Maisie thought she might faint and gripped her bag tighter. The realisation that her mother – or sister, perhaps? – might have been a prostitute clawed at her insides. She must have been a desperate woman who had given up her children in order to survive.
‘I’m not here to work. I came looking for my mother. If any of you know anything, I’d appreciate answers. Am I the daughter of Juliana Reynolds? I’m Maisie Reynolds and I was placed in care aged four. The matron, Gloria Mason, wouldn’t tell me a thing and it’s taken me years to get this far so please, if anyone knows anything, please will you tell me. I need to know where I came from.’ Maisie took a deep breath after giving such a long speech in the firmest voice she could muster.
She shifted from foot to foot in nervous anticipation of answers, but no one spoke; they all simply stared at her.
‘Please. Anyone?’ She looked around but most of the men turned and walked away.
Jock and the woman stood looking at each other, then Jock nodded.
‘Gloria. That old hag? She’s my sister. And pretty Juliana – Red – was her girl. Which makes you, sweetheart, her granddaughter, and my great niece. Welcome to the family,’ Jock said and laughed. He gave the woman a slap on her backside and then he walked away. ‘Sort her out, Doris.’
Maisie felt her body sway. The shock of his words was beyond comprehension. Utterly unbelievable. She took a moment to compose herself before stammering out her question. If she’d ever thought Gloria Mason an evil woman in the past, the feeling of betrayal she experienced now only confirmed that the woman was one of the cruellest people she could imagine.
‘Gloria Mason was your sister? I’m her …?’
Jock turned around and walked back to her. Maisie tried not to gag at the sweaty aroma he wafted each time he moved an arm. The man was a revolting specimen.
‘Jessie Reynolds is her real name. She changed it when she applied for the job and made herself look respectable. Too old to work the streets and she got in with some army toff who fell foul of her blackmailing. She was a nasty piece. Made our lives hell with her preaching. Yes, you are blood and I can see the joy in your face. Gonna be sick? Go over there,’ he said.
Maisie stood there taking it all in, her legs trembling with shock. She straightened her back and tried to focus but waves of nausea prevented her from moving.
‘Listen. I don’t need more hungry mouths to feed. I didn’t like your mother. She was a mouthy bitch, but she performed well and earned me a good few quid. If you want a job, you’ve got one. If not, clear off. There’s nothing here for you. Tell my sister she still owes me.’
‘She’s dead. Heart attack,’ Maisie said bluntly.
‘Good riddance. If you lived with her, I feel for you. Evil flowed through her sanctimonious veins. You’re penniless, I suppose. You can start work tonight, if you want.’
Stunned by his suggestion, Maisie shook her head.
‘I don’t need work. My life is a good one. I want to find my brother, my twin, but there are no birth certificates. Nothing.’
‘Double the trouble came to Red’s door and she couldn’t hack it. She gave them over to my sister to get rid of ‘cos round here, if you ain’t working, you ain’t earning, and she lost me a fortune,’ Jock said, hissing through his teeth. ‘Being her girl, you can repay me. Work off the debt.’
‘I’d rather die.’ Maisie made a move to walk away, but Doris put a restraining hand on her arm.
Doris looked to Jock again.
‘What about Red’s box? Give the girl her box and let her go. She’s no good to me. I want willing girls. This one won’t earn you a penny. You’re not a cruel man, Jock. The tin will be thrown away, so give it to her. Do right by the girl. Let her have her cheap beads from her mother.’
Jock’s face changed several shades of scarlet before he turned on his heel, went inside the hut splashed in red paint, and returned with a small tin box.
‘This is all we found. Everything else was lost in the bombing. Doris is right; I ain’t a cruel man. By rights this is yours. She had no money so don’t get excited. Just some cheap beads in there. Fond of cheap beads, she was.’ He tapped the tin.
Maisie reached out and took it from him, avoiding contact with his filthy hands. The smell he emitted brought back memories of the room she and Jack huddled in together before Holly Bush. She looked at the people milling around them. She had been born in squalor, there was no doubt in her mind.
