Forgotten Children

by Cathy Sharp

  ‘Yes, of course I have. I would like that very much. Where shall we meet?’

  Angela wrote down the name of the exclusive restaurant. She would have to take a taxi to get across town, but as it was a special treat it wouldn’t matter for once.

  ‘I’ll see you there at a quarter to one,’ she said, glancing at her watch.

  If she hurried, she just had time to change her clothes. She would deliver her list to the police station later that evening, after the church hall party for the children.

  Angela sipped her wine and smiled at her companion across the table. The restaurant had spotless white cloths and flowers on every table, though the swags of imitation grapes falling from oak beams and the piles of exotic-looking fruit and cheeses in glass counters gave it a distinctly un-English look. It was one of the Italian restaurants that had suddenly sprung up again in this part of London, popular with the smart people, who enjoyed a different sensation when dining out, despite the dubious part Italy had played in the last war. The food had been quite delicious, and if they were using margarine instead of butter, Angela hadn’t tasted it.

  Rationing was still a curse in a Britain only slowly recovering from the devastating war. At St Saviour’s they often had to mix what butter they were allowed with the less popular but more available margarine. She’d noticed it at first, because in the country there was always an obliging farmer willing to supply some delicious bits and pieces that had never seen a Government stamp. In London it was much harder to avoid the strict rationing.

  Sometimes a grateful relative would bring a few supplies into the home; the butcher down the road slipped them an extra pound of sausages whenever he could. Since they had their own chickens in a wire run in a corner of the garden, they were seldom short of fresh eggs. A butcher in Brick Lane had sent them half a pig for Christmas, because he’d said he was grateful to one of their carers for looking after his delivery boy when he was knocked off his bike.

  Angela had no idea how he’d wangled it, but the kitchen staff had put it to good use, mostly for the minced sausage-meat that the children so enjoyed at teatime since that made the meat go further, mixed with breadcrumbs. However, Angela had been told there would be a huge joint of cold pork for Christmas tea, which, with pickles, would be a real treat for everyone. Ham was a favourite with the children, but the only sort they’d had lately was out of a tin from Canada.

  ‘A penny for your thoughts?’ Mark said, lifting his eyebrows. ‘You seem very thoughtful. Are you bothered about something?’

  ‘Oh, I had another argument with Sister Beatrice a few days ago. I think she wants me to leave, though today she thanked me for my help.’

  He frowned. ‘Do you want to leave?’

  Angela shook her head. ‘No, I don’t. I like what I do very much … but she did more or less ask me to leave and I said I would after Christmas. I shan’t go home though. Perhaps I could still help with raising funds?’

  ‘Unless you wish to leave, I should apologise if I were you.’

  ‘Even if she was the one in the wrong?’

  ‘Was she – truly?’

  ‘It was half and half,’ Angela admitted ruefully. ‘I did rather speak out of turn. She is in charge of running things as far as the children are concerned; even though changes are needed, I know we need her approval, because you would not want to lose her.’

  ‘No, we don’t want her to leave or you, Angela,’ Mark said. ‘Could you not apologise, even if it goes against the grain? St Saviour’s needs both of you.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose I could – I shall,’ Angela agreed and felt very much better. ‘I thought she was too harsh with certain children, but I’ve since realised that she has to carry the can if things go wrong. Billy ran away and the authorities may say that she was not sufficiently in control, that it was indirectly her fault. I hadn’t considered that eventuality.’

  Mark’s approving look warmed her. ‘Exactly. If she seems harsh at times it may be just her manner. She has to think of so many things and in the end it is all down to her. We’re lucky to have her.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘We need you too, Angela. That is why you should stay,’ Mark urged. ‘I know how much money you’ve raised for the Christmas fund – and you can continue to do it, if you stay.’

  ‘Yes, perhaps I shall … if Sister Beatrice will accept my apology. I have several new ideas I’d like to discuss with you one day, but I should consult Sister Beatrice first.’

