Without Sin Read online

  Letitia laughed and her chins wobbled. ‘I see. Workhouse uniform not good enough for you, eh?’

  Meg caught the twinkle in the older woman’s eyes and said coyly, ‘But I scrub floors in these clothes, Matron.’

  ‘No disgrace in honest hard work.’ Letitia pondered for a moment and then said, ‘Very well, then. See Waters and tell her you have my permission.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know about that. It’s most unusual.’ Ursula pursed her thin lips with disapproval.

  ‘But matron said I could.’

  ‘Strikes me you’re trying to hide the fact that you come from the workhouse. Trying to fool a would-be employer into thinking you’re better than you are.’

  ‘Of course I’m not,’ Meg replied heatedly. ‘Miss Pendleton’s recommended me to go and see this Mr Rodwell. That’s hardly hiding the fact that I’m here, is it? Ask her, ask the matron if you don’t believe me.’

  Ursula sniffed. ‘She’s not here to ask. She’s gone out for the day.’ She made no move to find Meg’s belongings.

  ‘Well, who would you believe? Mr Pendleton?’ Meg persisted.

  ‘We mustn’t worry the master about such a matter.’

  ‘Yes, we must, if you’re not going to let me have them.’ Meg reached out and grabbed hold of Ursula’s thin arm. ‘Come on. We’ll go and see him this very minute.’

  To the older woman’s consternation, she found herself being dragged out of the storeroom, across the men’s yard and into the door leading directly to the master’s office. ‘Kirkland, I don’t think we should—’

  ‘You should have thought about that before you refused to obey the matron’s orders.’ Meg paused briefly and stuck her face close to Ursula’s. ‘And they were her orders.’

  ‘Oh well, in that case—’

  ‘No, no. Too late now. We’ll ask the master and we’ll do what he says. Whatever it is.’ Meg had already raised her hand to knock on the door, but now Ursula reached up and grasped hold of it.

  ‘No – please – don’t. I don’t want to cause trouble.’

  ‘You don’t want to cause trouble for yourself, you mean. You couldn’t care less about me. But I bet you’ve suddenly realized that the master – new though I am here – will take my side.’

  Suddenly, Ursula’s face twisted into ugliness. ‘Of course he will. He can’t resist a pretty face. Well, let me tell you something. When I first came here, I was young and pretty too. Oh yes, you can hardly believe it, can you? Well, it’s true. And he couldn’t resist me. But now I’m older, he’s cast me aside and he’s after the younger ones.’ Now it was Ursula who hissed in Meg’s face. ‘You want to watch out for yourself else you’ll end up like me. But why should I care? I’ll get you your clothes and much good may they do you.’

  She twisted her arm out of Meg’s grasp and went back the way they had come, with Meg following her more slowly.

  It felt wonderful to Meg to be dressed in her own clothes again; to feel soft underwear against her skin instead of the rough, scratchy garments the workhouse provided. She’d lost weight since coming here and her dress hung loosely on her, but beneath her shawl it didn’t show too badly. The clothes had been crumpled when Ursula handed them to her, but the use of a hot iron in the wash house had made them look much better.

  Meg paused at the porter’s lodge. ‘Albert, I have permission to go out. I’m going after a job.’

  The old man hauled himself out of his chair and limped to open the gate for her. He remembered the lass coming in with her mam and her little brother. The poor woman had been heavy with child and now, by all accounts, she’d lost the bairn.

  ‘You look as pretty as a picture, mi duck,’ he told Meg, knowing she would not sneer at him daring to compliment her. Not like some of the women in here who laughed in his face if he even spoke to them. Trollops, the lot of ’em, to his mind, but not this lass and her mam. They were a nice family. ‘Mind you’re back by six o’clock, won’t yer? Shouldn’t like to see you in trouble.’

  Meg smiled at him, dimpling prettily. ‘I will, Albert.’

  As he closed the gate behind her, she turned and waved and he called, ‘Good luck wi’ yer job.’

  There was a spring in Meg’s step as she walked down the long cinder path to the road. She breathed in deeply, savouring the fresh morning air. Oh, what it was to be free, out in the open. She hadn’t realized just how much the workhouse confined her. How damp and cold and oppressive it was to be inside those thick walls and behind the iron bars of the huge gates. She felt like a caged bird within its confines, but out here she could fly free.

