The Ragged Heiress Read online

  ‘There’s your bed,’ Peg said, pointing to a narrow wooden cot set against the wall. ‘You’ll sleep without rocking tonight, girl, but I expect you up at six to clean the grate in the bar and get the fire going in the range. If you was a kitchen maid in one of them big houses you’d be up at five, so think yourself lucky. Sleep well.’ She left the room, closing the door behind her.

  Lucetta blinked as her eyes grew accustomed to the dim light filtering in through a small roof window. There was head height in the middle of the room only and she had to duck under the rafters in order to reach the bed. The bare boards creaked beneath her feet and she had no idea what lurked in the dark corners, but she was too tired to care and she fell, fully dressed, onto the lumpy mattress. Every bone in her body ached and her hands were chapped and raw. She felt the blisters bursting on her fingers as she pulled off her boots, but at least her stomach was full. Peg might be a hard taskmaster but she was generous with food, insisting that a person could not be expected to work on an empty belly. It was past midnight but the sounds of carousing from the bar filtered up two storeys to the attic, and there seemed to be a brawl going on in the street outside. Hysterical screams and shouts were accompanied by the scrape of hobnails striking the cobblestones, and the grunts of opponents as fists came into contact with soft flesh. Lucetta closed her eyes. At least she was safe up here beneath the eaves. She hoped that the illness which had laid poor Poppy so low was not catching, but she was really too tired to care very much. Despite everything, she drifted off to sleep.

  She was lying with Sam beneath a champak tree in the consulate compound. The scent of the blossoms crushed beneath their warm bodies would linger in her memory forever. The soft touch of his hands on her bare flesh sent the blood racing through her veins and the taste of his mouth was achingly familiar. She could hear his voice whispering words of love in her ear, and she was in heaven.

  ‘Get up, you lazy little trollop.’

  Wrenched cruelly from her sweet dream, Lucetta opened her eyes to see Bob Potts towering over her. He tore the coverlet from the bed, staring down at her with an angry curl of his lips. ‘You was hired to work not to laze about all day.’ His dark eyes raked her bare legs where her skirt had ridden up past her knees.

  The expression on his face both startled and alarmed her and she sat up in bed, cracking her head on a rafter.

  ‘Bob!’ Peg’s voice cracked like a whip from the doorway.

  He backed away from the bed, dropping the coverlet on the bare floorboards. ‘I was just telling her to get her idle body out of bed, ducks.’

  ‘I’ll deal with her,’ Peg said coldly. ‘Your breakfast’s on the table in the taproom. Cold beef and beer. I’ll deal with our little princess.’

  Bob shrugged his wide shoulders and shuffled past his wife without looking at her. His footsteps echoed on the wooden treads as he descended the steep stairs.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Lucetta said, swinging her legs over the side of the low bed and reaching for her boots. ‘I didn’t mean to oversleep.’

  ‘I’ll let you off this once, being as how it’s your first day, but you’d best be up and about afore my husband. He’s got a mean temper when it’s roused.’

  Lucetta pushed her feet into the ill-fitting boots that Guthrie had bought for her in a dolly shop. ‘I’m ready.’

  Peg eyed her dispassionately. ‘You look a mess, girl.’ She jerked her head in the direction of a boxwood chest, the only other piece of furniture in the room. ‘There’s some of Poppy’s duds in there. She’s about your size.’

  ‘Are you sure she won’t mind?’

  ‘Lor-a-mussy, girl. She ain’t in no position to care one way or the other. I ain’t telling you a second time. Change into something half decent and put your hair in a mobcap. We’ll see about cleaning you up later, but it’ll be the pump outside in the yard for you and a bar of carbolic soap when the morning rush is over.’ Having made this pronouncement and leaving no doubt in Lucetta’s mind that she meant business, Peg swept out of the room to follow her husband downstairs.

  Lucetta eyed the chest doubtfully. It didn’t seem right to take poor Poppy’s clothes when her life hung in the balance, but it would be wonderful to feel clean linen next to her skin. She had to bend almost double to open the lid of the chest and she knelt on the floor to examine the contents, which were pitifully few. The smell of camphor was almost overpowering, but at least it seemed to have kept the moths at bay. She pulled out a coarse woollen skirt which was obviously Poppy’s winter wear, together with a calico blouse in an indeterminate shade of grey. There was a clean although much-darned shift and, at the very bottom of the chest, a faded cotton-print dress and a white mobcap.