  ‘Talk to her. I’m sure you will find her willing to listen and then we’ll have a chat.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’ll run you back in my car – and then I have a meeting.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Angela rose to her feet as he signalled the waiter and placed some notes on the table. ‘This was a lovely surprise, Mark. You do me so much good, make me think things through instead of flying into a passion. I really do rely on your sound judgement, and I know Sister does too.’

  ‘Keep the change,’ he said, waving the waiter away. ‘It was a very nice meal.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. May we wish you a Happy Christmas?’

  ‘Thank you – and the same to you.’ Mark took Angela’s arm. ‘I shall see you on Christmas Eve for the carols and Father Christmas’ arrival but now I have to get back.’

  ‘Yes, this has been lovely, Mark, but I have the church hall party to oversee at four and then I really must take that list of Billy’s to the police, though I don’t suppose they will bother much with it until after Christmas …’

  FORTY-ONE

  Arthur Baggins watched as the taxi drove away at nine that evening and cursed his luck. He was pretty sure that rich bitch in the back was the one from St Saviour’s. She was working there as a secretary and Arthur thought she must be good for a few bob. Already he was hungry and cold and he dared not seek out any of his usual haunts, because the bloody coppers were hunting for him everywhere – and he knew Butcher Lee had put the word out on him. He was on borrowed time here in London and he had to get out quick.

  The police were making inquiries about him and Jack, and the only way they could have known Arthur was involved in the attempted robbery at the boot factory was if Billy had split on him. Jack would never tell even if he’d managed to get out the back way so it must have been Billy.

  Arthur had had one thought in his mind: he was going to get even with that snitch of a brother of his and then clear off up North. However, he would need money for food and it was better to travel by train if he could raise the fare, because if he tried to hitch a lift people would get suspicious and his picture would probably be in the papers before long.

  If the coppers got him, it would only be a matter of time before they discovered what had happened at the factory. It wasn’t his fault that Jack had hit that fool too hard, but he’d been there and that made him guilty in the eyes of the law. Neither of them had expected to find anyone inside the factory; how could they have known the night watchman allowed a down and out to sleep in the store room during the cold weather? He’d have lost his job if his employers found out, but the poor bugger he’d taken pity on had lost more than that. He’d been going to raise the alarm, but Jack had coshed him, too damned hard.

  Arthur wasn’t squeamish, far from it. He couldn’t care less what had happened to that tramp, but he did value his own skin. He’d killed his own father because he was going to turn him in. The memory of the way that knife had slid into Pa’s back made Arthur smile. The old devil had given him a good few beatings when he was young, but he’d got even and that felt good. He’d cleared off for a while but there had been no extensive searches made for him, no hint of a murder charge in the papers, so he’d come back to the East End, but now he was getting out for good. If the cops once got wind that a man had been murdered, even if he was a down and out, they would hang the culprits. If Jack had bought it, which he must have unless he got out of a back window, it was Arthur that would carry the can and that meant he had to get out fast. He would work in the D
ocks up North for a while, and look for a ship that might take him on. Arthur had always thought he might like to go to America. There were rich pickings there from what he’d seen at the cinema, vice gangs and gambling casinos where a man could get rich if he didn’t mind what he did – and Arthur wasn’t fussy. He would commit murder for the right bribe and would have been content to work with one of the London mobs, but he’d upset a few of them when he was younger and knew he had no real future here. Robbing folk would never bring him the kind of money he was after. He wanted to be in with one of the big gangs of New York or Chicago and believed he would make his fortune there.

  First he needed to get himself some money and then he would burn that little runt and his mates in their beds. Arthur had already found the way into the cellar beneath St Saviour’s and he knew that the caretaker kept paraffin in cans down there. Sprinkled liberally, it wouldn’t take long to get a good fire going.

  That rich bitch had escaped him for now, but she would be back. He’d knock her senseless and snatch that fancy leather bag of hers; she was bound to have a few quid in there. Then he’d set his fire going – and that would be the end of bloody St Saviour’s and his brother and all. He just had to wait until everything went quiet. In the meantime, he’d see what he could find to eat in the kitchens at the kids’ home. It amused him to think of robbing them before he roasted the lot of ’em in their beds.

