He carried on reading, but Cissie no longer heard the words. For a while she was back in that unspeakable world, in which she had prayed for death to come and claim her … But I must stop thinking of that, she told herself sternly. That is not what I am here for.
‘It goes on to say that you gave birth to a boy in the following May’ – Mr Wilkins glanced at her sympathetically and cleared his throat – ‘and that he was born dead.’
‘But he wasn’t! He wasn’t, I tell you! I heard him cry. I saw him waving his little arms, but they took him straight away from me and I never saw him again!’ Cissie had leaped to her feet and there were tears on Lavinia’s cheeks as she rose to put her arms about her. This was what she had feared.
‘It’s all right, Cissie,’ she soothed. ‘Try to stay calm. We believe you, don’t we, Mr Wilkins?’
He nodded, his eyes sad. ‘Yes, of course we do, my dear. It’s an unfortunate truth that most of the babies that were born here back then were certified stillborn although some of their poor mothers swore that they weren’t. After Augustus Crackett was dismissed, an investigation revealed that he had been running a very lucrative business on the side selling the little mites to childless couples. However, I’m afraid that this knowledge doesn’t help us. We have nothing to go on. No way of knowing where your little man may have gone.’
Cissie began to sob then. Harsh wracking sobs that shook her frame as all her hopes turned to ashes.
‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Branning.’ Mr Wilkins looked so genuinely distressed that under other circumstances, Cissie could almost have pitied him.
He was strumming his fingers on the desk and then something occurred to him. ‘There is just one person who may be able to help you,’ he said. ‘If she’s still alive, that is. As you can appreciate, many staff have come and gone over the decades, but when I took over about fifteen years ago now there was one lady who had worked here while Augustus Crackett was in charge. She retired about five or six years ago now and must be approaching eighty. I remember her telling me once that she was responsible for looking after the babies that survived until Crackett found new families for them, but as I said … she may not still be alive.’
‘But it would be worth finding out,’ Cissie said, her voice ragged. ‘Could you tell me where she lived?’
Rising from his desk, he approached another cupboard. ‘This is the information I have on the staff,’ he muttered. ‘If I still have it, that is. A lovely woman she was, if I remember rightly. Ada Marshall was her name … Ah!’ He held a sheet of paper up and smiled from ear to ear. ‘Mrs Ada Marshall, Bluebell Cottage, Ansley Common, Nuneaton. Not far away at all, thankfully.’
‘Thank you so much,’ Cissie said as she mopped at her tears. At least there was a tiny ray of hope again now, and she would never be able to thank him enough.
She and Lavinia rose from their seats then and Mr Wilkins saw them to the front door personally. Once there, he shook hands with both of them and told Cissie, ‘I wish you luck, Mrs Branning, and I will pray that you will be successful in the search for your son. Now I will bid you a very good day, ladies.’
They took their leave and once Ben had settled them in the carriage he asked, ‘Where to now?’
‘Ansley Common,’ they said in unison and then they smiled at each other.
Suddenly a proverb that the Reverend Lockett had quoted at the Sunday morning Service sprang into Cissie’s Mind:
Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but longing fulfilled is a tree of life.
Proverbs, Chapter 13 verse 12
Chapter Thirty-Three
‘This is it, I think, Ben – can you stop here?’ Lady Huntley shouted through the carriage window as they rattled over Ansley Common. They were outside a small cottage with a very overgrown garden on the outskirts of Ansley village. Ben obligingly drew the horses to a halt as Cissie leaned out to peer at the sign on the gate, which read -L-EB--L. Some of the letters had faded away completely but she was sure that this was Bluebell Cottage. The two women climbed down from the carriage as Ben scratched his head.
‘I dunno,’ he said. ‘The place looks deserted to me.’
His words struck fear into Cissie’s heart. If the cottage was deserted it could only mean that Ada Marshall had passed away and with her would have gone any chance of ever finding her son.
‘There’s only one way to find out,’ Lavinia said and pushed the gate open. She and Cissie then picked their way down the brambly path and Cissie found herself thinking what a shame it was that the garden was so neglected. It must have been quite beautiful once upon a time. Hollyhocks, delphiniums and other plants were battling for supremacy with the weeds, but sadly it looked as if the weeds were winning.
