The Poacher's Daughter, page 15
‘Anna? A word, if you please?’
The girl stopped her sweeping and came towards them. She was painfully thin with a sallow complexion, lank brown hair and huge brown eyes that held a depth of suffering. Beside her Rosie was the picture of robust health.
‘This is Rosie, Anna. She’s on trial for a month. Can you take her under your wing and show her what to do?’
‘Of course, Mrs Duncan.’ The girl cast a swift, almost frightened glance at Rosie.
‘Rosie has nowhere to stay, Anna. She’s not from around here. Do you know if there are any spare rooms in the attic where you are?’
Anna shook her head. ‘I don’t think so, but – but . . .’
‘Go on.’
‘There’s a spare bed in my room. She – she could share with me, if she doesn’t mind.’
Rosie smiled. ‘Of course, I don’t. As long as you don’t mind.’
A small smile flickered on the girl’s mouth. ‘Oh, I’m used to sharing, miss. In the workhouse we slept in dormitories. Twelve to a room. I’ve liked having my own room, but I do get a bit lonely at times. It’ll be nice to share with you.’
‘Right, then,’ Mrs Duncan smiled at them both, ‘I’ll give you ten minutes to take Rosie upstairs, Anna, where she can leave her bag, and then if you could get her kitted out with an apron and whatever else she needs, she can start work alongside you now.’
‘The room’s bit small,’ Anna said, as she led Rosie up the flights of stairs and into the attic. ‘I don’t know what you’re used to, miss.’
‘This is fine, Anna. I lived in a cottage in the countryside and my bedroom was under the eaves, reached by a ladder, and was no bigger than this. And, by the way, please call me Rosie.’
‘Right you are, then, Miss Rosie.’
‘No, no, just Rosie.’
The work was hard and Rosie was amazed at how strong Anna must be beneath the waif-like appearance.
‘My word,’ she said as they finished for the day and she eased her aching back. ‘You must be a lot stronger than you look, Anna.’
The girl smiled. ‘The workhouse was exactly what its name implies. We all worked hard, those of us who could, that is. Now, let’s go and get summat to eat. I’m always hungry, but the food’s lovely here.’
While they ate, Anna introduced Rosie to a few of the other workers, including one or two nurses. ‘They’re ever so nice,’ Anna whispered, referring to the young women dressed in smart uniforms, who came to sit at the same table. ‘You’d think they wouldn’t want to mix with the likes of us but—’
‘Hello, there,’ one rosy-cheeked nurse, with blond curls peeping from beneath her cap, smiled at Rosie. ‘You’re new, aren’t you? My name’s Vera. What’s yours?’
‘Rosie.’
‘You’re very welcome, Rosie. We all muck in together here. No pulling rank. We’ – she waved her fork at a few of her colleagues who were collecting their meal and sitting nearby – ‘all consider that we need you lot to help us do our job. We’re all in the same boat and we all have to paddle together.’ She leaned a little closer to Rosie and Anna. ‘And I’ll tell you something else. If you do well, Mrs Duncan and Matron will get their heads together and might let you do a bit more than just the cleaning. Not nursing, of course, if you haven’t had any training, but things like bed making, helping the patients to move, even writing letters home for them. That sort of thing. But, in time, you might be taken on for training and become an assistant nurse.’
‘I’m willing to do anything asked of me,’ Rosie said and was rewarded by a beam of delight from Vera and nods of approval from one or two others.
As they left the dining room, Rosie asked Anna, ‘Is there anything else we have to do? I’m whacked. I’m for bed, if you don’t mind.’
‘No, we’re done for today but we have to start at six in the morning, so we have to be up and to have had our breakfast to report for duty by then.’
Rosie nodded and yawned. ‘I didn’t get much sleep last night. The barn where I slept was cold and very draughty.’
Anna gaped at her. ‘A barn? You slept in a barn?’
Rosie giggled. ‘Yes, but I had to be up and away before dawn in case the farmer caught me.’
‘But – but . . . Oh my. A barn! And I thought the workhouse was bad. Haven’t – hadn’t you got a home, then?’
‘I had to leave. My father volunteered and, as it was a rented cottage, I heard that the landlord was going to turn me out, so I left.’
