Coming Home (13 page)

J
ULIANA SAT ALONE at the scrubbed kitchen table as she did every evening. Tilly perched on a stool in the corner. Even though her mistress had been relegated to the status of a servant, Tilly refused to eat with her. She had been scandalized when Juliana suggested it. The kitchen was friendly and warm, and Juliana preferred to eat there anyway. Even if she'd been encouraged to eat in the dining room, she doubted she would have done so. The dirty gloom in there was not conducive to a healthy appetite. Cook, on the other hand, kept her kitchen spotless.

As usual, Cook barely gave Juliana time to wash her hands before she cheerfully banged dinner down on the big table where they kneaded the dough for bread. Juliana lolled in her chair. She was exhausted. It wasn't her work she found tiring – it was the endless unhappiness she encountered every day. And no matter how she helped them, the women still regarded her as an outsider. Sometimes she heard them muttering among themselves but all conversation ceased the moment she approached.

She was used to nursing men who had often poured into her ears the frustrations of a lifetime. Most of them would never admit they were in appalling pain but she had found their openness on other matters easier to deal with than the reticence of these women. Even Tilly came in for her share of wary looks. The Pirate had tried to help. More than once Juliana heard her say, ‘She's all right. That Miss Colebrook.'

But still the women kept their own counsel.

And she did not understand why the women admitted to the infirmary did not bring their young children with them. It was a kindness that the board allowed the babies and little ones in leading strings to stay with their mothers unless, of course, the mother was infectious. Yet since Juliana had arrived she'd seen only newborn babies and very few toddlers. Kit was the only child over four she'd met.

As she cleaned and bound a festering wound on one young woman, she had asked about the woman's children.

‘Their father has 'em in the workhouse, miss.'

‘The workhouse! Surely that is no place for little children. What happens to them while their father works?'

‘They are looked after. Whoever has no work for the day minds 'em,' the young woman explained. ‘Some of the old codgers don't mind. Makes 'em feel useful. And when the tykes are old enough, they go to the Ragged School.'

‘But … I don't understand. There's plenty of room here, and the board approves—'

‘Board? That there board don't know what goes on in here, does it?' The woman had pulled her arm away as if Juliana were a leper.

Juliana had shrugged helplessly. Sometimes the English were a mystery to her. The Portuguese were far more practical and easier to understand. There must be some tradition here she had not heard about.

‘Eat up, miss, before you fall asleep in your dinner,' Cook admonished her, and Juliana snapped out of her reverie. She and Cook had come to an understanding. When Cook saw Juliana wince and clutch her stomach after eating, she had been angry. ‘It ain't my fault. The master is that mean, it's impossible to make good meals out of what he allows me to buy.'

Juliana had been forced to explain her stomach ailment. Since then Cook had been most kind, creating nourishing soups and setting aside for Juliana some of the tender cuts of meat destined for Sholto's dinner plate. Cook seemed to think that having a sensitive stomach was the preserve of self-indulgent gentlemen. ‘What's a nice young lady like you doing with an old man's illness?' she had demanded.

Of course Cook's kindness came at a price. A few coins changed hands, and Juliana now had precious few coins left. When she'd tried to give Tilly her last shilling the young woman had said staunchly, ‘When you get your quarter's income, Miss Colebrook, then you can pay me. I am suited. Mother togged me out before I came into service. I need nothing.'

‘Dear Tilly.' Juliana blinked back tears, astounded that her maid had such faith in her. ‘If you have the chance of a job elsewhere, please take it. I am very willing to give you a good reference. I don't know where I will go, but I intend to leave the workhouse as soon as I receive my first quarter's wages. It is not just the job. It is disheartening, but it's not the worst job in the world.'

Tilly shuddered and Juliana smiled. ‘I've been in worse circumstances, Tilly. But I must get away from this house. I'm sure you
understand. I'm going to ask the Marchioness of Trewbridge to recommend me for a position.'

Tilly startled Juliana with the fervency of her loyalty. ‘I'll not leave you, miss. With all the goings-on around here you need someone on your side.'

