A Woman of Influence by Rebecca Ann Collins

you; he cannot speak; it isn't that he is dumb or anything... he could speak even as a baby, but he just stopped about two years ago after the police came and took his father away. They say he had a bad fright then, sir, and never spoke again."
    Becky, who had come right up to them, still believing the young woman was a labourer working the grounds, asked, "Who is he? Is he your brother?"
    The girl smiled and, looking no older than eighteen years of age, answered, "No, ma'am; he's my son, Tom. I am sorry he's given you so much trouble, ma'am, he's never done it before. I did tell him he must not go near the big house or approach any of the ladies or gentlemen. He was to sit quietly in the gazebo until I came for him, but he doesn't always understand, ma'am; he gets a little excited and runs about, but he means no harm, ma'am."
    "And where in the grounds do you work while Tom stays in the gazebo?" asked Becky.
    To their amazement, she replied, "I don't work here, ma'am, I work in the hop fields over on the other side of the river. They don't let you bring young children along, not unless they can work as well, and he can't; he doesn't understand enough--he would make a mess and then I'd lose my job as well."
    "And how long has Tom been sitting quietly in the gazebo while you went to work in the hop fields?" asked Jonathan.
    "About two weeks, sir," she replied, adding, "I am very sorry, ma'am; I understand it was wrong, but I had no other way. I had to get work to feed him and myself, and the work in the hop fields is better than road work, ma'am."
    "What is your name?" asked Becky, who had noticed a ring on the finger of her left hand.
    She answered quickly--almost too quickly, Jonathan thought--"Alice, ma'am, Alice Grey," she said.
    "And are you expected at work today, Alice?" asked Becky.
    The young woman bit her lip and appeared somewhat tongue-tied before saying, "No, ma'am, I asked for an hour or two to take Tom to the apothecary in the village. He's been coughing a lot lately. He needs some medicine."
    "And where do you live?" asked Jonathan, beginning to be concerned that the child's sickness was probably a consequence of his living conditions.
    This time the answer came much more slowly. "Here and there, sir." She looked down at her feet, and Becky, following her eyes, saw her rather dainty boots were scuffed and dusty from walking.
    "What do you mean, here and there?" she asked. "Do you mean you have no place to stay? Where do you and Tom sleep at night?"
    Again, Alice looked down and away as she answered, almost reluctantly, "In one of the barns over there, on the other side of the lake, beyond the spinney." She pointed in the direction of the out buildings. "I am truly sorry, ma'am, I should have asked, but I was afraid I would be refused and then where would I have gone? I didn't think it would do any harm, ma'am; I didn't take anything. It was the small barn where they keep the empty sacks and things. We just kept our bundle of things there and slept overnight."
    "And you have been sleeping there for two weeks?" asked Becky, astonished that no one had noticed.
    "Yes, ma'am, just overnight. I spend many hours weeding and clearing up after they harvest the hops. We had a place in the village behind the fields, a farmer let us use his outhouse, but he wanted more rent, and there were other things... I couldn't afford it, ma'am, not on what they pay in the hop fields."
    "And how did you find this place?" Becky asked.
    "One of the lads in the village told me about it; he said he had slept there once or twice, when it was wet and he couldn't get home. I thought it would do just for a short time, until we found another place. It was clean and safe for Tom as well."
    Jonathan was shaking his head, and Becky was finding it difficult to keep her own feelings under control. The young woman looked thin and weary, and the boy gazed longingly at a cloth bag in her hand, which looked as though it contained food. From the aroma