  Meg found herself sending up an ardent prayer. Please let me get this job! Please let me get it and then I can get Mam and Bobbie out of that place.

  Fourteen

  Meg walked down the High Street in the centre of the town. Already the street was busy: ladies in long skirts and white blouses were moving from shop to shop with baskets on their arms. Two young girls, carrying school books, stood chatting in the middle of the road, whilst a youth with a bicycle stood leaning on it, trying to catch the eye of one of the girls. He raised his cap to Meg, but she put her nose in the air in haughty rejection, tossing back her long red hair beneath the beribboned straw boater.

  Outside the General Stores stood the proprietor, in a white jacket and a long white apron that reached down to his ankles.

  ‘Good morning, good morning . . .’ Meg heard him greeting the folk passing his shop.

  She walked on, past the newsagent’s with a rack of the day’s papers hanging to one side of the door, past the ironmonger’s with pots and pans, buckets and mops in the window, to the shop next door, where the sign read ‘T. RODWELL & SON, Tailor and Outfitter’. It was a double-fronted shop, with the door in the centre between two windows.

  Meg paused and peered in. Her heart was beating fast and her hands felt clammy. Inside she could see a man standing behind the counter. He was thin with receding dark hair and dressed in a sober suit with a waistcoat, a stiff-collared white shirt and a plain tie. He was serving a customer and as Meg glanced at the man in front of the counter, she gasped. It was Theobald Finch, the chairman of the board of guardians at the workhouse. Meg bit her lip, uncertain what she should do. Should she wait out here until Mr Finch had left or should she go inside and stand quietly at the rear of the shop until Mr Rodwell was free?

  Deciding that the latter course of action was perhaps the safest – she didn’t want to be accused of hanging about in the street in a suspicious manner – Meg opened the shop door. The bell clanged loudly and both men turned to look at her. Meg closed the door carefully, though the bell clanged again. She turned to face them.

  ‘Good morning.’ She smiled. ‘I’ve come to see Mr Rodwell. Would you like me to wait outside?’

  Closer now, she could see that the tailor was younger than she had expected him to be. She had imagined an elderly man, but Mr Rodwell looked to be in his early forties. He had a sallow complexion and his pale hazel eyes were large behind thick spectacles.

  He blinked several times, but did not smile. ‘No, no,’ he said in a soft voice. ‘That won’t be necessary. Just wait over there, if you please, and I’ll be with you shortly.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  She moved to the far end of the long shop, aware that Mr Finch was still watching her. ‘I know you, don’t I? I’ve seen you before somewhere.’

  Meg thought it politic to drop a small curtsy. ‘You interviewed me and my family, sir, a week or two back. We – I’m from the workhouse.’

  ‘Ah, yes. I remember you now. Your mother fainted, did she not?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And is she recovered now?’

  ‘She is getting better, thank you, sir. But she – she lost the baby.’

  ‘Ah.’ The large man said again, but without a word of sympathy. He lost interest in her and turned back to choosing the material for his new suit. Meg waited, trying to curb her natural impatience. She watched how Mr
Rodwell flicked through a swatch of fabric, giving his customer details of the make-up of each piece. ‘Now this one is a fine worsted. And this one a coarser weave but very hard-wearing and this one . . .’ And so on until Meg’s head spun. There’d be a lot to learn, she thought, and wondered if she wouldn’t be better to seek employment on another farm. At least she understood that work and there might be a cottage for her family . . .

  At last Mr Finch made up his mind. ‘That one, Percy. That’s the one.’

  ‘A wise choice, if I may say so.’ The tailor inclined his head. It was almost a bow – but not quite. ‘I’ll order the cloth. Now, would you like me to take your measurements?’

  ‘Not today, Percy. I’m in a hurry.’

  Who’d have thought it, Meg thought, amused, considering the time he’s taken to choose? I must have been standing here for ten minutes or more.

  ‘I’d like to see the material again,’ Theobald said. ‘You know, in a full piece, just to make sure I like it. You can take my measurements then. Good day to you, Percy.’

  ‘Good day, Theobald.’

