The Street Orphans Read online

  Her father had ordered that a doctor should be in constant attendance and that, as soon as Lady Eleonore could travel, she should be brought to their house. It appeared that it was an entry in her diary that had brought the police to their door. Father had immediately sent a wire to Viscount Frederick, to tell him the news. Poor Frederick. Once again Katrina admonished herself for feeling glad to hear of Bertram’s demise, when Frederick and his mother had so much to contend with.

  Anger entered her as she thought of the peasants who had caused the accident. To her mind, they had no thought for others. There was no excuse for walking on a road that was for the use of horseriders and horse-driven vehicles and had very few passing places. But for all that, she shuddered to think what their fate might be; after all, it sounded as if they were all very young.

  3

  Ruth

  A Fruitless Search

  Ruth stared into the terrifying, impenetrable darkness of the room in which she’d been locked. Her mind jumped from one thing to the next. But it was mostly occupied by where her sisters and brothers were.

  The journey to get the injured lady somewhere she would receive help had been hazardous and heart-wrenching. The lads had managed to make a kind of stretcher out of the remains of the back end of the coach and between them they’d lifted her onto it, before tying it – and the lady – securely on top of the pram and fixing that to the horses. They’d found everything they needed amongst the debris scattered around: belts from dressing gowns, and some leather belts rolled and tied, plus a blanket to cover her with. And although the contraption was unsteady, George had managed to soothe the horses along the way, so that the journey didn’t cause the lady any further injury.

  It was the burden of the third horse, which was not needed to pull the pram, that had broken their hearts. Somehow they’d managed to lift their ma’s body and secure it over the horse’s back. Five orphans, lost in grief, doing what they thought best.

  On the way Ruth and Seth had made up a story, which they all had to learn by heart and not stray from. Elsie was instructed over and over again to stay dumb. No matter what was said to her, she was to shake her head and keep her lips clamped together.

  Their story was simple and most of it was the truth; they were to lie, though, when it came to what had happened to the Earl. They were to say they hadn’t been able to save the young man before the carriage went over the cliff. And they had to remember that they wouldn’t know who he was, so they mustn’t mention his title, no matter what they did.

  A shudder went through Ruth’s cold body. It had all seemed so simple. But on arriving at a small hamlet, they’d knocked on the door of the first house – a large house, where they thought someone of note might live. Someone who would help them. Instead, the man who answered the door asked them their business in a cold, suspicious manner.

  Ruth had told him their story, thinking that once he knew, he would be more kindly towards them, but instead he’d told them to wait. The huge door had shut on them with a snap that had sent worry through Ruth. She’d been right to fear. Within moments the man returned with another man, and together they lifted the lady off the pram and took her inside, telling the siblings not to budge.

  Seth had urged Ruth to let them make a run for it, but although she was apprehensive, Ruth had refused, as she couldn’t think why asking for help should bring trouble down on them. They’d done the right thing, hadn’t they?

  When the door of the house had opened again, she’d wished with all her heart that she had taken Seth’s advice. The man growled at them that they were all to come inside. He showed them into a small room, with one wall containing shelves from floor to ceiling stacked with provisions, the sight of which had been torture to their starving bellies. Tins of meat and jars of preserves lay side-by-side with bags of flour and stacks of tins containing sugar and tea. The other three walls were whitewashed. Against one of these was a cold slab holding tubs of lard and dripping, and a leg of lamb. On the brick floor stood flagons of ale, and bottles of wine lay in a rack. Above these hung a cooked ham, which had had slices cut from it. For a moment Ruth had been tempted to seize hold of it and let each of her siblings take a bite. But she’d resisted and had huddled them close to her.

  No matter what their fate, or what they were thought to have done, to put starving children in such a place seemed a cruel act.

  They’d stood awhile not speaking, each taking in the feast before their eyes, as Ruth reminded them to stick to their story. The door had opened during her telling and a voice had boomed out, ‘And what story is that then, scum?’

