by Polly Heron
‘I understand, Mrs Rostron. It shan’t happen again.’
Mrs Rostron put the letter to one side. ‘I’ll compose a reply to this and give it to you later for typing.’
Molly returned to her alcove. Gloomy it might be, and stuffy, and cramped, but who cared? Not Molly Watson. She had just made a difference. When she left St Anthony’s and returned to her post at the Board of Health, she would take with her the private satisfaction of having left behind her something that would have a lasting effect on life in the orphanage. Maybe she would have the opportunity to suggest similar arrangements at other orphanages. Maybe she could specialise in working with children. The thought was appealing, reaching deep inside her to a need she hadn’t known she possessed.
Later, on the way back from taking letters to the pillar-box, she couldn’t resist heading for the workshop. The door stood open. She knocked and leaned inside, her toes just touching the threshold.
‘May I come in?’
‘I’ll come out. I could do with a breather. Is there something I can do for you, Miss Watson?’
‘There most certainly is.’ She couldn’t restrain a broad smile. Her whole face seemed to be crinkling with happiness. ‘You can build a bed-frame and a wash-stand…’
She didn’t get any further. He made a move and, for one breathless moment, she thought he was about to scoop her up in his arms and swing her round, but then he stepped away.
‘Congratulations! That’s excellent news. Let me fetch my diary and I’ll see when I can get started.’ He grinned. ‘Don’t worry. I shan’t keep you waiting. This is far too important.’
He went back into his workshop. Molly stood just inside, watching. He picked up a rag to clean his hands, then plucked a tatty book from a shelf, patting the side of his head as he did so.
‘I sometimes keep a pencil behind my ear. Ah, here’s one.’ Picking up a pencil from among the things on a work surface, he clicked it against his teeth as he frowned over the diary. ‘I’ll get the materials tomorrow and come in early the next morning to make a start.’
‘I can’t ask you to do that.’
‘You’re not. I’m offering. I believe in this project of yours. I want to have it up and running as soon as possible.’
This project of yours. The words warmed her through and through. She wanted to clasp her hands together like an excited child.
Her high spirits stayed with her all day, making her feel more a part of the orphanage. Goodness, but she would be sorry to leave when her time was up.
Six o’clock came and she gathered her things to go home. Aaron, as was often the case, was hacking away at the ivy on the wall. By now, he and the children had cleared as far as the wall beside the bit of no-man’s-land between the girls’ and boys’ playgrounds.
Seeing her, he paused, letting the lopping shears hang by his side and mopping his brow with the back of his other hand.
‘Off home?’ he asked.
‘She is indeed.’ And here was Norris coming through the gates. His voice was jolly, but his eyes were sharp, missing nothing. Not that there was anything for him to spot. Molly’s breath hitched as if she had been caught out.
She spoke quickly – too quickly. ‘Norris, what a surprise.’
‘A good one, I hope.’
Unaccountably self-conscious, she felt forced to perform introductions. ‘Norris, this is Mr Abrams, the caretaker of St Anthony’s.’ She turned to Aaron. ‘This is Mr Hartley, my…friend.’
Norris chuckled. ‘More than a friend, I think you’ll find. Much more than a friend.’ He nodded at Aaron. ‘Don’t let us keep you from your work.’
Aaron glanced from Norris to Molly and back again. ‘I won’t.’ With a deft movement, he lifted the shears back into both hands and positioned them ready for the next chop.
Molly tried to catch his eye. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Will do.’ A brief glance her way and then his attention was back on his work.
She walked through the gates, not wanting to leave so abruptly, but it was the only way to be sure Norris couldn’t take her arm. She didn’t want him to take her arm in front of Aaron. Oh, how ridiculous. Her heart clouted the wall of her chest.
‘Have you taken the afternoon off work again, Norris?’
‘Guilty as charged.’ More chuckles. ‘You don’t blame me, do you? You should be flattered. It isn’t every girl who can treat her fiancé the way you’ve treated me and still have him treating her with such devotion.’
