Increasing Ruth’s Vulnerability
As he rode past the timber buildings on his left, Frederick felt his stomach muscles knot in anticipation. ‘Go past them timbers down yonder and make a right,’ the man he’d asked directions of had said. ‘The area past that will open out and you’ll see a field on your left. Opposite is Wakefield Correction House in Back Lane. Can’t mistake it. It has scaffolding around most of it, as they’re extending it – making it a proper jail, for all sorts to be housed in. Not welcome round here, but nowt we can do.’
And there it was: a building in progress, with the west wing housing some two hundred female prisoners. She was in there – Ruth. Dear God, how he hated that thought, but there was nothing he could do. Sentenced to hard labour, she’d be breaking stones, no doubt. He didn’t like to think of it, but knew it was something that she’d cope with, as her upper body had been strengthened by its need to support her when walking. He could only thank God that the planned tread-wheel – a wide, hollow cylinder composed of wooden steps built around an iron frame, which would be powered by as many as forty convicts – wasn’t yet completed. The concept of it was to punish in a productive way, getting the prisoners to grind corn or pump water wherever it was needed. Once the wheel was into motion, the prisoners would have no choice other than to continually step up onto the next plank as it came round. And they would be forced to do this for up to twelve hours a day.
If only he could get Ruth out before that contraption was built. She wouldn’t stand a chance working on it.
The thought ripped at his heart. His only consolation was that at least he could give her the few things he’d brought for her comfort. And above that, he would see her. Be with her. That had to be enough.
‘State your business, Sir . . .’
‘Lord Frederick Rollinson, Earl of Harrogate. I have come to check on the welfare of my soon-to-be charge, Ruth Dovecote.’
‘Of course, M’Lord, you are expected.’
The iron gate groaned on its hinges as it swung open. The sound filled him with dread. A putrid smell of rotting vegetables hit him, causing him to retrieve his handkerchief and hold it over his nose.
‘That’ll be the kitchen waste. The farmers from the local area are supposed to collect it on a regular basis. They use it for pigswill or manure, but they’ve not been nigh in over two weeks. Might get the governor to order the prisoners to shift it.’
‘That’s not women’s work, man.’ But no sooner had he said the words than he realized it would probably be a darn sight easier than what he was now witnessing: women in a long line, bent double over rocks, hitting them with all their might and making very little headway. ‘Good God! What goes on here, Sir?’
‘Them’s hard-labour prisoners. Men prisoners break the stones to that small size, and these have to crack them to pebbles. Serves them right, by my reckoning. Load of murderers, thieves and whores. Happen as they got off light by missing the gallows, though some are losing their appeals. We hang five t’night.’
Shuddering as much from fear at the fate of these five women as from pity, Frederick asked, ‘But what of Elizabeth Fry’s reforms? This is horrendous!’
‘I spit on the reforms. Them’s hardened women who’d rob you and kill you. They’re not fit for this earth.’
‘They are human beings and deserve your compassion. Often it is circumstances that force them into crime. It is these circumstances that need sorting. Tackle the cause, and find the cure. Is Ruth Dovecote amongst them? How does she fare, with her club foot?’
‘Aye, she’s there. Yonder, near the wall. She has a hook to hold onto with her right hand – a concession, some say – then she strikes the rock with her left. Does a good job, she does.’
Frederick’s eyes followed in the direction the man had pointed. Ruth was so close to him, and yet he hadn’t spotted her. His heart somersaulted. She looked up. Her face held lines of pain, her hair hung in thick, greasy strands, her dust-crusted eyes stared, then blinked as the sweat-beads from her forehead trickled into them. They remained closed for a second, as if she was thinking that when she opened them he’d be gone, but when she did so, they filled with tears; and as Ruth nodded to him, those tears trickled down her cheeks, leaving streaks in the dirt clinging to them.
A woman’s coarse voice broke the moment. ‘Who’s this then, Groydon? A stinking toff in ’ere, never been ’eard of!’
‘Shurrup, Ginger, and get on with your work. Dovecote! Get yourself in and wash, then get ter visitors’ cell.’
Something told Frederick not to interfere or to object. His instincts warned him that if he did, he would only cause Ruth trouble – if not with this warden, then definitely with the other inmates. Looking around at them, he felt pity etched into his heart.
