‘The thing is, we had a lovely daughter …’ He stopped momentarily to clear his throat. ‘But unfortunately she died during the measles epidemic a few years ago.’ It was obviously painful for him to talk about it but he forced himself to go on. ‘Recently my wife was again with child but sadly she lost it early in the pregnancy and was very ill. The doctor advised us then that it would be harmful to her to attempt to have any more children. Hence our presence here.’
‘I see – but if it is a baby you were hoping for, I’m afraid I couldn’t help you,’ Sunday told him gently. ‘The youngest of our children are four years old now, ranging to their teens.’
‘Oh, it needn’t be a baby,’ Stella Dawes told her hastily, speaking for the first time. ‘A four-year-old would be wonderful. In fact, we passed the most delightful-looking little girl as we motored down the drive. She was dressed in a red coat and had the most beautiful dark hair. I was quite enchanted with her.’
Sunday’s heart lurched. ‘That would be Kitty,’ she told her. ‘And I’m afraid she isn’t one of the children who I could allow to leave.’ Just the thought of losing Kitty, even to such a lovely couple, made Sunday feel physically sick.
‘Oh, I see.’
Trying to ignore the disappointment on the woman’s face, Sunday told them, ‘But we do have a number of other children who might be suitable. Of course, I would need you to produce some references and I would also need to visit your home to ensure that it would be suitable for a child. Would that be possible?’
‘Oh yes,’ they said simultaneously.
‘Then that’s what we shall do.’ Sunday forced a smile. She had no wish to be rude but she was keen to get back to Zillah now. ‘Perhaps while you get the references together we could delay the visit for a week or two? A member of the family is very ill at the moment and I’m afraid I couldn’t spare the time to take things further just yet. I do hope you understand,’ she added.
‘Of course, and we hope that the patient will soon be on the mend. We shall look forward to hearing from you shortly then.’ Mr Dawes again shook her hand and gave her a card with his address on, and Sunday personally saw the couple to the front door before rushing back to Zillah’s side.
‘They took a keen interest in Kitty,’ Sunday told Tom that evening as they sat together enjoying a mug of cocoa when all the children were fast asleep, worn out by their frolics in the snow.
‘And what did you tell them about her?’ he asked.
Sunday fiddled with the fringes on the tablecloth so she could avoid his eyes. ‘I just explained that I couldn’t let her go,’ she said defensively. ‘Well I couldn’t, could I? Not when someone is paying us to look after her.’
‘As it happens you’re quite right,’ he agreed. ‘But you know you should prepare yourself, because one of these days whoever that someone is might just come along to claim her back.’
Sunday was only too well aware of that possibility but didn’t allow herself to dwell on it, for how would she cope, if someone were to take Kitty away from her?
Rising from her seat, she told him, ‘I’d best go up and take over from my mother for a while. That’s if I can persuade her to leave Zillah.’
‘Of course.’ And as he watched her leave the room, his heart ached for his wife.
Chapter Four
The next day, 30 December, it was decided that the New Year’s Eve party they had planned would have to be cancelled. Zillah was no better – in fact, her condition had deteriorated – and so George and Tom set off in the snow to inform the guests personally as Lavinia and Sunday took it in turns to sit with the sick woman. Lavinia was so worried about her beloved friend that she looked almost as frail as the invalid did – and now Sunday was concerned about her mother too.
‘Please go and rest, Mother. You’re going to be ill too at this rate,’ she pleaded, but Lavinia took no notice.
‘I’m fine,’ she assured her daughter, her eyes never leaving Zillah’s face. Zillah had been delirious since the evening before. ‘I need to be here when she wakes up.’
If she wakes up, Sunday found herself thinking but she didn’t voice her fears. Her mother was frightened enough as it was.
‘Dr Cushion seems to think that if this fever breaks, she might start to recover,’ Lavinia said then, but as she said it she knew that she was clutching at straws. In actual fact, the doctor had appeared to be very concerned when he had left less than an hour earlier. So much so that he had promised to come in later that afternoon to check on Zillah again.
