The Little Angel

by Rosie Goodwin

  Maggie meanwhile moved away from the doll’s house and began to examine the rest of the room. She lifted some of the books from the shelves to inspect them before going to have a bounce on the beautiful four-poster bed and Sunday stifled a grin as she noticed Mrs Dawes following her about, putting everything back as it had been. Maggie would certainly be getting a few lessons in tidiness by the look of it, but this was no bad thing. She and the other adults tended to let the children get away with murder, back at Treetops.

  Eventually they all made their way back downstairs and while Mr Dawes and Tom kept Maggie entertained with one of the books they had brought down with them, Sunday and Mrs Dawes had a discussion and it was decided that Maggie could move in with them the following weekend. After more coffee and biscuits, Tom, Sunday and Maggie departed.

  ‘My bedroom is gigantic!’ Maggie boasted to the other children when they arrived back at the Home. ‘An’ it’s got so many toys in there. Dolls, books, games an’ a great big doll’s house with little people inside. I’m to have me own nanny too,’ she went on importantly. ‘That’s someone who is there to take care o’ me – just me!’

  Some of the others sighed enviously. It really did sound like Maggie was going to live the life of Riley! Kitty herself wasn’t the least bit jealous. She was quite happy where she was and wouldn’t have given a thank you to be taken away from her beloved Sunday and Tom. As far as she was concerned they were her family and she wouldn’t have swapped them for all the tea in China.

  ‘So when are you goin’?’ piped up seven-year-old Edwina and Maggie stuck her chest out.

  ‘This weekend. Sunday has already asked Cissie to start packin’ me clothes.’

  But then suddenly the gong sounded for dinner and there was no more time for boasting as the children all surged towards the dining room.

  On Saturday morning, Cissie carried Maggie’s little case down to the hallway and sniffed tears away as she placed it at the side of the door. The night before, they had had a little leaving party for Maggie, and Cissie was sad at the thought of her going.

  ‘But she’ll only be a couple of miles away,’ Tom had reminded her and Sunday earlier that day. ‘It’s not as if she’s going to the other side of the world.’

  ‘I know that,’ Sunday had huffed. ‘But she won’t be our responsibility any more, will she?’

  At this, Tom had shaken his head and gone to lose himself in the stable block. Women could be funny creatures, that was for sure – not that he’d change his Sunday for the world!

  As the time for the Daweses to arrive approached, the children and the staff began to assemble in the hallway to say their goodbyes. Even Lavinia, who had barely left her room since Zillah’s passing, made an appearance.

  ‘Be sure to come and see us sometimes,’ she said as she bent to plant a kiss on Maggie’s plump little cheek. Mrs Rose was the next to say goodbye, followed by Em’ly, Jessie, the housekeeper Mrs Brewer, Bessie and even Laura the laundry maid. It was the turn of the children then but Maggie showed no emotion about leaving them. She was just really excited about going to her new family now and glad that Kitty was there to see it. George and Cissie’s children arrived then to add their good wishes to the others, and they had barely done so when the clatter of the door knocker echoed around the hall.

  ‘That’ll be Mr and Mrs Dawes!’ Em’ly said all of a flap as she hurried away to answer it. Sunday meanwhile hurriedly placed Maggie’s best bonnet on her head and tied the ribbons beneath her chin.

  ‘You be happy now,’ she whispered in a choky voice as she fought back tears, but then Stella and Victor were inside and she extended her hand to each of them in turn. ‘Maggie’s all ready to go and her case with her clothes in is just there,’ she told them in an overly bright voice. She felt as if her heart was breaking, but knew that she must give Maggie this chance of having a family she could call her very own. The trouble was, letting go was always so very hard.

  ‘Oh, she needn’t bother bringing them,’ Mrs Dawes answered airily. ‘Pass them on to one of the others. I have all new clothes waiting for her at home.’

  Maggie looked at Kitty with her nose in the air, as if to say, ‘See how lucky I am?’ But Kitty merely smiled as she ran forward to give the girl a final hug.

  ‘I shall miss you,’ she whispered in Maggie’s ear and the latter’s eyes suddenly filled with tears. She knew that she hadn’t always been kind to Kitty because she was envious of how pretty she was, and now she wished that she had been nicer to her.

