Tomorrow, Jerusalem

by Tomorrow, Jerusalem (retail) (epub)

  Charlotte jumped to her feet. She could feel the burning rise of humiliating tears behind her eyes, knew surely that the other girl sensed it. ‘Don’t be impertinent!’

  ‘I’m not bein’ impertinent. I’m tellin’ you—’

  ‘And that, I think, is quite enough.’ The quiet voice stopped them both in their tracks. ‘Kate, I think you’ll agree you’ve gone too far. You have until this evening to pack your bags. I will, of course, make up your wages and I can give you at least a fair reference. See me in the surgery at five.’

  Kate stared at the figure that loomed in the doorway. ‘Doctor Ben! Oh, no – that isn’t fair!’

  He regarded her levelly. ‘On the contrary. I think it very fair indeed. Give me credit for some sense, Kate. I’m neither blind nor deaf. You’re lucky to get a reference and I think you know it.’

  It was total defeat. Kate scowled first at Ben, then at Charlotte, and slammed from the room.

  Charlotte sank back into her seat, biting her lip. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have let it go so far.’ His voice was cool. ‘You let her get away with too much.’

  ‘Yes, I know. I couldn’t seem to help it.’

  He looked at her for a long moment in silence then turned to the door.

  ‘Ben!’

  The sharp word stopped him. He waited.

  She was turning the letter over and over in her hands. She had not had time to think about it – knew instinctively that if she had she would never have found the courage to ask what she was about to ask. ‘This – this letter – it’s from Aunt Alice.’ She glanced at him. His face was politely puzzled.

  ‘You know – my father’s sister. She married a friend of your father’s ­– Anselm van Damme – they live in Belgium. In Bruges.’

  ‘Ah. Yes, of course.’

  ‘Ben – she’s invited me to visit her. Just for a couple of weeks ­– well,’ she blushed a little, ‘both of us actually – you and me – but you wouldn’t want to go, would you? You couldn’t leave your work. But oh Ben, please! May I go? I do so want to. I’ve been – I’ve been so very wretched lately—’ again the helpless, infuriating rise of tears. She ducked her head, the strong, black writing on the envelope blurred.

  The silence this time was a long one. She felt him move from the door and sit down at the table opposite her. He held out his hand. ‘May I see the letter?’

  Her hesitation was telling. Her aunt was an articulate and efficient woman; she had answered or commented upon Charlotte’s outpourings meticulously and with care, obviously sensing the need. With obvious reluctance Charlotte handed over the letter. As Ben read it she watched him, tensed as an overwound spring.

  Ben took a long time. Then he raised his eyes to hers. ‘I see,’ he said quietly.

  She flushed but did not drop her gaze. ‘Ben, please,’ she said again, desperation giving her courage. Her aunt’s kindly suggestion had come like a ray of light into a darkened room. To get away from here, to see new places, meet new people, and above all to be with a woman of sense and sympathy who might be able to help, to advise, to console – the idea had taken hold of the motherless Charlotte and would not relinquish its grip.

  ‘You couldn’t possibly go alone. And what of the child?’ The words were in no way forbidding. Charlotte’s heart lifted.

  ‘Well of course I’d take Rachel with me. But Nurse Winterbottom could come. There’d be no difficulty in that.’

  He sucked his lip doubtfully.

  ‘You or Ralph could see me to Harwich,’ she rushed on, ‘and Aunt Alice says that Cousin Philippe will meet me at the other side. Bruges is only a very little way from the coast. Oh, Ben, please do say yes. I do so want to go.’

  He looked at the letter again. Far from insensitive, he was well able to read between the lines. He lifted his eyes to Charlotte’s eager face. He had not seen her so animated in months. Not since the birth of the child. ‘Very well,’ he said decisively, and tried unsuccessfully to suppress a lift of his own spirits at the thought of being free, for however short a time, from the look in those pale, somehow accusing eyes, the petulant voice, the trying, childish behaviour. ‘I don’t see why not. If as you say I escort you to Harwich and your cousin meets you from the ship I don’t suppose the journey will be too arduous—’

  She could not believe it. ‘You mean – I can go?’

  ‘Of course.’ He stood, folded the letter, handed it back to her. ‘It will do you good.’

  It would, he thought with relief, do them both good.

