by Cathy Sharp
‘Yes, of course. How long has she been like this?’
‘Ten days or so … but it isn’t the flu, it’s just congestion.’
Beatrice led him back inside the ward, indicating the curtains. Mr Markham entered the enclosed area and looked at the young girl’s flushed face. He took her pulse and then opened his case and pulled out his stethoscope, which he blew on to warm before placing it against the girl’s chest beneath the neck of her nightgown. Sarah moaned and opened her eyes.
‘Feeling pretty groggy, are we, Sarah?’ he asked, and she nodded. ‘Can I just have a listen at the back now?’ He leaned her gently on her side and placed the instrument on her back.
After a moment or two he withdrew it and Beatrice made the girl comfortable again, looking at him anxiously.
‘Well, Sarah, I’m going to recommend a very nasty medicine for you, young lady, and you must drink it all down – we don’t want that big giant coming to carry you off to his dungeon, do we?’
His little joke raised a smile, because all the children knew his gruesome stories about giants and the big hairy spider.
‘Will you come and rescue me?’ Sarah asked weakly.
‘I’m sure Sister will be a match for the giant if he comes.’ Mr Markham winked at her. ‘Well, Sister, I’m going to write you a prescription, which may be a little stronger than you would normally use – but I think it will help.’
He left the curtained area and smiled at Beatrice. ‘She is still weak from the illness, and her chest is a bit congested. Her heart is strong enough, but sluggish, the beat slow; I think this will help her to feel better.’ He took a pad from his case and scribbled something just about legible, handing it to Beatrice. ‘I don’t believe she needs hospital treatment; however, you were right to ask.’
‘Thank you. I was in two minds but didn’t want to send her into hospital if it wasn’t necessary. It’s nice to have a doctor’s opinion sometimes, though in general I trust my nurses.’
‘And so you should. I’ve seen many hospital wards that could learn something from you and your staff, Sister. Now, I’ll just have a word with the others and then I’ll be off.’
Beatrice thanked him, feeling surprised. It wasn’t often that a man in his position handed out such praise and she was feeling lighter of spirit when she returned to her office. She had just decided to make herself a cup of tea when someone knocked at the door.
‘Come in,’ she said. ‘Oh, Angela, good, I’m glad you’ve come. I was going to ask you if you will take this to the chemist straight away. Mr Markham wrote this up for Sarah Morgan.’
‘Yes, of course. I’ll go now – after I’ve shown you this … I’m afraid we’ve gone into the red again last month.’
‘Yes. Part of it was the new locks on the cellar and the windows – and there always seems to be something we have to replace. It was sheets this time, I think.’
‘I see.’ Angela frowned. ‘Yes, it’s never ending. I’ll make a note. I dare say we can take the extra from the money raised before Christmas.’
‘That money is for the children’s treats but we had to have that security work done after Arthur Baggins broke in and threatened to set the place on fire. At least the paraffin is no longer stored here – or only one can in the garden shed.’
‘I’m sure we’re safe enough now,’ Angela said. ‘No one else would dream of trying to burn the home down, Sister.’
‘I hope you’re right. It’s a nuisance that we’ve gone over budget again but the money never seems quite enough.’
‘Because we’re always taking more children, and they all need clothes, shoes and food,’ Angela said practically. ‘I’ll make a note of the rising prices in the monthly report. The Board should grant you what is needed, not expect you to manage on the same money when we are forever taking in more children.’
‘I dare say they do as much as they can. We have to remember that the charity set this up as a response to the increasing number of children left homeless because of the war, and they have limited funds.’
‘It isn’t just the casualties from the war these days; there are always going to be children from the slums and families who are down on their luck. Illness, accident and poverty are the three main enemies and they don’t go away just because the war is over. Besides, we are not entirely a charity now; we do have some Government funding.’
‘Yes, I know that, but a grant of five hundred pounds a year doesn’t go far amongst so many children.’
Beatrice didn’t need a lecture from Angela. She was well aware of how vital St Saviour’s was, and that they now had Government funding for the new wing – but where was the extra money coming from for the next influx of children?
