A Dorset Girl Page 9

  ‘And I enjoyed every minute of it.’

  The three of them gazed at each other and laughed.

  Hannah’s baby woke up at the sound. He gazed unseeingly around him from pale blue eyes. He was a pale little thing with chubby cheeks and a wisp of gingery hair. He smelled of urine and vomit.

  Siana gazed down at him, thinking what a sweet, innocent-looking little boy he was under his dirt. ‘He looks like a Skinner. I wonder what his name is.’

  ‘George, after the previous king,’ Elizabeth said, trying to repress a smile. ‘Hannah said he passed by her in a coach when she was small, and threw her a farthing.’

  Josh grinned. ‘It was probably the bishop. He be known for his stingy nature.’

  They began to laugh.

  But Siana wasn’t laughing when she laid eyes on Daisy. Her sister was lice-infested, and was covered in bruises and weeping sores. She was too thin, her bones sharp under the covering of her skin. Dulled eyes gazed at her without recognition . . . or hope, come to that, Siana thought as she whispered, ‘What have you done to her?’

  ‘Nothing. I ain’t done nothing.’

  ‘That’s obvious,’ Elizabeth snapped. ‘The child doesn’t look as though she’s had a bath or anything to eat for the last month and she’s been ill-treated judging from those bruises.’

  Hannah whined, ‘It weren’t my fault. I can’t help it if she don’t eat. And she’s learning to walk now and she keeps falling over. There’s somethin’ wrong with her.’

  Daisy had difficulty eating the milk sops Elizabeth prepared for her. She slept afterwards, as quiet as a mouse, cuddled against Siana’s chest, her thumb in her mouth.

  Siana hugged Daisy tight against her, guiltily remembering her promise to her mother. Whatever the consequences, Daisy was going with her when she returned to the rectory. She would never allow her out of her sight again.

  7

  ‘Glory be. I don’t know what the reverend will say to this.’

  Siana gazed helplessly at Mrs Leeman. ‘It doesn’t matter what he says. If he won’t let me keep Daisy here, I shall have to leave.’

  ‘But where would you go, my dear?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ To Siana’s consternation she burst into tears. ‘Look at the state she’s in, Mrs Leeman. How could I leave her with Hannah any longer?’

  The housekeeper’s face softened. ‘Reverend White is a good man. I’m sure he won’t turn her away when he sees her.’

  He didn’t, but he wasn’t pleased. ‘The child can stay until somewhere suitable is found. Hmmm, I don’t like the look of her, though, she seems a little too lethargic’ His nose wrinkled. ‘Is that rag all she has to wear?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I’ll go over to Abbie Ponsonby’s to see if she’s got any spare clothes her children have outgrown to spare.’

  ‘I don’t want anyone’s charity,’ Siana protested, wrapping her shawl around Daisy.

  He was annoyed by her answer. ‘You’re presuming on mine, and you have no choice. Your sister is dirty as well as ill and we can’t leave her wrapped in a filthy rag. She needs to be bathed, fed and kept warm. If you have no money, you must accept what’s offered and be grateful for it. The alternative is the workhouse.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ she said humbly.

  ‘Come girl,’ he smiled kindly, ‘I’m sorry I spoke harshly to you. The condition she’s in is not your fault and you did right to bring her here. I’ll fetch Dr Matheson whilst you’re cleaning her up. Once the child has recovered, I’ll see if I can find a decent home for her.’

  Which didn’t sound like a good arrangement at all to Siana. She kept her mouth shut though, for she had no one else to turn to, unless . . . there were always her Welsh relatives, weren’t there? But her mother had been driven from the village, never to return. They wouldn’t welcome Megan’s children back into the fold.

  As it was, matters were taken out of her hands.

  ‘She must be taken to the infirmary in the morning,’ Francis Matheson announced, gazing over her head to direct his remarks to Reverend White. ‘The child has pneumonia and will need nursing care if she’s to survive. I suspect she also has intestinal worms. The standard of hygiene amongst the peasant class is appalling.’

  So would yours be if you had to live under the same conditions, Siana thought resentfully, trying not to glare at this upstart with his air of arrogance and his blunt manner. She knew she’d never forgive Hannah for her neglect.