  Theobald opened the shop door with a flourish and then turned back. ‘I’ll see you later. I believe you’re dining with us tonight.’

  ‘That is so.’

  Theobald’s smile broadened. ‘Clara is looking forward to it.’

  Percy Rodwell gave a thin smile and dipped his head once more.

  When the door had closed behind his customer, the tailor turned towards Meg. For a few moments he scrutinized her, taking in her appearance from head to toe. When his gaze finally met her green eyes, he seemed a little startled and blinked rapidly.

  ‘You – you wanted to see me?’

  Meg moved forward. ‘Yes, sir. Miss Pendleton sent me. She said she’s a friend of yours. Or rather,’ she added hastily, ‘a friend of Miss Finch’s.’

  ‘I hadn’t realized they were friendly. I rather thought—’ He paused and then asked, ‘Why did Miss Pendleton send you to see me?’

  ‘She thought you might have a job for me.’

  Percy frowned. ‘A job? For you?’

  ‘She thought you were going to start stocking ladies’ – er – garments and that perhaps your customers might prefer to be served by a woman.’

  Percy allowed himself a small amused smile. Meg had the feeling it was because she had referred to herself as a ‘woman’.

  ‘That is correct,’ he said in his soft voice. He cleared his throat and now he avoided her direct gaze. ‘But I had it in mind to employ someone a little more – er – mature than yourself.’

  Meg made sure that disappointment showed keenly on her face. ‘I see,’ she whispered and hung her head. Then she gave a huge sigh and glanced around the shop. ‘What a shame! I’d’ve loved to work here. To have learnt all about fabrics and such. It must be so interesting.’ She turned her brilliant eyes upon him and sighed again. ‘But, of course, if I don’t suit—’

  ‘Well, now –’ Percy was flustered – ‘I didn’t say that exactly.’ He cleared his throat nervously. ‘We – er – could discuss it. Yes, yes, we can discuss it.’

  For the next half an hour, Percy Rodwell questioned Meg closely about herself, her family and her background. When he heard that her only experience of work had been as a dairymaid, doubt crossed his face once more.

  Meg leapt in quickly. ‘I realize you might prefer someone with experience in this kind of work, but I am honest and reliable and quick to learn and –’ she ran her tongue around her lips and suggested craftily – ‘and you could train me in your ways, couldn’t you?’

  He glanced at her. ‘Well, there is that, I suppose.’ He pondered for what seemed to the anxious girl an interminable time. At last he said, ‘Very well, then. I’ll speak to Miss Pendleton about you and if her comments are satisfactory, I’ll take you. But it will be for a trial period, mind.’

  Meg’s eyes shone. ‘I understand. And thank you, sir. I won’t let you down, I promise.’

  ‘We shall see, we shall see,’ Percy said. ‘Present yourself here at eight thirty sharp next Monday morning – one week from today – and we shall see.’

  As she left the shop, Meg glanced back at the building. Two dummies, fully clothed in men’s suits, stood in one of the windows. The other window displayed shirts, ties and socks. She glanced upwards and saw that the smaller windows on the first floor were very dirty. It was obvious that the upper floor was used only as a storeroom or perhaps a workroom. She wondered if there were enough rooms to make some into living quarters.

  Meg skipped all the way back to the workhouse. She couldn’t wait to tell her mam and Bobbie. The only thing worrying her was whether Miss Pendleton would speak well of her. But she had not upset the matron. Waters would have been a different matter and maybe even Mr Pendleton would not give her a glowing reference exactly, but she was sure that Miss Pendleton would speak well of her.

  Albert was waiting for her when she rang the bell at the back gate to the workhouse. ‘How did yer get on then?’

  ‘Mr Rodwell’s going to give me a trial. I’m to start next Monday.’

  ‘He’s a decent sort.’

  ‘Mr Rodwell? Do you know him, Albert?’

  The old man sniffed. ‘I know most folks round here. Used to be an oddjob man in these parts, till I couldn’t work any more.’

  ‘And you . . . you . . .’ Meg hesitated. She couldn’t imagine that Albert had ever bought a suit at the tailor’s. Albert finished her sentence for her. ‘I worked for him now and again. Not in the shop, o’ course. At his house.’

  Meg kept her face the picture of innocence. ‘Oh, so he doesn’t live above the shop, then?’