‘So – where did you live?’
‘A little village in the middle of nowhere.’ Rosie smiled. ‘I don’t expect you’d know it.’
‘No, I probably wouldn’t. I never got outside the workhouse gates until I came here.’
‘Were you in the workhouse long?’ Rosie asked tentatively. She was careful not to pry too much; she didn’t want to have to answer awkward questions about her own past.
‘All my life,’ Anna said simply. ‘I was born there and my mother died at my birth. I – I have no idea who my father was.’ Her head drooped. ‘I think I’m what they call a bastard.’
Rosie was suddenly aware of how lucky she’d been in her life. True, she’d lost her mother too, but her father had cared for her even though he’d brought her up to live close to the edge of the law. Luckily, until recently, she’d never even been questioned by the police. But she was thankful to have left that life behind and to have been given a chance to do something useful. But oh how she missed her dad, Nell and Nathan. And most of all, she missed being close to Byron.
She wondered where they all were now. Only Nell would still be safely in her little cottage. She hoped her neighbours would be good to her and watch out for her and that Sarah from the manor would keep bringing the servants’ washing to her, giving Nell a small income. And it was Mrs Ramsey and Sarah whom Rosie had to thank for giving her a warning about the master and his intentions to have her thrown out. Because of them both, Rosie had been able to leave of her own accord.
‘So, that wretched girl has escaped retribution, has she?’ William glared at his wife. ‘Did you have anything to do with it?’
Grace regarded him steadily. ‘My dear, I don’t know who on earth you’re talking about.’
‘Waterhouse’s brat. She’s left the cottage. I sent Pickering to evict her, but she’s gone.’
With a supreme effort, Grace managed not to smile. She was pleased that the girl had thwarted her vindictive husband. She was sure in her own mind that Rosie had had nothing to do with the tragic events, though she wasn’t sure about Sam. And, of course, she was sensible enough to realize that Rosie could well have been with him that night. But, whatever the truth, Grace couldn’t help herself feeling glad that the girl had escaped. She would ask Sarah to talk to Nell the next time she saw her.
‘Anyway,’ William was saying, ‘at least I can re-let their cottage now. I’ll have Pickering burn any belongings they’ve left. Good riddance. Sam Waterhouse has been a thorn in my side for years.’
‘So why did you not get rid of him?’ Grace asked mildly.
William gave a wry laugh. ‘I have asked myself that many times, my dear. The truth is that although he was a poacher on my lands, he was still useful. Amos swore to me that Waterhouse was a good worker at busy times when extra hands were needed and would do jobs that others hated. He was the local rat catcher. He kept the moles down and he would clean out sewers and drains. As for his poaching, yes, he did trespass on my land and kill my game and I’m sure, over the years, he’s had a few pheasants, partridge and such, but my father turned a blind eye to Little Titch, who was the poacher here in his day, and so I decided to do the same with Sam Waterhouse. But only to a point, mind you.’
Grace pursed her lips to stop the ready retort that sprang to them. William was trying to make out he was a philanthropic landlord and employer when the opposite was the truth. If anyone had ‘turned a blind eye’ to Sam’s poaching, it had been Amos Taylor – not William. She hesitated before saying any more; she didn’t want William questioning how she came to know such things. And yet . . .
‘I’m sure you know,’ she began carefully, ‘that I hear the servants’ gossip now and again and rumour has it that Sam never sold what he caught. What he didn’t need for himself and his daughter, he gave to the villagers during hard times, especially during harsh winters.’
William’s answer was surprisingly mild. ‘Yes, old Amos used to tell me that too.’ He sighed. ‘My father was too soft. I think Little Titch appeared before him in court once and, as a magistrate at that time, he let him off.’ He smiled smugly. ‘But I let it be known that if Sam was ever caught red-handed, he’d be up before the magistrate. And considering I am now a local magistrate, he wouldn’t have stood much of a chance if he’d appeared in front of me, now, would he?’ He paused and then added, ‘I think Byron takes after his grandfather rather than me. He’ll be far too lenient. He’ll let them get away with—’ He stopped suddenly, realizing what he had been about to say. He grunted and rose from his chair. ‘I’m going for a ride around the estate. I’ll see Pickering about getting another gamekeeper. Amos can’t go on any longer.’