‘I’ll make it plain we need at least another hundred pounds a month,’ Angela said. ‘We can’t do miracles, Sister, and you shouldn’t be worried about it.’
‘Yes, but that will not make the Bishop happy …’
‘Happy or not, the money has to be found. I shall have to have another jumble sale.’
THIRTEEN
Angela poured more wine into Mark’s glass; he’d finished his first drink, though she’d hardly touched her own. She smiled as she saw that he’d chosen the most comfortable of her armchairs and was stretched out with his feet up on a little stool, his eyes closed. He looked tired and, noticing a sprinkling of silver at his temples, she felt a surge of affection, because he was such a good friend. She knew he worked all hours, giving so much of his valuable time free to good causes.
Angela was aware he took his work seriously and he was regarded as a very dedicated and brilliant man, who more often than not got results. She knew how good he was with the damaged children they had at St Saviour’s and now and then she was able to see an improvement in the behaviour or attitude of the individual child.
Her anger with him for not telling her of her mother’s illness had faded now and she felt something flicker inside her, a need to touch him and to be close to him that made her draw her breath and wonder. She’d been aware of a growing need for physical contact for a while now, and yet guilt held her back. How could she think of caring for another man after the way John had died fighting for his country, to keep people like Angela safe?
Mark opened his eyes as she placed the glass of wine on the small occasional table beside him and smiled at her apologetically.
‘It was a long day,’ he explained. ‘I was called into the hospital to see a child who was behaving violently at three this morning.’ He sipped his wine. ‘Did you see the paper today? There are riots in India, because of the assassination of Mahatma Gandhi …
‘Yes, it was a terrible thing to happen,’ Angela agreed. ‘I expect his people will feel his loss … Oh, don’t let’s talk about it. I had hoped things would settle down once the war ended, but it seems as if there’s always trouble somewhere; Palestine is in turmoil and now India.’
‘Yes, I’m afraid that’s the way of things,’ Mark said heavily. ‘This country has been through hell. I’m glad to see some signs of rebuilding now, anyway. It’s going to take years to get London back to what it was before the bombing.’
‘Yes,’ Angela agreed, ‘it still gives me the shivers to walk past the piles of rubble and remember that people once lived there.
‘Man’s inhumanity to man is sometimes impossible to understand,’ Mark said. ‘I think we just have to be glad we survived and lick our wounds.’
‘Hitler’s bombs cleared away some of the worst of the slums in London,’ Angela said, ‘so perhaps some good will come out of it. We have to hope that the rebuilding is better than what came down. I visited Nan at her prefab last week; she loves it, but it wouldn’t suit me. I wonder what the city will be like in twenty or thirty years.’
‘I doubt we shall know it,’ Mark said, raising his thick dark brows. ‘You told me you were worried about Nancy when we spoke last week – are you still as worried?’
‘Yes, I am worried, Mark. Nancy said something to me soon
after she was admitted. I think it was a slip of the tongue, and it wasn’t much, more the look on her face. I didn’t know who to tell. Sister Beatrice would probably call in the police and then I think Nancy would just close up and refuse to speak …’
‘What did she say that worried you?’
‘Terry had been screaming and she was going to get in bed with him to comfort him. I suggested she shouldn’t let the day staff see her in case they thought it wasn’t right for her to sleep with her brother and she said: “Terry isn’t like Pa. He won’t hurt me.” Or something to that effect. It wasn’t the words, but the look in her eyes … I think her father interfered with her.’
‘Yes, not much to go on. It is a look in the eyes that often gives them away.’ Mark sipped his wine again, seeming thoughtful. ‘I think I agree with you, Angela. You shouldn’t tell Sister Beatrice yet, because she would think it her duty to inform the police. The last thing those children need is a constable probing into their lives. Nancy seems in control on the outside, but I noticed she is wary of saying too much, and is probably hiding something. Terry is too traumatised to know what really happened. He’s frightened, I know that much. Getting to the bottom of it will be a long process.’
