The Orphan Collection

by Maggie Hope

  ‘After all we did for you!’ Virginia had got her second wind and started again. ‘You never loved my brother, your head was too full of nonsense about that chap from Middlesbrough, that Johnny what’s his name. It’s not because of him, is it? Have you been seeing him? Did he come back to see you? I told him that day you got engaged when he came sniffing round –’

  ‘You told him?’

  ‘I did. I told him you were in love with Tom, may God forgive me – this might not have happened if I hadn’t done that. I should have followed my first instinct –’

  ‘You mean he was alive when I got engaged to Tom? Johnny, Johnny Fenwick?’

  ‘Well’ – Virginia’s voice was heavy with sarcasm – ‘how else could he have come to see you if he wasn’t alive? I wasn’t saying I saw his ghost. Don’t pretend to be stupid, Ada, that’s one thing I know you’re not. No, you were cleverer than any of us, weren’t you?’

  Ada finally took charge of the situation. With a new air of determination she walked up to her sister-in-law.

  ‘Shut up, Virginia! And get out of my house, now.’

  ‘Your house! Why, my brother –’

  ‘Get out, I said, or I’ll put you out. How would you like people in the street seeing that, Virginia? It doesn’t matter to me, guttersnipe that I am, but you, Virginia Gray?’ Ada made to take hold of Virginia’s arm.

  ‘Don’t touch me! Don’t you dare! I’m going in any case, I wouldn’t stay another minute. I’ve said what I wanted to say.’ She turned with her hand on the doorknob. ‘But if you have any decency at all –’

  ‘Just go, Virginia,’ Ada said calmly.

  When the door finally closed after her sister-in-law, Ada stood with her back to it, leaning against it. Slowly, the import of what Virginia had said seeped into her mind. Johnny was not dead, Johnny was alive. Suddenly filled with a wild gladness, Ada clasped her arms about herself and danced around the tiny hall, singing aloud, ‘Johnny’s alive, Johnny’s alive,’ over and over again. She could go to Middlesbrough and see him, she could tell him her marriage to Tom was all a mistake, she could –

  Ada stopped whirling about, and her arms fell to her sides. How stupid she had been! she thought. Everything that had happened had been all her fault. A terrible sadness filled her for what might have been. But it was too late now, of course it was. Even if Johnny wanted her she was still tied to the man she had married, she was bound by her debt to Tom.

  Mechanically, Ada climbed the stairs and began to pack her bags. It gave her something to do, though she wasn’t due to start at the hospital until the following week. Vaguely she looked around; there were other things to do, too, she thought dully, if she was going to close up the house. She felt very alone, and the silent house seemed to emphasise it.

  Maybe she was destined to be alone all her life, unlucky in love, just like her mother. Had her mother suffered as much as she did? she wondered. But maybe she was not alone, that mother of hers, maybe she had not answered Ada’s advertisements because she was married now and had a new family to love and care for.

  Ada fastened the straps on her bags and sat down on the chair by the bedside. Tom now, she thought, Tom would never be completely alone for the Grays were a close, loving family. And now, estranged from them, she had no one to talk to in Durham except for Mr Johnson, and he wouldn’t understand, he was too old. Ada caught a glimpse of herself in the dressing-table looking glass, she looked thoroughly miserable. Absent-mindedly she picked up her hair brush and tidied her hair, tying it back off her shoulders. Mentally she shook herself; being dismal never got anyone anywhere.

  ‘Pull yourself together, woman!’ she said aloud, squaring her shoulders and pinned a determined expression on her face, and an idea popped into her mind. She would go for a walk in the fresh air, that was what she would do. If she didn’t get out of this house immediately, she would smother in its stifling atmosphere.

  Captain John Fenwick stood at the rail of the troopship The Duchess of Cornwall and peered ahead at the coastline emerging from the morning mist of a bitterly cold winter’s day. His feelings were all mixed up as he watched the line of wharfs and docks become clearer and clearer. In truth, he didn’t know what he felt about coming back to England after the years in Canada, though there was an undeniable feeling of coming home. The last time he had seen Liverpool, he mused, was the day he had caught the emigrant ship to Canada; on that occasion too the man by his side had been with him.