‘In that case I shall go and fetch you a tray up,’ Sunday told her. ‘You haven’t eaten or drunk a thing today.’ And with that she swept from the room with her mother’s protests ringing in her ears. It felt strangely quiet as she descended the stairs. The older children were playing outside in the snow and the younger ones were being entertained by Em’ly and Cissie in the library where their noise wouldn’t disturb Zillah. Normally they would be racing around the hall and along the corridors, and Sunday found the silence ominous.
Down in the kitchen, Mrs Rose quickly made up a tray of sandwiches and a pot of tea for Lavinia. She also added a thick wedge of her delicious sponge cake, oozing jam and cream, but Sunday doubted that her mother would even touch it. Still, it was worth a try.
‘I don’t know what we’re supposed to do with all this food I made for the party,’ Mrs Rose lamented, gesturing towards the laden tables. ‘I dare say it’ll all go to waste now. There’s far too much for us to eat.’
‘Then pack up what you don’t want and I’ll get George and Tom to deliver it to the workhouse,’ Sunday said sensibly. ‘I know the children there will be really glad of so many treats.’
‘What a good idea!’ Cook looked slightly happier now. ‘I’ll do just that – but how is Zillah?’
‘Not good,’ Sunday confided with a tired frown. ‘We can’t seem to get this fever to break and the doctor says he’s going to come back later this afternoon to look at her again.’
Cook’s lips wobbled. She was very fond of Zillah – as they all were – but all they could do was pray that she would recover.
‘And what about the couple that came to see you earlier?’ she asked then. There wasn’t much slipped past Tabitha Rose.
‘They’re interested in giving one of the children a home with them.’
Cook sniffed. ‘So why don’t they go and choose one of the poor little mites from the workhouse then?’ Cook spoiled all the children and, like Sunday herself, hated the thought of any of them leaving Treetops.
‘I don’t know and I’m not even going to think about it for now,’ Sunday said wearily. ‘All I care about at present is Zillah. I know that the children are going to be disappointed that we’ve had to cancel the party too. I’d better go and tell them and explain why.’ She wasn’t looking forward to it.
‘I’ll tell you what. I’ll do a little party in here for them,’ Mrs Rose offered good-naturedly. ‘The kitchen is far enough away not to disturb Zillah and it’s better than nothing at all. I’m sure Em’ly and Bessie will help to keep them occupied. We’ll do it late tomorrow afternoon, and with luck, by the time it’s finished they’ll be worn out and ready for bed. You just concentrate on Zillah and leave everything to me.’
‘You’re such a treasure, Mrs Rose,’ Sunday told her gratefully, then leaving the kitchen she hurried back to the sick room.
The party Cook organised for the children on New Year’s Eve turned out to be a roaring success but upstairs, things didn’t improve for Zillah. She was dangerously ill. Each rasping breath she took was an effort for her now and Lavinia was almost beside herself with grief and worry. She and Zillah had been through so much together that she couldn’t imagine life without her.
Cissie, Sunday and Tom had all begged her to go to her room for a rest while they sat with the invalid, but Lavinia refused to leave her side.
‘I want to be here when she wakes up,’ she insisted – and miraculously Zillah did just that as it was
approaching midnight.
She suddenly opened her eyes and as they settled on Lavinia, who was clutching her hand tightly, she gave her a beautiful smile.
‘Ah … there you are, pet.’
‘Of course I’m here. Where else would I be?’ Lavinia choked back tears and stared down at the beloved woman she had come to regard as a mother.
‘Are you sure you’ve forgiven me for what I did to you and Sunday?’ Zillah asked suddenly. Her voice was little more than a whisper now, but her tone was urgent.
‘You know I have.’ Lavinia gently kissed the hot damp fingers as a solitary tear trickled down her cheek.
‘Then I can go and meet my maker with a clear conscience.’
‘You’re not going anywhere. I need you – do you hear me?’
Zillah gave a sad smile. ‘No, pet,’ she gasped. ‘You have your daughter and a whole family of little ones to care for now, and that’s just as it should be. But I want you to know … I’ve loved you like my own daughter, and I only kept you from yours to try and protect you both … God bless you.’