The inside of the building had its own stench: that of body odour, bodily waste and stale air. Waiting in the small cage-like room, Frederick retched, but managed to swallow the bile back down. His throat stung and his breath felt tainted with the smell. Taking a humbug from his pocket, he sucked on it. The fresh taste had the desired effect.
A woman opened the door. Behind her, Ruth dragged her body. He had no other way to describe her slow gait. Her every movement was far worse than he remembered, making her appear almost hideous. Not that she could ever be that to him.
‘Ruth?’
‘M’Lord.’ Her voice held oceans of tears, and some spilled over onto her cheeks.
‘Don’t – it will soon be over. Stay strong, my . . . I – I mean, well, you can do this. You have been through so much. You can get through this.’
‘H – how’s Amy and Nora?’
‘Nora is pining to go back to the farm. Her physical health has improved, though she has aged. Her grief weighs her down. I went to the cottage hospital yesterday. She was pleased to see me and sends her love to you. She says she misses you. She realizes she cannot go back and is talking of selling. And I have plans I need to discuss with my wife.’ Ruth’s stare became more intense at the mention of Katrina. If only she knew how she is never far from my thoughts when . . . But then, he mustn’t think of that. His disloyalty to Katrina shamed him. ‘I want to buy the farm, so that Nora benefits from the money sooner rather than later. She says she wants to buy a cottage where you and she can live in peace, as she knows you will care for her in her dotage.’
‘I – I’d like that. Yes, that is what I want to do.’
‘But . . .’
‘It’s not an option for me to be in your house. I’ve thought on it and know it is good of you, but—’
‘I thought it was what you wanted.’
‘Naw. I’ll not be put under that strain. Nowt about working in service appeals to me. Working at mill is more likely to suit me.’
This shocked Frederick, as did Ruth’s question after he’d told her how well Amy was doing, in an attempt to change her mind. Pleased and relieved for Amy, she asked, ‘Would you think on educating me an’ all, M’Lord? Cos I need to learn music.’
‘Music?’ If she’d asked if he would put her in a convent to become a nun, he wouldn’t have been as surprised as he was at this. He couldn’t imagine where she’d got this notion, but as he listened to her, he remembered Haydon Green had told him that a shed of tools had survived, and in it was a piano.
‘Maybe I can lift some of your sadness, Ruth. That piano in the shed survived.’
‘Oh, thank God! Josh . . . Josh would be pleased.’
‘I will have it brought down for you and will have it tuned. But I am amazed and don’t know what to say. You, playing the piano!’
Her head drooped. He followed her gaze: gnarled fingers fidgeted in her lap.
‘They can heal. Try to soak them every evening. When they let you wash, spend more time on your hands. Massage them.’
A small smile twisted her lips. It was a cross between amusement and a sob. Frederick’s love for her tore at his heart.
‘Ruth, I will help you. I will get you an education, and even a music teacher. I am sorry – desperately sorry – that everything you have been through was caused by your encounter with my family. I am grateful to you for saving my mother. If it had only been that, I wouldn’t have had any problem in securing your freedom, but the jailer you attacked – he wanted you in prison.’
‘I knaw. I’ll be reet. Especially now as I knaw I can have me piano and learn some notes. Thinking of that will get me through. Will you do as you say, and get me and Nora a cottage?’
‘I will.’
Her eyes lifted. Nothing had diminished the beauty of the blue depths of them, and in them he read a return of his feelings. ‘Ruth, I—’
‘Naw, you can’t say it. You can’t. I knaw it and so do you, but it cannot be. Take me love back to Amy and Nora. Tell Amy I can’t wait to hug her. I wish . . .’ A sob overcame her.
‘Don’t wish for what you can’t possibly have. Remember what it was like when you did have the things you so want, and take comfort from that.’
‘Aye, it’s the only way. I knaws that. Help me up, I’ve to go. You’ve given me sommat to hang on to. And that’ll keep me going.’
Touching her enflamed every part of Frederick, increasing the beating of his own heart and tingling sensations through him that he could hardly cope with. But these turned to horror as he steadied her and saw what he hadn’t noticed at first: bruises purpling areas of her arms, gashes – some old and others still bleeding – and then, as he helped her to rise, he caught sight of her feet. Her club foot swelled over the huge boot she had on it. Blisters full of pus stood out on her ankles; some looked at bursting point, and the red-raw weals that traced a path along the sole of her foot looked infected. The agony of seeing her like this cut him in two and caused an anger to rise in him that he couldn’t deny. ‘Warden!’
