by Cathy Sharp
‘Yeah, perhaps … I’ll see yer later …’
Dave beamed at her and produced a sprig of mistletoe. He kissed Nellie first on the cheek and then Jinny briefly on the lips, and as he turned to leave and Sandra entered, he kissed her too on the cheek. He went off whistling and Nellie nodded her approval.
‘Now that’s a nice lad,’ she said, ‘but you ought ter be straight wiv ’im, Jinny love. If it’s Micky yer want …’
‘Yes, it is, Nellie. Micky knows I’m not ready to get married, but we know where we are now – and we’ll see how things go …’
‘Micky really cares about you,’ Nellie said. ‘’E’s been a bit of a lad but ’e’s always looked out fer you – and ’e’ll settle now, you’ll see …’
‘Yes, I know,’ Jinny said and smiled at her. ‘He’s had a shock and so have I. You’ve always been my friend, Nellie. I don’t know what I’d have done without you – and I’m going to miss you when we leave here …’
‘My ’ome will always have room for you,’ Nellie said and nodded at her. ‘My boys are comin’ back fer Christmas and we’ll be ’avin’ a party. Come when you’ve finished ’ere, love. I don’t like to think of yer alone on Christmas Day.’
‘I shall pop in to see Micky and then I’ll come,’ Jinny said. ‘But I shall miss working with you, Nellie.’
‘You know where I live and you’ll get time orf,’ Nellie said. ‘It will be new and exciting for you, love. You’ll make new friends – and then Micky will be out and things will be better. Now cheer up, we’re goin’ ter ’ave a lovely party this evenin’. I’m looking forward to the carols on the TV. Maybe we’ll get a second-hand one for ourselves this next year now I’ve got that job at the school … in the meantime we’re goin’ ter ’ave a bit of fun.’
‘Yes, we must make the most of it,’ Jinny said. ‘I’d never seen a TV until Billy brought in that one for Sister. It was nice of her to share it with the rest of us …’
‘She’s a good woman,’ Nellie said. ‘There will be a few tears shed around ’ere when we close, that’s fer sure …’
CHAPTER 34
Another Christmas party come and gone, Beatrice thought as she sat at her desk later that evening and contemplated her own future. She would attend midnight mass at her local church and after the festivities were over she would find time to visit the convent and talk to Mother Superior. She wanted to talk to her friend of many years before she left London for good, because she did not think she would return in the future.
It had been a good day this last Christmas Eve at St Saviour’s and there had been lots of happy faces amongst the staff and the children that remained. She’d made time to speak with all of them and talk of their futures. All the children were happy about what was happening, those that were going down to Halfpenny House and the girls who were going on to new jobs and new lives.
Ruby’s probationers had behaved themselves beautifully. Beatrice had watched their faces, seeing the excitement and the pleasure such simple treats as one of Jinny’s rock buns, some strawberry blancmange and tinned peaches brought to these girls, who were in her opinion more sinned against than sinners.
A couple of them had been a bit cheeky to Jinny and Kelly, but Beatrice hadn’t seen any malice behind it. She felt admiration for the way Ruby had stepped in when a quarrel started over the prize from a Christmas cracker between two of her girls.
‘It ain’t fair, miss,’ one of the girls said. ‘She pulls harder than me and she got both prizes.’
‘Well, that’s the way it works, Bettina,’ Ruby said. ‘You can pull mine with me and see what happens then …’ Of course she’d made sure that the girl got the larger end of the cracker and, as luck would have it, it contained a small, brightly coloured bead bracelet which Bettina swooped on with joy, stretching the elastic over her hand. ‘It was my cracker,’ Ruby told her, ‘but you won so the prize is yours. Next time you pull a cracker with someone make sure you hold it with both hands close up as I showed you and you may win again …’
Beatrice was quietly pleased with the change in Ruby Saunders. She wasn’t sure how much was down to her own influence and how much to other factors, but the girl was certainly much happier. Her action over the cracker was much what Angela would have done in the circumstances. To have taken one of the gifts from the other girl would have gone against the spirit of the game. If you get the prize it’s yours and children had to learn that they couldn’t have what they hadn’t earned. Beatrice approved of Ruby’s justice, which wasn’t quite the way she would have handled it, but was fair enough. She suspected that, not too long ago, Ruby would simply have confiscated both prizes. Indeed, she would probably have refused to let her girls have them at all.
This Christmas visit had been a good idea; it had given Beatrice the chance to witness Ruby in control and she was feeling much better about the future of St Saviour’s after the charity had relinquished it to the council. Angela had telephoned just after lunch that day.
‘I wish I could be with you,’ she’d apologised. ‘I’ve got a party to organise here and I just couldn’t manage to pop up even for a quick visit …’
‘You sent me money for gifts and that was very welcome,’ Beatrice said. ‘You mustn’t feel as if you have to apologise, Angela.’
‘No, but I should’ve liked to be there at the last party – but soon you’ll be with us. It’s not the end is it, but the beginning of something new.’