  Mrs Dawes took Maggie’s hand then and marched her towards the front door.

  ‘But won’t you stay for tea?’ Sunday asked, suddenly in a panic.

  ‘No we won’t, if you don’t mind,’ Mrs Dawes replied. ‘Margaret’s new nanny is anxious to meet her and I think perhaps it’s best for her if we just go and get the parting over with, rather than prolonging it, don’t you?’

  Lavinia had come to place her arm through Sunday’s now and feeling her daughter’s pain, she answered for her. ‘Yes, Mrs Dawes. I think you are probably right. Take good care of her and remember, we are here if you should need us. Goodbye.’

  Maggie suddenly didn’t feel quite so confident about leaving behind the only people she had ever cared about, but she took the woman’s hand and after a brief wave she went off and never even looked back.

  ‘There then. Let’s hope that’s another child that has found a happy home,’ Lavinia said warmly.

  Sunday gave one last anxious look at the door before dutifully following her mother and husband into the morning room to discuss plans for the day ahead.

  Over the next three months Treetops gradually settled back into some sort of normality as the people who lived there resigned themselves to their dear Zillah’s death. Even Lavinia seemed to have accepted it now and gradually began to come out of her shell. Little had been seen of Maggie until one day, as she was walking through the marketplace, intent on purchasing new under-garments for Marianne and Kitty, who both seemed to have grown a good deal recently, Sunday saw a woman in a dove-grey uniform coming towards her clutching the hand of a small girl. For an instant she didn’t take much notice of them, but something familiar about the child make her look again – and when she did, the breath caught in her throat.

  ‘Maggie?’ As they drew abreast of her the woman paused and frowned at Sunday as Maggie looked up at her from dull eyes. She had lost a great deal of weight and her usual lank hair was now a mass of ringlets tied up with a red ribbon. ‘H-how are you, pet?’

  The woman said repressively, ‘Do you know this person, Margaret?’

  The little girl nodded meekly, not at all as the Maggie Sunday remembered would have done.

  ‘Yes, Nanny. This is Sunday, the lady I used to live with before I went to live with Mr and … Mother and Father.’

  ‘Ah, I see.’ Then addressing Sunday, the woman said, ‘You must be Mrs Branning?’

  Sunday inclined her head, hardly able to take her eyes off Maggie. She looked so different. ‘Yes, yes, I am and it’s lovely to see Maggie again. We were rather hoping she might come and visit us all at Treetops.’

  ‘So I understand. But the master and mistress felt it best to give her time to settle in first,’ the nanny answered pompously.

  ‘And how is she settling in?’ Sunday asked, taking an instant dislike to the woman. She seemed so cold and impersonal.

  ‘Margaret, as we prefer her to be known, is doing very well – all things considered,’ the woman replied.

  ‘What things?’ Sunday asked boldly. The longer she spent in this woman’s company the less she liked her, and Maggie was so quiet, not at all her usual cheeky little self.

  ‘Well, the fact that she is a foundling and has only ever lived in a children’s home all her life. Of course, living within a civilised family will take some adjusting to.’

  ‘I can assure you we are very civilised at Treetops Manor,’ Sunday snorted, deeply offended, and the woman had the good grace to l
ook slightly embarrassed.

  ‘No offence intended, I assure you, Mrs Branning. But now we really must be going. The mistress won’t like it if we are late back.’

  Ignoring her, Sunday bent to Maggie’s level and gave her a reassuring smile. The child had picked up on the chilly atmosphere and looked worried.

  ‘So how are you, pet?’

  After a quick glance at the nanny, Maggie answered politely, ‘I am very well, thank you.’

  ‘Good.’ But Sunday was far from pleased. Why wasn’t Maggie being her normal, natural outspoken self? The child seemed like a stranger.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Branning, but we really must be going,’ the stern-faced woman repeated, and realising that she had no valid excuse to detain them, Sunday rose.

  ‘Of course. Good day. And, Maggie, do ask Mr and Mrs Dawes to bring you to visit us soon. We would all love to see you.’

