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When Cara Flowers’ beloved grandmother dies she leaves her, not only an enormous fortune, but also a huge responsibility – to find their estranged family. Cara’s quest leads her to the doors of the imposing Bilston workhouse where families are torn apart with no hope of a better life.
Shocked by the appalling conditions, Cara vows to find a way to close the workhouse and rescue its residents. Fraught by countless hurdles her mission becomes personal when she is left asking why was she raised by her grandmother, and what has her missing mother got to do with the looming workhouse?
For my husband, Paul Salomon, who has supported me in my every endeavour.
Cover
Welcome Page
About The Workhouse Children
Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Forty-One
Forty-Two
Acknowledgements
About Lindsey Hutchinson
Become an Aria Addict
Copyright
Elizabeth Flowers was exhausted. She had been doing someone else’s washing all day and she had just sat down. She was sick to the back teeth of taking in washing while her husband, John, was away on his cart. Just then she heard the cart wheels grind to a halt. Her heart skipped a beat – he was home.
A loud thump told her he was drunk again and a giggle confirmed it. He had fallen from the driving seat of the cart. Jumping up, Elizabeth ushered her two young children upstairs.
‘Stay up there until I call you down, do you understand?’ she said hastily.
Charlie and Daisy nodded as they scrambled up the bare wooden staircase which led off the living room.
The back door of their ramshackle cottage flew open and John stood swaying in the doorway. Elizabeth paled at the sight of him. He was very drunk which meant there would be no housekeeping money – again.
‘Hello my little dove,’ he said as he tottered into the kitchen. ‘You got a kissssh for your old man?’
Elizabeth backed away from him. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest as she glanced at the stairs checking the children were safe. Looking back to John, she saw him advance and the all too familiar fear gripped her.
Silently Elizabeth threw up a prayer, ‘Please God, let him finish it this time – or die trying.’
As she skirted round the table, John made a lunge for her. Grabbing her blonde hair, he dragged his wife towards him. A whimper escaped Elizabeth’s lips as he tugged her hair sharply. Planting a kiss on her cheek, John slurred, ‘What’sshh for my dinner?’
‘There’s nothing in the house, John,’ Elizabeth answered, wincing as he yanked her hair again.
‘Chrisht, woman! What you done with the money I gave you?’ John continued to shake her by the hair.
‘That was two weeks ago! How far do you think it will stretch?’ Elizabeth’s frightened eyes closed tight as John threw her away from him.
‘Bloody hell!’ he yelled. ‘You besht get my supper or else!’
Elizabeth moved slowly to the other side of the table. If she could keep the table between them she might stand a chance. ‘I can’t give you what we don’t have,’ she said as they circled the table like prize fighters.
John’s toe caught the leg of a kitchen chair and he picked it up and flung it against the wall. The resounding crash sent an echo around the tiny kitchen and splinters of wood flew everywhere.
‘I want my supper… NOW!’ His voice boomed out.
‘John…’ Elizabeth began then sidestepped quickly as he rounded the table.
Grabbing her long skirt, he yanked her back towards him. Elizabeth tried to pull away from him and she heard the stitching of her skirt give way. Whirling her round to face him, John slapped her cheek hard and Elizabeth stumbled against the table.
Steeling herself for what was to come, she drew in a breath. Suddenly John was on her, raining blows down on the helpless woman. Elizabeth’s screams rang out as fists landed on her face, arms and torso. She tried desperately to scrabble away from the world of hurt she found herself in yet again, but John pinned her to the kitchen floor. It felt like he was pounding the life out of her frail body as he continued to punch her.
Tiptoeing downstairs and watching from the doorway, their two children cried silently at the spectacle in front of them. Daisy stood slightly behind her big brother, her fingers in her mouth as she sobbed. The drool from her nose and mouth dribbled down her hands. Seven-year-old Charlie had his arm extended protectively to keep Daisy back. Tears rolled down the boy’s face as he watched his mother take yet another beating. Anger boiled in him as he wished he was big enough to take on his bullying father.
Elizabeth had not seen her children as her screams turned to whimpers. John finally tired and ignoring his quietly sobbing children, he staggered out of the door and lurched across the heathland in search of the nearest public house.
The children ran to their mother who was dragging herself to her feet groaning at the pain which had been inflicted on her. Placing an arm around each of them, she said quietly, ‘Shush, my darlings, it’s all over now.’
Elizabeth carefully sat down on the last remaining kitchen chair with her children in front of her. Touching her mouth, she winced, he had split her lip… yet again. Sad eyes looked at her children and she felt the right one begin to swell. That would be swollen shut before morning.
‘Mummy,’ Daisy sobbed, trying to climb on Elizabeth’s lap. Elizabeth settled her five-year-old on her knee and wrapped her arm around her young son who stood by her. She tried desperately to hide the aches and pains, knowing the following day it would feel far worse.
‘Mum,’ Charlie said as he wiped away his tears on his shirtsleeve.
‘I know, son, I know. Your dad’s drunk again.’ Elizabeth winced once more at the pain in her lip.
‘But Mum, he hurt you!’ Charlie’s anger was building again.
Shaking her head and wishing she hadn’t, Elizabeth said, ‘Sweetheart, I’m not making excuses for him, I’m telling it as it is.’
‘Mummy, I don’t like Daddy,’ Daisy said between sobs.