‘Yes, of course. A long and happy relationship I hope. I wish you and your family a very happy Christmas, and I’ll be down on the thirty-first of December … after I’ve handed the keys to Ruby …’
‘That’s right,’ Angela said. ‘I shall get up before then to take the children down and we’ll have everything ready here for you so that you can move straight in. I can’t tell you how much we’re all looking forward to having you with us.’
Beatrice murmured her thanks and replaced the receiver. Someone knocked and she invited them to enter. Billy Baggins and Mary Ellen walked in bearing a gift, which they placed on the table.
‘More presents?’ Beatrice frowned. ‘Really, you should not … I do not need material things, my dears. We give up all such vanity when we enter the convent.’
‘This isn’t just from us,’ Billy said. ‘Some of the local people wanted you to have a special gift … and they asked Mary Ellen to buy it and us to give it to you this evening.’
‘Everyone here loves you, Sister,’ Mary Ellen said. ‘All of us contributed as well as the local people and we hope you’ll like what I’ve chosen. It’s to remind you of your time here …’
‘I thank you all for the thought, though I must say I’ve never been so spoiled in my life.’
‘You’ve done so much for all of us …’ Billy said. ‘We’ll be here early on the thirty-first, Sister, and we’ll take you down to Halfpenny House …’
‘Everyone is so kind …’ Beatrice felt tears sting her eyes but refused to allow them to fall. ‘Thank you, Billy – I think myself well repaid for anything I may have done for you.’
‘You don’t know how much you did,’ he said and then leaned forward to kiss her cheek. ‘Happy Christmas, Sister!’
‘Happy Christmas to you both,’ Beatrice replied. ‘Goodnight …’
She sat back in her chair as the door closed behind them, then reached out and drew the parcel to her, untying the pretty ribbon. Inside the flat parcel was a leather case for notepaper, envelopes and a pen. It was a thoughtful gift and something she would find useful, she thought, blinking as she saw the message inside. It had been signed by so many people … some of them children who had long ago left the home and others she’d helped over the years.
Sighing, she leaned back against her chair, her eyes closing. It had been such a busy day and she was very tired. The memories of her years here, and the years she’d spent in the convent, came flooding into her mind – happy times and times so unbearably sad that they caused a pain in her chest.
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br /> She saw again the face of the man she’d loved so desperately. Wearing his uniform he looked tall and handsome and a little afraid, as he should because he was going to war. A war from which he never returned.
The pain in her chest was getting worse and her breath rasped as the memories followed on sharply. Her father’s fury when she’d confessed that she was pregnant, the beating he’d given her to make her marry a man she’d never liked – and then the misery of years of unhappiness, broken only by the sweetness of bearing her beloved son Tom.
‘Tom … Tom …’ she whispered as the pain grew and shuddered through her in waves. ‘I couldn’t save you, my darling … I couldn’t save either of you …’
Tears were misting her eyes, trickling down her cheeks, but then through the mist she saw them, walking towards her. The tall handsome man in his uniform and the small child, hand in hand, walking through a sunlit day as the mist cleared and suddenly there was no more pain.
‘My darlings …’ she whispered as she went to meet them, into the sunlight and a place where there was no pain and no memories, just love. ‘You’ve come for me … God sent you for me … together …’
‘Rose found her when she went to say goodnight,’ Angela said and her voice was choked with tears as she turned to Mark. ‘She was just sitting there in her chair and Rose says she looked happy – at peace, as though she’d found something precious …’
‘Well, perhaps she had,’ Mark said. ‘Sister Beatrice was a religious woman. We must hope she is at rest now – and that heaven is all she’d hoped it would be …’
‘If there is a heaven she will be there,’ Angela said and the tears were falling fast. ‘I shall miss her, Mark. I know we were not always friends, but we became so – and I was looking forward to having her here, perhaps taking care of her when she was older.’
‘Yes, I know, my darling,’ he said and crossed the room to put his arms about her. ‘But life goes on and it is all the richer for having known Sister Beatrice. She must have been ill for a while, but she wouldn’t give in until she was sure all the children and her staff were settled.’
‘I shall go up and arrange whatever needs to be done,’ Angela said. ‘And I’ll close up the home and bring the children back just as I promised her …’
‘Yes, of course. I’ll ring her convent and ask where she should be buried. I doubt she made a will but they may know what she wanted. If not she may have told Nan … they were friends for years.’
‘Yes …’ Angela wiped her tears. ‘I’m not sure but I think she had a son that died.’
‘Then she will want to be buried close by, I dare say,’ Mark nodded. ‘We’ll consult the convent as to what they think right and then we’ll arrange it, my darling. We’ll do it together …’
The quiet churchyard was filled with mourners. So many that it was hardly possible to see where they ended. The church had been filled to capacity and several people had stood outside, even though it was bitterly cold. They had come to say farewell to a woman many had loved but few had known.
