Free The Price of Desire by Leda Swann Page A

rumbled. Blackberries were all very well in their place, but they didn’t fill the belly like a good loaf of bread did. By the looks on their faces, the others were all thinking similar thoughts.

    One of the villagers passed them as they sat there in silence, a curious look on her face. They must look a sight, Caroline thought uncomfortably, wincing inwardly at the woman’s scrutiny and then chiding herself for her folly. At the workhouse they would have to get used to worse things than the stares of strangers.

    The same woman passed them by again a few minutes later. This time her curiosity got the better of her and she approached them cautiously. “I haven’t seen you around before.”

    “We are just passing through,” Caroline answered politely. “And we stopped for a rest.”

    “You needing anything?” the woman asked. “My son and daughter-in-law own the bakery over yonder. My boy makes the best yeast rolls in Christendom, if I say so myself.”

    Caroline felt her face go red. “Thank you, but we don’t need anything. We have already eaten.”

    “We had blackberries for breakfast,” Teddy piped up, showing off his purple fingers proudly. “I found the most.”

    “You’re not still hungry?”

    “I’m starving,” Teddy admitted cheerfully. “Papa died so we have to go to the workhouse,” he went on before Caroline could stop him. “Caroline says they will feed us there.”

    The woman’s face softened. “I thought as much,” she murmured to herself. “Poor wee mites, all dressed in black as they are.” She reached into the bag she was carrying and drew out a large loaf. “Here, share this with your sisters,” she said, pressing it into Teddy’s hands. “It will keep you going until you get to the House.”

    Though Caroline’s face was burning with shame, she did not have the heart to refuse the woman’s kindly gesture. Her pride could bend just a little to fill the emptiness of Teddy’s stomach. “Thank you,” she said, almost choking over the words.

    The woman gave her an understanding smile. “There’s more of us than you’d guess who’ve had a stint in the House,” she said quietly. “They treat you rough, but to give them their due, they feed you enough to keep body and soul together. I’ve had cause to be grateful to them more than once. Having to stay at the House for a time is not the end of the world.”

    Looking at the grim brick building in the distance, Caroline could feel no hope, no gratitude, for those who offered up this place of last refuge. There was nothing in her but blank despair. The workhouse was the end of her hopes, the end of her world.

Four
    It was nigh on noon by the time they reached the tall gates of the workhouse. Her heart beating with trepidation, Caroline led them through and into the stone-flagged courtyard beyond. The courtyard itself was deserted, but she could hear sounds of industry in the distance—the muted clatter of breaking rocks and the thud of axe against tree. No voices, though. The world of the workhouse seemed to be inhabited by silent ghosts and machinery, not with living and breathing beings.
    She looked around the courtyard, trying to get her bearings. Tall brick walls surrounded her on all sides so that she did not know which way to turn.
     
    The workhouse was so big—larger by far than she had imagined it to be. Were there really that many poor people in her parish? She would not have thought there were half so many. Her hands shaking, she picked up the heavy brass knocker on the closest door and let it fall. It hit the door with a resounding clang that seemed to echo on forever.

    Before the sound had completely died away the door opened and a thin-faced woman stuck her head out. “Visiting hours are ten till twelve on Fridays only,” she said, and she made as if to shut the door again.

    “We are not here to visit,” Caroline said in a rush. “But to stay.”

    “To stay?” The thin-faced woman opened the