‘I don’t like him much either when he’s like this,’ Elizabeth answered. ‘He’ll be back later, so I want you two in bed by then.’
‘But Mum…’ Charlie began.
‘No, Charlie, please son, don’t make this any harder than it already is. I can take this. What I couldn’t take is him starting on you two. So please do as I say and stay in your beds when he gets home.’
The children nodded, but neither was happy about it.
*
Later that night two men carried John Flowers into the living room of his cottage and laid him on the sofa. He was out cold. Muttering their apologies to Elizabeth, they left.
Elizabeth dragged herself upstairs, every bone in her body aching. Peeping in on her children who shared a bedroom, she saw they were sleeping, and closing the door quietly, she crossed the tiny landing to her own room. Carefully undressing, she inspected her bruised and battered body. It was a miracle nothing was broken. Slowly pulling on her nightgown, she tentatively lay down on the bed.
Warm tears rolled down her cheeks as she lay there. This couldn’t go on, she knew, for one day he would surely kill her. Thoughts swirled in her mind. She couldn’t leave him – she had two young children to think about. Where would they go? How would they survive? Besides, she knew he would find them if they left. The battering she’d just taken would be nothing compared to what she’d get then.
Up to now, John had never laid a finger on their children, but who was to say he wouldn’t in the future. Elizabeth began to sob as she realized, short of death, there was no way out for her and her children. She had married him and now she was stuck with him.
Closing her eyes, Elizabeth silently prayed. ‘Dear God, please find me a way out of this – please!’
The following morning Elizabeth could barely move. Slowly and carefully, she dressed herself, her face screwing up in pain at every movement she made.
One step at a time she made her way down the stairs and into the kitchen. She could hear John outside whistling a merry tune. Elizabeth wondered at the man. From a drunken stupor to bright and breezy; he never even suffered a hangover!
She heard the children running down the stairs and saw through her unswollen eye as they tumbled into the kitchen. Sad eyes looked up at her. She realized then how bad she must look to them.
The back door opened and John marched in. ‘I want you two out scavenging in the market.’ He looked over at the children who shrank back. ‘NOW!’
Charlie and Daisy ran through the living room and out of the front door.
‘Right,’ John went on, ‘I got the cart ready. Today, you’re coming with me.’
Elizabeth’s glance shot to the living room door where her children had dashed out.
‘Oh don’t worry about them, they can look after themselves. Now come on, let’s get on the road, I ain’t got all day!’ John grabbed Elizabeth’s arm and she winced. Dragging her through the door, she struggled, trying to free herself.
‘John, I can’t leave the children, they’re only babies!’ she sobbed.
‘I said… you’re coming with me!’ John swung an arm round the back of Elizabeth’s legs and lifted her off the ground. He virtually threw her onto the cart and she yelped in pain.
Climbing into the driving seat, he clucked to the horse to walk on. He ignored his wife as she swivelled round to stare back at their cottage. Her one good eye scanned the heathland for sight of her children. They were gone. Elizabeth cried quietly as the cart rumbled away. Misery wrapped itself around her as John began to whistle once more.
‘Why couldn’t I stay home with the children, John?’ Elizabeth asked quietly.
‘Because I need you to fulfil your wifely duties. I miss it when I’m away from home. I can’t not be away from home can I? So… you can come along with me from now on. The kids can look after themselves.’
Elizabeth sobbed quietly into the hem of her dress as she thought about her poor babies having to scavenge to survive.
John slapped her soundly across the side of the head as he shouted, ‘For God’s sake woman, shut that wailing up! You have to think about me now, not those snot nosed kids!’
Elizabeth held her breath for a moment to quell her tears, but she knew she would shed far more in the future not knowing how her children would survive.
*
Later that day the children arrived back at the cottage with scraps of food kindly given to them by the women on the market. Charlie knew, even at his young age, that their parents had gone. What he didn’t know was whether they were coming back.
‘Where’s mummy?’ Daisy asked.
‘I think he took her with him,’ Charlie answered scathingly.
‘When will she be back?’ the little girl whimpered.
Shaking his head, Charlie said gently, ‘I don’t know, kiddo.’ Placing his arms around his sobbing sister, he went on, ‘Don’t cry, I’ll look after you until they do come back. Now, come on let’s have something to eat.’
Daisy nodded and ran her nose along her cardigan sleeve.
Charlie gazed out of the kitchen window as a heavy feeling settled on him. He had not known his mother to go off with his father before. She always stayed at home with Daisy and himself, and he was worried about her. Would he hurt her? Charlie prayed he wouldn’t. He feared at that moment it was very unlikely they would see either of their parents again.
The old Queen, Victoria, had passed away and her son Edward VII had ascended the throne. The year was now 1901 and would be known as the Edwardian era. The newspapers were full of the news about the new king and speculation of a date when he would be crowned. History would show this to be in August of the following year.
The people of Bilston town which was situated midway between Wolverhampton and Birmingham, in the heart of the industrial West Midlands, known as ‘The Black Country’, would be talking about their new king during the time until his coronation. The nickname given to the area was coined due to the smoke from factories and domestic chimneys that belched out night and day, leaving a pall hanging over the area. Men working in the collieries suffered with terrible breathing problems from the fine coal dust hanging in the air; often this bad health preceded their premature death.
