The Orphan Collection

by Maggie Hope

  Bye, it was good to be alive! Ada’s spirits bubbled up happily and she lifted her face to the sun. Lately her life had been full of work and worry. Tom seldom wrote to her and when he did it was just a note, curt and businesslike. In some ways Ada dreaded the end of the war, when he would be home for good. She had become used to living as a single person again. She never even touched the allowance she was allotted through Tom’s position in the army, no, she liked being her own woman, she earned enough to live on herself. Her marriage was more and more unreal to her, and sometimes she wondered, had it really happened?

  Ada stopped walking and gazed at the river, watching the sluggish movement of the water, hearing the ‘plop’ of the occasional fish rising. The sun was warm on her back through the thin cotton of her simple beige dress, and it was pleasant just to dawdle for a change. Well, she thought at last, best get on; she would go to see Mr Johnson first, in his cottage down by the racecourse.

  The cottage, when she finally got there, looked strangely empty: no smoke curled from the kitchen chimney, and the bedroom curtains were drawn even though the hour was late. Ada frowned a little as she pushed open the garden gate and walked up the path. Mr Johnson was usually pottering around the place but now there was no sign of him. She knocked on the front door and waited to hear the shuffling of his footsteps, but the house was silent. Perhaps he was in the back garden, she thought, or he could be out, though he didn’t go far these days.

  Ada walked round the side of the house, looking round the garden for any signs of the old man; she knocked on the back door and tried the handle but it was locked.

  ‘Mr Johnson!’ she called. ‘Are you there?’

  Sooty, the black cat, emerged from the toolshed at the bottom of the garden and came up to Ada, rubbing against her legs and mewing plaintively.

  ‘Hello, Sooty, where’s your master?’ Ada asked; she was beginning to get really worried about Mr Johnson. Something must have happened to him, she thought, stepping over a flowerbed to peer in through the kitchen window. There was nothing to see but a solitary cup and saucer on the draining board beside a half-bottle of milk. She went back round to the front of the house and peered in through the letterbox. At first she could see nothing but as she screwed her head round to the right she could make out what looked like a heap of clothes in the doorway to the sitting room. It didn’t look at all as if there was a person in the clothes, just a pile of laundry, but then the pile moved, slowly.

  ‘Mr Johnson?’

  It was the old man; she could make him out better now as he moved a little more in response to her voice. Ada straightened up and considered what to do. She had to get into the house one way or another. She ran out into the road but there wasn’t anyone about, and no one answered the bell of the house next door. There was no help for it, she decided, she had to break the window. She found a large stone and threw it hard at the bottom panel and the sound of breaking glass sounded loudly in the afternoon hush. In a few minutes she had the window open and had climbed in.

  Mr Johnson had had a stroke, she saw immediately as she turned him over onto his back, one eye was half closed and one side of his face all twisted. Clutched in his hand he held a telegram.

  ‘Ad – A – A-A –’ he mumbled, his mouth slack and saliva dribbling down onto his chin.

  ‘Don’t talk, Mr Johnson,’ Ada said to him. ‘Save your strength. I’ll make you comfortable now and then I’ll get the doctor.’

  Swiftly and efficiently she dragged him further onto the sitting-room carpet, but didn’t waste time trying to get him on the sofa. She found a cushion for his head and a rug to cover him. Feeling for his pulse, she found it was rapid but steady, so she didn’t think he was in any immediate danger. He couldn’t have been there long, she surmised, he wasn’t dehydrated at all.

  ‘I’ll go for Dr Gray,’ she said. ‘I won’t be long. You’ll be all right there until I get back.’ Ada looked at the telegram in his hand, but thought it best not to try to take it from him.

  ‘Ada!’ The doctor rose to his feet as she entered and gestured her to a chair, a polite smile on his face, though his voice was distant rather than welcoming. But Ada hadn’t time to take notice of that.

  ‘Oh, doctor, I’m so glad you’re still here. It’s Mr Johnson, I’m afraid he’s had a seizure.’

  Dr Gray, ever the professional, lost no time in asking for details. It seemed only a few minutes before he and Ada were lifting the old man onto the sofa and the doctor was examining him.

