by Daisy Styles
Percival was so shocked he couldn’t speak. ‘You mean defrock a priest?’
‘Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. I’m quite sure I could get one, or possibly two, of the more unscrupulous girls in the Home to speak out against the priest, accuse him of accosting them, touching them and making inappropriate suggestions,’ she explained.
Percival couldn’t believe he was hearing right; was this woman ruthless enough to lie about an utterly innocent priest who, even he knew, had never put a foot wrong?
Clearly without a trace of guilt, Matron breezed on. ‘You see, I’ve checked the official paperwork, which categorically states that, if the person responsible for setting up the adoptions – in this case Father Benedict – should fall ill, an immediate substitution must be nominated. Obviously, we need to make sure that substitution is you, and then you can do what you please,’ she smirked.
Following her wicked drift, Percival started to relax. ‘Well, after all, I am chairman of the Board of Governors – it would be perfectly right and proper that, after the priest has been, er, disposed of, I would step up to the plate and volunteer to help out with the business of adoptions – on a temporary basis, of course,’ he added with a sly smile.
‘There could be no better or well-informed person to step into Father Benedict’s rather shabby shoes than you, dear Percival,’ Matron agreed. ‘We’d become responsible for all the adoptions once you were in charge,’ she added confidently.
Percival paled. ‘ALL?’ he spluttered. ‘I had hoped we’d be handling only our “special babies”.’
With serene confidence Matron sailed on, ‘Trust me, we’ll be going to no such lengths as Father Ben does.’ She rolled her eyes in amusement. ‘He makes such a huge palaver about placing children with the right parents – a match, he calls it. We won’t be wasting our time on that amount of detail, will we?’
‘Certainly not!’ Percival replied in all honesty.
‘We can offload our poorer babies to any Tom, Dick or Harry,’ Matron said with a dismissive gesture.
‘Absolutely!’ he cried. ‘We need to be sure we save our time and efforts exclusively for our special babies.’ He smiled as he tenderly said the words. ‘Those we’ll take care of ourselves.’
‘With the priest out of the way we can do what we want,’ Matron announced. ‘Oh, and one other thing, Archie: it’s vital we set up a joint bank account as soon as possible.’
Swiftly attempting to sidestep her suggestion, Percival pressed on. ‘How are you going to get any of the girls to speak out against Father Benedict? They all like him so much.’
Matron gave a shrewd smile. ‘We have girls here who could be persuaded to lie for extra food and money. But the bank account, Percy?’ she insisted, a small but determined glint in her eye.
Percival couldn’t help but be impressed: the conniving, cold-hearted old bag had thought the whole thing through. He would have to give in on the bank account, but he would find a way of keeping the lion’s share for himself.
‘Leave it with me, dear Maud,’ he said with his most suave and reassuring smile. ‘I’ll sort out the matter immediately.’
‘And remember, Sir Percival, the unique advantage of running a mother and baby home is that every single girl inevitably departs; they’ll soon go back to where they came from. Ignorant of our actions, so unable to hamper us.’
‘Then I’ll leave the matter in your capable hands,’ Percival said. He finished his coffee and got to his feet.
After pecking her dry cheek he fled Matron’s office, feeling just the teeniest bit sorry for poor, unsuspecting Father Benedict, who would soon be experiencing the brunt of Matron’s malice.
‘Needs must when the devil drives,’ he mused, as he drove back home to Crow Thorn Grange.
With the priest gone, Mary Vale’s adoptions would be under his control; it was more than he had ever hoped for.
12. Prospective Residents
Firmly convinced that the threat of impending war was very real, Stan was becoming increasingly anxious at the idea of leaving his pregnant wife and young son in London if he was away fighting for his country. He had put more pressure than ever on Gloria to make inquiries about evacuation.
Feeling rather cornered by her husband’s insistence, Gloria had no choice but to leave Robin with a neighbour while she set off for the local library. On a lovely August morning, she walked down the sunny road, thinking fondly of the summer holiday she, Stan and Robin had just spent in Brighton. It had only been for a week but without a doubt it had been one of the happiest times of her life. The sun had shone every day; they’d walked on the prom, paddled in the sea, dozed off in deckchairs on the pebbly beach, eaten meat-paste sandwiches gritty with sand and played on the pier, where Stan had won Robin a teddy bear by shooting a line of tins off a shelf.
