Death at the Workhouse Page 5

  “I should like to include the menu, if I may.”

  “I can fetch a menu card for you to take away, if you like.”

  “That would be very kind of you.”

  “Would you like to stay for the speeches? They’re to take place in an hour.”

  I felt my heart sink at the thought of waiting around for them. “I suppose my editor would like me to. Is there somewhere I can wait until then?”

  “Of course. I’ll show you into the lounge and ask someone to bring you some tea.”

  “Thank you.”

  I spent the next hour in the lounge with my notebook and a pot of tea listening to the happy laughter and chatter coming from the room further down the corridor. I thought of Mrs King, and how unlikely it was that she had ever attended a party like this. In fact, many of the patients from the infirmary would have had little or no idea of what a society birthday celebration might entail. They would never wear the bright, expensive gowns or the family jewels kept under lock and key in the grand townhouses of Mayfair. I reflected on the fact that these differences existed for no other reason than the virtue of one’s birth.

  Chapter 9

  “Just as I thought,” said James once we had paid our entrance fee to Madame Tussauds. “It’s rather busy.”

  “That’s the problem one faces on a cold, wet Saturday,” said Eliza. “Everyone wants to do something indoors.”

  “Don’t you want to see the latest portrait models?” I asked them.

  “Yes, if we get a chance to see them through this crowd,” replied James.

  “We just need to push our way through,” I said.

  We entered a large, high-ceilinged room filled with people, all of whom were bustling around the costumed wax figures displayed on ornate plinths.

  “There’s Ellen Terry as Ophelia,” said Eliza, pointing at a model of the actress in a flowing cream gown clutching a bunch of flowers. “What a lovely dress.”

  “Hamlet was one of Father’s favourite plays,” I said as we pushed ourselves nearer. “Do you remember?”

  “Of course I remember,” she replied. “I thought Miss Terry would be taller, somehow.”

  “They’re all smaller than what you’d think, ain’t they?” a lady in a large blue hat chipped in.

  “No they ain’t,” said her male companion with a grin. “They’re all tall; look at ’em. Head and shoulders above ev’ryone else.”

  “That’s ’cause they’re on them pedestals, Charlie!” The lady shook her head in bemusement. “Can’t take ’im anywhere!”

  “Who’s that bedraggled-looking fellow?” asked James, pointing toward a thick-whiskered man wearing dishevelled clothing.

  “Captain Dudley o’ the Mignonette,” replied the lady in the hat. “You know all about ’im, don’t yer?”

  “I do indeed,” replied James.

  “Cannibals, the lot of ’em,” she continued. “Ate a cabin boy while driftin’ away at sea.”

  “That cabin boy were dyin’ anyway,” interrupted her companion. “He never would of made it.”

  “That ain’t no excuse.”

  “They thought they was protected by the custom o’ the sea.”

  “Turned out they weren’t, though, din’t it? And quite right too, I reckon.”

  “What would you rather ’ave?” asked her companion. “One dead man and three alive, or four dead men?”

  We slipped away to look at the model of General Gordon as the lady in the hat paused to consider this.

  “I wonder if he can hold out until Lord Wolseley reaches Khartoum,” commented James.

  “He seems fairly confident that he will,” I replied.

  “Speaking of people in foreign climes, has there been any word on Francis Edwards’ condition?”

  “No,” replied Eliza sadly. “Nothing at all! I’m quite desperate for news, and it’s so terribly frustrating when letters take a month to reach us. I can only hope that we shall receive good news from Anselmo very soon.”

  “Poor Francis,” said James. “He had covered such a lot of ground, and news of the European orchid grower sounded so promising. Let’s hope that he is well recovered and meeting with the European as we speak.”

  “I should like to think so,” I said. “And how nice of you to be so charitable about Francis, James.”

  He shifted from one foot to the other. “I like the fellow; he’s a decent chap. And if he hadn’t wished to marry you I’d like him even more!”

  “That was long ago now.”

  “Not terribly long ago.”

  “Long enough to be forgotten about. It was before your proposed wedding day.”

  “There’s no need to remind me of that!”

  “Let’s stop the bickering, shall we?” interrupted Eliza. “The past is in the past, and all that matters now is what the pair of you wish to do about your future. I’m quite sure that you have no wish for me to keep chaperoning you every weekend.”

  James and I exchanged a glance, and he smiled.

  “Well?” asked my sister. “Is there anything you’d like to share with me?”

  “We haven’t set out any plans in detail yet,” I ventured. I could feel a warmth rising in my face. “And we thought, perhaps, that we should wait until James has paid Charlotte the outstanding damages before anything else is decided.”

  “And then?” A smile began to spread across Eliza’s face.

  “And then we may be in a position to discuss marriage a little further,” said James.

  “In a position to discuss it? I hope you’re not dragging your heels, James! Either you wish to marry one another or you don’t.”

  “We do,” said James.

  “Then that’s wonderful news!” Eliza clapped her hands together with glee. “How exciting!”

  I glanced around us, slightly embarrassed by the fuss she was making. “We’ve only just begun to discuss it, Ellie. Please don’t become too exuberant.”