  Chapter Eight

  I

  When Hannah and Sally emerged from their second incarceration in Holloway, tired and pale but triumphantly pleased with themselves and their fellow suffragette prisoners, who between them and under the most adverse of circumstances had managed to defy the system and produce a sense of solidarity and camaraderie that might have shamed the Scots Guards, it was to find the adult complement of the Bear unexpectedly depleted, a circumstance of which the younger members of the small community were taking full and understandable advantage. Kate had left, fiercely and resentfully silent, leaving poor Bron to cope almost single-handedly with the marauding urchins when they were not directly under Ralph’s indulgent eye. The Welsh girl was almost tearfully glad to see Sally.

  ‘Oh, terrible it’s been without you! Young Annie almost bit the finger off little Betty – and your Toby’s been runnin’ that wild – winds them up, he does, like little clockwork toys, then sits back an’ watches the devilment.’

  Sally, sighing in relief to be stretched out upon her own bed at last, reflected in passing that Bron was perhaps more astute than most would give credit for. ‘So where is everyone?’

  ‘Well! Such upheaval there’s bin!’ Bron settled herself comfortably on her chair for a little earnest gossiping. ‘Kate was sacked, she was! By Doctor Ben, of all people. Bye – I thought she’d explode with rage, mind! No—’ she added at the climbing of Sally’s brows, ‘—no, I don’t know what happened exactly. Kate wasn’t saying, an’ I wasn’t pushing her, mind. An’ now Doctor Ben’s gone off to put Miss Charlotte on a boat.’

  ‘A boat?’ Sally looked blank.

  ‘To Belgium, see?’

  ‘Belgium?’

  In full flow Bron hardly even stopped for breath. ‘Yes, Belgium. Somewhere near France it is, I think. She had a letter, see? Seems she’s got an aunt out there an’ she asked her to visit. Well – off she was like a shot from a gun, I don’t mind telling you. Taken the baby and that Nurse Winterbottom with her. An’ what with you an’ Miss Hannah being—’ the torrent of words faltered delicately, ‘—away, like – well, it’s bin a madhouse here, I don’t mind tellin’ you!’

  Bron’s overly excitably Celtic nature had in fact this time, as Sally very quickly discovered, led her to exaggerate less than might have been imagined. The children, sensing the lack of a firm hand, were indeed in that excitable and anarchic state that invariably leads to trouble, and their leader, inevitably and as Bron had guessed, was the graceless and subversive Toby, who perfectly obviously had not enjoyed himself so much for years. On her first night back Sally broke up two far from friendly dormitory pillow fights and intercepted a raiding party on its way to the kitchen.

  ‘Hey, you!’ She caught with ungentle fingers a tangle of fair curls. ‘I want a word. The rest of you – hop it, and quick. Back to bed. Another word ­– another deep breath! ­– an’ you’ll have me to answer to. Now scarper!’

  Back in her room she faced him, sighing. The beguiling blue eyes were innocent as ever and clear as summer skies. ‘Tobe – for heaven’s sake! I’m tired! I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in a fortnight! I can do without you leadin’ a bloody revolution around here!’

  ‘I’m not,’ he assured her with ready earnestness, and then in the same breath, eagerly, ‘what was it like in Holloway?’

  ‘Tough. And you are. You think I don’t see your sticky little fingers in what’s going on around here?
’

  He shrugged a little, tried tentatively his sweetest smile.

  ‘Less of that. Answer me.’

  He fiddled with the fringe of the counterpane.

  She reached for him, drew him forward until he stood at her knees. With their eyes on a level she took his shoulders in firm hands, forcing him to look at her. ‘Toby Jug, listen.’ she said, her eyes intent upon his. ‘This was your idea, remember? You wanted to stay. Well—’ she hesitated for a moment, ‘well – you were right. We’re both better off here. And we’d both bloody miss it if we lost it. But Tobe – you can’t have your cake and eat it too. You’ve got to learn to behave. Is Mr Ralph still talking about that scholarship?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Well – think on this. If you’re going to some posh school you’re going to have a pretty rough time of it if you don’t know how to behave, if you can’t tell the difference between fun and real mischief, if you get yourself a reputation as a trouble-maker. You got no rich dad to back you, remember. You’ll be out on your ear and with no feather bed to land on.’

