by Polly Heron
‘So the year the school leaving age went up, you couldn’t take in any new little ones.’
‘We had room for a few. You asked what a fourteen is. When a child enters his or her final year at school, we refer to them here as fourteens. The boys wear a striped tie and the girls shed their grey dress and pinafore in favour of the skirt and blouse you saw Virginia wearing. On her fourteenth birthday, a girl is permitted to put up her hair. Before that, on her twelfth birthday, she starts to wear her hair in a single plait down her back. Prior to that, from starting school, the girls wear two plaits, which are fastened behind their ears. So you will always know a girl’s age by her hair.’
‘I’ll remember.’
‘I’m sure you shall.’ Mrs Rostron didn’t say it in the kindly, encouraging way Vivienne would have done. ‘The boys are called by their surnames and the girls by their full first names. I noticed you called Virginia Ginny. That is not acceptable.’
‘I won’t do it again.’
Mrs Rostron tilted her head slightly to one side. Her bun looked loose, yet it remained fixed in position in spite of there being not so much as a hairpin to be seen.
‘I wonder where you got the name Ginny. Virginia certainly wouldn’t have introduced herself in that way.’
‘It was my mistake. A slip of the tongue – trying to be friendly.’
‘You are not required to be friendly with the orphans, Miss Watson. It may interest you to know that the duty rosters will inform me, to the minute, whose shifts start and finish at what time. It would be simple for me to determine whom you met on your way in, for example.’
Blimey, was she supposed to offer up Carmel on a plate?
‘I don’t take kindly to being fibbed to, Miss Watson, no matter how worthy the intention. I am grateful to you for stepping in at short notice – at no notice at all, in fact – but now that you’re here, you’re a member of my staff and will be treated as such. Perhaps you would make a start on your work. You passed Miss Allan’s work station in the corridor. I’m sure you’ll find everything you require. I’ll answer any questions that arise, but it would be helpful if you use your common sense and get on with what needs doing. ’
Do what needed doing. She could manage that…couldn’t she? She would have to; she apparently wasn’t going to get much, if anything, in the way of help.
*
It wasn’t going to be altogether pleasant working in this windowless corridor, but Molly intended to make the best of it. It would be easier for her than it was for Miss Allan, with her old bones. On the blotter lay a couple of scrawled letters, with a note at the top of each, saying Please typewrite. Well, at least she didn’t have to worry about getting started.
After turning up the wall-mounted gas-lights, she typed the letters, careful to take a carbon copy of each, before presenting them to Mrs Rostron for her signature.
‘You’ll find a tin of stamps in one of Miss Allan’s drawers,’ said Mrs Rostron. ‘Please take these to the pillar-box in time to catch the midday collection. In Miss Allan’s in-tray you’ll find bills from the grocer and fishmonger, which you should take to the kitchen for Mrs Wilkes, the cook, to check before they are paid; though I suggest you do that this afternoon. Mrs Wilkes doesn’t care to be disturbed in the morning.’
Molly located the stamps as well as a small notebook for recording their use. Investigating the desk drawers, she also came across a petty cash tin with accompanying notebook, an address book, a list of telephone numbers and a tin of lavender lozenges.
Mrs Rostron came down the corridor, dressed in a severe longline jacket and a squashy felt hat.
‘Here are Miss Allan’s keys. It’s unfortunate on your first day that I should have to attend a meeting. I shan’t be back until half past four.’
Molly sat up straight. ‘I’ll manage. Now I’ve got the keys, I’ll look through the filing cabinet and cupboards and see what’s what.’
‘One of the nursemaids will bring you a cup of tea and a biscuit at eleven o’clock. If you make your way to the dining hall at midday, the staff dining room is just off it.’
Mrs Rostron couldn’t have been gone more than half an hour before footsteps came tapping up the stairs just as Molly was exploring the stationery cupboard.
‘As I warned you, Evelyn,’ came Mrs Wardle’s voice, causing Molly’s heart to sink, ‘it’s rather dingy up here, so do watch your footing. Ah, there you are, Miss Watson. Settling into your temporary home, I see.’