  Later, wrapped in a flannel sheet, Daisy lay between them on the kitchen table without moving. She’d subjected herself to the doctor’s rigorous examination without a protest, and without interest.

  ‘I’ll be going to Poole tomorrow so I’ll bring Siana with the child myself,’ Richard murmured. ‘We must try to find someone to care for Daisy afterwards.’

  Siana gave a cry of despair. ‘I must look after her myself.’

  The doctor flicked her a look, his grey eyes astute and piercing. He made a humming sound in his throat. ‘I take it this is a charity case?’

  ‘Sir Edward has set a sum of money aside for such cases,’ Richard advised him.

  ‘And what would these people do without it?’ The doctor’s second look was a little more speculative. ‘There are some suspicious-looking sores on the child’s body. Perhaps we should satisfy ourselves that the child’s mother is clean before we take the child in. Some diseases, especially those caused by licentious living, can be passed on by tainted blood. They often cause madness in later life.’

  Siana flushed scarlet as she realized what he was suggesting. ‘It will be impossible to examine Daisy’s mother, Dr Matheson. She is dead and buried. But let me assure you, she had neither the time nor the energy to be licentious. The sores you refer to are due to urine scalding, I believe. They’ve become infected through neglect by her carer and the application of salve will soon relieve them if she’s kept clean and dry.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said, looking slightly taken aback. ‘Ah . . . yes, indeed, you seem to have some knowledge about the proper care of the young.’

  ‘I may be a peasant, but I’m able to understand what you’re saying. Also, I’d prefer it if you discussed arrangements made for my sister with me. I’m her guardian, not Reverend White, who employs me.’

  The doctor stared at her for a moment – a long moment fraught with tension. Gradually, his eyes softened. ‘My apologies if I was too abrupt. I had forgotten your circumstances. Am I to understand you’re the eldest of Megan Skinner’s children who survived that cottage fire?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘There was some question in my mind about the manner of your stepfather’s death at the time. Perhaps you could satisfy my curiosity.’

  ‘I’ll try, sir.’

  The doctor steepled his hands together. ‘It appeared to me that Bill Skinner had been hit on the head. Did you see an axe anywhere?’

  Siana twitched with alarm as she remembered the flat iron. ‘No, sir, I didn’t see an axe,’ she said truthfully. ‘It was usually kept in the woodpile. Tom Skinner came for his father’s tools, so he probably took the axe with him. You should ask him.’

  He seemed satisfied by her answer for he only stared at her for a moment longer before following Richard into his study for a sherry.

  ‘What was all that about?’ Richard asked him, trying to keep his tone civil. Already annoyed by having his evening disrupted, he was now forced to entertain a younger man of vague religious belief, a man he found to be slightly self-opinionated and socially uncomfortable.

  ‘Oh, nothing. It’s just that the stepfather had a suspicious hole in his skull.’ He shrugged. ‘I expect the undertaker was right and a beam fell on him.’

  ‘Surely you don’t imagine Siana had a hand in his death.’

  ‘I’m sure she didn’t!’ Francis Matheson took the sherry offered to him and sipped it with a sigh of satisfaction, grateful for the warmth in his belly. The majority of his patients could offer him nothi
ng, and he had another call to make before he could eat the meal his housekeeper had prepared for him and prop his feet up in front of the fire. ‘I was thinking more along the lines of her mother.’

  ‘For what reason?’

  ‘Megan Skinner had been badly beaten. In fact, she had several broken bones. Unless I’m very much mistaken, there were signs that she’d been raped when she was in the process of giving birth.’

  Richard stared at him, finding the conversation indelicate. ‘The woman was married. It could hardly have been rape.’

  ‘Perhaps not in the eyes of the law. But what would you call such an act under the circumstances? From what I can gather, her husband had consumed nearly a whole bottle of rum that night. He must have flamed up like a Christmas pudding. I’d like to know where he got the means to pay for it.’

  Richard shuddered as his conscience gave him a nudge. But he told himself it wasn’t his responsibility. Skinner was entitled to his stepdaughter’s money while she lived under his roof. Was it his fault the man had got drunk on it and set about his wife?

