The Orphan Thief

by Glynis Peters

  Tell Tommy I’ll be honoured to be his big brother and I look forward to my first letter from him.

  I am sorry this is not longer; it’s time to pull out and move onto my next project.

  My love to you and our child. Say hello to all.

  J x

  April 1943

  Toronto, Canada

  Dear Ruby,

  Jean-Paul wrote to tell us about the baby. To say we were shocked was an understatement, but now that shock has passed we write to tell you how delighted we are – but we are also filled with sadness beyond our comprehension.

  Our dearest boy has been declared missing in action during the bloodbath of the Battle of the Atlantic. As his fiancée, we wanted to inform you of this huge sadness, and we have asked the London Unit to keep you informed as next of kin in England. Pray for good news.

  Dear girl, please look after yourself and your precious cargo. Upon your instruction, we will come to see you both when he/she is born. We are grateful for your love of our son, for the happiness you gave him. This is a delicate subject, but how are you coping financially? We can arrange for funds for the child; never fear, we will not fail in our duty as grandparents.

  Our fond wishes, we know how precious your love is for our dear Jean-Paul.

  Jean-Paul Snr and Ida Clayton

  CHAPTER 33

  September 5th 1943

  The warmth of the sun on her shoulders lifted Ruby’s mood. The past few months had been a lesson in coping with John’s disappearance, and of how to learn to walk without pain in her hip. The baby’s kick often reminded her to respect Beatty’s and Fred’s request she ate something, and the task of learning to knit with the group of ladies at the shop filled the lonely hours. The idea of a second shop was dropped until she could focus on the long-term future of Shadwell’s without breaking down in tears. The pregnancy made her cry. The news of John made her angry. Her tears wouldn’t fall for him. From the day she’d read the letter and handed it over to Beatty she’d never shed a tear. She refused to believe he was dead, so why cry for him?

  She’d read all she could about the Battle of the Atlantic, and often wondered why he was at sea, but then, knowing John, he’d wanted to capture the action of his fellow Canadians and talked his way from the army to the navy portfolio.

  Ruby spent every day pondering the words she would say to John’s parents in a letter. She’d persuaded Fred and Beatty to write on her behalf, to send hope as a family and to reassure them the baby was to be born into a loving home and she was in good health.

  Some days she thought about writing to them and asking if she could live with them, just to be a little closer to John, and on other days she wanted the baby for herself, and not to have to share it with relative strangers. People who might deem her an unfit mother once they met her. All of these things churned away inside her.

  This morning she’d risen early and taken a slow walk to stretch out her limbs. She’d watched people going about their business and envied their ability to move with ease. A homing instinct took her to Eagle Street; although she’d vowed never to return, she felt the need to sit there with her memories for a while. She walked to the empty site and noticed fresh grass filled the space, and smiled. The darkness had lifted. A sharp pain speared through her back, a reminder she’d still got a few streets before she could rest. She placed her hand on her pregnant mound, and spoke softly to the child resting inside.

  ‘Can you feel their love, little one? This is where I began my life, and I think they are here to guide us through this, my little angel.’ Another pain told Ruby it was true. ‘Ouch. Let’s go find Beatty. It’s time for you and I to meet.’

  12th September 1943

  Dear Jean-Paul and Ida,

  Forgive me for not writing before, but my world fell apart after your letter, as I’m sure Beatty and Fred explained in theirs.

  I have news. Wonderful news. On the 7th of this month, I gave birth to a healthy baby boy. He weighed in at a bouncing seven pounds, at five to eleven at night. He is dark-haired like his daddy. All fingers and toes are complete and, I’m thankful to say, he has not inherited my shortened limb. In fact, we marvelled at how long his legs are, so definitely like his daddy. He is a feisty feeder, and a content baby. It was a long labour, but worth the effort. As to be expected, my emotional dam burst, and I cried for so long the midwife called for the doctor to visit me, but he said it was the combination of sadness for John, and joy.