  Her face fell. “How else do you expect me to be, Penelope? Here I am petitioning for divorce, and then I hear that my sister is to be married! The sister I thought would never marry! It’s the most wonderful news I’ve heard in years!”

  “I’m pleased that you’re so happy about it.”

  “Happier than you, it seems!”

  “I am happy. We both are.” I turned to James and smiled. “We’re just not ready to make a big announcement yet.”

  Eliza tutted. “Thirty-five years old and not yet ready to make an announcement! I suppose you’re about to ask me not to mention it to Mother?”

  “Yes.”

  “I should like to visit Mrs Green to formally request her daughter’s hand,” said James.

  “Of course, replied Eliza. “Mother would like that very much. You must do it soon, though, as I shall grow terribly impatient having to keep this news quiet!”

  “Once I’ve paid Charlotte the outstanding balance we shall get everything moving,” said James.

  “I’ve a good mind to pay it myself just to hurry things along!” said Eliza with a laugh. “Now, let’s find this new portrait model of the Queen. I don’t suppose we should leave here without seeing her.”

  There was quite a crowd around the Queen, who stood before the throne in a dark gown and a long white veil of lace.

  “You might be interested to know that I returned to the workhouse this week,” I said to Eliza.

  “Don’t tell me you stayed there again!”

  I explained how I had helped Miss Russell with the task of reading to the patients.

  “That sounds like an extremely helpful thing to do, Penelope. Well done! I wonder if the West London Women’s Society might consider doing something similar at Paddington Workhouse, and perhaps Kensington, too.”

  “I’m sure they’d be delighted to hear from you.”

  “I might just write them a letter about it.”

  “I have to return to Shoreditch Workhouse again on Monday,” I said. “The board of guardians has asked to meet
me to discuss the article I wrote about our stay there.”

  “Oh goodness! Are they likely to scold you?”

  “They shouldn’t do, as I merely reported on my findings. The article didn’t contain any untruths; nor was it sensationalised in any way.”

  “You’re right, it wasn’t. Oh good luck, Penelope, I hope they’re kind to you. I still think about that poor man Bill who died there.”

  “So do I.”

  “Now where? Have we seen most of the exhibition?”

  “There’s the Chamber of Horrors to see yet.”

  “Oh no, count me out of that. I’ve no wish to see a host of dreadful criminals. I shall wait outside.”

  “I’m rather looking forward to it,” said James. “There might be a few familiar faces in there.”

  Chapter 10

  The following Monday I found myself waiting in a wood-panelled corridor, listening to the murmur of voices beyond a door marked ‘Boardroom’. Despite straining to make out individual words, I felt disappointed that I was unable to hear what the members of the Shoreditch Union board of guardians were discussing.

  I stepped back when I heard footsteps approaching from the other side of the door. The handle turned, and a bald man with a thick grey moustache pushed his head out. It was the clerk, Mr Lennox.

  “The board is ready for you, Miss Green.”

  He swung the door open so that I could enter the room. I was greeted by a wall of a dozen faces all silently watching me from around a long, polished table. The chair nearest the door was empty. Everyone stood to their feet, and the bushy-whiskered man at the head of the table greeted me, gesturing for me to sit. There were two women in the group, one of whom I recognised as the matron, Mrs Hale. I guessed that the other woman was the poor law guardian Mrs Hodges, whom Miss Russell had mentioned to me.

  There was a scraping of chair legs on floorboards as everyone took their seats again. The bushy-whiskered man at the head of the table was Mr Buller, the chairman, and he cleared his throat as he leafed through the papers piled in front of him.

  “Thank you for joining us, Miss Green,” he said. “We have all read, with great interest, the report you wrote regarding your stay on the women’s casual ward here at Shoreditch Workhouse.”

  “That’s encouraging to hear, sir.” My voice sounded timorous in the large room, and the palms of my hands felt damp beneath my gloves. “May I ask what you thought of it?”

  “Oh, you’ll hear what we all thought of it in due course, Miss Green, there’s no doubt about that. You’re not the first to have undertaken this sort of reporting, you know. We’ve suffered a few individuals over the years who have stayed with us at the ratepayer’s expense.”

  “My newspaper will recompense you for my stay,” I said.

  He gave an impatient nod, as if to indicate that he didn’t like to be interrupted. “You’re the first woman who has done it here, although I can’t say that you’ll find much difference between the women’s casual ward and the men’s. The work is different, but that’s all there is to it.”

  “Can I ask whether my report was as you might have expected?”

  He scowled, as if irritated by me speaking. “We’re not managing a hotel, Miss Green, and we have no wish to encourage people to stay here. Quite the opposite, in fact. So in answer to your question, your report is broadly in line with what we expected. We don’t expect people to come here and enjoy themselves. There is no joy in poverty.”

  “I realise that, but I believe the conditions could be a little more comfortable than they are.”

  “They don’t need to be, Miss Green. We already have more people wishing to spend the night here than we can accommodate. If we make the conditions more comfortable, as you suggest, we will simply have longer queues outside the workhouse door each evening. Word would spread, and then the paupers would abandon the other workhouses and make demands upon us instead. Can you imagine the difficulties that would cause us?”

