It was bedtime before Sunday returned to the dormitory to find her friend anxiously waiting for her.
‘I’ve been so worried about yer,’ Daisy said, nestling into Sunday’s side as she threw her arms about her waist. It was hard for Sunday to remember sometimes that Daisy was only nine, a year younger than herself. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ Sunday sighed. Her old fighting spirit had returned already, thanks to Miss Beau’s tender loving care.
‘I heard Miss Beau giving Miss Frost a right old telling-off about locking you away for so long. She were really brave,’ Daisy confided, before asking, ‘But what’s happened to Cissie? All the girls that saw what happened are whisperin’ that they’ve carted her off to the lunatic asylum.’
Never one to tell lies, Sunday nodded. ‘They have, but don’t you worry. We’ll get out of here one day an’ when we do, we’ll go an’ get her out of there as well.’
‘But that’s a long way away yet,’ Daisy fretted. ‘You’re so brave, Sunday. I won’t be afraid with you by my side.’
‘The time will pass, you’ll see,’ Sunday assured her as they clung together, drawing comfort from each other.
Chapter Five
March 1884
‘Isn’t it lovely to be out in the open air,’ Daisy said, as she and Sunday walked in file to All Saints Church for the Sunday-morning service, admiring the spring flowers that were peeping from beneath the hedgerows and the birds twittering in the trees. How Sunday envied them their freedom.
Miss Beau had become Mrs Lockett, the vicar’s wife, over two years before, and soon she would bear her first child so she was spending less and less time volunteering at the workhouse. They would see her today though, which added to their pleasure on this sunny morning.
Sunday had shot up in height over the last few years and although she would never be tall she was now at thirteen one of the oldest girls in the workhouse. She was also one of the prettiest. Her skin was like peaches and cream and her blue eyes had a sparkle to them. But it was her nature that endeared her to most people. As Mrs Lockett had often told her, ‘You live up to the day of the week you were born on, Sunday.’ She would then repeat the rhyme, ‘But the child who is born on the Sabbath day is bonny and blithe and good and gay’, much to Sunday’s embarrassment.
Sunday had already asked Miss Frost to look for suitable employment for her and she often thought with amusement that the woman would be only too happy to see the back of her. She certainly hadn’t made the matron’s life easy. Over the last four years there had been another three stretches in the punishment room for Sunday, along with two or three beatings – one of them quite severe – but through it all Sunday had concentrated on the time she could spend with Miss Beau, now Mrs Lockett, and had distracted herself with the lovely books the woman had lent to her. By blocking out as best she could how awful her life in the workhouse really was, she had managed to make it through. Had it not been for parting from Daisy and Tommy, Sunday would have been looking forward to leaving even more than she already was, but she was wise enough to know that once she was out, she stood more chance of finding a place for all of them. Even so, as things stood she was dreading having to leave them behind.
‘Still, it won’t be for long,’ she constantly reassured Daisy. ‘I shall save every single penny I earn and as soon as I have enough money to rent a place where we can live I shall ask Mrs Lockett to help me get you and Tommy out of here, I promise.’ Tommy had actually been found a position on a farm the year before but had been returned to the workhouse within weeks by the farmer, who had stated he was worthless and workshy. Sunday knew that wasn’t true and suspected that Tommy hadn’t tried on the farm because he was fretting about leaving his little sister behind in the workhouse.
The two girls were moving across the Boot Bridge that crossed the Coventry Canal now and Daisy pointed excitedly to a boat that was moored there.
‘Probably water gypsies,’ Sunday told her. ‘They earn their living transporting coal and other goods along the canals.’
‘What a wonderful way to live.’ Daisy sighed blissfully and Sunday grinned. Daisy was a hopeless romantic. They moved on and passed beneath the Coton Arches and soon they were in the church staring up at the beautiful stained-glass windows.
As they were ushered onto the pews that were set aside for the workhouse inmates, Mrs Lockett waddled down the aisle with a wide smile on her face to greet them. She nodded politely at Miss Frost, who was looking severe in her Sunday-best black bonnet that would have been more suited to wear for a funeral, before turning her attention to Sunday and Daisy.