  I hope you will forgive me, but I have given our child the surname Shadwell. I have to register his birth, and named his father for his birth certificate. John had agreed we were to be Shadwell-Clayton when we married to ensure my family name continued. His name is to be John Shadwell-Clayton (John junior). I know it isn’t his father’s true name, but for me it is. I do hope there is news of John soon, for all our sakes.

  With affection,

  Ruby

  June 1944

  ‘’appy Birfday, Rubes.’

  ‘Yes, Happy Birthday.’

  ‘Happy Birthday, duck.’

  ‘Thank you, all.’

  Ruby looked at her family around the table. All were going about their daily breakfast ritual, something most people took for granted, but Ruby no longer did. Tommy was ladling porridge into his mouth before heading for his lessons, now taken with a teacher in the community room, as he shoved forward a homemade card.

  ‘It’s from me an’ Johnny boy.’ He grinned up at her, and Ruby leaned in to kiss his forehead.

  ‘Git orf, soppy. Give me baby brother a kiss, an’ leave me be.’

  Fred laughed at their antics, and continued to scrape a thin layer of butter onto a slice of toast whilst bemoaning his small portion, and Beatty beamed at her as she poured tea into Ruby’s cup.

  ‘I swear that baby will be taller than you by supper.’

  Ruby dropped a kiss onto her son’s head and whispered to him as she took him to her breast.

  ‘They might not be related to us by blood but they’re as close as any family will ever be. Tommy has decided you need a big brother, and I think it is a wonderful thing. Your daddy’s family arrive today, and will meet us both for the first time. They are very brave as they are coming by aeroplane. Oh, darling boy, I know they will adore you, but we have to hope I don’t disappoint them. Oh, John, Mummy is scared. So scared.’

  Ruby’s breathing would not calm, and no amount of soothing words from Beatty helped. John’s parents were in the house, and talking with Fred downstairs. She took each step down with care, and at the bottom of the stairs checked baby John over for the umpteenth time. He was perfect, and no one could help but fall in love with him. His dark lashes lay on plump rosy cheeks, and his lips still suckled in his sleep. Deep inside she’d buried her heartbreak, and she allowed her son to give her the strength she needed as she stepped inside the room where his grandparents waited to greet them.

  ‘Oh, my, you are every bit as beautiful as Jean-Paul said you were. Come here, darling girl.’ Ida Clayton rushed towards them and embraced Ruby, who clutched her child for dear life, with warmth and genuine affection. But it was the man across the room who captured Ruby’s attention as he spoke and walked to Ruby to give her his loving embrace.

  ‘Everything he said. The boy has good taste. Thank you for our grandchild. For allowing us into your lives.’ His voice and tone were the same as she’d heard from his son.

  He stood tall and good-looking, a mature version of the man she loved. His image brought her Jean-Paul Clayton, alive again – a vision of what he would look like and, in all probability, what her son would look like at that age. She looked to John’s mother and smiled, then held out her son to enjoy his first snuggle with his grandmother.

  ‘We have a gift for him. For both of you,’ Ida said, and looked over at her husband with a gentle smile.

  ‘It’s something Ida and I created, and we want you to keep it. We know you’ll love it as much as we do.’ He walked to the hallway and pulled open the d
oor.

  Ruby turned back to Ida, holding baby John. ‘Did Jean-Paul look like this when he was born? Dark hair and lashes, chubby cheeks? Beatty called his skin olive. I just want to kiss him all day!’

  Ida laughed. ‘He did. A handsome baby. A boy from the onset. And as for kissing him, I could never help myself. Your son has brought back good memories and, holding him, I know his father will return to us.’

  ‘And then maybe I’ll get kisses all day too.’

  A silence hit the room and Ruby heard gasps from Beatty and a whoop from Tommy, and a grunt of approval from Fred, but she dared not turn around. Dared not believe John stood behind her. His hands touched her shoulders and he manoeuvred her around to face him, and Ruby thanked goodness she’d handed over her son to his grandmother, for her arms flew open wide to embrace John.

  ‘You’re home. You came back to me – us. Oh, John.’

  Ruby allowed the tears to flow. Tears of happiness and the unleashing of grief she’d held back no longer necessary.

  She gripped his hand and looked into his eyes. ‘Are you well … sick … injured?’

