The House of Ashford

St Anne’s Union Workhouse, Yorkshire — 1860

Annie Bell jolted awake as the all-too-familiar sound of the rising bell rang out, reminding her that it was the start of yet another day. Her body willed her to remain where she was, reluctant to relinquish the warmth of her bed—or rather, the relative warmth of it-for the coarse wool blankets they slept beneath might as well have been paper. Still, she knew all too well that it would be worse for her should she remain in bed. With all the mental will she could muster, she forced herself out of bed and onto the cold, stony wooden floorboards.

She looked around at the usual morning bustle of the other girls in the dormitory, rushing about like headless chickens. It was a scene she had long since become accustomed to, having awoken each day to the same dreaded morning rush around the girls’ dormitory, which had been her only bedroom. If one could even call it a bedroom, that is, with its narrow wooden pallets wedged shoulder to shoulder, leaving barely enough room for a breath to pass between them.

It was the same every morning: they awoke at six o’clock, washed and dressed, ate breakfast, worked, ate lunch, attended lessons, worked some more, said their evening prayers, and then went to bed. The lessons were all right—in fact, compared with the other tasks they had to do, Rosie saw them as a great haven, for they were the one time of day when she wasn’t being worked to the bone or scolded.

Despite being only eight years old, Annie was now so accustomed to the daily routine of scrubbing floors, wringing heavy, wet linens, helping to prepare meals and repairing garments that she appeared to have developed a permanent case of dermatitis.

Annie dreaded each day, yet had simply become accustomed to the routine of the workhouse, for what other choice did she have? This was her life, after all, and she knew all too well that once you were in the workhouse, there was no easy way out-not unless you were due to go into service, some wealthy person decided they wished to employ you in their own home, or, if you were very fortunate, adopt you.

At best, it was monotonous; at worst, it was a hellhole. Yet Annie had known no other home, and apparently no real childhood. Secretly, she dreamed of escaping the workhouse walls, those cold, towering stones that rose around her like the walls of a prison, while somewhere beyond them lay a vast world she was forbidden to touch.

Just as Annie was making her bed, she checked beneath her pillow and smiled.

Beneath it, she kept a little silver thimble that had once belonged to her mother. Its surface was worn smooth with years of use, and though it was worth scarcely anything, Annie guarded it as though it were a treasure. Sometimes, when the dormitory had fallen silent, she would curl her fingers around it and try to remember the warmth of her mother’s hands. Although it could not save her from her current plight, it nevertheless gave her comfort, for it was the closest she could ever feel to her mother now—the closest she could ever come to the love and affection from which she had long been deprived.

Annie queued with the other children in the dining hall to be served a bowl of thin, watery porridge, which was lukewarm and unseasoned. But unappetising as it was, the children wasted no time in wolfing their porridge down.

That was until an older girl at Annie’s table whispered to them:

“You young ’uns better all make sure yous behave today, for I hear we ‘ave visitors comin’ today.”

Rosie looked at the girl with wide-eyed curiosity.

“Who are these visitors?” she asked.

“Well, apparently they’re these posh people who are lookin’ for a young ’un—a young gel at that—to work for them.”

“Does that mean they’d get to leave the workhouse?” Annie asked, her curiosity burning by the minute.

“Well, duh, of course it does.”

Sudden realisation dawned upon Annie as she thought about the prospect of being chosen. She allowed herself to revel in the very thought of leaving the workhouse, her mind wandering miles away as she imagined herself exiting the tall, foreboding gates. She was so excited at the very prospect that it did not fully dawn on her what leaving the workhouse behind would mean. She thought only of how she would finally obtain the freedom she had long desired, and that was all that mattered to her.

Her reverie was soon interrupted by the cacophonous sound of the workhouse bell tolling yet again, signalling the start of the day’s work.

She resumed her reverie later that morning as she scrubbed the floors, only for it to be interrupted once again by the feel of something harsh striking the back of her head.

“Bell, stop daydreaming this instant, otherwise it’ll be the worse for you, you foolish girl!”

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am.”

Annie hastily resumed her work, unwilling to receive any more clouts across the head.

It was later that day, while Annie was working in the laundry, that she noticed a middle-aged woman she had never seen before. Was this the visitor the older girl had told her about? One of the posh people? Only she didn’t look very posh. In fact, she dressed somewhat similarly to the workhouse matrons, only perhaps slightly neater. The woman appeared to be keeping a watchful eye on several girls.

