on short rations again tomorrow.’

‘I don’t care what you do to me,’ Eliza defied her. ‘He is my friend.’

‘You dirty little slut! What have you been doing with that gypsy?’ the mistress demanded and grabbed hold of Eliza’s arm as she reached the top of the cellar. Rutting like the beast you are no doubt. ‘Give me the key!’

‘I do not have it,’ Eliza answered boldly. ‘The door was unlocked and there was no key.’

‘Liar!’ The mistress slapped her face. ‘The key was there for I left it so.’

‘Then someone must have taken it,’ Eliza said and held her head high.

For her pains she received another slap and Mistress Simpkins would have continued to beat her but the master intervened.

‘Perhaps you mislaid it yourself, sister. Take her back where she belongs. I shall deal with the boy. He is my ward. Come up here to me, Joe. I have something to say to you.’

Eliza looked back as she was dragged off by the furious Mistress Simpkins and saw Joe emerge from the cellar. She saw the master give him a cuff round the ear and their eyes met before she was pushed around the corner and out into the courtyard.

‘You may wait out here until I’m ready to speak to you and I shall want to know how you managed to get out of your dorm,’ the mistress said as they reached her office. She slapped Eliza several times on the arms and head. ‘Sit in the corridor and wait – and if you dare to disobey me I’ll thrash you until you can neither lie down nor sit.’

Eliza did not answer, nor did she hang her head. It was cold and she was sleepy but if the mistress wished it, she would have to wait all day and go without both her breakfast and perhaps her supper. Yet it had been worth it for the pleasure of sitting with Joe and eating delicious apple pie and cheese, and if Eliza died now she would keep the memory in her heart forever.