  ‘I was rescued and flown back to Canada. I have an injury to my back, and am classed as officially medically unfit, but I’m much better now I’m back with you. I’ve missed you …’ He kissed her with a fierceness and no concern for the others in the room. ‘My girl. Oh, my Ruby, I’m home. I got here and I’ll never leave you again.’

  Tommy held out his hand. ‘Oi, big bruvva, shake me ’and so I know you’re real.’

  John obliged then turned his attention to Beatty, holding out his hand.

  Beatty looked at him, and Ruby saw the tears rolling down her cheeks. ‘Handshake? Come here and give your stepmother-in-law a hug.’

  Fred stood back and Ruby turned to him. His face held a look she’d seen before, when she’d told him he’d be the one to walk her down the aisle.

  ‘Fred?’

  He gave a slight cough and held out his hand. ‘Nothing to see here. John, welcome home.’

  John’s father moved to Ruby and planted a kiss on her cheek. ‘Nice surprise? As we said, you can keep him. We have fallen in love with you already. Jean-Paul’s a wise man.’

  ‘He certainly is, and I agree his place is here with you, Ruby. He came home to us two days before we planned our trip, and it is because of him we’ve been able to fly to England. Isn’t it wonderful?’ Ida said.

  ‘It is, and thank you.’

  Ruby tugged John’s arm. ‘Come and meet him. John Shadwell-Clayton – our son. Hold him.’

  Ruby took the baby from Ida’s arms and gently laid him into the protection of his father’s. Father and son locked eyes, and Ruby witnessed their love for each other surge to the fore. Their child grasped his father’s finger, and John lifted the chubby hand to his lips. Their likeness was undeniable. The boy was a Clayton through and through, and with Shadwell blood in his veins – in Ruby’s eyes – he was the perfect new generation. A triumph of love over war.

  EPILOGUE

  8th May 1945

  ‘Do you have his flag? John’s hat? Tommy, are you ready?’ Ruby called out to both John and the boy she now classed as her son. ‘Keep your ’air on, Rubes,’ Tommy called back. ‘I’m trying to get Johnny ’ere to keep still. ’e’s bouncing all over the place.’

  Ruby laughed. Her little boy had more energy than any of them, and whenever a day out was mentioned he let loose his excitement. A sniffle across the room caught her attention and she turned to see Beatty sobbing into a handkerchief.

  ‘Beatty, are you crying? Oh, what is the matter?’

  Turning to her guardian, Ruby looked at the woman who’d seen her give birth to two children and watched her like a hawk, waiting for the third to make its appearance in a few months.

  ‘Fred would have loved this. Today, and your wedding next month – on your twenty-first. Our celebrations as a family.’

  ‘He would, and it saddens me he never got to walk me down the aisle. But at least I’m not marrying in church, so it won’t be such a painful moment. Don’t forget, though, he’s here, Fred’s with us, Beatty. Fred will be celebrating the end of the war with us all.’

  Fred had fallen ill in the winter of forty-four and succumbed to pneumonia a few months later. It hit the household hard, despite them knowing how old and unwell he was. John had helped Ruby nurse him when Beatty took ill shortly after Fred, and the influenza weakened her lungs. Ruby had taken over Tommy’s care. At eleven years old, he’d turned a corner and studied hard. His aim was to open the second shop Ruby had once dreamed of, and become a clock repairer. Fred’s skills as a patient teacher gave Tommy his own skills, and the praise from them all drove into him a tremendous ambition. After Fred’s death, John had stepped in to support him as a father would his son, and they all knew the dream would become a reality. He’d once shared with them his memories, and Ruby understood more about why Earl had such a hold over him.

  Tommy told them of how one morning he’d peered through the bars of the cot he’d slept in for two and a half years. Nothing around him had changed that day, but he said something told him to look for change or his life would always be like it was – uneventful. A nun took him to the doctor when he had a bout of sickness, but this time it was outside of the orphanage grounds instead of the doctor coming to them. Tommy said that was the turning point in his life. He noticed an exciting world – London buses, people, shops, noises of every kind kept his head spinning as he looked out from the bus window. Even at such a young age, he knew he wanted the life outside of the dismal building in which he lived. He said his violent outbursts of anger whenever anyone came to select a child put people off and unfortunately he was never offered a trial run in a home. That day on the bus he saw the error of his ways. If he could break free of the orphanage, he could break free of his miserable existence and look for his mum, so good behaviour was required.