  ‘Hasn’t changed much, has it, captain?’ Norman said now in a thick Scouse accent that the years in Toronto had failed to soften. ‘Not since we left it, eh?’ He gazed at the shoreline with pride and affection and Johnny smiled at him.

  ‘A view of great scenic beauty, yes,’ he ragged. Norman twisted his face into a conceding grin.

  ‘Aw, hey, man, I know it’s not that, like,’ he answered, forgetting he was now a sergeant and Johnny the officer of his platoon. He looked again at the busy but scruffy docks, the water oily and smelly. ‘But it’s home, like. It hasn’t changed, though.’

  ‘Not that I can see,’ Johnny agreed. He regarded Norman with affection; they had become firm friends over the last few years. Norman had worked for Johnny ever since he came to Toronto and started the small steel plant there. He had seen his own fortunes rise as Johnny’s ideas became profitable and a steady demand for his products grew. Without Johnny he would have been nowhere, as he was always willing to tell anybody who showed the least bit interest. When Johnny had joined the army, Norman followed him without hesitation, for wasn’t Johnny Fenwick his luck and his fortune? So now they were both part of the Twenty-Ninth Canadian Division, on their way to help out the old country.

  The corner of Johnny’s mouth turned up in a lopsided smile as he looked at the brawny figure of Norman. ‘Sure it’s safe for you to come back to Liverpool, Norman?’ he joked. ‘I seem to remember something you said about being chased out of there. Do you think plenty of time has gone by for them to forget?’

  ‘Aw, well, you know how it is, they knew they couldn’t win this war without me. No, they’ll be that glad to see me back, they’ll be dancing in the streets, you’ll see.’

  The two men grinned at each other in perfect harmony. He couldn’t have done better than have dependable old Norman as his sergeant, Johnny thought, he was a man to rely on. His attention was drawn inexorably back to the shore, looming ever closer. Now it was possible to make out individual buildings.

  ‘Wonder how long we’ll have in England,’ Norman mused as he too gazed over the intervening water to his home town. His voice was dreamy and his eyes full of memories.

  ‘Not long, I think,’ said Johnny. ‘Before we know it we’ll be on another boat bound for somewhere in Belgium or France. I don’t think we’ll be stopping off here for long.’

  Johnny was right in his surmise. Norman had no time to look up old friends or take a look at his native city; he saw nothing of it except for the dock where the ship berthed. The Canadians were promptly hustled aboard a train bound for London amid a great deal of noise and seeming confusion. The train was packed with troops and hot and uncomfortable; even for the officers in the first-class carriages the air was thick and sour. Johnny managed to open a window only to have an inrush of black, sooty air to a chorus of protests from his fellow officers. At least, he thought, the train appeared to be going direct to Euston without stopping, so the journey would soon be over.

  The crowds were even thicker at Euston Station. The Canadian soldiers piling out onto the platform joined a sea of khaki, everywhere men were milling around. Noncommissioned officers shouted orders and somehow order came out of chaos and men marched off, kitbags on shoulders. Engines hissed and roared and railway guards whistled, adding to the hubbub.

  ‘Cup of tea, soldier? Sandwich?’

  Women at long makeshift tables were handing out refreshments to the passing soldiers, pouring tea from tall copper tea urns into enamel mugs and offering them to the Canadians. But Johnny�
�s platoon had no time to drink tea. Norman had them sorted out and formed into lines with the brisk efficiency he used to organise the steel workers in the mill in Toronto. He marched his charges out to the waiting omnibuses which were to take them to the church hall in the suburbs where they were to be billeted for the night.

  ‘See you tomorrow, sir!’

  ‘Yes, tomorrow, sergeant.’

  Norman saluted Johnny formally now the platoon was with them. Climbing onto a bus, he was off. Johnny followed his fellow officers to the nearby hotel which had been commandeered for their use. Looking about him at the crowds, he hoped to hear an accent from the northeast, but in this he was unlucky.

