own village of Fornham, its reputation well known to locals as being an awful place where none in their right mind would go unless they were starving.
‘You’ll eat better than that here,’ Annie said. She went to the table and cut a slice of fresh bread, spread it with butter and then a thick layer of strawberry preserve and handed it to Bella as she placed the kettle on the hob. ‘Get that down yer, child. Yer will labour ’ard because there is much to do ’ere. Karl has two nephews who live with us; they work in the furnace room and oversee the others – and they’re always ’ungry. I never seem to stop washing and cooking – and the mess they make!’ She shook her head. ‘Karl is jealous of his brother for having two sons. His first wife died ’aving a fourth child – and none of them lived beyond a few weeks. They were all girls. Karl wants sons to take over the chain works when he dies. It would grieve him to leave it to his brother’s sons.’
Bella ate her bread and jam quickly, half fearing that the huge man would return and snatch it from her. She wiped her sticky fingers on the dark-blue apron she wore over her workhouse dress.
‘Didn’t they teach you to wash yer ’ands at that place?’
‘We wasn’t allowed to,’ Bella said. ‘Only in the mornings and at night.’
‘Well, there’s a sink over there – so go and wash them now,’ Annie directed. ‘You’ll wear that thing you’ve got on for workin’ and I’ll get yer another for when I take yer to church.’ She smiled and nodded. ‘See that wicker basket over there?’ Bella nodded. ‘That’s their shirts and breeches – and they all need ironing. You’ll have to heat the flatiron on the range and yer need to press hard, but they’re still damp so they should be easy ter smooth.’
Bella nodded. She fetched the basket to the table and Annie spread the ironing blanket, which was covered by a piece of old sheet. She nodded to the pile of washing.
‘Get on with it then, girl. I could do with a rest – and if you want some supper, it had best be finished when I come back down.’
Annie left the girl to it. She was too tired to care what Bella did. If she ruined some shirts Karl and his nephews would be furious, but he’d brought the girl here so it was hardly her fault if Bella proved useless. He would probably thrash her and might take her back whence she came, but at this moment Annie didn’t really care …
Bella hesitated for a moment before picking up the first iron that her new mistress had put to heat. She held it a little way from her face and felt the fierce heat, then tested it on the edge of a shirt, as Florrie had shown her when she worked in the sewing room at the workhouse. Because the linen was damp, it hissed and smoothed over the coarse material. Bella nodded and proceeded to iron the first of what looked like more than a dozen similar shirts. When the iron was no longer hot, she replaced it on the range and picked up the second before testing it at the edge of the shirt as before.
It was hard work, because she had to press heavily to achieve a smooth surface that she could hang over the back of a chair to air. Her back was already beginning to feel the strain but she knew that she was lucky. They had passed the forge on their way here and Bella had smelled the awful stink coming from it. It was the smell of heat, molten metal and sweat. Even outside the heat met them and she could not imagine what it must be like inside. She was fortunate that the chain-maker’s wife was close to her time and she’d been given to her as her servant. Bella knew that it would have been much harder for her at the chain works.
She had been fortunate, despite her surly master, and she decided that she would help the mistress, who seemed more weary than unkind, as much as she could. Indeed, she was probably lucky, more fortunate than poor Jane who had been turned out from the shelter of the workhouse on a snowy night. Regardless of her own plight, Bella spared a thought for the woman she’d seen from the landing window.
‘I don’t know where you are, Jane, but I hope you’re warm and I pray that one day you will find your baby …’
Arthur’s attention was caught by a slight noise. The young woman was stirring at last. She’d slept all night and most of the morning, swallowing a little brandy and water when coaxed to it, but falling back into her state of semi-unconsciousness almost at once. He stood looking down at her as she opened her eyes and stared at him, more in puzzlement than fear. Arthur thought her eyes were a lovely shade of azure fringed by golden lashes. With her hair washed and dressed in decent clothes she would be a beauty and he thought it was probably her looks that had brought her down: many men would desire a woman like this one.
‘You are awake at last,’ he said as he saw the first awareness and unease in those wonderful eyes. ‘How do you feel? When we found you on the road I feared you might not last the night.’
She pushed herself up against the pillows, glancing down at the clean linen nightgown that was much too large for her. ‘Who undressed me?’
‘Sally – she is the landlord’s wife and she made you comfortable. I understand what you were wearing fell to pieces and she burned it. We shall find something for you to wear, ma’am.’
‘Why do you call me, ma’am? I – I am not wed.’
‘You have borne a child and I thought perhaps …’ She moved her head negatively, the hint of tears in her eyes. ‘I do not recall much but they called me a whore. They said I wore no wedding ring.’ An anxious look came to her face. ‘I cannot remember clearly … but I know I bore a child, a living child. They told me the child died immediately after she was born, but they lied; I heard her cry – and I heard them say she was healthy. Bella told me they gave the child to someone in a carriage.’ She whimpered with distress. ‘They stole my baby and threw me out. It was so cold and I did not know where to go … I wandered across the fields until I found the high road in the hope I might come to a place where I could find work. I saw a sign for Winchester, where I think I once stayed for a time though I do not recall anything of that city, but it was in any case many miles hence and I knew not where to go …’
Arthur shook his head for Winchester was a good day’s journey by carriage pulled by fast horses and would take days or weeks to walk that far – and she was in no condition to go anywhere.
‘Who are “they”?’ Arthur asked gently, realising that a great wrong had been done her.
She took a deep shuddering breath, then began, ‘Mistress Brent is the mistress of the workhouse near the village of Sculfield. I was close to my time and the villagers told me to go there, but I wish I had given birth in the fields for then I might still have my babe.’
‘You are not Romany?’
‘No, I am sure I am not,’ she said. ‘I was wearing clothes that might have belonged to a gypsy but I think they were given to me before – before I lost my memories …’
‘Perhaps you travelled with the gypsies? Perhaps they attended a fair in Winchester and that is why the name attracted you …’ Arthur suggested. ‘No, do not struggle to remember. It does not matter for now. In time we must hope that your memories will return but for now, what shall we call you?’
‘They called me Jane but it was not my name.’ She gave a cry of despair. ‘Please, do not call me by their name! I think … I believe the name Meg means something to me, though I know not why.’ She nodded and looked at him in appeal. ‘Please call me Meg – and your name, sir?’
‘I am Arthur Stoneham – and you need have no fear of me. I shall help you if I can, Meg.’
‘Yes, I
