Death at the Workhouse by Emily Organ

Author:Emily Organ [Organ, Emily]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-09-16T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 29

I arrived outside St Monica’s in Hoxton Square at sunrise the following morning and surveyed the church’s narrow facade with its tall, arched window. The bare trees in the square were white with a heavy frost.

I stepped inside the church and prepared what I was about to say. No one seemed interested in investigating the deaths of Mr Patten and Mr Walker any further, but I couldn’t simply forget about them. I remained convinced that a third person had been involved, but if I couldn’t freely wander about the workhouse asking questions then I had to track down someone who could.

The interior of the church was long and narrow with a high ceiling supported by a timber frame. Light filtered through a round stained-glass window above the altar and incense clouded the air.

I sat in a pew and bowed my head, as if in prayer. I hadn’t been raised in the Catholic religion but it seemed like a reverential thing to do while I waited for someone to appear.

Before long, a nun stepped out of a small door and started tending to the candles on the altar. I got up from my seat and walked quietly over to speak to her. I kept my voice as low as possible, but I still managed to startle her when I spoke.

“Excuse me. Could you please tell me where I might find Father Keane?”

She took a moment to recover herself. “I didn’t see you there!” she replied in a whisper. I noticed that she had large, owl-like eyes. “Father Keane, you say?”

I nodded.

“May I ask who you are?”

I introduced myself and rummaged around in my carpet bag to find one of my cards which she examined closely.

“I met him briefly at Shoreditch Workhouse while I was on a tour led by one of the guardians, Mrs Hodges. He might recall me, though our introduction was a brief one.”

She appeared to relax slightly in response to this revelation. “I shall fetch him for you now, Miss Green.”

I sat back down to wait, and a few moments later Father Keane stepped out through the small door. He wore a long black coat that was buttoned up and a lengthy black collar edged with white.

“Miss Green?”

I rose to my feet. “I was hoping that you might recall me from our brief meeting at the workhouse, Father Keane.”

“I do indeed. I believe you’re the lady they call ‘the troublesome reporter’.”

I felt my heart sink. “Oh dear, do they? Did you hear that description from Mr Lennox? Mr Hale? Or perhaps Mrs Hodges? I think I’ve managed to upset a few people there.”

A smile spread across his boyish face. “Please don’t worry, Miss Green. I read your article about the casual ward and it concerned me greatly. You are only considered troublesome because you are quite rightly questioning the way the workhouse is being run. I agree that there is a real need for certain conditions to improve at the workhouse, and my colleagues and I will do what we can to bring them about.

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