Juliana smiled weakly. ‘It seems silly for a working woman to need a chaperon, but the parish board would have had to supply one anyway. Mr Pettigrew tells me that when epidemics arise in the workhouse, I shall have to nurse the men as well as the women and children.'

Tilly was appalled. ‘But they can't do that, miss!'

‘Apparently they can. Believe me, if I'd known in Portugal what awaited me here, I would have stayed in Porto. At least Dr Barreiro did not expose his nurses to infectious diseases. He preferred to use medical students to attend those with infections, saying they must become hardened to disease.'

Tilly's jaw hung open. ‘Are you saying those savages in Portugal treated you better than…?' She trailed off, realizing in the nick of time that her employer was one of those ‘savages'. She gulped. ‘Anyway, Miss Colebrook, you need me when that awful Mr Pettigrew comes creeping around.'

‘Yes, I do. Not that Pettigrew is really interested in me, but I wouldn't put it past my uncle to box me into a corner and demand I make an honest man of Pettigrew or some such rubbish. They might feel a lot happier if I were under their thumbs, or they may have a different fate planned for me, which is even more frightening. Anyway, that's not for you to wonder about, Tilly,' she ended quickly. She had been rattling on as if Tilly were her best friend. Heaven only knew, she could do with a friend.

But Tilly nodded sagely. ‘I reckon that Mr Pettigrew and your uncle are in a few shady dealings together.'

Juliana stared hard at Tilly. ‘What have you heard, Tilly?'

‘Nothing much,' Tilly said airily. But it was obvious she kept her ear to the ground. ‘On Annie's half-day off last month she saw Mr Colebrook and Mr Pettigrew coming out of Prior's Bank in Hungerford together. They looked very pleased with themselves, laughing and talking.'

Juliana thought it was probable the two men had an illegal scheme going and that they'd been banking the proceeds. ‘Tilly,' she mumbled, around a mouthful of deliciously tender beef, ‘I know my room is very small, but would you mind…?'

‘Yes, miss. I'll move my things into your room. Annie or James will help me shift the bed. Don't you worry none, Miss Colebrook.'

Anyone would think that of the two of them, Tilly was twenty-three and Juliana was sixteen. But a dose of country common sense stood Tilly in good stead.

They both started when Sholto Colebrook oiled his way into the kitchen. Juliana surreptitiously stuffed a succulent slice of meat beneath the inevitable boiled cabbage on her plate.

‘Ah, my dear. I was searching for you,' he said, as if he had expected to find her anywhere but the kitchen. ‘You had some callers today.'

Her heart soared and she looked up expectantly.

‘Lady Brechin and the Marchioness of Trewbridge called. Was that not kind of them?'

Her heart settled back into its usual place. For one moment … but of course Colly wouldn't call to see her. Ever. Unless his name was cleared. And it wouldn't make a blind bit of difference anyway because of her past.

‘Yes. Very kind of them.'

‘They have invited you to visit Trewbridge on Sunday.'

‘Oh?'

‘The marchioness is sending her carriage.'

Juliana stared at her uncle. He sounded pleased and yet, not so pleased. She was unsure of his mood.

‘Why you, and not I and my wife should receive this invitation I have no idea. You are but recently come to England, yet she invites you as if you were bosom friends.' His mouth twisted in petulance.

Ah. Sholto Colebrook had been looking forward to toadying up to the Marquess and Marchioness of Trewbridge. He either did not know, or did not care, that the Trewbridges held him in aversion.

It was a pity she had not heeded the Trewbridges in the first place, but she had been hell bent on finding her relatives. Well, she had found her relatives and they were not what she'd expected, not at all. She suspected her uncle was a fine hair short of a criminal.

Her aunt drifted about the house like a ghost and assumed a cloak of vagueness to cover her unhappiness. Juliana rarely saw the woman. At the hospital, when soldiers had shown depressive tendencies like that, Dr Barreiro had found them an occupation. Sometimes he would set them to work sorting out clean rags. If they were convalescent, he sent them to outlying farms to help provide the food that was in such short supply.

