by Cathy Sharp
‘Have you placed the house with an agent yet?’ Sister Beatrice enquired when they met on Monday. ‘The Bishop is very pleased with it all – and I’ve been thinking of some jobs that really do need to be done in the cloakrooms.’
‘Not yet. I let someone have the key. He’s going to show it to his friend and we should get a good deal …’
‘You’ve given the key to someone else? I hope you know what you’re doing, Angela. That property doesn’t belong to you; it is for St Saviour’s and I should not like to think you had put it at risk.’
‘No, I’m sure Ned will look after it for me,’ Angela said, but she couldn’t help worrying about it a bit, because Sister was right. It wasn’t her property. She would have to call at Ned’s home and ask why he hadn’t put it through her door as he’d promised.
Ned wasn’t there when she went to his house. His mother told her he’d gone out on a job, and she didn’t know anything about a key but would send him round as soon as he got home.
Feeling remorseful and disappointed, Angela caught the bus that took her home. She unlocked her door and went in, flicking on the electric light. Immediately, she saw the large brown envelope lying on the floor just inside. It had been slipped underneath the door and shot across the polished wooden boards to come to rest at the edge of a bright cotton rug. As soon as she picked it up, she felt the hardness of the key inside and a wave of relief went over her. She hadn’t been taken for a fool after all.
Inside was a letter typed on white paper. It thanked her for showing him the house before putting it on the market, confirmed that he would like to make an offer and was signed, Harry Brooks. His offer caused Angela to gasp.
Two thousand three hundred pounds and all lawyer’s fees paid!
It was more than twice what the solicitor had advised and Angela burst out laughing. It was such a relief, because she could imagine what Sister Beatrice might have said if she’d put the home’s bequest at risk.
NINETEEN
Beatrice glanced up as someone knocked at the door of her office, smiling as Nan entered.
‘Nan, did you come for a chat – or is it something important?’
‘We’ve just had a little girl brought in, Beatrice. She has been released from hospital after being treated for appendicitis but has nowhere to go. Her father was killed in the war and her mother has disappeared. She just went off with a man while Betsy was in the hospital.’
‘Oh, no, not again,’ Beatrice said, her own problems forgotten. ‘Don’t they realise what it does to the children? Being told that your mother has run off and left you. How old is she?’
‘About eight I should say. I haven’t read the notes that came with her yet, and she doesn’t have much to say.’
Beatrice shook her head. ‘Where are we going to put her, Nan?’
‘I suggest she takes Sarah Morgan’s place in the dorm; Carole says her tonsillitis case is ready to return to her dorm, so that leaves a bed for Sarah in the sick room until she’s fully fit again.’
Beatrice frowned, because it was the same old problem. ‘Well, I dare say the new building will be ready shortly.’
‘Angela’s hoping things are coming together. She’s going to order the new beds this week,’ Nan said cheerfully.
‘You seem to have more of a spring in your step recently?’ Beatrice arched her brows in enquiry.
‘Yes, it’s my old soldier. His name is Edward Charles; he remembered to tell me over tea this week – with a little prompting.’ Nan chuckled softly. ‘He is such a nice man, Beatrice. I didn’t think I would ever trust a man again after what happened to my daughter … but Eddie makes me remember what life used to be like years ago, so perhaps I’m softening. He’s got that old-fashioned courtesy that seems to have got lost these days – and he’s very kind. I’ve invited him to have dinner with me next Sunday.’
‘Well, you’ve been out to tea with him several times now, haven’t you?’
Nan smiled happily. ‘Yes. We’re becoming good friends.’
‘I’m glad you’ve found a friend,’ Beatrice said.
Nan nodded in agreement and then hesitated. ‘There is something else, Beatrice. I’m afraid you will not like it, but I hope you will deal with the girl as gently as possible. She is one of my best girls and I don’t think this was all her fault.’
Beatrice looked at her through narrowed eyes. ‘Who are you talking about, Nan?’
‘Alice Cobb.’
‘What has she done now?’ Beatrice sighed and pushed back her chair.
