Charity

by Lesley Pearse

  ‘No!’ Charity’s cry was pure anguish. ‘It can’t be true. He can’t take them!’

  ‘James is still with Mr and Mrs Charles,’ Miss Hawkins hastily added, hoping that would make it less painful. ‘You’ll be with him for Christmas.’

  Charity was motionless, eyes brimming with tears.

  ‘But why?’ she asked, her voice shaking. ‘Prue was settled at the grammar school. Toby was happy too. And what about James with everyone gone?’

  Miss Hawkins felt ashamed of herself now for not realising just what a shock this would be to Charity. She certainly shouldn’t have blurted it out in the kitchen.

  ‘My dear, I’m not able to answer that. Mr Charles received a message only yesterday that Colonel Pennycuick was sending his driver for the children. He would’ve preferred to tell you himself, but he thought it would be worse if he wrote, or waited until you came home and found Prue and Toby already gone.’ Miss Hawkins blinked fast behind her glasses. ‘Of course Mr and Mrs Charles are terribly upset too. But as the colonel is the children’s guardian there was nothing they could do.’

  ‘I must go and see them,’ Charity said and jumped up, pulling off her apron. ‘I’ve got to warn them what our uncle’s like.’

  Miss Hawkins got up and put her hands on Charity’s arms to restrain her.

  ‘No Charity, you can’t go. A letter will come tomorrow morning explaining everything.’

  ‘You don’t understand.’ Charity’s face had lost all its colour, her eyes dark with growing anger. ‘Uncle Stephen’s an evil man. I must go to them.’

  Miss Hawkins sighed deeply. Mr Charles had predicted that Charity might attempt to go to London. But even he hadn’t foreseen she might want to rush to Studley Priory.

  ‘You will not leave the school now,’ she said firmly. ‘It’s only ten days till the end of term, and meanwhile you’ll calm down and wait for Mr Charles’s letter. There is nothing to be gained by confronting your uncle. It could make things far more difficult for you in the long run.’

  ‘Why has he done this?’ Charity whispered, anger turning to utter dejection as tears streamed down her cheeks. ‘Isn’t it enough to lose our parents, without splitting us all up too? Uncle Stephen doesn’t know anything about children, he’s cruel and nasty. It was bad enough for me when I went there for a week. They’ll be so unhappy.’

  ‘Calm down, Charity.’ Miss Hawkins put on her most officious voice. ‘Wait and read Mr Charles’s letter. It might not be as bad as you fear.’

  Charity drew herself up and looked Miss Hawkins in the eye.

  ‘Why is it that some adults are so stupid?’ she said. ‘My parents, social workers and Uncle Stephen – not one of them had any real idea what a child feels. They do what suits them, they lie and they cheat. And then they tell children to behave like they do.’

  She turned and walked out of the kitchen. The two older women could only stare at one another blankly.

  ‘She’s right, of course.’ Miss Hawkins broke the silence first, picked up her tea and drank it in one large gulp. ‘We are stupid and we do lie and cheat. I wish it were different.’

  ‘She won’t run away,’ Mrs Cod said stoutly, her many chins wobbling with emotion. ‘She’ll sob upstairs all on her own and she’ll be down to do breakfast tomorrow because that’s the way she’s made.’

  ‘Can you keep a confidence?’ Miss Hawkins leaned conspiratorially across the table.

  ‘Of course,’ Mrs Cod nodded. ‘You know something more?’

  ‘That uncle is as bad as she claims. The truth is he’s told the Charleses not to allow Charity into their house, or he’ll remove James too.’

  Mrs Cod’s mouth dropped open and she fumbled for a cigarette even though she wasn’t allowed them in the kitchen.

  ‘Thank goodness you didn’t tell her that today.’ She shook her head in bafflement. ‘Is that what’s in the letter?’

  ‘No.’ Miss Hawkins helped herself to a cigarette too, suddenly caring nothing for the rules she’d created. ‘Mr Charles is prepared to defy the colonel on that count. At least until after Christmas.’

  ‘Thank heavens for that,’ Mrs Cod said, and inhaled deeply on her cigarette.

