It was opened by an elderly lady who appeared to be quite unsteady on her feet as she ushered Sunday inside. Sunday had not been in the nursery for years and she glanced around. Eight crude wooden cots were lined up regimentally below the sloping eaves and there was not a sound to be heard.
‘Are the babies all asleep?’ she whispered and the woman laughed as she swiped snot from her red nose on the back of her sleeve.
‘Are they ’ell as like,’ she cackled. ‘The little buggers know better’n to disturb me. If they do yark, I gives ’em a swill o’ this – an’ that soon shuts ’em up.’
She brandished a bottle of clear liquid at Sunday and the girl saw that it was sloe gin. No wonder the poor little souls are so quiet, she thought as she began to walk along the row of cots. The babies stared up at her beseechingly and Sunday felt like crying. The smell issuing from some of them was overpowering and she asked, ‘Where do you keep their binders? I think some of them might need changing.’
The woman had settled onto the only chair in the room by now and was swigging away from the bottle as if her life depended on it.
‘They’s in that cupboard over there.’ She gestured with the bottle. ‘But don’t you get spoilin’ ’em, mind. They’ll expect this sort o’ treatment all the time.’ She cackled again as Sunday went to the cupboard and collected an armful of clean binders before working her way methodically along the row. The reek of stale urine was making her retch and she was horrified to find that most of the tiny bottoms she changed were so sore they were bleeding. The dirty binders were dropped into a large bucket of cold water to soak in the corner of the room and would be taken to the laundry room to be boiled in the copper the next morning. By the time she had tended to the last baby there were tears in her eyes but this was no time for giving in to her emotions. Most of the babies had tried to suckle her hand while she was changing them so she knew that they were hungry. They seemed to range from newborn up to a few months old and the sight of them lying there too afraid to even whimper almost broke her heart.
‘I’ll start to feed them now. Where is the milk?’ she asked then. It was obvious that the old woman had no intention of doing it and it was clear to Sunday now why so many of the infants never reached their first birthdays.
‘There’s a pan full of it an’ the bottles over there.’ The woman gestured towards a small stove. ‘There’s some vestas to light the stove an’ all if you’ve a mind to but I just give it the little buggers cold. They’s that hungry it don’t much bother ’em which way it comes.’
Ignoring her comment, Sunday struck a vesta and lit the gas to warm the milk. She then poured it into the banana-shaped glass bottles with a rubber teat either end and lifted the nearest baby from his cot. He stared up at her silently but when she placed the teat near his lips and he tasted the warm milk he began to slurp it so greedily that he almost choked.
Sunday rocked him as she fed him and in minutes he had drained the bottle and gave a satisfied burp. The poor little lambs are starving, Sunday thought as she laid him gently back in his cot. The old woman was snoring loudly by the time Sunday had finished and so were most of the babies if it came to that, but at least she had the satisfaction of knowing that they were all content, for now at least. She repeated the whole process again in the early hours of the morning by candlelight and then again as the dawn was breaking, and just as she was finishing tending to the last infant the old woman started awake.
‘What time is it?’ she asked, knuckling the sleep from her eyes.
‘I should imagine it’s approaching six o’clock,’ Sunday answered as she looked towards the only grimy window in the room.
‘That’s us done then, the day shift’ll be ’ere in a minute.’ She dragged herself to her feet as Sunday eyed her with contempt. She hadn’t lifted so much as a finger to help with any of the babies all night long.
With a sigh Sunday glanced at the sleeping infants for one last time then made her way to the wash-room but found that she couldn’t stop thinking about them. They were all so deserving of someone’s love, and from now on she would volunteer to work in the nursery as often as she was allowed. She hadn’t had a scrap of sleep all night so it looked set to be a very long day ahead. But the one thing the night shift in the nursery had achieved was to make Sunday determined that, one day, she would make a difference to these poor babies’ lives and others like them. Perhaps some time in the future she could open a foundling home of her own, where she could love and care for unfortunate children like these?