The poverty all over the Black Country was appalling and it was hoped the new king might be able to help rectify the situation, but nobody really believed it would happen.
In a house in Proud’s Lane, Bilston, Cara Flowers sat at the bedside of her aged grandmother with tears streaming down her face. ‘Grandma, please don’t leave me!’ She sobbed.
‘Now, child,’ Henrietta whispered with a gentle smile, ‘it’s time. I need to go and be with your grandfather again.’
‘Nooo… please, please… I need you!’ Cara wailed.
Dr Bart placed a hand on the sobbing girl’s shoulder, but Cara ignored him. She only had watery eyes for her beloved grandmother; the woman who had raised her from infancy.
‘Cara,’ the whisper came again, ‘I love you, child, God knows I do, but I have to leave you now to live your life. We all have to die, and now it’s my time.’ Henrietta squeezed the hand of her granddaughter before continuing. ‘You know that Martin Lander has my affairs in order, go and see him. Cara… I love you so very much.’ Henrietta closed her eyes for the last time and with a smile still on her lips, released her last breath.
‘Grandma!’ Cara pleaded. ‘Grandma, wake up!’
Pushing the frantic girl aside, Dr Bart felt for a pulse. Finding none, he gently pulled the sheet over Henrietta’s face. Leading a sobbing Cara from the bedroom, he seated her in the parlour. Tugging on the bell pull at the side of the fireplace, he summoned the maid to bring tea.
Cara stared into her teacup; she felt so lost and alone. Tears were coming and going and she knew it was her body going into shock despite having been warned that her grandmother would not be in this world much longer.
Giving instruction to the maid to fetch the undertaker, Dr Bart sat with Cara and watched her as she endeavoured to come to terms with her great loss. He saw her body shake with great sobs. He knew it would take time for her to truly understand that she was, now, alone. ‘There will be things to organize girl,’ he said kindly, ‘the funeral and the reading of the will.’
Cara nodded and with a sob said, ‘Thank you Dr Bart… for everything.’
The elderly doctor nodded once. ‘I’ll wait until…’ Cara burst into tears once more. Folding her in his arms, he said gently, ‘Cry it out, you’ll feel better for it.’
*
A week later and the snow was still falling steadily and silently as the maid entered the parlour. ‘It’s time, Miss Cara,’ she said quietly.
Cara looked out onto the extensive lawns of ‘The Laburnums’. This was the house she had shared with her grandmother in the small town of Bilston; the place she grew up in.
‘Thank you Molly.’ Cara sighed as she stood to put on her black coat and hat. It was the day of her grandmother’s funeral and the girl was dreading it. Tucking her blonde curls beneath her cartwheel hat, Cara buttoned up her long black woollen coat. A fur stole draped her shoulders, and for her hands a matching fur muff which hung around her neck on a plaited silk string.
She was ready, or as ready as she would ever be.
Climbing into the horse-drawn carriage that would take her down Proud’s Lane and along Fletcher Street to St. Leonard’s Church, Cara shivered, but not just from the cold.
The small church was filled to capacity when Cara arrived, and the service began. Normally the service would have been conducted at the graveside but the vicar had decided it was far too cold to be standing outside and called everyone into the church. His voice droned on but Cara heard no words. Silent tears spilled from cornflower blue eyes as she watched the coffin carried out to the graveside where it was lowered reverently into its final resting place.
Cara led the procession of mourners in the age-old practice of throwing a handful of dirt onto the coffin before moving away. Her tears were falling still as she shook hands with people she didn’t know before they alighted their carriages once more to travel home. Cara stood a long time at the graveside staring down into the hole. Snowflakes floated down to settle on her hat and coat, but Cara was oblivious to the weather. Her mind was reliving the years she had spent with her grandmother, until, eventually, a polite cough brought her back to the present. The gravedigger had stood by, shovel in hand, eager to complete his work and be out of the cold. Cara nodded to him and turned away.
Sitting in the black carriage as it rumbled over the cobblestone street, Cara sat silently wishing it was all a dream. Now it was over, her grandmother was finally gone from her and she realized it was no dream. It was real and her heart ached from the void left there that she knew would never be filled.
Sitting at home in the parlour once more Cara watched the snow fall. Questions crowded into her mind as the crackle of the fire drew her to its warmth. Would this house be hers now? Or would she have to leave? Martin Lander, the solicitor, would know. He would tell her at the reading of Henrietta’s will. How would she pay the bills? Cara had no money of her own. She was eighteen years old. She had been well-schooled but had never considered the prospect she might have to find work. What could she do? Again tears rolled silently down her cheeks.
Molly brought in the tea tray and asked if Cara was all right. Cara nodded and Molly left the room quietly. The tick of the clock and the rustle of Molly’s long black skirt on her boots the only sounds.
*
Molly Barton had been the maid at ‘The Laburnums’ for five years and as she sat in the kitchen she spoke to the cook, ‘Mrs Cox, I feel so sorry for Miss Cara, she can’t stop crying.’
Gracie Cox nodded as she settled her ample weight onto a kitchen chair. ‘Ar wench, I know. What I’m wondering now is… what will happen to us two?’
Molly looked at the older woman, ‘Crikey! I never thought of that!’
Gracie drew her lips into a tight line and nodded her head as Molly went on, ‘We could be out on the streets! Oh Lordy Lord!