  The child nodded expressionlessly before being hauled away, and all Sunday could do was stare after her in bemusement.

  Chapter Seven

  Sunday arrived home to total chaos as usual. Verity Lockett was just leaving after teaching the children, and let loose from the schoolroom they were rampaging about. Their laughter was echoing down the hallway as they surged towards the door, keen to get out into the fresh air. Barney was barking wildly, adding to the mayhem. A huge golden labrador, he was a firm favourite with the children and was like Tom’s shadow. They had found him wandering about the grounds shortly after they got married and had taken him in, and ever since, everyone in the household had spoiled him shamelessly. The cats, who lived in the kitchen, had come there the same way and Sunday remembered laughing when Tom had once suggested they should put up a sign saying HOME FOR WAIFS AND STRAYS. ANY LEGGED VARIETY WELCOME.

  ‘Hello, Sunday,’ the children chorused as they flooded past her out into the spring sunshine with Barney in hot pursuit, his tail wagging furiously.

  ‘Phew, I thought I was going to get trampled in the rush, for a moment there,’ Sunday commented to Verity. When Sunday was growing up in the workhouse, Verity had been the only person to ever show Sunday any real kindness or affection. Sunday would never forget that and she loved the woman dearly. Poor Verity was Zillah’s niece – the two had been very close, and Verity had taken her aunt’s death very badly. Now, however, she laughed as she drew on her gloves and took her hat from Em’ly.

  ‘George has the trap outside and he just offered to run you home,’ Sunday told her just as Tom emerged from his office to join them.

  ‘Wonderful.’ Verity was pleased. ‘Edgar has some parish meeting or another tonight in the church hall so I could do with getting home a little early. See you the same time tomorrow, Sunday.’ She was gone then with a breezy wave of the hand.

  Sunday took Tom’s elbow and almost dragged him into the drawing room. She couldn’t wait to tell him the news.

  ‘I bumped into Maggie today. She was in the marketplace with her nanny.’

  ‘Well, that was nice then,’ Tom said. ‘How did she look?’

  Sunday began to pace, a sure sign that she was agitated. ‘It’s not so much how she looked that disturbed me as how she acted.’

  Tom took a seat. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She just seemed so … oh, I don’t know – quiet, I suppose, and not herself at all. And she’s lost an awful lot of weight.’

  ‘Isn’t it normal for very young children to lose their baby weight as they grow a little older? And let’s be honest, Maggie was a chunky little thing. Losing a little weight won’t hurt her, surely?’

  Seeing the twinkle in her husband’s eye, Sunday grew annoyed. ‘Oh, I know what you’re thinking,’ she snapped. ‘That I’m just looking for things to worry about, but I tell you – something isn’t right with her.’

  ‘You’re like a mother hen worrying about her chick,’ he teased as he crossed to give her an affectionate hug. ‘I’m sure if there had been any concerns, Mr and Mrs Dawes would have been in touch with us.’

  ‘It was something about her eyes … as if her spirit had been broken,’ Sunday went on, ignoring his comment. ‘Almost as if she was afraid to speak without the nanny’s permission. Ugh, she was a tartar!’

  ‘In that case, I suggest we employ her to come here for a few days a week. She might be able to get our unruly lot into some sort of order. Now for goodness sake stop fretting, will you? Maggie will be fine, I’m sure.’

  Sunday snuggled against his broad chest. No doubt Tom was right. She had to give Maggie a chance to settle in her new home with no interference from her, but it was always so hard to stand back …

  ‘Ben, I miss Maggie.’ Kitty was watching Ben scythe the grass on the front lawn, an art he had perfected and greatly enjoyed doing.

  ‘Do you, little ’un? Well, that’s understandable. You spent a lot o’ time together, even if she was a pain for most of it.’ He laid down the scythe and swiped his forearm across his sweating forehead. It had taken him a long time to persuade Tom to let him learn to scythe. Tom had felt he was too young to be trusted with such a dangerous tool but Ben had proved him wrong and was now almost as proficient as Tom was at the job.