But Aunt Colebrook could not be put to work.

Well, the Colebrooks might see Juliana as a poor relation, but she was much better off than they were. Certainly she was more fortunate
than poor Aunt Colebrook. She had self-respect and, as long as she had two hands, she could work. Thank the Lord for the good sisters at the convent in Coimbra who had trained all their young ladies in useful occupations.

None of her thoughts showed on her face. Over the years she had had much experience in concealing her emotions. ‘Thank you, Uncle. I shall not keep the carriage waiting.'

He glared at her. ‘And see you carry no tales to the Trewbridge household, miss.'

‘Tales?' Juliana made the word sound as incredulous as she dared.

‘Yes. The Trewbridges are to be informed that we have treated you with great kindness.'

‘Of course, Uncle.'

‘And don't behave too familiarly, my girl. You might consider them friends, but you work for a living. There's a gulf that can never be breached between them and you.'

Tilly lingered in the shadows watching and listening. With the instincts of a hunter, Sholto Colebrook stiffened and spun around.

‘You!' He pointed.

Tilly shuffled forward. ‘There's no need to accompany your mistress on Sunday. You can make yourself useful around here.'

Juliana opened her mouth to argue, then thought better of it. If Tilly stayed here, she could report anything untoward that happened in Juliana's absence.

Taking her cue from her mistress, Tilly bobbed a curtsy that Juliana could not fault. In its brevity it was supremely insulting. Sholto hesitated, then swung on his heel and left.

They both exhaled with relief and Cook, who had been lurking in the scullery, waddled in and stood beside Juliana. ‘You mark my words, miss. He's after your blood. You watch yer back.'

No need for that advice. Since the moment they'd arrived, Juliana had sensed the venom lurking beneath the avuncular veneer. She had shown her hand when she'd defended her mother's family and he could not
wait
to get even with her. Just like his brother. Her father had never let common sense get in the way of paying back a slight either. She must tread carefully. She shivered and Tilly scolded, ‘You're cold, miss. You go on up and I'll bring your washing water.'

‘Perhaps you'd like a bath, miss?' Cook enquired.

‘Oh
yes
, I would, Cook, very much,' Juliana said in heartfelt tones. She always arrived home from the poorhouse feeling grubby. Many of her patients were admitted to the institution straight off the streets, and
they were filthy. Worse, however, were the ones who had been sent down from Bridewell and Bethlem; they were crawling with lice and fleas. The last time she'd felt truly clean was the day she left Trewbridge.

‘It is only a hip bath, but it's better than nothing. I'll put it in the scullery so
he
won't know about it. That will save Tilly trotting up and downstairs with jugs of water, too. You might like to wash your hair as well.'

Juliana wondered if that was Cook's inimitable way of telling her she smelled rank.

‘We'd best be quiet, though, miss,' Cook explained. ‘The master's quite firm about only one bath a week. Uses up a lot of fuel you see, heating the water.'

Juliana's lips twisted. ‘How many baths does the master have, Cook?'

‘He bathes every day, miss.'

They stared at each other.

The man was a self-centred nuisance like her father had been. But unlike her father, Uncle Sholto might possibly be a dangerous, self-centred nuisance.

N
EXT MORNING THEY arrived at the infirmary to find the Pirate stamping around in a fury.

‘Where is he? Where's the boy?' she was demanding.

‘What boy?' Juliana asked.

‘You know. Kit Mortimer.' The Pirate twitched with anxiety. A tuft of midnight-black hair dabbled over her bad eye and her fingers were tightly clenched.

‘The one whose ma just died?' Tilly enquired.

‘Yes. I just
knew
Pettigrew would take him away. All the little ones disappear as soon as their mothers die. His ma asked me to protect him, but I failed. I shouldn't have brought them here in the first place. Oh, hell.' The Pirate hunched herself into a ball on the floor and rocked to and fro.

One of the other inmates dragged herself off her pallet and knelt down beside her. ‘We never saw anything,' she murmured.

