Forgotten Children

by Cathy Sharp

  ‘Good grief, are you here already? I didn’t expect you for at least another week.’

  ‘Mark’s letter said he was anxious for me to start as soon as possible, but I couldn’t come until last night.’

  ‘Well, your office isn’t ready yet. I’ve asked the caretaker to install a desk, chair and filing cabinet in the room next door. It’s small but I think adequate for your needs.’

  ‘I am sure it will be fine,’ the young woman said breezily. ‘I’m so happy to meet you – and grateful for this chance to do something useful. My mother thinks I’m mad, but my father sort of approves …’

  Beatrice answered sharply, irritated by her confident manner. ‘Well, I dare say they both think their daughter should spend her days doing something more suited to a girl of your class.’

  The smile left Angela’s face. ‘I’m just turned thirty-four, a widow, and I’m tired of sitting at home doing nothing much. I think it’s time I started to do something worthwhile with my life.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Beatrice was aware that she’d been sharp and stood up, extending her hand to the younger woman. ‘I’m afraid you’ve caught me at a bad time. We have three very sick children in the isolation ward with chicken pox at the moment. I’ve done what I could to stop the infection spreading, but one of my kitchen staff seems to have gone down with it. The stupid girl told me that she’d had it, but it turns out she’d had the measles. She ought not to have taken it even so, but she ignored my instructions and went into the ward when my nurses were busy. I know she thought she was saving them time, but some people have no sense …’

  ‘Oh, what a shame,’ Angela said. ‘Has she taken it badly?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. She was sent home when she started to show signs of fever. It is a nuisance because none of the other girls in the kitchens have had it, and I’m afraid of sending any of them up in her place, so it looks as if I shall have to run after Michelle and Sally myself.’

  Beatrice wondered why she felt a need to explain. There was something about this woman that pricked at her, made her feel inadequate despite all her years of experience.

  ‘Would you allow me to help? I did have the chicken pox when was I was ten, and the measles. It would give me something to do until I can start work on the accounts.’

  Beatrice was silent for a moment; she was reluctant to hand over even this small task to the woman she still thought of as an intruder, but she had too much to do as it was and it would keep Angela out of her hair for a while.

  ‘Well, if you’re certain, you may take up their trays, but stay outside the ward. I do not want another casualty going down to it – and God forbid that it should spread to the other children. Although it is usually not serious, it can affect the weaker ones badly – and we have enough to do without an epidemic.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I can understand your concerns, Sister. I have had some experience of hospital routines, even though I’m not a nurse. And I took an extensive first aid course in the war because I thought it might help in a crisis – and it did.’

  Beatrice sighed and heaved herself to her feet. She was feeling a little under the weather herself, just a bit of a sore throat, which she was dosing herself for, but this was an unwanted distraction.

  ‘I shall take you down to the kitchens myself. Have you thought where you will live? If you would like a room in the Nurses’ Home for the time being it could be arranged. It is situated at the back of the home and once housed the Warden of the fever hospital. These days, it is divided into rooms with a shared kitchen and a communal sitting room. I use it myself, because there are too many nights when it would not be convenient for me to be away from the children, though I do have my own room at the convent, which is my home. Some of my nurses stay in the Nurses’ Home during the week and go home when they have a two-day leave – but you have no parents in London and might not wish to live there permanently.’

  Beatrice gave her a challenging look, because Angela was obviously used to better things.

  ‘I should like to take a room if there is one available. It would be better than the hotel and I could look round for an apartment at my leisure.’

  Beatrice was surprised; she’d expected a flat refusal.

  ‘I’ll arrange it for you. Now follow me and I’ll point out the various rooms as we go …’

  Hearing the knock at the door, Michelle went to open it, and looked blankly at the elegant woman standing there with her trolley. Michelle was feeling hot and irritated, because Sally had gone for her break an hour ago and all three children were now suffering the debilitating effects of an illness that might not be serious as childhood diseases went, but was certainly causing her patients a great deal of distress.

  ‘Who are you?’ she asked sharply. ‘Who gave you permission to come here?’

  ‘Sister Beatrice,’ the woman replied. ‘I’m Angela Morton and I’m here to help out with the office work – and anything else that is needed.’

  ‘The new Administrator? Oh, right, I didn’t realise. Sorry, I’ll take that now. For goodness’ sake do not come in here, even if we don’t answer the door promptly. Just leave the trolley here and one of us will fetch the tray.’

  ‘Of course, if that’s what you wish. I should tell you that I have definitely had the chicken pox years ago, and the measles. I do know the difference – and I helped nurse my young cousin when he took it a few years back.’

  Michelle sighed impatiently. ‘You just don’t understand, do you? We have probably more than sixty children here at any one time. If you carry the infection to another person in this home, we could have half of them down with it in days – and we do not have enough nursing staff to cope with an epidemic. I just hope the kitchen staff hasn’t taken it from Maisie, because it could spread through the place like wildfire …’

  ‘Yes, I perfectly understand. Please do not worry. I shall not risk carrying it back to others. I’m sorry that I distressed you. You must have more than enough to cope with as it is.’

