The Surplus Girls' Orphans

by Polly Heron

  ‘And I’m still here, still using the local shops, being asked how you are and have you seen sense yet and what are the chances of you meeting another man at your age?’

  ‘There isn’t another man!’

  Mum’s gaze homed in on her. ‘That sounded a bit like protesting too much.’

  ‘No it didn’t.’ Molly picked up her tea, practically sticking her nose into it. ‘Why is everybody so keen to marry me off?’

  ‘It’s what everyone wants that cares about you.’ Mum opened the cake-tin, releasing the delicious spicy-sweet aroma of cinnamon. ‘I want all my children to get married. I love to see Tilda and Chrissie with their families and I want the same for you and Tom. Even if you do meet someone else eventually,’ she added in response to Molly’s glare, ‘you’ll likely be too old to have children. You’re twenty-seven.’

  ‘Thanks for reminding me.’

  ‘I’m serious, love. Carry on the way you are and the only way you’ll become a mother is by marrying a widower who needs a new mum for his kids.’

  Was that true? She wanted children, she really did. Was Norris and his parsimony a price worth paying to become a mother?

  No.

  Or would she one day look back and wish?

  ‘I didn’t come to talk about my failure in the marriage stakes.’

  ‘When we’ve finished our tea, I’ll show you the dress I’m making for Lottie. Such a pretty print, and it’ll wear nicely for a good few years.’

  It would need to, as it would be passed from one girl to the next, not just in Chrissie’s family but in Tilda’s too, until it ended up in the patchwork box. Oh, the joys of hand-medowns. Molly remembered only too clearly Chrissie insisting on a pink fabric that Molly knew would look hideous with her own strawberry-blonde hair when her time came. Lucky Lottie, being the oldest in her generation.

  At half-twelve, Molly set off to intercept Dad on his way to the chippy, so he would get a portion for her as well. They returned home to find the table set with salt and vinegar and a plate heaped with bread and butter, and Tom coming downstairs, having washed off the grime of a morning spent on the building site.

  ‘This is like old times,’ said Dad, taking his place while Mum and Molly unwrapped the layers of newspaper and the mouth-watering aroma filled the air. ‘It’s good to have you home, Molly. Are you stopping for the afternoon?’

  ‘No, I have to get over to Seymour Grove.’

  ‘Oh aye, the hotel. I was forgetting.’

  ‘I don’t like this business of you doing a second job,’ said Mum. ‘Isn’t it enough that you work Monday to Friday?’

  ‘Most of the business school pupils work on Saturday mornings as well, then have to set off for their Saturday afternoon placements. When I’m back at the Board of Health, it’s what I’ll be doing. It’s a luxury working just weekdays at St Anthony’s. No other member of staff has it so cushy.’

  Tom walked her to the bus stop.

  ‘Doing well, Molly? No regrets?’

  ‘Don’t you start.’

  ‘I’m not trying to steer you back to Norris. I only want to make sure you’re all right.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I should know you better than that.’

  ‘No regrets, then?’

  ‘None. Well – I do wonder what the future holds and I’d be very sorry if I ended up not having a family of my own, but—’

  ‘But not with Norris? Fair enough. You ought to make it clear to him, though.’

  Molly looked at him in surprise. ‘I already have. Believe me, when I told him, I left no room for doubt.’

  ‘He’s telling folk he’s going to win you back.’

  Her groan came all the way up from her toes. ‘Who has he told?’

  ‘Dora, for one. Gran, for another.’

  ‘And I bet they encouraged him.’ Her throat tightened in frustration.

  ‘Do you want me to have a word with him?’

  ‘Thanks, but there’s no need.’

  Drat Norris. How could he put her in this position? But then, she had put him in a crummy position by ending their engagement.

  At the hotel, her first duty was to help the housekeeper check a consignment of linen that had come back from the laundry. Molly wasn’t convinced that counting pillow-cases could be called office work, but she didn’t object. Then she returned to the office, which, for once, was empty.

  The door flew open and Mr Dallimore, the chief receptionist, appeared. ‘Can you prepare Mr Hodge’s bill, please? Room twenty. He’s leaving early.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ but she was talking to thin air.