‘Now, now, don’t let’s go worrying too much, we have to wait and see what happens,’ Gracie said in an effort to console Molly.
Silence descended on the kitchen as cook and maid drank their tea each lost in their own private thoughts.
*
Two weeks after Henrietta Selby had been laid to rest, her granddaughter received the solicitor’s letter asking that she attend his office.
Cara wrapped up warmly against the cold wind and as she walked down Proud’s Lane she was glad the snow had begun to melt, albeit leaving behind a filthy slush. Her side-buttoned boots tapped out a steady rhythm on the cobbled street and she deftly stepped over puddles as she hitched up her long dress and coat. Her breath left a stream of mist in the cold air as she hurried on, eager to be out of the freezing winds.
Branching off, Cara made her way down Dover Street before crossing over the Wolverhampton & Dudley Branch of the Great Western Railway via Arthur Street. Looking along the tracks, she knew the steam train was not due for another hour. On into Cambridge Street she searched for the nameplate of the offices of Lander, Holmes & Durwood, Solicitors at Law. Cambridge Street was where the landscape changed. All around her were offices, shops and houses. Buildings shoved one against the next; all covered with a layer of grime. The trains puffed out clouds of steam as they traversed the railway tracks that connected the small town with larger ones such as Wolverhampton and Birmingham. The steam mixed with fine particles of coal dust which the wind laid on the buildings before drying to a thin dirty paste.
Greeted by a secretary as she walked into the office, Cara was asked to take a seat while she waited for Mr Lander who would be with her shortly. A trilling sound made Cara jump and the secretary smiled at her. The office had one of those new-fangled telephones! Cara watched as the secretary finished speaking and hung the earpiece on the side of the telephone stand. Cara marveled at the brilliant invention and determined to have one installed at home, it would make life so much easier.
A door opened and a young man spoke as he extended his hand. ‘Miss Flowers, please do come in, my name is Martin Lander.’
Looking at the man opposite her, she was surprised to see he was not what she had expected. She had envisaged a much older man, not one in his early thirties. Very young to be a qualified solicitor, she thought. Martin Lander had dark hair and deep brown eyes which held a constant twinkle.
Cara entered his office and sat by his desk.
‘Firstly, Miss Flowers, I am very sorry for your loss. How are you getting on?’ Lander asked.
‘Fine, thank you.’ Cara answered meekly, her eyes dropping to her gloves lying in her lap.
‘Right then, perhaps we should read your grandmother’s will if you are prepared?’ Cara nodded and Martin unrolled a parchment. Seeing her puzzled look, he said, ‘Henrietta was an old-fashioned sort, as you know. This is how she wanted it done.’ Martin held up the scroll and waved it in the air.
Cara gave a thin smile and watched him closely as he read out the words on the document.
When he reached the end, Martin rolled it up again and passed it over to her.
‘If there is anything more I can do for you, Miss Flowers, please feel free to call on me.’
Thanking him, Cara walked out of the office in a daze, the parchment safely in her draw string bag. Head down against the wind, Cara stepped smartly down the street and once again came to the railway. She heard the clickety-clack of the train’s wheels on the track and smelled the steam as it chugged its way to its destination. She had been in the solicitor’s office for an hour and as she hurried on, she heard his voice again in her mind as he read out Henrietta’s last will and testament.
Sitting in the parlour once more, Cara read over the will left by her grandmother to herself. Molly popped her head round the door and a tearful Cara asked, ‘Molly, would you and Gracie be kind enough to join me? I have things to discuss with you. The maid bobbed a quick curtsy and shot down to the kitchen all of a fluster.
‘Miss Cara wants to see us in the parlour,’ she announced as the cook’s eyes met hers.
A moment later Molly returned with Gracie in tow, both looking a little worried. Was this it? Was this the day they would find themselves out of work and home?
‘Please sit down,’ drying her eyes on her handkerchief, Cara motioned to the settee drawn up to the fire. ‘Now,’ she sniffed, ‘it seems Grandma left everything to me. I would be very pleased if you would both stay on here and… I wish we could be less formal in our relationships. What I mean is, can we be friends rather than employer and staff? I certainly would be glad of it.’
The cook and maid smiled in unison, allowing held breath to be released. They had felt sure they would find themselves out of a job now the old lady had passed, and relief flooded them both.
‘Also,’ Cara went on, ‘I propose to give you both a raise in earnings.’ Another beam crossed the women’s faces. ‘I only ask one thing in return.’ The women shared a glance as Cara resumed. ‘I ask that you would both help me with a task set down by Grandma… a challenge you might say. I have been tasked to find and take care of any living blood relatives.’
Molly and Gracie exchanged another look before returning their eyes to their new mistress.
Molly piped up, ‘I thought you was an only child!’
Gracie dug the maid in the ribs with her elbow at the girl’s outburst, but Cara gave a wan smile as she said, ‘So did I, Molly!’
‘Beggin’ your pardon Miss Cara, but what makes you think you might have other family? We’ve certainly never heard Mrs Selby talk about it.’ Gracie Cox looked at the maid sat alongside her, who nodded her agreement, before returning her eyes to the young woman sat opposite
Cara held up the scroll and said simply, ‘Grandma must have thought so!’
