by Cathy Sharp
‘Why haven’t you asked me?’
‘I was afraid you might say I made it all up …’ His dark eyes struck a chord and she felt his pain like a shaft in her heart. ‘They said I made things up at that other place … but I didn’t. I know ’e did bad things to me … and ’e was supposed to be a priest …’
‘Yes, it was very wrong of him and I believe he has been punished. You were very young when it happened, Tom, and a lot of years have passed,’ Beatrice said in the same gentle voice. ‘Do you want me to tell you about it? About your mother and sister …’ She held out a hand to him. He moved a little closer, staring at her warily.
‘Yes, please …’ he said in desperation. ‘I know there was a girl I liked called Jean but you took her away … she wasn’t my sister?’
‘No, Tom. I should’ve taken you with Jean if I’d known you were such good friends. Your sister’s name was Mary Jane but you called her Janey. Your mother was widowed during the war, when you and Mary Jane were just babies. She was your twin, you see, and that is perhaps why she’s still there inside you even though she isn’t here any more …’
‘Is she … are they both dead?’ Tom’s eyes widened with distress.
‘Yes, they were both killed in the accident. You were on a train, all of you, returning to your home in London from a holiday by the sea and there was an accident – a train crash, caused by bomb damage on the line. It was terrible and in all the newspapers at the time. You were badly injured and your family was killed instantly. They think you survived because your mother threw herself on you and Mary Jane, but unfortunately they both died. Extensive inquiries were made to find your extended family but no one was traced and when you were recovered enough you were sent to an orphanage. Not this one at first unfortunately …’
Tom’s face was on fire but then he raised his gaze to hers. ‘You know what they did to me at my last place?’
‘Yes, I do, Tom, and it shames me that anyone could do that to a child in need. You were still suffering from the trauma of the accident, not truly aware of what was happening around you, so I’m told – and it was only after you were attacked by that person at the home that you seemed to come to yourself. As you said, no one believed you at first. They thought it was all mixed up in your head. So you ran away to London and lived under the railway bridge until the police found you and brought you here to us three years ago, and we’ve tried to look after you since then. I hope you’ve been happy here?’
Tom raised his head, tears in his eyes. ‘Are you sendin’ me away ’cos of what I just did?’
‘No, I’m taking you to Halfpenny House. You’ll go on holiday to the sea with the others and Jean has been included in the trip – she told me you protected her from bullies and were like a brother to her. I cannot give you back your family, Tom, but I can give you a friend who is lonely for you. Angela told me that she has asked repeatedly if you are going down there to live – so would you like to go?’
‘Yes, please,’ he said, hesitated, then, ‘Why didn’t you tell me about my mother and sister before?’
‘I wanted you to recover properly from your ordeal, Tom. Your mind couldn’t take the truth at first. It was too much for anyone to accept – losing both your mother and your sister in a terrible accident and fighting back to life, only to be abused by someone who was there to protect you. You were still vulnerable and there is a reserve in you with others that sometimes sets you apart. I wasn’t sure you could trust me enough to believe what I said …’
‘Everyone trusts you, Sister,’ Tom said. ‘You never lie to us … all the kids respect you.’
‘Thank you, Tom …’ Beatrice’s eyes pricked with tears but she would not let them fall. ‘I want to give you all a better life …’ She hesitated, then, ‘I once had a son with the same name as you – but he died in a fire. His step-father got drunk and accidentally set the house on fire and my Tom couldn’t get out …’ Her voice shook with emotion as the memory struck at her heart.
‘I’m sorry, Sister …’ Tom came round the desk and suddenly clasped her about the waist, giving her a fierce brief hug. His voice was hoarse as he moved back and looked up at her. ‘You must have cried a lot for ’im …’
‘Yes,’ Beatrice agreed, and a tear slid down her cheek. ‘I did – but then I found God or perhaps He found me and I was given another chance in life. Looking after all my children here I have been blessed. Perhaps in the country with Jean as your friend and all the others you will discover a new life – a way to be happy again …’
‘I wish you were coming too,’ Tom said and then looked away. ‘I’m goin’ now. I’m sorry I looked in your desk. I’ve been lookin’ everywhere – in the nurses’ rooms and in the cook’s office … I saw her hide a book once. I thought it might be about me so I went back and took it … but it was just full of figures so I put it back, but after she’d left. I didn’t know she was goin’ …’
‘None of us did. Where was this book hidden?’ Beatrice asked, frowning. ‘Not in her desk?’