  ‘Used to do. Years ago.’ This was the most talkative that Albert Conroy had been in years. But this pretty young girl had shown him such respect, kindness even. ‘When his dad had the shop before ’im the whole family lived upstairs. But Percy moved into a little cottage near the church a few years back.’ He sniffed. ‘When he got hisself engaged to Miss Clara Finch.’

  Meg smiled back at him and leant closer to share a secret. ‘Mr Finch was in the shop when I got there. I had to wait for him to leave and as he went he said –’ she mimicked Mr Finch’s cultured tones – ‘ “I believe you’re dining with us tonight,” and when Mr Rodwell nodded, Mr Finch said, “Clara is looking forward to it.” ’

  Albert’s smile widened, stretching his face more than it been for years. ‘Been hengaged for six years or so, they have.’

  ‘Six years!’

  Albert chuckled, a wheezing sound. ‘Aye. Not one to rush into anything, isn’t Percy Rodwell.’

  ‘But six years! I wouldn’t wait six years,’ Meg declared. ‘Not for any man.’

  Albert eyed her. ‘Shouldn’t think you’d ’ave to, mi duck. Have you seen Miss Finch?’

  Meg shook her head and Albert chuckled again. ‘Well, wait till you do and then you’ll see why Percy’s in no hurry to tie the knot.’

  Laughing, Meg skipped on her way feeling more light-hearted than she had done since the day they had entered the workhouse. She went into the wash house and took off her own clothes. As she dressed once more in the workhouse uniform, she smiled to herself. She wouldn’t have to dress in these awful garments for much longer. Soon she would be handling the fine fabrics in Mr Rodwell’s shop.

  She focused her thoughts on the future and refused to think about her father and Alice. Now she had new hope. Her mother was getting better. Sarah would be sad for a little while about the loss of her baby but soon . . .

  Waters was standing in the doorway of the bath room. ‘You’d better come, Meg. Miss Daley is asking to see you.’

  ‘Well, I don’t want to see her,’ Meg said abruptly.

  ‘I think you should, Meg.’

  The girl looked at her in surprise. Waters’s tone was kindlier and she had called her Meg. Her attitude was so out of character that Meg was alarmed.

  ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ But the woman had turned away and
all she said was, ‘Miss Daley’s in the children’s dormitory. You’d better hurry.’

  Cold fear clutched at Meg’s heart.

  Fifteen

  Meg ran up the stairs and burst into the dormitory. The children were getting ready for bed, the bigger ones helping the little ones. Meg glanced around wildly, but she could not see her brother.

  ‘Where’s Bobbie? And where’s Miss Daley?’

  She knew some of the children by name now from her brief time spent in the school room. One of the older girls came towards her. ‘Miss Daley’s in her room.’ She pointed to the far end of the dormitory to the room where Meg had looked after the sick child.

  ‘Is she with Betsy?’ Meg asked.

  The girl shook her head. ‘No. Betsy’s better. Look, she’s in her bed over there.’

  Now Meg could see the thin, pale little girl sitting up in bed. Betsy held out her arms towards Meg and tears welled in her eyes. ‘Meg,’ she called, her voice trembling.

  Sighing inwardly, Meg crossed the room to stand by her bed.

  ‘I’m so sorry I caused trouble. I didn’t mean to steal the watch. I – I just wanted to hear its tick. It – it reminded me of me dad.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Meg said. She had neither the time nor the patience to listen to Betsy. There was only one thing on her mind. ‘Do you know where Bobbie is?’

  ‘In there. Miss Daley’s looking after him. He’s poorly.’

  Meg’s heart pounded anxiously. She had been right to be fearful. She ran down the long room to the closed door, ignoring Betsy’s pleading, ‘Meg, say you forgive me . . .’

  Meg didn’t even knock, but rushed straight into the schoolmistress’s bedroom. The room was stifling and Meg’s gaze went at once to the bed where Bobbie lay. His face was flushed and though his eyes were closed he was writhing and moaning. His nose was very sore and looked as if it had been bleeding. Miss Daley was bending over him, sponging his face. She glanced round at Meg but all she said when she saw who it was, ‘You shouldn’t be here. It might be infectious. He’s quite sick.’