  Ruth had looked into the beady eyes of a very fat man. His clothes spoke of him being a gentleman, but there was nothing gentle about him. His face was purple with rage. Turning, he’d bellowed, ‘Is that idiot returned yet, Dorking?’

  The man who’d first opened the door to them had appeared. ‘He is, Sir.’

  ‘Good. Has he brought the doctor?’

  ‘Yes, Sir, the doctor is with the lady now.’

  ‘Tell him that when he has administered to her, he is to come to my office. Now, take these wretches to the barn outside. Whatever possessed you to put this dirty, thieving rabble in my pantry? You’re more of an imbecile than I thought, Dorking!’

  ‘Sorry, Sir. I thought to lock them in, and this was the only place I could do that.’

  ‘Hmm, yes, I believe they would try to escape. Have that brute of a man stay with them. The one who carries out the repairs – what’s his name?’

  ‘Gadling, Sir.’

  ‘Yes, that’s him. Tell him he has my permission to clout any of them if they try to escape.’

  When a bear-like man took them to the barn, they’d been relieved to find the horses there and had snuggled up to them for warmth.

  Ruth had felt her fear deepen with every moment, and her fear was justified, as not an hour later a policeman arrived and asked them how they came to bring an injured lady to the home of the Honourable Judge Yarrow.

  That name was a feared one even as far as Pradley, and it struck terror in Ruth. The judge was known for his harsh dealings. A lad from Pradley, not ten years old, came into her mind. Caught stealing fruit from a market stall, he’d been sent away from his family to a land called Australia, which was said to be on the other side of the world.

  Ruth had tried to explain, had tried to tell her story, but her fear had tongue-tied her. Little Elsie had blurted out, ‘It were the horses. They jumped up and made our mam dead, and a man made us—’

  Seth had tried to save the day. He’d interrupted and calmly told the man what they had rehearsed, but their fate had been sealed. Hours later, and well into the night, Ruth had been transported here, to this hellhole; and the others, she knew not where.

  Since being shoved roughly into this room, which she likened to a cell, Ruth hadn’t moved. Now she felt forced to, by the urge to pee. Shuffling along to the end of the stone slab she was sitting on, she found the wall. With the help of her crutch she hobbled along it.

  As she made her way along the cold, damp, rough surface, the cocoon of shock that had protected her cracked, and her senses awoke to the stench of stale urine mingled with sweat. Bile rose to her throat. Swallowing left a sting that caused her to cough. A tremble of cold and horror shuddered through her. Walking in the direction of the strength of the smell, she counted her steps. Ten paces before her foot kicked something tinny, which made a sound like a gong. Liquid splashed over her foot. The stench increased. Ruth retched but, with an empty stomach, only stinging bile came up from her. Tears streamed from her eyes as she choked on the vile-tasting liquid. Somehow she controlled the spasm and forced herself to use the bucket. It was already full, and adding more urine made the contents spill over the side and run around her feet.

  Her tears turned to tears of despair. Unable to sustain the standing position she’d had to take, she slumped on her crutch. But the angle she’d held the crutch at, while relieving herself, made it slip. S
he landed heavily on the floor. Her hair soaked into the foul sewage that she lay in.

  For a moment she lay still, begging God to let her die. But then a picture of her sisters and brothers came to her and she knew she had to live, for them. She had to try and save them all. With this thought, some courage came back to her. Writhing in pain, she somehow managed to retrieve her crutch and stand up. Counting the steps back to the stone bench, she sat down and tried to clear her mind. Everything depended on her getting out of here, but how?

  A noise woke Ruth, who had not been conscious of falling asleep. A clanging, banging sound. Opening her eyes, she saw that a trickle of daylight was forcing its way through a high, barred, filthy window, allowing her to see her surroundings.

  The din increased. The sound was like screaming cats, with the background of a thousand tin cans banging on metal. In front of her was a door with a hatch. That too was barred, but light shone through it. Hobbling towards it, Ruth tried to see out. Horror gripped her as she peered through it. A woman with black-as-night beady eyes sunken into bloodshot sockets stared back at her, from behind the bars of the door opposite. Gnarled, pockmarked and with warts on her cheeks and her nose, she made a sound that was more like a growl than a human voice. After several grunts, she became agitated and her hand, with nails like claws, came through the bars. Curses of evil poured from her, directed at Ruth, which had Ruth shrinking back from the hatch. Where am I? Oh God, please don’t say I’m in an asylum! Tales of folk being locked up in such places and never heard of again taunted her. She begged God for help.

