‘I’m perfectly all right, thank you,’ Sunday told him primly although she would dearly have loved a cup of sweet tea and one of the fresh-baked biscuits. However, there was only one cup. ‘I’ll just get on with the job if you don’t mind.’
‘But I do mind, my dear.’ His face was straight now as he stared at her. ‘You will discover that I can be very generous if you are nice to me.’
Sunday had a very good idea of what being nice to him might entail if what had happened to Cissie was anything to go by. Her stomach began to churn but she merely stared back at him with an innocent expression on her face as she replied, ‘But I am being nice, sir. See, I’ve almost finished the second drawer now.’
Containing his impatience as best he could, he ordered, ‘Stop that for a moment. Pour this tea for me.’
Feeling like a rat caught in a trap, Sunday slowly approached the desk and lifted the heavy brown teapot. Almost instantly his hand shot out to stroke hers and she jerked in shock. Some of the tea sloshed out over the tray and over some of his plump, sausage-like fingers.
He howled with pain as he shook his hand. ‘Now look what you’ve done! You burned me!’
‘S-sorry, sir. You startled me.’ Sunday wasn’t sorry at all and watched as he rammed the scalded fingers into his rubbery lips and sucked them.
‘There, that’s better – you may try again now, but please be more careful this time,’ he said as he tried to plaster a smile onto his face.
Now she carefully poured the tea into the cup before adding milk and sugar, painfully aware of his eyes on her. He reminded her of a big fat cat about to pounce on a mouse and her heart was in her throat as she handed the cup and saucer to him.
‘Perfect, just as I like it,’ he praised before slurping at the drink noisily. ‘Are you quite sure you wouldn’t like to taste it?’ His voice was cajoling but Sunday shook her head and turned back to the filing cabinet to continue with her work.
Sunday was actually quite enjoying rearranging the files. She had even managed to glance through a few of them and was sad at the tales they told of some of the workhouse inmates. So much heartache written on those pages. It was just a shame that she had to be in the room with Pinnegar. She was grateful when the bell sounded for lunch and she was able to escape.
‘Be sure to come straight back after your meal now,’ he called after her. ‘You are doing an excellent job, my dear.’
She gulped as she closed the door between them, then hurried off to the dining hall where she found Miss Frost waiting for her with a face like a dark thundercloud.
‘I hope you have almost finished,’ she snapped.
‘I’m afraid not, Matron. I’ve not even quite finished the second drawer yet. The filing system was in a terrible mess.’
‘You had better finish the task after dinner then, but don’t you dare take a second longer than you need to or you’ll have me to answer to.’
Sunday’s spirits sank. There was a whole wall full of drawers. There was no way she could work her way through them all in one afternoon.
Over dinner she merely played with her food and Daisy whispered, ‘Is he behaving?’
‘Only just,’ Sunday muttered. ‘I can feel his eyes boring into my back the whole time I’m working. He tried to stroke my hand once so I slopped hot tea all over him.’ She saw Daisy’s eyes light up with amusement at that and had to stifle a giggle. ‘He didn’t half jump!’
‘Serves the old devil right,’ Daisy snorted, and then becoming aware that Miss Frost was watching them the girls fell silent. It was with great reluctance that Sunday returned to her job after dinner to find Mr Pinnegar waiting expectantly for her.
‘Ah, back to continue with the good work, I see,’ he said cheerily as Sunday ignored him and got on with her task. Three times that afternoon he brushed up against her until Sunday’s nerves were so on edge she felt like screaming at him.
At two o’clock she asked if she might be excused for her two hours of lessons with Mrs Lockett but he shook his head.
‘You can miss one day,’ he told her. ‘In fact, you have clearly been a good student and I doubt there would be any more Mrs Lockett could teach you at your age. We should think of employing you in a clerical job right here in the workhouse.’
Sunday’s spirits sank even lower but she got on with what she was doing without a word. She would rather take the lowliest of jobs outside of the workhouse than have to spend every day ensconced here with him.
The afternoon dragged on interminably but, at last, the bell for supper sounded and Sunday inched towards the door.
‘Will that be all, sir?’