‘Why did Mrs Selby think there might be others in the family?’ Gracie asked.
‘I have no idea,’ Cara answered.
‘Surely she would have said something as you were growing up, wouldn’t she?’ Molly asked.
‘She never said a thing,’ Cara answered again. ‘I used to ask her about my parents, who they were and where they were. Grandma would get upset with me and tell me not to ask such questions. It was the only thing she ever got cross with me about.’ Her glance moved from one face to the other as she spoke.
‘That’s very strange,’ Gracie mused, ‘something terrible must have happened to cause such a rift.’
‘As I got older I thought the same, Gracie. I couldn’t fathom it out at all.’ Cara’s eyes became dreamy as she pondered the past.
‘Well, obviously your parents and your grandma fell out over something!’ Molly chimed in. She gave a scowl as Gracie dug her in the ribs again. ‘What? I was only saying!’
Cara gave a little grin, saying, ‘You’re right, Molly, but what was it they disagreed about? It must have been something important.’
‘Important enough for you to grow up here with your grandma and not with your parents,’ Gracie added.
‘Indeed,’ Cara nodded, ‘I wonder if I will ever find out? It’s awful not knowing anything about one’s parents.’
‘There was times I wished I didn’t know about mine!’ Molly said, which caused smiles to break out. ‘Lord, could them two fight! Then they was all lovey-dovey. I didn’t know if I was coming or going!’
Cara tittered behind her hand as the tension was broken. Gracie gave out a belly laugh. Molly spoke again, ‘So, how you going to go about finding any lost relatives?’
Cara sighed heavily. ‘I haven’t a clue,’ she said simply.
As the discussions went on, Cara found herself fighting a losing battle with her tears. Her emotions constantly burst their banks and she fought desperately to keep control of herself. Regaining her composure, Cara responded to Gracie’s suggestion that any siblings be called Flowers.
‘I would have thought so,’ she said, ‘and probably younger than myself.’
‘Why do you say that?’ Molly asked.
‘Well, I would have thought any siblings older than me would have grown up here too.’ Cara held out her hands.
‘Oh yes! I never thought of that,’ Molly screwed up her mouth and pushed her chin forward. ‘Tch! Silly me, I should have known that!’
Going to the bureau, Cara took out a pencil and paper and, retaking her seat, said, ‘If you’re willing to help me, perhaps we should start by making a note of things we know, and also any questions we have.’
‘Good idea,’ Gracie said as she settled herself more comfortably on the sofa.
Cara began the list; they needed to find anyone with the surname of Flowers and investigate further. How would they go about this? Who could they ask?
In the beginning the cook and maid were wary about getting involved in the family mystery, but eventually their excitement grew as did the list of things to do. The challenge was becoming infectious.
Mrs Cox sent Molly to the kitchen for more tea, then said, ‘Miss Cara, what exactly did the will say?’
Cara picked up the scroll once more and scanned the words. Locating the relevant passage, she read aloud as Molly trundled in with the tea tray. ‘Cara Flowers is hereby tasked with finding any living blood relative: her mother Elizabeth Flowers; her father John Flowers; and any other children they may have had. It is my wish that Cara takes care of any other children discovered, for the term of their or her natural life.’
Gracie and Molly exchanged a look. Then opening a personal letter left by her grandmother, Cara read on. ‘Cara, Elizabeth Selby, my daughter, married John Flowers against my wishes. John was a drunken waster and Elizabeth became pregnant before the wedding. I heard later that John died, but I cannot be sure of this. If you should discover I have other grandchildren, please Cara, take care of them on my behalf. Also, if you find my daughter, please tell her I rue the day I ignored her plea. I’m sorry you have to find out this way, sweetheart, but it’s time you knew. I know I should have told you this long ago… please forgive me.’
‘Bloody hell!’ Gracie Cox gasped. ‘She’s set you a fine task there and no mistake!’
Cara tried to hide the smile Gracie’s language induced and went on, ‘I know, Gracie, that’s why I’m asking you to help me. I feel so lonely and I really don’t want to do this alone.’ Cara looked from one to the other as her tears came once again. Steeling herself, she went on, ‘Martin Lander is aware of my grandmother’s last wish… but not this personal letter. Grandma left it for me on her bedside table, only to be opened after…’
‘Well,’ Gracie cut her off, afraid she would burst into tears again, ‘we could ask Mr Lander’s help an’ all.’
‘I was thinking I might ask him, Gracie, he could perhaps suggest things we haven’t thought of.’ A tiny spark shone in Cara’s blue eyes as she added his name to the list.
‘What’s he like, Miss Cara? Is he nice? Do you think he might help?’ Molly asked with a cheeky smile.
Cara nodded, a blush flowing into her cheeks.
‘Oh-oh,’ Gracie said and all three burst out laughing. Tears had been avoided and they had managed to coax a laugh from the young girl they both had come to love to distraction in the time they had lived and worked at the house.
*
Cara lay in bed sniffing away her tears and listening to the icy wind blasting through the laburnum trees surrounding the house. Her house. ‘The Laburnums’ now belonged to her, along with an unbelievably large amount of money which Cara knew was passed down from the family buying and selling property. There were no other sounds, save the wind. The large house stood in its own grounds backing onto the Allotment Gardens. It was well away from the factories and shops of the town and so remained relatively quiet and grime-free. With eight bedrooms and servants’ quarters, it also had been fitted with an indoor lavatory; a luxury not many houses sported.