‘No, she put it under a loose floorboard wiv some money – that’s what made me think she was hiding it …’
‘Ah, I see …’
‘I know it was wrong of me to take it, but I put it back … and I didn’t take any money ever …’
‘Do you think you could get the book and bring it to me please? If I’m not here you could put it on my desk.’
‘Yes, Sister.’ He hesitated, then, ‘You’re not cross, are you?’
‘It’s all right, Tom. You shouldn’t do things like that, but I do understand why …’
Beatrice sighed as he went out and closed the door politely behind him. Tom was just one of her damaged children; those the world had mistreated, abandoned or neglected who made their way here somehow, and she did what she could to restore what others had destroyed. One of the things that made her life so worthwhile was the trust that these children felt for her – and to hear a boy like Tom say those words healed the hurt inside her. She, like them, had known pain and loss and she often felt that they had helped to heal her every bit as much as she healed them with her love and care.
She’d lost the man she’d loved to the war, been forced to marry a man she disliked because she was carrying a bastard child, as her father had shouted at her when he bullied her into a marriage she should never have made. She’d endured cruelty and slights for four years for the sake of her son – and then she’d lost her Tom in a fire that had taken his life and that of his drunken step-father.
In her despair Beatrice had almost died, but something inside her was too strong. She was a fighter and then a voice from somewhere inside her had told her that there was a life for her helping others. She’d given her life to God and then she’d been chosen to come here and, Beatrice realised, that this was where she must stay until she was no longer needed and then she would join Angela in the country. Tom and children just like him needed her to be there when they were ready. She would tell Angela that she would accept the job she had so generously offered her when the time came. For now she had the welfare of St Saviour’s and all her children to concern her.
A wry smile touched her mouth as her thoughts moved on and she realised that the book Tom had found in his searching was probably Mrs Davies’ secret accounts. Sandra had suspected they existed but no one could find them. Had they found them at the time Beatrice would have confronted the woman with her guilt, but now she found it hardly mattered; it would do no one any good to hound the woman, and she could find it in her heart to understand why a mother might steal for her son. A mother’s love was perhaps the strongest emotion of all …
Beatrice looked through the book Tom had left on her desk in disbelief, comparing it to the official record of kitchen expenditure. Now she was able to see quite clearly that Mrs Davies had been systematically robbing them, of a few shillings at the start, and then, suddenly, about two months before she left so hurriedly, the amounts had become pounds. It was hardly surprising that she
’d been forced to give the children sub-standard food, because she’d stolen almost half of what she’d been given for food those last few weeks.
Knowing she had the evidence she needed to convict the woman of theft, whether or not she’d stolen from others, Beatrice stared down at the figures for a long time. She felt like weeping, because she’d taken the woman on trust and she’d betrayed her. Yet she suspected that she may have been pushed into it by her son. No doubt she’d stolen to provide him with funds for his escape, perhaps to another country – and wouldn’t most mothers be capable of such a crime?
Beatrice couldn’t forgive her for what she’d done to the children. Once, she would have had no hesitation in giving the information to the police and letting the law take over, but something held her back. The woman had fled, taking the contents of their cash box with her, but the kindness of the market traders had saved them from the consequences of her act and perhaps that was why Beatrice could not find it in her heart to crave revenge.
She rubbed at her chest absent-mindedly. She must be turning soft in her old age. A smile touched her lips as she locked the books away in her drawer. She couldn’t be bothered with the woman; the police would probably never find her anyway, and there were far more important things on her mind … like taking those children down to Halfpenny House at the weekend …
Andy held tightly to Beth’s hand as they boarded the train. She was a little nervous as it let off steam and someone blew the whistle, but she managed a smile for her brother and then Sister Beatrice got them all settled in their seats. There were five children, Andy, Beth, Tom, also a girl called Mary and her brother Jack. Those two had bought comics and giggled and talked to each other in their corner of the carriage, not communicating with anyone unless Sister spoke to them.
