A Dorset Girl Page 6

  Ashes to ashes, he thought soberly when dawn traced a grey finger along the horizon to reveal the destruction. He shivered at the sight. Was this all that was left of a man’s life, a pile of smouldering rubble that had become his funeral pyre?

  He looked down at the woman in his arms, oblivious to her grief in sleep. But when she woke, what would become of her in the days to come?

  5

  Megan would have wanted to be amongst her dead infants, but to save the expense of digging two graves, she and her stillborn son were buried with her husband.

  Not that there was much left of Bill Skinner. The fierce fire had burned most of the meat off him, leaving just blackened bones. His remains included the skull, which was cracked open at one side.

  Francis Matheson, the examining doctor, gazed thoughtfully at the wound.

  ‘Beam fell on him, I expect,’ the undertaker muttered.

  Francis grunted. A beam would have crushed the skull. A sharp-edged blow had caused this injury. Something like an axe. He didn’t bother to argue, though. He had an appointment to keep and couldn’t be bothered with the paperwork that reporting his suspicions would entail. Having examined the woman’s body and noting her injuries, he suspected the man had deserved what he’d got.

  But who had inflicted the blow was another question. Surely not that sweet young woman up at the rectory, smoke-blackened and shocked. And certainly not the younger boy. He looked too frail to even lift an axe.

  Bill Skinner’s remains were too gruesome to investigate further and he wasn’t about to subject the girl to examination by a magistrate. He nodded to the undertaker and the remains were thrown on top of Megan in the roughly fashioned coffin.

  When the ashes of the cottage were sifted through, Hannah managed to salvage a few household items. They included the cast-iron stew pot and the flat iron.

  ‘Needs a good clean,’ she muttered, rubbing at the iron with her sleeve. ‘There’s something sticky burned to the side.’

  Before she left, she managed to catch several chickens. They squawked in alarm as she shoved them into a sack. A couple of fleet-footed young hens fled into the long grass and hid.

  Tom carried off the scythe, the sharpening-stone and anything else that looked as though it might be useful to him.

  Back and forth they went, sifting through the ashes like a couple of scavenging crows picking meat from a carcass.

  Neither of them seemed particularly upset by their father’s death.

  Nothing was said about the younger children until after the burial service, when Richard White managed to confront the pair before they left. ‘What arrangements have you made for the care of your siblings?’

  Tom and Hannah glanced blankly at each other. ‘I reckon I can take Josh in,’ Tom murmured eventually. ‘He’s old enough to do a man’s work and earn his keep.’

  Hannah said shrilly, ‘I’m not having that brat, Daisy. I’ll have enough to do with my own babby.’

  Siana’s arms tightened around her sister. ‘Daisy’s my responsibility now. My mother wanted me to care for her.’

  Josh sidled closer to her. ‘I want to stay with you too. I don’t want to work for Tom.’

  Richard White frowned at them all. ‘I can offer Siana employment and provide her with bed and board as well, but I can’t be responsible for brothers and sisters.’

  The undertaker stepped forward. ‘Who’s going to pay for the burial?’

  Hannah’s hands went to her hips. ‘Not me. Megan Skinner was no kin of mine.’

  ‘Nor mine,’ Tom echoed, turning away.

  ‘But your father was,’ Richard argued. ‘Are you forgetting he was buried too?’

  ‘There was nothing but a few bones left of him, and that didn’t take up much space in the coffin. If you want paying for him, you can dig them up again.’

  Siana’s chin lifted. ‘I’ll pay for the burial myself.’

  Tom turned to her, his eyes sharp. ‘What with? Any money left in that cottage was my father’s. It belongs to me and Hannah.’

  Behind them, the undertaker’s horse pawed at the ground. It was late afternoon and the air had a damp chill to it. It had been the cheapest of funerals, a rough wooden box loaded onto the back of a cart.

  The few people prepared to pay their respects to the departed had already left, their energy tuned to fight their own battle for survival. To dwell on mortality was uncomfortable. Besides, the ground had to be prepared and sown for next year’s wheat, potatoes and swedes. Mangold-wurzels had to be picked, lime and manure spread for root vegetables.