‘How are you?’ Sunday enquired and Mrs Lockett giggled.
‘Feeling very, very fat,’ she replied, much to Miss Frost’s disgust. She clearly didn’t consider it was etiquette to discuss such delicate conditions in public.
‘And my ankles are so swollen I can barely get my shoes on now,’ she went on, ignoring the matron’s disapproving stare. She tenderly stroked her swollen stomach and Sunday couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy. This baby would be blessed indeed to be born to two such wonderful people who wanted it with all their heart, would love it and might even bring brothers and sisters into the world for it to grow up with.
She glanced up to see the vicar take his place in the pulpit and after his wife had toddled away to take her seat the service began. The congregation sang hymns and said prayers before the vicar preached to them about Loving Thy Neighbour. Sunday grinned wryly to herself, hoping Miss Frost might take note.
The were all in a happy mood as they made their way back to the workhouse afterwards, partly due to the fact that the guardians would be joining them for lunch in the dining hall today. The smell of roast lamb wafted to them as they entered the building and Daisy and Sunday smiled at each other expectantly.
‘Come along, girls,’ Miss Frost trilled with a forced smile as she ushered them all to their seats. She was always the model of caring in front of the guardians but the girls just wished that the board of guardians could know what she was really like when they were not present. Of course, Mrs Lockett had tried to speak to them about her concerns but the majority of the guardians were elderly, somewhat old-fashioned and not really interested. Sunday hoped that now Lady Huntley, who Mrs Lockett had told her was a much younger lady, had joined them, she might take notice and bring about some changes.
The girls collected their plates and formed an orderly queue. The dinner ladies then placed a succulent slice of sizzling roast lamb along with a selection of vegetables and potatoes on each plate, and by the time the girls had carried their food back to the tables their mouths were watering and it was painful to have to wait for Miss Frost to say grace before they tucked in. Within seconds of them sitting down the only sound to be heard in the room was that of the cutlery scraping their plates.
Now and again Sunday glanced up at the woman who was seated at the head table between the other three male guardians. She must be the new guardian, Sunday deduced. She certainly hadn’t ever seen her before; she would have remembered her if she had. The woman was pretty in a fragile sort of way. Of medium height with fair hair coiled becomingly about her head, she looked as if one good puff of wind might blow her away. Her blue silk day dress, which was the colour of a summer sky and exactly the same shade as her eyes, was the height of fashion – a wide crinoline with a bustle – and the majority of the girls could hardly keep their eyes off her. Everything she wore looked expensive but Sunday noted that she merely picked at her food like a little bird as her gaze roved about the room. At one stage their eyes met briefly and the woman smiled, completely transforming her face before Sunday quickly lowered her eyes. They had all been taught to keep their eyes averted when in the presence of the guardians but Sunday could have gone on staring at her for ever.
Following dinner, the inmates were served with a slice of apple pie and custard, a rare treat indeed, and suddenly the room was full of happy faces as Miss Frost dismiss
ed them to go to their chores, which thankfully they would finish early today because it was the Sabbath.
As Sunday trailed past the female guardian she dared to peek up and they exchanged a little smile.
The woman then turned to Miss Frost and commented, ‘That girl, the fair-haired one – what age is she? She looks as if she might be old enough to find work soon.’
Miss Frost pursed her lips and nodded in agreement. Against her better judgement, she could barely disguise the fact that Sunday had been a thorn in her flesh for some long time. She was the only child whose spirit she had not been able to break.
‘She will be fourteen in September, but I fear it will not be easy.’
When the woman raised an eyebrow Miss Frost went on, ‘Sunday Small can be a very difficult girl. Probably the best we can hope for her is the position of a laundry maid somewhere.’
‘Really?’ the woman said as she rose from her seat. ‘I thought what a pleasant girl she looked.’