‘Her father is dead, but does she need help, Mark? If she has had to suffer in such a way, perhaps on a regular basis, she’ll be very damaged. Is there anything we can do?’
‘Well, a lot of abused children do keep it inside for years. Sometimes it comes out when they’re older and they repeat the same behaviour with their own children … it’s like a sickness in some of them, but of course others manage to overcome it and go on to lead fairly normal lives. It’s better if they are helped to understand that they didn’t do anything wrong and are believed and listened to. A lot of victims are told they are liars or believe that it was their fault … they’ve been told they’re wicked and that they brought their punishment on themselves.’
‘They ought to hang the people who do this,’ Angela said, rage making her want to strike out. ‘I feel as if I want to scream when things like this happen, Mark, but I know I can’t do anything. In this particular case it seems as if their father has been punished for what he did.’
‘Yes, perhaps.’ A dark look clouded his features. ‘Though I’m not sure it is the result of divine justice in this case.’
Angela felt a chill creep up her spine. ‘What do you mean, Mark? Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’
‘It depends on what you’re thinking,’ he said grimly.
‘I sensed something not quite right with her story about the fire …’
‘Do you want to tell me?’
‘Well, the police version was that she got her brother out of bed – but she said he was standing staring at the bedroom door, which was on fire …’
‘Yes, I see. Nancy has had time to get her story straight now. Now she says that she got her brother out of his bedroom and then down the stairs. He stopped to stare at their parents’ room, but because the fire was too hot they couldn’t get near and she had to drag him away – and she says her father always locked the door to keep them out.’
‘That makes sense. Terry might be shocked and call out to his mother but …’ She shook her head. ‘I had the feeling she hated her father – and if she’s been abused that is only natural.’
‘Enough to burn both parents in their beds?’ Mark mused thoughtfully. ‘A child would have to be very disturbed to do that, I think.’ He sighed. ‘All of this is speculation, Angela. Unless Nancy confides in one of us, or Terry blurts the truth out, we may never know. It’s the shame factor, you see. Too often the victim is made to carry the shame, rather than the perpetrator. I’m not sure we would like the truth if we did know it all. The details are sometimes hard to take, even for me.’
‘But for their sakes, shouldn’t we try to discover what really happened? Nancy – Terry too – has been damaged by a violent father …’
‘What I do for the children is not a precise science, Angela. They are not adults. We cannot expect them to think like adults, and both of them are frightened. It could well be simply the fire and the trauma of losing their parents – but we now both have a sense of something simmering beneath the surface, and it worries me. Just be careful of Terry and of the girl. They may be even more disturbed than we think.’
Angela felt cold all over, thinking about her teddy bear and Nancy’s secretive nature. ‘They aren’t dangerous, are they? We have to think of the other children, Mark.’
‘There aren’t many suitable places for mentally unstable children, Angela. To incarcerate one or both in a mental institution would be a terrible undertaking. However, you may rest assured that if I think either of them is dangerous, I shall have them moved. For now, it is best that they are kept together.’ Mark gave her a straight look. ‘Don’t try to talk to Nancy about the fire – or her father’s abuse. She might become violent to protect herself and her brother. If she wants to talk, let her, but don’t force anything – for now they need to feel safe and to be given time, but just tread carefully, Angela.’
‘This is awful, Mark.’ Angela felt shocked. ‘Until I went to St Saviour’s I had no idea that things like this happened on a regular basis.’
Mark looked regretful. ‘Did I do you a bad turn by getting you the job, Angela?’
‘No, of course not. It has given me something to live for, Mark. I love my work – but cruelty and abuse make me so angry. I wish I could do more – stamp out this wickedness.’
‘I know; it’s enough to make grown men cry.’ He gave Angela a bleak smile and finished his wine. ‘We all wish we could sweep such evil out of the door for good, Angela, love, but all we can do is to try and pick up the pieces. Just now and then, if we can prove abuse, the guilty are punished.’