  He watched her in a silence she deliberately lengthened. Then she smiled.

  ‘All right – I know a lad needs a bit of spirit, and you’ve certainly got that.’ The look that flashed between them contained all of the old affectionate conspiracy, but Sally’s strong fingers had not relaxed their grip. ‘But you’re going to need something besides. You’re clever, and you’re a lot tougher than you look. But that won’t be enough in a fancy school where the other kids have got what you’ve never had. Money. Manners.’ He was looking at her now with sudden rapt interest. She made a fist and, grinning, grazed it against his smooth jaw, ‘Sense.’

  He smiled a little too, but his eyes were attentive.

  ‘Now’s the time to learn. Don’t fight us – join us. You can handle those kids better than anyone. Keep them in order – oh, I don’t mean never a laugh, never a bit of mischief – but know when to stop. It might be fun to wreck things, Tobe, but believe me you’ve got to learn that it’s a bloody sight harder to put things back together than it is to take them apart.’ She waited then, her narrowed eyes studying his face, and was rewarded after a moment by a brilliant, unflawed smile of understanding.

  ‘Right?’ she asked.

  ‘Right,’ he said.

  By the time Ben arrived back from seeing Charlotte safely on her way, the home was once again running like clockwork.

  ‘It’s young Sally Smith,’ his father tamped down a pipeful of tobacco, took a long and leisurely moment to light it. ‘She’s magic with those youngsters. Straightened them out in twenty-four hours. You did a good day’s work the day you found her.’

  ‘Uncle Will’s right.’ Ralph, sitting on the opposite side of the fireplace, looked up from his book, peering shortsightedly over the wire rims of his glasses. ‘Since she’s been back we haven’t had half the trouble. Mind you, we’re still very short-handed. We’ll have to take on at least another girl to replace Kate. We’ve more children, and less people. Hannah’s more and more involved with her suffragette work, as well as the health visiting and the baby clinic. Charlotte – well, Charlotte’s never been terribly interested, has she? I’m on hand some of the time, of course – but I have the school too – they need more than that. A matron, perhaps? Someone to take on the day-to-day running of the place, to be there for the children if she’s needed. It really is all getting terribly disorganized.’

  Ben shook his head. ‘We can’t afford a trained matron.’

  Will puffed his pipe thoughtfully.

  ‘Well, we’re going to have to do something,’ Ralph persisted. ‘We can’t take the children off the streets and then let them run wild here – it simply doesn’t work. We need someone in charge who can control the kids, look after them, gain their trust.’

  ‘Weren’t we just telling Ben’, Will said tranquilly between puffs, ‘what a find he’d made in Sally Smith?’

  The other two looked at him. ‘Sally?’ Ben asked doubtfully. ‘But Pa – she has no training – no experience.’

  Will raised mild eyebrows. ‘Oh? I’d have said experience is just what she has had. She knows those children – who better? They trust her. She’s one of them. That’s why she can handle them so well. Damn’ sight better than some prissy Miss with a diploma, I’d have thought.’ The pipe went back between his teeth and he settled deeper into the armchair.

  ‘Sally,’ Ben said again. And then after a long and thoughtful moment, ‘Do you really think she could do it?’

  His father surveyed the battered pipe, tapped it, lifted shrewd, twinkling eyes. ‘Only one way to find out.’

  * * *

  ‘What do you mean, “in charge”?’ Sally asked warily.

  ‘Just that. A kind of – house mother. Running the place – well like a proper home. Making sure the youngsters behave, making sure they’re happy. Keeping them occupied and out of mischief, watching their progress. Liaising with Ralph, of course, and with me. Ralph and Hannah both think it a splendid idea.’

  She cocked a narrow, repressive eye.

  Realizing what he had said, Ben grinned, a sudden boyish smile that took years from him, ‘And so do I.’

  She shook her head, thoughtfully, determinedly tamping down a rising excitement. ‘I don’t know ­­­­– Bron’s been here longer than I have.’

  ‘Hannah’s spoken to Bron. She doesn’t mind a bit. She thinks it’s a good idea. She’d throw a fit if we asked her to take it on. No, Bron’s very happy as she is, so long as we get another couple of girls in to help, which of course we will. Please – will you give it a try? With Hannah so busy and Ralph involved in the Schools’ Committee with me we desperately need help here. It’s very important to all of us.’