‘Hmm, well, looks can be deceptive, milady,’ Miss Frost replied, before ushering her away on a tour of inspection.
At that moment, Sunday was just beginning her work again back in the laundry. Because that and cleaning the sluice rooms were the worst possible jobs, Miss Frost made sure that they were often allocated to Sunday. Today, however, the girl didn’t mind. After such a wonderful meal and the visit to the church that morning she was in a happy mood. Even more so because Daisy was working in the laundry with her and they could chatter together as long as they were quiet.
‘Weren’t that dinner grand?’ Daisy said as she plunged her hands into a sink full of hot water and began to scrub at the aprons soaking there. ‘And weren’t Lady Huntley, the new guardian, beautiful.’ She sighed as she pictured the pretty woman in her beautiful clothes.’ I never knew that women could be guardians before.’
Sunday nodded as she humped a load of clean washing over to the rinsing sinks. She had lit the fires in the pits beneath the enormous coppers early that morning before they left for church and now the steam from the coppers was making them sweat.
‘Let’s open the door,’ Daisy suggested as she pushed a lock of hair back under the ugly caps they were forced to wear. Sometime later she and Sunday carried the first lot of wet washing out into the yard. They were just hanging the items from the lines that were suspended there when the board of guardians appeared.
‘Daisy and Sunday are on laundry duties today,’ Miss Frost informed the small group.
The woman who had claimed Sunday’s attention smiled and said, ‘Sunday – what a curious name.’
‘She was left on the workhouse steps on a Sunday,’ Miss Frost said politely, meanwhile glaring at the young woman they were talking about. ‘It seemed as good a name as any for her.’
When they’d passed by, Sunday grinned as she started pegging the washing to the line.
‘They couldn’t even be bothered to make an effort to come up with a proper name for me, could they? It’s a good job I wasn’t born on a Saturday.’
Daisy giggled. ‘I like your name,’ she told her sincerely. ‘It’s different and it makes me think of sunshine and light. My mum told me she called me Daisy because I reminded her of a tiny flower when I was born.’
‘Oh, that’s lovely,’ Sunday agreed with an affectionate smile.
Daisy adored Sunday and wouldn’t have a word said against her but as Sunday’s birthday grew closer the younger girl was beginning to fret. How would she cope in the workhouse without her friend if Miss Frost were to find Sunday a position? But then remembering the delicious dinner they had just had and the happy time in church, she pushed the thought to the back of her mind. She would cross that bridge when she came to it and, anyway, Sunday had promised that she would come back for her and Tommy – and Daisy believed every word she said.
Later that afternoon when the guardians had left, Miss Frost entered Mr Pinnegar’s office and said, ‘Have you started to seek a position for the Small girl yet, Mr Pinnegar?’ She had asked him to begin looking a few times now but on each occasion he had cleverly changed the subject.
The housemaster was seated in the comfortable leather chair behind his desk with a large glass of port in his hand.
‘Ah . . . well, not yet,’ he admitted. ‘These things take time.’
Miss Frost sniffed. She had noticed the way his eyes had started to follow the Small girl about and the way she saw it, the sooner she was gone now the better.
‘Very well, I shall leave it in your capable hands,’ she told him and with an insincere smile she turned and left the room as Mr Pinnegar stared thoughtfully at the cracks on the ceiling.
Albert Pinnegar had behaved himself for some long time now, ever since the unfortunate dalliance with Cissie, which had resulted in her being locked away in the asylum, but now he was hungry to feel young flesh again and the Small girl fitted the bill. He’d best not leave it too long though, he thought. Now that old Frosty was keen to get rid of her, time was running out and soon he’d be forced to seek employment for her.
Chapter Six
As they were going into breakfast one morning early in April, Mr Pinnegar told the housemother, ‘I shall need a girl today, Miss Frost. I wish to have some administrative help.’
Miss Frost looked momentarily dismayed; she knew only too well what this might mean. However, the housemaster had to be obeyed so she replied, ‘Of course. I shall get one of the girls to report to you after breakfast.’
