The Surplus Girls' Orphans

by Polly Heron

  ‘I’m sorry. I spoke out of turn. I find it hard sometimes, keeping my distance from the children, and seeing you being so familiar with them… It was wrong of me to object. I can see how much it means to them.’

  His gaze softened. The frown lines cut into him by the war melted away to be replaced by a web of fine lines beside his eyes.

  ‘Like I say, it’s different for me. I think it’s good for the kids to have a man around.’

  ‘A man who pays them a bit of attention.’

  ‘It’s not just me. You know Bunny, the hot-potato man?’

  ‘Everyone knows Bunny.’

  ‘He’s helped with the ivy once or twice. There’s so much discipline in the children’s lives – rightly so – but they need to know you can josh around a bit and still get the work done.’

  Rays of golden light brightened the grim area. The sound of the children’s voices back in the playground seemed to recede. Molly’s pulse raced and a trembling inside her legs made them feel weak.

  Mr Abrams stepped back. ‘After you.’

  Cold washed through her – surprise, disappointment; annoyance at herself. Had he seen, had he sensed, the way she had been drawn to him in that moment?

  The inside of the workshop was thick with heat. The rich scents of wood and oils swarmed up her nose, together with the comforting smell of beeswax. After the brilliance of the afternoon sunshine, the workshop was gloomy. She blinked, adjusting her eyes, as she twisted at the waist to open the flap of the leather wages-bag.

  Mr Abrams cleared a space on a work surface. ‘It’s clean. This is where I draw plans.’

  She laid down the wage packet. So what if she had put all the other packets into the recipients’ hands? Unfolding the list of staff on duty this afternoon, she smoothed it, pushing it in his direction.

  ‘Do you need a pen?’

  ‘I’ve got one, thanks. That makes a change,’ he added as he signed.

  ‘What does?’

  He ran a finger down the line of signatures, which included a couple of Xs. Neither of the scrubbing women had learned to write.

  ‘Being the last to sign. All my life, I’ve been the first to do everything.’ He gave a mock-bow. ‘Aaron Abrams, at your service.’

  ‘I’ve always been one of the last, being a Watson. One of my teachers used to sit us in alphabetical order and make us line up in alphabetical order, so I was always at the back. I used to long to be at the front.’

  ‘I was the other way round. I wanted to be at the back.’

  ‘Did you have an alphabet-mad teacher as well?’

  ‘I was at the front because I was one of the naughty lads.’ His grin made the years fall away from him, allowing her to glimpse the boy he had once been. ‘I wasn’t interested in writing copperplate or learning the kings and queens of England by heart. I wanted to be outdoors, running about.’

  ‘Were you good at physical drill?’

  ‘I don’t know that I was any good, but I enjoyed it. What I remember most about drill is the swimming lessons.’

  ‘Your school went swimming?’

  He laughed. ‘No such luck. We learned to swim by lying across chairs and moving our arms and legs. To this day, I wonder whether my technique would keep me afloat.’

  Molly joined in his laughter. He was good company, interesting and amusing and…and she would like to know him better.

  A clatter of footsteps shattered the moment. Daniel Cropper burst in, making even more of a disturbance by whirling to a standstill.

  ‘Sorry, sir. Sorry, miss. I forgot to knock. Here’s the box.’

  ‘Thanks. Off you go.’ Mr Abrams – Aaron – put the box on a shelf. ‘Now there’s a lad who could do with a spot of attention.’

  She didn’t want to talk about Daniel Cropper. She wanted to rekindle the friendly laughter they had shared. Oh, this was ridiculous. She was ridiculous. She knew better than this. Only flighty girls gave male colleagues the glad eye. Moreover, the simple fact that Aaron clearly had no wish to recapture the moment showed it had meant nothing to him. She would do well to remember that.

  ‘Daniel Cropper? He could have all the attention he needs, if he went to live with his uncle in Cumberland.’

  A brief laugh escaped him, a sound of surprise, of being taken aback. ‘And you’d know what’s best for him, would you? You, who’ve known him all of five minutes.’