‘Until tomorrow. Report back here first thing after breakfast.’ His eyes raked her up and down and she got the strangest feeling that he could see right through her clothes. Her cheeks grew hot. She felt angry and powerless.
Daisy noticed that she was not her usual self over their evening meal and Sunday’s mood became worse when Mr Pinnegar, who appeared to be lingering in the corridor, stopped her as they were making their way back to their dormitory.
‘Ah, Miss Small. Would you just spare me a few moments, my dear? I can’t seem to put my hand on the Bates family file.’
Sunday tried to hide her hostility as she told him, ‘It will be in the top drawer under the Bs unless it’s in one of the drawers I haven’t addressed yet.’
‘Perhaps you could—’
‘What’s this about?’
Sunday had never been so pleased to see the housemother in all her life. ‘Mr Pinnegar wants to me go to his office to look for a file,’ she said.
‘Absolutely not. It would upset the girls’ routine and you know how strict we are about maintaining rules, Mr Pinnegar,’ Miss Frost told him in a no-nonsense sort of voice. ‘It will have to wait until the morning. I could come and help you look for them if it’s so important.’
‘Oh no . . . no, there’s no need for that,’ he coughed, running his hand across his hair which was flattened to his scalp with Macassar oil. ‘I dare say it will wait until morning.’
Sunday and Daisy grinned at each other before lifting their skirts and escaping up the stairs as fast as their legs would take them. For the first time in her life, Sunday had something to thank Miss Frost for, and she decided she would worry about tomorrow when it dawned.
Meanwhile, over in his office, the bulge in Albert Pinnegar’s trousers was throbbing painfully. But he didn’t want to frighten her. Sunday Small clearly wasn’t going to be as easy a conquest as Cissie had been, but she was such a bonny little lass that he was prepared to bide his time . . . For a while at least. There was something about her that he found irresistible and he was already imagining her lying in his arms, her virginity his for the taking.
Chapter Seven
The girls had just entered their dormitory when Miss Frost followed them in and told Sunday, ‘Small, come along to the wash-room.’
‘But I was just about to get undressed,’ Sunday said with a frown.
‘This minute.’
Giving Daisy a reassuring smile, Sunday followed the woman along the corridor. The second they entered the wash-room Miss Frost removed a large pair of scissors from the deep pocket of her gown and, brandishing them, she told Sunday, ‘Sit down here.’ As she motioned to a wooden chair, the only seat in the room, the girl guessed what was about to happen.
‘I thought I saw something move in your hair earlier on in Mr Pinnegar’s office,’ Miss Frost told her, and before Sunday could object she grasped a handful of her hair and began to part it. ‘Ah, just as I thought,’ she said gleefully. ‘You do have nitties!’
‘I do not!’ Sunday was furious. She had always taken special care to keep her hair clean. ‘If I had, a member of staff would have noticed when they went through my hair on Sunday evening with the nit comb.’ But it was useless. Before she could say another word, the woman had lifted the scissors and a large clump of Sunday’s beautiful hair drifted to the floor. The girl’s hands clenched into fists and sh
e blinked to hold back the tears. Was there nothing this woman wouldn’t do to hurt her?
‘Cleanliness is next to godliness,’ the woman chanted and Sunday was powerless to stop her as she hacked away at her hair with a vengeance. Within minutes, Sunday’s hair stood out around her head in clumps and the woman sighed with satisfaction.
‘Now get yourself back to your bed.’ Miss Frost bent to retrieve the locks of hair from the floor, muttering to herself, ‘I should get a good price for this from the wigmaker.’ And with that she strode away, leaving Sunday to stare at the few remnants of hair spread across the floor. Taking a deep breath, she then rose and slunk away to the dormitory, very aware of the sympathetic glances she was receiving from the girls she passed on the way.
‘Oh, no!’ Daisy’s hand flew to her mouth as she gazed in horror at what the housemother had done to her friend. ‘The jealous old crow has done this because Mr Pinnegar has shown an interest in you. Your poor, beautiful hair!’
Sunday shrugged. ‘It’ll grow again, and to be honest I’ll thank her if it makes him keep his hands off me.’ Thankfully, Sunday had never been a vain girl but Daisy was devastated for her.