Angela looked round at the faces of people who had worked at St Saviour’s, others who had lived there under the nun’s sometimes stern but always compassionate regime, and smiled. Jinny was standing with Nellie and a young man on crutches; Nancy, Mary Ellen, Billy and Rose were together, all four of them crying as the coffin was lowered into its resting place, as were so many others. Nan was there with her husband, clutching a small posy of flowers; Kelly and Hannah and the local butcher, also Sergeant Sallis; Wendy had got time off from work to attend, also Sally Rush, Michelle, Alice, Bob and their children. Father Joe, her old friend, had taken the service; some nuns in their black habits stood quietly to one side, but mostly it was the local people and the children, so many that Angela didn’t even know half of them. It was a sad occasion and everyone looked upset, sniffing and wiping their eyes.
Then, as if to lift their spirits, the sun suddenly decided to come out from behind the clouds and everywhere was warmed by its healing touch; it lingered for a few minutes, impossibly warm for the time of year, touching them all, as if it had been sent to cheer them.
‘She’s saying goodbye to us,’ Angela said and held tightly to her husband’s hand as she blinked away her tears. ‘Trying to comfort us, to remind us of all the good in life …’
‘Yes,’ Mark said and smiled at her, ruffling his sons’ hair fondly. ‘I do believe she is …’
A Q&A WITH CATHY SHARP
You’ve had a long career as a writer, how did it start?
As a child, I was always making up stories in my head about a princess in a castle being rescued by a prince who would carry her off and look after her. A bit of a loner, I wanted the enchantment of being truly loved so I made up my own stories. When I was older and started to put down some of the stories in my head, my first attempts were awful. It took years of trying, rewriting and learning from my mistakes before I had something published, and even then it was romance rather than the stronger fiction I write now. So I would say writing comes through experience.
What stories inspired you when you were starting out?
I used to read Ethel M Dell and several others of her era, and then I read Mills & Boon Historical stories, and it was these Historical books that made me want to write and brought my first success. I had more than seventy books published with Harlequin Mills & Boon before my sagas really caught fire.
Where did you get the idea for The Orphans of Halfpenny Street series?
I had it in mind to write a series about children in trouble and my agent put me in touch with a wonderful editor who has lots of good ideas bubbling about in her head. She was looking for a series about an orphanage, and she had some ideas that sparked my imagination and so we put our heads together and I wrote a synopsis and three chapters in two days. The editor loved it and that was the seed of a beautiful flower that blossomed into the Halfpenny series. We met and talked a couple of times and I rewrote and rewrote until it all came together.
Have you done a lot of research and if so, what is the most surprising thing you have discovered?
I research only what I need to for any particular book, because, if I do masses of it, when I write the book it all comes out like a history lesson and I can lecture my readers for pages. That isn’t what fiction is about. The story and passion behind the idea makes it appeal to readers, and, in my opinion, the research should be woven into the book so lightly that you hardly realise it is there. It’s always best if it comes over as news or a conversation, or a thought, as when Sister Beatrice thinks about abuse in children’s homes. I don’t enjoy books when someone tries to teach me something or moralises at me so I don’t expect my readers to stand for that either.
I think the thing that surprises me most about researching the past is the terrible suffering of people before our modern age. Today, we complain about poverty and sickness, but, at least in Britain, we really don’t suffer in the way they did a century or more ago, when so many people went hungry day after day and died of things that the doctors can cure today. Living standards were appalling in the majority of workers’ homes. Often they didn’t live to be much more than forty, and in some earlier centuries twenty-nine was a good age, and so many children died in their early years. Our standards are much higher and we don’t expect a child to suffer hunger these days, though there are unfortunately still cases where they suffer both hunger and abuse, and we all condemn and hate it when we hear of it.
What does your typical writing day look like?
I get up, have breakfast and have my bath, and then I just sit down in my study in an armchair and write on the laptop until lunchtime. I seldom do much writing in the afternoon, except to read through a few pages. I used to write all day but that is too much for me these days. I work straight on to the computer and I always revise a few pages of the previous day’s writing before I start new work. It reminds me of what I was thinking when I left off, always reluctantly – but we have to eat!
Where do you find inspiration for your characters? Are any of them based on real people?
None of my characters is a real person, but little bits of them are. I will notice habits that amuse me and put them into a character, and I remember things people have said that impress me and I use a form of their opinions when making a character come to life. I find that characters mature and grow as I write the book, and I always go back to the start and change the first chapters as my people evolve and I understand that they just would not have said or done something I made them do before I knew them – and in the case of the hero – fell in love with him.
What hobbies do you have in your spare time?
What spare time? :) I read a little in bed and I watch TV in the evenings, but I find there is almost always too much to do in a day.
When on holiday in Spain I enjoy walking on the sea front, swimming and just lying in the sun. I love eating out there – and here – when I find somewhere nice, but apart from holidays there isn’t time for many hobbies.
What would be your ‘Desert Island’ book?
Can I have my kindle instead please? I could take so many more books with me. Of course it would need to be powered by the sun, but surely they can invent one of those? I’ve just read all ten of the Last Kingdom books by Bernard Cornwell in one go – couldn’t put them down: hoping there’s another in the pipeline. I’ve read so many lovely books how could I choose one? I suppose, if a gun was put to my head, it would have to be Gone With the Wind. It would take me ages to read and I do love it, but then I rather like War and Peace and … No good, I refuse to be marooned without my kindle – powered by the sun!
If you weren’t a writer, what would you be?