The Barefoot Child

Josh had taken some of their money to pay the new landlord. Because they were young, Mr Snodgrass had asked for a month’s rent in advance and Josh had paid him.

‘You can’t blame him,’ Josh said when they’d discussed it. ‘Why should he trust us?’

Lucy wondered if they could trust the landlord, but she didn’t challenge Josh, because he’d searched for the room and was proud that he’d found them somewhere to go. He was two years her junior but considered himself the man of the family. Mr Pottersby next door had hinted that they should go to the workhouse.

‘Kitty is not yet nine and should be in care of the wardens,’ he’d said to her. ‘You and young Josh can work, but what’s she to do all day? You won’t be able to afford to send her to school. Be sensible, lass, and put her in the workhouse. They’ll take care of her until she’s old enough to work – and then you can fetch her home.’

‘I’ll never let my sister go to the spike,’ Lucy told him proudly. ‘My father would want us all to be together.’

‘You’re a good lass.’ Mr Pottersby shook his head sadly. ‘The wife would take the little one in but we can’t afford to keep her …’

‘You’ve been good to us, sir,’ Lucy admitted, because his wife had sometimes brought her mother hot food in the middle of the day, when Lucy was working and could not look after her. ‘But Kitty wants to be with us.’

‘Well, I’ll wish you luck, Lucy,’ her neighbour said. ‘And if you want to sell that cupboard of yourn, I’d give yer thirty shillings fer it.’

Lucy had already been offered three pounds and refused it, so she shook her head and smiled. ‘Thank you, but we shall keep it to store our bread and cheese in. I’ll remember your offer if I need it, Mr Pottersby.’

‘Well, orf you go then – and give me your key. The landlord says I’m to keep it until the new tenant comes this afternoon.’

Lucy turned back to look at her home, tears hovering. She’d been happy there as a small girl when Pa was home from the sea, and now she was leaving it all behind to go to a place she was certain she would not like half as well …

The room was in one of a row of terraced houses in a dirty, narrow lane that didn’t even have a name, and the whole house stank of urine and stale, boiled cabbage. The windows were grimy, the dull grey lace curtains in holes, and the flooring was nothing but bare boards.

Kitty started crying as soon as she got inside and Lucy felt like joining in. Even with the peg rugs they’d brought from home and their mattresses and bits and pieces, it looked awful.

‘Oh, Josh – there isn’t even a table or a chair,’ Lucy said. ‘I thought there would be something.’

‘The room I saw and paid for was better,’ Josh said and looked as if he too wanted to weep. ‘It had a carpet on part of the floor, a bed and a table with chairs, and a chest of drawers – but when we arrived today, the landlord said someone else paid him more for it and this was all he had left for us. He said take it or leave it.’

‘Did he give you some of your money back?’ Lucy asked and saw the answer in his eyes. Josh had been cheated and made to look a fool and now he was angry and hurt, but there was nothing he could do. Having seen the landlord on her way in, Lucy would never have trusted him with their precious money, but it would only humiliate Josh to say so. He’d thought he was making a home for them and now he felt shamed.

‘I’ll look for somewhere better,’ Josh promised and Lucy forced herself to smile at him.

‘We’ll both look,’ she said. ‘I know it isn’t easy, especially when we both have to work …’ She hesitated, then, ‘What are we goin’ to do with Kitty when we’re at work?’

‘She’ll have to stay here,’ Josh said, then made a groaning sound. ‘I know it isn’t fit – but it’d cost money to send her to school, because she’ll have to pay for her dinner – and her clothes aren’t good enough.’

Lucy frowned. ‘Is there a charity school in this area?’ If she could take her sister to a school and leave her for the day she would feel much easier. Kitty was sensible most of the time – she’d attended a local school and she’d helped look after their mother in the last days of her life. Yet she was only eight years old and they could hardly leave her in this dreadful place all day, especially if their cheating landlord was around.

‘I think there’s a church school,’ Josh said. ‘They might take her – it would cost a penny or two a week for her food but not much.’

‘It’s Sunday tomorrow. I’ll go and ask after the service.’ Lucy sighed. She’d been working as she talked and now the room looked a little better. ‘We’re goin’ to move as soon as we can, Josh. And I’m goin’ to ask that awful man for some of our money back before we move.’

