That summer, her parents had determined that their daughter should be equipped with skills which would enable her to weather the rest of her life, good or bad. All they could afford was a secretarial course but it was the best. Sarah sighed with satisfaction and pushed herself up on to her pillows. The moon was half obscured by fast-moving clouds, much as it had been so often when she was driving ambulances during the war. That was another of her father’s fads. Both his women should learn to drive. A waste of potential he had roared and pushed his wife into the driving-seat. She had hated it but Sarah loved the feeling of power.
She had taken a job in London, staying with Aunt Jesse, her father’s sister, and it was there she had become involved with female suffrage. She had worn green and purple rosettes; marched and spoken at rallies, been punched and pushed by hecklers for her pains as she left the halls. There had been spit down the front of her jacket when she had returned from one meeting. She had thrown it away and cried in her room, unable to bring herself to wipe it away.
When she was a member of a group blocking a road near Trafalgar Square, she had been arrested. The cobbles they were sitting on had been cold in that winter of 1912 and she remembered how they had been told by their leader to go slack when the police picked them up and threw them into the van but she hadn’t expected the pain and the bruising as she hit the studded floor of the vehicle.
Aunt Jesse had come for her in the morning but she was charged with causing an obstruction and breaking the peace. The sentence was three months in prison. She had gone on hunger-strike like the rest, like her friend Norah, but they had been kept in separate cells and Sarah moved in the bed as she remembered the fear of dying, the hunger, being alone and then after days or was it weeks they had come and pushed the tube into her nostril and down her throat. She thought her nose, her throat, her chest would burst and then finally it entered her stomach. Each day they had done that, pouring liquid, not much but enough to keep her alive and each time, when they had left her and she had still not screamed and struggled, she had been proud of herself but had lain in fear hour after hour until they came again.
They had released her early to build up her strength. Her father had collected her and taken her to Aunt Jesse. He had been pale but still bustled. Val had fed her up and said she would sit in the streets with her if she didn’t stop. No, they need you, Val; if I’m not here, you must be, she had said. They had wanted her to come back but she had to stay in the district and would not have run away anyway, or would she? When she was fitter, the police came for her to finish the sentence and her father did not ask her not to go on hunger-strike again, nor did her mother. He had kissed her and said that freedom must be worth a great deal and he couldn’t ask her to go against that but he had aged, and his mouth was trembling and she had turned from him to the policeman frightened that she would cry and beg to stay. Look after me, Papa, she wanted to cry, hold me, send them away.
She had starved again and the tube had come again and the pain and weakness until her sentence was finished. Until the next time she was arrested and the cat and mouse resumed. It was a very effective form of fear, she reasoned now from the safety of age, that cat and mouse game of the government’s, but it didn’t break them, just killed a few, like her dearest Norah. She felt a thickening of her throat at the thought of the tube going into her friend’s lung instead of her stomach.
At last in the early spring of 1914, her father and mother had sent her to Austria, skiing, for fresh air and good food and to keep her from the streets too she suspected. There had been relief at boarding the ship, then the train, leaving the battle because they had asked her to, just for a while. That way it was less like desertion.
Then war had come and the campaign had ceased for the duration and women were given jobs, useful jobs and she drove an ambulance and was glad it had come and she no longer had to suffer.
Annie should be told one day because, throughout it all, her father had supported her financially and had not regretted one penny. He told her so when he and her mother caught flu after the war, just before they died. After she had sorted out the little matter of Mr Beeston her life had settled into its tranquil lines and again she settled herself more comfortably on the pillows.
And now she had Annie, a child who had burst in on her life when she had spun into Wassingham to sort things out after Bob’s letter. She had not known definitely whether she would be bringing her back but what she had found in Wassingham was waste and the well ordered life in Gosforn would just have to accommodate this awkward spirit, this child who was not a child. It would be interesting, to say the least.
She was sorry that Archie would not be able to see his daughter develop but in her heart of hearts she also knew that she was supremely relieved. For if he were here, she would not have this repeat of her relationship with her parents. A repeat of the knowledge and caring that would be passed on again. A repeat of love, for that is what she was already feeling for this child.
CHAPTER 12
Annie felt strange in her stomach two days later when August had changed to September and Sarah drove through the large wrought-iron gates, past dark full-leafed bushes, which lined the gravel drive, and up to the entrance of the convent school. Sarah told her that the grey stone building had once been a hunting lodge in the days when Gosforn was a small hamlet, before it had grown up into a market town and a dormitory for Newcastle.
She looked at the sloping gardens beyond the shrubs which Sarah said were rhododendrons from the foothills of the Himalayas, wherever they were, thought Annie. She made her hands lie still in her lap as the car crunched to a halt though she felt as though she was trembling all over and she had a tightness in her chest. The engine died and the car jumped.
‘Out you come then,’ Sarah instructed and they stood together at the bottom of the three wide steps which led up to the studded double wooden doors. The building seemed to be falling over and would crush them at any moment, Annie thought as she looked up to the turrets which lined the roof, but at least that would mean she would not have to go through the next few minutes.