Distress tumbled through Juliana. Sweet little Kit, the helpful boy whose mother had begged her to ‘go to Sir Alexander Mortimer. He will help.' She'd meant to ask Pettigrew where she could find Sir Alexander Mortimer, but it had slipped her mind. And now Kit had disappeared. If anything happened to him, it was her fault. Then the Pirate's distressed words sank into Juliana's consciousness. ‘Pirate, stop cursing and talk to me. What do you mean Pettigrew takes the little ones when their mothers die?' She shook the woman's shoulder.

‘Me name's not Pirate.'

Juliana blushed. ‘Sorry. It is how I think of you.'

The slitted mouth turned up at one corner. ‘Afore my accident I used to work for the Mortimers, you know. That's why I've kept me eye on young Kit. His ma was old Mortimer's daughter-in-law. Kit be his grandson.'

Juliana swallowed. Things were getting complicated. ‘But who
is
this Sir Alexander Mortimer?'

‘Local gentry. He's on the board of this 'ere place.'

‘What?'

Several heads turned as Juliana's voice rose.

The Pirate fluttered her grimy fingers in front of Juliana. ‘Hush! Don't let Pettigrew know, miss. He has no idea. To him, Mrs Mortimer was just another dying woman. We planned to see Sir Alexander, her and me. But the babe came too soon and—'

Juliana crouched down beside the Pirate whilst Tilly hovered beside them. ‘You need to explain a few things to me, Pirate er … what
is
your name?'

‘Minna. But since the accident most folks bin calling me Pirate.' She grinned half-heartedly.

‘Minna, explain it to me. Why is Sir Alexander's grandson in here?'

‘Usual story.' Minna's expression was grim. ‘His son married a young lady Sir Alexander disapproved of. Well, 'tweren't that he disapproved of her exactly. But Sir Alexander already had a young woman picked out for his son. And he's a stubborn ol' coot. He threatened to disinherit the boy, so the young couple ran away. The master's valet and I went with them. We were the only witnesses to the marriage. There was no problem there. They were both of age. Just as well we went with them. Young Mr Mortimer and my lady had no more idea of how to set up house than a cat.' For a second she smirked at some reminiscence. ‘But Mr Christopher's friends rallied round and gave him little commissions and the mistress took in sewing. We survived. And young Kit was born. Then last winter there was a carriage accident.' Minna pointed to her eye. ‘It were nobody's fault; just a nasty accident on a wet, slippery day. A job-carriage taking a corner too fast slithered into ours. The young master bore the brunt of it.'

‘What a ghastly thing, Minna!' Juliana thought of the multitude of injuries that such an accident could cause – the broken bones, the dislocations and abrasions and most of all, the debilitating shock that would slow down the healing.

‘What about
your
injuries?'

‘I weren't as bad as the master, Miss Colebrook. We couldn't afford a real surgeon, so a country doctor set the bones in his leg. But infection set in and—' She shrugged helplessly. ‘It were heart-rending. He lingered for weeks in terrible pain and she – well, she was already expecting their second.' Her one eye glared at Juliana. ‘When she got real sick I brung her 'ere. You saw the end of the story.'

‘Oh,
Deus
. Both of them dead and Sir Alexander doesn't even know he has a grandson!' Juliana wrung her hands. ‘What happened to the valet?'

Minna stared at the floor. ‘No idea. The mongrel left us after the accident.'

‘You must all have suffered dreadfully.' And no doubt poor Minna had borne the brunt of the work and anguish.

‘What's done is done,' Minna said. ‘'Twas all some months ago.' A lifetime of hard knocks lay implicit in her words. ‘When I brought the missus here after the birth she were mortal bad. I
must
find Kit. I'm all he's got.'

‘
Sim
.' Juliana's distress grew as she envisaged Kit's confusion and despair. ‘Minna, what did you mean when you said Pettigrew took the others?'

‘Bless you, ma'am. You're a real innocent, aren't yer?' The Pirate gazed pityingly at Juliana. ‘Where d'yer think the little tots get taken when they've no relatives to tend them?'