  The other board members nodded with agreement upon hearing this. I felt outnumbered but decided it was best to soldier on.

  “If all the workhouses improved their conditions,” I ventured, “you wouldn’t be placed at a disadvantage.”

  My comment was met with light laughter.

  “Each poor union must manage itself,” replied Mr Buller. “I have no authority to tell other unions how they should run their workhouses! As the situation stands, the workhouses are very much alike at present. The pauper knows what to expect from each one.”

  “Which isn’t much.”

  “Exactly, and nor can it be! We cannot encourage dependency, Miss Green.”

  “I witnessed young children who were cold and hungry. Such innocents have no say over their circumstances.”

  “They don’t, but that’s the role of the parents! Would you allow your children to wear rags and go hungry?”

  “Of course not.”

  “And neither would any other respectable parent. Paupers must take responsibility for their children, and often a few nights on the casual ward helps them learn their lesson. At least the children have a roof over their heads and a bed for the night. There are many poor urchins who live on the streets and have no parents at all! There is provision for them, of course, in the form of orphanages and poor schools. We send countless children to these establishments once it becomes clear that their parents are either absent or unable to feed, clothe and send them to school.”

  A walrus-faced board member named Mr Webster addressed me next. “We would like you to write another article for your newspaper, Miss Green, about the excellent work we and other poor law unions are doing in providing for the poor. We do our very best to ensure that paupers are kept away from the workhouse, you know. Each week we have significant numbers applying to us for poor relief and medical relief, and we are extremely generous with what we grant them. A great many people remain in their homes and receive what is termed ‘outdoor poor relief’ from us. Our intention is to assist them for a short while until they are able to find work.”

  “What about those who are too infirm to work?”

  “There is usually something they can do. A man who has lost a leg in a factory accident could take on some sewing instead and work alongside his wife, for example. We do whatever we can to encourage people to find work, and the children are also encouraged to do so once they have left school. And what we are experiencing here is a problem that will improve. Compulsory schooling has only been enforced for fifteen years, and we are beginning to see a generation of children who are far better educated than their forebears. Just twenty years ago young children were a common sight within our factories. That’s changed now, and instead we ensure that they attend school up until the age of ten.”

  “If the families can afford schooling, that is.”

  “And if they can’t, the children are sent to a poor school or a ragged school.”

  “Separated from their families?”

  “Sometimes that is unavoidable, Miss Green. I cannot help but think that you are determined to dwell on the more negative side of this issue. We asked you here in order to provide you with details of all the good we’re doing. Perhaps, Mrs Hodges, you could explain to Miss Green the excellent work we have been undertaking with the young women in the workhouse.”

  “Of course, Mr Webster,” said Mrs Hodges, a grey-haired woman with pointed features. “We have been working extremely hard to ensure that girls over the age of twelve and unmarried women are trained in all matters pertaining to housekeeping. We also teach them good manners and show them how to look after their personal appearance. In doing so, we are training these women to find viable employment as maids. There is great demand for maids in London, as you know, and servants’ wages have been increasing of late. Households can employ the girls we train at a slightly lower rate given that they have come directly from the workhouse. But many of the girls we train are just as proficient as those with several years of experience.

  “
I, myself, have been working with Lady Courtauld, who had been struggling to find good maids for her household. She has since enlisted the help of numerous friends, and we have supplied a good many maids to them all across London. This means that we no longer need to spend ratepayers’ money on these girls, and that they have an opportunity to earn their own wages.”

  “Lower wages,” I commented, noticing her lips scrunch thin as I did so.

  “Initially, perhaps. After all, these girls have come straight out of the workhouse. But once they have held a position for a few years they are usually able to command a higher wage. We are preparing them for an independence that will last them until they marry. And of course a maid is a much better marriage prospect than a pauper from the workhouse; I’m sure you’d agree with that! The sad fact of the matter is that if we do nothing with these girls they may turn to drink… or worse.”

  “Worse?”

  “I’m talking about prostitution.” She whispered this last word. “It isn’t nice to consider, but we cannot house young women in the workhouse forever, and if they have no skills for work, they usually fall by the wayside.”

  “And then use the workhouse infirmary for their lying-in!” added Mr Webster.

  “Yes, indeed. It’s sorrowful. Weak little babies are then born of these mothers, and sadly few survive. Who must care for them when this happens? The poor law unions, of course.”

  “I think your scheme to help young women find work is quite commendable,” I said. “Are they encouraged to seek any work other than service?”

  My question was met with general laughter.

  “They don’t have the propensity, Miss Green,” said Mrs Hodges. “I realise that you speak as a lady who has a profession, and of course a fair number of women have a profession these days. But that is not something a girl from the workhouse would ever be capable of. It’s hard enough teaching some of them to carry out the duties of a mere scullery maid!”

  “Lord and Lady Courtauld were the victims of a theft last week,” I said, “and the suspect is believed to have been their maid, Maisie Hopkins. Was she recruited from the workhouse?”