A Loving Family (16 page)

‘How many times have I heard something of that nature?' Perry rolled his eyes. ‘Families are supposed to stick together, but all too often it don't work out that way. Are there any other relatives who might know something?'

‘Aunt Maud is my great-grandmother's sister. She might know if either of them are still alive, but she's very vague and gets muddled easily.'

Perry downed the last of the port and stood up. ‘Lead me to the lady. If anyone can un-muddle her then it is I, Archangel Perry.'

‘You won't frighten her, will you?' Stella was wary. ‘And you won't scare her cat.'

‘Mad old ladies and fierce cats hold no terrors for the archangel. Take me to her and I'll see what I can do. After all, if you've other relations still in the land of the living they might know something. It's worth a try.'

Reluctantly, Stella led the way to the front parlour. She opened the door carefully lest Timmy should decide to make a break for freedom, but he was asleep on Maud's lap and her head was nodding. Stella cleared her throat. ‘Aunt Maud, you've got a visitor.'

Maud jerked upright, almost dislodging Timmy. ‘What? Who is it? If it's Ronald tell him to go away.'

Perry dodged past Stella. He seized Maud's hand and raised it to his lips. ‘Good morning, dear lady. I trust you are well?'

Maud peered up at him. ‘Who the devil are you, sir?' She snatched her hand away. ‘And I am not your dear lady. I am Mrs Maud Clifford, widow.'

‘May I take a seat, madam? I think you might know something that would be very important to a client of mine, naming no names, of course.'

‘Shall I send him away, Aunt Maud?' Stella gazed at her anxiously. ‘If you don't feel well enough to speak to Mr Perry I quite understand. You've had a very busy morning.'

Maud pushed her spectacles up to the bridge of her nose. ‘I'm perfectly sound in mind and body. Don't treat me like a child, Jacinta. Go about your business. I can deal with this man.'

‘I'll be very tactful,' Perry said in a low voice. ‘You need have no fear, miss.'

Stella retreated, closing the door behind her. She went to the kitchen where Rosa welcomed her with a cup of tea. ‘You look as though you need this,' she said sympathetically. ‘The old lady will be all right. I'm sure that the archangel is used to dealing with all sorts of people.'

‘I do hope so, but if I couldn't get any sense out of her I very much doubt if he can.' Stella sipped the tea. ‘She still thinks that I am my mother, so she's not likely to tell him anything we don't already know.'

‘Well, one thing is for certain. I intend to find out how my uncle fits into this. I always suspected that he was up to no good. Perhaps Perry can discover something that will put Gervase Rivenhall in his proper place, which in my opinion should be Newgate.'

Spike had been sitting at the table munching a hunk of bread and butter, but he looked up, scowling. ‘I could go with him, Miss Rosa. I'll sort your uncle out for you. I might be small and have crooked legs but I got quick fists.' He demonstrated, almost knocking over his glass of milk.

Stella patted him on the head. ‘You're all right, Spike. You can champion Rosa when the time comes, but I think this is a job for a professional. Let's wait and see if Perry manages to get anything out of Aunt Maud.'

‘Limehouse workhouse, Ropemaker's Fields,' Perry said tersely. ‘The old lady thinks that was where Freddie and Belinda ended up.' He ran his finger round the inside of his collar, leaving a pink line in the greasy tidemark on his neck. ‘That was blooming hard work. I don't suppose there's any port left in the bottle?'

Rosa shook her head. ‘No, but I can offer you a cup of tea.'

‘Ta, but no ta. I can't stand the stuff. Anyway, I'll take me leave of you, ladies. I'm planning to pay a call on Mr Gervase Rivenhall. We'll see if he can tell us anything.'

Spike jumped to his feet. ‘Take me with you, boss. I'm a good snooper.'

‘Are you now, little man?' Perry gave him a playful cuff round the head. ‘I'll make a note of that and maybe next time I might find a use for someone like you.' He put his hat on at a jaunty angle and sauntered out of the room.

‘The workhouse,' Stella said, sinking down on a chair. ‘I went to Limehouse workhouse when I was searching for Ma and the nippers, but the man wouldn't let me in. I can't believe that they were there all the time.'