  ‘Who can account for the priorities of the lower classes? Perhaps I’ll sermonize on the evils of drink next Sunday.’

  ‘You do that, Reverend,’ Francis said drily. ‘They might sit up and take notice, and Megan Skinner might rise from her grave and applaud.’

  Richard gave a shaky laugh as he tried to bring the unpleasant conversation to a close. ‘I’d suggest your reasoning is flawed, Dr Matheson. With all those broken bones you mentioned, Megan Skinner would hardly have had the strength to fetch an axe, brain her husband then put it back in the woodpile before collapsing – and all this with the cottage on fire and herself about to give birth to a child.’

  ‘We don’t know that it was put back in the woodpile.’ The doctor shrugged. ‘I learned whilst I was at Cambridge that a man of logic can always reason things away to his satisfaction and mental comfort. It’s not totally beyond belief, but I agree it sounds unlikely. However, it doesn’t really matter, because even if Megan Skinner did manage it, no doubt her husband deserved it.’

  ‘Thou shalt not kill,’ Richard reminded him gently, for he didn’t want to become embroiled in an argument.

  A snort of laughter came from the doctor. ‘Thou kills if thou is desperate enough. When you doctor these people you discover just how desperate they can get, and notice how easily their lot could be improved. A sermon doesn’t fill a hole in an empty belly and drink dulls the pain of it.’

  Richard didn’t offer him a second glass of sherry. In fact, if Francis Matheson hadn’t been the cousin of his bishop, he wouldn’t have offered him the first glass as he suspected him of being, at best, an agnostic – if not a complete atheist! Richard plucked the empty glass from the man’s fingers and placed it on the tray, at a loss for what to say next. ‘I have to prepare for evening prayers, so I’ll say goodnight to you, Doctor,’ he mumbled eventually.

  ‘Fire and brimstone,’ Matheson advised as he picked up his hat. ‘That’s what they understand. Fill their bellies with warmth and their minds with the fear of everlasting hellfire. Hope is a thin gruel these days, and if there’s trouble simmering in the cooking pot, the travelling preachers will set it to the boil, you mark my words.’

  Richard’s mouth pursed slightly. ‘I have no patience with the rantings of Methodist ministers.’

  ‘Neither have I, but you’ve got to admire the way they preach. I’ve heard that one of their finest is travelling the country right now. You might drop in to observe his performance when he reaches Cheverton Chase.’ Matheson jammed his hat on his head and strode out into the cold night, a tall and imposing figure, bristling with muscular energy. Before he mounted his horse he said, ‘Good evening to you, sir. I’ll expect the child in the morning if your God of goodness doesn’t see fit to harvest her soul during the night.’

  Richard sighed with relief when he shut the door behind him.

  Siana had never been to Poole before. If she hadn’t been so worried about Daisy, who’d developed a fever during the night, she’d have enjoyed the journey through the frosted fields.

  The sight of prickly, green holly bushes laden with bright red berries reminded her that Christmas was almost upon them. But the thought of not being able to share it with her mother and siblings, however poor their fare had been in the past, filled her with melancholy.

  The infirmary was attached to the workhouse. They were taken to a room of stark, whitewashed stone, which was filled with iron beds topped with thin mattresses. The beds contained emaciated figures, some sitting on the side, thin legs dangling, clutching at the edges for support.

  It was not a place of rest. Hampered by the pain and stiffness of rheumatism, many of them groaned each time they moved. Some hacked their lives away in paroxysms of coughing whilst others, seemingly in the last stages of dropsy, gasped to fill their labouring lungs with the breath needed to stay alive one more minute, another hour or a day. There were no other children there.

  It was bitterly cold. The damp and reluctant beech logs burning in the grate sent out only an insignificant amount of heat.

  ‘Put the child in the corner bed,’ a woman in a white apron and cap said a little wearily. ‘Dr Matheson will be along shortly.’

  An hour later he arrived, rubbing his hands briskly together to bring some warmth into them. ‘Good, I see she made it through the night, then?’ Gently he laid the back of his hand across Daisy’s forehead. ‘She’s fevered and should go into crisis during the next twenty-four hours. I’ll dose her on opium and treacle to help her through it, but don’t expect too much.’