Wondering if she did, in fact, have any brothers and sisters, a thought suddenly struck her. ‘You crafty madam!’ Cara muttered into the darkness. She suspected her grandmother had set her this task in an effort to beat off the girl’s grieving. More to the point, it was working. With a thin smile, Cara Flowers snuggled beneath the covers and finally slipped into a dreamless sleep.
After breakfast the following morning, Cara said, ‘I had a thought last night, what say we visit the Registrar of Births, Deaths and Marriages? Maybe he could find something in his records.’
‘Right then, get your coats on, you two, let’s go and see old Colley!’ Gracie said as she bustled from the kitchen. Molly shook her head at Gracie’s bossiness. Cara smiled, it gave her a warm feeling; Gracie being bossy felt, to her, a bit like being mothered.
Josiah Colley had his office in Wellington Road, an upmarket part of the town. As the three women walked along the street, Cara said, ‘It might be that you ladies are the closest thing to family I have after all is said and done.’
‘Well hopefully Mr Colley should be able to shed some light on that,’ Gracie said as she beamed her pleasure at being considered family.
Wrapped up warmly, they chatted quietly as they walked briskly down Wellington Road.
Once in the office Cara introduced herself and her two companions. Holding tight to her emotions, Cara explained: ‘Mr Colley, I was hoping you may be able to aid me in a quest set down by my grandmother.’
‘Ah, Mrs Selby, God rest her soul. My condolences, Miss Flowers.’ Josiah tipped his head in respect.
‘Thank you,’ Cara said. Feeling a crack in her emotions, she rushed on. ‘We are searching for any family with the surname of Flowers. Grandma tasked me to find and take care of them.’
Colley’s eyebrows shot up and he scratched the back of his head. ‘Quite an undertaking, Miss Flowers. Do you have any dates that might help? Birthdays or the like?’
Cara shook her head, ‘I don’t even know if I have any family.’
‘I’m afraid without dates to go on, it might prove immensely difficult and would take some considerable time to search the listings.’ Colley swung his arm around the room. ‘Do you have any idea of how many records are kept here?’ Seeing the young woman’s shoulders slump, he added quickly, ‘I will do my best, Miss Flowers, but don’t expect any news for quite a while.’
Cara’s heart sank as she felt the weight of her loss and the huge burden she’d been given settle on her. Gracie urged her on, saying next to visit was the telephone company to have one of the new gadgets fitted in the house.
‘You said you wanted one, to make things easier than going out on errands, as well as telephone Mr Colley for any further news.’ Gracie said.
Cara said she would see to it later; they really needed to speak with the solicitor first.
The three women then walked on to Martin Lander’s office. Ushering them in, he pulled up chairs for each.
Cara introduced Gracie and Molly before saying, ‘Mr Lander, I would ask you read this passage from a personal letter left to me by Grandma. Then I would ask for any advice you may be able to give.’ Handing him the letter, the women watched as Lander read the relevant words.
Handing the letter back, Martin nodded.
Cara went on, ‘Mr Colley, the Registrar, agreed to go through his records for anyone with the Flowers surname, but there may be too many to actually help us narrow down the search.’
Martin Lander thought for a moment before saying, ‘Well, you do have a challenge on your hands! May I suggest… you might visit… the workhouse?’ He looked pained.
‘Oh yes!’ Cara said suddenly. ‘We didn’t think of that!’
Despite Cara’s excitement, Gracie’s spirits dropped at the very thought of visiting the most dreaded building in the town. She’d heard the stories of the terrible life people had in there; of having little food, of working their fingers to the bone for no pay, and of the possibility of never having a life outside the place again.
‘Of course,’ Martin went on, ‘any relatives could well have moved away. Maybe they travelled looking for work, which would make things far more difficult for you.’
‘I’m really looking for any siblings, so they would probably be younger than me. However, if my parents did move away, then the children would have gone with them.’ Cara felt a twinge of disappointment as she thought out loud.
‘Forgive my asking, Miss Flowers, but how is it you came to be raised by Mrs Selby in the first place?’ Martin Lander enquired.
‘Oh! To be honest, Mr Lander, I don’t really know.’ Cara frowned. ‘Grandma would never speak of it.’ She bit her lower lip in an effort to beat off tears threatening to fall yet again.
‘If you can discover the reason, it might shed light on other things you may need to know,’ he said helpfully. ‘Your parents’ wedding certificate should list their occupations… it’s a place to start.’
Cara’s spirits lifted slightly when Martin spoke again. He asked tentatively, ‘Would you like me to make an appointment at the workhouse on your behalf?’ Cara nodded and Martin pulled the telephone towards him. Gracie and Molly exchanged a look of abject horror.
Thanking him, the women left his office and made for home, struggling against the icy wind that blew around their long skirts and coats. By the time they arrived, their noses were red and cold and their fingers and toes were tingling.
Cara elected to eat her meal in the warmth of the kitchen with Gracie and Molly so they could discuss the day’s events.
‘So how did you feel about finding out that you were on the way before your mum and dad was married?’ Molly asked innocently.
Cara stared open-mouthed. Molly shrank back into her chair frightened she’d upset the girl with her forthright question. Gracie slapped the back of the maid’s head and Molly cursed.