Rosa moved swiftly to her side and laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘You were just a child then. You couldn't have done anything about it even if you'd known that they were there.'

‘No, but I would have known where they were. I might have been able to save up enough money to rent a room close by. With somewhere to live they might have been able to leave that awful place.'

‘You don't know for certain that they were there. It's obvious that Maud's mind is wandering. She might have told Perry anything in her confused state.'

‘But I must visit the workhouse, Rosa. I'm grown-up now and I'll demand to see their records. I must know.'

‘I'll come with you, miss.' Spike curled his fingers around her hand. ‘I'll see off the street arabs and dips what would finger your purse and you'd not feel a thing.'

‘That's a good idea,' Rosa said, nodding with approval. ‘I'd come with you, but someone has to stay and keep an eye on Mrs Clifford. You go with her, Spike.'

As she stood outside the tall iron gates, Stella felt that she had gone back in time. She was that twelve-year-old child, waiting in the cold for someone to come to her aid. There had been no one to help and comfort her then, but she was a woman now and no longer afraid of persons in authority. She would not be put off again.

‘Someone's coming, miss,' Spike whispered. ‘I'm not sure as how I wants to go through them gates. I ain't been out of the workhouse long enough to forget what it's like.'

Stella squeezed his small hand. ‘Wait here for me, Spike. I'll be quite all right, but I'll need you to guard me on my way home.'

‘Home.' Spike's snub-nosed face split in a wide grin. ‘Ain't that a lovely word, miss? I ain't never had no home to go to afore. I'll wait for you. Never fear.'

She released his hand as the gatekeeper turned the key in the lock. ‘I won't be long.' She passed through the gates that cast terror into the hearts of the poor who entered knowing that all hope was lost, and her heart was heavy. She could sense the desperation and despair written on every brick of its forbidding walls. It took all her courage to explain her mission as she followed the gatekeeper into the grim-looking building. Newgate and the Fleet looked more inviting than Limehouse workhouse, but would it hold the secret of her family's apparent disappearance? Her pulses were racing as she approached the weathered oak door, studded with iron. There was a metal grille placed at eye level, no doubt to enable those inside to assess the character of the person whose misfortunes had driven them beyond all reason, forcing them to beg for admittance.

The surly gatekeeper tugged at a chain and inside a bell pealed.

THE WORKHOUSE MASTER
was busy and Stella was left waiting in his office for over an hour before the matron bustled in, bristling with starch and efficiency but with neither a hint of humour in her grey eyes nor a suggestion of kindness in her thin lips. She introduced herself as Matron Dibley and listened with a touch of impatience as Stella explained her mission. ‘It's a pity you left it so long to enquire. I'll have to go back through our records.' She spoke as if it were the most onerous task in the world and sighed heavily as she opened a cupboard. She studied a row of leather-bound tomes and heaved one onto the desk. ‘These are the admissions for the year 1867. Surname Barry? Is that correct?'

‘Yes, ma'am.'

Matron Dibley leafed through the closely written pages. ‘I can find no mention of your mother being admitted, but there is a Frederick Barry, aged seven, and a Belinda Barry, aged six. Their former address is given as Broadway Wharf.'

Stella closed her eyes as the room seemed to spin round her in concentric circles. ‘Yes, ma'am. That's my brother and sister.'

‘It says that the mother left the children here, promising to come back for them when she had found a place to live and had money to support them.'

‘And did she?' Stella murmured. ‘What happened to them?'

Matron Dibley closed the book with a snap and replaced it on the shelf, taking out another volume. She sat down and ran her finger down the columns of names and dates. Stella's knees were trembling but she did not dare take a seat for fear of offending the stiff-necked woman. She clutched the edge of the desk, taking deep breaths in an attempt to control her erratic breathing.

After what felt like an eternity, Matron looked up. ‘It appears that the mother never returned to claim her children. Frederick was trained, as most of the boys here were, to go to sea. He joined the Navy when he was twelve.'

‘Freddie is a sailor?' Stella could hardly believe that her little brother had been in a man's world for the past five years. ‘And Belinda?'