  Siana stared Tom straight in the eye. ‘If you think your father had any savings you can go and rake through the ashes for it. I’ve earned a wage from my job at the rectory and Reverend White’s put a few shillings aside for me.’

  ‘First I’ve heard of any job. A real sly missy, you are. I bet the old man didn’t know you was earning a shilling or two.’

  ‘Because he would have spent it on ale. Half of it went to Ma to buy food. If it hadn’t, we’d have starved to death.’

  ‘Who’s a bloody liar then?’ Tom sent Richard an unfriendly glance. ‘If you asks me it ain’t Christian for a man of the cloth to keep an honestly earned shilling aside when a family is scratching for something to eat.’

  Richard opened his mouth, then shut it again, deciding to be charitable. No need to add to Siana’s troubles by telling her nearly half of her savings were gone. He exchanged a significant look with the undertaker. The parish would pay for the burial if he couldn’t get it out of Tom or Hannah Skinner.

  Daisy wriggled in Siana’s arms. ‘Horsey,’ she muttered, pointing one wet finger towards the animal.

  A cold wind tugged at Siana’s skirt and she drew the shawl tighter around her shoulders. It was an old shawl, thickly woven and hand-spun from raw wool to keep out both the cold and the wet. It had been her mother’s for as long as she could remember. With it wrapped around her shoulders, she felt close to her, which was comforting.

  With Daisy wriggling in her arms and Josh pressing against her side, Siana felt overwhelmed by the responsibility of it all. If she didn’t accept the reverend’s offer, where would they sleep tonight? And what they would they eat? Despite her promise to her mother, she had to be practical.

  Josh would be an added responsibility, she realized. She gazed at him apologetically. ‘You’ll have to work for Tom and live at the farm until I’ve got time to sort things out. Later on we might be able to combine our wages and rent a cottage in the next village. I’ll pay for Daisy to be farmed out each day and we’ll manage.’

  ‘Promise?’

  The desperation in his eyes made her feel guilty. When winter was over they could go on the road. There was always fruit to pick or charring to do and they could sleep in the fields like the gypsies. Tears pricked her eyes. ‘Of course I promise. But I’ve got to work, and I must find a place for Daisy to stay meanwhile. I can’t look after her as well.’

  ‘I suppose I could take Daisy for a bit,’ Hannah offered, unable to keep the avarice from showing in her expression. ‘With you working at the rectory full time and all, you can pay a bit towards her keep. And I’d need a couple of shillings in advance because I’ll have to buy her a change of clothes and extra milk and eggs.’

  ‘You’ll get extra eggs from the chickens you took from the cottage.’ Unconsciously, Siana’s arms tightened about Daisy. She had no choice really. Once she was settled, she’d think about finding somewhere else for Daisy to stay.

  Richard dropped a couple of coins into Hannah’s hand. ‘That’s taken care of, then.’ He smiled genially. ‘Come along. Hand the child over to Mrs Collins, there’s a good girl.’

  Daisy started to cry as soon as she left her arms. Siana thought her heart would break when she looked back. Josh had turned to stare accusingly at her. He stumbled when Tom cuffed him around the back of the head to hurry him along. Daisy’s wails gradually faded as they got further apart, but Siana was filled with a se
nse of abandonment. Tears welled up in her eyes. ‘I promised my mother I’d look after Daisy.’

  ‘And so you shall, my dear. One day you’ll marry a nice young man and your sister will live with you again. Just you wait and see.’

  It was just words to comfort her, she knew, but she had to be content with them. If she allowed herself to believe them to be untrue, she’d fall deeper into despair.

  Siana grieved for her mother, and missed her brother and sister. Knowing the nature of Hannah and Tom as she did, she worried constantly about the welfare of the children. Yet she knew she must remain employed to support herself and her sister, and it was her preoccupation with her job that kept her sane.

  Much of her work concerned keeping the reverend’s household accounts. All expenditure was entered in a ledger. She worked slowly, using a pencil first to make sure her sums and handwriting were neat and correct. Then, dipping the nib of the pen into the ornate silver inkwell, she’d laboriously trace over her pencilled marks. She was extra careful the nib wasn’t too full in case it left an ugly blot.