Once at the door, which was badly in need of a new coat of paint, Lavinia lifted the tarnished brass knocker and rapped on the wood – and then all they could do was wait, each with their heart in their mouth. Just when it seemed that their journey had been in vain they heard a tap-tapping noise from inside and then the door creaked open, the rusty hinges protesting loudly.
An elderly lady with a wizened face peeped out at them and Lady Huntley immediately told her, ‘I’m so sorry to disturb you but the superintendent at Hatter’s Hall, Mr Wilkins, gave us your address. He thought you might be able to help us trace a baby that was born there many years ago.’
The old woman held the door wide. ‘You’d best come in then, though it’s doubtful I’ll remember. There were so many babbies born durin’ the time I worked there, poor little mites.’
They found themselves in a large room that appeared to serve as both the kitchen and the parlour. It was very dark and so cluttered that Cissie didn’t know where to look first. A huge fire was roaring in the grate despite it being summer, and a large tabby cat was curled up in a chair fast asleep at the side of it. The interior of Bluebell Cottage was a complete contrast to the outside, for everywhere was clean and tidy.
Strangely enough, despite the fact that she had aged, Cissie had recognised the woman instantly. Full of hope, she asked, ‘Do you remember me, Mrs Marshall? The baby was mine and back then my name was Cissie Burns.’
Leaning heavily on her walking stick the old woman shook her head. Her hands were knobbled with arthritis and pain made her look even older than she was, although her piercing blue eyes were bright. Her hair was silver-grey and twisted into a long plait that lay across her shoulder and she was clad in a long skirt and blouse that had been out of fashion for many years. On top she wore a thick woollen shawl and a somewhat tatty but spotless apron.
‘There were so many girls put in the Hall for no fault of their own,’ she answered regretfully, ‘and so many babbies. Most of ’em didn’t survive wi’out their mother’s milk, God bless ’em. But I allus did me best fer ’em, every last one of the little mites. That were my job, see? Carin’ fer the younger inmates an’ the babbies that were born there.’
Disappointment pierced Cissie’s soul. ‘There was a bit of a scandal when I was admitted to Hatter’s Hall,’ she rushed on, praying that something would trigger the old woman’s memory. ‘The baby I bore was the result of me being forced by the housemaster at the workhouse, Albert Pinnegar. It was Lady Huntley here who rescued me and got me out of the asylum some years later.’
‘Lady Huntley …’ The old woman sat slowly down on the nearest chair and peered closely at Cissie and Lavinia in turn before saying, ‘I do remember that case, as it happens. Didn’t you give birth to a little boy?’
Cissie wrapped her arms around herself. ‘Yes, but they took him away from me as soon as he was born and I never saw him again. I never even got to hold him.’ Tears poured down her face. ‘They told me he was dead, but I know he wasn’t. I heard him cry.’
‘Oh, Augustus Crackett told that to most o’ the young women,’ Mrs Wilkins said sympathetically. ‘He sold the newborns, see, to desperate folks as couldn’t have any o’ their own. He were a wicked sod, so he were! But yes, I do remember you an’ I also
remember the babby. I don’t remember where he went to though. How could I, after all this time?’
She watched Cissie’s face fall and could see that this search for her long-lost son obviously meant the world to her. Cissie meanwhile was feeling devastated. Mrs Marshall had been her last chance at discovering where her baby had gone – and now that hope was no more.
‘I see,’ she said huskily. ‘Well, thank you for at least listening to us, Mrs Marshall.’ Then turning to Lavinia with her head down she said wearily, ‘We’d best leave this good lady in peace.’
They were almost at the door when the old woman made a hasty decision and told her in a rush, ‘I might be able to help you, Cissie – but if I do, you must promise me solemnly that you will never let on that the information came from me. Can you make that promise?’
Cissie’s heart almost stopped as she turned back to the woman.
