by Renee Duke
“Your callous daughter will probably point out that you phone us every week and come to see us twice a year,” said Paige.
“Which we do not consider an adequate amount of contact.”
Grantie Etta shook her head. “Like I said, incorrigible.”
Whatever form of persuasion Granddad used, neither set of parents had any objection to the children staying on at Rosebank and having another day out. Granny and Granddad arrived in time for an early lunch, after which Mr. Dexter drove them all to London in their Victorian outfits. He dropped them at a small park in Stepney, where about a hundred people were strolling around similarly attired.
Both grandparents groaned when they were spotted and descended upon by a woman in a large flower-covered straw hat and long mauve gown with a bustle.
“Valeria, Avery,” she gushed. “I’m so pleased you could make it. And you’ve brought your dear little grandchildren. Don’t they look sweet?”
She used one hand to pinch Jack’s cheeks, the other to poke playfully at Dane with the parasol she was carrying.
Paige swiftly sidestepped a similar attack.
The woman tittered with amusement. “Don’t you like being in fancy dress, dear? I’m afraid my grandchildren aren’t too keen either.”
She waved toward a sawdust-filled barrel that was serving as the fête’s lucky dip. A girl about fifteen, and a boy about twelve, stood beside it looking miserable. The girl’s mustard coloured dress was covered with frills and bows in a style much too young for her, and the boy’s face was almost as crimson as the Little Lord Fauntleroy suit he was wearing. Dane’s heart went out to him.
“Would you like to go and play with them?” the woman inquired.
“Perhaps later, Belinda,” said Granddad. “I think I’ll take them to look round the booths first. You and Valeria can have a nice chat.”
Granny looked about as eager to chat with this Belinda as Grantie Etta would have been to chat to Cousin Ophelia. She gave her husband a tight smile. “I’ll join you in the tea tent then, shall I, dear? You can buy me tea and sandwiches. And cakes. A great many cakes,” she added pointedly.
“Granny’s mad at you,” Paige observed as they walked off.
“She’ll get over it. Belinda doesn’t have much of an attention span. She’ll soon find someone else to inflict herself upon.”
They made their time transfer from behind the tea tent, materializing on a slightly overcast day that was not quite chilly enough to warrant putting on the coats they’d been carrying. Purchase of a newspaper told them it was Wednesday, September 12, 1888, and a passer-by gave the time as quarter past eight in the morning.
“Everyone ready?” Granddad inquired after he’d set his watch and stuffed the paper into his carpet bag. “Barnardo children all had to be registered at the Stepney Causeway Home, so we might as well go straight there. Once we’re inside, I’ll do most of the talking. Victorians weren’t big on letting children express opinions or find solutions to problems. The progressive style of education that encouraged that sort of thing is about to have its dawning in the United States, but even there it took quite a few decades to get going. Such an innovative approach might well have appealed to dear old Uncle Clive though, so even if it’s a bit ahead of the game time-wise, I’ll use it to explain any aspects of your behaviour the locals might find a tad obnoxious.”
The large brick building they sought was on a dingy lane off the much busier Commercial Road. In the Home’s receiving room, a dozen or so children were seeking admission. Ranging in age from four to fourteen, two of them had crippled limbs, two others bruises that could only have come from a street fight or a beating, and three a racking cough similar to Pip’s. All of them looked as though they hadn’t had a meal in days. They looked up with expressions of pure joy when a woman approached them carrying a tray with steaming bowls of stew and hunks of bread.
An earnest looking young man in a suit skirted round the hungry waifs and asked Granddad how he could be of help.
“Is Dr. Barnardo here this morning, my good man?”
“I’m afraid not, sir.”
“Is the governor about?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then would you be so good as to inform him that Mr. Hollingsworth would like to see him? I have both a bequest and a request to make.”
The young man left them for a few minutes, then returned and ushered them into an office.
Inside, an older man with a bushy beard immediately rose and extended his hand. “Mr. Hollingsworth,” he said, the added roll to his 'r’s exposing him as a Scotsman. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I know how interested you are in our work. I caught sight of you once at a fundraising event. And who might these bonny-looking children be?”
“Young relatives of mine.” Granddad pointed to each in turn. “Paige, Dane, and Jack.” Seeing the man’s surprised look, he added, “The two strange-sounding ones are, of course, nicknames: Dane for Daniel and Paige for, um, Patience—which she doesn’t have much of, I’m afraid.” He laughed at this little joke, as did the governor. “The older ones hail from Canada, and have acquired the appalling accent prevalent there. I’ve brought them with me so that they might see how less-privileged children are compelled to live. Those poor mites in your receiving room have obviously had it hard.”
“Ah, but those poor mites will soon have it much better,” said the governor. “If you were to see them again in a month or two, you’d not recognize them. By then they’ll be clean, well-fed, and on their way to becoming productive members of society. Come, let’s take a wee tour. I’m afraid you’ve missed our morning parade. The boys have now dispersed and are engaged in a range of activities.”