Lavinia opened her mouth to protest but Zillah had already lapsed into sleep again. A cold hand closed around her heart, and she wondered if Zillah was preparing herself for her final journey. From that moment on, she just sat there willing her beloved Zillah to live – but all the time she could feel her inexorably, unstoppably, slipping away.
Zillah finally passed away on the fourteenth of January and the whole household was plunged into mourning. The funeral was arranged for the following week, the twenty-second, and on that day, it wasn’t only the residents of Treetops Children’s Home who grieved but the whole country, for it was announced that the Queen had also died that morning at Osborne House, surrounded by her family.
‘Why does everyone keep crying?’ Kitty asked innocently as Sunday was helping her to dress.
‘It’s because Zillah has gone, darling,’ she replied.
‘But where has she gone?’
‘She’s gone to be an angel in heaven.’
Kitty gravely thought about this for a moment before asking, ‘Will she be able to come back and see us?’
‘I’m afraid not.’ Sunday swallowed the huge lump in her throat.
Tears welled in the child’s eyes and spilled over onto her cheeks. ‘But why can’t she? We all love her so.’
‘Yes, we do,’ Sunday gulped. ‘But Zillah was very poorly indeed, so God decided to call her home so that she wouldn’t be poorly any more.’
Kitty pouted. ‘Then I think he’s very mean. This is Zillah’s home.’
Unable to go on with the conversation for fear of breaking down, Sunday gently patted her bottom and turned her towards the door, saying, ‘Why don’t you go down to breakfast like a good girl. You don’t want the others to eat all the porridge up, do you?’
Kitty instantly did as she was told. She loved Cook’s thick creamy porridge and she didn’t want to miss out.
Once she was gone, Sunday folded her little nightgown up and tucked it under her pillow before making her way slowly downstairs. It would be time to start getting ready for the funeral soon and she wasn’t looking forward to it one little bit. Em’ly and Bessie were already carrying the food Cook had prepared into the dining room for any of the mourners who might wish to come back to the house after the burial, so this morning the children were all eating in the kitchen. This would be one day that Sunday would be very glad to get over with.
The following week, Sunday and Tom finally visited the Dawes family in the nearby village of Witherley, and when they turned into the drive leading to their home they were very pleasantly surprised. A large sign announced THE GABLES, with an arrow pointing the way.
‘Why, it’s almost as big as Treetops,’ Sunday commented. ‘I didn’t expect anything quite so grand.’
Tom nodded as he steered the car along the drive beneath a canopy of leafless trees. ‘Well, everyone knows that Victor Dawes is a wealthy businessman so it stands to reason that he’s going to have a nice house.’
And it was a nice house. A large, rambling redbrick building, it was covered in a profusion of ivy and Virginia creeper, which made it look welcoming. The large windows on either side of the impressive front doors were glinting in the early-morning sunshine and the grounds surrounding it looked extensive.
When Tom had parked the car, the couple ascended the steps leading to the front door, which was opened almost immediately by a fresh-faced, fair-haired young maid in a starched white apron and cap. She had obviously been told to expect them.
‘Mr and Mrs Branning?’ she asked with a nervous smile.
When Tom and Sunday nodded, she ushered them into the hall out of the cold, saying, ‘The master and mistress are expecting you.’ She then helped them off with their hats and coats and after hanging them up, went on, ‘They told me to show you straight into the drawing room. Would you come this way, please?’
They followed her along a corridor that smelled of beeswax polish. Everything Sunday looked at was gleaming with not a single thing out of place and she couldn’t help grinning to herself. It was certainly a far cry from Treetops, which was lovely but very much lived-in.
Once the maid had announced them and shown them into the drawing room, Mr and Mrs Dawes rose to greet them. Mrs Dawes was clearly anxious about the visit and flitted about the room like a butterfly, plumping up the cushions on the chairs and rearranging the expensive-looking china ornaments on the shelf.
‘I’m sure you’ll find our home is suitable for a child,’ she gabbled, and Sunday smiled at her.