‘My dad’s a hero!’ Robin had cried proudly as he clutched the teddy in one hand and his dad’s hand in the other.
Their B and B in the back streets of Brighton had been relaxed and comfortable, and every night after Robin had fallen asleep in his own little room they’d made love. Being pregnant made Gloria feel sensual and loving; it was sweet to doze off lying in each other’s arms with the window wide open to the soft sea breezes. During that week Stan hadn’t once mentioned the imminence of war; he’d been upbeat and boyishly light-hearted, and it had been such a relief to get away from the constant worries that beset them at home. But on their return, with the papers predicting doom and gloom across the Channel, Stan’s anxieties had resurfaced, and the subject of leaving London raised its head again.
‘Better show willing,’ Gloria thought to herself. ‘Otherwise I’ll never hear the end of it.’
The librarian turned out to be most informed on the subject of evacuation.
‘Government orders have been issued this month,’ she told Gloria. ‘If war should break out, the government are keen to get children, the sick and the old somewhere safe; pregnant women too,’ she added as an afterthought.
‘Well, that’s me,’ Gloria told her, ‘and I have a five-year-old son too. My husband thinks we should organize our evacuation. He’s scared of leaving us unprotected if he gets called up.’
‘I think your husband’s right: you should definitely be thinking about getting out of the city,’ the librarian advised, before adding with a heavy sigh: ‘It’ll be no place to give birth or to bring up a young child if Hitler starts targeting London, which he most certainly will.’
It was now Gloria’s turn to sigh. ‘So where would somebody like me and my son go?’ she asked. ‘It’s not just about evacuating London; it’s also about finding a safe place where I can have my baby.’
‘There are mother and baby homes all over the country,’ the librarian replied kindly. ‘We’ve got a few leaflets you can have a look at; you’ll find quite a few of the homes are advertised in church magazines,’ she added.
‘But those wouldn’t be right: they’re places for young pregnant girls, unmarried mothers, aren’t they?’ Gloria protested. ‘They’re usually run by a religious order; they’re not the right kind of institution for me and my son,’ she said, slightly panicked at the idea of being among a crowd of young women who’d been shut away from polite society.
‘There’s nothing wrong with making a few inquiries,’ the librarian said encouragingly. ‘Better to be prepared than to have regrets when it’s too late.’
Just thinking of living in a dingy home for disgraced mothers and babies made Gloria feel quite sick. But, knowing that Stan would never let up on the blasted subject, she rather guiltily decided on her way home that she’d twist the truth a little, just to put Stan’s anxious mind at rest; she’d say that more information was due out shortly and she’d been advised to wait until it was in the public domain before she made any decisions about evacuating. Little did Gloria know that she would not have the luxury of more time before events overseas would shape the destiny of much of Europe, as well as that of her own beloved family
.
In Windermere, Isla was also coming to a decision. Reclining in a deckchair on her grandmother’s lawn, which ran down to the edges of the lake, she closed her eyes to the warm sun streaming down on her. This quiet oasis of peace and security was a far cry from the home she’d been asked to leave by her fiercely judgemental father and timid mother. Though she’d been shaken and horridly humiliated at the time, she was, in retrospect, relieved that her parents had kicked her out. They would never have loved and cared for her like her beloved grandmother, who, if it was possible, she loved more with every passing week.
Even so, for all her wrath and indignation, Isla’s mother had paid them an unexpected and very unpleasant visit, which would have been unbearable for Isla if Jeannie hadn’t been by her side. Over an uncomfortable lunch (made a little more tolerable by the housekeeper’s delicious meat pie with rich gravy), Mrs Ross had barely looked at her daughter, despite the fact that Isla was flushed with good health and looking happy and relaxed in a loose day dress.
‘She has brought disgrace to our family,’ her mother had said, as if her daughter weren’t even present.