  She had talked with Charity often about her family and listened to her dreams and plans. They were all about her brothers and sister, and her objective of finding a home one day they could all share. She showed no interest in boyfriends, dancing or parties. It was as if she wore blinkers and could only see straight ahead.

  ‘No girl of her age should feel such a weight of responsibility.’ Miss Hawkins puffed on her cigarette, her eyes full of anxiety. ‘The trouble is, without her brothers and sister, there’s no telling what it might do to her. I’ve seen young girls go off the rails for far less reason.’

  ‘Me too,’ Mrs Cod agreed. ‘Look at some of the girls we’ve had here in the past. Straight out of orphanages, never had any love and they throw themselves at the first man who comes along. I can tell you that if I hadn’t had Christopher to care for when my Eric was killed, I might have gone the same way. But I can’t understand that wicked uncle of hers. Why does he want to hurt her?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Miss Hawkins made a despairing gesture.

  ‘Her goodness, I expect,’ Mrs Cod snorted, wide nostrils flaring with anger. ‘A man like him ought to be hung, drawn and quartered. I’d like ten minutes with him to tell a few home truths.’

  Miss Hawkins got up from the table.

  ‘Don’t let’s despair,’ she sighed. ‘Mr Charles has left the door open. He hopes the children will behave so badly over Christmas they might be sent back.’

  ‘I do hope so.’ Mrs Cod wiped her face with her apron. ‘We’d all better offer up a few prayers for Charity. Not even sixteen and so much sadness in her young life already.’

  Alone in her room Charity broke down completely. On her dressing-table was a pile of brightly wrapped presents for the children, and the new midnight blue dress she had bought to wear on Christmas Day hung on the wardrobe door, mocking her.

  ‘I hate you, Colonel Bloody Pennycuick,’ she said, thumping her fists into the pillow. ‘But if you think you can break me down till I become like my mother, you’re mistaken. I love them, and I’ll get them back. However long it takes.’

  Chapter Seven

  1961

  Charity lay on her back in the long grass, hands tucked behind her head, bare legs bent at the knees. The sun was so intense she could only peep at it through half-closed eyes, clouds wispy, like the net in her old cancan petticoat.

  She was in what had once been the orchard. Two old apple trees flanked a small door set in the high stone wall that surrounded the school, but the rest of the trees had been uprooted and now it was a mere field, belonging to the neighbouring farm.

  It was a good place to retreat to, as few masters or boys ever came this way. Further down the field, the ancient wall disappeared into the dense woodland which marked the boundary of the playing fields.

  Sounds from the school were minimal here. The odd smack of cricket ball on willow, the occasional growled order from Giles, the head groundsman as he went in and out of his hut beyond the wall. But mostly there was only birdsong, grasshoppers and bees to break into the stillness.

  Charity had got into the habit of going for a long walk each afternoon when she was on early duty. Through the small gate, across this field and then on to a footpath that led all the way to Mayfield. Each day she pushed herself to walk a little further, to make herself so tired she couldn’t lie awake dwelling on how alone she was, or how much she hated Uncle Stephen.

  It was July now, seven long months since the shattering news that Toby and Prue had been whisked away to Studley Priory. She might have forgiven her uncle for that, as by all accounts they were happy there. But when Geoff and Lou dropped the bombshell later that he wanted Charity cast out entirely, not even allowed to visit James at Clapham, she felt murderous.

  Lou and Geoff assured her they would kee
p writing to her, pass on all the news they got of the children. But that could never make up for holding James in her arms, watching him grow or playing with him. Neither did letters match up to having a home to go to in the holidays. Never to have Lou sitting on her bed at night and chatting, or Geoff teasing her as she helped him in the garden. Did Uncle Stephen know how desperately abandoned she’d feel without them to run to? Is that why he did it?

  As Geoff pointed out, they could take a chance and defy Stephen, as they already had at Christmas. But James was to be taken to Studley in future, for part of each holiday too, and no one could reasonably expect a three-year-old not to speak of seeing his older sister. But although Charity knew Geoff and Lou were only honouring Stephen’s wishes because he might whisk James away from them too, it still felt a bit like they had joined the enemy camp.