‘Will it matter now?’ Grace murmured. ‘Your poachers are both gone.’
‘Huh! Don’t you believe it. There’ll always be someone to take their place. You mark my words.’
Grace gazed at the door after her husband had left the room. Then she rang the bell for Sarah.
Twenty
‘Morning, Nell,’ Sarah greeted her on the following Monday. ‘How’s things?’
Nell shrugged lethargically. She was missing Rosie and was desperately worried about Nathan. She hadn’t had a letter for two weeks. The last time she’d heard from him, he’d still been in the training camp, but now she wondered if he’d been moved elsewhere. She just prayed that he – and the rest of the young men who had gone with him – had not been sent abroad yet. Her neighbour, Ivy, hadn’t heard from Dan either. Both women were very worried.
When Nell didn’t answer, Sarah, who had become very fond of the woman who was probably only a few years older than herself, put her arm around her shoulders. ‘Come on, Nell. You can tell me. It won’t get back to the mistress – and certainly not to the master – if you ask me not to say anything.’
‘It’s no secret really, Sarah. I miss my lad.’
‘That’s only natural. All the mothers whose sons have gone are worried sick – including, I might say, Mrs Ramsey.’ She paused a moment and then added softly, ‘But you feel like you’ve lost a daughter, too, don’t you?’
Nell nodded and wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron. ‘Yes, yes, I do. Rosie was the daughter I never had.’
‘D’you know where she’s gone?’
‘No, Sarah, I don’t and, in some ways, I don’t want to know. I’d just like to know she’s all right, that’s all.’
‘I’m sure she will be. She’s a resourceful girl and there’ll be plenty of jobs going for young women now that all the menfolk are rushing to volunteer.’
‘How’s Mrs Ramsey coping? She seems a nice woman.’
‘She is, Nell, take my word for it. Too good for the likes of him.’ She laughed. ‘But please don’t quote me on that, else I’ll lose my job.’
‘I wouldn’t, Sarah. I know how to hold me tongue when I have to.’
‘I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything of Sam either, have you?’
Now Nell, much as she liked Sarah, who she felt was fast becoming a friend, was wary. She wanted to trust her, wanted to believe that anything she said to her would not be repeated back at the manor, but this could be Sam’s life at stake. So, she was thankful to be able to say just what Rosie had told her and everyone else in the village. Of course, they all had their own ideas about what had happened that night, but no one actually knew. Only, perhaps, Rosie, and now she had left too. So, Nell was able to say quite truthfully, ‘No, Sarah, I haven’t. All I know is what Rosie told all of us. He left to volunteer.’
‘But didn’t he come to say goodbye to you? You were very close, weren’t you?’
Nell smiled wryly. So the village gossip had reached the manor, then. There was no point in denying it – and she had no wish to either. ‘Yes, we were.’ She avoided saying whether or not Sam had bade her farewell. ‘But I miss all of them.’
‘If it’s any consolation, Nell, Sam and Rosie are best out of the way. The master is still gunning for Rosie even though he can’t prove anything.’
‘I know and it was good of you to tip us the wink.’
‘He’s on the look-out for another gamekeeper now.’
‘What about poor old Amos?’
‘It’ll be the workhouse for him this time, I shouldn’t wonder. The master doesn’t believe in his retired workers taking up a valuable property he can rent out. He’s not like his father was. He was a nice old boy from what everyone tells me, though I never knew him. He wouldn’t see any of his old retainers put in the workhouse. But this one . . .’ Sarah shook her head.
Nell said no more, but a plan took root in her mind.
‘Come in, Foster.’ William waved the policeman into his study. ‘That will be all, Baines,’ he added, dismissing the attentive butler. Douglas Foster stood in front of William’s desk, his helmet under his arm.
‘You wanted to see me, sir?’ he said with as much politeness in his tone as he could muster. If there was one man on his patch whom he hated, it was William Ramsey. The policeman had witnessed at first hand the poverty and suffering this man caused by his selfish, ruthless ways. He was every bit as bad as a dictator in Douglas’s eyes. He reckoned William could give old Kaiser Bill a run for his money.
