in comfort by the fire,’ Sadie grumbled. ‘Not expected to do all the cookin’ at my age.’
Arthur saw the indignant look her helpers gave her and guessed that Sadie did little but oversee the preparations. ‘So just the stew, then.’ He frowned and looked at the mistress for confirmation but Sadie answered.
‘Bread, stew and a mug of beer is what they get,’ Sadie muttered rudely. ‘What do yer expect – a plate of best rare beef?’
‘I wondered if perhaps there was some cheese to accompany the bread.’
‘Not from the rations I’m given.’ Sadie looked at the mistress, clearly shifting any blame.
‘Cheese is sometimes given to the men after the midday meal,’ Mistress Docherty informed him. ‘I do not believe it aids the digestion at night and may give nightmares, so I do not allow it.’
‘Perhaps apple pie or a steamed pudding might be substituted?’ Arthur suggested, but Sadie’s scowl deepened.
‘Not without another cook,’ she muttered. ‘I’m too old to be bothered with makin’ pastry at night – ’cept for her and the master’s supper.’ Sadie looked at the mistress resentfully and sniffed. ‘All these new ways …’
‘I am sure you do your best,’ Arthur said. ‘Perhaps another woman with some skill in pastry making might be set to work here.’
His suggestion fell on unwilling ears. Mistress Docherty was at pains to explain that she had been unable to find a woman capable of cooking good plain food among the inmates who worked for their keep and a bed; it would cost money to bring in outside help and Mistress Docherty complained that her budget would not allow for it.
Arthur said that he would see what could be done. Overall, he was satisfied that Mistress Docherty at least made sure both the workhouse and its inmates were as clean as possible. There was no sign of the lice that most men, women and children carried when they entered for the first time, and he had no real complaints. It was much as he’d expected. Mistress Docherty was efficient and honest but she lacked the compassion of the woman he had wished to bring here. He was vaguely unhappy with his visit, because despite all his efforts he could see little improvement in the lives of the inmates. He’d hoped for a much better atmosphere amongst the inmates after the recent changes, however, his was but one voice on the Board of Guardians and he could not object to Mistress Docherty’s regime.
He was thoughtful as he left. He had done his duty and now intended to enjoy a short break in the country at a friend’s estate. The business of more money for the workhouse kitchen could be attended to after the long weekend.
Perhaps he was wrong, perhaps the mistress was kinder than he thought and concerned herself for her inmates’ welfare more than he suspected …
‘So what is your name?’ the mistress asked of Lil when she presented herself at the workhouse door next morning. Lil was heavily pregnant, barefoot, and needed somewhere to stay for the birth of her child. ‘My name is Mistress Docherty and I shall try to make your stay here as comfortable as possible – though you must understand that your situation marks you as a fallen woman and you will sleep in a dormitory with others of your kind. I cannot have you contaminating my respectable women and girls.’
‘I’m Lil, missus,’ she said, her cheeks pink, ‘and this is me second. The first died when I was ’ere last time – or so the missus told me then.’
‘Well, we must hope for a happier outcome this time, Lil,’ Mistress Docherty said but did not smile. Lil was unsure whether to trust her. ‘As you know, we expect our inmates to work while they are here. However, in your condition we shall not ask too much of you until after the birth – perhaps you could help out in the kitchen? We are in need of a light hand with the pastry, I know. The work there is not hard and I’m sure the other women will look after you.’ Her words were fair enough but there was no warmth or kindness in them and Lil shivered. She’d come to this place because she was close to starving; there were few men who would pay for her services while she was pregnant and without the workhouse, she and her baby would probably die.
The mistress handed Lil a parcel of clothes, which although they were the workhouse uniform worn by all the pregnant women inmates, were better than the rags she was wearing, and a pair of much-worn shoes. Lil knew the clothes marked her out as being a fallen woman and it shamed her to wear them, but she had no choice. When she’d heard that Mistress Simpkins had been sent to prison, Lil had thought things might be better here, but this woman obviously intended to stick to the harsh rules by which all such institutions were run.
‘Do I go to the bath house first, missus?’
‘I’ll take you there myself – and then you can find your own way to the kitchens, I think.’
‘Yes, missus. I’ve been in ’ere afore …’
‘I am aware of that,’ Mistress Docherty snapped as she led the way to the bath house, where she unlocked the cupboard outside and gave Lil a bar of soap, a flannel and towel. ‘Those are your own to keep while you’re here – you should sew in a label with your mark so they do not get lost. If you come to my office later today, I’ll give you some labels.’
‘Thass new.’ Lil looked at her speculatively. ‘Do I give ’em back when I leave ’ere?’
‘You may be able to keep them; it depends on your good behaviour in the meantime. The guardians are trying to make life better for our inmates, but you must not take advantage. Stealing is still punishable and you would lose privileges for breaking our rules – but if you keep faith with us, we shall do our best for you. God forgives those who truly repent.’
‘Yer ain’t bad, missus,’ Lil said and grinned, showing gaps in her teeth. ‘No one ain’t ever looked out fer me. Me old man was at me afore I was ten – and me ma died when I were eleven, not that she ever done much but ’it me. I’ve ’ad to get on by meself – and it ain’t bin easy.’
‘I don’t expect it was, Lil,’ Mistress Docherty said looking down her long nose. No respectable woman wanted a whore in her home, and without a reference it was impossible to find a job as a servant in a decent house. ‘I am here if you want to talk – and when you’re ready to leave I’ll help you find a proper job, if you wish.’
‘Who would employ me?’ Lil asked. ‘I ain’t never done nuthin’ but skivvy or lie on me back – and I know which is easiest!’
Mistress Docherty pursed her lips in disapproval. ‘I could help you find respectable work, but it is hard work and would be entirely your choice. I am not here to judge you, only to help.’
Lil entered the bath house. The baths were made of zinc, several of them in a row and divided by a curtain, and they had to be filled from the large vat of hot water with a bucket. She discovered that drains had been installed since her last visit, which made it easier to empty the used water and clean the bath after use. Lil wondered what else had changed here, but had little expectation that things would have improved very much.
The strict rules meant that all inmates must wear the clothing issued, and they must do the work allocated to them, which could be hard. Everyone had to work, but they were all entitled to a hot meal in the evenings and a good breakfast of porridge or bread, with a break for a slice of bread and cheese midday, more than Lil had been used to of late. Water, a mild beer, and occasionally milk for the children, was served with the evening meal. Lil had heard from others that the inmates did not go hungry these days and so they did their work willingly and the workhouse earned money from some piecework that was sent in.
Lil had been told that the women were all granted the privilege of attending church every Sunday if they wished, and the children were given school lessons twice a week, learning to read and to write their names rather than making a mark, which was certainly not the case in every workhouse. Most guardians thought that girls needed only to learn how to do housework, sew, cook and, perhaps, weave if their fingers were nimble. Lil knew that since Mistress Simpkins had been sent away, the girls and some of the women,