  Mary Ellen couldn’t sleep. She kept tossing and turning in her bed, but something just wouldn’t let her go off, though she wasn’t thinking about anything in particular. It was just that Billy had told her about the police stepping up their hunt for Arthur, because they reckoned they’d got all the evidence they needed to arrest him for several burglaries, including the factory.

  Supposing Arthur discovered that Billy had told on him? Billy hadn’t wanted to, but Mary Ellen had persuaded him and now she was anxious in case Arthur came here looking for Billy. If anything happened to him it would be her fault.

  Unable to rest, she slipped out of bed and put her shoes and dress on, then tip-toed out of the dormitory. Walking along the landing to the window that looked out into the garden, Mary Ellen stared into the darkness. She couldn’t see much other than shadows, but she kept thinking Arthur might be out there plotting to harm them when they slept.

  She was creeping downstairs when a whisper behind her nearly made her stumble. Swinging round, she looked at Marion.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asked. Marion had one crutch and was using it to balance herself as she followed her down to the hall. ‘Be careful or you will fall.’

  ‘I saw you get up so I decided to follow,’ Marion said. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I’ve just got a funny feeling,’ Mary Ellen said quietly. ‘I think Arthur might be here.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s silly but I can’t get it out of my head. I’m going to the kitchen to get a glass of water and have a look round.’

  ‘What will you do if you see him?’

  ‘Yell as loudly as I can.’ Mary Ellen grinned at her. ‘I expect I’m daft; he won’t be there, but I can’t sleep until I look. You should go back to bed, Marion.’

  ‘I’m not lettin’ you go alone.’

  ‘But if he knocked you down he could hurt you.’

  ‘I’ll yell as loudly as you: two are better than one.’

  Mary Ellen nodded, turning the door handle into the kitchen. She switched the light on and saw Billy staring out of the back door.

  ‘Put that out,’ he hissed. ‘I’m sure Arfur’s about. I couldn’t sleep for worryin’. I’ve been thinkin’ ever since I spoke to that copper and I got up to look out of the window half an hour ago. I saw Arfur across the street. He was tryin’ to hide in the shadows but I saw him in the headlamps of a car.’

  Mary Ellen’s heart caught with fright. She wasn’t pleased that her feeling had been proved right; she would rather be wrong, because if Arthur was here he was up to no good.

  ‘What are we goin’ to do?’ she asked as Marion switched the light off and the three children stood shivering in the darkness.

  Billy shut the door and went into the kitchen. Here there was enough light from an outside light for them to see. ‘I’m going to hide round the corner of the dresser and wait,’ Billy said. ‘If I hear a noise in the cellar or if Arfur tries to get in I shall raise the alarm.’

  Mary Ellen was just about to answer him when they heard a cracking sound in the scullery. Billy put a finger to his lips and motioned to them to get under the tables, which were covered with gingham oilcloths. They hurried to obey him, hiding together under the nearest one and holding their breath as they waited to see what would happen. The sound of breaking glass and then something falling over made them clutch each other. For a moment there was silence and then they heard a muffled curse as someone knocked into a chair; seconds later the light flicked on.

  Mary Ellen cautiously lifted the edge of the oilcloth and they looked to see what was happening. She could only make out someone’s feet moving towards the pantry door and guessed it must be Arthur. Marion grabbed at her arm and Mary Ellen knew she was frightened; she too was feeling nervous and hardly dared to breathe.

  They heard a loud curse as the intruder discovered the pantry door was locked, and then the sound of splintering wood. He was breaking the lock to steal their Christmas food. Mary Ellen was incensed at the wickedness of it and without truly thinking of what she was doing, she scrabbled out of her hiding place, followed shortly by Marion. Arthur was returning from the pantry, carrying a plate filled with mince pies and sausage rolls.

  ‘You rotten thief!’ Mary Ellen cried. ‘That’s our Christmas food and you’re not having it!’