  Rage was the fuel that had kept her going in the last six months. As she washed dishes, laid tables and prepared vegetables, her mind was always on a single goal: to get the children back, with her.

  Charity had no clear idea of how she was going to do this. She would need a well-paid job and a home of her own before she could even think of tackling Uncle Stephen. All she had on her side was determination. One day they would all be together, whatever Uncle Stephen said or did.

  Loneliness was Charity’s biggest enemy. In working hours she found solace in the other women, but once that was over she often found herself slipping into black despair.

  Carol had left suddenly at Easter because a place came up for her in the college in London. A new maid called Deirdre had taken her job, but along with having a personality akin to a rice pudding, she lived in the village and ran off home the minute she’d finished her work. Now there was no one to share cocoa and cake with. No trips to the cinema or the pub. At night in her room Charity buried herself in a book, turning her radio on just to shut out the silence, and tried hard not to remember nights when the room had rung with laughter.

  Carol’s departure had become another deep loss. Her battered portable typewriter sat on the chest of drawers surrounded by photographs of the children, Geoff and Lou, like some kind of shrine to happier times.

  But as Charity lay in the grass she wasn’t reminiscing, or even planning, she was just seeing the whole month of August as some kind of black hole which she didn’t know how to fill.

  Every other member of staff was awaiting the holiday with happy anticipation. Mrs Cod had Christopher coming home, Pat was planning days out at Hastings with her children, even Miss Hawkins was going away to Eastbourne. Charity could stay at the school with the skeleton staff of groundsmen and a couple of masters and their wives, but who would she talk to? How would she pass the time?

  Just a week till the end of term. Another week clearing up after the boys and doing the big spring-clean. Then nothing.

  Charity turned over on to her stomach and rested her head on her arms. She was wearing the pale blue shorts Mrs Cod had given her, that had once been Christopher’s. Although she had put on a little weight and her legs and arms were turning brown, it gave her no pleasure to see that her body finally looked womanly. Not when she was so terribly alone.

  ‘Hallo there!’

  A male voice startled her and she sat up quickly, wrapping her arms instinctively round her bare legs.

  ‘You work at the school, don’t you?’

  Despite her shock at being discovered, the boy’s fresh, flushed face, the cricket whites and his tousled black hair made her smile. He was clearly as surprised to stumble on her as she was to be spoken to.

  ‘Yes, in the kitchens.’

  ‘What are you doing out here?’

  This question might have been construed as a reproach at a humble kitchen maid lying around in a field just beyond the school wall, but his wide grin held nothing but interest.

  ‘I’ve been for a long walk. It’s so warm still I didn’t want to go back.’

  She didn’t even consider the rule about not fraternising with the pupils. To ignore him would have been rude.

  ‘I’ve seen you scuttling across the playing fields loads of times,’ he said, flopping down on the grass beside her. ‘I always wanted to get a better look at you. You’re the only pretty member of staff.’

  Charity blushed scarlet at such an unexpected compliment and shuffled back on the grass, away from him.

  ‘Hey, don’t be embarrassed,’ he said. ‘What’s your name?’

  His confidence was startling. Although some of the older boys could be quite cheeky when they were in groups, alone they were almost as nervous and tongue-tied as she was.

  Charity had noticed this boy before, but then he was the kind of boy who would stand out anywhere. Jet black hair in need of a cut, dark blue eyes and golden shiny skin.

  ‘Charity Stratton,’ she said. ‘But I shouldn’t be talking to you. I’ll get into trouble.’

  ‘I’m Hugh Mainwaring,’ he grinned. ‘Don’t you ever do anything you aren’t supposed to?’

  ‘Not often,’ she replied, unable actually to remember when she had last broken a rule. ‘I must go back now.’

  ‘No you mustn’t.’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘I’ve watched you from the dorm window. You don’t usually go back until six o’clock. It’s only half-past four.’

  It gave her the oddest sensation to know he was that familiar with her movements. But he was right. She didn’t have to go back. It would be a long, dull evening just like all the others and she hadn’t even got a book to read.