  A few days later, when the Grange family asked if he’d like to join them for a family walk in the park, with tea in their home afterwards, a calm and polite child replied yes, and his carers heaved a sigh of relief. The man he met when he ran from the park, from the suffocating demands that he sit still and listen to the words from the Bible Mrs Grange recited, offered to show him more of the city, and Tommy took his hand. Earl promised him so much and, although the Grange family were kind and attentive, Earl offered excitement and adventure. A trusting Tommy took Earl’s hand, but that Christmas, in the dank basement of a stinking slum miles away from where he’d started out, Tommy regretted his decision. According to Tommy, Earl’s threats of an early death were accompanied by a good hiding, and he’d witnessed others being carried out from the cramped room, never to return. Although he wanted to run, Tommy decided to become a loyal worker and earn Earl’s trust enough to find a way to escape. It never happened as the more he earned for Earl, the more threatening Earl became, so he accepted his way of life and then stumbled across Ruby.

  Ruby switched her thoughts back to Beatty, who was still crying into her handkerchief.

  ‘And next month I’m no longer your guardian. You come of age and won’t need me any more.’

  Shocked Beatty had harboured such upsetting thoughts, Ruby bent and kissed her brow. She dropped another kiss on the cheek of the little girl they’d named June after her own mother, at the insistence of Ida. June Ida Beatrice Shadwell-Clayton, born nine months after her father returned to Coventry.

  ‘We’ll always need you, Beatty. You are more than a guardian to me, and my little ones see you as their grandmother – Nanny B. I’ll always need you for your wise words and guidance. Don’t cry. Let’s enjoy the end of war with good memories and thoughts. John is recovering every day and we are such a united family it makes my heart burst. Beatty, never think you have no place in my future because of my age. John struggles and you listen to my concerns. That’s all I need from you, a listening ear and loving reassurances we’ll be all right. You listen to my worries about John, and it help
s.’

  ‘He’s the best thing that ever happened to you – aside from Fred and the shop.’

  ‘And you, Beatty, you are also something good in my life. You help John as much as I do. I know you help in the night, when he sleepwalks and cries out. Without your help, I’d be worn to the bone. Never think I’ve not got a place in my life for you. You live in my heart, understand?’

  Beatty nodded. ‘He had another bad night last night. What with madam keeping you busy, I sat with him and listened. He saw some dreadful things. Dreadful.’

  ‘I know. I didn’t realise how much it had damaged him, but it has. Thank goodness for his new line of work.’

  John’s injury took its toll on him, and was worse than first thought. His mental health also gave him troubled nights when he suffered tormenting nightmares of what he’d seen during the fighting. When the end of war was announced, he grabbed his camera and spent his days photographing people rejoicing, but never ignored the faces filled with raw emotion. His love of photography helped him through the difficult days. He kept his promise and took Ruby to London to see his work. Some she could not bear to look at for longer than a few seconds, but others made her proud of what he’d captured. She encouraged him to enter competitions, and one photograph, which Ruby allowed him to print and publish, after finding out he’d not destroyed the negative, won an award. The Girl with Dead Flowers hung in his gallery in what was Shadwell’s Buy and Sell. The shop now bore the sign, Clayton’s Photographic Studio. Ruby insisted it bore only his surname as it was his dream. She no longer needed the validation the Shadwell name would live on.

  Today, the building wore a string of bright coloured, hand-knitted socks to commemorate the day, all gifts from friends remembering the community rooms.

  Only a handful of streets flew bunting. Tables were pushed together, and what foods were available were shared amongst neighbours, but it was a tired and weary city which tried to rejoice. Their losses were overwhelming. Winston Churchill gave the news of victory in Europe, but many found it hard to celebrate.