  Every week she added up the columns. Reverend White made her do this in her head, then he checked her figures on a small brass abacus encased in a wooden frame.

  ‘You’re wondering why I won’t let you use this,’ he said one day when she was wondering exactly that. ‘It’s because your brain needs constant mental stimulation if you’re to learn.’

  But after a week or two he trusted her skills enough to leave the books unchecked.

  The work was totally absorbing and kept her mind from the horror of her mother’s death. After the book work there was the housework to help Mrs Leeman with, or her studying to do.

  She had been given the use of the library. In the evening she retreated to her small room under the eaves with a book, where she read voraciously. The light from the candle stumps Mrs Leeman allowed her to use up lasted until their wicks drowned in pools of molten wax.

  Daniel came and went, giving her a pleasant smile each time they ran into each other, which wasn’t often. He went out each morning, riding into Poole, where he worked. He didn’t return home until after dark.

  Sometimes she heard him telling the reverend about people he was doing important legal work for. She was awed by his cleverness.

  ‘Daniel,’ she said shyly one day, for there was something she’d been thinking about a lot of late. ‘There’s something of a legal nature I would like to ask you.’

  He waited, his head to one side, a half smile playing around his mouth. ‘What is it, Siana? Surely you don’t intend studying to be a lawyer too.’

  ‘It’s about my name.’

  His brow furrowed. ‘What of it?’

  ‘I was wondering . . . I’ve always been known as Skinner, but my mother wasn’t married to Bill Skinner when I was born and he wasn’t my father.’

  ‘And you want to know what her name was before her marriage?’

  ‘Oh, I know what it was. It was Megan Lewis.’

  ‘I see. So what’s the problem?’

  ‘Do I have to call myself Skinner or can I use my mother’s name?’

  ‘It depends what you were registered as. If you were registered as Siana Lewis, then you can quite safely use the name.’

  Her teeth dug into her bottom lip. ‘I don’t know what name I was registered under, or if I was registered at all. You see, I was born in a cow byre.’

  A teasing light filled his eyes. ‘And you think the cows might have forgotten to inform the parish? Perhaps you’re registered as Siana the calf. Hmmm . . . is that a pair of horns I detect under that most unflattering cap?’

  She laughed despite herself, the first time she’d done so since her mother’s death. ‘Stop teasing. Is it very difficult to find out if I was registered?’

  ‘It’s easy, and you don’t need the help of a lawyer. Your name should be recorded in the parish register where you were born.’

  ‘That was here.’

  ‘Then my godfather can tell you.’ He leaned against the wall. At ease and smiling down at her, he asked, ‘How are you coping with things?’

  ‘I love working here but I miss my sister and brother. Daisy doesn’t smile any more, and Josh looks so tired and miserable when I see him in church. His hands are covered in sores where the blisters are infected.’

  Daniel’s face closed up a little and he straightened up. ‘It’s hard to act and work like a man when you’re still a child. Josh’s hands are bound to toughen up in time.’ He reached out and gently touched her cheek. ‘Tom Skinner is a hard taskmaster. No wonder you want to change your name. Siana Lewis is such a pretty name. It suits you well.’

  He smiled when a blush rose to her cheeks.

  It wasn’t only Daniel who thought Siana good to look at.

  Sir Edward Forbes had noticed her. In fact, he’d often observed her beauty in church. Set amongst the other village girls she was an exotic flower.

  The church today was crowded. Although their wedding wasn’t until spring, Isabelle was visiting, putting in an appearance for the peasants like a queen with her subjects.

  It seemed as if most of the district’s population was crowded in there to witness her appearance. The church smelled ripely of sweat and field muck; good, country smells he was used to.

  But Isabelle was playing the lady with great affectation. Beside him, his bride-to-be held a lavender-scented handkerchief to her nose. She murmured something to her chaperone, a maiden aunt of extremely comfortable proportions, who gave a soft, high-pitched titter.