‘The thing is …’ The old woman licked her dry lips. ‘I sometimes used to make a note of who’d taken the young ’uns, see? It was strictly against the rules, you understand, and if old Crackett had ever found out, my neck would have been on the line an’ I’d have been instantly dismissed. But if the babbies were goin’ to live locally I liked to try an’ keep an eye out for ’em. I got fond o’ the little mites, see, an’ I worried that they were goin’ to good homes. O’ course I didn’t have time to check on all of ’em, what wi’ havin’ me own little ’uns to look after at home but me intentions were good. I should still have those notes somewhere.’
The two visitors waited, hardly daring to breathe, as the old woman stared thoughtfully off into space. ‘Now where did I put ’em?’ she wondered aloud and then she suddenly got up and began to hobble across to a large old dresser that stood against one wall. She bent with a groan and opened the cupboard beneath it, and began to sift through a mountain of paper and scraps, then eventually withdrew a battered old book.
‘Here it is!’ she wheezed. ‘I were worried for a while there that I might have thrown it out. Now what date did you say the child was born?’
Cissie hastily told her again and the old woman sank back into her chair and began to flick through the pages.
‘Here it is,’ she cried jubilantly. ‘It were a couple from Bedworth who took him. Tate! That were their name. The chap had a grocery shop somewhere in the town centre. O’ course, I couldn’t guarantee that it’s still there, but at least it’s a bit o’ sommat fer you to go on.’ She smiled kindly at Cissie then, who was shaking with nerves, before asking, ‘But are yer quite sure it’s a good idea to rake up the past, pet? Yer son would be a grown man now an’ might not appreciate knowin’ he ain’t who he thought he was. His parents might not ’ave told him that he wasn’t theirs by birth.’
‘I’ve thought o’ that,’ Cissie replied. ‘An’ I promise you that if I do find him, I shall be careful how I approach him. The last thing I want to do is cause him any upset. But if I can just see him an’ know that he’s well, that will be enough even if I never get to know him.’
‘In that case I wish yer well wi’ yer search,’ the old woman said with a sad smile. ‘Yer can’t begin to understand how bad it were for us who worked there who didn’t approve o’ the goin’s-on.’
‘So why didn’t you do something to stop it?’ Cissie asked before she could stop herself and instantly the old woman’s eyes clouded.
‘Eeh, if only things were that simple.’ She shook her head. ‘Back then we knew better than to try an’ cross Augustus Crackett. The man were pure evil through an’ through, an’ those that did try to change things lived to regret it, believe you me. Bad things happened to them an’ their families, an’ I were a widow wi’ a young family to support. My man were killed in a pit fall an’ my kids relied on me then to put food on the table an’ keep a roof over their heads, so I just did the best I could fer the babbies that were placed in my care till they were moved on, an’ I’m ashamed to say I kept me mouth shut about what went on.’ She wiped a tear from her eye.
‘Well, we have the information that we came for and we are more than grateful for it, so I think we should be on our way now, Cissie,’ Lavinia said firmly then to break the fraught atmosphere.
‘Yes, yes of course.’ Cissie felt guilty for confronting the woman now. After all, it wasn’t Ada’s fault that she had worked under such a corrupt taskmaster. It sounded like the poor soul had had little choice. She realised then how lucky she had been to have a loving husband who had been there to see their family grow up.
Reaching out, she took Mrs Wilkins’s gnarled hand in hers and gently kissed it. ‘Thank you,’ she told her sincerely.
The woman waved her thanks aside. ‘I’m only glad I could help.’
She hobbled to the door with them and watched while they set off, and once the carriage was trundling along, Lavinia asked, ‘So what are you going to do now?’
Cissie thought for a moment before answering, ‘I suppose the first thing will be to go to Bedworth and see if the shop is still there. The Tates may not still own it but whoever does may know where they went. They must be getting on in years too. I shall talk to George about it when we get home and see if he agrees.’
Lavinia thought that was wise. They had achieved a great deal in a short time, and both women were emotionally drained. The rest of the journey back to Treetops Manor was made in silence as Cissie clung to Lavinia’s hand, feeling as wrung out as a wet dishcloth.
The following afternoon, shortly after lunch, Ruby joined Kitty in the drawing room to inform her, ‘Max has sent word that he has a booking for you this evening at the Canterbury Music Hall in Lambeth. The singer they’d engaged has lost her voice.’
