Orphans of War

by Leah Fleming

  Tonight her mind was all over the place. The preacher’d said something about sin against the Holy Spirit, the one unforgivable sin. Sin…sin…sin. It was all about sin and she knew enough about that. It made her want to scream out, ‘Oh, do shut up and think about all the lovely things in this world!’ but she sat in sullen silence.

  The room was full and the air felt stale, the walls seemed to be getting smaller. With Ruth on one side and Thelma on the other she was being squeezed until all the air in her lungs expired and she couldn’t breathe. There must be a way to escape this noise.

  Was there no hope for a girl like her, steeped in guilt and wickedness? Her legs began to shake and her heart thudded in her chest. She couldn’t bear this a minute longer; the pressure, the heat, the smell and the droning seductive voice.

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ she whispered, pulling herself out of the chair. They smiled, thinking she was stepping up to the front, but she turned out the door, to freedom and fresh air, taking great gulps of air.

  Thelma was at her heels. ‘The Holy Spirit has got you at last,’ she smiled.

  ‘No he’s not. I just felt faint. It’s stuffy in there and I don’t know why I’m sitting inside on such a glorious evening. I think I’ll go for a long walk over the Ridge and take in God’s scenery, chimneys and all. I’m sorry, but this is not for me.’

  ‘Don’t turn your back on the Lord,’ Thelma pleaded. ‘This is the Devil tempting you.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. I can’t go back in there again. I don’t believe it helps me.’

  ‘Me, me, me, Maddy It’s not all about you. It’s about our Lord’s sacrifice. He’s calling and you are rejecting him, crucifying him all over again.’

  ‘Oh, stop it. I’m not crucifying anyone. I’m trying to be honest with you. If I want to go to church there’s St Chad’s up the road not this…this shed.’

  ‘Maddy, the Lord doesn’t dwell in temples of stone,’ Thelma argued, her eyes bulging with concern. A soul was slipping past her grasp and she was determined not to give in without a fight.

  ‘Nor in temples of wood, Thelma. Thanks for your concern but I’ll find forgiveness in my own way and my own time.’

  ‘Ruth and I will pray for you. I fear you’re fast in Satan’s grip.’

  ‘No, I’m not…I’ll find my own way to faith…I must go!’

  All Maddy wanted to do was escape from Thelma’s bewilderment and hurt.

  Once out into the street she watched children with a skipping rope jumping up and laughing. When was the last time she had jumped for joy?

  Ruth’s crowd meant well enough but their religion was not for her. It was with relief she strode northwards from Woodhouse Moor, glad to be alone with her own thoughts.

  The Ridge, overlooking the city, was a wooded escarpment full of bluebells in the spring and courting couples on summer nights. Tonight Maddy felt like skipping along the path out of sheer relief. She was free at last and strangely relieved.

  Amidst all the sadness and emptiness of the past few months was another growing certainty of relief. She’d been spared the shame of an unwanted pregnancy. She didn’t have to worry any more. That secret was safe, locked away, but it was all so confusing. Here she was on this lovely evening, safe and reprieved. Now she would grab life, work hard and try to make up for her mistakes as best she could. If only she didn’t feel so burdened with guilt. It lay on her like a lead cloak.

  The bell on the café door clanged. A new customer was arriving. No one was more surprised than Gloria to see Mrs Plum coming in to the Cosy Nook café for a cuppa and a smoke. For once she looked like a proper lady, not a dog woman in her old greatcoat and wellies. She was dressed in a smart fur coat and wore a headscarf over her windswept hair.

  Gloria had packed in the job with the Gunns. Children were all right in small doses, but Heather had never taken to her for some reason, and the novelty of being a mother’s help had worn off. Her plan to go to Leeds was shelved so she’d taken a summer job with the Temperance Café, serving mock cream teas to cyclists and hikers who came out at the weekend, but come the autumn she’d have to think again about going to the town and maybe even Peel Street for a while. Not a cheery thought.

  ‘I heard you were working in here, Gloria,’ Plum said, sitting down and removing her gloves. She ordered a scone and butter. ‘Fresh, are they?’