  ‘You’re right, I’m sorry to say,’ he said. Gently he prised the note from Mr Johnson’s hand. ‘And here’s the reason: bad news, I’m afraid. This damn war!’ He glanced at Ada. ‘Come into the hall for a moment, Sister?’

  Once out of the room, the doctor handed Ada the telegram. It was brief and to the point. ‘REGRET TO INFORM YOU MAJOR WALTER JOHNSON HAS BEEN KILLED IN ACTION.’ That was all. Even the regrets sounded perfunctory, thought Ada.

  ‘He’ll have to go to the County. I’ll arrange for an ambulance,’ Dr Gray said. He paused as though he was going to say something else but changed his mind and turned to the door. He was almost like a stranger now, she thought. ‘Well, I’ll be on my way. Things to do. I’ll ring the hospital and arrange for the ambulance.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ She went to the door with him, feeling she was growing further and further away from the family. Sooty came in – through the broken window, she supposed – and curled round her legs.

  ‘Howay then,’ she said briskly, ‘let’s find you something to eat. Then you’ll have to go out again.’ She found some scraps in the pantry, gave them to the cat and poured out a saucer of milk.

  Ada hurried back in to Mr Johnson after Sooty was banished into the garden again and the window secured by fastening a tin tray over the hole. He was still lying helplessly in the same position they had left him in, but his head had slipped from the cushion a little and was lying at an awkward angle. Gently she took out his handkerchief, wiped his face and positioned the cushion more comfortably.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said gently. ‘Was he your son?’

  His voice was low and his speech very thick so that she had to lean close to catch what it was he was trying to say in answer.

  ‘Br – br –’ he struggled, and Ada was puzzled.

  ‘Brother?’ Surely not, she thought; any brother of Mr Johnson would be too old to fight in France, wouldn’t he? But she dismissed it from her mind. The old man was getting too agitated.

  ‘Never mind now,’ she said. ‘The ambulance will be here shortly and we’ll take you to hospital. I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable there.’ But he was still trying to tell her something and she couldn’t make head or tail of it.

  ‘I’m coming with you in the ambulance. Tell me later, save your strength for now,’ she urged him and was glad when she heard the ambulance in the street outside. Quickly she scribbled a note of explanation to the neighbour and asked him to feed the cat, slipping it through the letterbox. She secured the house and made sure the door of the garden shed was ajar for Sooty, then, with a last look round to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything, she climbed into the ambulance beside the old man. At least he had someone to go with him, she thought, even if he had no relatives left.

  One cold and blustery day that autumn, Ada was in the throes of moving from the Nurses’ Home; she was busy packing her box when she heard a knock at the door of her room.

  ‘Yes? Come in,’ she called, a little surprised – who on earth could it be?

  Home Sister entered the room.

  ‘There’s a visitor for you, I’ve left him in the sitting room.’ Sister gave Ada a disapproving look; visitors were definitely not encouraged at the Home, especially not male visitors, not even husbands. But this one was an army doctor and sometimes exceptions had to be made, she conceded.

  Ada looked at her in surprise. ‘A visitor? For me? Who is it?’

  ‘Why don’t you go and find out,’ Home Sister
said shortly and went on her way, though Ada glimpsed a smile as she closed the door. A little impatient at the delay, Ada left her packing and went downstairs to the sitting room.

  It was Tom. He was standing by the window, staring out at the garden, and as she entered the sitting room he turned to her, looking quite resplendent in his major’s uniform.

  ‘Hello, Ada,’ he said coldly.

  ‘Tom! How nice to see you.’ Ada wasn’t sure how to greet him, he seemed like such a stranger in her life now. ‘How are you?’ She moved over to him, leaving the door open as rules demanded when there were male visitors, and he kissed her on the cheek. His lips were warm and dry and he smelled of polished leather and bay rum.

  ‘Matron told me you were leaving,’ he said evenly. ‘I rang her up this morning to find out what duty you were on. She told me I was lucky to catch you, you were leaving for Crossgate Hall.’ Tom paused and gazed at her for a moment, his face expressionless. ‘Do you think we can go somewhere and discuss it?’