  ‘Don’t take all day about it,’ Peg shouted from the bottom of the stairs. ‘There’s work to be done.’

  Making as much haste as she could when hampered by sore fingers that fumbled painfully with buttons and laces, Lucetta donned Poppy’s clothes. The garments fitted well enough although the faded print gown barely reached her ankles, but it would have to do. She made her way down to the kitchen.

  ‘That’s better,’ Peg said, thrusting a besom into her hands. ‘Now you look like a workhouse girl and we won’t have no trouble from the customers taking liberties with you. You have to watch out for men when they’ve had too much to drink. When you take food into the bar, keep your eyes down and your trap shut.’

  Lucetta stared at her in horror. What if by some unhappy chance Stranks or Guthrie should choose to drink at the Frog Inn? ‘But I thought I was just working in the kitchen. You didn’t say anything about going into the bar.’

  ‘You’ll do what you’re told, Lucy Cutler. You ain’t no lady’s maid now. I can put you out on the street as soon as look at you and don’t you forget it. Now sweep the floor like a good girl, and then you shall have some breakfast.’

  All morning, Lucetta worked harder than she could have imagined possible. She swept and mopped the floors in the taproom as well as the kitchen and scullery. She prepared vegetables, washed dishes and hefted hods filled with fuel from the coal shed to the fire in the bar and the kitchen range, which seemed to need feeding every half-hour like an insatiable ravening monster. She scuttled in and out of the taproom, doing as Peg said and keeping her head down, but whether it was by accident or simply due to the confined space behind the bar she was uncomfortably aware that Bob brushed against her every time she attempted to get past him. Sometimes his hand strayed to touch her behind, although he withdrew it so quickly that she couldn’t be certain whether or not it was deliberate. By the end of the midday rush, she was beginning to think that she had more to fear from the landlord of the Frog Inn than from the punters.

  Having served the last customer with a meat pie and mash, Lucetta was allowed to sit down at the kitchen table with Peg and they finished up what was left of the food they had prepared that morning. Bob had taken his meal in the empty taproom and had gone out on business of his own, leaving Peg and the ancient potman, Charlie, to deal with any customer who might wander in on a quiet summer’s afternoon.

  ‘We don’t get much passing trade,’ Peg explained through a mouthful of bread and cold sausage. ‘We get busy again when the workers knock off at six or seven, though there’s not much call for food until later on and then it’s mainly hot pies for the men to take home as a peace offering for spending their hard-earned wages on booze.’

  ‘You work hard,’ Lucetta said, mopping up the last of the gravy on her plate with a hunk of bread. ‘Don’t you ever get a day off?’

  ‘Everyone works hard round here, ducks. If you don’t work, you don’t eat. It’s as simple as that. You’ll learn.’

  ‘I have already,’ Lucetta murmured, licking her fingers one by one. ‘I’m very grateful to you for taking me in, Peg, but I must start looking for a more permanent position.’

  ‘You won’t find no better employers than us,’ Peg said, frowning. ‘I’d forget about being a lady’s maid if I was you,
Lucy. You’re still young, but if you ain’t careful you could end up on the streets. Life is hard in these parts, and that’s a lesson you need to learn quick if you want to survive.’

  Lucetta realised too late that she had said the wrong thing. She had no intention of staying any longer than was absolutely necessary, but it would have to do until she could find someone who remembered her as Lucetta Froy, or she had found a more suitable position.

  ‘That’s enough chat,’ Peg said, pushing her plate away. ‘Get these dishes washed and sweep the floor. I’m going to have a nap upstairs on me bed while Bob’s out. Charlie will see to the bar and you, miss, can give yourself a good wash down in the yard while it’s quiet. You smell worse than the drayman’s horse, and that’s saying something.’