  A sound of flatulence came from the woman in the next bed. The reverend held a handkerchief under his nose, saying hastily, ‘Come, Siana, we must go. I’ll remember Daisy in my prayers tonight.’

  The tiny whimpering noise Daisy made sounded like a protest. Siana cuddled the child against her, smoothing her hair back from her forehead. She had the feeling she wouldn’t see her sister again if she left her now. She gazed at the doctor, tears gathering in her eyes. ‘Can’t I stay? I can look after her, and perhaps help with the other patients too. I promise I’ll be no trouble. I’ll sleep on the floor next to her bed.’

  Behind her, the reverend made an impatient clicking noise with his tongue. ‘There’s nothing you can do for Daisy now, Siana. Her life is in God’s hands.’

  Stubbornly, she said, ‘But He allows men to train as doctors, so He must have intended them to do His work for Him. No doubt His holy spirit flows into Dr Matheson’s hands to heal through them.’

  And she looked so innocent and plausible! Francis smiled to himself, admiring the ingenuity of this young woman’s reasoning and the flummoxed look on the reverend’s face. Her use of flattery towards himself was duly noted, as was the fact she knew he wasn’t fooled by it. However, he was quite content to indulge in a moment of comfortable idolatry and as it was obvious she was determined to get her own way with the reverend, he added his support.

  ‘You can share the bed with your sister. No doubt the matron in charge will welcome your help feeding the infirm. As for God, I’d be honoured if He decides to assist me in healing His flock.’

  Siana slanted him a quick glance. Despite the circumstances, he could have sworn he saw a gleam of mischief in her eyes. The young woman was no fool.

  Reverend White appeared out of countenance. ‘But my books—’

  ‘Surely you can spare her for a day or two, Reverend White? If this child was your sister would you leave her to face dea— er, this battle by herself? The patient has recently suffered the loss of her parents. Having her sister near will be a comfort to her. It might even help her to fight the disease.’

  Noticing the doctor’s slip of the tongue, and his attempt to cover it up, Siana was grateful for his sensitivity. Clearly, he expected Daisy to die. She took the little pouch from inside her skirt and removed the silver cross her mother had given her, placing it on Daisy’s pillow. ‘Of course he can spare
me.’

  Reminded forcibly of his calling by the appearance of the silver cross, the reverend prayed for humility to overcome his arrogance as he made a dignified retreat. It was a long time coming. Deep down he had a feeling that the girl had made a fool out of him.

  Disgruntled, he decided to call on Daniel and invite him to lunch before he returned home. He admitted to himself that he was having second thoughts about the relationship between the two. Siana had displayed more strength and stubbornness than he liked to see in a woman, especially a woman beholden to him.

  Still, now Daniel no longer lived at home, the pair might grow apart. He wouldn’t interfere, of course, but neither would he do anything to directly encourage them. Should the matter crop up in conversation, he would counsel Daniel to caution.

  That decided, as he hurried to his godson’s place of employment, he told himself he need not mention Siana’s presence at the hospital to Daniel.

  He found Daniel seated at a desk, his head bowed over a court report he was copying. He had a good hand, but didn’t look as though he was enjoying the task, Richard thought. The boredom on his face cleared, however, when he looked up.

  ‘Sir,’ he exclaimed. ‘I had no idea you were coming to Poole today.’

  ‘Neither did I. Can you be spared for lunch?’

  He could, and was. The pair found a corner table in a popular dining hall attached to an inn overlooking the harbour. There they chatted through a hearty meal of steak and kidney pie, which was accompanied by several dishes of vegetables. This was followed by boiled suet pudding covered in a hot fruit conserve, which floated in sea of sweet, yellow custard.

  They spooned the pudding into their mouths, then, replete, smoked aromatic cigars brought to them by their host as they sipped dark, fragrant coffee served in white china cups.

  ‘Just the thing for a cold winter’s day,’ Richard declared, his belief in himself restored by the liberal application of inner comfort. It would fortify him on the icy journey home.

  Daniel smiled. ‘I doubt if I’ll want to eat for a week after this, but my father has invited me to dine with him at the manor after church on Sunday. He said he has something to discuss with me. Do you have any idea what it is?’