  ‘You don’t have to have known him for long to be aware of his situation. Mrs Wardle told me about his uncle—’

  ‘You really are in her pocket, aren’t you?’

  ‘I can think for myself, thank you. When I’m given information, I form my own judgement. I never thought I’d hear myself say it but, in this case, I agree with Mrs Wardle.’

  ‘She knows nothing about it; and if you agree with her, neither do you.’

  ‘A very mature argument, Mr Abrams.’ Molly thrust her list into the wages-bag and slapped the flap shut. ‘I think you’ve let the children’s affection go to your head.’

  There! An excellent parting shot. She threw open the door.

  ‘Miss Watson.’

  Drat! If she had been a fraction quicker, she could have pretended not to hear. As it was, she was forced to look over her shoulder. The low-ceilinged room emphasised Aaron’s lean height.

  ‘He isn’t called Daniel.’

  A frown tugged her brow. ‘Of course he is.’

  ‘You claim to know about him. Then you should know he isn’t Daniel. He’s Danny.’

  A young lad ran in Molly’s direction as she retraced her steps to the front door. It was Layton Two. He wasn’t a good-looking lad, like Layton One. You wouldn’t think they were brothers, to look at them; and evidently the differences ran deeper, since the older boy was trusted to have a half-time job while the younger one was under threat of being packed off to the reformatory if he failed to behave himself. Theirs was one of the files she had read, so she knew all about the Laytons, including Thaddeus, whom Mrs Rostron hadn’t had even one day at the orphanage before deciding to send him to the reformatory.

  ‘Miss, miss.’ The boy skidded to a halt in front of her. All the other children were rosy and glowing with health in this fine weather, but Layton Two – Jacob – was grey and tired-looking. Molly felt a stab of concern.

  ‘Did you want something?’ she asked.

  ‘Please, miss, will you help me with summat?’

  ‘Of course, if I can.’ How pleasing to be asked. It meant she had been accepted.

  ‘Will you – will you ask Mrs Rostron if I can change schools? I still go to my old school in Stretford and…’ Jacob chewed his lip. ‘If I could go to school here in Chorlton, it’d be easier for me to see my mum.’

  Poor lad. ‘Come indoors and tell me properly.’

  Inside, she was at a loss as to where to take him. Homework was going on in the dining room, reading in the junior common room. Her alcove upstairs was out of bounds to children. She settled for sitting on the stairs.

  ‘I miss my mum something rotten.’ Jacob stared straight ahead, not looking at her. ‘My dad left us, you know, so there’s only her. I hardly ever see her, but if I could move to one of the Chorlton schools, I could mebbe see her after school. She lives near the rec, in a road called Wilton Close.’

  ‘Wilton Close?’

  ‘Aye. D’you know it?’

  ‘I should. I live there.’

  He twisted to face her. ‘That’s lucky, isn’t it, miss? It sort of puts you on my side. Will you ask Mrs Rostron?’

  No wonder his skin had that grey look. So many changes had assaulted him all at once. The father had absconded; the family had nearly been wiped out in a fire; and now their mother couldn’t keep them, which was why Michael and Jacob were here at St Anthony’s. Jacob must be in turmoil.

  ‘I’ll speak to her for you.’ She pulled in a breath, proud that Jacob had chosen her to help him.

  ‘Thanks, miss.’ He bounced to his feet, eyes shining, the extent of his delight
taking Molly by surprise.

  ‘I can’t promise anything,’ she said but doubted whether it sank in before the lad rushed away. She let out a sigh and her shoulders dropped. Jacob Layton, Daniel Cropper… How fortunate she was to have grown up in a stable, healthy family.

  She ran upstairs. The staff who weren’t on duty today would soon appear to collect their wages. Was there time to have a word with Mrs Rostron first?

  She knocked at the office door.

  ‘Come.’

  The superintendent was bent over her desk, writing something that no doubt Molly would be required to type up in due course. Pinching the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger, Mrs Rostron squeezed her eyes shut for a moment.

  ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘It’s Jacob Layton.’

  ‘I expected you to ask about an administrative matter, not a child. Have a seat. What’s this about?’

