by Cathy Sharp
Angela could only hope that was true. She’d been filled with hope when she arrived, keyed up by his encouragement, but after just a few hours she was beginning to wonder if she had done the right thing. No one seemed to want her here; they thought her one of those middle-class do-gooders. Mark had warned her that might be the case at the start. She’d dismissed his warning, but now she knew that it wouldn’t be easy working with people who resented her.
Well, she’d taken the first step to her new life. Whether she’d chosen well or not, her path was set. She would find a niche for herself here, however long it took … and the main thing was to go over this place with a fine-tooth comb and then write her report so that any changes she decided on, and there were a few already, could be sorted out before the builders moved in.
SEVEN
Rose stood outside St Saviour’s, looking up at the forbidding stone walls and three storeys of tiny windows with what seemed to be attic rooms above. She had always thought it was like a prison from the outside, and, indeed, when the old house underwent major alterations in the late eighteenth century, the fever hospital had been intended as a place to keep some people in and others out. Back in the bad old days, men, women and children had been brought here to die. They had been shut away because they were known to have infectious diseases and the authorities of the time saw them as a danger to others. When diseases like smallpox, typhoid or cholera raged through a city they decimated the population, leaving swathes of dead in their wake. In most cases nothing could be done to save those who had contracted these virulent infections, and so they were often locked away from the population and left to die. The warders who were supposed to treat them gave them food and water and precious little else according to the tales that still circulated in the lanes surrounding the old place. It had been a house of fear and death then, but now it had become a place of hope – at least Rose trusted it would be.
Above the door was a stone heart split in two by an arrow, as if warning of the perils of life and death, and underneath in some ancient script the words: St Saviour’s Hospital – Make peace with God and render unto Him all that is due for He is the Light and the Way.
A cold shiver went down Rose’s spine as she thought of her mother’s probable fate. She wouldn’t be treated as harshly as the people who’d been incarcerated here in those far-off days, but she was being sent to an isolation unit near the sea, because she had tuberculosis. Her illness had progressed to the stage where she coughed up great lumps of blood and she found it difficult to get her breath. Dr Marlow had told them that she ought to have come to see him long ago, and to Rose, when she’d spoken to him later alone, he’d confessed his doubts about her mother’s chances of getting over the disease.
‘If she’d come to me earlier there might have been a good chance that they could save her, but now … well, I’ll be honest with you, Rose, it is one chance in ten that she will recover. The best we can do for her is to put her somewhere pleasant and quiet, where she will receive treatment and kindness …’
‘Is it really as bad as that?’ Rose had asked, a sob rising to her throat, because she couldn’t bear to think of Ma being so ill. ‘She kept saying it was nothing, just a little cough, but then I saw the blood on her mouth – and she’s so exhausted all the time.’
‘Your mother was a very strong woman. Had she not been she would have collapsed long before this, Rose. I wish I could offer you more hope but …’ He shook his head. ‘There is treatment for her illness these days, but I think it may be too late for her.’
‘I think she knows it,’ Rose said in a choked voice. ‘She is worried about Mary Ellen, and so am I. I’ve been offered a place on the staff at the London Hospital if my exam results are satisfactory, but I’m required to live in the Nurses’ Home for the first year or so. If I go home and look after my sister, I might never get another chance – and all that training would have been wasted.’
‘You must not do that,’ he protested, concerned. ‘Being a nurse and rising in your profession is your one chance of getting on, of making a good life for yourself and your sister. It is what your mother wants for you. Have you considered my suggestion?’
‘Putting Mary Ellen in St Saviour’s? We spoke of it. I let my mother think it was my suggestion. She wouldn’t like it if she thought I’d been talking to you behind her back. Do you think they will take Mary Ellen? I heard they were bursting at the seams …’
‘Have a word with Father Joseph,’ the doctor advised. ‘He stands on good terms with the Warden. I’m sure Sister Beatrice will squeeze one more in, she always does. Remember, it’s going to take me two to three weeks to find the right place for your mother and the child may as well stay at home until then.’