The idea took root and began to grow. The night marked a turning-point in her life: Sunday Small had found her vocation.
Chapter Eleven
As Lady Huntley breezed purposefully into the workhouse on a hot day in late July 1884, Miss Frost appeared from the shadows. There were no visits from the guardians expected as far as she knew, and if there were it was very remiss of Mr Pinnegar not to have told her.
‘May I help you, Lady Huntley?’ she asked primly as the woman hovered in the entrance hallway.
‘Ah, Miss Frost – yes, you may. I wish to see Mr Pinnegar. Is he in?’
‘Err . . . well, yes he is. But it is usual to make an appointment.’ Miss Frost hadn’t taken to Lady Huntley at all – the woman was too nosy by half. Always asking to see into different rooms and enquiring about routines that had nothing to do with her. The gentlemen were so much easier to deal with as far as she was concerned.
‘Nevertheless, I still wish to see him.’ Lavinia Huntley stared back at her haughtily. She hadn’t taken to Miss Frost either. For one thing, she was far too ready to use that damned cane she carried about with her, if what she had heard whispered was true. ‘So would you kindly inform him I am here, please?’ And when the woman hesitated, ‘Now, if you will.’
Miss Frost bristled, but inclined her head all the same as she stalked away to do as she was asked.
‘Mr Pinnegar will see you now,’ she informed the visitor when she returned.
Lavinia Huntley followed her along the corridor until Miss Frost paused at the housemaster’s door and tapped on it lightly. She then stood aside for the guest to enter the room but swiftly followed her in, closing the door behind them.
‘Lady Huntley, what an unexpected pleasure. How are you, dear lady?’ Mr Pinnegar extended his hand and after shaking it Lavinia Huntley took a seat and spread her skirts about her while Miss Frost stood back to listen to what had brought her there.
‘I have heard of a position that might suit one of the older girls who is due to leave the workhouse shortly,’ Lady Huntley told him without preamble. ‘There is an elderly lady who runs a lodging house in Whittleford and I heard at church that she needs a young woman to help out as it is all getting a little too much for her. She is offering board and lodgings as well as a small wage to the right person.’
‘I see.’ Mr Pinnegar tapped his double chin thoughtfully. ‘As you say, it might well be suitable for one of our leavers. They have all been taught to sew and clean and keep house.’
To skivvy, more like, Lavinia thought, but she remained silent as he digested the idea before adding, ‘I do, in fact, already have someone in mind. I’ve seen her a few times when I’ve visited here lately and Mrs Lockett has provided her with an excellent reference.’
‘Oh yes, and who would that be?’
‘I don’t know her name but she has short fair hair and very blue eyes.’
‘It’s the Small girl,’ Miss Frost interrupted, delighted at the prospect of getting rid of her.
Mr Pinnegar’s face, meanwhile, fell a mile. He had very different plans for Sunday.
‘I think you are absolutely right,’ Miss Frost hurried on. ‘She would be perfect, Lady Huntley, and she is due to leave here in September anyway.’
‘It’s out of the question. She must remain here!’ Mr Pinnegar snapped.
‘Nonsense.’ Miss Frost waved his objections aside and Mr Pinnegar looked outraged. How dare she dismiss him this way!
‘The lady in question needs someone as soon as possible. But perhaps we should ask the girl how she feels about it first?’
‘Well, I hardly think—’ Mr Pinnegar protested.
‘That would be an excellent idea, Lady Huntley,’ Miss Frost gushed, once more ignoring Mr Pinnegar’s attempts to speak. ‘She’s working in the laundry today, I believe. Shall we go and put the proposition to her?’
Mr Pinnegar’s face turned an ugly dark red but neither woman noticed as they left the room.
Miss Frost showed the visitor into the day room where the inmates received their visitors each Sunday before hurrying away to fetch Sunday. She found her sweating profusely with her arms up to the elbows in hot soapsuds and with her apron covered in blood. Today the unfortunate task of washing the rags that the women used for their monthly courses had fallen to Sunday. It was a task she detested but she supposed someone had to do it. In the winter she quite enjoyed working in there but in the summer it was so hot that it was torture – a fact of which Miss Frost was well aware. She had kept Sunday in the laundry for two whole weeks out of sheer spite. Now, when Miss Frost advanced on her, Sunday braced herself, wishing that the woman would just go away and leave her alone!.