  Arthur had stuffed a sausage roll in his mouth and spat crumbs at her as he made a snarling noise and tried to speak. He pushed the plate onto the kitchen table and made a grab at her hair. She darted out of his way and stared at him defiantly as he spluttered and choked on the stolen food.

  ‘I hope it chokes you, you nasty man,’ she cried as he lunged at her again.

  ‘I’ll teach you to spy on me, you little brat,’ Arthur growled and flung himself at her. This time she wasn’t quite quick enough to escape and he took hold of her hair, tugging at it as he attempted to catch her round the waist. Mary Ellen yelled and Billy darted out; he was carrying a rolling pin, which he used to beat at the middle of his brother’s back. ‘I’ll kill the lot of you,’ the incensed Arthur roared. ‘I’ll knock you senseless and then I’ll set fire to the lot of …’

  Mary Ellen had managed to wrench her hair out of his hold and she kicked his shin as Billy went in for another attack with the rolling pin and then Marion launched herself into the fray. Lifting her crutch high, she brought it down on the side of Arthur’s temple and the force of the blow sent him staggering. For a moment he leaned against a table, breathing hard and glaring at them. Marion was balancing on one leg and holding onto the back of a chair, her face white with the effort it had cost her. ‘What do we do now?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Mary Ellen said. The children looked warily at one another as they waited for him to attack again. Then Arthur grunted furiously and shook his head to clear it.

  ‘I’ll kill the whole bloody lot of you,’ he muttered and made a grab at Billy, catching hold of his arm and twisting it round behind his back until he screamed in pain.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Angela entered the kitchen at that moment, taking in that something was going on but not understanding it. ‘Let go of that child at once. At once, do you hear me?’ She moved in on him menacingly, picking up the rolling pin that Billy had abandoned on the table.

  Arthur gave a yell of outrage. ‘I’m glad you’re back, rich bitch. You can help me get what I want.’ He gave Billy a shove and he cannoned into Marion, both of them ending on the floor.

  ‘You wicked man,’ Angela said, looking just as angry as he was. ‘I shall not give you a penny and th
e only thing I’m going to help you with is a trip to prison.’

  She brandished the rolling pin at him and Arthur moved in, lunging at her and grabbing her arm as they grappled for the weapon, which Angela was unable to use because he had her arm in a tight grip. She dropped it on the floor and Billy, back on his feet now, picked it up and began the attack on his brother’s back once more. Angela, left with only her wits for a weapon, went for Arthur’s eyes with her fingers, jabbing at him viciously. He screamed in pain and staggered back, tripping over Marion’s crutch and crashing against the table again. This time he hit his head and went down, lying still.

  ‘Is he dead?’ Marion asked in a scared breath.

  ‘It doesn’t matter about him,’ Angela said. ‘Are you all right – and Billy? Did he hurt you?’

  ‘I’ve had worse off him and me pa,’ Billy said. ‘I fell on Marion, though. Is her leg all right?’

  Angela looked at her anxiously. ‘Did it hurt your leg again, Marion?’

  ‘No, miss. I think it’s all right. I’m just shaken,’ Marion said, but tears started in her eyes, because she’d been frightened. ‘He won’t hurt us again, will he?’

  ‘I’m going to send for the police,’ Angela began and then a voice spoke from the doorway, startling them all.

  ‘And what is going on in here, may I ask?’ The icy tones of Sister Beatrice struck terror into the three children. Sister was staring at the mince pies on the table and then the pantry door. ‘And who is responsible for this disgraceful act of theft?’ She looked accusingly at Billy.

  ‘It was him,’ Marion said and pointed to Arthur as he lay motionless on the floor. ‘We caught him breaking into the pantry and tried to stop him stealing the Christmas food.’

  ‘He was going to burn us all in our beds,’ Mary Ellen put in quickly. ‘We all fought him but Marion hit him with her crutch when he was hurting me, but he was only winded and he got hold of Billy and tried to break his arm and then Miss Angela arrived and fought him.’