‘Her mother took the money when they had a fight over the babies. As I said, horrible woman. If you ain’t going to work for me, you ain’t any use. I don’t need family. Don’t come back. And unless your brother is good with his fists, I don’t want to see him round here either. So when you find him, don’t bring him here.’
Maisie nodded. Tears welled and she felt a tightening in her throat. This man was a relative. He was as unpleasant as his sister but at least he had the decency to do right by her and let her leave with something belonging to her mother. Had Juliana Reynolds been as cruel as Gloria or had she been a victim of her mother’s bullying ways? Maisie wanted to believe the latter. She straightened her back and looked him in the eye. She had no intention of ever returning to the place, but she wanted to remind Jock of her existence and of the consequences of his forceful nature.
‘After you drove my mother to give up her children, your sister made my life hell. She cut my head to pieces with a razor to rid me of my hair. She never held back with her punishments. Now I know why. I’m the child of her prostitute daughter and my curls reminded her of that every day. But why didn’t she tell me who she was?’
‘Twisted bitch. She preferred torture to nurture, that one,’ Doris said.
‘Did Juliana have any more children? Do I have siblings?’
Jock shook his head. ‘Good Lawd, no. I don’t think I have any more kids – Red certainly didn’t. No, the hag sister wanted any babies born round here for the orphanage so Red made sure she didn’t produce any more. She wasn’t going to feed her mother’s pockets. The old hag took a couple of Doris’s babies though. Earned her good money. Not fond of kids are you, gal? Doris here filled her spot once you were born. Wouldn’t let me near the girl again, would you my lover?’ He grinned at Doris who shrugged a shoulder back at him.
A cold bucket of water couldn’t have hit Maisie any harder and her body trembled with shock. The man was her great-uncle and if she’d heard him correctly, her father!
‘You’re … my father?’ she whispered, nausea raging around her insides.
‘No! Listen carefully. I shared a bed with your mother, and she gave birth to two bastard children. I am no father to any kid round here. Now, unless you have any other business here, I suggest we part ways and forget we ever met. Bugger off now. I don’t need any more trouble.’ Jock’s voice changed into a deep growl. Maisie noticed his features harden and then he walked away.
Doris lingered, obviously wanting to speak without him around.
‘Take the tin and clear off, dearie. Don’t come back. He’ll work you to death if you do. And the water will be your grave. And as for finding birth certificates, good luck. As I say, get going or you’ll join a few in there.’ She nodded her head towards the quayside.
Before Maisie could ask any more questions, Doris walked away.
Gathering her composure, Maisie placed the tin under her arm and left the yard. As she passed the quayside, she wondered how many poor young women never got the opportunity to walk free from Jock’s clutches.
A wave of sadness swept in, but as she thought of Jock it fizzled into a raging anger. If a bomb dropped on him now, Maisie felt it would be the kindest act the enemy could do for her. She fully intended to honour his demands and never enter that part of the city again.
She powered along the dockside so fast people swore at her to slow down but her mind was in turmoil.
She called in to Joyce’s place on the way home, attempting to control her anger and upset, but she couldn’t shore up her emo
tions any longer once she saw her friend and she flung herself into her arms.
Joyce moved her to a chair and stared at her in disbelief as Maisie relayed what had happened. Maisie’s anger had subsided, but large, sad tears dripped over her lashes.
Joyce patted them away with the corner of her pinafore, with all the tenderness of a mother. ‘Go home, Maisie and rest up. Look at you, you’re as white as a sheet. Then you must do what is best for you, but don’t go near that man again. Promise me.’
Drying her tears, Maisie picked up the tin. ‘I promise. I bet the key I’ve got fits this box. I’m glad I didn’t throw it away. I wonder what joys it holds for me, more exciting information about my great-uncle – or is that my dad?’ she said, her voice heaped with resentment.
Joyce sighed. ‘I doubt he’s your real dad. He’s probably saying that to get rid of you. You’re vulnerable, Maisie. You could be in danger if you go back.’
Maisie dried her eyes and went to the door. She stepped out into the sunshine; the walk home would help her assemble her thoughts.