Juliana shrugged. ‘To the foundling hospital, I suppose.'

Minna nodded. ‘Yep. Some do. They're the lucky ones. Some don't. They get sent to Lunnon.'

‘London? Whatever for?'

Minna's shoulders squirmed in embarrassment. ‘What d'yer think, lady? What d'yer think? There's not many options for little tykes in Lunnon.'

Juliana ticked off what she knew of London. ‘Climbing boys? Crossing sweeps? But who would take Kit to London?'

The Pirate squinted at her. Then she looked away. ‘Pettigrew,' was all she said.

A black chasm opened at Juliana's feet. Urgent warnings crept up her spine. She crouched down next to the Pirate. ‘Now see here, Minna. You'd better be very sure about these allegations of Pettigrew selling children into illegal apprenticeships, because if it's true, then I'll … well, I'm not sure what I'll do but I'll work out
something
.' Her stomach roiled. That sweet little boy. He was no more than four years old. She shuddered to think of some bad-tempered employer lighting a fire in a grate to make him shin up the inside of a dark chimney.

Leaning her back against the wall, she hunched her head over her knees. Minna knelt beside her, patting her hand awkwardly. ‘There, there, miss. Umm … I take it you ain't never been to Lunnon?'

Juliana shook her head. ‘But I've heard plenty about it.' She felt sick, sick, sick. Damn Pettigrew. He must not win.

She pushed herself to her feet and began pacing. ‘It's Saturday today, isn't it, Tilly?'

‘I think so, miss.'

‘Tomorrow I can get help, but not today. And one day might make all the difference for Kit.' She swung around. ‘Minna, when did you first notice his disappearance?'

‘'Bout an hour ago, Miss Colebrook.'

‘Then he might still be somewhere close by!' She turned to Tilly. ‘Tilly, you must pretend to go into Hungerford on an errand. Let me see …' Juliana racked her brains to think of an errand that would sound viable to Pettigrew. She scrabbled in the bib of her apron and brought out her last four pennies. ‘Here, Tilly. Take these and pretend I've asked you to procure me some – ah, some lavender water from the apothecary. You must search everywhere possible, but take care not to draw attention to yourself.'

Tilly nodded, her bubbly curls bobbing. ‘I understand, Miss Colebrook. If they try any funny business with me it will be a different kettle of fish. I'm not a scared four-year-old who's just lost 'is ma.' She stomped off, the back of her neck bristling with anger.

 

Juliana immersed herself in work. Closing her mind to the suppurating sores prevalent among the women, she spread spermaceti ointment and bandaged where she could. Because the beds were straw palliasses dumped on the floor, she spent a considerable amount of time on her knees. Every day she wished for raised wooden cots such as they had at Sao Nazaire. She was sure she smelt permanently of eau de arnica because she rubbed so much liniment on her aching knees they were always slippery.

The gloomy day sent fingers of dusk into the corners of the room and she did not realize how time had flown until awareness slammed through her. It was well past noon, probably nigh on two o'clock. Where was Tilly? Juliana prayed that nothing bad had happened to dear, generous Tilly.

‘Has anyone seen Tilly?' she called out.

Nobody answered. Blank faces turned away from her.

Their stubborn silence irritated her. ‘Well then, does anyone know what happened to Kit Mortimer?'

Still no answer.

‘Damn you!' She stamped her foot. ‘Why won't you tell me? If one of
your
children were missing you'd expect me to help. Why won't you help me find Kit?' she demanded, her voice rising.

‘It's not the same; he ain't yours,' a voice from the far end of the room sniped.

‘He may as well be. I promised his mama I'd send him to his grandfather.
' She loathed the way her voice was quavering but she couldn't seem to stop the pain seeping into her words.

‘Ah, miss.' The Pirate approached her and laid a hand on her arm. ‘They're sorry. But you see, until this morning they suspected you were one of them.'

‘Them?'

‘Pettigrew and the others who sell children for prostitution.'