  Fortunately, she knew what to do. Sliding two blank bills with carbon paper in between into the typewriter, she found the records of when the Hodges had arrived and which meals they had taken in the hotel, double-checking her maths before twisting the knob on the side of the machine to wind the bill around the drum and into her hand. Folding the top copy, she took it through to the reception area, where Mr Dallimore was in conversation with a smartly dressed couple the same sort of age as Mum and Dad. Well, he wasn’t talking to the couple, exactly, just with the lady while the gentleman stood there, nostrils flaring impatiently.

  ‘I’m sorry we have to depart sooner than expected,’ Mrs Hodge was saying. ‘My husband’s business, you know.’

  ‘Flora,’ murmured Mr Hodge warningly, as if she were about to divulge deadly secrets.

  ‘I hope you found everything to your satisfaction,’ said Mr Dallimore. ‘Ah, here is your bill, sir.’

  Mr Hodge examined it so closely that Molly felt impelled to remain in case he had a query.

  Mrs Hodge prattled on. ‘If our son-in-law were as successful in business as my husband, he would be able to afford to rent a larger house and we could stay with them. Not that we aren’t comfortable here, but it would be so convenient.’ She heaved a misty-eyed sigh. ‘I should so love to stay with Alicia. That would make our visits to Manchester perfect.’

  Yes! There it was in Molly’s head, a wonderful new idea. Thank you, Mrs Hodge. It would indeed be perfect, if she could bring it into being.

  Molly mulled it over all through the Sunday sermon. The more thought she gave it, the better it seemed. She couldn’t wait for Monday, so she could propose her idea to Mrs Rostron.

  On Monday, she excused herself from morning milk and took Eva, who was on housework duty, to one side to explain what she needed. Eva led her upstairs to where the children slept. The boys’ and girls’ dormitories were in different parts of the building, each reached by its own stairs. The wooden hill, as it was called, led to the girls’ dormitories and the soldiers’ trail to the boys’. On a separate landing in between were the bedrooms used by the night staff; and tucked away, down half a dozen shallow steps and round a sharp corner, was a small, empty room that might have been intended as a box-room, except that its position was so inconvenient that it wasn’t used for anything other than gathering dust.

  ‘I don’t know if this is what you’re after,’ said Eva, ‘but I can’t think of anywhere else.’

  ‘It’s perfect,’ Molly exclaimed.

  ‘If you say so, miss.’

  Now all she had to do was wait for Mrs Rostron to return from a meeting with the superintendents of other orphanages and officials from the Board of Health. Molly had briefly felt miffed when Mrs Rostron didn’t invite her along. After all, she worked for the Board of Health – except that she didn’t, did she, not at the moment.

  When Mrs Rostron returned, she stopped typing to look up with a smile.

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

  ‘That would be most welcome. A pot would be more welcome still.’

  Molly slipped downstairs to organise it. She would gladly have carried the tray upstairs, but Mrs Wilkes wouldn’t hear of it. No one would have dreamed of asking Miss Allan to do such a thing and that meant Molly mustn’t do it either.

  Mrs Wilkes rang a bell. Eva appeared and was given the tray. Feeling vaguely guilty, Molly made
sure she got upstairs first so she could open the office door.

  When Eva left, Molly lingered.

  ‘May I speak to you when it’s convenient? I have an idea.’

  ‘This afternoon, after the smalls have been checked by the nit nurse.’

  Molly smothered a sigh. Evidently an expression of interest in hearing her idea was too much to hope for, though that probably said more about her own excitement than it did about Mrs Rostron’s personality. Since the superintendent had set her straight about the Layton and Cropper boys, Molly had started to see her in a new light, admiring her for knowing the children inside out; and if she was inclined to be short with people, maybe that was plain tiredness, since she often worked long into the evening even when it wasn’t her turn to do night duty.

  When the time came to present her idea, Molly felt more than ready as she took a seat in front of Mrs Rostron’s desk.

  ‘There’s a small room upstairs that’s standing empty. I wondered – that is, I suggest turning it into a bedroom so that a parent or other adult relative of one of the children could stay overnight.’

  Mrs Rostron’s expression didn’t give away anything. ‘Go on.’