‘I want the Small girl.’ He stared at her in a way that brooked no argument. ‘Mrs Lockett informs me that she excels at her lessons and I need someone well able to read.’
Suppressing her rage, Miss Frost nodded. ‘Very well,’ she told him primly, then with her hands gripped at her waist she stamped away.
When the matron read out the list of chores following the midday meal, the colour drained out of Sunday’s face. She was no happier about the arrangement than Miss Frost was, although she didn’t argue. Sunday glanced at Daisy and gave her a defiant smile; they were both clearly thinking of what had happened to Cissie four years ago. But Sunday had no intention of letting history repeat itself.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll kick the fat sod where it hurts if he tries to lay a finger on me,’ she whispered to Daisy as they filed out of the dining hall. They parted then, with Daisy going off to the kitchen gardens where at least she might see Tommy, and Sunday reluctantly heading for Pinnegar’s office. She tapped on the door.
‘Come in,’ a voice boomed and Sunday stepped into the room, purposely leaving the door wide open behind her.
‘Close the door, my dear,’ he said in a sugar-sweet voice and the girl had no choice than to do as she was told.
‘How may I help, sir?’ she asked politely as he licked his thick lips and eyed her greedily up and down.
‘I thought we might tidy up some of the files – I’m afraid they have become in rather a muddle. Mrs Lockett informs me that you are very good at reading, so this job should be easy for you. So much nicer than being stuck in that laundry, don’t you think?’
‘I don’t mind working in the laundry,’ Sunday told him, her gaze steady.
The man looked slightly taken aback that she had dared to answer him so boldly but then quickly recovered himself.
‘Ah well . . . We’ll make a start, shall we? But first, why don’t you remove that cap? It must be terribly uncomfortable when it’s hot.’
Sunday reluctantly undid the coarse ribbon beneath her chin and when she removed the cap, as requested, her fair hair spilled onto her shoulders in soft, gleaming waves.
Mr Pinnegar came to stand beside her and fingered one of her curls with his fat fingers as she shuffled uneasily from foot to foot.
‘Such pretty hair,’ he murmured. ‘It’s a crime to hide it away.’
His breathing had become rapid so Sunday quickly suggested, ‘Shall we make a start on the files then, sir?’ As she spoke she took a step away from him and he seemed to pull himse
lf together.
‘What? Oh yes . . . yes, of course.’ Crossing to a tall wooden filing cabinet he yanked open a drawer and told her, ‘I want all these files placed in alphabetical order. Do you understand what that means?’
‘Of course.’ Sunday stared at him disdainfully. What did he think she was – a simpleton? She was horrified to see that there was a whole wall full of cabinets. If she had to tidy them all she might be trapped in here with him for days . . . but she then turned to the job in hand and was soon so absorbed in her task that she forgot all about Mr Pinnegar. It was actually quite nice to be doing something that taxed her brain a little rather than menial cleaning jobs.
By mid-morning she had finished the first drawer and was working on the second when Miss Frost appeared, balancing a tray containing tea and a plate of shortbread.
‘Your elevenses,’ she trilled, placing them on the housemaster’s desk. She then glared at Sunday, who quickly got on with what she was doing.
‘Why aren’t you wearing your cap, girl?’ Miss Frost said harshly.
Before Sunday could answer, Mr Pinnegar told her, ‘I gave Small permission to remove it, Matron. It’s rather warm in here.’
‘Put it back on immediately,’ the woman hissed at Sunday, and as the girl rushed to do as she was told she turned her attention back to Mr Pinnegar. ‘I’m afraid it’s rules that the girls wear their caps at all times. It helps to prevent the spread of head lice.’
‘Very well. Thank you, Miss Frost, that will be all,’ he told her, and with an angry flush on her cheeks, the woman turned about and stalked out of the room.
Mr Pinnegar asked, ‘Won’t you come and share a cup of tea with me, my dear? You must be thirsty by now. And how about one of Cook’s home-made biscuits?’
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