Tom sat next to Andy and grinned at him. ‘I’m looking forward to this, ain’t you?’ he asked.
‘Yeah, I am,’ Andy agreed. He was relieved to get out of London for a while, because his step-father still hadn’t been arrested. ‘I’ve only been to Southend once, never to Hunstanton … wherever that is …’
‘I can’t remember if I ever went to the sea,’ Tom said. ‘I think I did with Mum and Janey, but I’m not sure – there was an accident and I ’urt my head so I don’t remember much before … St Saviour’s …’
‘What happened to your family?’
‘Dad was killed in the war and Mum and Janey died in an accident …’ Tom leaned in so that only Andy could hear. ‘A train accident … but they don’t happen often. I asked Sister and she said it was rare, so don’t worry about Beth …’
‘She’ll be safer out of London,’ Andy said and nodded grimly. This was a different Tom, someone he could get on with. ‘Our step-father kept threatenin’ us. She hates him and so do I …’
‘I’m not comin’ back to St Saviour’s,’ Tom confided. ‘Sister’s had all my stuff sent down ahead of us. I’m stayin’ down there to look after Jean – she’s my special friend and I stopped the others bullying her at school. Sister didn’t take me last time but she says she was wrong: Jean needs me to look out for her.’
‘Just like Beth needs me,’ Andy agreed, nodding in a conspiratorial manner. ‘Girls can’t look out for themselves like us, can they?’
‘Nah,’ Tom agreed and snorted with laughter as Mary suddenly looked at him from her corner. ‘She’s stuck up, that one – do yer think her folk were rich?’ he asked in a whisper.
‘I don’t know,’ Andy admitted. ‘They ain’t like us – and they ain’t very friendly. I hope they don’t go off alone when we get to the seaside … it’s more fun if we play rounders on the beach and build things together – at least I think it will be …’
‘Yeah, I reckon yer right,’ Tom said and pulled out a bag of sherbet lemons that he offered to Andy, Beth, Keith and Sister Beatrice and then, after a pause to the brother and sister in the corner. They shook their heads so he raised his eyebrows at Andy and put them back in his pocket, whispering, ‘More for us …’
Andy nodded and glanced at the two in the corner. No one knew them because they’d only arrived two days ago and were going straight down to Halfpenny House. They didn’t speak like Londoners; in fact they spoke posh and their shoes were better than the other kids had, though they were wearing the regulation uniform. He wondered briefly why they’d come to the orphanage, because neither of them looked as if they were starving. Perhaps they’d just lost their parents, but they didn’t seem to be grieving, just wrapped up in their own world.
Mary realised he was staring; she glared at him and then turned her head away. Andy flushed and inclined to Beth, whispering to her and asking her if she was all right.
‘Yes.’ She smiled at Tom. ‘Thank you for the sweet, it’s nice …’
‘They’re my favourites,’ he told her. ‘You can have another in a minute. I’ve got plenty left …’
‘You may all eat your packed lunch whenever you wish,’ Sister Beatrice said. ‘It’s too expensive to buy food on the train so make it last for as long as you can. We shall have tea when we get to Halfpenny House …’
‘Yes, Sister,’ the children chorused and most of them started to open the white cardboard boxes they’d been given before they left St Saviour’s.
They each had cheese and tomato sandwiches, two sausage rolls, a rock bun and an apple, as well as a small bottle of orange squash. Sister opened hers and ate a sandwich, then drank a little tea from her flask, but the children ate theirs steadily until the box was empty, her good advice forgotten.
Sister ate another sandwich, then took out a little silver pocket knife and cut the sausage rolls into six pieces, ate one piece herself and offered the others round; she did the same with the apple and smiled as it disappeared into hungry mouths.
‘If the trolley comes round you may use a little of your pocket money to buy sweets,’ she said but the children all shook their heads and said they were full.