‘Why complain? You’re not bearing the disgrace,’ Jeannie remarked.
‘How could she have done this to us?’ Mrs Ross’s shrill voice broke. ‘We had high hopes for our daughter and now …’ Her voice faded on a sob of despair.
‘Life goes on,’ Jeannie answered forcefully. ‘Isla will have the child adopted and return to her studies.’
‘Not at Durham,’ Isla quickly interjected. ‘I’ll go somewhere new, where I feel safe,’ she added firmly.
Ignoring any talk of studies or her daughter’s future, Mrs Ross spoke sharply, ‘You’ve decided to have it adopted?’ Her mother stressed the word it as if she were referring to something sub-human. ‘Well, that’s progress. Maybe we can keep it quiet from our friends and pretend it never happened.’
Fed up with her mother’s snippy comments, Isla glared at her. ‘You can pretend as much as you like but, as far as I’m concerned, it HAS happened and I’m paying for it.’ She paused to turn to her grandmother, who’d given her a lot more help and advice than her own mother was capable of. ‘Jeannie and I have discussed the matter and we both think it’ll be better for my baby to have a mother and a father, and a secure future. I know it’ll be hard for me, but I have to think about what’s best for my child.’
Mrs Ross moved on to her next concern. ‘And where will you go to give birth? You must choose somewhere far away from home, so that no one will hear about it,’ she said bluntly.
Irritated beyond belief by this line of brutal questioning, Jeannie rose from the table. ‘I think that’s enough,’ she said firmly. ‘You threw Isla out of her home, so I will throw you out of mine. You have no right to care where she goes to have her baby.’
The two women eyed each other across the table, and for the first time Isla could see how much they must have sparred when her mother was growing up. Liberal, generous Jeannie, open to new ideas and interested in the world outside her front door, must have been permanently at odds with her tense, repressed daughter. How miserable they must have been in each other’s company. How happy they both must have been to go their very separate ways.
It had been a huge relief when her mother departed and left them to continue living peacefully in the big old rambling house that Isla had loved since her childhood days.
With fat bees droning in the flowerbeds and birds singing in the trees that edged the softly lapping waters of the lake, sleepy Isla laid her hands on top of her tummy, where she felt her baby’s fluttery movements.
‘Goodness,’ she laughed. ‘That tickles!’
Jeannie removed her sunglasses in order to peer at her granddaughter’s distinctly noticeable bump, which immediately caused her to return to the conversation they’d had several times already. ‘Come along, Isla, you’ve prevaricated long enough,’ she chided. ‘If you don’t make your mind up soon, you’ll finish up having that baby of yours right here in Windermere. Which home have you picked?’
Isla giggled. She knew that Jeannie was losing patience with her dithering uncertainty, but her straight talking always made her laugh.
‘Try to be serious,’ Jeannie urged. ‘Out of the four mother and baby homes that we’ve visited, which do you like best?’
Realizing she wasn’t going to be able to fob off her grandmother much longer, Isla said, ‘Well, I didn’t mind the Salesian home we visited, and Mary Vale near Grange-over-Sands is a possibility too.’
‘You can’t give birth in two places,’ Jeannie pointed out.
‘Hmm …’ Isla considered. ‘The only thing about the Salesian home is it looked a bit severe from the outside. And the sisters who run it were a bit daunting too,’ she replied thoughtfully.
‘True, but surely the ghastly Matron at Mary Vale was a thousand times worse than those well-meaning Salesian nuns?’ Jeannie reminded her.
‘Matron Maud Harding,’ Isla said with a shudder. ‘One of the biggest snobs I’ve ever come across!’
On Isla’s visit Matron had excelled herself in the snob stakes. Seeing the new client arriving in a large (and very old) Daimler, accompanied by a well-dressed, upright older woman, Matron had flushed in anticipation. She’d been told in advance by both the Reverend Mother and Father Benedict that Isla Ross was a fee-paying client, but then so was Emily Todd, and look how she’d turned out, she’d thought sourly.
‘Well, at least they look the part,’ Matron had told herself, as she swanned down the drive to welcome the visitors.