  Lucetta rose to her feet, hiding her blushes by stacking the dirty crockery. For a brief second she was glad that her mother had not lived to see her daughter’s humiliation. To be upbraided for her lack of personal hygiene by a slattern such as Peg would have been less painful if it were untrue. Lucetta had not seen herself in a mirror since the night of the shipwreck, but her hair felt like tow and she knew she must look a sight. As she washed the last of the dishes in the stone sink, she gazed down at the greasy grey water thinking longingly of her bedroom at home. Every morning the maid had brought hot water to fill the violet-patterned china basin which stood on the washstand. Lined up against the tiled splashback were glass jars filled with sweet-smelling soft soap, made to the housekeeper’s own special recipe, hand cream scented with rose petals and cut-glass bottles filled with cologne and attar of roses. She had taken it all for granted then, never thinking that this way of life might end. She sniffed, wiping her nose on her sleeve, and her eyes filled with tears. What had she come to? She did not even possess a handkerchief.

  Suddenly she was angry. A cold white fury gripped her belly and she brushed away her tears. Uncle Bradley had robbed her of everything that was rightfully hers. Poor Papa would be turning in his grave if he knew what his wicked brother had done. She hiccuped on a sob as she realised that she did not even know where her parents were buried. Perhaps it would have been better if her memory had deserted her permanently. Her time spent in the fever hospital seemed like halcyon days compared to life since Stranks and Guthrie had claimed to be her brothers. She could see Mary’s fresh face and sympathetic smile, and Dr Harcourt had been kind and considerate. For a moment Lucetta could not recall his name, but she seemed to remember that he and Mary had been related in some way. Cousins – that was what Mary had said. ‘Come back and see us when you are fully recovered, Daisy,’ Mary had cried as she waved goodbye.

  Lucetta had almost forgotten Mary while she was imprisoned in the damp, disgusting basement room, but she remembered her now and she felt as if someone had just given her the most precious present of all. She had a friend. She jerked the plug from the sink and watched the filthy water as it gurgled away down the drain. She stacked the clean dishes on the kitchen dresser, and picking up the rough piece of towelling that Peg had given her, she went out into the yard with renewed hope in her heart. She would seek out Mary and enlist her help in proving her identity. But first she must wash away the dirt that seemed to have become ingrained in her skin, or Mary might not recognise her.

  Taking a quick glance around her, Lucetta was reassured that no one could see her as she stripped off her clothing. The inn yard was shielded from public view by its own outbuildings and high brick walls. Double wooden gates were securely padlocked against intruders and those who might attempt to pilfer a barrel or two, and shards of broken glass were cemented into the top of the walls. The autumn sunshine filtered through a haze from smoking chimneys, and having stripped off her clothes Lucetta closed her eyes as she worked the pump handle. The chilly air made her bare flesh tingle and when she finally worked up the courage to duck beneath the gushing jet of cold water, the shock took her breath away. Peg had given her a sliver of green soap which smelt strongly of carbolic. It was a far cry from attar of roses, but it formed a lather of sorts when she rubbed it over her body and into her hair. She watched the grime leach off her body and trickle down her slender legs to form pools at her feet. She was chilled to the bone but she felt cleansed. Her spirit had been crushed but it had not been broken. She was still Miss Lucetta Froy of Thornhill Crescent. She was the legal heir to her father’s estate, whatever that might be, and she was going to prove it if only for his sake. Once she had claimed her fortune she would be in a position to search for Sam, even if it took her to the other side of the world. She would find him and then …

  The sun had gone behind a cloud and she sensed that someone was watching her. She spun round, folding her arms across her naked breasts.

  Chapter Ten

  Bob was standing in the shadows by the scullery door. His beard and moustache masked his expression, but to Lucetta he looked like a panther preparing to pounce on its unfortunate prey.

  She reached for the towel and wrapped it around her slender body. She wanted to run but there seemed to be no way of escape: the gates were padlocked and Bob was blocking her only exit from the yard. They stood like statues, staring at each other for what seemed to her like an eternity. She willed him to go away or to break the dreadful silence that hung between them with an apology, but he might as well have turned to stone. She made a feeble movement with her hand and this seemed to bring him to his senses. Without a word, he turned his back on her and disappeared into the scullery.