  ‘This morning,’ she replied, feeling proud she’d got the knack of knocking them up with the best of them. Tray bakes, jam slices and pastry were her best efforts.

  For once Gloria took extra care with the service, cleaned up the tray, no smears, fresh pot of tea, tea strainer, brew well mashed, hot water jug, and found a spoon that wasn’t chained to the sugar bowl.

  She was wary around Mrs Plum these days, sensing she disapproved of her, blaming her for keeping Maddy away from the deathbed of the old woman.

  If only she knew the half of it, but Gloria’s lips were sealed. She’d made a bargain and she was sticking to it. What was done was done in good faith and friendship–in ignorance maybe, but nothing would’ve changed the outcome.

  ‘Have you heard from Maddy?’ Mrs Plum asked as she sipped her tea. The café was quiet so Gloria tried to look busy polishing tables with a damp cloth.

  ‘No, she’s gone very quiet. Exams, I expect.’

  ‘Perhaps…I was hoping she’d be here for the holidays. There are some changes I’d hoped to discuss with her. If you hear from her, do tell her to give me a buzz.’

  ‘Of course, but I doubt we’ll meet up again soon.’

  ‘Have you two fallen out? You were always such good friends.’

  ‘Yes, forever friends,’ Gloria said, blushing. ‘No, no…nothing like that. Just gone our different ways, like you do. I expect she’s got lots of college mates. Sowerthwaite’s a bit of a dead end for a young lady about town.’

  ‘What a pity. She’s been acting strange lately. Perhaps her grandmother’s death upset her, seeing as she didn’t get there in time.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Gloria, knowing full well she’d been dumped, ditched, thrown over because she reminded Maddy of what they had done. ‘She was sick that night, you know.’ Time to put the record straight even though she felt hard done by and let down.

  ‘Yes, I realise that, and it was good of you to help her but that’s not what I’m here for, Gloria. I have a proposition to put to you. I know you’ve left Dr Gunn. Denise tells me you’ve been much missed there. Only I’m thinking of some changes to the Brooklyn, turning it into a guesthouse, taking in paying visitors. I’m looking for staff to train up…housekeeping, catering, that sort of domestic service, and I was wondering…’

  She wants me for a skivvy, thought Gloria as she bustled around, hiding her dismay.

  ‘Er, what does this entail? I was thinking of returning to Leeds. It gets so quiet in the winter here.’

  ‘I’d be thinking of opening all year round, taking parties, ramblers and as wide a clientele as I could reach. There’s a lot of preparation work, redoing rooms…’

  This was tempting. She’d get a good training with Mrs Plum but it would be hard work.

  Mrs Plum smiled, sensing she might be tempted

  ‘I’ve always thought you hard-working and conscientious, good with people, honest, and with that extra bit of flair I’m looking for. Perhaps you’d like to think about it.’

  ‘Where would I stay?’ she asked. ‘The hostel’s closing now. It’s hard to find rooms here.’

  ‘You’d live in, of course, with your own room. It would be a full-time appointment after a trial period on both sides. I need someone to run things when I’m not around.’

  Live in the Brooklyn! It was always her childhood dream to share all Maddy had taken for granted. Even if she was only a domestic there was scope here, scope to save up, to meet interesting people, a chance to observe a real lady at work, to learn how to do things properly. Who knew where that might lead one day? This was just the ticket.

  ‘When do I st
art?’

  Maddy returned one weekend to the Brooklyn unannounced, only to find Plum going through the rooms like a whirling dervish, sorting out clothes, furniture, buckets of distemper lying everywhere while old Mrs Batty was turning the place upside down.

  The fact that Gloria was busy stripping off old wallpaper in dungarees and turban disturbed her even more. From the laughter and joking and shared cups of tea, it was easy to see those two were as thick as porridge, slopping paint like children. They were smartening up the décor for as little cost as possible. News of Plum’s new venture came as a shock.

  The kitchen garden was raked and weeded through. Brooklyn Hall was to be a registered guesthouse and Gloria had been given the biggest bedroom on the third floor with a sitting room off the side. She looked like the cat that got the cream.

  Suddenly Maddy felt left out and superfluous. Was this Plum’s way of saying she could manage the house, make a living and cock a snook at Uncle Gerry–and punish her for not being around?