Apparently, the Catholic priest had had a word in Mary Ellen’s favour, because a week after she spoke to him, Father Joe had visited Rose at work and told her she should go to see the Warden of St Saviour’s after she’d finished her shift on the wards the next day.
‘I’m not promising anything, Rose, but I think Sister Beatrice will find a place for her, though I know they are pressed for space, not to say funds.’
‘Everyone is,’ Rose agreed. ‘There was so much devastation, so many factories, houses and commercial buildings bombed and burned to the ground. The manager at the Home and Colonial, where I used to work, reckons that it will take years before they clear the bombsites, let alone rebuild all the houses. We just don’t have the raw materials we need.’
‘I dare say it will take years,’ Father Joe agreed. ‘And the trouble never seems to end. There was a fire at a bombed-out factory a couple of weeks ago, caused by an unexploded bomb going off and rupturing a gas main. The people in the streets nearby thought the war had started again.’
‘God help us, I hope that won’t happen; we’ve had enough.’
‘Now then, my child. Don’t you be taking the Lord’s name in vain. Remember what I’ve told you, and don’t be late for your appointment with Sister Beatrice.’
That had been the previous day. Now, standing before the daunting building, Rose took a deep breath and stepped up to the door to ring the bell. Nothing happened, so after a couple of minutes she rang again. A young woman who looked as if she had been scrubbing the floor, her hands red from being in hot water and soda, opened it. She looked Rose up and down, sniffing as she asked what she wanted.
‘I’m here to see Sister Beatrice. Can you take me to her?’
‘I daresn’t do that, miss,’ the girl said. ‘I’ve got to finish me work afore I goes home, see – and me ma will go on somethin’ awful if I’m late, ’cos she wants ter get orf ter ’er job at the pub.’
‘Well, can you point me in the right direction please?’ Rose asked, stepping into the rather dim hallway without being invited. The floors were some sort of dark slate tiles and there was a grand staircase with mahogany banisters at the end of the hall, its wooden steps covered in a dull red carpet.
‘I reckon it’s up them there stairs and down the corridor to the right. You’ll see the notice on ’er door. I ain’t never bin in there ’cos I’m the downstairs skivvy, see.’
‘Then you’ve no business to be opening the door.’
‘’Ad ter or you’d ’ave stood there all night, I reckon. Nan’s been orf sick fer a week or more and they’re all run orf their feet …’
Deciding that it was useless to reason with her, Rose started for the stairs. She was annoyed because she’d had to take extra time off to come here and so far had not formed a very good opinion of the place. Had there been an alternative, she would not have gone any further. However, people generally spoke well of St Saviour’s and she could only think something must have gone wrong if a young and ignorant kitchen girl was answering the door.
She walked up the stairs without looking back and turned right. Sister Beatrice’s room was at the end, the door firmly closed but with a little plaque on it inviting visitors to knock. Rose clenched her hands at her sides, because if the
y wouldn’t accept Mary Ellen it meant that she would have to give up her plans to take up the position she’d been offered. Rose couldn’t work as a nurse and be at home with her sister, and if she had to look after Mary Ellen and work in a shop, she would never manage to pay the bills. Besides, she’d set her heart on becoming a nurse. When she had a little more experience in nursing she would earn more than she did as a shop girl, and she could take care of her sister. In her heart she knew that her mother hadn’t much longer to live and Mary Ellen couldn’t be left to fend for herself. A girl as pretty as she was couldn’t be left to wander the streets on her own after school, because anything might happen. Yet you heard of shocking things happening at some children’s homes … Despite her doubts, Rose really had no choice because, if she sacrificed her dreams, both she and Mary Ellen would soon be trapped in the kind of grinding poverty that was impossible to escape. Her sister would just have to make the best of things until Rose could afford to make other arrangements.