The tour covered the kitchens, dining hall, dormitories, bathing facilities, playground, school rooms, and workshops. In the latter, uniformed boys of all ages were either doing schoolwork or busy honing skills that would prepare them for employment in a variety of trades.
The governor explained the Home’s daily routine as they followed him around.
“A bugler wakes the boys at half past five, whereupon they get dressed and assemble for morning prayers. After that they march down to the yard and are having a wash by six. We have an early drill at twenty to seven, and breakfast and prayers take place at seven. We inspect our working boys at five to eight and the school boys at five past. At twenty past there’s a general inspection of faces and hands before they start on the many chores that must be attended to. Dinner is served at noon, and is followed by a recreational period and my own inspection. The boys are in their classrooms or workshops by a quarter to two, where they remain until five, at which point they go for another wash and get ready for tea at six. There is then some free time. Evening prayers are held at eight. By half past eight they’re off to their dormitories, with lights out at nine.”
“A busy day, then,” Granddad said upon returning to the governor’s office.
“The devil makes work for idle hands, Mr. Hollingsworth. We do not intend to let him find any within these walls.”
“He’d be hard pressed,” Dane whispered to the others.
“He sure would.” Paige nudged Jack. “Imagine getting up at half past five every day, Jack. Good thing you’re not coming here.”
“The girls are also kept busy,” the governor went on, “but they are not subject to quite such a stringent regime. Dr. Barnardo believes girls do better in a more home-like atmosphere. They live in smaller groups at our Girls’ Village in Ilford.”
“It’s a girl I’ve come to see you about,” said Granddad. “A boy, too. A sister and brother. Totally destitute, they support themselves by begging and cleaning up and selling the mud-covered objects they find in the Thames. As you know, these are far from lucrative professions. They often go hungry, and are currently sleeping in a shed. I find their circumstances most distressing, and am determined to help them. Preferably through you. They have expressed an interest in placing themselves into your care, and
only hesitate through a fear of being separated.”
The governor nodded. “That’s understandable. But after an initial period of unhappiness, we find children adapt to it, and do well in their respective new circumstances.”
“I doubt that would be the case with these two. They are devoted to one another. The boy is delicate and the girl has been a little mother to him his entire life. It would not be good for him to be taken from her. I would very much like them to be placed together somewhere. I would, of course, be happy to cover any costs involved, and a little more besides.”
“How old are they?”
“I would estimate the girl to be nine or ten, and the boy about six.”
“Quite young, then.” The governor thought for a moment. “A foster family might work for them. We’re doing more fostering now, especially for young ones. Some are eventually adopted by the families they go to. There are also homes available in Canada. Most people there are looking for older lads and lasses to help out with farm work and domestic chores, but some have expressed an interest in having wee ones to raise as their own. I shall see what we can come up with.”
“Excellent. I’ll call back in a few days to hear your proposals. Or perhaps I’ll have them drop by.” Granddad nodded toward the children. “I find them very mature and capable. They’ve been progressively educated, you see.”
The governor raised his eyebrows. “Have they, now? I’m not too sure what that means, but I doubt it would protect them from child strippers if they were to venture into the East End alone.”
“What are child strippers?” asked Paige, alarmed.
“Degenerate people. Women, mostly. They accost unaccompanied children in possession of something of value, and divest them of it. Things like those nice clothes you’re wearing, and whatever pocket money you might be carrying.”
“We never talk to strangers,” said Paige.
“They’d not give you the luxury of choice, my dear.” He then shifted his attention back to Granddad. “I should have some answers for you, or your—preferably adult— representative later this week, Mr. Hollingsworth.”
“Thank you.”
The governor showed them to the door personally.
Outside, Granddad said, “The governor doesn’t seem keen to have you come back here on your own. Neither am I. As urchins, you wouldn’t have been of interest to those child stripper creatures he spoke of. Now that you look more prosperous, it could be a different story.”
Paige sighed. “And here I thought you weren’t as paranoid as our parents.”
“I am your parent—once removed.”
“We’ll be careful Granddad,” Dane promised. “Besides, if we’re not with you, we’ll be with Hetty and Pip. They’re street smart. They can probably spot someone like that a mile off.”
“I suppose,” said Granddad, sounding dubious. He consulted his watch. “Speaking of Hetty and Pip, it’s time we went to meet them. It’s quite a hike to St. Paul’s. We’ll have to start now if we want to get there by noon.”
Chapter Twelve
Hetty and Pip were already outside St. Paul’s when they arrived there at a quarter to twelve. The usually pale Pip was not so pale now. He had patches of red on both cheeks and lay listlessly against Queen Anne’s statue while Hetty wiped his face with a rag dipped in water she was taking from a battered tin.
“Is Pip worse?” Dane asked.
Hetty nodded. She bit her lip as Granddad knelt and felt Pip’s forehead.
“Feverish,” muttered Granddad. “He must see a doctor.”
“No doctor’s gonna look at him without I pays him to. And I been too busy looking after him to get any dosh.”
“There’s a free hospital for sick children near the Barnardo Home in Stepney. Wait here, I’ll get transportation.”