‘I already did,’ Josh said. ‘We’ve been cheated, Lucy, and there’s nothing we can do – but I’ll know better next time.’

Lucy nodded. She’d let him handle the move, because he’d wanted to, but in future she would make sure she knew what he was doing. It was hard enough to earn the few shillings they were paid each week and they could not afford to waste it.

‘Can you get a fire goin’ in the grate?’ she asked her brother. ‘I want to heat some soup for our tea. We’ll need to buy bread, in future, and it isn’t easy to cook anything here except in a saucepan.’

‘There’s a pie shop on the corner,’ Josh said and bent to start building the fire with the paper, wood and coal they’d brought with them. ‘I could bring us something home at night when I come from work.’

‘Yes …’ Lucy realised they would have to change the way they lived. She’d managed to buy food cheaply on the market, but unless she had somewhere to cook properly they would have to buy hot food from a shop or one of the stalls on the street corners, and that was bound to cost more. ‘Yes, we can do that sometimes, but I can toast bread over the fire, Josh – and a little soup is much cheaper.’

Josh looked angry. ‘I didn’t do very well, did I? You’d better look after the money in future.’ He took some copper coins from his pocket and slammed them down on top of the corner cupboard. ‘I’ll be back later …’

‘Where are you goin’?’ Lucy asked but he was gone, shutting the door with a bang.

‘I want to go home!’ Kitty started whining and crying. ‘I’m cold and I’m hungry …’

‘I’ll make you some toast and soup as soon as I’ve got the fire burning properly,’ Lucy said and used the cheap brass Vesta case that had been her mother’s to strike a match and light the paper Josh had stuffed into the grate. It caught immediately and she layered wood on it, then a few pieces of the coal Josh had brought on the barrow.

In future Josh would have to bring a bag home on his way from work and he needed to make a small barrow for himself, because the larger one he’d borrowed had already gone back to its owner.

Lucy’s eyes stung with tears as she prepared their meal. Life had never been easy but it was going to be a lot worse now …

Lucy spoke to the Reverend Mr Joseph the next day, after morning service. She explained their predicament and he immediately told her that Kitty would be welcome in his school. There would be a payment of one penny a day for five days a week, which covered the cost of hot soup and bread for lunch and a cup of milk; it was very reasonable and just within her means. Lucy thanked him and he nodded, giving her a sorrowful look.

‘It is hard to lose one’s parents, especially for such a young girl as you, my dear,’ he said. ‘I expect your brother has taken charge of the family, as he should being the man of the family, but you will have the care of your little sister – and she will be quite safe in my charge.’

Clearly, he believed that her brother was older, the protector of his family. Lucy said nothing to make him change his mind, because she knew that if people thought they were not fit to have charge of their own lives they would be forced into the workhouse.

Lucy thanked him and turned away, holding Kitty by the hand. It was a cool morning, the sun overcast by dark clouds, and the drab streets seemed unusually empty, only an old man bending to pluck something from the filth in the gutter and a ginger cat licking itself on a windowsill. As she walked home, Lucy thought about the new dress she would make for her sister; she’d kept a couple of Ma’s best dresses, which had been made of good material, for when Pa was alive money had not been so tight, and she could cut them up for Kitty so that she looked decent for school. Pa had been the third son of a country parson, and made his way in the world as a sea captain until the storm had taken his life and cargo. As she turned, Lucy almost bumped into a young girl. She had beautiful pale-blonde hair and looked to be a similar age to her own.

‘Forgive me,’ Lucy apologised. ‘I wasn’t lookin’ where I was goin’.’

‘Nor was I,’ the other girl said and laughed. ‘My name is Eliza Jones – and I work for Miss Edith Richards as her assistant. She’s an apothecary and I’m taking the Reverend Mr Joseph a cure for his rheumatism – but you mustn’t tell him I told you.’

Lucy smiled, assuring her she would not. ‘I’m Lucy – I’ve just been arranging for my sister Kitty to start school with Mr Joseph tomorrow,’ Lucy said and pushed her sister forward. ‘Say hello to Eliza.’

Kitty hung her head and mumbled something, but Eliza smiled and bent down to look at her. ‘You are a lucky girl to be able to learn your letters, Kitty. I never learned until I went to live with Miss Edith and I should’ve liked to learn when I was your age.’