Sister nodded, closed her eyes and appeared to sleep. Tom looked at Andy and they giggled but Sister opened one eye and they subsided. Even with her eyes closed, Sister Beatrice knew just what they were thinking and saying …
CHAPTER 25
Nellie looked at Jinny’s face and sighed. Her young friend was fretting and all over a good-for-nothing mother who should have been ashamed of herself for what she’d put the girl through in her short life.
‘What’s wrong, love? Wishin’ you was off to the sea with the kids?’
‘No … though it would be lovely on such a warm day,’ Jinny said and smiled. ‘You must be boiling, Nellie, standin’ over that stove for hours like you do …’
‘I’m used to it, love, and this is a nice airy kitchen. Some places stifle you, but this is cool compared to many …’
‘It isn’t too bad,’ Jinny admitted. ‘Beats workin’ in a factory or scrubbin’ floors, which was all I was offered, until I came here.’
‘You landed on yer feet ’ere, love,’ Nellie said. ‘So why the glum face – is it yer mum? Are yer worryin’ over ’er?’
‘Yes … at least part of it,’ Jinny admitted and issued a sighing breath. ‘I quarrelled with Micky and I haven’t seen him since. I went down the market last Saturday but I couldn’t see him – and Dave said he hasn’t seen him around for a while.’
‘Ah, I see, gone to ground, ’as ’e?’ Nellie frowned at her. ‘I’ve wondered about young Micky and I’m sure a lot of others ’ave too – ’e ’as a lot of money to spend for an ordinary chap of his age.’
‘I’ve asked him and he says he does what he feels like – but it’s all legal. I’m worried, Nellie. I said things to him I shouldn’t after he’s been so kind to me. You don’t think he would … he wouldn’t harm himself?’
‘Jump off Tower Bridge and drown ’isself?’ Nellie crowed with laughter. ‘No, I don’t see Micky as a quitter, love. More like ’e’s took ’imself off fer a ’oliday in all this ’ot weather …’
‘He wouldn’t go off and
leave me to worry!’ Jinny said indignantly, but Nellie could see the idea had lifted her spirits a little.
‘Why not then? Yer told ’im yer didn’t like ’im, didn’t yer? Why should ’e bother what you think?’
‘I was upset. I didn’t mean to fall out with Micky. He’s been so good to me, Nellie – and I miss him …’
‘I know yer do, love,’ Nellie said and then chuckled. ‘One thing I know about Micky is that ’e’ll turn up again. You can’t keep ’is sort down fer long …’
‘I do hope so,’ Jinny said but she got on with making her Victoria sponge with a will. ‘I wondered if he sent those strawberries for the kids the other day, but Dave said it was one of his mates off the market.’
‘I know the kids enjoyed them wiv the jelly,’ Nellie said, ‘but they’ll ’ave ter make do wiv plums in custard fer tea tonight. We ain’t goin’ ter get somethin’ like that too often …’ The younger children who hadn’t been chosen for work or special summer projects were still at St Saviour’s. Nancy and Kelly had promised them various treats, paid for by the money Nick, Rob and some others had collected. Most of them were going to see a matinee of Walt Disney’s The Lady and the Tramp that afternoon, which had come round for a second or third time, because it was so popular, and a trip to Southend had been arranged for the weekend, which Jinny had been asked to go on.
‘No, that was a real treat,’ Jinny said and smiled. ‘They’re much too expensive in London – but some of the older children have gone strawberry-picking in the country. They get bed and board and as many strawberries as they can eat …’
‘They shouldn’t tell our kids that – they’ll eat the lot,’ Nellie chortled. ‘Now, I think that’s enough shortbread biscuits. Pop ’em in the oven for me, Elsa, and we’ll ’ave a cup of tea …’
She glanced at the old newspaper in which she was about to wrap potato peelings. ‘Those poor kids,’ she said and showed the article to Jinny. ‘Look what they had ter do ter get into their school in America … all those state troops out just so a handful of black children could go to school. It makes you realise how lucky our children are here – even though they’re hungry and abused sometimes, at least they can all go ter school whatever their colour … even though some folk still don’t like serving coloured folk in cafés but it’s better ’ere than there I reckon …’