He hurried off, returning a few moments later to gather Pip up and take him to the four-wheeled horse-drawn cab waiting across the street. His grandchildren and Hetty followed at a run.
The driver immediately balked. “Hold on, mister! You didn’t say you was going to be putting dirty, filthy, brats in me cab. Them two’s probably got fleas, and lice, and gawd knows what else.”
“You’ll have to fumigate it then, won’t you?” Granddad snapped. “Don’t worry, you’ll be well paid. Take us to Her Majesty’s Hospital in Stepney Causeway.”
Ignoring the man’s protests, he climbed in, cradling Pip. The other children scrambled in as well.
The driver set off, muttering curses.
“What a racket this thing makes,” said Paige as they rumbled along the street.
“That why they’s called growlers. Never been in one afore. It’s a right treat, innit, Pip? A nice carriage with horses pulling you! Pretty grand, eh?”
Pip’s only response was a low moan. Hetty patted his hand and gave him a wobbly smile. Though desperately worried, she seemed determined not to show it.
At the hospital, Pip was quickly taken in charge. Granddad waited downstairs with Hetty and the other children until a kind looking man in his late thirties came to report on the little boy’s condition. Another Scotsman, he identified himself as Dr. Milne, the hospital’s Chief Medical Officer.
“Where’s Pip?” Hetty asked at once. “How’s he doing?”
“He’s in a ward,” Dr. Milne replied. He then addressed Granddad. “We’ve steamed him and put a mustard plaster on him. A nurse is now trying to coax him into drinking some broth. Thus far, without much success.”
“That’s ’cos he don’t know her,” said Hetty. “He’d take it from me.”
Dr. Milne smiled. “Do you think so? That would be a big help. But we’ll have to get the dirt off you before we can let you go to him.”
Hetty looked startled for a moment, but followed the young woman who came when Dr. Milne beckoned her.
“What’s wrong with the little fellow?” asked Granddad. “Pneumonia?”
“Bronchitis. I think you got him here in time for us to be of help to him, but he’s quite malnourished. We’ll have to watch him carefully.”
Some time later, Hetty returned wearing a plain dark dress with a pinafore. Her hair, now a few shades lighter than it had been before it was washed, was neatly brushed and tied back with ribbons.
Dr. Milne nodded approvingly and led the way to a cheerful looking room with a row of neat, clean beds. At the far end, a small figure was propped up on pillows. Pip had been thoroughly scrubbed too, and was wearing a white nightgown.
His eyes went wide with astonishment as his sister approached. “That you, Hetty?” he asked weakly.
“Course it’s me, titch. You looks a bit different too, you know. Now, how’s about we get a bit of this here broth down you?”
Someone brought a fresh bowl. With Hetty’s encouragement, Pip managed to eat about half of it.
“Told you he’d do it for me,” Hetty told the doctor triumphantly.
“So you did,” said Dr. Milne. “Now, however, he must rest.”
As the group turned to leave, Pip started to cry. “Don’t go, Hetty!” he begged. “Stay here with me. I wants you here.”
Hetty looked up at Dr. Milne. “He i’nt never been without me. Not once his whole life. He’ll probably drop off if I sits with him.”
The doctor hesitated. “Very well. You may bide here for a time.”
He took the others out into the corridor.
“As you can see, she’s very protective of him,” said Granddad. “I was talking to the governor of the Stepney Home earlier today. I wanted to see if there was some way they could be taken into care together.”
“It’s not the usual practice. However, separating them at this stage could have a detrimental effect on the wee boy’s health. I’ll tell the governor that, and arrange for his sister to have a cot here tonight.”
“That would be splendid,” said Granddad. “We’ll return in a day or two to iron out the details.”
He stuck his head into the ward. “We’ve got to go, Het
ty. We’ll be back as soon as we’ve sorted things out for you. Pip’s best off here for now, so, in the meantime, just go along with whatever the Barnardo people want you to do, all right?”
Hetty nodded.
“You’ve no cause to worry,” Dr. Milne said as he showed them out. “I’ll make sure my patient isn’t upset in any way. I doubt his sister would stand for it, in any case. She seems a determined wee lassie.”
Outside, Granddad suggested going back to their own time. “There’s not much we can do here at the moment, and I haven’t looked out those old banknotes yet.”
Granny was still in the clutches of her overbearing friend when they materialized back at the fête, but the woman flitted away when another acquaintance appeared.
Joining them at the tea tent, Granny gave her husband a reproving look. “That was most ungallant, Avery. Around fifty years ago, you promised to love, honour, and cherish me—not subject me to mental torment in the form of Belinda Barrington.”
“She can’t be as bad as Dad’s cousin, Ophelia,” said Paige. “You’ve met her, haven’t you?”
“Yes. On one of our trips to Canada.” She thought for a moment. “I suppose Belinda does rather pale in comparison. She’s just an empty-headed social climber, whereas your father’s relative is…rather strange.”
“To put it mildly,” said Granddad. “But never mind them, my dear. Let’s get ourselves some tea and sandwiches.”
“And cakes. You owe me several cakes. And since the proceeds are going to charity, I expect you to splurge royally.”