‘You’re not my fiancé any more.’
‘Maybe, maybe not. I haven’t given up yet.’ He chuckled. ‘Never let it be said you aren’t being given ample opportunity to change your mind. And there’ll be no hard feelings when you do.’
When. Not if. When.
‘I’m not going to change my mind. I wish you’d accept that, Norris.’
‘Someone got out of the wrong side of the bed this morning. Have you been in a nowty mood all day? That’s not like you, Molly. It’s a good job I know you so well. It’s a good job I know this isn’t the real you.’
She stopped and faced him. ‘Listen carefully, Norris. This is the real me speaking. Our engagement is over and will never be reinstated. Is that clear? I’m sorry to have hurt you, but it’s over.’
His mouth slackened; he shook his head. Swallowed hard. His Adam’s apple jerked above his starched collar.
‘Is there…is there someone else?’
‘What?’ The question caught her by surprise. ‘No, of course not.’
Norris pulled in a deep breath. He nodded slowly. Had he taken her seriously at last?
Molly had to smile at herself as she stood in the room that was now being referred to as the relatives’ room. For all her romantic ideas of supporting those children who had an adult to visit them, the first step couldn’t have been more mundane: the room needed a thorough clean.
Mrs Rostron declared, ‘It’s an opportunity for some of the older girls to use their skills.’
All the girls were taught cleaning as a matter of course, along with basic cooking, so that they would grow up to be competent housewives. They also learned mothercraft, using the babies, tots and smalls for practice. But the cleaning had additional importance, because many of the girls would be put into service when they left the orphanage.
‘This was always the case,’ said Mrs Rostron, ‘but even more so now. There’s a servant shortage these days, thanks to all those girls who went into the munitions. During the war, their ideas changed. Many of them refused to go back into service afterwards – as though it isn’t a respectable job, with prospects too, if you work hard. Anyway, their newly enlightened views,’ and these words were uttered in a wry tone, ‘are a boon to us, because it’s easier for us to place our girls.’
St Anthony’s even had a room, called the parlour, which was set aside specially for this purpose. Never mind cleaning: it could just as easily have been used for history lessons, because entering it was like stepping back in time. The parlour was as crowded as the fussiest, most over-stuffed Victorian sitting room, complete with wax fruit and flowers beneath glass domes, embroidered and tasselled cushions on the buttoned upholstery, and numerous books and knick-knacks displayed on shelves and in cabinets and niches. Dark-leaved plants, a china tea-service, crocheted antimacassars and more brass than you could shake a stick at, all had to be cared for, as well as the polished floorboards, rugs and soft furnishings. Dominating the room was a vast fireplace with three over-mantel shelves covered in ornaments; and the girls cleaned the grate every morning and tended the fire regularly during the day.
‘I’ll ask some of the girls who are most likely to benefit from the relatives’ room,’ said Molly. In quiet moments, she had taken to flicking through the children’s files, identifying those who had relatives who might have the desire and the cost of their fares to come and visit.
‘Firstly,’ said Mrs Rostron, ‘you shan’t ask. You’ll choose. Secondly, it’s immaterial whethe
r a girl might have a relation to visit her. This is a job that needs doing. When our girls leave here and are in employment, or are lucky enough to find husbands, they won’t be able to pick and choose their favourite tasks and ignore what they find hard, inconvenient or unpleasant.’
The girls brushed the floor, walls and corners with a variety of hard- and soft-bristled brushes, then set to with hot water and scrubbing-brushes, the tang of soda crystals lingering in the air to mingle with the diluted vinegar that was used to bring the windows from dull to sparkling.
‘When it’s dried out, I’ll do the whitewashing with a couple of the boy-fourteens,’ said Aaron, as they crossed paths in the playground when Molly was returning from the pillar-box.
‘I’m coming in on Saturday to help the girls make the curtains,’ she said.
‘When you’ve got a few minutes, come to my workshop and I’ll show you the plans for the furniture. You can choose the design you want for the headboard.’
