Taking Flight
Sinking into the clean linen sheets that enveloped her in comfort, Ruth felt for a moment that she couldn’t stay in this hostel and would have to get up and out again and look for the young ’uns. But that moment left her, only to hit her in the face when she woke after what seemed not ten minutes, but was in reality hours later, as now it was morning.
Panic gripped her as she went to sit up and the pain searing her back wouldn’t allow her to. The thought of her siblings, and where they might be, filled her with anxiety.
The low winter sun shone through the windows. Someone had opened the curtains and Ruth could see, through the haze of thick muslin nets that still shielded the windows, that the room she was in was on the ground floor.
Looking around her, she took in her surroundings. To her it was a palatial room, with its beautiful polished furniture. There was a chest of drawers in one corner, a huge wardrobe and a washstand on the far wall. The walls were panelled in wood and matched the floorboards that edged the square carpet, which was patterned in shades of grey and blue with some green and cream. And the bed! Three people could have slept in it, in comfort, it was that big.
A young girl stood by the bed with a jug of hot water and what seemed like a pile of fluffy towels.
‘Here, Miss. I’ve nearly filled your bath.’ She handed Ruth what she could now see wasn’t a pile, but just one towel. The softness of it was alien to her, as always before in her life she had only dried herself on hessian cloth.
‘What time is it?’
‘Nigh on ten, Miss. The gentleman who brought you here said we weren’t to disturb you until you woke, then we were to lay on a bath for you and give you a hearty breakfast. You must have served him well, lass.’
‘I didn’t . . . I—’ Oh, what was the use? Folk would think bad of her, no matter what. She had the young ’uns to think about. ‘Look, Miss, I can’t stay to have breakfast. I have to get on me way.’
‘Well, you can’t leave. The gentleman gave strict instructions that you were to be kept here till he came for you, otherwise he’d not pay us our due. He said to tell you not to worry – he’ll have everything sorted when he comes back for you later this morning.’
Ruth didn’t argue. Something about the gentleman she’d met last night, and who had done all this for her, told her that she could trust his word.
The thought of a bath appealed. She’d never had a bath – not one where she could lower herself into the hot water. That Lottie had washed her last night, but she hadn’t sat her in the bath, merely sluiced her down, like her ma used to.
‘I’ll need a hand, if you’d be kind enough to hold me while I sit, please.’
The girl hadn’t objected and now, as Ruth lay back in the bath, she thought herself in heaven. Her ma came to mind again and an ache overwhelmed her. Oh, Ma. Ma!
Swallowing back the tears that threatened, Ruth tried to be strong. Ma would want that of her.
When she’d told the gentleman about her ma and how they’d brought her body down on the back of the third horse, he’d said he’d make enquiries at the hospital about her and find out what had happened. But Ruth knew she’d no need to wonder. Most likely they’d sent her ma’s body to a pauper’s grave. They didn’t mess about, not when folk like them passed on. They soon had them under the ground, afraid of disease. It wasn’t like that for the toffs. It seemed the toffs weren’t considered diseased. No doubt they’d bring that Earl of Harrogate’s body back and give him a funeral with all the honours.
Never in her life had Ruth been violent, until that moment when she’d struck him. Trying to protect her siblings had tapped into instincts that she hadn’t known she possessed. She’d killed one man and near killed another, as she felt certain she’d really hurt the guard who’d been on duty in the asylum.
Her heart weighed heavy with the guilt of what she’d done. Oh God, I didn’t mean to kill that man, I was only trying to look after the young ’uns. Forgive me – forgive me.
‘Let’s get you out. There’s some porridge and slices of bread, and some tatties fried off, for you downstairs.’
The girl’s voice cut into Ruth’s despair. She might think of Ruth as a whore, but she wasn’t treating her like one.
‘Ta, lass, I’m grateful for your help.’
‘Eeh, God gave you sommat to contend with, with that foot, lass. But then he gave you a face and a figure to set men’s hearts racing, so no doubt you’ll do all right for yourself. And you haven’t made a bad start. An earl, no less. He introduced himself to us as the new Earl of Harrogate! Eeh, I wish I could get meself one of them. Here, lass, here’s your crutch.’
Her words struck terror into Ruth and her breath caught in her lungs. My God, the new Earl of Harrogate! He must be the younger brother of . . . No, he can’t be! Such coincidences don’t happen, do they? But logic told her that’s exactly who the gentleman who had helped her was, and now the thought came to her that his kindness was a cover – a way of making sure she stayed where he’d put her. Oh no! He’s going to bring the police! I have to get out of here. If she didn’t, she knew she would be sent back to that cell she’d escaped from, and would face further charges of assaulting the guard. She had to escape before the Earl returned. She had to find Seth and George and Amy, and poor little Elsie.
Forcing herself to speak in a matter-of-fact way, Ruth told the girl, ‘Look, lass, I’m reet now. I’ll get meself dressed and come through in a mo.’
‘Right-o. Just come along the corridor, pass the bottom of the stairs and go through the first door on the left. That’s the saloon where we serve breakfast.’