  Molly sat, folding her hands in her lap. ‘He wants to leave the school in Stretford.’

  ‘And he will – at the end of the school year. I’ve made arrangements for him to attend St Clement’s in September.’

  ‘Couldn’t he change schools now instead?’

  ‘Why the rush? School finishes the week after next.’

  ‘He could end the year with the children he’ll be with at the start of next year. That would help him, surely; save him from the anxiety of being new in September.’

  ‘My, he has got round you, hasn’t he?’ Mrs Rostron laid down her pen. ‘Have you seen the Layton boys’ file? Then you’ll know what they have suffered. Keeping them at their old school has provided a modicum of continuity at a time when everything else in their lives has undergone disruption. That’s important to their well-being.’

  ‘Surely being nearer to Mrs Layton would also benefit their well-being.’

  ‘Ah, is that the reason he gave you? Tell me how attending a Chorlton school would make things better regarding his mother.’

  ‘He could see her on his way home.’

  ‘You are aware of the rule about coming straight back here from school, are you not, Miss Watson?’

  ‘It need be only for a few minutes…’

  ‘And what of the other children we accommodate who aren’t orphans? Should they also be allowed to see more of their families? Or do you propose one rule for Jacob Layton and another for the rest?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Infuriating woman! Was she trying to make Molly look daft?

  ‘What if the families aren’t available at that time of day? Or if they live too far away? Would it interest you to know that the Layton boys are the only ones with a parent on the doorstep? And what of Michael Layton? Is he also to be found a school place in Chorlton? Then there is Mrs Layton to consider. She is employed. Do you think her mistress wishes her to be distracted from her duties every day after school? And then there are the orphans. Are they to have their noses rubbed in their orphaned state every school day?’ Mrs Rostron paused, tilting her head enquiringly on one side. ‘Have I made my point, Miss Watson?’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Rostron.’ The last time she had felt like this was when she had been summoned to the head’s office for passing notes in class.

  ‘Moreover, there are other reasons to keep the Laytons at the school in Stretford.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Are you questioning my judgement?’

  ‘I’m sorry if it sounded like that, but I should like to understand.’

  Mrs Rostron nodded. ‘There was another brother.’

  ‘Thaddeus.’

  ‘Thad the thug. Jacob was entirely under his influence and indeed is now here on probation while he shows me what he’s made of. The two oldest children in the family, who are adults, have told me how Thaddeus hated Michael, which meant Jacob used to hate him too. Now that Thaddeus’s undesirable influence has been removed, I want Jacob to see Michael with new eyes. By sending the pair of them to Stretford together every morning, I hope to create a bond between them. Michael is an admirable young man. Jacob could do a lot worse than give him the allegiance he used to squander on Thaddeus.’

  ‘I hadn’t realised there was so much to it,’ Molly admitted.

  Mrs Rostron’s smile was wry. ‘People seldom do. Anyone can see what’s on the surface. It takes experience to see what’s underneath.’

  Mrs Rostron moved, preparing to continue with her work. Molly sat forward, placing her fingers on the edge of the desk.

  ‘May I ask about Daniel Cropper? I know about the uncle in Cumberland.’

  ‘Do you indeed? And what do you think I should do?’

  She spoke evenly, wanting her opinion to sound measured and worth listening to. ‘Daniel will be sent to live with his uncle if his father dies, won’t he, so why not send him now? That way, if his father dies, at least Daniel will have had the chance to settle into his new life first, which might make his bereavement less painful; and if his father lives, Daniel can come back and they can be together, Daniel having been cared for by family in the meantime.’

  ‘You seem eager to see the back of him.’

  ‘I believe children are better off with their families.’

  ‘I agree – as a general rule; but Daniel Cropper doesn’t fit in with the general rule.’ Mrs Rostron sighed quietly. ‘So few children do. How do you think Daniel would feel, were he to be packed off to his uncle now?’

  ‘Surely he’d prefer to be with family than here? No one wants to be in an orphanage.’

  ‘Oh yes, such frightful places,’ Mrs Rostron murmured.

  ‘I mean…’

  ‘I know what you mean, Miss Watson. What if I told you Daniel Cropper has no wish to be sent to his uncle?’