How intriguing. She hadn’t expected any sort of choice to be involved. She would have suggested coming to look now, except that Mrs Rostron had made it clear that preparing the relatives’ room was not to compromise her duties as secretary.
As she went upstairs to return to her alcove, a figure appeared at the top.
‘There you are at last, Miss Watson,’ boomed Mrs Wardle. ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’
‘I wasn’t aware you were coming this morning.’
‘I don’t require an appointment. In my capacity as official visitor, I’m permitted to come and go as I please, which is essential if I am to oversee the day-to-day running of this orphanage.’
‘I wasn’t aware that was within the remit of the official visitor,’ said Molly. ‘I thought of the official visitor as more of a general friend, looking for ways to assist the orphanage and reporting any matters of concern to the Committee. Am I mistaken?’
‘What you are, young lady, is impertinent. You’ve kept me waiting with no word of apology. I hope you won’t make me regret allowing you to have this position in Miss Allan’s absence.’
Heat flushed through Molly’s body, swooping into her muscles. ‘It was Mr Taylor’s decision to send me here.’ It was an effort to keep her voice quiet. Be professional. Don’t let her rile you.
Mrs Wardle remained in position at the head of the stairs, looking down on her. Molly took a few more steps upwards, but halted when Mrs Wardle didn’t budge. That dratted fox-fur slipped on her shoulder, its glassy eyes staring down at Molly.
‘Is there something I can help you with?’ Molly asked, fastening a glacial smile in position.
‘Help? You? After the way you have let me down?’
‘Then if there’s nothing I can do for you, please would you step aside, so I can return to my desk.’
‘Telling me to step aside – the very idea! I haven’t finished with you yet.’
This was ridiculous. Molly tried a different tack. ‘Mrs Wardle, if you’ll just tell me what I’ve done that has upset you, we can discuss it; but I really can’t imagine—’
‘Oh, can’t you? Did I not say that having a room for visiting relations was inappropriate? Did I not make it clear that such a project was emphatically not to go ahead? And yet what do I find? You have gone behind my back and the room is to be established. Such impertinence. Such – such arrogance. Yes, arrogance. For you, an inexperienced miss, to set yourself up as knowing better than I do, with my years of charitable work, is insupportable.’
‘Mrs Rostron doesn’t think so. She agrees with me that it will be of benefit to the orphans.’
Molly made herself take a breath. She mustn’t get into a slanging match with the orphanage’s official visitor. Mrs Wardle was in a position of influence here, not to say power. Mrs Rostron had to work alongside her and would have to do so for a long time after Molly had returned to the Board of Health. She mustn’t put that in jeopardy.
‘Mrs Wardle, perhaps we could find somewhere more comfortable and discuss this—’
‘Don’t imagine you can butter me up.’
‘I didn’t think that for one moment. Allow me to show you the room, so that you can—’
‘I don’t need to see it, thank you. My mind is made up – as yours should have been after I made my position clear to you. How dare you go behind my back? Who gave you the funding, anyway?’
‘A kind benefactor.’
‘A deeply misguided benefactor, you mean. You pulled the wool over his eyes, didn’t you? You should have referred him to me. It was your duty to do so, both as the secretary here and as an employee of the Board of Health under my guidance and jurisdiction.’
Jurisdiction? She had always known Mrs Wardle had an inflated idea of her own importance, but this really took the biscuit. Nevertheless, she remained calm – on the outside, at least. Inside, her heart was pounding. It was galling to try it, but maybe a touch of flattery would do the trick.
‘Mrs Wardle, you of all people have the orphans’ best interests at heart. Won’t you consider the matter from the children’s point of view, and that of their families? Think of poor Mrs Layton, who has lost so much this year – her husband, her home – and now her family has been split apart, and all through no fault of her own. Wouldn’t it be a good thing for her to spend more time with her sons? Just an occasional evening and breakfast?’
Mrs Wardle issued a gruff laugh. On her hat, tiny flowers – it was too gloomy here on the staircase to see precisely what kind they were – shivered.