Matron raised her hand. ‘Not so fast.' She studied the entries for what seemed like an eternity. ‘Belinda Barry left here in the same year. She went into service with a family in Essex.'

This time Stella's knees did give way beneath her and she sat down. She was past caring whether or not she offended Matron Dibley. ‘Where in Essex, ma'am?'

‘Twelve Trees Farm, Mountnessing.' Matron closed the book and rose to her feet. ‘Is there anything else, Miss Barry? I'm a very busy woman.'

Stunned by the news that her little sister had been living within a few miles of Portgone Place, Stella dragged herself to a standing position. ‘No, thank you. It's been a great help.'

Matron Dibley inclined her head and went to open the door. ‘I'll show you out.'

Stella stood outside the gate, gazing at the farmhouse where her younger sister had been sent as an eleven-year-old child. The black-and-white, timber-framed Tudor house was surrounded by redbrick outbuildings, set against a background of tall trees which were just coming into leaf. Chickens and ducks wandered about the yard and a dog padded up to her, wagging its tail. She had imagined this moment since yesterday when Matron Dibley had given her the news, but now that she was here she was suddenly nervous.

‘Can I help you, miss?'

She turned with a start to see a middle-aged man approaching her. He had a shotgun over one arm and a gun dog at heel. ‘Are you looking for someone?'

‘Do you live here, sir?'

‘I do indeed.'

‘Then you might be able to help me. I'm looking for my sister, Belinda, and I've been told that she is employed here.'

‘If you're referring to Belinda Barry she did work here for some years, but I'm afraid I had to let her go. Quite recently, as it happens. In fact it was last week.'

‘You sacked her? What had she done?' Stella had not slept that night and had left home before anyone else had risen. Disappointment and fatigue combined to make her feel like bursting into tears of frustration. She had been pinning her hopes on a joyful reunion and now they were dashed. ‘Where did she go, sir?'

‘Are you all right, Miss Barry?'

‘I am, sir. Please tell me where I might find my sister.'

‘I've no idea where she went. Let's just say she left under a cloud; a rather black one as it happens. I'm sorry I can't tell you more. Good day to you.' He opened the gate and strode into the farmyard with the dog following him.

She stood motionless, staring after him. She had missed Belinda by a matter of days and she could be anywhere by now. Swamped by a feeling of desolation, she started to retrace her steps, but she could not give up her search. She had been so close to finding her sister that she could almost feel her presence. Taking one last look at the farmhouse which appeared to be such a haven of peace and tranquillity, she found it hard to believe that Belinda had done anything so bad that she had been turned out to fend for herself. Anything could have befallen a sixteen-year-old girl left to wander the country lanes alone and unprotected.

Stella had no idea of the time. It was early afternoon and she should head back for London, but she was desperate to find out what had happened to Belinda. Anything might have befallen a young girl wandering the streets alone. She tried to put herself in her sister's position. She had been at the farm for several years and therefore must have been well known in such a small village. It seemed unlikely that she would seek shelter there. She might head for the nearest town, or perhaps she would try to get back to London. It was impossible to say, but the nearest town of any size was Brentwood and Stella set off in that direction. It was where she would go if she needed to find work and shelter.

She was hot, tired and hungry by the time she reached the outskirts of the town. She had made enquiries of people she met on the way but none of them had any information to offer. By this time she was in desperate need of refreshment and she stopped at a respectable-looking hostelry. It was crowded with farmers who had come to town on market day and she was the only female in the taproom. She would have walked out, but her thirst was so great that she elbowed her way towards the bar. She received some odd glances from the other patrons, but she waited patiently until the landlord spotted her. ‘I'll have a glass of lemonade, please.'

This request brought a gale of laughter from the men around her. She ignored them. ‘And a pie, if you have one, landlord.' She opened her reticule and laid some coins on the counter.

He leaned towards her. ‘This ain't the place for a young lady, miss. I'd advise you to look for sustenance elsewhere.'

‘My money is as good as the next person's,' she said with a stubborn lift of her chin. ‘I'd like lemonade and something to eat if it's not too much trouble.'