Natural Justice

a short story by Mishap

 

Sarah Mullen blew on her numb fingers. They were making it hard for her to hold her basket as she  hurried towards Edgell’s farm. It was January 1900 and in the village of  Netford, it was not a good time to  be alive unless you were born into wealth, for life for many people was hard, but worse for some than others.  Dark lines etched  the gaunt features which surmounted Sarah’s thin frame. Fatigue and recurrent  illnesses which  her poverty  brought with it, had left their mark on her once beautiful face. She wore only a thin cotton dress and  visibly threadbare coat, which barely offered any protection from the cold.

 Albert, her husband was en route to South Africa in the S.S. Dunottar Castle after joining the 2nd Field Horse Artillery regiment to fight the Boers.  He ignored all Sarah’s pleas, his stubbornness and pride more than patriotism finally drove him to enlist. He insisted it was the only way he could provide for them. Without a job and little chance of one, the thought of them in a workhouse was more than he could bear. Being in the army meant that Sarah received a small regular allowance, but  barely enough to keep her and  their daughter Alice alive.

 One day an opportunity for some work for Sarah arrived. The job was to clean and cook three times a week for a local farmer, Victor Edgell.  Desperation drove her take the job, but she found  that her employer was both a tyrant and a lecher. He made unwelcome advances to her as he did with most women.  At times, when he was drunk he would chase her.  Sarah sometimes threatened him with ‘a good pasting�?from her husband and his army pals on their return from the war.  This always made Victor laugh and often helped make him forget his intentions. He enjoyed describing in great detail what the Boers would do to Albert if he was  taken prisoner. He relished the terror this brought to Sarah’s eyes.
 
Victor was an ogre of a man. His pocked-marked face  was overshadowed by a broken nose collected during a  drunken brawl in the “The Speckled Hen" public house. Huge hands bunched into club-like fists, hung at the end of arms which resembled ham-hocks. These were enough to strike terror into most opponents and his bullying and  cruel nature meant  he had no friends,  just a dog Amos.  When she was working, Sarah tried to avoid him, but resolved to keep her job as long as she could. She knew there would be no shortage of other village women to take it, despite what they knew of Victor. Circumstances made her overcome her fears, because she had herself and a child to feed.

Forcing  herself along the path, Sarah struggled on as frost nipped at her fingers and toes. Every now and then she stopped to stamp her feet and blow on her hands. Her thin clothes failed to keep out the icy wind which cut through to her bones. Only the thought of the hot soup she would have later, urged her to carry on.  A sudden gust of wind blew the bonnet from her head onto the path. As she ran after it,  she saw and heard ducks slipping about on the frozen surface of the lake as they sought a hole for food. Despite the cold in her body, Sarah felt sorry for them and called out  as if they could understand,

“You poor ‘ole things!....I bet you’re starvin�?and I know what it feels like!....I’ll try and get something for you on my way ‘ome!�?BR>In the distance, church bells rang, telling her she was late. She ran, ignoring pain in her chest as freezing air ripped at her weakened lungs. Bravely, she gritted her teeth and ran  even faster.
 
In the misty distance, Sarah could make out the shape of the spire of  St. Joseph’s Church in the village of Netford. Its image pricked her conscience. It reminded her of how long it was since she’d attended a  service.  Puffing and blowing and feeling ill, she  arrived at the farm. A loud bark came from Amos as she tried to pick a route through the frozen mud and steaming cattle dung outside the farm buildings. When she approached the kitchen door, a familiar voice snarled, “I see you’re ‘ere then girl!....’Bout time too!...You keep ‘a comin ‘ere late like this ‘n  I’ll find someone else!....There’s plenty of others as ‘ud be glad of a job!....If  I can get up early to feed the stock, then so can you, ‘n don’t you forget it!�?/FONT>

Sarah tried to apologise and explain. “I’m sorry!....but my little ‘un was sick and my friend couldn’t ‘ave her and you wouldn’t ‘ave let me bring her with me, would you?  so I had to find someone else to keep an eye on her!�?/FONT>

He snarled, “Never mind that now girl!....Get my breakfast before you starts cleaning up the ‘ouse!  I’m  ‘ungry enough to eat a live pig at the moment!�?BR>Sarah sighed and nodded. She entered the dimly lit kitchen which always smelled of sour milk and burnt food and noted it was filthy again, even though she’d cleaned it all just two days earlier. She put milk in a pot to heat on the wood-burning stove and looked around for bread to put in a bowl. Victor always had bread, hot milk and honey for breakfast and he’d be in a foul mood until he’d filled his large stomach.
There was some bread she’d  baked earlier in the week in the larder, so with a  knife she began to hack slices from a new loaf. A loud hiss indicated that the pot on the stove had  boiled over, sending up a spray of steam and the stench of burnt milk.
 