‘Well, I just wish we could do the same to her,’ she said tearfully as she yanked her nightdress over her head.
Sunday changed and hopped into bed then tentatively ran her fingers across her bare neck. It felt cold without the thick curtain of hair but no doubt she would get used to it, and as she’d said, it would soon grow again. At the moment she was more worried about Mr Pinnegar’s wandering hands but at least for now she was safe from him. Even he wouldn’t risk entering the girls’ dormitories.
Following breakfast the next morning, much to Miss Frost’s disgust, Sunday was told to once again report to Mr Pinnegar’s office. She had felt his eyes on her all throughout the meal and couldn’t eat a thing – not that she had missed much. The porridge was particularly vile that morning.
‘Ah, here you are then on this bright sunny morning, my dear,’ he greeted her as she entered his room. She had her cap pulled tightly down over her ears but she couldn’t prevent the straggly clumps from poking out from beneath it here and there. Then: ‘What has happened to your hair, my dear? Remove your cap, please.’
Sunday did as she was told and once the full extent of Miss Frost’s handiwork was revealed, the corpulent housefather gasped with horror. He didn’t ask who had done it, however, but he clearly guessed and was outraged.
‘What a shame,’ he said, opening his palm to reveal a beautiful length of scarlet ribbon. ‘I had bought you this to tie your curls back with, but it appears you won’t be needing it for a while. Still, your hair will soon grow back, so take it and put it away safely.’ She flinched away from him when his hand snaked out to stroke her shorn scalp.
‘Thank you, sir, but Miss Frost will not take kindly to my accepting gifts and, as you said, it will be some time now before I would need it.’ Sunday rammed her cap back on, her cheeks suffused with colour, and hastily tied the ribbons beneath her chin. She then walked past him, pulled one of the drawers on the filing cabinet open and instantly got to work.
Mr Pinnegar scowled but thankfully turned his attention to some papers on his desk and for a while there was nothing to be heard but the sound of birdsong filtering through the window from the kitchen gardens outside.
If only I were out there, Sunday thought longingly. She knew that Daisy loved being out there too, especially if Tommy was working outside and they could all be together. During the spring and summer, the vegetables and fruit were grown and harvested for the workhouse kitchens. There was also a small orchard where berries and apples were cultivated. The male inmates of the workhouse and the boys did most of the outdoor work but just occasionally the girls were allowed to help, and the few times Sunday had worked out there stuck in her mind as being some of the happiest times of her life. She loved the fresh air and begrudged being shut away indoors. However, she continued with her task, continually interrupted by Miss Frost who was making any excuse she could to visit the housemaster’s office. Sunday was actually glad of the woman’s presence although it was clear from his face that Mr Pinnegar was becoming increasingly irritated. Just before lunchtime, he lost his temper and, following Miss Frost’s latest departure, he stamped over to the door and turned the key in the lock. Sunday gulped deep in her throat. There was no chance of them being unexpectedly interrupted now and she stiffened as he pulled his chair closer to her and began to stare at her with a strange light in his eyes.
‘So what would you like to do when you leave here?’ he asked pleasantly.
‘I err . . . I suppose I’d like a job where I was working outdoors, perhaps on a farm if that were possible,’ Sunday told him nervously.
‘Hmm, unfortunately it’s usually the boys the farmers prefer . . . but if you were to be nice to me I’m sure I could be nice to you too and pull a few strings.’ He inched even closer, and as his hand settled on her backside, Sunday jumped as if she had been scalded and leaped away from him.
‘I . . . I don’t know what you mean, sir,’ she stuttered as her heart beat a tattoo in her chest.
‘No? Then let me show you. You see, one day some young man will come along and want to marry you . . . I could show you the way to keep him happy. Come a little closer, girl, and give me your hand.’
‘It’s quite all right,’ Sunday said breathlessly. ‘I’m happy to learn as I go along, when that day comes.’
Suddenly someone tried the office door, then finding it locked began to pound on it.
‘Mr Pinnegar! Mr Pinnegar! Why is the door locked? Let me in at once!’
The man groaned with frustration as he went to open the door before confronting Miss Frost with: ‘What on earth do you want now, woman?’