Conducting exactly the same tour as she had with Emily, Matron had whisked Isla and Jeannie through the wards, where Ada was stripping the beds, helped by Shirley and Nancy, who had immediately noticed the new girl with the soft blonde hair and gentle, smiling face.
‘She looks nice,’ Nancy had observed.
Ada watched Isla pause to look out of the window to see what was going on in the garden; she appeared to be intrigued by the girls outside pushing babies in their prams along the winding footpaths.
‘This way!’ Matron rudely called to Isla, who jumped, then blushed in embarrassment as she realized she was lagging behind.
‘Damn woman!’ Ada seethed as she saw Isla scurry to catch up with her grandmother, who had given her a quick sympathetic smile. ‘Why doesn’t she let the visitors take their time when they inspect the Home?’
Ada shook her head and turned to her work; she knew perfectly well why Matron was in a rush to complete the tour. What she most enjoyed about showing people around the Home was the final fifteen minutes, when she had them behind closed doors in her private office and could discuss fees and the terms of adoption.
‘The way that hateful Matron hurried us through the process of adoption,’ Isla reminded Jeannie. ‘I know I’m going to have my baby adopted, but I wanted the chance to explain how I’d come to that decision.’
Astute Jeannie succinctly summed up Matron. ‘She’s an odious, bossy, rude woman, but the other staff were lovely,’ she enthused. ‘The nun we saw feeding the babies in the nursery was charming.’
‘And the ward sister who showed us round the gardens and the bedrooms after Matron had disappeared was sweet,’ Isla remarked. ‘I really liked her.’
Jeannie remembered her name. ‘Sister Ada, I liked her very much.’ She paused before she pressed her point home. ‘None of the homes are going to be perfect,’ she pointed out. ‘You just need to decide where you think you might feel most comfortable during your confinement.’
Isla had no trouble coming to a decision. ‘Mary Vale,’ she replied. ‘Apart from that dreadful Matron woman, the staff and the residents were very friendly, and the babies seemed happy too – plus I liked the location, right on Morecambe Bay.’
Jeannie gave a contented smile. ‘Good, we’re in agreement; Mary Vale it is.’
Isla didn’t add what she’d been secretly thinking: that if she hated the Home, she could (in extremis) leave and walk bac
k over the fells to Windermere; it would be tough, but it was doable, and she knew the route as she had walked it often in the past, albeit when she wasn’t pregnant.
‘Though, in truth,’ Isla confessed, ‘I’d much rather stay here with you,’ she said with a wistful smile.
Jeannie patted her hand. ‘I know, darling! I’d love that too but this is the best thing, trust me.’
Isla nodded, then quickly turned towards the lake in order to hide the tears that were forming in her pale blue Highland eyes; soon she would be packing her bags and leaving for Mary Vale, the mother and baby home of her choice, just over the fells from her beloved grandmother and Windermere.
13. Room-mate
Emily settled into the Home much more easily than she’d ever expected. To her delight, Ada was right and she really liked her room-mate, Nancy, despite her worries about her being so young. After freely admitting that she’d been dumped in the Home by her dad because he was so ashamed of her, Nancy gave a cold laugh.
‘I already feel like the longest-serving resident in Mary Vale,’ she joked. ‘It’ll be nice to have company,’ she added with a shy blush.
Sharing the same bedroom and bathroom quickly broke down any initial barriers. Hearing each other snore or dashing back and forth to the toilet all through the night left no room for inhibitions. Emily liked Nancy’s quiet, modest manner; she was thankful to have her as a room-mate, as opposed to some of the noisier, more self-opinionated girls she’d seen around the place. Nancy was well ahead of Emily in her pregnancy, so it was useful for Emily to hear from her new friend about the physical changes she could expect to see very soon in her own body.
The girls talked and talked and soon became very close. Emily felt sorry for nervous Nancy, who was racked with guilt about letting down her mother, who apparently would bear the brunt of her father’s fury at his daughter’s descent into shame. The poor girl picked at her guilt like a dog picks at a scab.