  Everyone was busy and enthusiastic. She hadn’t the heart to be mean, but wasn’t Brooklyn her home? Hadn’t Grandma left it to her one day? Oughtn’t she to be consulted? But who could blame them? She’d not been home for ages.

  If only Plum had asked her opinion, she’d have offered to do the bookkeeping when they took in their first guests but it was much too much of a mess to be ready for the autumn deadline.

  ‘Autumn in the Dales,’ read the brochure. ‘Enjoy the peace and tranquillity of quiet country lanes, warm log fires. Bring your ration cards and we will supply appetising breakfasts and evening meals for your pleasure.’

  Grace was going to cook. Plum was the host and Gloria was in charge of domestic services and laundry. In other words, she was a glorified skivvy in overalls, but her friend was acting as if she owned the place, swanning around, showing her all their improvements.

  ‘Of course we’d like sinks in every room but there is a toilet and bathroom on each floor.’ The cheek of her, as if she didn’t know that already, Maddy sniffed.

  The dogs were banished to the washing out house and that damp doggy smell was replaced with the scent of fresh paint and varnish. That in turn would be replaced by beeswax polish and fresh-cut flowers. It all looked very inviting, but not to her.

  She felt like Billy No Mates stuck in a corner. Grandma would be hovering in fury as they’d stripped her bedroom of all its dark brocade and put back the shutters and voile curtains to let in the light. The parsley-coloured walls were newly papered with a border around the picture rail. Maddy was miffed at all the changes and desperately trying not to show it. This wasn’t her home any more. It didn’t even smell like the Brooklyn.

  ‘Isn’t it gorgeous?’ said Gloria. ‘We’ve worked so hard to smarten it up. Your aunt’s done a great job.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ Maddy replied, reluctant to give them any praise.

  ‘Is that all you can say?’ Gloria snapped back. ‘We thought you’d be thrilled.’

  ‘We’…‘we’–there were too many ‘we’s for her liking. ‘It’s just not how I imagined it would be.’

  ‘The trouble with you is that you’ve stayed away so long. You’ve forgotten how drab and dirty it all was. Look at my hands–I’ll never get them smooth again.’

  ‘I’ve been busy.’

  ‘So I gathered, too busy to drop me a line. What did I do wrong?’

  ‘Nothing…let’s talk about something else,’ Maddy said, feeling her cheeks flush. ‘Don’t go on about it!’

  ‘Hold on, I’ve said nowt. What’s the matter with you? You’ve sulked all afternoon.’

  ‘No I haven’t!’

  ‘Suit yerself…I’m not bothered. I’ve too much to do here. By the way, guess who’s living in Leeds?’

  ‘Go on, enlighten me.’

  ‘None other than Greg Byrne. He’s working on a building site so if some lad gives you a wolf whistle, you never know, it might be him. He wrote to your aunt. I’m going to write and see if we can all meet up again.’

  ‘Please yourself. I wouldn’t know him from Adam. He won’t want to see us.’

  ‘Who trod on your toes, missy? You had a lucky escape and no mistake; don’t be so mardy.’

  Maddy stormed off and went to say her goodbyes. There was just time to get the afternoon train back to Leeds. It was evident that she wasn’t needed here. Sitting in the carriage, she felt ashamed of feeling so jealous, so out of sorts and so unkind to Gloria. She owed her friend her new life. What would have happened if Glory hadn’t stood by her side? What was the matter with her these days? She was jumpy and tetchy, sleep was broken and full of nasty dreams. She didn’t like herself much for running out on them, but going back was a mistake, churning up all those old feelings of panic.

  Leaving the station in a stroppy mood, stomping out of City Square, she wasn’t quite sure what to do with herself now. It was raining as usual. There was time to trawl the shops to see if there was anything to spend her few coupons on. She needed cheering up and fast. Time to look to see if there were any new shoes in the stores or pretty fabrics, find something in a pretty colour to soothe her tired eyes.

  She sauntered towards Marshfields, which was Bella’s stamping ground; the bridal department with its rich silks and satins, ball gowns and evening wear bedecked with sequins, lace, braids and ribbons. She fingered them all lovingly, the materials soft and silky in her palms, smoothing her own ruffled feathers.