“And what is your name, gel?”

Realising that the woman was talking to her, Annie suddenly found herself standing to attention. She straightened her back, placed her arms by her sides, and, with a soft smile on her face, answered:

“I’m Annie, ma’am—Annie Bell. How do you do?”

Extending a hand to the woman, Annie watched as she gently took it and smiled.

“Hmm, I see. That will do, thank you.”

The woman walked on, but appeared to remain in the room, deep in observation, and Annie continued with the task at hand. In fact, it was later that day, in the classroom, that the woman appeared again, continuing her observation of the girls as they undertook their lessons.

It was at that moment that Miss Williams, the workhouse teacher, asked the class to read a sentence from the primers they had been given. When Annie’s turn came, Miss Williams, as she had with the other children, said:

“Annie, could you please read out the first sentence on page twenty-five of your primer, please?”

Annie began to read.

“Fear God and honour the Queen.”

“Thank you, Annie. Now—”

But Annie continued.

“I can also read the next two sentences.”

Miss Williams sighed, but couldn’t help smiling at the girl’s eagerness.

“Very well. Continue, but make it quick.”

“I’ve also learned to say the following sentences:

“A stitch in time saves nine.”

“There is a time for work and a time for play.”

“Waste not, want not.”

“Silence is golden.”

Miss Williams looked on, impressed, but apparently she was not the only one who felt that way, for the dowdy, middle-aged woman also looked on as she smiled and scratched her chin, deep in consideration.

It was without a doubt that nearly all the girls there seemed to be hard little workers, yet the woman couldn’t help but notice in particular just how quiet, observant and well-mannered Annie was. Not only that, but she could even read a little.

Later that day, Annie was summoned to the matron’s office.

“Annie, we wish to let you know that you shall be leaving shortly, for Mrs Mercer here has chosen you as the new young servant for Ashford House. I hope you are grateful for this opportunity, for the Ashford family are most wealthy and respectable people, and so you had better behave with them, for it’ll be a great shame for us should you make an embarrassment of us!”

For a moment, Annie was rendered speechless as she tried to take it all in. Had she heard correctly? Would she really finally be leaving the workhouse, for good? After eight long years, she would finally be free! She would finally know a life outside these oppressive walls, finally know freedom, and perhaps even enjoyment.

“Well? Are you a dumb girl? Cat got your tongue? Or are you just not listening? Do not be such an insolent child when you are being offered such an opportunity!”

Annie was willed back to focus by the sound of the matron’s sharp voice. She nodded and said:

“No, sorry, ma’am. I am very grateful. Thank you, ma’am.”

“Then stop dawdling and go and pack your bags this instant, before the lady here changes her mind!”

Scurrying off like a mouse, Annie found her thoughts racing ahead of her. She would finally be embarking upon a new life—a thought which both excited and terrified her, for she had known no life other than that of the workhouse, as dismal as it was.

As she packed her belongings, Annie bid goodbye to the few people to whom she had become attached, most of all Martha Briggs, the oldest and closest friend she had ever had in the workhouse.

“I am happy for you, Annie, I truly am,” Martha told her friend, although there was a crack in her voice, and she kept wiping her eyes.

“Then why are you crying?” asked Annie.

“Because—because I’m just sad to see you leave, is all. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had here—or at all, for that matter—and I don’t know what I’ll do without you. All I know is that this place won’t be the same without you.”

Annie hugged her friend’s skinny frame so tightly she might have crushed her bones.

“Don’t be upset, Martha. I promise we’ll see each other again.”

“Really?” asked Martha, wiping away a tear.

“Yes, really.”

Although as the words left her mouth, even Annie was not sure when this would be, for neither girl knew whether it would happen at all. How would they even keep in touch? Inmates weren’t allowed to receive letters in the workhouse, and Annie was too young to travel all the way from Ashford House to the workhouse by herself. Unless she found someone to take her on her day off—but who would do that? She was only a servant girl, after all.

All they could do was hold on to the hope that perhaps, one day, they might just be reunited, no matter when that day came.

Annie finished packing her minuscule collection of belongings, not forgetting her mother’s silver thimble, then went with Mrs Mercer outside, where she was guided into the carriage.

The carriage rounded the bend, and suddenly the trees parted. Beyond them stood Ashford House, its pale stone walls glowing in the afternoon light, its windows shining like mirrors.

Annie stared at it in wonder.

She had never seen anything so grand.