‘Ah, here you are, Small.’
Sunday was shocked to see that the housemother appeared to be in a good humour.
‘Dry your hands, change your apron and follow me. Someone wishes to see you.’
‘Me?’ Sunday was amazed. She could never remember having a visitor before and wondered who it might be. Could it be that her mother had come for her at last? Her heart began to pound with joy.
Hastily she straightened and dried her hands on her skirt then quickly swapped her apron for a clean, starched one before following Miss Frost at a smart pace across the yard and back into the workhouse.
‘She is in here,’ Miss Frost told her, holding open the door to the day room, and Sunday’s hopes died as she recognised the pretty woman sitting there. She was the new guardian, but what could she possibly want with her?
‘Hello, my dear. It’s Sunday, isn’t it? Such an unusual name.’
Sunday stared back at her, well aware of what a mess she must look. Her cheeks were glowing from the steam and her hair had sprung into tight curls. Hiding her reddened hands behind her back she bowed her knee.
‘Good day, my lady.’
Lady Huntley patted the seat at the side of her, inviting, ‘Come and sit down here by me then we can have a little chat.’
Sunday glanced anxiously at Miss Frost but for once she was grinning like a Cheshire cat so Sunday did as she was told.
‘Perhaps we could have a tray of tea, Miss Frost? I’m sure Sunday must be thirsty working in all that steam,’ the woman suggested then, and Sunday had the satisfaction of seeing the smile slide from the housemother’s hatchet-like face.
A tray of tea indeed! Miss Frost thought resentfully as she stamped out of the room. Who did the woman think she was anyway – visiting royalty?
Left alone, Lady Huntley gave Sunday her undivided attention. ‘I came to see you today because I heard of a position that might just be perfect for you,’ she explained and went on to tell Sunday all about it. ‘Of course, dear Mrs Spooner is a little eccentric,’ she ended. ‘But do you think it might be something you would consider?’
Sunday chewed on her lip. It sounded perfect, and to be away from the confines of the workhouse at last would be a dream come true – but would there be any room for Daisy and Tommy?
‘Do you think Mrs Spooner would be able to afford to employ three of us?’ she asked tentatively then rushed on to tell Lady Huntley how close the three of them were and how much they wanted to stay together.
Lady Huntley frowned. The story of how Sunday had taken the two under her wing when they were orphaned had touched her heart and she was glad the three of them were firm friends, but she doubted that Mrs Spooner would want all of them.
‘I suppose I could ask her,’ she replied cautiously. ‘But you really should think of yourself. Daisy and Tommy will still have each other and Tommy will be out of here again soon, anyway. He’s slightly older than you, isn’t he? And he’s a fine strong lad. I’ve no doubt a farmer will employ him. As for Daisy, she might find a position as a maid somewhere when the time comes.’ Then seeing Sunday’s downcast expression, she went on gently, ‘The problem is, we can’t find everyone a place all at once.’
Miss Frost bustled back in then with a tray loaded with the special china that was kept especially for the guardians’ visits, and so for the first time in her life Sunday found herself drinking from something other than a tin mug, although the look Miss Frost gave her was poisonous.
‘So, would you at least like to meet Mrs Spooner, dear?’ Lady Huntley asked eventually.
‘That isn’t the normal pattern we follow,’ Miss Frost interrupted peevishly. ‘The young people don’t usually have a choice. They simply go where they are sent and are grateful for it.’
‘Really?’ Lady Huntley raised an eyebrow. ‘How absolutely dreadful. I’m sure we can do better than that.’ She then turned to look questioningly back at Sunday, who was feeling a number of emotions. Part of her was still worried about leaving her friends behind but the other part of her couldn’t help but be excited at the prospect of getting away from the hated workhouse. She nodded.