  If truth be told, Ben missed Maggie too. She’d been an annoying little chit for the majority of the time but she had possessed some saving graces. Her leaving had also brought home to him how vulnerable they all were. He regarded Treetops as his home, but when the Daweses had taken Maggie away it came to him that he and the rest of the youngsters there were merely being cared for by Tom and Sunday. They weren’t really his family, so who was to say that someone wouldn’t come along and offer to give him a home? Would he be allowed to refuse? He knew that now he was growing bigger and stronger he might be an asset to a farmer, and if truth be told he wasn’t averse to working on a farm. He loved being outdoors in the fresh air, yet the thought of leaving Sunday and Tom, who were the closest to a family he had ever had, filled him with dread. Of course, he would have to leave Treetops one day and make his own way in the world, but for now he preferred not to think of it.

  ‘Perhaps we could ask Sunday or Tom if they could arrange for you to visit Maggie? Or perhaps she could come here to see us?’ he suggested then, seeing Kitty’s dejected little face.

  Because they were all aware that she was missing Maggie, they had spoiled her, and it was beginning to show a little in her attitude. Kitty had finally realised just how very pretty she was and was now extremely good at using her looks to get what she wanted. A little pout or the glimmer of a tear in her eye could have Sunday jumping to please her, a fact that worried Tom slightly, as Ben was aware. Only the day before, he had overheard Tom telling her, ‘You’re over-indulging that child, pet, and it’s not doing her a bit o’ good.’

  Shame-faced, she had nodded. ‘I suppose I do spoil her a little,’ she’d admitted. ‘But now that you’ve pointed it out, I shall stop.’

  Ben didn’t think there was much chance of that happening and now he lifted the scythe to resume his work, saying, ‘Off you go then. This is very sharp and I wouldn’t like you to get hurt.’

  Knowing that she was being dismissed, Kitty wandered away with her doll Annabelle tucked firmly beneath her arm and Ben was thoughtful as he watched her go.

  It was the middle of April when Sunday suddenly suggested, ‘Why don’t we pack a picnic and take the children for a walk in the woods? It’s such a lovely day, it’s a shame to waste it.’

  Tom, who had his head stuck in a newspaper, sighed to himself. He had just been snatching a few minutes before returning to the list of jobs that never seemed to get any shorter, but he agreed all the same.

  ‘All right then. But only for a couple of hours, mind. There’s still a lot of work to do in the orchard if we’re to get the best of the crops when they come. I was hoping to finish pruning the apple trees today, and there’s still a mass of weeding waiting to be done in the vegetable garden. George is out there now working on it even as we speak.’

  He laid down h
is paper as Sunday rushed off to the kitchen to organise a picnic hamper and round the children up, and within half an hour they set off with the younger ones racing ahead laughing and shouting. Hartshill Hayes was always a beautiful place to stroll in, but in the spring it took on a magical quality. Beneath the canopy of trees was a carpet of bluebells for as far as the eye could see … and the smell of the flowers was heady.

  Sunday often told the little ones stories about the fairies who played in the woods and today Kitty ran up to her, her dark hair glinting with golden lights in the dappled sun that managed to break through the canopy of branches overhead.

  ‘Will we see any fairies today, Sunday?’ she asked innocently.

  Sunday raised a finger to her lips before whispering, ‘You just might if you’re very quiet, but if you’re noisy and they hear you coming, they’ll hide.’

  Big brown eyes as wide as saucers stared back at her before Kitty turned abruptly about and hurried off to try and shush the other children.

  Sunday’s heart swelled with love for the child as she watched her go. She knew that Tom was right and she shouldn’t spoil her the way she did, but it was hard not to.

  Eventually they came to a break in the trees and emerged onto the bank. The fields and hedgerows stretched away into the distance like a patchwork quilt of multicoloured shades of green. There was nothing to be heard but the sound of birdsong and the children’s laughter, and Sunday sighed with contentment.

  ‘It doesn’t get much better than this, does it?’ she said and Tom nodded in agreement as he spread a blanket on the ground and began to unpack the hamper. There were three bottles of lemonade, freshly made that morning, and a number of hard-boiled eggs, small cakes and biscuits.

  ‘I shan’t pack too much, else the children won’t want their dinner tonight,’ Mrs Rose had told Sunday firmly.