  ‘Yes, of course, I’ll just get my coat and hat. I’ll be with you in a tick.’ Ada hurried upstairs and took her coat from the bed where she had laid it while emptying the wardrobe. He was annoyed because he had found out about her new post from Matron, she thought. Pulling her hat over her head and wrapping a scarf round her neck, she hurried back down to Tom, wondering how she was going to tell him she only had a few hours before taking up her new post. That wasn’t going to help matters between them at all. But if she had waited to make up her mind until she’d written to Tom and got his consent, she would have lost the job.

  Ada had secured the post of Matron at a nursing home just outside Durham, for wounded soldiers. Her ambitions had been fired when she saw in the Northern Echo that Crossmoor Hall was to be turned into an army convalescent home and she had applied for the post and got it. But she had not written and told Tom – oh, she knew she should have done, even if she didn’t wait for his reply, but she hadn’t. She felt the usual flutterings of apprehension now as they left the building and walked over to his car.

  Tom said nothing until he had negotiated the turn out of the drive and set off for the centre of Durham. Then he glanced down at her, his expression hard and cynical.

  ‘Of course, you couldn’t be bothered to tell me you had changed your job, I had to find out from Matron. What sort of a fool do you think that makes me?’

  ‘I was going to write to you, Tom, but everything happened in a rush. Besides, I wasn’t expecting you home just yet, I didn’t know there was any hurry.’

  ‘Don’t lie to me, Ada, don’t make excuses. Father said he had told you I was coming. He also says you didn’t even tell the family of your move.’

  Ada bit her lip. It was true that Dr Gray had mentioned Tom was coming home, one day when she had bumped into him at the hospital. ‘Well, after all, you haven’t written to me for a good while,’ she said, on the defensive. She gazed out at the passing streets, realising they were going to the Grays’ family home.

  ‘Oh,’ she cried, panicking, ‘let’s go somewhere else, somewhere where we’ll be on our own.’

  ‘We can be on our own here,’ Tom answered as he pulled into the drive. ‘There’s only Mother at home and she’ll understand we want to talk privately. After all, now you’ve closed our own home, where do you expect us to go?’

  He stopped the car and went round it to open her door, formally polite. Ada hesitated, but she really had no choice but get out and follow him into the house.

  ‘Is that you, dear?’ Mrs Gray came out of the dining room smiling, the smile fading a little as she saw Ada.

  ‘Hello, Ada.’

  ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Gray. How are you?’

  ‘I’m well, thank you.’ Mrs Gray turned to Tom. ‘Would you like tea, Tom? I’ll get Cook to bring you in a tray.’

  ‘Not now, Mother, later perhaps,’ Tom replied, and Ada realised Mrs Gray was not expecting to join them. Had the family been discussing what to do about her? Ada wondered. Tom led the way into the sitting room.

  ‘Sit down, Ada,’ he said, though he himself did not take a seat. Instead he stood before the fireplace with his hands clasped behind his back and looked down at her, making her feel at a disadvantage.

  ‘Now, tell me all about it,’ he said. ‘You owe me a proper explanation.’

  So Ada told him about seeing the notice in the Northern Echo and applying for the post of Matron. ‘After all, Tom,’ she said earnestly, ‘it is a good move for me with regard to my career. The experience will be good for me and the salary is high. It will help the war effort, too.’

  Tom’s face took on an expression of distaste. ‘What do you mean, the salary? Don’t you have enough money for your needs? The salary shouldn’t come into it. You are a Gray, my wife, what do you want with a career? It was one thing you nursing at the hospital while I’m away, but let’s have no nonsense about a career. Your career is as my wife.’

  Ada stared at him. His face red with anger, he began walking up and down in agitation, his fists clenched by his side. She sighed, depression settling on her. These last few months she had fooled herself into thinking of her life as her own, her future to be in nursing. But, of course, Tom saw it differently.

  ‘Oh, Tom,’ she said helplessly, ‘it really isn’t any good. We’ll never be happy together. Can’t you see –’

  ‘I can see that you are determined to have your own way in everything, that’s what I can see. But you wait, my girl, you wait!’