Standing outside the Warden’s door, Rose knocked and after a moment was invited to enter. The room was large and furnished with a big oak desk, its green leather-covered top crowded with bits and pieces. Two armchairs with worn arms and sagging seats were beside the fireplace, though no fire was burning, and a small table stood next to one of them, a book lying on top. Apart from some bookshelves and a small cupboard the room looked sparsely furnished, though someone had brought in some plants in bright pots, to stand along the windowsill.
‘Yes, what do you want?’
The question was barked at her, bringing her startled gaze back to the woman behind the desk. She was dressed in the habit of a religious order, her head covered by a hood and wimple, no trace of hair showing beneath it. On her nose was perched a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles, over which she peered at Rose in a distinctly hostile manner.
‘Are you deaf and dumb?’
‘No, Sister Beatrice.’ Rose was stung into a reply. ‘I’m Rose O’Hanran. I’ve come to ask about a place for my sister Mary Ellen. Father Joe sent me …’
‘Oh.’ Sister Beatrice blinked and sighed audibly, removing her spectacles. She pinched the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger, looking tired. ‘Why didn’t you say so at once? I can’t remember everything. We are very busy at the moment.’
Rose swallowed hard, nails turned into the palms of her hands as she battled with the urge to tell this woman just what she thought of her. She hated being made to feel she was begging, but what was her alternative? Giving up her dreams wasn’t an option and she wouldn’t do it.
‘Please, would you consider taking her? She has nowhere else to go and I have to take up my place as a nurse in the hospital next week. I could bring her here on Monday morning. My mother has to go away. She has advanced TB.’ Rose spoke as calmly as she could manage, holding back the caustic comments that rose all too easily to her mind.
‘I hope neither you nor your sister is infected? I suppose you’ve been checked?’ Rose nodded. ‘We’ve got enough problems as it is …’ Sister Beatrice made a noise of frustration as someone knocked, barking out that whoever it was might enter. ‘Oh, it’s you, Angela. I’ve been waiting for those updated lists all afternoon …’
‘Sorry, Sister,’ the elegant woman in a silver-grey dress said apologetically. ‘I wanted to get it right and it was rather a muddle …’ She broke off as she saw the indignant look in Sister’s eyes. ‘We’ve had a lot of coming and going recently.’
‘I am well aware of that – tell me, what beds are available on the girls’ ward, aged about …’ She glanced down at a paper on her desk. ‘Eight, this says … is that right, Miss O’Hanran?’
‘Mary Ellen will be nine in two weeks’ time.’
‘Near enough then. Well, what is the situation?’
Rose thought how rude she was and felt sorry for the woman who might be her secretary, though she was very well-dressed for such a position; she looked a bit uncertain as she shuffled her papers while the Sister drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair.
‘We have two emergency beds in the sick ward …’
‘No use, we have to keep those in case we need them. What else?’
‘There is a bed free but in the ward with the nine- to twelve-year-olds …’
‘Well, I suppose that would do at a pinch.’ Sister Beatrice glared at Rose. ‘You are certain she doesn’t have an aunt who would look after her – or a kind neighbour? Children are better in their own surroundings if at all possible.’
‘There is no one I would trust to look after her. If there were I should not be here. God knows, it seems a terrible place … I was admitted by a girl who was scrubbing the hall floor …’
‘I resent that comment, Miss O’Hanran. We pride ourselves on giving our children the best care we can manage and on being a warm and welcoming place for those who need us. If as you say you were admitted by one of the kitchen staff, it is because things are difficult just now. We have three members of staff down with influenza, and we have some very sick children in isolation,’ Sister Beatrice said coldly. ‘Normally, Nan sees to the new arrivals at first and then the nurses and carers take over … well, do you want the place or not? I doubt you’ll find anyone else to take her.’
Rose swallowed hard. She wanted to march out right now and tell her mother that she would stay home to look after Mary Ellen, but if she did that they would never get out of the slums that her father’s untimely death had brought them to. Her chest caught with pain, because even now she couldn’t bear to think of Pa’s death and her mother’s terrible illness. Yet she knew she had spoken out of turn and must apologise.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise. Naturally, your staff problems must make things difficult.’