‘She is pregnant.’
‘That girl is nothing but trouble!’ Beatrice shook her head. ‘I gave her one chance, Nan. This time she will have to go. I cannot have girls bringing shame on us …’
‘I agree that she will have to leave once it begins to be noticeable, but need it be before then, Beatrice? She will have time enough to cope with her shame once her condition is apparent. Her family don’t want anything to do with her. Her mother disowned her and she’s staying with a friend until she finds a room of her own. We can’t just abandon her. She is really a good girl in her way.’
‘She has loose morals and I do not want her contaminating my other girls or the children.’
‘Beatrice, think what you’re saying, please. Alice made a mistake, but she isn’t the first girl to get caught – we’ve seen enough of the result of peoples “mistakes” come through these doors, haven’t we?’
The expression in Nan’s eyes made Beatrice look away. Beatrice might have her morals, but she knew morals counted for little when young women got caught in the snares that men set for them. She was angry with Alice for being so foolish, but her friend was right to say that the girl wasn’t the first to get caught in the age-old trap.
‘Oh, Nan, don’t look at me like that,’ Beatrice said, smiling wryly. ‘Of course I shan’t abandon the girl. We’ll help her – arrange for her to go into a Church home when her time comes to have the baby.’
‘Those homes make the girls give the baby up,’ Nan objected. ‘I’m not sure that Alice will agree to do that.’
‘But surely she has no choice?’
‘It would be difficult to keep the baby,’ Nan admitted, ‘but it might be possible. I shall try to help her myself. All I am asking of you at the moment is that you allow her to stay here for a few weeks – until she can sort herself out. Once she has somewhere to stay she will be able to think of the future.’
‘I suppose she could stay at work until she starts to show …’ Beatrice sighed. ‘You’d better ask her to come and see me. Don’t worry, I shan’t be unkind, but you know we couldn’t keep her here once the pregnancy shows, don’t you? People would condemn her and the Bishop and the other guardians would be outraged. It isn’t up to me alone.’
‘No, I understand that, but just for a while?’
Beatrice hesitated, but she felt obliged to grant her friend’s request. ‘I really ought to let her go but … very well, Nan. We shall help her to get settled. As you said, she isn’t the first and she will not be the last.’
‘I hope you think I did right in letting the girl stay for a while – just until she begins to show her condition. Alice is a good worker and in difficult circumstances, because her mother will not have her at home,’ Sister Beatrice explained.
‘Her shame is not uncommon these days,’ Father Joe said, looking grave. ‘I would not have you cast the girl out too soon, but we cannot condone her behaviour, Sister. It would set a bad example to others – and the young girls in our care. Once she begins to show she must be sent to one of our homes. I shall make arrangements for her perhaps six weeks from now?’
‘I must consult Alice about her wishes, Father. She must decide what to do. Her mother may take her back after she has considered fully.’
‘The girl has shamed herself and her family. It is wrong that she should be allowed to bring up a child, Sister. It will result in neglect and poverty, because she will not find a decent job and in the end m
ay turn to an immoral life to support both the child and herself. We try to help such children here, but is it not better if it can be stopped before it starts?’
‘Do you not think it a little harsh to impose our ideas on Alice?’
Father Joe frowned and Beatrice knew that it was one of those occasions when they came to loggerheads. Father Joe was a good and compassionate man, but he took Church doctrine seriously and didn’t always see the subtleties in life. ‘I am certain you will see that I am right,’ he said sternly. ‘We cannot be seen to condone immorality, Sister. You must know that it would offend the Bishop if it came to his ears?’
‘You would not inform him, surely?’
‘No …’ The stern look faded from his eyes. ‘I shall not – but I believe you must consider whether you feel it your duty to insist that Alice is properly cared for in her time of need.’
‘You’re right,’ Beatrice said, ‘but perhaps she may be persuaded … or her family may come to her aid before then.’