“Oh God!....What’ll I do?�?Sarah whispered, praying Victor wouldn’t arrive for a while. Time was needed to clean up the mess. She looked around for something to use, and found a floor-cloth which she tore from a hook fixed to the inside of  the larder door.  As it swung open, she spotted a metal dish  containing at least half  a stale loaf. It was placed on a high  shelf. Sarah assumed Victor had put it there to feed to the chickens later.  A deliciously wicked thought flashed into her head. Why give Victor fresh bread when she could use the stale stuff  from the dish?  Hot milk and honey would  soften it and he’d never know. If he noticed it missing, she’d tell him the dog had eaten it.  Covered with paper, her basket would hide a nice big  fresh piece to take home with her and if by any chance Victor found that, it would just be bad luck; a chance she would take.

Sarah shut the cupboard door and placed several thick slices of fresh bread at the bottom of her basket.  Grinning at her deception, she convinced herself that she, Alice and the ducks deserved it more than Victor. Afterwards Sarah broke the stale bread into pieces and put them inside her employer’s breakfast bowl. After pouring on heated milk, then the honey, the meal looked the same as always.

Victor’s growl broke the silence.     “Is it ready yet girl?�?/FONT>

“It’s on the table, just as you ‘likes it  Mr Edgell!�?she answered calmly.

“Right then!...You go on about ‘yer work ‘n  I’ll come ‘n see ‘yer with your wages when I’ve done!...What’s more!....You’d better be nice ‘to me if  ‘yer want’s ‘ter keep ‘your job ‘ere!�?BR> 
He gave her an evil grin which exposed his rotting teeth. The look made Sarah shudder and her skin crawl. He muttered something to her, but as she’d left the kitchen quickly, she didn’t hear him. He called again louder, “Oi!....What ‘appened to the bread?  The stuff what was in the bowl in the cupboard?�?
Sarah returned to the kitchen and saw the open larder door. She silently cursed herself  for not  closing it properly. Afraid now, her voice trembled,
“The bread in the dish  Mr. Edgell?....Why!....Amos came in and looked so ‘ungry I giv�?it to him!....‘Then ‘e run off!...You  ‘knows what ‘e’s like!...He’ll eat anything, that ‘ol dog ‘o yours!�?/FONT>

Victor’s face distorted with rage. He roared, “Where the ‘ell is ‘e now then girl?....Didn’t you know I put rat poison on that bread!...Squire’s gamekeeper gave it ‘ter me to put up in the ‘ay-loft for the rats!...If Amos ‘as wolfed it down, then ‘e’s most likely  dead by now!......I’d better go and try to find ‘im,  poor ‘ol ‘thin!�?/FONT>

Ashen faced, Sarah’s gaze was drawn to Victor’s empty  bowl. She protested,
“Well!...‘He  ate it all!...He couldn’t have tasted anything wrong with it!�?/FONT>

Victor went bright red, the veins in his neck bulging out as he spluttered,
“Not tasted  it!...Dogs don’t worry ‘bout tasting ‘fings, you stupid girl!....Go on, get ‘yer stuff and go and don’t come back ‘ere!....I loves that ‘ol dog!.....Clear ‘orf  ‘afore I ‘takes me boot to ‘yer!�?/FONT>

Victor rushed out through the doorway and when he’d gone, Sarah sighed, gathered up her basket, coat and bonnet before taking a final look around. As she left, she wondered why she felt as light-hearted and calm as she did. There was no remorse. Why should there be? She couldn’t have known, could she?
 
A short distance away, Amos came up to her carrying a stick in his mouth. His owner’s  harsh shouts could be heard in the distance calling for the dog. Sarah stopped to pat his head and reflect for a few moments. Life would be more difficult now, but at least Victor wouldn’t  be able to ill-treat her probably anyone else after today! The sun was out and it was a little warmer she thought, as she retraced her footsteps back along the shingle path beside the frozen lake. At least she could now feed the ducks, just as she’d promised them.

 

The End
©C.N.2006