‘Yes, thank you.’ Approval? Even though Mrs Wardle hadn’t been consulted?
The other lady stopped at the desk. Her expensive attire and tasteful brooch and pearls showed how well-to-do she was.
‘So this is your protégée, Emmeline?’
Protégée?
‘How gratifying for you,’ the new lady continued, ‘to bring on a girl in this way. She has so much for which to be grateful to you.’
‘Sweet of you to recognise it,’ Mrs Wardle murmured.
Well, it was a good job the new lady recognised it, because Molly certainly didn’t. Bristling, she pulled back her shoulders. Protégée? Grateful? Not on your nelly!
‘Come,’ Mrs Wardle said to her companion. ‘I’ll introduce you to Mrs Rostron. She does such a sterling job as superintendent.’
‘Mrs Rostron is out.’ Molly had to raise her voice, as the two ladies were already on their way along the landing. ‘She won’t be back before half past four.’
‘That’s what the girl who admitted us said.’ Mrs Wardle stopped. ‘I hoped she was wrong. Some of these girls aren’t the brightest.’ She tapped her black suede-clad toe. ‘This is most inconvenient.’
Molly reached for the diary. ‘If you’d care to make an appointment…’
‘Nonsense. I am the official visitor. I don’t require an appointment.’
‘Won’t you introduce us?’ asked Mrs Wardle’s companion. ‘I should like to make the acquaintance of your protégée.’
That word again!
‘Of course. This is Miss Watson, who, through the training and guidance she has received from me, has been deemed suitable to assist St Anthony’s during the secretary’s illness. Miss Watson, this is my friend, Mrs Hesketh, who wishes to take an interest in the orphanage.’
‘How do you do?’ said Mrs Hesketh.
Molly replied automatically. Hesketh? Would it be appropriate to ask? Did she want to engage in civil conversation after Mrs Wardle had claimed her as her protégée?
The moment was lost as Mrs Wardle said, ‘Could you organise tea for us, please, Miss Watson? We’ll take it in the office.’
‘I’m not sure that’s…’ Molly began. She hadn’t come here expecting to have to repel all boarders.
‘Where else should I entertain a prospective patron?’ Mrs Wardle enquired. ‘In fact, Miss Watson, why don’t you join us? I’m going to explain the history of St Anthony’s to Mrs Hesketh. It would be of benefit to you to hear it too.’
‘Maybe Miss Watson is up to her ears in work,’ suggested Mrs Hesketh.
How could she claim she was when they had come across her looking through the stationery cupboard? The two ladies headed along the passage, leaving her to order the tea. Just how had she ended up in this position?
On the stairs, she met Carmel on her way up.
‘I was on my way down to see about tea.’
‘The tea isn’t late, miss,’ Carmel said immediately.
‘I know.’
‘We don’t stop for it until eleven.’
‘I know.’
‘I was coming to ask you whether, if you’re not too busy, you’d like to come down at eleven when the smalls have their morning milk. You could meet more nursemaids and start to learn the children’s names.’
‘I’d love that, but I’m expected to have tea with Mrs Wardle. That’s what I was coming down for, to request tea for three in Mrs Rostron’s office.’
‘In the office? By, you’ve made yourself at home, haven’t you?’
Carmel spun round and ran downstairs.
‘Carmel!’
But Carmel didn’t hear. No, she heard all right. She just pretended not to.
Molly retraced her steps. Carmel wasn’t impressed with her and, frankly, she wasn’t impressed with herself. Fancy letting Mrs Wardle steamroller her like that. Walking past the alcove, she made straight for the office, where she found the ladies had turned the two chairs for visitors to face one another.
‘Here’s Miss Watson coming to join us.’ Mrs Hesketh sounded welcoming.
‘Thank you,’ said Molly, ‘but I need to press on. I’ve sent for the tea.’
In the alcove once more, she looked through the accounts book. Dad always said that the accounts could tell you all you needed to know about a place, not just how close to the wind they sailed financially, but who were their preferred tradesmen, how often they had their chimneys swept and the piano tuned, how careful or wasteful they were, and whether they paid their wages on time.