  ‘For instance: Mrs Layton. I asked Michael about her work hours. He says that after tea on Saturday, her next duty is to prepare Sunday lunch; so once in a while she could come here on a Saturday evening and be with her boys, stay overnight and see them again at breakfast. Daniel Cropper’s uncle could come, perhaps for more than one night; and there are other children with family, including some of the orphans.’

  ‘What of the orphans with no living relatives? What of the children who do have relatives, but the relatives don’t want to know?’

  ‘Is that a reason to deprive the other children? Surely it would be good for all the children, whatever their circumstances, to see family affection. Yes, it might sadden some of them, but it will also set them a good example of the kind of loving support they can give to their own children when they grow up.’

  Mrs Rostron’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. ‘I’ll consider it – if you can tell me how it is to be paid for.’

  ‘I wondered if Mr Abrams would construct a bed-frame, a wash-stand and so forth. That would save money.’

  ‘Save money? What money? I hope you don’t imagine the materials could be paid for from the orphanage budget.’ Mrs Rostron smiled, then glanced at the papers on her desk: the interview was clearly coming to an end. ‘Come and see me again when you have found the money – if you find it.’

  The words didn’t seem like a ringing vote of confidence, but Molly refused to be put off, especially when she remembered Mrs Rostron’s smile. Had that been intended to encourage her? Or possibly challenge her? If so, it was a challenge Molly had every intention of rising to.

  She discussed her idea that evening with Vivienne.

  ‘It pains me to say it,’ said Vivienne, ‘but you might try Mrs Wardle. She has her fingers in any number of charitable pies.’

  Molly pretended to flinch. ‘It’s funny how something can be a good idea and a bad idea at the same time.’

  The next morning, she went in search of Aaron to share her plan. Having failed to think through the money side of her project before speaking to Mrs Rostron, she wasn’t going to make the same mistake with Mrs Wardle. Dad would have her guts for garters if he knew she hadn’t costed the work in advance.

  Aaron was up a ladder, sanding down a window-frame. The pane glistened in the morning sun. There was a refreshing edge to the air today and the playground, instead of being heavy with the smell of hot tarmac, rang instead with the aroma of trees in full leaf.

  Not wanting to disturb him, Molly was about to walk away when Aaron took off his cap and rolled it up, but when he pushed it into his pocket, he missed and the cap tumbled to the ground. Rescuing it, Molly looked up and met his eyes. Would he stay put up the ladder? They hadn’t parted on the best of terms last time.

  He came down. Molly pressed her lips together to keep herself from smiling.

  ‘Yours, I believe.’ She offered him the cap.

  ‘Thanks.’ He smiled. ‘You could have made more of an effort to catch it before it hit the ground.’

  That broke through her restraint and she laughed. What was it about them that made them get along with one another? Was he aware of it too? It felt so easy. Natural. Comfortable, but with a blade-sharp edge of excitement.

  Aaron said, ‘I’m pleased to see you.’ He was? Her heart leaped. ‘I ought to apologise.’ Oh. Was that all? ‘Last time we spoke, I overstepped the mark. I stand by what I said about Danny Cropper, but I apologise for the way I said it.’

  ‘I’m sorry about the disagreement as well,’ said Molly, ‘the difference being that I don’t stand by what I said. I’ve found out more about his circumstances since then and I was wrong before.’

  ‘Good of you to say so.’ Was that admiration in his eyes? ‘Does something need mending?’

  ‘Beg pardon?’

  ‘Were you looking for me?’

  ‘Or was I just passing by when I rugby-tackled your cap? I was looking for you, actually. When you’ve got a few minutes, I’d like to ask for your help with something.’

  ‘Let me finish this and I’ll come and find you. Shall you be at your desk?’

  In the event she was at morning milk. Aaron came and sat on the floor with the smalls, who giggled and squirmed in delight.

  ‘You mustn’t sit there, Mr Abrams,’ Carmel cried.

  ‘I can and I am.’ Over the children’s heads, he said quietly, ‘I don’t want them growing up feeling scared of me, me being the only man about the place. But if I sit here,’ he added in a louder voice, gathering the children’s attention, ‘shows I’m one of them, because only smalls are allowed to sit on the floor at milk time.’