William leaned back in his chair and linked his fingers across his ample stomach. ‘Indeed I do, Foster. I am about to set on a new gamekeeper and I have dismissed Taylor. Hopefully, this time he will not have the chance to take up possession of his cottage and his job again if I were to find myself temporarily without a gamekeeper. This time, I want him gone for good. You will escort him to the nearest workhouse, Foster. I think my trust in him over the years has been badly misplaced. I allowed him to persuade me, against my better judgement, I might add, to allow that wretched Waterhouse to carry on living here. He was forever bleating on about how Waterhouse did the jobs that no one else wanted to do. I should have evicted him and his daughter years ago. But, out of the goodness of my heart’ – Douglas had to stifle a wry chuckle – ‘I allowed them to stay on after his wife died. I regret that decision now. I should have been tougher.’
‘I’ll see what I can do, sir.’
‘You’ll do better than that, Foster. You will carry out my orders or I shall make sure your superiors hear about your insubordination.’
The policeman kept his face deadpan and his eyes fixed upon a point on the wall just behind William’s head.
‘And there’s another thing. I want you to find out if it’s true that Waterhouse volunteered. If he did, I want him cashiered so that he can stand trial.’
Now, Douglas had to press his lips together to stop himself retaliating. Instead, all he said was a stiff, ‘Sir.’
‘And have you any idea where the girl’s gone?’
‘No, sir, I haven’t.’ Although he had seen Rosie as she left the village, she had not told him where she was going. He hadn’t wanted to know either because he knew he’d be asked questions at some point.
‘Well, find out, if you can. I want her in gaol too.’ He paused briefly and then added, ‘That will be all, Foster. I trust you can see yourself out? I’m hardly afraid that you’re going to steal the silver.’ William laughed at his own joke and waved the man away.
Douglas rode his bicycle away from the manor and up the slope towards the far end of the woods where the gamekeeper’s cottage stood. He was seething. The arrogance of the man! He enjoyed ruling people’s lives and, it seemed, ruining them on a whim. It wouldn’t have hurt him or his pocket to have found the poor old man a cottage somewhere on the estate. There was at least one standing empty now that Rosie had left.
Douglas came to a halt outside the keeper’s cottage and leaned his bicycle against the fence. Amos was in the front garden hoeing. He wouldn’t have to do this for much longer, Douglas thought. There was a definite autumnal chill in the air that would soon turn to wintry weather and, sadly, the old man wouldn’t be able to do it for many more days; he wouldn’t be here.
Amos looked up. ‘Come to tell me to pack me bags, have you, Mr Foster?’
‘No need to be so formal, Amos. It’s always been “Douglas” to you, now hasn’t it?’
‘Not when you’re on official duty, as I expect you are now.’
‘I’ve been put in a very awkward position. Sometimes, Amos, I hate my job.’
Amos leaned on his hoe and looked Douglas straight in the eyes. ‘Aye well, I’ll not make it any harder for you. You’re a good man and a fair one when you’re able to be. We all know you’ve done your best to help young Rosie, though if her old man was still around, you wouldn’t be able to turn a blind eye then, would you?’ He laughed throatily. ‘Like we’ve both done over the years, eh?’
‘Aye, well, we both knew what they were doing to help the villagers when times were hard,’ Douglas said.
‘He never sold anything, y’know. Just gave it to those in most need.’
‘To be honest, Amos, I hope they both stay well away from here because that old bugger down there in the vale is determined to get his hands on them. Both of ’em, if he can.’
‘Now, now, Douglas, language like that coming from an upholder of the law.’
‘I could think of worse to say about him, Amos. Believe me.’ There was a long pause before Douglas said quietly, ‘So, what, my old friend, am I going to do about you?’
A month after Rosie had arrived at the Lincoln hospital and had begun to work alongside Anna, the matron called them both to her office.
‘Have we done something wrong?’ Anna whispered, her brown eyes wide with anxiety as they hurried to answer the summons. The girl had altered even during the short time Rosie had known her. She was no longer the little waif from the workhouse. She had put on some weight and her skin was a healthier colour. Her brown hair – with Rosie’s help – now shone. Though most of the time imprisoned beneath her cap, when loosened, it curled prettily around her elfin face.