‘Oh, Mark.’ Angela’s eyes stung with tears. ‘You’re such a wonderful man. You just get on and do your job and none of us knows … it must affect you too?’
‘Yes, at times,’ he agreed. ‘It’s not always easy. Like I said, tread carefully, Angela. If you notice anything don’t hesitate to telephone me, but don’t try to handle it yourself. I may be completely wrong, of course, and they will get over the fire and be normal happy kids. I’m hoping it won’t be necessary to mention it to Sister Beatrice just yet.’
‘Let’s hope so,’ Angela said. ‘Would you like some more wine? Or something to eat? I have a couple of steaks and salad in the refrigerator. I suddenly feel starving!’
‘Wonderful! Why don’t we prepare supper together?’ he asked. ‘I’ve had enough of work for one evening. I’d just like to enjoy your company.’
‘I didn’t know you could cook, Mark?’ she teased.
‘Living alone it is a matter of survival – but I’m better at salads so I’ll leave the steak to you. Make mine a medium rare.’
‘Yes, I know,’ she said. ‘I’ve not been blind when we’ve been out, Mark.’ Angela went through to the kitchen, followed by Mark and they set about preparing their supper, chatting about lighter things.
‘I called round on Wednesday night as a matter of fact; you were out.’
‘Yes, I went to dinner with Nick Hadden; we go out most weeks.’ Mention of Nick made Angela a little uncomfortable. Nick was just a friend, but she still felt the need to explain. ‘He’s a lawyer, as you know. I get on quite well with him; he’s a friend of my father’s …’
‘Anything serious?’ Mark asked as he rummaged around in the refrigerator for the salad vegetables.
‘Oh, no. I’m not looking for romance in my life – just friendship. For the moment I’m more interested in the children and what I can do for them.’
Even as she spoke the words Angela knew that she was not sure they were completely true.
‘I’m glad you’ve found something that makes you happy,’ Mark said as he took the items from the fridge. ‘You won’t forget me when you do start looking around, will you, Angela?’
Their eyes met briefly, but Angel
a looked quickly away. ‘No, of course not,’ she said, but felt a tingle at the nape of her neck. She felt that Mark wanted something more from her than friendship and support but she wasn’t being fair to him if she could never really love another man again – it would be wrong to encourage him. ‘But I’m not sure I ever will …’
‘The future is a long time,’ Mark said, with one of his winning smiles and Angela found it impossible not to return it. ‘I’m looking forward to this.’ He turned away and began to chop the salad. ‘It’s not often you manage to find a decent steak these days.’
FOURTEEN
‘Well, what do you think of Angela’s idea?’
Father Joe blinked at Sister Beatrice, aware that he’d been guilty of not listening. ‘I’m sorry, Sister – what were you saying? I had something on my mind … just a Church matter, nothing important.’
‘This musical show she is thinking of putting on at the church hall to raise funds. I was asking if you would be prepared to help. You were so good at Christmas with the carol service and I should like you to keep an eye on things,’ Sister Beatrice said. ‘She means well, but … I’m not sure that this show is a good idea. Some of the songs today can be vulgar, don’t you think?’
Father Joe kept his amusement to himself. He knew exactly what the Sister was thinking, but he had no fears that Angela would include anything faintly immoral or even racy in her show. However, the idea of the show appealed to him, because of that soft spot he had inside for the beautiful young widow.
‘I wouldn’t mind helping out with the songs,’ he said. ‘You know I’m always willing to lend a hand. Now, what about those children you’re concerned for? Are they Catholic?’
‘I don’t know. I shouldn’t think so, but I should like you to have a talk to them just in case. The girl seems fine, except that she is over-protective of her brother – but the boy is difficult. He has nightmares and has wet the bed a few times, which many of them do, but we know that bed-wetting often hides something more serious. Mark Adderbury says Terry is very disturbed by the fire and the death of his parents, but I’m not sure it isn’t just wilfulness on the girl’s part – because she doesn’t want to give up responsibility for her brother. If you just went in to visit sometimes … keep an eye on him.’