‘We have limited funds, Miss O’Hanran, but St Saviour’s never turns away a child that really needs us however stretched we are – so do you want her to come to us?’
‘Yes, please,’ Rose said. ‘I shall bring her next Monday morning, which is my only free time before I start my new job, if that is all right?’
‘Yes, bring her on Monday. Mrs Morton can take you down and arrange the time with you. She will be admitting your sister unless Nan is back by then. I simply do not have the time.’
Rose clamped her mouth shut, walking out before she lost her temper and told that awful old woman what she could do with her bed. If only Pa hadn’t died she could have left Mary Ellen in his care; he might have liked a drop of good Irish whiskey but he’d been fond of his daughters, especially the youngest one. Her heart ached, because it was hard to lose the people you loved, and Rose was carrying a burden that was almost too much to bear. Seeing her mother grow weaker, knowing she was probably going to die, had been made worse because she couldn’t share her grief with anyone. She had to keep the truth from Mary Ellen as long as she could.
Hearing hurried footsteps behind her, she turned to see Angela trying to keep up with her. She slowed down, because she needed to find out a few things that she hadn’t felt like asking Sister Beatrice.
‘I’m sorry,’ Angela apologised. ‘I know Sister can be a bit harsh but she has good reason for it today – we lost a child early this morning. He only came in a week ago and went down with chicken pox. Unfortunately, he was very weak and he contracted pneumonia. The nurses did everything they could but we lost him, though his elder brother and sister are recovering, I’m thankful to say.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Rose bit her lip, because that put her firmly in the wrong and she knew she’d bordered on rudeness. ‘I didn’t realise …’ she said, but she hadn’t changed her mind about the nun. She’d made Rose feel like something dragged in off the streets and she wouldn’t take that from anyone.
‘She was up all night with him. I saw her when she left after performing the last offices; Father Joe was with her, because the boy’s family was Catholic. Sister was truly devastated, though she hides it behind a brusque manner.’
‘Well, that explains it,’ Rose sai
d. ‘We don’t want Mary Ellen to go out for adoption. Either Ma will come home after she’s cured … or I’ll look after her once I’m in a position to do so.’
‘Yes, I think we’ve understood that,’ Angela said, checking her list. ‘She is a temporary … but she’ll need to live here until you can provide a home for her. I must take some more details and there are some forms for you to sign and then we’ll discuss what she needs to bring with her … and her feelings about coming here. Perhaps we could go back to my office and talk before you leave?’
‘Yes, all right.’ Rose realised that Mrs Morton had more authority than she had first thought and sighed; a shadow descended as she imagined her sister’s reaction to the news. ‘She can be a bit stubborn, and she isn’t going to take kindly to the idea …’
‘Don’t worry, we’ll look after her. She will soon settle in.’
The trouble was Mrs Morton didn’t know how stubborn Mary Ellen could be when she didn’t like something and Rose wasn’t looking forward to telling her the news.
Mary Ellen stared at the faces looking down at her, mutiny flaring. Rose kept on saying that she had to go into St Saviour’s until Ma returned from hospital, but something in the way her mother looked at her told Mary Ellen that Ma didn’t think she would be coming back. She could feel a sick lump in her chest and she wanted to scream and stamp her feet, but Ma looked so sad and so tired.
‘I don’t want to go,’ she mumbled in a voice barely above a whisper. ‘I want to stay here with Rose and you …’ Her eyes entreated her mother, but Ma looked as if she too wanted to cry and that was worse than all the rest. Mary Ellen longed to make her better, to bring back her loving smile, but there was nothing she could do and that hurt – it hurt so much that Mary Ellen thought she would die of it. How could they just send her away to that horrible place, as if she were an unwanted stray? She wanted to be with her mother, to feel Ma’s loving arms holding her close and see her smile. Her chest felt as if it would burst for the pain of it.