  Isabelle Prosser was twenty-five, the only child of a Poole cloth merchant, who’d once been an unsuccessful tenant farmer over Salisbury way. Her mother was dead.

  Isabelle’s looks were indifferent, her thick, straight eyebrows drawing attention to her pale blue eyes, which were her best feature. The dark blue gown she wore was decorated with huge puff sleeves and a three-tier lace collar. Her large bonnet of pleated silk was topped with curling ostrich plumes. Tied under her chin with a huge bow, the whole structure seemed designed to support her short neck, plump cheeks and chin.

  A beauty she wasn’t, but Edward considered he’d chosen well. She was set to inherit a fortune, which, although he didn’t need it, he might as well have. The generous hips he detected under her skirt were ideal for bearing him sons. She was almost as plump as her aunt Caroline, but that didn’t matter as long as she fulfilled her function and bred for him.

  In his early fifties, Edward didn’t consider love to be of any importance now. He’d loved his wife Patricia with passion, Elizabeth Skinner with marginally less, when she was young. Elizabeth had learned to please him and her sensuality had kept him by her side for years. Lately, however, her constant manipulations on behalf of her bastard son had annoyed him and he’d ended the relationship.

  He did what he could for Daniel, of course, even inviting him to dine with him at regular intervals. But he needed a legitimate heir, one who would acquire the skills to manage the land attached to the estate. He slowly shook his head. Damned fool woman, turning the boy into a lawyer. Daniel hadn’t the instinct. He was too lazy by nature, always taking the easiest option. If the boy ever came into money, he would waste it on the fine living he craved, which was why Edward needed a legitimate heir for the estate.

  Just then there was a stir at the back of the church. He turned his head in time to see Elizabeth enter. Damn her, did she have to draw attention to herself by making a late appearance? He frowned when she caught his glance over the heads of the congregation, then suddenly his heart jumped. There was a livid bruise on her face.

  ‘Damn Tom Skinner,’ he growled, and resolved to have a word with his tenant about Elizabeth.

  Isabelle placed a gloved hand on his arm. Her eyes were cold and her mouth was set in a rigid line. The chill in her voice was not reassuring, ‘Edward, you’re not paying attention to the sermon.’

  Richard was rambling on about the wealthy helping the poor. I help by providing them with jo
bs so they can feed their families, Edward thought bleakly; what more do they want? The lazy swine did nothing but grumble. It was time he and the landowners cracked down harder on the peasants. If the trades organizations were allowed to get a grip, the farm labourers would begin to think they were as good as their masters. Then they’d never get any work out of them.

  He watched Richard smile at the Skinner girl. The reverend had given her a job, he knew. She was clean and tidy now, wearing a modest gown of drab brown. A woollen shawl was drawn around her shoulders. He wasn’t the only one looking at her. Half the men in the place had their lustful thoughts written on their faces did they but know it – even her own stepbrother.

  Previously, Edward had instructed his estate steward to sound out the girl’s stepfather about coming to an arrangement over her. Although the fellow had been agreeable, the man had died before the plan had borne fruit.

  His eyes narrowed now as he wondered if she was still intact. His glance touched on the gentle swell of her breasts, then went to her eyes. He was reassured to see that the innocence in them wasn’t feigned, but the girl wouldn’t remain that way for much longer. She had no protector. All it would take was for her to drop her guard one day.

  Tom Skinner came to mind again. Hmmm! The man had been useful to him in the past. Skinner would do anything to get ahead. He’d reported his own father once for sleeping on the job. Edward had made sure a day’s pay was docked.

  Perhaps he’d sound Skinner out about the girl, see what could be done. No doubt Richard would object, but not for long because his own living depended on Edward’s largesse, which could be withdrawn at any time.

  In the meantime he might just pay Richard a call, and he’d choose his time with care.

  Siana felt nervous as she showed the squire into the drawing room. She dropped a curtsy as he seated himself

  ‘Reverend White has taken Mrs Leeman to market, but they should be back soon. Would you like some tea while you’re waiting, sir?’

  ‘A glass of sherry if I may, my dear.’ The squire smiled kindly at her. ‘Aren’t you the Skinner girl?’