‘I want to go home,’ Kitty said and a tear trickled down her cheek. ‘I want Ma …’

‘Ma died,’ Lucy said and looked at the other girl apologetically. ‘Kitty is only eight and doesn’t understand what it means when someone dies.’

‘Your mother has gone to Heaven,’ Eliza said and smiled at the younger girl. ‘I hope you enjoy school, Kitty. I must go – it was nice to meet you, Lucy. Perhaps we’ll meet again.’

‘Yes, I’d like that.’ Lucy took her sister by the hand. She’d liked the look of Eliza Jones and wished she might have got to know her better, but Eliza was busy and Lucy had a lot to do when she got back to their room. Even though it was such a poor place, it had to be kept tidy and she wanted to speak to the landlord if she could. There must be a kitchen in the house and she ought to have the use of it sometimes – just as she’d learned they all shared the toilet in the back yard. Otherwise, how was she to wash their clothes? If she took them to a laundry the charge would be more than her slender purse could afford.

A surge of disgust went through her as she remembered taking their chamber pot to the closet in the yard that morning. It had stunk worse than anything she’d ever smelled before, making the vomit rush up her throat as she’d emptied their pot into the nauseous pool of sewage. How long was it since anyone had paid the night-soil man to come and clear the waste away? Lucy’s mind moved on to something even more troubling. It had been very late when her brother had come home the previous evening. She’d been waiting up for him, worried, because he’d never been home that late, and when he’d eventually come in at past one in the morning, it was obvious that he’d been drinking.

‘Oh, Josh,’ she’d said to him. ‘What have you done? I thought you had no money?’

‘I didn’t sh-pend any …’ he said and started giggling. ‘My f-friends treat … shed me …’ He hiccupped and grinned at her foolishly. ‘Don’t look at me like that … you’re not my …’ He’d turned away hurriedly and been sick on the floor. The smell had been awful and it had taken Lucy two trips to the tap in the back yard to fetch enough water to wash the stink away.

Josh had apologised before falling on to his mattress and immediately started to snore. Lucy wasn’t sure if he was really asleep, but she hadn’t remonstrated with him. What could she do? She wasn’t his mother and she didn’t have the right to order him around. His recent rise in wages meant he earned almost as much as she did, and he’d always brought every penny home.

Lucy stuck her chin out defiantly. She and Josh had decided that they could manage on their own. They certainly did not want to live in the country with their mother’s sister; Ma hadn’t liked her and so she must be awful. The only other alternative was the workhouse, and Lucy had heard bad things about the one in Farthing Lane. People crossed themselves as they hurried by and Mr Pottersby said he’d rather die than go there. Lucy was determined that neither she nor her brother or sister was ever going to set foot there and she pitied the poor devils who had no choice.

‘I really cannot see why you wish to inspect the kitchens,’ Mistress Docherty said when Arthur made the request that morning. ‘I assure you everything is done in accordance with workhouse rules.’

‘Oh, I am certain that you follow them to the letter, ma’am,’ Arthur replied with a smile that eased her frown. He was a handsome man and not many women could resist that smile; despite her resistance, she softened towards him. ‘I just wish to make sure that your employees are doing as you bid them – I am sure you would not wish your inmates to be cheated of their rights?’

‘Indeed not, sir,’ Mistress Docherty replied, pursing her thin lips. She was a thin woman with a straight back, pale face and dark hair that she wore scraped back in a knot. Her black button boots shone and her black dress was neat, a lace collar fastened at the throat with a cameo brooch. ‘I am looking for a trained cook, but it is not easy to find one who will work for the wages I can offer. One of the inmates does the cooking at the moment, and others help. Her meals are adequate but perhaps might be better.’

‘It is not easy to find cooks of the right quality,’ Arthur agreed.

The mistress of the workhouse insisted on accompanying him to the kitchens, which was slightly annoying as he preferred to talk to the inmates alone so they might talk freely.

A stew was being prepared in the kitchen. It was a long room with low ceilings and dark beams from which hooks were suspended so that pans and skillets could be hung close to the black range where the meal was slowly cooking. The newly whitewashed walls gave it an appearance of cleanliness and the tiled floor had been scrubbed recently. The smell of the stew was quite enticing, and Arthur asked if he might taste the broth. Given a spoon, he dipped it in the liquid and then sipped. It contained more meat than in the past and he nodded his satisfaction at Sadie, the old woman who presided over three others. He noticed that one of them was Moll; she sat by the pot and gave it an occasional stir. As he watched, she tasted it and then, when Sadie’s back was turned, she put in a pinch of salt and winked at Arthur. He smiled back, because he liked the elderly woman’s spirit.