‘Believe me, I’ll not go back. He made my skin crawl. Just the thought of what he said makes me cringe. Pure filth.’
Joyce gave a theatrical shiver and pulled a face of disgust.
‘Sadly, I doubt my mother was any better. She gave us up to Gloria, which shows how much she cared about us. It was all for money. Rich parents paying for children a mother didn’t want were the ideal outlet. Gloria got stuck when it came to me. No wonder she despised me. You can’t sell an ugly orphan. No, don’t worry about me Joyce. I just want to get home and see what she did value in life. I’ll come and let you know in a few days. Please, don’t worry about me. I’ll never go near the man again, I promise.’
CHAPTER 23
With a shaking hand, Maisie put Gloria’s mystery key into the keyhole. A positive click released the lid and it rose a fraction.
The waning sun still shone through the window and glinted on the surface of the tin. Maisie touched the lid, hesitating for fear of what she might find.
‘Right, Maisie Reynolds, this is either something important or an enormous let down. Deal with it and cope. Jock is nothing to you. The man is evil; you can’t possibly be related.’ Maisie chatted away to herself, trying to retain some composure as she lifted the lid of the box.
Inside, she saw a small silver ring in one corner, a layer of yellowing papers, and a photograph of two children. Toddlers. She turned over the picture to inspect the back and saw a scrawl of poor handwriting
Julie and James Reynolds.
Twins, born Southampton, July 2nd 1922.
Gone but not forgotten.
‘How dare she! How dare she declare us as gone? I was here, so close to her, and she must have known! We were here, together, Jack and me. Only for a short time together, but we were here. We existed.’
A major surge of emotion brought Maisie to her knees.
‘Who had the right to give me this name, and not let me be Julie?’ she cried out.
There was a banging on her door and she felt the sudden rush of warm air as it was pushed open, but it didn’t stop her from pulling at her hair and slapping at her legs. She thrashed and screamed into the arms that held her. She knew it was Cam by his familiar smell and soft voice.
‘Maisie. My Maisie. Who’s hurt you? Calm down, I’ve got you. Hit me, not yourself. What’s going on?’
‘I’m not your Maisie. I’m Julie. Nobody’s Julie. I hate her, I hate her.’ Maisie continued thrashing out and screaming. The more she struggled, the more Cam held her close. He settled down on the floor beside her and held on to her until she could no longer cry out and her sobs hiccupped into breathless sighs.
‘I take it this photograph has something to do with your distress. Did you find your parents? Has somebody died? Talk to me, Maisie. Let me help.’
With slow jerking movements, Maisie tugged herself free from Cam’s arms. She moved to the chair by the window and looked at him. He was so handsome, and his face showed genuine concern.
‘That photograph is of me and my brother. James – or, as I know him, Jack. The one up there,’ she pointed to the mantlepiece, ‘that’s us with our mother, Juliana. I hate her. She gave us away and for the worst possible reasons.’
She directed her gaze at the box.
‘Inside that box are the only possessions left of my mother’s. I met my father and would rather have been told I was the child of the devil. As for my grandmother, Gloria …’
Cam expelled a loud breath and Maisie pursed her lips and nodded slowly.
‘Oh, yes, my grandmother was Gloria Mason – or, should I say, Jessie Reynolds.’
‘The matron you spoke of?’ Cam’s voice was a combination of shock and amazement.
‘The one and only. My mother was her daughter, a redhead called Juliana, and, as I understand it, they fought over selling me and my brother. I wonder how much we were worth?’
Maisie heard Cam inhale and exhale, but she held nothing back when she launched into her second speech. She wanted him to know everything about her newly discovered background.
‘Her uncle is my father and he sold her for sex. And, lucky me, he offered to set me up in the family business today.’
Maisie looked across into Cam’s face and tried to make out what he was thinking, but he remained pale-faced and calm. He gave an encouraging dip of his head for her to continue.
‘My mother was a prostitute at the docks and she was killed by the recent bombings. I hate them, I hate them all!’
Cam rushed to her side, lifted her to her feet, and held her close again as Maisie tried to stem the tears. This time she didn’t resist.