  The assistant eyed her up. ‘Modom is looking for something?’

  ‘Not really. They’re all so beautiful,’ she sighed. ‘But too expensive for a student.’

  ‘You’d like to try them on, yes?’

  ‘I can’t afford them.’ Trust her to land a pushy saleswoman.

  ‘This would look lovely on you…try this on. I’d like to see for myself how it looks.’ The blood-red gown was shoved in her hand, she was told to strip in the cabine and then the vendeuse buttoned it up, throwing a sequined bolero over her shoulders.

  ‘Let’s just brush your hair up off your neck, like this,’ she insisted, and Maddy was beginning to feel trapped and uncertain. She’d only come in to have a look round.

  ‘Perfect…Now walk this way. You live in Leeds?’

  ‘Yes,’ muttered Maddy. ‘West Park. I’m at college.’

  ‘Excellent. Wait one moment.’ She closed the curtain and when she opened it again, a man and a woman in black were eyeing her with interest.

  ‘Don’t you think?’ whispered the vendeuse. ‘What’s your name, dear?’

  ‘Madeleine Belfield.’ Now she was really in trouble. They were eyeing her up like a piece of steak.

  ‘Ah, La Madeleine. Beautiful, yes.’

  Then to her surprise everyone clapped and she blushed as the other customers stared at her. They were making a big mistake if they thought she was going to buy this dress. ‘Please, I can’t buy this,’ she said, trying to look firm.

  ‘But we are all getting the pleasure of seeing how this gown should be worn on a lovely young woman with the perfect figure. See, our customers are gathering to admire you, looking and wondering if they too will look like this in it.’

  Sure enough a clutch of women hovered and smiled. Then she caught sight of herself in the wall mirror. Who was this elegant stranger with sloping shoulders, slim-hipped and flushed in the cheek with such a long neck? How strange, she was stopping the traffic through the department.

  ‘Now we will have you in the gold.’

  Another quick change, this time into a slim figure-hugging jacket in gold and black with a bouffant skirt. A pair of court shoes was shoved onto her bare feet and she posed and nearly fell over as she towered over the proceedings.

  ‘Brava!’ The vendeuse clapped her hands, nodding to the man in the suit, and he nodded back.

  Maddy tried on three more outfits and paraded round like a dressage horse, then changed back quickly into her tweed suit.

  ‘Mr Percival will see you in his office,’ said the la
dy in the black frock with the phoney French accent. What had she done now?

  She knocked on his door, wondering what was going to happen next. The whole afternoon had been so bizarre.

  ‘Come in, Miss Madeleine. You were very brave to go with Madame Delys’s little whim. She has an eye for talent and you have it in spadefuls, young lady. Tell me about yourself.’

  Maddy gave him a bare outline of her life to date.

  ‘And your family?’ She told him about her parents.

  ‘Ah, the Bellaires. I remember them well on the wireless: such a pity for them to be lost and you so young. And you have their presence: tall, graceful, very arresting to the eye. We could use you…’

  For what? she mused. Who on earth was he talking about? Surely not herself? Her puzzled look made him explain.

  ‘We like to have floor walkers, mannequins to show off to special customers, models for parades and events, tall girls who carry clothes well and know how to walk. You will do perfectly.’

  ‘But I’m at college,’ she explained.

  ‘Naturally, but not every day. We can use you on Saturdays, perhaps in the vacations to cover for other models at first.’

  ‘But I have no experience,’ she said, still not taking all this in.

  ‘We will take care of all that–how to walk and sit and pose. That can be taught, but a clotheshorse has to be born, shoulders, ankles, neck, face and height. These can’t be altered, only disguised. Our customers are just from the street, with flaws and lumps. When they see you gliding around in that “Scarlet Passion” number, they see themselves transformed. You carry the dream of what they might be.’

  Maddy didn’t know what to make of this offer. She’d never thought of modelling gowns for a living. It was the sort of thing Bella’s friends did in their spare time for charity and magazines. She was going to be a secretary to an important businessman one day, not a tailor’s walking dummy, but some of those dresses were rather beautiful.