‘Of course, rhododendrons are at their best in early summer,’ Sarah continued as she took her arm and nudged her up the steps. ‘Large glorious blooms, so much better than the original purple of the wild ones.’
Her gloved hand reached for and pulled the bell chain and Annie’s legs felt uncertain. She turned to look out over the drive, down through the yew hedges set in squares which lay in front of the school. They were cut as sharp as Val’s bacon when she scissored off the rind. There were flower-beds within their squares with a path running from the drive right through them down to the empty playing field which Annie could see at the bottom.
It looks like a bloody mansion, she thought, not a nunnery. And where were all the girls, because that’s all there were. Boys were not allowed through the gates, Sarah had said.
They could hear the bell peeling deep inside the building and Sarah turned and stood looking across the grounds with Annie.
‘It is rather lovely isn’t it?’ she said. ‘I was here as a girl and very little has changed, only the length of the hems.’ She laughed. ‘Mine was down to my ankles and just look at yours. Mother Superior would have had the vapours.’
Annie looked down at her grey pleated skirt, ending well above the ankles and smoothed it over her hips. It was so soft and light, but warm too. The vest she wore did not itch at all. She had not known you could be warm but comfortable. She ran her finger round her neck, chafing against the collar but she liked the grey and red of the tie against the white of the shirt. She wasn’t sure about the red cardigan since it seemed to drain her of colour but Val had said that a few games of hockey would soon bring the roses into her cheeks.
She had not known what hockey was and Sarah had shown her an old stick, told her that the object of the game was to get the ball into the other team’s goal and that you bullied off for possession of this ball when the referee started the game. You
’ll enjoy it, she had said, but Annie had thought it sounded ridiculous.
Sarah rang the bell again and Annie half hoped that no one would hear and they could go back to the house again. She could not say home, not yet, not ever, she determined. Home was Georgie. But she would not think of him now, he was for the darkness and her bedroom.
‘It is nice, Sarah,’ she replied, waving her hand at the gardens, looking again at her shirt, feeling that everything matched, even the grey blazer with its red piping. This had never happened before and she grinned in spite of herself. She’d have to change out of them when she arrived back this evening. Sarah had decided that they would keep hens and that it would be her job to feed, clean and collect the eggs. They should be there, at the house by four and the men were erecting the coop and wire run this morning. If Val had anything to do with it, it would be done in record time. Bye, thought Annie, I bet she could pack a punch.
The door swung open and Annie spun round. A nun in a dark blue habit and a white wimple stood there smiling, just like a penguin, Annie thought.
‘So nice to see you, Sarah, let me take Ann in with me, shall I, and we’ll meet you at four o’clock.’ She had a pink and white face with full lips and a wide brow over pale blue eyes and looked as though she had washed with a scrubbing brush, she was so fresh. Annie smiled at such a neat dismissal of Sarah. That’s one in the eye for her she thought, for getting them to call me Ann and opened her mouth to correct the nun. There was no need.
‘My ward’s name is Annie, Sister Maria. We do so much prefer it to Ann. It was my mistake, I’m afraid.’
She was smiling at Annie, her blue hat set at an angle on her head, matching the coat which had a silver brooch set in a leaf on her lapel and Annie felt her shoulders relax, her stomach feel better. She stroked her hair which she had plaited this morning and adjusted her school hat. It would be good to see Sarah at four o’clock.
Sister Maria stood with her on the top step as the Morris swung round and crunched back down the drive. Sarah tooted and the sound was out of place in the quiet of St Ursula’s and Annie knew that it was Sarah’s response to Sister Maria and she grinned.
The nun led the way into the high-ceilinged entrance hall. She didn’t walk, she glided, Annie decided. It was as though she was one of those little wind-up fat people that rolled along a table with no feet, just wheels. She cocked her head to check that black shoes appeared at the front of the habit and they did. Perhaps it was the wimple that made them move like that; it was so starched it looked as though it would crack if it was jogged at all.
Sister Maria turned, her smile kind and reaching her eyes. ‘We’ll have a quick look round the school, Annie, and then we’ll slip you into your class. Is that all right?’
‘Yes, thank you,’ Annie replied, looking round the hall which was wood-panelled except for a mural of the crucifixion with drops of blood falling from Christ’s hands. Below, on a walnut table, larger than Sarah’s, was a vase of russet chrysanthemums. She moved over to touch the petals and could smell their scent all round.
Sister Maria touched her arm and brought her to a halt.
‘You must address the nuns as Sister, Annie, and as a sign of courtesy the girls never turn their back on us.’
Annie swung round to her, her face flushing red. She bit back a retort and said, ‘Yes, Sister,’ but thought, I’m the Queen of the Nile, because it was just like royalty. What would Tom say to this then? She had received a letter from him this morning telling of the Wainwright episode. I’ll be a right little bolshie next time I see you, he had said, and she put her hand in her blazer pocket and touched the lined paper which held his pencilled news.