Carmel came stomping up the stairs, carrying a tray.
‘Oh, you’re out here, are you? I thought you were lording it in the office.’ And presumably that was what she had told the world and his wife.
‘I shan’t be having tea with Mrs Wardle.’
‘But it’s all on one tray.’
‘Leave it with me. I’ll pour mine and take the tray through.’
If she hoped Carmel might linger for a friendly word or even repeat her earlier invitation, she was disappointed. She poured a cup and helped herself to a finger of buttery-smelling shortbread before taking the tray to the office, making herself scarce before Mrs Wardle could ask her to pour.
She drank her tea, then popped out to the pillar-box with the letters she had typed earlier. When she returned, Mrs Wardle and her guest were leaving the office.
‘Miss Watson, you’ll be pleased to learn that Mrs Hesketh has already thought of something to improve the orphanage and it will benefit you directly.’
‘Really?’
‘Indeed, yes,’ said Mrs Hesketh. ‘This little alcove is so dark.’
‘It has gas-lights,’ Molly pointed out.
‘Even so.’
‘Well, yes, it is rather gloomy,’ Molly conceded.
‘Precisely,’ cut in Mrs Wardle. ‘Mrs Hesketh suggests placing oil-lamps there,’ indicating the top of the filing cabinet, ‘and over there.’ She nodded approvingly at her friend. ‘I look forward to hearing your observations on the rest of the building. Miss Watson, I hope you’ll accompany us on our tour.’
‘Mrs Rostron has arranged for me to be shown round later on.’
‘Very well, but I insist that you join us for lunch.’
‘Please do,’ Mrs Hesketh added. ‘I would be interested to hear your impressions of St Anthony’s.’
Having not joined them for tea or the tour, how could she refuse?
Later, when they came to collect her, Mrs Hesketh was full of everything she had seen. They went downstairs and into the dining room Molly had seen on the day of the maypole dancing. At one end young children sat at the tables while tots perched in high chairs, waving their fists as they anticipated each mouthful. Blue-and-white clad nursemaids looked round as Mrs Wardle led her little procession across the room to a door on the far side.
Here was the dining room for the staff. A few nursemaids shared a table and an older woman in black with a white collar and a lacy white cap tied beneath her double chin sat alone. Was she one of the nannies? Molly would dearly have liked to linger and introduce herself, but there was no chance of that, not with Mrs Wardle streaming across the room towards what looked like a stage, with a table and chairs on it.
Mrs Wardle led the way up the four wooden steps at one side and stopped behind a place that looked over the room.
‘This is the top table,’ she informed her companions. ‘The places here are reserved for important guests and sponsors, so you are honoured to have the opportunity, Miss Watson. Do sit beside me, Evelyn. Miss Watson, would you care to sit on my other side?’
Cold fingers tapped at her ribs. Important guests? Sponsors? She was the secretary, for pity’s sake, and a temporary one at that. No, she jolly well wouldn’t sit beside Mrs Wardle, gazing out over the lower orders. She sat opposite the other two, but it didn’t make her feel any better. Throughout the meal, her spine prickled under the darts of disapproval flung her way by the rest of the dining room.
Chapter Sixteen
THAT SETTLED IT. There could be no doubt. Aaron had wanted there to be doubt; oh yes, he had wanted it, but after that complaint he had received from Mrs Wardle, and with seeing Miss Watson now at top table – well, he had been a fool to hope. The way she had walked off this morning without so much as a goodbye should have shown him. Miss Watson was cut from the same elite cloth as the high-and-mighty Mrs Wardle.
Having pushed the door open onto the staff dining room, he backed out again sharpish and presented himself at the long serving hatch between the kitchen and the children’s dining room.
Leaning in, he caught Mrs Wilkes’s eye. ‘All right if I come back for mine later?’
‘I’ll keep a plate warm for you.’
Mrs Wilkes couldn’t do enough for him ever since he had mended the mechanism in the serving hatch, so that it now slid easily up and down instead of having to be tugged with all your might.