  A different sound brought her out of her despair: that of a cart being wheeled along cobbled ground. Without looking across at the woman, Ruth peered out of the hatch once more. To her left she saw a man pushing a trolley full of bowls, the contents of which must be hot, as Ruth could see steam rising from each one.

  At each cell the man unlocked the door, viciously pushed the inmate back with a long pole that had a crosspiece on the end, then shoved a bowl into the cell, quickly locking the door again. He waited at each one until there was a knocking from inside, when he opened the door once more, shoved the inmate back, then leaned in and took the slop bucket, putting it to the side of the cell door while he locked the door once more.

  It seemed to take an age for the man to reach Ruth’s cell, during which time a plan had formed in her mind. She only hoped she had the strength to accomplish it and she knew she’d have to move quickly, attacking him before he could push her back with his rod.

  Her heart clanged as she heard him lock the cell next to hers. How was she going to stand long enough to use her crutch as a weapon?

  His shadow splashed across the hatch. The key grated in the lock. Ruth’s heart pounded even faster and, though she was cold to her bones, sweat trickled down her body. What if she failed?

  The door creaked. She knew she had to act now. As the door opened, she lunged her whole body forward, shoving the man’s rod to one side and digging her crutch deep into his belly. His body crumbled beneath hers. His breath reeked as it left his body in a gasp that Ruth thought he’d never draw in again. His face registered shock and fear.

  Lifting the top half of herself – something she was always able to do, having gained strength in her upper torso to compensate for the weakness of her lower body – Ruth grabbed her crutch and, as if ramming a pole into the ground, brought the end smashing down into the man’s face.

  His head rolled, in much the same way as the Earl’s had done earlier, drawing Ruth out of her rage and filling her once more with the horror of her actions. Looking down into his shattered, bloodied features, she thanked God that the man was still breathing.

  The silence that had fallen erupted into a cackling of pleas and screams. Ruth looked around her. At every hatch, wild faces appeared. Screams of ‘Save me’ mixed with shrieking laughter and name-calling.

  As if given super-strength, Ruth knew what she must do. Unhooking the keys from the man’s belt, she managed to get up and make her way along the corridor of hell. Dodging the globs of phlegm that were spat at her, and ignoring the stench of the slop buckets, she made it to the gated door at the end. It took a moment to locate the correct key, but she concentrated on the task as the racket behind her increased in volume. At last the door creaked open. Ruth froze. What if there were more staff outside? Could she fight them all off in her near-exhausted state? But once she pulled the heavy door closed behind her, there were no more people, just another corridor with a room off to the left. The room held a table and a stool. On the table was a pile of papers, and that was all.

  When she reached another door, she fumbled with the keys once more and eventually made her way along the corridor, with a series of doors leading off it. One door at the end of the last corner that Ruth turned stood open, and beyond that was another gate-like door that led to the outside.

  The smell of food cooking, and the sound of cooking pots clanging, came to Ruth as she neared the open door. A woman’s voice called out, ‘Is that you, Trevor? You done all the slop buckets already? Well, I have a pot on the hearth. I’ll make you a drop of tea.’

  Ruth cringed against the wall. She could now see that the gate-door beyond the kitchen stood ajar, but could she make it through without being seen? Looking behind her and then in front of her again, she was seized by panic. Would the woman come out of the kitchen, when she received no reply? The thought of being taken back to that cell, and worse – now having on her head the crime of assaulting the guard – propelled Ruth forward.