  Johnny felt curiously melancholy as he washed and shaved in preparation for the evening. Inevitably, being in England made him think of his home in the northeast, of Middlesbrough and Dinah. He wondered how she was faring; they had written to each other and she had sounded contented enough, but still, he would have liked to have seen her.

  Although he was only 250 miles away from Middlesbrough, nearer than he had been for years, he felt homesick, more homesick than he had ever been. Thoughtfully, he wiped his cut-throat razor on the towel over his shoulder. And Ada, he mused, sweet little Ada-Lorinda, what was she doing now? A reminiscent glow came into his eyes as he thought of her, his little love. What a fool he had been! he thought. He should have insisted on seeing her that time he went to Durham; at least he should have written to her. Was she happy with the doctor husband she had married? Happier than he had been with Frances?

  Sighing, Johnny thought of his own brief marriage. If he had paid more attention to Frances instead of putting all his time and energy into the business, maybe she would not have left him.

  ‘You don’t love me,’ Frances had written in the note she left for him one evening when he had returned to an empty house. ‘I was fooling myself that you did. Now I’ve found someone who really wants me.’

  There had been others besides Frances, short-lived affairs which never came to anything. There was always something missing with them. Johnny finished shaving and cleaned his razor. He would have liked to go north, but even if there had been time to go and get back before the embarkation for France, there was no point, he mused sadly. With Ada married and Stephen in control at Middlesbrough, there was no place for him.

  On impulse, Johnny decided to go to King’s Cross Station where the trains came in from Scotland and the northeast. Perhaps he would hear the familiar tones of Durham or the North Riding, even the burr of Northumberland. It was the next best thing to getting on a train and going there, he reckoned. Having decided, he placed his cap firmly on his head and shrugged into his greatcoat.

  ‘Aren’t you coming in to dinner?’ one of his fellow Canadian officers called out to him as he went through the lobby of the hotel.

  ‘No, I’m not really hungry. I thought I’d go out and have a look around,’ Johnny answered over his shoulder. The other man shrugged and continued on his way to the dining room.

  Out in the night the cold air struck damp and Johnny shivered, glad of his greatcoat. He looked about him for a passing cab and when one came along he hailed it and climbed aboard, thankful for its protection against the wind.

  ‘Where to, guv?’

  ‘King’s Cross Station.’

  After instructing the driver, Johnny leaned back against the cushioned seat and lit a cigar. The Napier taxi hooted and chugged its way through the traffic while Johnny watched the people on the pavement, old memories crowding in on him.

  ‘’Ere we are, guv. King’s Cross.’ The driver’s cheery voice broke into his thoughts as they pulled up. Johnny got out and paid his fare before hurrying into the warmth of the station.

  As he had thought, the place was milling with troops from the north of England and Scotland, broad Scots and Geordie accents mixed with the flatter tones of Yorkshire and over all came the shrill twang of the local cockney. Coming fresh from the vast area of Canada, where the accent variations were mainly between French and English speakers, Johnny wondered at the difference a few miles could make to the speech of England. He stood quietly for a while and listened for the particular local accent of Auckland, Durham or Middlesbrough, but without success.

  ‘I’m a sentimental fool!’ Johnny murmured as he stood aside for a bevy of nurses. In their navy-blue caps and cloaks they stood out distinctively in the sea of khaki. They walked past so quietly that Johnny couldn’t even hear their accent.

  ‘I must have been mad to think I might meet someone I know coming down at this particular time of the evening on this particular day,’ he added to himself and turned to go back to the hotel.

  ‘Nurse! Howay, man, we haven’t got all night. Don’t just stand there, we’ll miss the bus.’ The voice was sharp and exasperated and pure Auckland.

  ‘Ada!’

  Johnny rushed over to the slight woman wrapped round in a heavy blue cloak and with her nurse’s cap pulled down almost to her eyes. Grabbing her arm, he swung her round. ‘Ada!’ he cried, then dropped his hand. The woman was fair-haired and brown-eyed, and resembled Ada not at all except for her accent. Now she was staring at him indignantly, backing away from him.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I thought you were someone I knew,’ Johnny mumbled. Turning, he walked rapidly out of the station, his heart pounding with the sharp disappointment which was flooding him.