  Tom had paused in front of her. His voice rose to a shout and he was towering over her, she thought for a minute he was going to strike her. Nervously she moved over on the sofa so that she could stand up, edging away from him.

  ‘Tom,’ she said, ‘Tom, please, don’t let’s fight now. I’m taking the job, I have to be there tonight, really, it’s too late now. And anyway, what difference does it make whether I’m at the County or Crossmoor Hall?’

  Tom began to rage and shout at her. She walked backwards to the door, she had to get away; nothing could make her stay, nothing.

  ‘Tom! Tom, get a hold of yourself, old chap.’

  The door had opened behind her and Dr Gray came into the room. He went swiftly over to Tom, putting a restraining hand on his shoulder. ‘Tom! Tom! Calm down, please,’ he said.

  Tom’s fists unclenched and he struggled for a moment to contain his anger. ‘It’s all right, Father, I’m sorry I shouted,’ he said more quietly. ‘I apologise if I upset you.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that, Tom, I understand. It was your mother who was worried. Now, let’s all sit down, I think we should discuss this situation calmly and quietly.’ He glanced across the room to Ada, unsmiling. ‘Come and sit down, Ada.’

  ‘I … I have to go,’ Ada stammered, ‘I have to be at the Hall this evening.’ She felt she couldn’t possibly face a family discussion with herself cast as the errant wife. She simply had to get away. She turned and took hold of the doorknob.

  ‘But Ada, what about –’ Dr Gray began, but he was interrupted by his son.

  ‘Oh, let her go, Father. It’s no use.’ Tom shook his head and sank into an armchair, his head in his hands. Ada looked at him – what could she say?

  ‘I have to go,’ she repeated in the end; opening the door she fled from the house, her eyes blinded with tears. Oh, she thought, it was all her fault! She knew that by all the conventions she should give in to Tom, do what he said and strive to make him a good wife. But she also knew she couldn’t; it was no good, she had to be her own woman. Why couldn’t Tom accept it? After all, he would be going back to his unit and she would be left on her own, so why shouldn’t she pursue her career?

  She walked all the way back to the County Hospital; going up to her room she finished packing her belongings and hurried away. Her goodbyes to the rest of the staff had all been said that morning, and she had even found time to visit Mr Johnson, who showed a slight improvement. Now, she was in no fit state to talk to anyone.

&nbs
p; Ada took a cab to Mr Johnson’s cottage before she left. She wanted time to recover her equilibrium before she went to the Hall. In any case, she wanted to check on Sooty for the old man. The neighbour was looking after the cat but Mr Johnson had asked her about him the last time she had been to see him. She could always get a bus out to the Hall.

  Sooty was there, still living in the shed despite the fact that summer was over and the nights were getting colder. He came out to greet her when she called, purring loudly in satisfaction, his tail straight up in the air.

  ‘I would take the cat in to live with me, but he likes the shed,’ the neighbour called. He had come out to investigate when he heard noises in the next-door garden and he saw her over the fence. ‘Maybe in the winter he’ll think better of it. But I see he gets fed, he takes no harm. How is Mr Johnson, then?’

  ‘He’s improving. Thank you for seeing to Sooty,’ Ada replied, hoping she didn’t seem too rude as she kept her tear-ravaged face averted from him. She had splashed her face with cold water before leaving the County but fresh tears had sprung to her eyes since then. She opened the door of the cottage and went in. The place felt damp and cold, and she shivered a little as the dankness hit her. Perhaps she could ask the neighbour to light a fire in it occasionally, she thought distractedly. But for the moment she couldn’t even remember what his name was.

  She went upstairs and into the bathroom. In the glass over the basin she saw her eyes were red and puffy. She splashed them with cold water once again, patting them dry with a towel. Well, she thought, she might as well check on the rest of the house before she went.

  Nothing had been disturbed, she saw as she went from room to room. The cushion in the sitting room still bore the imprint of Mr Johnson’s head; she plumped it up and put it back in position on the sofa. As she noticed the undisturbed layer of dust, she remembered she hadn’t asked Mr Johnson about his daily woman, but she was old, and perhaps she had just got too old for the work.