  ‘Trevor? Trevor, what’s wrong . . . Hey, what are you up to—’

  Using her crutch, Ruth shoved the woman with all her might, in the same way she’d seen the guard do. The woman lost her balance and fell backwards. Ruth swayed. The floor came up to meet her, but before she hit it, she grabbed the handle of the door and steadied herself. The woman’s eyes held terror as she stared up at Ruth. Ruth snarled in the way she’d seen the other inmates do. The woman cowered away, curling herself in a ball and screaming, ‘Don’t hurt me, I’ll not stop you leaving. Please don’t hurt me.’

  Somehow Ruth managed to close the kitchen door, then couldn’t believe her eyes as she saw there was a key still in its lock. Relief flooded through her at the sound of the lock clicking into place. Removing the key, she carried on towards the gate-door, sheer willpower overcoming the horrendous pain that was racking her body.

  As her hand grasped the handle of the door, she caught sight of a woman’s coat hanging on a nail. Taking the coat down, she threw it outside, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to hold it while she found the key to lock the gate-door behind her.

  Agony permeated every part of her, with the relief of knowing she was free. Through uncontrollable tears, Ruth saw she was in a courtyard. In the centre of the stone-flagged yard stood a well. The blackened, rust-covered pump looked enormous, but she was used to such a contraption. One of her tasks back home had been to see to the supply of buckets of water for her family from the well in their garden. Pumping it up from the ground had contributed to her body’s upper strength.

  She knew she mustn’t think of the pain she was in. The only way of living with it was to block it from her mind, and she did that now. Leaning against the wall, she steeled herself to make it to the well, draw water and wash her face, hands and feet.

  Shivering against the cold of the icy water, she used what strength she could muster to empty a bucket of it over her head. With chattering teeth, she donned the coat. Several sizes too big and reaching the floor, it wrapped comfortingly around her, and its belt tied around her twice, but held the coat in place. Searching in the pockets of her clothes, she found her ribbon and fixed her wet hair into a ponytail. Her last task was to swill down her sandals. This done, her feet squelched into them, but the cold made her oblivious to the dampness.

  Some warmth entered her as she made her way towards the gate that led to the outside world. Getting through the gate itself posed no problems, and no one
was about. A little way along the road, Ruth threw the bunch of keys and the kitchen key into the bushes, before taking in her surroundings.

  The building she’d just left was a huge, rambling old house with bars at every window. As she walked round to the front she saw a sign saying ‘Merchant Street, Union’s Workhouse Hospital’ – the place where they put those considered not normal. A shudder trembled through her, as she realized her thoughts about the place were confirmed. Now, though, she had to get as far away from here as she could.

  It was afternoon by the time Ruth allowed herself to rest. Her journey had taken her along busy high streets, where she’d begged a crust from a kindly-looking lady sweeping the path outside a bakery shop. The lady had seemed afraid of her, but had given her a piece from a warm loaf. Ruth had smiled her thanks, and this had the effect of warming the lady towards her; but then an awkward moment had followed as she’d asked where Ruth came from and where she was going. Ruth had been sorry to rush away, but was afraid to answer the woman’s questions and was wary of the deeper prying that might have ensued.

  Coming to a narrow, cobbled street, she went to walk down it, thinking that it looked as though it housed folk of her own standing and she might get some help. But the stench of the place – the same stinking smell of sewage as where she’d come from – had her changing her mind. Instead, exhausted, she sank down on a bench and allowed herself to lean back and rest, thinking for the first time that she had no need to fear.

  The shabbiness of her surroundings meant that she was unlikely to come across anyone who would be curious about her. This thought hadn’t died before a young girl approached her. ‘What you doing there, dressed like that? Eeh, you look reet funny, lass.’ The girl’s eyes rested on Ruth’s crutch. ‘You a cripple, then? By, you’ll find no one to beg from around these parts, though I could take you somewhere you’d make a good bit of money and have food an’ all.’

  Ruth found the girl to be a strange creature. Her face wasn’t natural, in that it was painted with rouge, as were her lips. Both in a bright red. Her blonde hair looked like straw. Combed high on her head, it hung in straggly bits around her face. Her clothes showed a lot more of her than they should and seemed to be far too tight for her. But for all that, she had a friendly nature and hadn’t been repulsed by Ruth’s club foot.