  Meg Morton looked after him, the need to get her nurses on the bus forgotten for a moment. Ada, had he said? The only Ada she knew was her friend from the hospital in Durham. But he couldn’t have meant her. What could a Canadian officer want with Ada Gray? Dismissing it from her mind, Meg looked round at the nurses waiting for her.

  ‘Come on, then, let’s away. I want my bed the night even if you don’t.’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Ada went to see Eliza the first chance she got. Eliza was just about to go round the henhouses collecting eggs, so Ada walked with her.

  ‘We can have a bit of gossip as we go, Ada,’ Eliza commented as she delved her hand under a protesting hen and brought out a large brown egg. She looked sideways at Ada. ‘I haven’t seen you since the wedding and letters aren’t the same, are they? How’s being wed suit you? I must say you don’t look over the moon with it. Is it because Tom’s away in the army? Are you worried about him, like?’

  ‘Well, there’s always a worry, though I think he’ll be all right. He’ll be in a hospital, you know, not in the front line.’ Ada wondered whether to confide in her friend. Goodness knew, Eliza had enough troubles of her own, so perhaps she shouldn’t. But Eliza was not satisfied, she knew there was something.

  ‘Were you not getting on, then?’ she probed.

  ‘No, we weren’t,’ Ada admitted. ‘Eeh, Eliza, I tried, but after Uncle Harry –’

  Eliza was not slow to realise what Ada was talking about. ‘You mean in bed, like? Eeh, that bloody man, he had a lot to answer for, God rot his soul.’

  ‘Had?’ Ada looked up at Eliza, her brow creasing in a small frown of puzzlement, and Eliza bit her lip.

  ‘Aye,’ she said, ‘I wasn’t going to tell you. He died, you know, in prison. When you didn’t say anything I thought I wouldn’t bring it up.’ She looked across at Ada, who was standing in the middle of the henhouse, bucket in hand and eggs forgotten.

  ‘Died?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘I never knew. I haven’t heard from Auntie Doris since that time years ago, in Auckland.’

  ‘She’s in the workhouse now, poor soul, couldn’t make a go of it in Blackpool so she’s back. Her arthritis, you know.’

  ‘In the workhouse?’ Ada was stricken with shock. Despite everything she had gone through with her aunt and uncle, she wouldn’t have wished the workhouse on either one of them. Eliza saw how she felt and knew why; all the folk she knew would feel guilty and in some way responsible if a member of their family ended up in the workhouse, no matter how poor the
y were themselves.

  ‘There now, that’s just why I didn’t tell you,’ she declared. ‘I knew you would feel you should do something about it and what can you do?’

  Ada thought about it. It was true, there was nothing she could do at present, she had to go into the Nurses’ Home the next week. The house would be closed down and even if it wasn’t she could hardly ask Tom if she could bring a destitute relative to live in it, not when things were so bad between them. But maybe in time to come, she would be in a position to help Auntie Doris, she thought. During the rest of her short visit she was distracted, only half listening to Eliza as she told her of Emmerson Peart, a widower who wanted to marry her.

  Ada went in to see Auntie Doris on her way home. Visiting hours were strictly weekends only, but once she had convinced the Sister in charge that she was a nurse herself, she was allowed in.

  There were the usual long rows of beds in the women’s ward, bleak, cheerless and regimented exactly in line, with the counterpanes pulled tight and straight over the frail bodies of the old women and the bedside cabinets in their regulation places beside each bed, just like St Margaret’s in Durham, she thought. But a ward maid was dispensing thick mugs of cocoa from tall enamel jugs and the nurses looked kindly enough. Doris Parker, in the third bed from the end, turned to watch as Ada walked up the ward. Her niece was shocked at the change in her. Auntie Doris had shrunk in on herself; she had lost the last of her teeth so that her lips seemed to disappear into her mouth and her grey hair was scantier than ever. But it was the hopeless look in her eyes that shook Ada the most. Doris Parker had always been a fighter but now she looked as though she had just given up altogether.