They moved down to the corridor which led from the entrance hall and she had to quicken her pace to keep up with Sister Maria’s glide. Her patent leather shoes were catching the light from the windows which ran down one side of this end of the corridor. They were the first shoes she had worn and were so much lighter than boots that she felt as though she had bare feet and they didn’t rub anywhere. On the other side of the corridor she saw that there were notices pinned on to cork boards. Hockey and drama stood out in bold red print but then Sister Maria spoke as they rushed on.
‘We have put you in with the younger children since you are a little behind, Annie, but never fear, you will improve and at the end of three years you will undoubtedly have your school certificate.’
Annie stopped, her shoes forgotten, her face twisting, her eyes suddenly full. Sister Maria stopped and turned, her hands clasped together under the sleeves of her habit.
‘But, my dear,’ she said, ‘there is no need for the other girls to know. You are so lucky, oh so lucky to be petite, so delicate. How they would envy you if they knew.’
But it was not that which had taken the breath from her chest and brought blood to her face. Three years, three years echoed round her head and she wanted to rip the clothes from her, throw them to the ground and run back to the caustic air and noise of Wassingham, back to Tom and Georgie. She had not asked Sarah how long all this would take and now she knew she felt that it was not bearable.
Sister Maria took her arm and they walked together down the corridor which had lost its windows now and merged into a large dark area which was criss-crossed with stands spiked with pegs, covered now in blazers and hats.
‘You will leave your hat and blazer here when you arrive each morning.’ She shook Annie slightly as though she were aware Annie wanted to run, to leave here. ‘You will come, won’t you, Annie?’ She looked closely into her face and Annie stared blankly back, deep inside herself. But hadn’t she decided that first day that she would stay, Annie told herself, so stop making such a bloody fuss. If she shouted at herself loud enough, it might stop the panic which seemed to swoop and drench her with ice, then fire and leave her so much alone. Sister Maria shook her again.
‘You are going to come, Annie?’
And this time Annie nodded, her chin tilted. ‘This is my peg is it?’ she asked hanging her things on the blunted hook, and was surprised to find that her voice sounded quite normal.
The Sister smiled and patted her arm, then showed her which one to hang her shoe-bag on and also mentioned that she would need a hockey stick, skirt and boots.
Well, thought Annie, that means more work from Sarah or I shall be playing in me bare feet.
‘And along here, Annie, is the chapel.’ Sister Maria still held her arm as though she was afraid that Annie would turn and run but she wouldn’t, not for three years anyway.
‘Services are held in the chapel daily. I gather you are not confirmed so we shall have to arrange that.’
Annie raised her eyebrows. We will, will we? she thought. I’ll have to think about that.
The chapel was painted cream and there were wooden beams up into the roof and thick long ones that spanned the width of the chapel and held the lights which hung down on black metal rods. It was so light and calm, Annie thought, not like the one which had buried her da. Here the windows were large and light streamed in. The pews were light wood and smelled of beeswax. The altar was simple with a white altar cloth and a metal cross, which shone green and red from the light which dropped through the stained-glass window.
Sister Maria was ahead of her now, pointing to the choir stalls, the pulpit and the lectern which was a gold eagle with a beak which could catch someone a nasty nip if they fell asleep during the sermon, Annie thought.
‘We embroider the hassocks ourselves, with the help of you girls of course. Do you sew?’ Sister Maria was moving back towards her now. The air was heavy with more chrysanthemums. They were in every window and either side of the altar; orange, purple and yellow.
‘No, just a few buttons and repairs,’ Annie said, touching the back of the pew. She had not moved down the aisle yet. She had seen Sister Maria cross herself and she could not remember which way round she had done it.
‘Well, you’ll learn quickly enough. We have a competition coming up which you
would enjoy.’ Her voice was not Geordie but more like her father’s and Sarah. It sounded pleasant, not high or low, and if she sang it would be a comforting sound.
Sister Maria stopped halfway up the aisle. ‘Shall I teach you to genuflect, Annie? Would that make things easier for you in here?’
Annie stood still, confusion clouding her thoughts.
‘The sign of the cross,’ Sister Maria added.
Annie sighed with relief. It was not going to be too bad here and she copied, with her right hand, Sister Maria’s movements.
They left the chapel and passed along polished floors and gleaming cream-painted corridors which murmured with muted voices as a door opened and closed and another was left ajar. Three doors on, they stopped.
‘This is your class, Annie. I’m sure you will be very happy but, when you see Mrs Beeston, please ask her to buy you another pair of shoes. Patent leather is not permitted in this school, but, for this week only, we will make an exception.’
As they entered the classroom which Annie had noticed was opposite a conservatory, the lesson stopped and the girls rose in unison and Annie wondered how much another pair of shoes would cost.
‘Slip into that place, Annie.’
She pointed to a space at the end of a long bench which was attached to a desk of the same length. Annie was aware of turning heads as she passed between the rows and slid into place. It was indented with Christine loves John and Sandy loves Sister Nicole. The girl next to her passed a sideways look and smiled. She did not look very much younger, none of them did, thought Annie, and why did the Sisters object to patent leather shoes? They were so beautiful.
‘Shows your knickers it does. The patent leather reflects them, or so they think,’ Sandy told her at break. ‘Gives the old girls a thrill and they get palpitations.’
After the Storm Page 22