  ‘You’re not a small,’ said Johnson Four. ‘You’re a big.’

  ‘Only on the outside,’ said Aaron. ‘Inside, I’m very small.’

  ‘Inside, are you teeny-tiny?’ asked Jessica.

  ‘Inside, I’m so teeny, you can hardly see me. That’s why I have to be big on the outside.’

  ‘You’ll have to sit on a chair, if you want a cup of tea,’ said Philomena. ‘Nanny Duffy is on the war-path this morning and she won’t be amused if I serve you tea on the floor.’

  Aaron pulled a face for the children’s benefit. ‘Looks like I have to pretend to be big.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Jessica consoled him. ‘We know you’re teeny-tiny.’

  ‘That makes me feel a lot better.’

  After milk, Aaron accompanied Molly from the dining room.

  ‘What did you want help with?’

  ‘First, I need to show you something. This way.’

  She led him up the wooden hill to the unused room, where she explained her idea.

  The warmth of his smile took her by surprise. She felt fluttery inside and had to remind herself that his approval was for her idea, not for her personally.

  ‘If I can raise the funds,’ she said, ‘would you build the furniture?’

  He looked round. ‘It’ll be cramped. The bed has to go along here and I can squeeze in a little wash-stand at the foot.’

  ‘And shelves and pegs on the walls,’ Molly added.

  ‘I’ll work out the cost, including for whitewashing.’

  ‘And I’ll find out what the bedding will cost, and fabric for curtains.’

  Going downstairs one flight, she peeled off to wend her way through the twisty-turny passages to her alcove, leaving Aaron to head straight down. How good it felt to have him on her side. Would there be the opportunity for them to work together properly on this – or, having heard her plan, would he simply get on with it with no further reference to her, if and when she secured the sponsorship?

  Mrs Wardle came to St Anthony’s the next day. ‘Good morning, Miss Watson. Mrs Atwood tells me you have a plan that may be of interest to me.’

  ‘If you give me a minute to ask Mrs
Rostron if I may leave my desk, we can go downstairs and talk about it.’

  ‘Aren’t we going to discuss it with Mrs Rostron?’

  ‘I’ve already done that and received her consent.’

  ‘You should have approached me first and asked me to speak to Mrs Rostron on your behalf, assuming I approve of your scheme, that is.’

  Did this impossible woman think Molly couldn’t manage without her?

  Soon they were seated in a corner of the empty staff dining room. Mrs Wardle looked round with pursed lips. Clearly, only Mrs Rostron’s office was good enough for her.

  Molly explained her idea.

  ‘And you wish me to find the funds to pay for this?’

  ‘Yes, please. Here are the costings.’

  Mrs Wardle didn’t even look. ‘You may put your figures away, Miss Watson. This is an orphanage, not a hotel. The very idea!’

  And that was that. Molly duly reported back to Mrs Rostron.

  ‘If Mrs Wardle says no,’ said the superintendent, ‘you have little chance of success. A venture such as this will be of interest only on a local level.’

  Molly didn’t feel ready to give up, though just then she didn’t see what her next step could be, especially if Mrs Rostron didn’t see fit to supply any ideas. Or was Mrs Rostron testing her?

  At home that evening, after lessons finished, she shared her disappointment.

  ‘I’m sorry to sound like a wet blanket, but it’s such a letdown. Do any of you have any idea whom I might approach?’

  ‘Perhaps the local churches,’ Miss Patience suggested, ‘although they already have such commitments.’

  ‘I’ll ask at the office tomorrow,’ Vivienne offered, ‘in Mrs Wardle’s absence, of course.’

  ‘No need for any of that,’ said Miss Hesketh, causing them all to look at her. ‘Leave it to me.’

  Chapter Twenty

  JACOB’S BODY STILL felt all screwed up inside with disappointment. He had pinned his hopes on the new lady, Miss Watson. He had judged her to be a soft touch and he had been right. With his sad tale of missing his mum, he had got round her straight away. It had troubled him to use his need for his mum in that way, but what choice had he had? But his ploy hadn’t worked. He wanted to hate Miss Watson for letting him down, but some deeper instinct told him she would have done her best. Then again, what use was her best if it hadn’t got him what he wanted?