‘Cry, honey, just cry it out. I’ll hold you. I’ll keep you safe.’ Cam spoke softly as she leaned into him for comfort.
Maisie took him at his word and sobbed. Eventually, she settled into irregular sniffles and he gently lowered her back into her seat.
‘Have you looked at the rest of the contents?’
Maisie waved her hand in dismissal of his question.
‘I can’t bear it.’
Cam picked up the box and took it to her.
‘Let’s do it together. I’ll help you. I’m here for you – always, Maisie.’
‘Julie. My name is not Maisie.’
Cam said nothing and handed her the tin. He pulled up a chair beside her and sat down.
‘Listen. I’m on leave for forty-eight hours and I want to spend it with the girl who’s captured my heart, and her name is Maisie. Let’s take the next step together.’
He lifted the lid and pulled out the first document.
‘This looks like it’s your birth certificate. It appears you are Julie Reynolds. Mother, Juliana Reynolds. Born July 2nd 1922. Father not named’
‘And we know why that is,’ Maisie snapped.
Cam reached out and touched her arm to calm her down.
‘This is the past. You’ll always be Maisie to me. The kind, loving girl who makes me smile. I’m here for you.’
Cam took up the small ring and held it out to her, but Maisie shook her head and he placed it back in the tin.
She curled up in the chair, tugged a cushion to her chest, and watched him.
‘Cam. I need to tell you something and please don’t interrupt me. Please let me get it out before I lose my nerve.’
Cam stopped what he was doing, went over to her, and sat on the arm of the chair.
‘Fire away, I’m listening.’
A shyness came over Maisie, but she so desperately wanted to get her deeper, more intimate feelings for Cam out in the open. She clasped her hands in her lap and fidgeted her fingers against her palms. It was time. Time to let the woman she’d become express her innermost thoughts. She wanted to wash away the horrors of the docks and understand the true meaning of love. Of being held by a man who loves you. With Cam she knew it would be pure and meaningful. Time was not on their side or she’d possibly have waited, but the moment felt r
ight and Maisie wanted to commit to him.
‘Cam. I fell in love with you the first time I saw you and now I know what true love is. I know this is what I’m feeling because I cannot imagine there can be a deeper love. My emotions about my situation are in a mess, but just seeing you here, at the time in my life when I need support has made me realise you don’t care about who I was, only who I am. You are still here despite my ranting, and I love you for that. I want to … well, I want to share myself with you.’
After rushing out her words, Maisie took a deep breath and gave him a brief smile, but his face expressed nothing.
Cam sat in his chair in silence, unmoving. Maisie couldn’t bear to see his reaction and so turned her head to look out onto the garden. When she spoke to him again, it was in a soft, calm voice.
‘You came through the door just when I needed you the most and listening to you take control and calm me has made me want you in my life the way I’ve never wanted anyone before. You could have walked away, and I would understand if you left because I’ve become a complicated person with a very unrespectable background. Part of me thinks you should walk away, but the other part desperately wants you to stay. To stay with me, to be with me … in the physical sense, not just the emotional. I want to wake with you by my side.’
His sudden gentle touch didn’t startle her; it gave her hope. She felt the warmth radiate from his hand onto the back of her neck. It was soothing and she gave in to his strength as he scooped her into his arms and lifted her from the chair. He sat down with her on his lap and cradled her in his arms. Maisie could hear his heart pounding in his chest. It was a comforting sound. His lips brushed her forehead, and she dared not move in case the peace she felt at that moment melted away. She closed her eyes as he whispered his love for her and promised he would always help her through all the tough times when they came her way. Maisie wanted time to stop. A blackbird chirruped in the early evening and neither of them stirred.
Several hours later, Maisie lay beside a softly snoring Cam. He’d taken her to a place of wonderment and drawn from her a passion she hadn’t known her body was capable of. It wasn’t the typical rushed wartime passion, nor the experimental fumbling she’d heard Coleen and her friends speak about during their evenings together. It was love, and it had depth and meaning.
The Forgotten Orphan: The heartbreaking and gripping World War 2 historical novel Page 18