  ‘Has his uncle been unkind to him – or to his father?’

  ‘Mr Angus Cropper is a respectable, law-abiding individual, who has made something of himself, unlike Daniel’s father.’

  ‘All the more reason to hand Daniel into his care.’

  ‘You’re seeing things on the surface again, Miss Watson. There’s more to the children who live here than what’s written in their files.’

  Molly bridled. ‘I hope I don’t see any child that way.’

  ‘Don’t you? That remains to be seen. Let me tell you about the Cropper boy. The reason he doesn’t want to live with Uncle Angus is because he wants to be on hand for his ailing father.’

  ‘But he isn’t. He’s here in Manchester and Mr Cropper is in Southport.’

  ‘Daniel feels more on hand here than he would if he were spirited away to Cumberland. If he were to go there, it would, in his mind, be like admitting his father is going to die; therefore he is desperate to stay put. Staying here also allows him to hope for his father’s recovery.’

  Molly spoke carefully. God forbid she should sound heartless. ‘Am I right in thinking Mr Cropper’s chances are slight?’

  ‘Is that a reason to dash the boy’s hopes? There are plenty of people in authority who would pack him off to the uncle’s without a second thought, and give themselves a pat on the back for doing it. I should be disappointed to discover you were one of those people, Miss Watson.’

  The odd mixture of criticism and compliment held Molly silent.

  ‘Knowing his uncle is there in the background,’ continued Mrs Rostron, ‘gives Daniel a kind of security. He knows he is wanted. He knows that if the worst happens, he has somewhere to go. Even though he doesn’t articulate this to himself, nevertheless it is there deep down in his self-knowledge.’

  Molly leaned closer. ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘It isn’t something that appears in any report, because it isn’t a fact that can be proved. But, as I said before, I have to see beneath the facts.’ Sitting up straight, she rearranged her papers. ‘Are there other children about whom you wish to interrogate me or may I get on with my work?’

  Molly rose. ‘Thank you for your time.’

  ‘Perhaps it will stop you jumping to conclusions in future.’

  The super
intendent held her pen poised as she re-read what she had written. It was dismissal. Molly went to the door, but before she could leave, Mrs Rostron spoke.

  ‘I wonder. Were they your own opinions – or Mrs Wardle’s?’

  Chapter Nineteen

  MOLLY SPENT SATURDAY morning with Mum. She had popped home regularly and was pleased and reassured to find her parents were genuinely interested in her studies and her job. This morning, she was able to settle in for a good natter because Mum had no cooking to do since Dad always brought fish and chips home on Saturdays for a hearty nosh-up before setting off to watch Tom play football or cricket, depending on the time of year.

  ‘Gran’s over at Auntie Faith’s this morning,’ said Mum, as they made a pot of tea, slipping automatically into their old routine of Mum seeing to the teapot while Molly got out the crockery. ‘She’ll be sorry to have missed you.’

  ‘And I’m sorry not to see her,’ Molly answered, ‘but I’m not sorry to have avoided a morning of hints being dropped like bricks about what I’ve let slip through my fingers. That’s why I didn’t tell you I was coming.’

  ‘Oh, Molly.’ Mum paused in the larder doorway to throw her a look in which sadness, exasperation and concern tussled for top billing.

  ‘If Gran had known, you can bet Norris would have found out. You know how often Gran bumps into his mother at the tripe shop and the grocer’s.’

  ‘Mrs Hartley has always been good to your gran.’

  ‘And to me an’ all.’ Her conscience gave her a nudge. ‘I ought to call on her.’

  ‘See that you do.’ Mum slid the quilted tea-cosy over the pot. ‘Eh, it’s a messy business when an engagement ends. I never thought it would happen to one of my lasses.’

  ‘Steady on. You’ll be dipping your toes in the shocking and shameful waters next, like Gran.’

  Mum stopped in the middle of stirring her tea. ‘How can you make light of it, Molly? It is a shock and a shame when a girl isn’t engaged any more. You don’t know what it’s been like round here.’

  ‘You make it sound like I’ve moved to the ends of the earth.’