When he returned later for his slice of meat and potato pie, made even tastier by the cook’s onion gravy, Mrs Wilkes tried to stir up some gossip.
‘You won’t know, not having eaten here at dinner time, but that new secretary only went and put herself on top table along with the Wardle woman.’
‘As long as she doesn’t make a pig’s ear of the clerical work, that’s all I care about.’
‘Aye.’ Mrs Wilkes gave a mirthless laugh that showed what she thought of the new secretary. ‘As long as she gets us wages right and on time, she can be as stuck-up as she pleases.’
Later on, needing his favourite chisel, which was in his toolbox in Soapsuds Cottage, Aaron set off to fetch it. It was home-time and the children were coming back from school. The St Clement’s lot were already here, their school being just along the road. Now the rest were spilling in through the gates, chatting and mucking about on their way. No one wore a coat in this warm weather. They went straight indoors to hang up their caps and hats, then came back outside until teatime, except for those who had homework, which was done in the dining room and had to be completed before tea.
As he crossed the girls’ playground, children ran up to him, including boys who should be in their own playground.
‘Are we helping with the ivy today, sir?’
‘Can I do it, Mr Abrams? You promised.’
‘Later,’ he said. ‘I have to nip home first.’
‘Oh aye? Skiving, are you, sir?’ asked one bright spark and Aaron pretended to clip him round the ear, much to the delight of the rest.
He went on his way. Mrs Rostron was happy for him to come and go as he pleased, trusting him not to take advantage. He rounded the corner onto Chorlton Green to see Bunny heading his way, pushing his hot-potato barrow.
As they stopped to have a word, Aaron glanced over the road to the Green itself.
‘What’s he doing there?’
‘Who?’ Bunny followed his gaze.
‘The lad on that bench. He’s one of ours,’ said Aaron. ‘I don’t know what it is about the Green at the moment, but it seems to attract our kids like a magnet. He’s the second one I’ve found here. He should have gone straight home from school. He’s under threat of the reformatory if he doesn’t behave himself. I’d better go and get him.’
A man sat down at the other end of Jacob’s bench and started to read his newspaper. As Aaron stepped from the pavement, there was a soft thud behind him, instantly followed by the half-metallic, half-musical sound of coins striking the flagstones. He turned back.
‘Damn!’ said Bunny. His leather money-pouch had fal
len to the ground, spilling some of its contents.
‘Never heard you swear before,’ Aaron said with a grin, ‘but I suppose that’s what happens when you fling your worldly wealth all over the place.’
He bent to retrieve the money, wanting to spare his friend, who was older and not as spry as he had once been. Bunny tipped the silver and coppers back into his money-pouch and fastened it.
‘Thanks, mate.’
Aaron turned once more to face the Green. The fellow with the newspaper got up to walk away, leaving Jacob alone on the bench, swinging his feet. As Aaron crossed over, Jacob scooted along the bench and – did he pick something up? It was such a subtle movement, it was difficult to tell. Wait – yes – he slipped it inside his trouser pocket, whatever it was.
Coming to his feet, Jacob put a foot forward to start walking, only to stop dead, mouth falling open, cheeks blazing, as he saw Aaron striding towards him. Aye, there was no doubting that look of guilt.
He didn’t come on all heavy-handed. You wouldn’t get the truth out of a kid that way. Aaron assumed a long-suffering attitude, with a dry edge to it that could head off in the direction of humour or might turn to steel.
‘What is it about the Green these days that draws our lads like bees round a honey-pot?’
‘N-nothing, sir.’
‘First Daniel Cropper, now you.’ He pinned Jacob to the spot with his gaze.
‘I d-don’t know what you mean, sir.’
Well, of course he didn’t, poor kid. It was coincidence, pure and simple.
‘What brings you here? You know you’re meant to go straight back to St Anthony’s after school.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Jacob hung his head, scuffing the grass with the toe of his shoe.
‘Stand up straight when an adult speaks to you.’ That was one of Mrs Rostron’s golden rules. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I just felt like it.’
‘What did you pick up?’
‘What?’ Jacob’s head jerked back in shock. ‘Nowt.’