As soon as the girl had gone, Ruth hobbled over to the bed where her clothes were laid out. Her back hindered her, as it was stiff with pain. It took an age to get on the silk pantaloons that she had been given by that woman at the whorehouse. And she was all thumbs when it came to her corset. She’d insisted that they let her keep her corset – a garment her ma had bought her from a passing peddler. It had taken everything her ma had in the pot for a rainy day, but Ma had an idea that it would help to support Ruth’s back, keep it from bending over too much and ease the pain she experienced. Ma had been right. Life had changed quite a lot, once she began to wear the stiff-boned garment. Ma had said it was worth the struggle – and the going without – to get it for her. Ruth couldn’t think of not wearing it.
Becoming anxious, as dressing seemed to be taking forever, Ruth caught her boot in the hem of the long grey skirt of the dress, which showed more than a bit of her bosom. A jagged tear ripped through the material. Fighting back the urge to cry took all the effort Ruth could muster, but this silly incident undid her. By the time she’d wrapped herself in her own shawl and reached the window, the brimming tears had misted her view.
The quiet of the place unnerved her as she looked at the sash window. She knew she wouldn’t be able to open it without making a lot of noise. Holding onto the window-frame, she used her crutch to knock the catch until it was free.
The sound of the window sliding up had her holding her breath. Thank goodness the sill was low. She’d throw her crutch out first, then sit on the sill and twist her body until her feet were dangling outside. The drop was only a few feet, but it might as well be twenty feet to her. She’d try to land on her good foot. Slither, rather than jump.
For a moment when she landed, Ruth sat on the grass. Her fists and teeth clenched against the agony the drop had caused her. Wiping her tears on the back of her hand did no good, as more followed them. They ran down her face, compounding her despair. Where would she go? How should she set about finding the others without going to the police? It was hopeless.
Cold seeped into her, freezing her to her very soul. She’d have to move.
Crying out against the pain, she managed to get to her feet. Her armpit, which was still sore, felt bruised as she leaned on her crutch. It took everything Ruth had within her to reach the road. But which way to go? The sign pointed to Clitheroe one way and Darwen the other. In that moment it came to her that her quest to find the others was too dangerous and hopeless a task. The guard had taunted her with the prospect of her going to the gallows. Well, now it would be a certainty, after what she’d done to him. What use would she be to the young ’uns then? What use could she ever be, if it came to that? Even if she found out they weren’t in prison, but in some orphanage, there was nothing she could do. Nothing!
Whatever she tried would only expose her to recapture. Better that she found help somewhere away from here.
Her thoughts turned to Whalley Bradstone, the local butcher back in Pradley. He’d shown an interest in her. He’d even asked Da if he could take her, but Da hadn’t wanted her to go. He’d worried that she’d become a lackey, as Whalley was known to be looking for someone to take the place of his ma. She had a few-score years under her belt, and some said she were in her nineties, but still Whalley kept her working and complained that she was too slow, despite her chopping meat and cooking and cleaning from dawn to dusk.
Ruth had been grateful to her da, but now – as she saw it – Whalley was her best bet, as she had no idea where her ma’s cousin lived. She hadn’t thought to look for her ma’s purse when they’d lifted her onto that horse; it was likely the address would have been in it. And none of their possessions had been offered back to them, when that policeman took them from the house where they had sought help. So now she knew no one else in the world who might take her in, other than Whalley. Most folk she’d ever known shunned her or cringed from her, and besides, she could keep making discreet enquiries about the young ’uns if she went to Whalley. She’d make it a condition that he help her. She knew Whalley often took a cart to Blackburn with his wares and brought back livestock. She would make it clear to him that no one in authority must be made aware that it was Ruth who wanted to know. He’d have to say that he worried after their welfare, after hearing about an accident they’d been involved in. And he’d have to agree to take the young ’uns in, an’ all, if she could get them back. This thought didn’t worry her, as she knew Whalley would be willing. He’d see them as free labour.
A small element of hope entered Ruth. Even though the thought of being with Whalley – a fat man three times her age – repulsed her, and the idea of going to his bed made her feel sick, at least she’d have shelter and warmth and food, and the possibility of getting the young ’uns back. And she knew that Whalley wouldn’t let those who would do any harm to her get anywhere near her. He’d shown that in the past. There was once a time when a gang of lads were following her. Their name-calling had hurt her, just as much as their stone-throwing. Whalley had chased them off with a meat cleaver, and they hadn’t bothered Ruth for a while. He’d see she was left alone to live in peace.
A flurry of snow landed on her face as she turned towards Clitheroe. Getting back to Pradley meant she had to get back over the Bowland Hills. The thought of the journey brought her to the point of wretchedness, with her whole body screaming against ever going near those bleak highways again, but then determination came over her. Come on, lass, you’ve to do this. Oh, aye, there’s a chance of me starving or freezing to death, but there’s also a chance I can make it. And then, at the end of the day, what other choice have I?