  ‘But you have to be back for tea at five!’ She smiled triumphantly. ‘And you can’t go in the refectory in cricket clothes.’

  ‘Shows how much you know about the sixth form,’ he retorted. ‘We can make our own tea up in the study, any time we like. We can even go into the village and scoff in the café if we’ve got any money left.’

  ‘But you aren’t allowed to talk to kitchen maids, especially sitting in long grass outside the grounds?’

  For a moment their eyes met and they both smiled.

  ‘That’s a silly rule,’ he said. ‘I’m leaving at the end of term. No one can see us from here and what harm is there in a little chat?’

  There didn’t seem to be any harm. Sitting in a field with the kitchen door just fifty yards the other side of the wall, afternoon sun burning into their skin, birds singing and the sweet smell of grass all around them.

  He lay propped up on one elbow, some few yards from her, sucking a blade of grass as he talked.

  He told her he came from Yorkshire, that his father was a lawyer and he planned to be one too. He had a place at Oxford for October, but he was spending most of the summer holiday at a friend’s house nearby in Five Ash Down.

  ‘There’s a pub nearby that wants a couple of waiters,’ he said gleefully. ‘I worked there last summer and it’s wild. Loads of students help out and they’re a real crazy bunch. I’ve known my friend Rob since we were at prep school. He’s a bit quiet, but this cottage his parents are letting us stay in is fantastic. We’ll be able to have all-night parties, because his folks are clearing off on holiday and leaving us alone.’

  Although she was nervous about being in such close proximity to a boy, something about his open and friendly manner made her relax, as if she were merely talking to an interesting person on a train or bus.

  Yet the conversation wasn’t a casual one. He spoke of his family as if he didn’t care for them much. A neurotic mother who was always arranging dinner parties and whose schedule he upset when he came home. His father he described as ‘distant’. He implied that his parents were snobs, only interested in their social standing and his achievements.

  ‘I wish I had some brothers and sisters,’ he said wistfully. ‘Maybe my parents wouldn’t expect so much of me then. I bet you’ve got a wonderful family?’ he added, with a woebegone expression that reminded her curiously of Toby.

  ‘Not now,’ she said and to her surprise found herself telling him everything.

  It just ca
me out. If anyone had told her she would spill everything out to a stranger, she would have laughed. She felt a little self-conscious about her London accent and the huge divide between her poor background and his wealthy one. Yet she found herself revealing it all as if she’d known him for years.

  ‘Oh shit, Charity.’ He shook his head in almost disbelief. ‘That’s terrible!’

  ‘I don’t know why I told you.’ She tried to laugh and make light of it, feeling faintly ridiculous.

  His teeth were even and brilliantly white, lips beautifully shaped and plump. Although he must be almost eighteen and his voice was deep, his skin had the peachy softness of a younger boy.

  ‘Everyone needs someone.’ He reached out and touched her hand. ‘My first year at Bowes Court was hell. When I went home my parents were always rowing. I was so miserable I could have jumped off the tower. But that’s nothing compared with what you’ve had to live with. Have you got any friends?’

  She looked down at his hand and he removed it immediately, dropping his eyes from hers almost apologetically.

  ‘Not really. There was a girl called Carol here until recently. We used to spend our time together, but there’s no one now.’

  ‘The big redhead!’ he nodded. ‘But why do you stay?’

  She explained that for now she had no real choice, that she needed experience before she could look for a better job. But then she admitted that the thought of the long summer holiday was worrying her.

  ‘You could get a job at the pub I was talking about,’ he suggested. ‘It’s great there, always packed out, I could ask for you!’

  She wasn’t sure Geoff and Lou would approve of this, yet a vision of spending the long holiday with other young people and him, made bubbles of excitement rise within her.

  ‘Would you? I’d love it, I’m sure I’d be good at it!’ she said impulsively.

  ‘Of course you would,’ he grinned broadly. ‘Besides it would mean I could see you too.’

  All at once she remembered her position and the danger of being caught talking to him. He was, after all, a pupil and an attractive one at that. She was flattered by his interest in her, but she had to get away now, before someone saw her with him.