  As if on cue, the sun reappeared from behind the clouds and the yard was once again bathed in warmth and light. She leaned against the pump, controlling her erratic breathing with a supreme effort. Drying herself as best she could on the scrap of towelling, Lucetta pulled her shift over her head, followed by Poppy’s faded print frock. She was shaking uncontrollably, even though there had been no spoken threat to her person, but her instincts screamed out a warning. Her doubts had been confirmed and she was certain that it was not safe to be alone with Bob Potts. Perhaps that was why Poppy had departed so suddenly. Maybe she was not in hospital after all, but had run away from her employer’s lewd looks and grasping hands?

  Lucetta slipped her wet feet into her boots and towelled her hair until it was almost dry. Her lips trembled as she realised that she did not possess something as basic and necessary as a comb. Once, not so long ago, her dressing table had boasted silver-backed hairbrushes and tortoiseshell combs. She had had maidservants to wait on her and parents who loved and cherished her, but that life was gone forever and she might never find the man to whom she had given her heart and soul. It was all gone like a puff of smoke. She clenched her fists. ‘I will survive,’ she whispered. ‘I won’t be bullied and browbeaten and I won’t stay here a moment longer than I have to.’ Holding her head high, she walked slowly across the cobbled yard. She paused outside the scullery. She was afraid, but she was not going to let Bob Potts see her fear. She took a deep breath and stepped inside.

  There was no one in the scullery and the only person in the kitchen was old Charlie the potman who was sitting at the table drinking a cup of tea. He looked up as she entered the room and gave her a gummy grin. ‘You’re new here, ain’t you?’

  Lucetta could have rushed over and hugged him simply for not being Bob. ‘I’m just here until Poppy gets better.’

  Charlie pulled a face. ‘She won’t come back. She’s gone to a better place.’

  ‘Oh, the poor child. Is she dead?’

  ‘Dead?’ Charlie said, cackling with mirth. ‘No, she run off, didn’t she? She’ll be working in one of them knocking-shops or gone back to the workhouse. Either way it’ll be better than what she had here, but don’t tell the guvner that I said so.’

  This statement confirmed Lucetta’s worst fears, but she managed a smile. ‘Well, I won’t be here long, Charlie. As soon as I find another position I’ll be off too.’

  ‘Good luck, girlie. I’m afraid you’re going to need it.’ Charlie rose hastily to his feet as Bo
b put his head round the door.

  ‘Where’s that barrel of ale you was supposed to be fetching? Hop to it, Charlie, or I’ll find a younger bloke to take your place. This ain’t a charity institution.’ Bob glared at Lucetta. ‘And you tidy yourself up. Where’s Peg? She should be down here seeing that you don’t laze about like that last little trollop. Get to work, the pair of you.’

  That night, Lucetta heaved the pine chest into place across the door to the attic room. She knew that it would not stop a strong and determined man if he set his mind on entering, but it might make him think twice, and the noise would waken her from the deepest sleep. It was past midnight and she was bone weary. Peg had not allowed her to have a candle in her room in case she burned the place down, although Lucetta thought she was just being mean. Peg might appear to be open-handed but she was a thrifty housekeeper, and when Lucetta had asked if she might have an hour or two off one afternoon, the answer had been a firm negative.

  Lucetta made her way to her bed, ducking her head so that she did not collide with the rafters. A storm was rumbling around outside and clouds had obscured the moon. It was hot and stuffy in the attic and the darkness was filled with the sound of tiny feet scrabbling about beneath the eaves. A sudden flash of lightning turned night into day and Lucetta collapsed onto the hard little cot. She pulled off her boots and slipped the frock over her head, laying it across the foot of the bed. She would make certain to be up early and fully dressed so that Bob had no excuse to come to her room.

  She lay down, listening to the thunder as it rumbled around the city. She knew now that she was almost as much a prisoner here as she had been when held captive by Stranks and Guthrie, and she was a virtual slave. Peg had no intention of paying her other than with food and lodging, and she had denied her right to time off. Lucetta had begun to appreciate the fact that her parents had been good employers. All their servants from the stable boy to the housekeeper were entitled to one afternoon off a month, and paid the going rate for their work. No wonder Poppy had run away, she thought sleepily. She would not stay here a moment longer than was necessary. She closed her eyes and curled up in a ball. Mary woud help her. She must think of a way to contact Mary.