Juliana could feel her mouth hanging open. She grabbed a desperate breath and clung to the windowsill. ‘Sell them for…? Ohhh.' Facts were falling into place with the discordant clang of errant church bells. Pettigrew was admirably placed to sell children into lives of misery. Most of them, no doubt, died early deaths from disease and injuries. She could only begin to imagine the appalling agonies the children endured in the hands of the revolting scum who could afford to pay for their ‘services'. Now she understood what the Pirate meant. And why the other women refused to deal with her. Juliana stared at the circle of faces around her. She found her voice at last.

‘How could you?' she demanded. ‘How could you think I would be a party to something so … dastardly?' She struggled to find the English to communicate her abhorrence.

‘Well, ain't you related to one of 'em? That bouncy little feller who's always visiting Pettigrew?' someone asked.

Her heart sank. If her uncle was in league with Pettigrew as she suspected, then she
was
related to ‘one of 'em'. Oh yes. She could well imagine oily Uncle Sholto embroiled in a scheme where he and Pettigrew sold helpless orphans to anyone who could afford the fee. Both men were cold moneygrubbers, oblivious to morality or the feelings of others. She sprang to her feet. ‘They shan't get away with it! I won't let them.'

The expressions on the women's faces ran the gamut from disinterest to scorn. One woman sniggered. No doubt they thought she stood no chance against a syndicate of criminals. They were wrong. Tomorrow she would seek help from the marchioness. She remembered Lady Trewbridge's words. ‘If you are ever in any trouble, please come straight to us.'

But it was unlikely the Marquess of Trewbridge would allow his wife to interfere in the affairs of a government-run group of charities unless there was incontrovertible proof that crimes had been committed. Unlike a private charity, evidence of criminal activities would have to be explained to a hierarchy of persons; therefore that proof must be irrefutable.

She would worry about that tomorrow. At the moment, Tilly was her most pressing problem. Had she followed a trail that had ended in disaster?

‘We will wait to see if Tilly returns with any news. I can do nothing more today, but tomorrow I am visiting some people who will help,' she told the circle of women. She was not as confident as she sounded, but she wanted to show these poor women they could trust her, even if she did speak with a foreign accent and had an uncle who was a shameful creature.

She peered out the window again. It was barely mid-afternoon. Plenty of time yet for Tilly to return. There was still hope.

She signalled to her assigned helper to begin checking the ambulatory patients.

 

The westering sun, struggling out from behind the clouds, poked weak shafts of sallow sunlight through the window. Juliana leaned her head against the window and prayed for Tilly and Kit. Something terrible must have happened to both of them. Juliana tried to stamp down on the helpless feeling welling inside of her. Lord, she needed a shoulder to lean on. She had got far too used to having Colly around.

‘Have any of you actually
seen
any children being abducted?' she asked the group huddled around her.

‘Well, I seen a little girl being shoved into Pettigrew's carriage once't, but that was afore your time, miss.'

‘My man says as how it's been common knowledge around these parts for more than a twelvemonth,' another said.

That wasn't much help. She needed facts. The board might think that inmates' opinions were prompted by spite or disgruntlement. However the authorities might listen to her, Juliana Colebrook, a nurse employed by them – unless, of course, they thought she was attempting to incriminate her uncle due to some family squabble. She rubbed her arms, trying to warm herself up. This whole thing was such a tangle.

‘There's only one thing I can do right now,' she told the assembled women. ‘I shall have to ask Pettigrew if he has seen Tilly. I'll tell him the tale we concocted, that I sent her out to buy a bottle of lavender water early this morning and she has not yet come back.'

‘Ooh, d'you think that's safe, miss? Bet he's got Tilly. He might take you away too.'

Wonderful. Juliana swallowed. ‘I – I don't
think
so. The board knows I'm here, and Pettigrew is answerable to the board.' She was not at all sanguine about that because obviously Pettigrew was expert at pulling
the wool over the eyes of the board members. Unless, of course, the board members were in on the … no. Her imagination was taking flight.