‘Tasty,’ he said when Sadie looked at him for approval. She scowled at him, clearly not responding to his charm. ‘What else are you giving the inmates this evening, Cook? I fear I do not know your name …’

‘She is Sadie, almost our oldest inmate; Moll now claims that status …’ Mistress Docherty said.

‘I should be sittin’ in comfort by the fire,’ Sadie grumbled. ‘Not expected to do all the cookin’ at my age.’

Arthur saw the indignant look her helpers gave her and guessed that Sadie did little but oversee the preparations. ‘So just the stew, then.’ He frowned and looked at the mistress for confirmation but Sadie answered.

‘Bread, stew and a mug of beer is what they get,’ Sadie muttered rudely. ‘What do yer expect – a plate of best rare beef?’

‘I wondered if perhaps there was some cheese to accompany the bread.’

‘Not from the rations I’m given.’ Sadie looked at the mistress, clearly shifting any blame.

‘Cheese is sometimes given to the men after the midday meal,’ Mistress Docherty informed him. ‘I do not believe it aids the digestion at night and may give nightmares, so I do not allow it.’

‘Perhaps apple pie or a steamed pudding might be substituted?’ Arthur suggested, but Sadie’s scowl deepened.

‘Not without another cook,’ she muttered. ‘I’m too old to be bothered with makin’ pastry at night – ’cept for her and the master’s supper.’ Sadie looked at the mistress resentfully and sniffed. ‘All these new ways …’

‘I am sure you do your best,’ Arthur said. ‘Perhaps another woman with some skill in pastry making might be set to work here.’

His suggestion fell on unwilling ears. Mistress Docherty was at pains to explain that she had been unable to find a woman capable of cooking good plain food among the inmates who worked for their keep and a bed; it would cost money to bring in outside help and Mistress Docherty complained that her budget would not allow for it.

Arthur said that he would see what could be done. Overall, he was satisfied that Mistress Docherty at least made sure both the workhouse and its inmates were as clean as possible. There was no sign of the lice that most men, women and children carried when they entered for the first time, and he had no real complaints. It was much as he’d expected. Mistress Docherty was efficient and honest but she lacked the compassion of the woman he had wished to bring here. He was vaguely unhappy with his visit, because despite all his efforts he could see little improvement in the lives of the inmates. He’d hoped for a much better atmosphere amongst the inmates after the recent changes, however, his was but one voice on the Board of Guardians and he could not object to Mistress Docherty’s regime.

He was thoughtful as he left. He had done his duty and now intended to enjoy a short break in the country at a friend’s estate. The business of more money for the workhouse kitchen could be attended to after the long weekend.

Perhaps he was wrong, perhaps the mistress was kinder than he thought and concerned herself for her inmates’ welfare more than he suspected …

‘So what is your name?’ the mistress asked of Lil when she presented herself at the workhouse door next morning. Lil was heavily pregnant, barefoot, and needed somewhere to stay for the birth of her child. ‘My name is Mistress Docherty and I shall try to make your stay here as comfortable as possible – though you must understand that your situation marks you as a fallen woman and you will sleep in a dormitory with others of your kind. I cannot have you contaminating my respectable women and girls.’

‘I’m Lil, missus,’ she said, her cheeks pink, ‘and this is me second. The first died when I was ’ere last time – or so the missus told me then.’

‘Well, we must hope for a happier outcome this time, Lil,’ Mistress Docherty said but did not smile. Lil was unsure whether to trust her. ‘As you know, we expect our inmates to work while they are here. However, in your condition we shall not ask too much of you until after the birth – perhaps you could help out in the kitchen? We are in need of a light hand with the pastry, I know. The work there is not hard and I’m sure the other women will look after you.’ Her words were fair enough but there was no warmth or kindness in them and Lil shivered. She’d come to this place because she was close to starving; there were few men who would pay for her services while she was pregnant and without the workhouse, she and her baby would probably die.