The woman who had brought Ruth to him jumped back into his view. ‘M’Lord?’
Ruth’s whispered ‘Naw!’ seared through him, but did not stop him. Nothing could. ‘I want Miss Dovecote to be taken to the infirmary at once.’
‘Naw. I’ll be reet. I will.’
‘At once, I said. And if any of you try to punish her for this, you will be sorry. Just look at the state of her leg. She is verging on blood poisoning. If she dies, you will all pay: you will go to the gallows for murder. This is sheer neglect, and goes against the Prison Act. Arrange it – and arrange it now!’
M’Lord, naw – you don’t knaw . . . Don’t.’
‘I do. Well, I can guess. Don’t worry, I will protect you.’
The noise the warden made told him she didn’t think so, and for the first time Frederick regretted his outburst. But not for long. He had influence that he could bring to bear. He had already made his maiden speech in the House of Lords, indicating that he intended to be a reformer of the conditions the poor had to endure. He would go up to the House and speak on what he had seen going on here. Something must be done! In the meantime, if he could make enough fuss, the newspapers would carry the story.
‘Madam, I warn you. You, as well as the conditions here and the way you treat the prisoners, will be in all the newspapers by the morrow! So tread carefully, or you may find you are on the receiving end of a heartless person like yourself!’
With this the woman huffed, but her manner changed. ‘We are not heartless, M’Lord. We work with what we have and try to maintain order. It is easy to swan in here and make judgements. Dovecote’s leg will be seen to, I can assure you, though also be assured that all the inmates see a doctor once a month and, as his visit is in ten days, the condition would have been picked up then.’
‘Ten days! She would have been dead by then. See to it, and make sure a bath chair is sent to transport Miss Dovecote to the infirmary ward. I will personally supervise the move, so don’t try and do anything different. I can assure you, Madam, this will be spoken of in the House of Lords this very week.’
There was no retort to this. The woman retreated in haste, and only Ruth’s wretched sobs broke the uncanny silence. Frederick hadn’t previously thought silence could ever prevail here, as there had been a constant background noise of prisoners calling out and crying in pain and despair, and of wardens shouting orders, not to mention the banging and clanging of the gated doors.
‘Ruth, my love.’ Oh God, he hadn’t meant to say those words. She lifted her head. Hope shone through her tears.
‘M’Lord?’
‘You know how I feel about you. You do. I cannot help it, but I had no right to express it. I’m sorry. Oh, it’s hopeless. Look, Ruth, I have this love for you that is eating at me, and yet I can offer you nothing more than my help.’
‘It’s enough to know how you feel. I’ve allus known it. And it’s like you say: it can’t be helped. We didn’t invite it. I loved Josh, thou knows. It were different, but I loved him and I was his wife in all but the marriage service, but—’
His gasp stopped her. He couldn’t do anything other than show his shock, as the pain of her words was excruciating to him and caught him off-guard. ‘You, and Josh?’ God, why didn’t Haydon Green tell me this?
‘I’m not ashamed of what I did, and I would have stayed loyal to Josh. We had no other way. We wanted to be wed, but . . . Anyroad, Josh was a good man and loved me very much.’
‘No, you have nothing to be ashamed of. I understand. I . . .’ He wanted to say it hurt like hell, but he couldn’t. He just had to find a way of accepting that she had been taken – no, had willingly gone to another. But accepting it and living with the knowledge were two different things. And something in him roused a thought. Maybe? ‘Ruth, I – I could make you happy in the same way. I mean, we couldn’t be married either, but—’
‘Naw! I wasn’t Josh’s mistress. I will be naw mistress! He was me husband, and I his wife. It was done the only way we could do it, by taking our vows to each other, though none of it mattered in the end. They found me, despite us taking every precaution.’
‘I didn’t mean to insult you, Ruth, or your union with Josh. I just . . . well, I need you. I need you so badly.’
Her crying increased, and now he knew it to hold desolation. It told him that she felt the same way about him, but that she was a better person than him. When she could, Ruth held on to her principles. Her life with Josh must have seemed as though it was always going to be that way, and this had driven her to accept a compromise. His shame at offering what he had crippled Frederick. Sitting down, he took her hand. ‘Forgive me, Ruth. I will never mention it again, I promise. But know that I will always love you and be here for you.’
Her head nodded; her eyes held his. In them he read all he needed to know, even though she did not utter another word.