‘A signature on this, if you please.’ She pushed past him into the room and eyed Sunday coldly before slapping a paper down on his desk. ‘It’s the payment for the coal delivery. And why is the door locked, may I ask? It’s most irregular. Myself and the rest of the staff should have access to you at all times – you are needed, sir!’
‘I am a very busy man and I locked it to prevent these constant interruptions,’ he replied in a high ill-humour. He then bent to the paper and after dipping his pen in the inkwell he signed it and thrust it back towards the woman. ‘There. Now for goodness sake leave me in peace to get on with my work.’
‘Very well, but in future please leave the door unlocked,’ she told him, then with a final glare at Sunday she glided from the room like a ship in full sail.
Sunday kept her eyes on the files in front of her and thankfully Mr Pinnegar returned to his paperwork although he looked far from happy. She was relieved when the bell sounded for dinner and scooted away as fast as her legs would carry her. Daisy was waiting for her outside the dining hall and she whispered urgently, ‘Are you all right?’
‘Just about, but his hands have started to stray now. Still, I can handle him so don’t you get worrying, and thankfully Miss Frost has insisted to him that I attend lessons today.’
Mrs Lockett was coming more infrequently now, for her baby was due at any time. The guardians had appointed a new teacher to take her place when she was absent. The girls missed her terribly although they didn’t begrudge her her happiness. Sunday was subdued during lunchtime and when she trooped into the room that served as a classroom Mrs Lockett peered at her and asked, ‘Are you feeling unwell, dear? You don’t appear to be your usual cheery self.’ Her eyes then strayed to the clumps of hair on Sunday’s forehead and she gasped, ‘Whatever have you done to your hair? Take your bonnet off this instant.’
The other girls were already seated and they stared at Sunday in sympathy as she revealed the extent of Miss Frost’s spite just as the woman herself entered the room.
‘I noticed that the girl was scratching and on inspection I found that she had a bad infestation of head lice so it is I who is responsible for her haircut,’ she said self-righteously.
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Mrs Lockett was so angry that she was visibly shaking as she retorted, ‘I find that very hard to believe, Miss Frost. Sunday is always punctilious about her hygiene and I certainly wouldn’t call that outrage a haircut! It’s more of a barbaric scalping.’
Miss Frost sneered. ‘Well, I was only trying to prevent an outbreak of nits so I think you’ll find I was quite within my rights to do it. But now shouldn’t you be doing what you came here to do rather than stand here disagreeing with me?’ She smiled sweetly then turned her back and left the room as Mrs Lockett’s hands clenched into fists.
Sunday rushed over to her side. ‘Please don’t get distressed over me,’ she pleaded. ‘It’s only hair and it will grow back in no time.’
Mrs Lockett nodded and made a conscious effort to pull herself together before addressing the girls, saying, ‘Right, today we are going to look at verbs . . .’ She broke off suddenly and with a groan leaned across the table, clutching her stomach.
Some of the younger girls in the class began to whimper. Mrs Lockett was one of the very few people who ever showed them any kindness and they were terrified to see her in distress.
‘I’ll go and fetch Miss Frost. She can’t have gone far,’ Sunday gabbled and she shot from the room like a bullet from a musket. The woman was just about to enter the housemaster’s office yet again when Sunday finally tracked her down.
‘What on earth do you think you are doing, running in the corridors indeed like a common hoyden. You know it’s forbidden.’
‘It’s Mrs Lockett,’ Sunday told her breathlessly. ‘I think her baby is coming.’
‘What?’ Miss Frost hastily followed Sunday back to the classroom and after one glance at the teacher she told Sunday, ‘Run outside and tell the caretaker to get the cart ready. It is an emergency. We have to get Mrs Lockett back to the vicarage. As soon as you’ve done that, run and try to find the vicar and tell him to send for the midwife and the doctor immediately.’
Minutes later, after gabbling instructions to Barker, the ancient workhouse caretaker, Sunday was running across the Boot Hill as fast as her legs would carry her. Thankfully, as she approached the church, she saw Reverend Lockett in the churchyard. He had just finished conducting a funeral and looked like he was heading home for a well-earned cup of tea.
Mothering Sunday Page 6