‘Molly, you are a genius!’ Cara gasped. The cook and maid shared a quick glance. ‘Don’t you see? If I was “on the way”, as you so delicately put it, before they married, that gives us an idea of a wedding date! We should be able to find their wedding certificate… which might tell us their occupations!’
‘Damn my eyes!’ Gracie said, slapping a hand on the table, making the others jump.
Staying in the warmth of the kitchen, they made plans for the next day. They would again visit Josiah Colley; this time he would probably have more of an idea where to look for information on Cara’s parents and/or siblings.
*
Martin Lander sat in his small living room in his house in Alice Street which ran behind the ironworks. It was a comfortable two-up, two-down dwelling and it belonged to him. Working hard, he was now a junior partner in the business; he had his own home and now all he needed was a wife. He was in no hurry to be married, but as his thoughts roamed, he could not prevent the picture of Cara Flowers forming in his mind. She was a rare beauty. Hair like sunshine, eyes the colour of cornflowers. She had an innocence about her that added to her attraction. His mind moved to the challenge she’d been set by her wily old grandmother. It was a formidable task, one she apparently was undertaking with gusto despite being in mourning. Martin felt if there were any of Cara’s relations out there, she would most definitely find them. She had an air of sophistication about her too and he guessed she would not suffer fools gladly.
He whiled away the evening hours thinking about ways he might be able to further help the beautiful Miss Cara Flowers. This was a lady he would like to get to know better. Besides her English rose beauty, she had an inordinate amount of money, which certainly added to the attraction!
In his office the following day, Martin thought about his own ambition. He wanted to have his own suite of offices… his own business. If he could be instrumental in Cara having a desirable outcome to her search, this would add to his kudos. Once word was out about his successful case, more business would come his way. People would begin to request to see him by name. Then he could think about breaking free from the partnership and opening his own law practice. Happy to work towards his ultimate goal, he sighed contentedly and settled down to his work.
*
Cara was excited as she visited the Registrar for the second time. Once given an approximate date, Josiah Colley quickly found the marriage certificate of Elizabeth Selby and John Flowers. Cara saw her mother was listed as a housewife and her father was a carter. A carter… a profession where a man could travel many miles, visit many towns; her father could be anywhere. Elizabeth, a housewife – where? In Bilston? Or had she moved further afield with her husband? Where could Cara look next?
Cara looked at the kindly old man who shook his head, then said, ‘I promise I will keep looking through my records now I have a better idea of what to look for.’
Cara’s emotions fought with themselves as she walked home. Gracie and Molly had questioned her visiting the Registrar alone, but she had assured them she would be fine, she just needed to get out of the house for a while. One question had been answered regarding her parents’ professions, but that in turn had led to other questions. It was like being in a maze, unsure of where to go next.
Much like any other town in the Black Country, Bilston had its shops and businesses. These were surrounded by great expanses of open heathland dotted with old coal shafts and disused collieries. The Great Western Railway sliced straight through the centre of the town and on either side of the tracks warehouses and factories had sprung up. To the east lay the semicircular Birmingham Canal with its many wharfs and basins. Connected to other towns by a series of smaller inland waterways, it was an essential means of transporting cargo… and gossip. The ‘cut-rats’, or canal people, would carry messages to and from their destinations for those unable to travel. Narrowboats and barges could be seen lining the wharfs or moored up in the basins night and day.
Bilston sported galvanizing works, ironworks, brass foundries and a massive area given over to the stone quarries. The disused collieries remained a blot on the landscape, unchanged since the last man had left their employ.
Bilston also had its pretty areas; the allotment gardens in spring and summer boasted flowers that could rival Kew Gardens. Lunt Gardens also provided benches where people sat to enjoy its beauty. Picnics were often taken by families and it was made into a day out for their children.
Despite the many businesses trading, however, poverty and unemployment was at an all-time high. With collieries closing down, the miners found themselves out of work and standing in the ‘Bread Line’ every day in the hope of someone giving them a job. Many people were starving, some finding admittance to the dreaded workhouse preferable to death; while others took their chances away from that hellhole.
Cara noticed nothing of the town she lived in as she walked back to ‘The Laburnums’, her mind preoccupied with questions that gave her no answers. However, she thought, maybe the workhouse will provide some information. Her eyes on the ground as she walked, Cara didn’t really hold out much hope of that.
The workhouse had been built at the end of Green Lanes, not too far from the Infectious Diseases Hospital. Situated on the edge of the town, everyone knew where these buildings were, and with the amount of poverty, unemployment and illness, people considered themselves very fortunate not to be in either one.
Very few had the money to pay for a doctor’s visit when illness struck and so home remedies were heavily relied upon. A mustard and goose fat poultice bound on the chest for ailments such as pneumonia or chest infections was often used, but it rarely helped with the illness it was believed it would cure. The winter months took old and young alike to meet their maker; it was the undertaker’s busiest time.
Cara shivered, she couldn’t wait for springtime to finally arrive, when new life would begin in nature. However, it would mean more babies would be born. Most households had six to eight children, and with both parents working, it was often up to the eldest to see to the younger ones. With only two bedrooms, the houses were overcrowded, but still the birth rate rose ever higher.
Cara, with Molly and Gracie flanking her, walked through the cobbled streets, dodging wagons and carriages on their way to Green Lanes.