‘For your information, Miss Watson, Mrs Layton is a feeble creature who is content to sit back and let others do everything for her. I know this because my friend Mrs Hesketh informed me. It was one of her sisters-in-law who arranged for the Layton boys to be taken in by St Anthony’s and her other sister-in-law who found Mrs Layton a position in a neighbour’s house. If Mrs Layton wishes to be worthy of assistance, she should apply herself to improving her moral fibre.’
‘Then what about the Sullivan children? They have a grownup half-brother who comes to visit them once a year. Think what it would mean to them if he could stay overnight.’
‘What, and build up their hopes that he might take them to live with him? You have a strange idea of kindness.’
‘The Cropper family, then.’ Surely there was something she could say that would win round this intractable woman. ‘Mr Angus Cropper is going to have his nephew to live with him when…when the time comes. Living so far afield, he could only visit if he stayed overnight. It would provide the chance for—’
‘Don’t tell me: for Daniel Cropper and his uncle to begin to forge an unbreakable bond.’
‘I hope so,’ Molly said stoutly.
‘Daniel Cropper is an undeserving nuisance and if the uncle had anything about him, he would have taken steps to override Mrs Rostron’s decision to keep the boy here.’
That was it. Molly had had enough. She was tired of being looked down on by this disagreeable woman. How dare she call herself charitable? How dare she claim to have at heart the best interests of those poor and disadvantaged folk who relied on her and her kind to give them a leg up?
She stood tall, thrusting back her shoulders so that, even though she was obliged to look up at Mrs Wardle, her stance was one of resolve and independence.
‘Excuse me, Mrs Wardle. I have matters to attend to.’
‘You are not excused. I haven’t finished yet.’ Mrs Wardle seemed to swell, as if barricading the top of the stairs.
Molly smiled at her, then turned and ran lightly down a few steps, before pausing to look back.
‘One last thing, Mrs Wardle. The Cropper lad’s name isn’t Daniel.’
‘What?’
‘He’s called Danny. I thought you’d like to know.’
This time next week, school would be over. This time next week, he would be out of Shirl’s grasp. All summer he would be free and, come September, he would start at St Clement’s and never see ruddy Shirl again. And if Shirl made him do a
delivery or two before the end of term, so what? He could manage that. He would keep his trap shut an’ all; he wouldn’t tell Shirl he was going to school in Chorlton in the new school year. Let Shirl hang about waiting for him as much as he liked. He would never find him, would never think of walking down to Chorlton. Even if he did think of it, why would he? Surely Jemima wasn’t worth that much bother.
The gloom that had weighed him down in recent weeks had lifted a little and Jacob dared to look ahead, not just to the summer holidays, not just to being freed from his tie to Shirl, but to being able to settle properly into his new life. He wanted normality. He wanted what Mikey had. Mikey worked hard without being a swot and he had a half-time job. Jacob fancied one of those. He had never even considered such a thing when he was with Thad, but now he liked the idea.
He and Mikey both had July birthdays, but both right at the end of the month after the holiday started, so they had never had the birthday slipper at school. Mikey was going to be thirteen and Jacob was going to be twelve. Twelve was the age when you could go half-time at school if you could find an employer to take you on in the afternoons. Imagine! In September, he might not only go to a new school but also to a job, if he could find one and if Mrs Rostron gave her permission. Their sister Belinda had helped Mikey get his job. Would she help him too?
Looking forward to something instead of existing in a fog of dread made him almost giddy at times and he had been ticked off once or twice at the orphanage for larking around, but he couldn’t help it. The relief was almost more than he could comprehend.
But the relief turned tail and dashed back into its den pretty sharpish when Shirl appeared on the way home from school. All it took was one glimpse of Shirl’s swagger, one eyeful of those blackheads and yellow-headed spots, and all Jacob’s fears storming came back to churn his stomach and turn his brain to mush.
Shirl clapped him on the shoulder so hard he staggered. ‘Good to see you, pipsqueak. Ready to do a job for me, are you?’