‘Yes, perhaps,’ he said, and smiled
Beatrice was relieved, because although her head told her that Father Joe was right to say that Alice must conform to the rules of society and the Church, she could not help feeling that it would be a shame to force the girl to give up her baby if she wished to keep it. Beatrice could imagine only too well the pain of losing a child.
TWENTY
‘I won’t go, Nance,’ Terry said as Sister Beatrice left the room. She had come to tell them that both he and Nancy would soon have to start going to school, as the other children did. He kicked moodily at the wall near the window overlooking the garden. ‘Don’t let her send me to school. The other kids pick on me because I can’t read or write or do sums – and you can’t leave me here alone. I want to go home to Ma …’ Tears welled in his eyes as he looked at her desperately. ‘I want Ma … Nance, I want to go home …’
Nancy moved towards him, drawing his thin body close and holding him pressed against her, stroking his dark hair. She bent her fair head to his, kissing his hair. He smelled of the soap she’d washed him with earlier and she smiled, because she loved him with every fibre of her being. Terry was all she had now, all she’d ever had really, because Ma had stopped caring after that terrible night of the bombing, and Pa had never liked her. He’d got worse after he came back from the war; he’d never been violent before that, but he’d always more or less ignored Nancy. She thought he’d cared for Terry a bit, until a doctor told them Terry was backward and after that he’d ignored his son – but then, when he returned after the war, he’d been brutal and violent.
She wouldn’t feel guilty or sad over the way her parents had died. It was their own faults, Pa for being so cruel to them – and Ma for not sticking up for her children. All she’d cared about was where the next drink was coming from – and now she was dead, like Pa.
Nancy had to protect Terry and make sure that Sister Beatrice didn’t send him away somewhere. She’d been kind enough in her way, asking them both if they were settling in and if they had all they wanted to eat – but she didn’t understand. How could she? No one could know that Terry was haunted by his nightmares. He’d often had bad dreams in the past, and it was always Nancy who comforted him. It was because he’d wanted to get into bed with her after he had bad dreams that he’d discovered what Pa was doing to her – and he’d gone wild.
Nancy had never seen her nervous little brother fall into a rage like that before. He’d gone for Pa with his hands, fists and teeth, biting his bare legs when Pa knocked him down, biting so hard that he’d drawn blood and made Pa yell in pain. It was then that Pa had grabbed him, hitting him over and over again until Nancy flung herself at his back and clung on, almost strangling him in an effort to stop him from killing his son.
‘He’s hurt, Pa,’ she’d said as he towered over her. ‘If you hit him again you’ll kill him – and then they’ll lock you up.’
Pa had calmed down then, glaring at her as he recovered his breath. ‘If he ever comes in here again when I’m here I shall kill the runt,’ he muttered. ‘Tell him to stay away, girl. I’m warning you – and I’ll have him locked up as soon as I can find somewhere to take him. Where your ma got that idiot from I’ve no idea, but he’s not my son. She always was a damned whore.’
What did he mean, that Ma was a whore? Nancy knew what that word meant and her mother had never been that sort of woman. It was just Pa being mean and nasty, and she’d hated him then, hated him so much that she could taste the bitterness in her mouth.
She was glad he was dead, but she wished Ma was still alive and that they could go on living at home, just the three of them. Tears stung Nancy’s eyes but she blinked them away as she saw what was happening to Terry. He’d gone rigid, his body starting to shake as he stared at something only he could see – just as he had on the night of the fire when she’d dragged him away from that burning door.
Now, Terry had his hands over his ears. ‘They’re screaming,’ he cried. ‘Stop them, Nance, stop them screaming. I can hear Ma crying …’
‘No, Terry, no,’ Nancy said, holding him as the shaking increased and he seemed on the verge of having a fit. ‘They died in their sleep from the smoke – they didn’t scream; they didn’t feel anything, because they were dead before the flames touched them. The police told us it would be like that when they found us in the warehouse.’
Terry had tensed again and opened his mouth. Nancy slapped his face, cutting off the scream. She saw the stiffness go and he collapsed into her arms, sobbing against her chest as he mumbled something incoherent.