‘Excellent.’ Lady Huntley carefully placed her cup and saucer back on the tray and rose from her seat. ‘I shall collect you at two o’clock sharp tomorrow afternoon then, if that is satisfactory to you, Miss Frost?’
The woman was simmering with rage but she said tightly, ‘Of course. I shall see that the girl is ready and waiting.’
Lady Huntley smiled at Sunday and took her leave and the second she was out of sight, Miss Frost barked, ‘Well, what are you sitting there like a lady of leisure for? Get back to work this instant.’
Sunday stood up and sauntered from the room, which only incensed the woman even more. That girl is too big for her boots, she fumed, and the sooner she is gone the better!
As they were lying in bed that evening, Sunday told Daisy all about Lady Huntley’s visit and was surprised at her friend’s reaction.
‘Of course you must go, if you like the woman when you meet her,’ Daisy encouraged. ‘I’m sure it will be a far nicer position than old Frosty would have found for you.’
‘But what about you and Tommy?’ Sunday fretted.
Daisy blinked back tears and answered bravely, ‘Any time now they could find Tommy a new position on a farm or something, where he’s allowed to come and visit me, and next year I shall get out of here too. The time will pass in the blink of an eye. And you can always come and see us on Sunday afternoons. Me and Tommy have never had anyone to visit us before and it’ll be something to look forward to each week.’
‘Hmm.’ Sunday’s emotions were in turmoil. Her friends were like her very own brother and sister. ‘Well, I’ll go and meet her then,’ she agreed. ‘But if I don’t like her I’ll say so.’
‘Oh yes? And then what will happen? Frosty will find you somewhere ten times worse,’ Daisy pointed out sagely.
Sunday knew that she was right. The matron made no secret of the fact that she couldn’t wait to be rid of her. Not surprisingly, the feeling was mutual.
The next day dawned bright and clear although it didn’t make much difference to Sunday. Once again she was sent to work in the laundry. But at least she had her outing with Lady Huntley to look forward to, so she hummed as she worked. It was a rare treat to be allowed out of the workhouse other than to visit the church.
Half an hour before Lady Huntley was due to call for her, Miss Frost allowed Sunday to go to the wash-room and change into her Sunday clothes. They were barely better than the ones she was forced to wear ea
ch day but she washed herself from head to toe and brushed her hair until it gleamed and at least she felt clean.
She was in the day room nervously waiting when Lady Huntley arrived.
‘Ah, you’re all ready, I see.’ The woman smiled at her kindly. ‘Shall we go then?’ She held out her hand to Sunday as Miss Frost scowled at them both.
‘I’m not sure how long this will take but rest assured I shall see that Sunday is safely delivered back to you,’ Lady Huntley told her as she drew the girl out of the room.
Too angry to speak, Miss Frost tossed her head. Delivered safely back, indeed! Anyone would think the foundling was made of delicate china!
Outside the confines of the workhouse, Sunday paused to breathe deeply. It was such a treat to be out in the fresh air instead of being trapped in the gloomy laundry. A carriage stood outside pulled by two beautifully matched dapple-grey horses who were pawing the ground impatiently. The driver was sitting high above them and as Sunday caught his eye he winked at her. He clambered down then to help Lady Huntley and Sunday inside, and for the first time Sunday had the pleasure of a ride in a carriage. The smell of leather wafted to her and she gazed in awe from the window. She was so absorbed in looking out that she started when Lady Huntley laughed softly.
‘Am I to take it that you’ve never been in a carriage before?’
‘No, Mrs . . . err . . . ma’am,’ she stuttered, feeling totally out of her depth.
‘I see.’ Lady Huntley stared at Sunday’s ugly clothes and the heavy boots that encased her feet. The girl could be quite beautiful if she were dressed in pretty clothes, she found herself thinking. And she must be about the same age as my last daughter would have been . . . She abruptly stopped her thoughts from going along that route. Even now it was much too painful to think about.
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