The mistress handed Lil a parcel of clothes, which although they were the workhouse uniform worn by all the pregnant women inmates, were better than the rags she was wearing, and a pair of much-worn shoes. Lil knew the clothes marked her out as being a fallen woman and it shamed her to wear them, but she had no choice. When she’d heard that Mistress Simpkins had been sent to prison, Lil had thought things might be better here, but this woman obviously intended to stick to the harsh rules by which all such institutions were run.

‘Do I go to the bath house first, missus?’

‘I’ll take you there myself – and then you can find your own way to the kitchens, I think.’

‘Yes, missus. I’ve been in ’ere afore …’

‘I am aware of that,’ Mistress Docherty snapped as she led the way to the bath house, where she unlocked the cupboard outside and gave Lil a bar of soap, a flannel and towel. ‘Those are your own to keep while you’re here – you should sew in a label with your mark so they do not get lost. If you come to my office later today, I’ll give you some labels.’

‘Thass new.’ Lil looked at her speculatively. ‘Do I give ’em back when I leave ’ere?’

‘You may be able to keep them; it depends on your good behaviour in the meantime. The guardians are trying to make life better for our inmates, but you must not take advantage. Stealing is still punishable and you would lose privileges for breaking our rules – but if you keep faith with us, we shall do our best for you. God forgives those who truly repent.’

‘Yer ain’t bad, missus,’ Lil said and grinned, showing gaps in her teeth. ‘No one ain’t ever looked out fer me. Me old man was at me afore I was ten – and me ma died when I were eleven, not that she ever done much but ’it me. I’ve ’ad to get on by meself – and it ain’t bin easy.’

‘I don’t expect it was, Lil,’ Mistress Docherty said looking down her long nose. No respectable woman wanted a whore in her home, and without a reference it was impossible to find a job as a servant in a decent house. ‘I am here if you want to talk – and when you’re ready to leave I’ll help you find a proper job, if you wish.’

‘Who would employ me?’ Lil asked. ‘I ain’t never done nuthin’ but skivvy or lie on me back – and I know which is easiest!’

Mistress Docherty pursed her lips in disapproval. ‘I could help you find respectable work, but it is hard work and would be entirely your choice. I am not here to judge you, only to help.’

Lil entered the bath house. The baths were made of zinc, several of them in a row and divided by a curtain, and they had to be filled from the large vat of hot water with a bucket. She discovered that drains had been installed since her last visit, which made it easier to empty the used water and clean the bath after use. Lil wondered what else had changed here, but had little expectation that things would have improved very much.

The strict rules meant that all inmates must wear the clothing issued, and they must do the work allocated to them, which could be hard. Everyone had to work, but they were all entitled to a hot meal in the evenings and a good breakfast of porridge or bread, with a break for a slice of bread and cheese midday, more than Lil had been used to of late. Water, a mild beer, and occasionally milk for the children, was served with the evening meal. Lil had heard from others that the inmates did not go hungry these days and so they did their work willingly and the workhouse earned money from some piecework that was sent in.

Lil had been told that the women were all granted the privilege of attending church every Sunday if they wished, and the children were given school lessons twice a week, learning to read and to write their names rather than making a mark, which was certainly not the case in every workhouse. Most guardians thought that girls needed only to learn how to do housework, sew, cook and, perhaps, weave if their fingers were nimble. Lil knew that since Mistress Simpkins had been sent away, the girls and some of the women, too, were being taught needlework and how to keep house and cook; the boys were learning carpentry, boot making and tailoring as well as how to repair buildings. All of these innovations had begun since the new regime. Lil had heard that most of the reforms had been decided between the new master and someone called Mr Arthur Stoneham. Mr Stoneham had suggested that the boys learn new trades when he’d discovered one of the older men living in the workhouse was a cobbler and another a tailor.

‘It seems only sensible to make use of inmates who have these skills, does it not?’ he’d asked the master of the workhouse and he’d grudgingly agreed, because Arthur Stoneham was the chairman of the Board and these days not many disagreed with him openly, though each reform had been hard fought for.

Dressed in her hated uniform, Lil made her way across the courtyard to the kitchens, clutching her belongings. She’d been allocated a room with one other unmarried pregnant woman, who also wore the badge of shame, and would take her damp towel there when she was ready, but she was hungry and she was hoping that Ruth and Cook would give her something to eat. However, when she reached the kitchen she discovered that the women who had been kind to her on previous visits to the workhouse were no longer there.