  Sally would not allow her pleasure to show in eye or voice. She shrugged. ‘All right, then. If you really mean it. I’ll give it a go,’ and then spoiled the effect entirely by answering his smile with a wide grin of her own that lit her face like sunshine.

  * * *

  Nothing had ever given her so much pleasure; so much satisfaction. Within a month, with the verve and enthusiasm of any convert she had immersed herself in the reorganization of the children’s home. She pestered Ralph, she pestered Hannah, she pestered anyone who would listen, who would advise, who would discuss the changes she wanted to make. At first, lacking in confidence, she always took the smallest innovation to one of the family before she implemented it. She split the children into small groups of a similar age, each group with its own timetable and its own tasks. She organized rotas, encouraging the children themselves to participate in the day-to-day running of their home – a venture in which Toby was her willing lieutenant. She reorganized the dormitories to give each child more privacy, a small patch to call his own upon which no one trespassed except at invitation. The younger children and those not yet skilled enough to go to school she supervised in the tasks that Ralph set them, and each afternoon there was a story session in the schoolroom to which all were invited, and to which most came. Most importantly she got to know each child individually, gaining their confidence, guarding the weak where she could and curbing the strong; no hand was heavier than hers on a bully’s shoulder. Two new girls were hired to help – Maude, a fifteen-year-old orphan from Bow with a quick tongue and an unruly mass of black curls who could hold her own with the most intransigent of the children, and Betsy, a little mouse of a thing whose origins were uncertain and who within a week had become Toby’s willing slave, thus unknowingly assuring herself of a privileged place in the children’s hierarchy. As the autumn moved into what promised to be an especially miserable winter even Sally’s suffragette activities came second to her new responsibilities. She was up at dawn and the last in bed at night; and often even then as much time would be spent worrying away like a terrier at a problem as sleeping. Her confidence grew. Gradually she came to rely less on the advice and opinions of others.

  ‘Well, well.’ Ben Patten, after one of his rou
tine health inspections of the children, one November day paid a visit to the cubbyhole Sally had requisitioned as an office, ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘I’m enjoying it.’

  ‘You’re doing a very good job indeed. I’ve never seen everything so shipshape.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Sally nodded to the teapot that stood on a side table. ‘Cup of tea? It’s a bit stewed, but drinkable.’

  He nodded. ‘Please.’

  She eyed him as she poured. There could be no doubt about it – something had changed Ben Patten in the past month. His step was lighter, his smile more ready, the straight mouth in repose did not look so grim. ‘Well, don’t be daft!’ Bron had said a few days before when she had mentioned it, ‘Of course he’s different! Miss Charlotte’s away, isn’t she, then?’

  ‘Bron!’

  ‘Well, everyone knows it, don’t they? Not made in heaven, that one, as it’s turned out – mind, not many are that I can see. All I hope is it lasts after she comes back – why I went down to the schoolroom the other day and there he was on the floor with the children all over him! Having the time of their lives they all were!’

  She handed him his cup. It always astounded her that he never by so much as a word or a glance gave the slightest indication that he remembered – as he so surely must remember – the circumstances of their first meeting. And, oddly, as time slipped by even for her the memory was dimming. She sometimes found it difficult to believe that the Sally Smith who could sit here sipping tea with Doctor Ben Patten could possibly be the same fierce and ragged girl who had defied Jackie Pilgrim and so nearly died for it.

  ‘Penny for them?’

  She laughed, faintly embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry. I was daydreaming.’

  ‘Never a bad thing. The odd daydream doesn’t do any of us any harm.’

  Did she detect a certain rue in his voice? She watched him over the rim of her cup. He was an interesting man, this doctor with the prizefighter’s jaw and hands that she knew could be gentle as a woman’s; a man of contrasts, paradoxes even. Harsh, self-centred she suspected, often too certain of himself and his opinions, yet she had seen him intuitively gentle with a sick child, knew from experience how deeply – sometimes uncomfortably – perceptive he could be. And the humour that lurked so often in those dark eyes seemed as natural to him as the fierce temper and perilous moods that impatience could prompt. A complex and intriguing man at best, provoking and difficult at worst; and the man that pretty, silly Charlotte Bedford had married, to save herself from disgrace.