The Winter Orphan. Cathy Sharp

he heard a shout and his carriage was brought to a screeching halt as the coachman reined in his horses abruptly and Arthur was flung from one side of the carriage to the other. By some miracle, his man managed to hold the plunging, screaming horses and the coach did not overturn. Recovering swiftly, Arthur wrenched open the door and jumped out into the road.

      ‘What happened?’ he demanded of his driver, but even as he asked, Arthur saw what looked like a huddle of rags lying a few feet in front of his carriage. The horses were still snorting and stamping their feet, disturbed by being so misused, their breath white on the frosty air, and Arthur went to their heads to quieten them, whispering against their faces so that they calmed and responded to his voice before he walked on to investigate the bundle.

      Arthur looked to either side of the road suspiciously for it might be a trick to take them unawares. Some thirty-odd years earlier, highwaymen had been the plague of these roads, but none had been seen since the last known gang was caught many years before. It was now 1883 and Arthur did not fear them but there were still rogues and thieves aplenty who might offer violence on a dark lonely road such as this, so it was best to be careful. Indeed, it was only the previous year that Her Majesty Queen Victoria had been shot at, so Arthur went prepared wherever he travelled. He patted the pistol in his greatcoat pocket, ready for the worst if this was a trick.

      ‘Be careful, sir,’ his groom warned. ‘It may be the work of rogues …’

      Arthur had reached the huddle of rags and saw at once that it was a young woman lying there. Her face was pale and for a moment he thought her dead. Kneeling on the frozen surface of the road, Arthur felt for a pulse. It was faint but it was there. He swept her up in his arms as his groom came to join him.

      ‘What is it, sir?’

      ‘A young woman – and she’s barely alive, Kent. Had we not chanced on her she might have died this night. We need to get to the nearest inn.’

      ‘There’s a small one about a mile ahead. Let me help you, sir.’

      ‘Open the door of the carriage,’ Arthur said. ‘I have some brandy in my bag and I’ll see if I can get her to swallow a little. As soon as we reach the inn, I want you to discover the nearest doctor and bring him to us.’

      Kent nodded, glancing at the woman as Arthur lifted her gently on to the seats and sat next to her, holding her against him. Another servant might have observed that she was a vagrant and warned his master, but all Arthur’s people knew that such a remark would earn them a severe glance. Arthur Stoneham would never leave a woman to die on the side of the road, even if, as it looked, she was a beggar.

      ‘Yes, sir,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell the coachman to get on now.’

      He shut the door carefully and left Arthur to settle the unfortunate woman. Arthur took a small silver flask from his pocket and opened the stopper, then gently lifted the woman in his arms so that she was propped up against his shoulder as he put the flask to her lips.

      ‘Try to swallow a little please,’ he said gently. ‘It will warm you …’

      Whether she heard or not, Arthur could not know, but she moaned slightly and, as her mouth opened, he poured a tiny drop on to her tongue. Her throat swallowed and he poured a few drops more. He thought she sighed and her body seemed to sag against him. He sat with his arms about her, holding his greatcoat around her frail body, instilling his warmth and vitality into her, willing her to live.

      ‘Be brave, lady,’ he murmured. ‘I have you and you are safe now.’

      As the coach slowed to a halt and his groom opened the door and helped him ease the woman out, he saw a small inn with a lantern above its door and welcoming lights from a parlour window.

      ‘Run and secure rooms for us, Kent – and then fetch that doctor!’

      ‘Yes, sir.’

      Kent ran ahead while Arthur gave instructions to his coachman about stabling the horses then assisted the shivering woman to walk. By the time he reached the lights and warmth of the inn hallway, Kent had secured a room for him and accommodation for himself and the coachman.

      ‘There is but the one room in the house but I thought it would do as you will want to watch over the young lady, sir – and me and Barrett are over the stables and the landlord has given me the doctor’s direction,’ Kent told him.

      Arthur nodded to the landlord. ‘I shall require a fire lighting and food for us all. My companion is not well, so some warm milk, perhaps, if the doctor thinks it advisable.’

      ‘Yes, Mr Stoneham.’ The landlord bowed respectfully. Kent had made sure to speak of his master’s consequence, no doubt, for the landlord took a brass oil lamp and lit their way up to a large chamber at the rear of the house. ‘I fear there is but the one bed, sir.’

      ‘She is ill and must have it,’ Arthur said. ‘I shall take the chair and be comfortable enough; besides, she will need watching. I do not know what has befallen this poor girl, but I shall not let her die if I may prevent it.’

      ‘Your man said you were a philanthropist of the highest order, sir. My wife would take in all the waifs and strays if she could …’ He tutted as he saw the condition of the young woman. ‘She cannot be past twenty, sir. It is sad to see one so fair brought to this.’

      ‘Yes, you are right,’ Arthur agreed. ‘I fear it happens all too often but, with God’s aid, we help those we can.’ The landlord nodded and looked pious.

      ‘Amen to that, sir,’ he said. ‘I’ll send the chambermaid up to light the fire straight away.’ He paused, then, ‘Will you dine here or in the parlour?’

      ‘I’ll dine after the physician has been and we hear what he has to say.’

      The host nodded and left Arthur to place the girl between the clean sheets and cover her. Despite her wretched clothes, he thought she had washed recently and her skin had a pleasant perfume of its own. She was pretty, he decided, as he pushed the long fair hair back from her cheek. If she lived, he would be interested to hear her story and would help her if she was willing to be helped. He could take her to Hetty, who would find her a bed at the refuge and perhaps a place to work, he thought as he turned away to take off his coat.

      ‘My baby! Give me back my baby!’

      The cry from the young woman’s lips was so desperate that Arthur turned sharply and saw that she was sitting up in bed staring about her wildly.

      ‘Where is she? What have you done with her?’

      ‘I saw no baby …’ Arthur felt a stab of doubt. Had he missed the child? He had seen nothing of it when they rescued the woman. No, there had been no child nearby that he’d been aware of – but had it been lying hidden by the side of the road? ‘Forgive me, where was your child, madam?’

      ‘They took her. They said she was stillborn but I heard her cries,’ the woman said clearly, in the voice of one gently reared, and then fell back against the pillows, her eyes closing.

      Arthur bent over her, fearing for a moment that a relapse had taken her life, but she was sleeping now and her breathing seemed a little easier. He was relieved, but the poor girl was feverish. He decided that he would not go and look for the missing babe for she seemed confused. Perhaps she had recently given birth to a child that had died, which might explain her distress, but why had she been lying in the middle of the road?

      It was more than half an hour before Kent returned with the doctor. By that time the maid had a good fire burning and the room was pleasantly warm. The doctor examined his patient and confirmed Arthur’s belief that she had recently given birth.

      ‘She still has her milk,’ he told Arthur, ‘though I would say it was some days since the birth – perhaps more than a week.’

      ‘She was asking for the child and seemed confused. Do you think she has been attacked?’

      ‘I see little wrong with her,’ the doctor told Arthur.