‘I don’t fancy this one bit!’ Molly fretted.
‘Nor do I,’ Cara answered, ‘but I have to see. If you prefer, you can both wait outside for me.’
‘Not a chance, wench!’ Gracie was adamant they would go inside with Cara. It was bad enough having to visit the place, but for the girl to go in alone? No, she wouldn’t even entertain the idea.
Passing the allotment gardens, they trudged over the scrubland that separated the workhouse from the town. At the end of Green Lanes, they saw the imposing building which stood behind two massive wrought-iron gates and was surrounded by a high brick wall.
Through the gates they could see the workhouse itself. Built in a single-storey cross shape, there were exercise yards between each arm of the structure. At its centre was a two-storey dwelling – the Master’s quarters. This had windows on all sides so the Master could look down on each part of the workhouse at any one time. A huge oak door dominated the front wall of the building, with arched windows either side. What couldn’t be seen from the front were the outbuildings at the back. These were the bakery, the laundry and the mortuary. Further back still were the bone and stone crushing grounds, which provided work for the adult males. Chimneys sprouted from the buildings but were rarely used; coal was too expensive to be wasted on inmates. Just inside the wrought-iron gates was the small porter’s lodge. The building seemed out of place amid the poverty strangling the town. The whole had the grandeur of a stately home, but its reputation preceded it and people had been known to take their own lives before being forced in there. Some people would starve to death rather than accept the ‘ticket’ offered by the Relieving Officer which allowed them admittance.
Drawing in a breath and casting a glance at the women by her side. This was Cara’s first visit to the awful place and her mouth dried out at the thought of entering. She, as many others, had avoided it all of her life. She looked around her then seeing the handle on the gate she took hold of it and pulled. A moment later a porter appeared from somewhere behind the wall. A short man wrapped in an overcoat that reached almost to his boots, he wore a flat cap and muffler round his neck. His hands were shoved deep into his coat pockets.
The man looked at the three women standing at the other side of the gate. Dressed in their finest clothes, he determined they had come to buy a servant or two.
Cara waited and the porter waited. Each watching the other, neither spoke. Exasperated, Cara eventually said, ‘I’m here to see the Master.’
Doffing his cap, the porter pulled a ring of keys from his thick leather belt wrapped around his overcoat. Shuffling through attempting to locate the correct key, he grinned at the women, showing his tobacco-stained teeth.
‘Please be quick, it’s rather cold out here,’ Cara said, feigning impatience.
‘Tell me about it. I’m doing my best lady,’ the man answered indignantly.
‘How long have you worked here?’ Cara asked as the gate opened.
‘Fifteen years, man and boy,’ the porter said proudly, hoping it would impress the women.
‘Well, after fifteen years you should know which key is the correct one!’ Cara sniffed as she walked through the now open gate. Gracie stifled a laugh and Molly sniggered. The porter slammed the gate shut with a bang, muttering as he watched the women walk away from him.
Giving the knocker on the door three sharp raps, they waited. Just being on the inside of the grounds gave them a shiver, and Cara wondered how long the doom and gloom she felt wrapping itself around her would last. The door slowly slid open to reveal a thin, pasty-looking woman. Standing aside to allow them entry, she then shoved the door closed. Hooking a finger, she beckoned them to follow her. They walked through the long cold corridor to a small room where the woman knocked on the door and promptly fled. The three exchanged a glance at the woman’s strange behaviour.
‘Come!’ A man’s voice boomed out.
Cara opened the door and they trooped into the office.
A burly man sat behind a desk with a pair of spectacles perched on the end of his nose. A mass of unruly salt and pepper hair surrounded a fat face. Grey eyes looked over the spectacles at the women who stood in his office. Seeing their attire, he immediately softened his demeanour.
‘Ladies,’ he said with an affected charm, ‘what can I do for you?’
Looking around her, Cara saw no chairs – obviously no one was invited to sit whilst in this room. ‘I am Cara Flowers and I have an appointment,’ she said as she looked back to the man slouching in his chair.
As her eyes had roamed the room, she had noticed a glass-fronted cupboard which held an array of canes. Stifling the shudder she had felt beginning to rise, she continued, ‘I have come to enquire after anyone with the surname of Flowers that may reside here.’
‘Have you now?’ The man slouched further into his chair, his thumb and index finger rubbing his chin. ‘For what reason?’
‘I don’t have to explain myself to you Mr…?’ Cara huffed, anger now replacing the nervousness she had felt on entering the office.
‘Tulley,’ the man said with a grin, ‘and you do have to explain yourself to me as you’m in my place!’
‘Mr Tulley, I am looking for anyone who might be connected to my family.’ It stung that he had won that round, but she maintained her confidence and bit back her anger.
‘There now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?’ Tulley grinned again. ‘I don’t think we have anyone of that name here.’
Cara changed tack and smiled sweetly. ‘How many people are housed here, Mr Tulley?’ She asked, all innocence now.
‘Oh a couple of hundred, I would think.’ The man was enjoying seeing the shrinking violet in front of him.
Cara nodded and his eyes widened as she leaned both hands on his desk and said, ‘You think! You don’t know… exactly?’ She leaned in closer, ‘And you know all of these people by name, do you?’
Tulley blustered, ‘Well… no, of course not!’