For the first time, Kitty looked slightly dismayed at the news. ‘But I was onstage last night – for the fourth show this week. I’m worn out and was hoping to rest this evening.’
Ruby lit one of the small cigars she was partial to and after blowing a plume of blue smoke into the air she gave her daughter a short lecture. ‘What you need to understand is that in this business you have to take advantage of your popularity while you can. People are fickle, believe me, and they can soon shift their adoration to someone else if you don’t keep yourself in the public eye.’ Her voice hardened. ‘You said this was what you wanted, and Max and I have worked tirelessly to make it happen for you. Surely you are not losing interest already?’
Hearing the note of admonition in her mother’s voice, Kitty was quick to reassure her. ‘Oh no, of course I’m not. Forget I ever said anything. I shall just go and rest now so that I’m at my best. Maggie can prepare one of my gowns.’ It was the first time Ruby had ever been openly hostile to her and Kitty felt chastened as she fled from the room.
When she burst into her bedroom she found Maggie placing fresh towels in her bathroom.
‘My mother just informed me that I have another booking this evening,’ Kitty told her as she threw herself onto the bed.
‘What!’ Maggie looked aghast. ‘But you performed last night after modelling for Mr Fitzherbert for most of the day. You’ll make yourself ill at this rate.’
Kitty forced a smile. ‘I don’t mind,’ she told her. ‘I’ve got plenty of time to put my feet up this afternoon and I didn’t have any plans for this evening anyway. It appears that I’m more popular than I thought.’
‘That’s all very well, but you can have too much of a good thing,’ Maggie grumbled. Then a thought occurred to her and she asked, ‘Why don’t you tell Ruby that you want to take a little holiday. You could go and visit Sunday and Tom for a few days.’ Although Kitty never admitted it, Maggie sensed that she missed them dreadfully. But she hadn’t taken Kitty’s pride into account.
‘Why should I go and see them?’ The girl reared up immediately. ‘Ruby said she’d let them have my address and I’ve written to them on numerous occasions but they haven’t even bothered to reply. I think that rather tells me something, don’t you? They clearly feel that they’ve done their duty by me and that’s an end
to it – and that’s fine by me!’
Maggie chewed on her lip. Despite her brave words, Kitty’s lovely eyes were brimming with tears but Maggie felt powerless to help her if she wouldn’t listen to advice. Kitty could be very stubborn when she had a mind to be.
‘Well, it’s your decision,’ Maggie answered. ‘And if you’re performing again this evening I’d better set to and get you a gown pressed. What about the lilac silk and Chantilly lace one? You haven’t worn that this week.’
‘Very well.’ Kitty watched Maggie bustle over to the armoire to get the gown and once she had left the room with it over her arm Kitty turned her head into the pillow and wept, although she couldn’t have said why. She had craved success and she wallowed in the admiration that was being bestowed on her. Why, only the evening before when leaving the stage and returning to her dressing room, she had found a magnificent ruby and diamond bracelet tucked in a black velvet box amongst the blooms of one of the numerous bouquets that were waiting for her from her many admirers. She had been tickled pink – even more so when Ruby had turned quite green with envy. So why then, she wondered, did she still feel so unhappy?
Chapter Thirty-Four
‘Are you ready then, pet?’ George gently asked his wife. They were standing outside Tate’s grocery shop in the centre of Bedworth and Cissie was all of a-tremble. Tom had let George borrow his treasured car to drive her there, but now that they had arrived, for the first time Cissie was filled with doubts about whether or not she was doing the right thing.
George smiled at her reassuringly. ‘You don’t have to go through with this if you choose not to. But will you rest easy if you don’t, knowing that your son could be so close? You’ve dreamed of this for a long time, my love.’
‘You’re right, George, of course you are,’ she answered, more to convince herself than him. And then before she could give herself time to change her mind she strode determinedly forward and entered the shop. The bell above the door tinkled and she saw a woman with a large wicker basket being served at the counter by a tall man who looked to be in his late fifties. She and George stayed close to the door until the woman left and then the man looked at them and asked politely, ‘May I help you?’
The Little Angel Page 26