‘You have a beautiful house,’ she said in an attempt to put her at ease.
Mrs Dawes rang the bell for the maid. ‘We’ll have tea before I show you around, shall we?’ she twittered.
Once Mrs Dawes had placed the order and the maid had gone away again, Sunday commented, ‘Your house is so immaculate. Are you sure you won’t mind a child messing it up? I’m afraid all our children are very untidy. It’s quite usual for us to find toys scattered everywhere and in the most unlikely of places.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t mind at all,’ Mrs Dawes said immediately.
An awkward silence followed until the maid returned with the tea. Mrs Dawes poured them all a cup, and when they’d finished she asked, ‘Would you like to see the room the child would sleep in now?’
‘Yes, we would, thank you.’ Sunday rose from her seat, glad of a chance to escape the strained silence and Tom rose with her. Mr and Mrs Dawes personally showed them the way upstairs and again Sunday noticed that everywhere was pristine. There seemed to be an army of maids scurrying about the place like little ants all with dusters in their hands, and Sunday feared that if she stood still they might start to polish her. She also noticed that they kept their eyes downcast as they passed their mistress. What was it – deference or fear?
‘Here we are.’ Mrs Dawes stopped outside a door on the first-floor landing and flinging it open, she beckoned them in.
At a glance, Sunday and Tom saw that it was indeed a very beautiful room – and one that had been furnished and decorated for a little girl. The carpet and the curtains were a pale lilac colour, and dollies and teddy bears in regimentally straight rows were placed on the chairs strategically set out around the room. A four-poster bed trimmed with lace drapes took centre stage, and there was a pretty rosewood wardrobe, ornately carved, with a matching chest of drawers and dressing table. An enormous doll’s house stood against one wall. Even the tiny furniture inside it was neat as a new pin. On another wall was a large bookshelf full of beautifully illustrated fairy stories. Sunday couldn’t help but think that any little girl would love this room – and yet for some reason that she couldn’t quite put her finger on, she felt uneasy. Even so, now that she had seen the house she could find no valid reason to stop the Dawes from taking a child, so she began to question them.
‘I assume after seeing this room that you wish to take in a little girl?’
‘Oh yes,
if it is possible,’ Stella Dawes answered as she wrung her hands. ‘We would prefer a little girl, wouldn’t we, Victor?’ She addressed her husband as if for support.
‘If that’s what you have your heart set on, my dear,’ he answered indulgently.
‘Hmm, well as it happens I do have a child in the age bracket you would prefer,’ Sunday admitted. ‘It couldn’t be Kitty, the little girl you saw when you visited us.’ Then, feeling that she needed to offer some explanation she hurried on, ‘We are paid to care for her and feel sure that her guardian, although they haven’t made themselves known to us as yet, will come to claim her some day. But I do have another little girl. Her name is Margaret, but we call her Maggie and she’s almost the same age as Kitty.’
‘Oh!’ Mrs Dawes clapped her hands together, her eyes alight. ‘Could we perhaps come and meet her?’
‘Of course. I would expect you to visit her a few times before you made your decision,’ Sunday answered. She was feeling very agitated. Maggie could be a complete nuisance for most of the time but even so, Sunday was very attached to all the children in her care and found it hard to contemplate letting go of any of them, even Maggie. Sensing this, Tom reached out and held her trembling hand in his big, warm paw.
‘When may we come?’ the woman asked.
‘Perhaps tomorrow afternoon?’ Sunday suggested.
‘Oh, yes please! We could manage that, couldn’t we, darling?’ Stella Dawes turned to her husband.
‘Certainly,’ he agreed, and they all then made their way back downstairs. Once they had arranged a time, the couple saw Sunday and Tom to the front door and said their goodbyes. Tom helped Sunday up into the Daimler then collected the starting handle, and going round to the front of the car, he inserted it and gave it a few hefty swings until the engine purred into life. Then they were off as the Dawes waved to them.
As he steered the car towards home, he commented, ‘You’re very quiet, pet.’
The Little Angel Page 4