‘I didn’t mean Ma to die …’
‘Hush, love.’ Nancy bent to kiss the top of his head. ‘It’s all right, Terry. You didn’t do anything, I promise you. It wasn’t your fault …’
‘Yes, it was, Nance.’ Terry raised his head and looked at her, and something she saw in his eyes then sent chills down her spine. ‘I did it to punish Pa. I wanted him to be hurt, but I didn’t mean Ma to die. I wanted to wake her but the door was locked and – then I couldn’t get near it for the flames, because it was so quick.’
‘Don’t say such things,’ Nancy said, her heart beating so fast she thought she would suffocate. He couldn’t mean it! He was all muddled up in his head; he’d imagined this because of the nightmares. ‘It was an accident; you know it was, Terry. Pa must have knocked the lamp over and was too drunk to know what he’d done. You’ve made this up in your head – like some of those other things you think you did …’ Terry couldn’t have done it deliberately; Nancy wouldn’t believe that her little brother could have knowingly done such a thing. No, it was just his nightmares. Their father had started the fire in a drunken stupor. The police had told them it must have happened that way …
Terry’s gaze narrowed, frightening her. ‘I know what I did, Nance – and if that horrible woman thinks she’s going to send me away I’ll make her sorry.’
‘No, Terry, you mustn’t think like that,’ Nancy said, cold all over. ‘Please, promise me you won’t be silly. I have to go to school for another year so that I can find a good job and make a home for us, and perhaps we can find somewhere for you to go while I’m at school … but you must promise me to be good. You mustn’t say wild things or we might be in trouble – and they would lock us both away somewhere.’
‘I wouldn’t ever hurt you, Nance,’ Terry said, and smiled, the shadows suddenly gone from his face. ‘Perhaps Father Joe will come and see us today. I like him.’
‘Yes, I know.’ Relief flooded through her. Surely she’d imagined that look in Terry’s eyes. He couldn’t have set fire to the door of their parents’ bedroom; it was just his imagination playing tricks. ‘Perhaps he will help you, Terry. We’ll ask him next time he comes, shall we?’
‘Yes.’ Terry was all smiles now. He kneeled down on the floor and started to play with the wooden train that Father Joe had brought in for him, his temper tantrum forgotten. ‘I like him, Nance. He’s my friend …’
&
nbsp; Nancy watched him and smiled. He was such a darling when he was good, but there was no doubting that he had a temper and she would never forget the way he’d gone for Pa that time – but Pa had deserved it and poor little Terry had come off worst.
Nancy knew that there was a violent streak in Terry, just as there had been in Pa, but he wouldn’t hurt anyone when he was happy and felt safe; it was only when he was threatened or when anyone hurt Nancy that he went wild. She would just have to look out for him and make sure he didn’t say or do foolish things.
Yet she couldn’t quite forget that look. For a moment he’d stared at her as if he didn’t know her, as if she were a stranger, and the malice in his eyes had chilled her. Just for a brief instant she’d been frightened – but that was stupid. Terry was her darling brother; he would never hurt her. He’d hated Pa but he loved Nancy and she would make him understand that they were safe here … once he’d got over his fear of the fire he would be her loving little brother again.
TWENTY-ONE
‘I’ve managed to get two tickets for this evening – and I thought supper somewhere special afterwards?’ Mark said. Angela was looking even lovelier, her ash-blonde hair freshly washed and gently waved on her collar. ‘Any chance of your company?’
‘Oh, Mark, I’m so sorry,’ she said, and felt a guilty sensation as she told him of her plans. ‘If you’d asked sooner I should have loved to come to the theatre with you, but I’ve arranged to have dinner with Nick Hadden this evening.’
Mark’s face looked momentarily crestfallen, but he regained his composure. ‘I wasn’t sure I’d get tickets for this particular play. They are a bit like gold dust these days … Perhaps another time?’
‘Yes, of course. I should have liked to see Blithe Spirit again. I think it is the best of Noel Coward’s plays.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I’m sorry, I have to go. I’ve arranged to see the vicar about hiring the church hall for a charity auction.’