  ‘To be honest, I could do with more help, but I dare not risk it.’ Michelle picked up the tray and took it inside, kicking the door to with the heel of her shoe. She felt a bit mean for tearing Angela Morton off a strip like that, but Jake had taken the chicken pox despite his proud boast that he never did get ill, and, as luck would have it, he was worse than either his sister or his elder brother.

  Sister Beatrice had done her best to contain the sickness to the three children in the isolation ward, and so far her precautions were working. The trouble was that there just weren’t enough trained nurses to cope if a really nasty infection were to spread to the dormitories. Even Sister took extreme precautions when visiting the children, covering up her uniform in the rest room and donning a clean apron before going about her business afterwards.

  Neither Michelle nor Sally had had an evening off since Dick first went down with the sickness, several days earlier. They were taking it in turns to rest, but for a lot of the time it needed both of them to keep the children cool and comfortable. If Sister Beatrice had not taken her turn, Michelle thought she couldn’t have coped.

  Holding back another sigh, she poured herself a mug of tea, but before she could take more than a sip, Jake was calling out. She put the cup down and went to sit by his bed, soothing his heated brow and watching him with sympathy. He felt so ill and on top of all that he’d suffered in the short years of his life, the sickness was taking its toll on him. He’d certainly got much worse in the last few hours. Seeing how pale and vulnerable he looked, a shiver of fear went through her because she was already fond of him. He was such a likeable little boy and his serious looks had tugged at her heart.

  ‘Please get better,’ Michelle murmured fervently, hardly knowing whether she was entreating him or praying to God. ‘Don’t die … please don’t die …’ Michelle was afraid that he was slipping away from them, despite all the love and care he’d been given, his once-vital spirit all but extinguished. Yet what more could she do to save h
im? Although a bright, intelligent boy, his physical strength had been affected by the years of neglect. Her throat caught with tears and she felt a surge of rebellion and despair.

  She left him as Susie started to whimper and gave the child a drink to ease her headache. Susie was actually on the mend; she’d only taken it lightly and apart from a tendency to scratch her face because the scabs itched, she was causing less anxiety than either of her brothers.

  The door from the rest room opened and Sally entered. ‘I thought I heard the tea tray. How is Jake now?’

  ‘Still restless. I’m worried about him, Sally, but there’s nothing more Sister Beatrice can do if she comes – and she was up half the night with him, because she insisted we get some rest. Unless, do you think we should have the doctor?’

  ‘Why don’t you go and speak to Sister about it? The poor little thing seems to be getting worse all the time and perhaps we should have the doctor out.’

  ‘Normally, we try to manage ourselves. Sister doesn’t like to waste the doctor’s time,’ Michelle said but she was uneasy, fearful that the child might slip away from them.

  ‘I know,’ Sally agreed. ‘Shall I sponge him down while you drink your tea?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ Michelle said. ‘He has so many spots now, far more than either of the other two … if Sister Beatrice hadn’t looked at him herself last night I should wonder if what he has is something worse …’ She hesitated. ‘Perhaps I’ll go and talk to her and suggest the doctor just in case of …’

  ‘What?’ Sally stared at her in horror. ‘You don’t mean smallpox? No, it can’t be … that’s a killer. My father’s mother died of it years ago.’

  ‘Well, it has crossed my mind – but I’m sure I’m wrong. It’s just a severe case of the chicken pox, but I’ll ask Sister to take a look and tell her that I’m worried about him. If he needs a doctor we shouldn’t leave it too long. Can you hold the fort while I speak to Sister?’

  ‘Of course I shall,’ Sally said. ‘You look almost all in, Michelle. After you’ve spoken to Sister, why don’t you take your tea into the rest room and have a little sleep?’

  ‘If you’re sure you can manage …’ Michelle arched back, feeling the ache in the small of her spine. ‘I’m so tired, but you must call me if Jake takes a turn for the worse … and I’ll ask Sister now if we should call the doctor out …’

  Angela looked round the room that had been offered to her. It was clean but basic with none of the comforts she was used to, but it would do for a while and would be useful on those nights when she stayed over at the home to help out, even if she found an apartment she liked. There was no point in staying at a hotel that entailed a long bus ride when she had the use of a bed here. As soon as she got used to St Saviour’s and its occupants, she would look for a nice little flat she could make into a home.

  A rueful smile touched her mouth, because so far she hadn’t been made to feel welcome here. Sister Beatrice had greeted her politely but she’d sensed an underlying hostility that she couldn’t explain. Why would the woman want to put a barrier between them from the start? Angela had been sent to help her, and was very willing to do whatever was asked of her, even though Mark had made it clear that her main task was to bring St Saviour’s in line with more modern thinking … but the stern Sister wasn’t the only one to show dislike. Cook had told her that she must ask for what she wanted and not go making tea or sandwiches herself.

  ‘That’s our job,’ she’d said, scowling as Angela began to lay out the tray. ‘Just ask for what you want, and we’ll give you the proper menu for the nurses and carers. The children have different, of course. Sister Beatrice decides what special diets they need, if any – so don’t go getting food for them without my say-so. You might end up doing more harm than good; besides, I don’t want my precious rations being wasted. We can’t afford to waste a scrap.’

  ‘Of course not, Mrs Jones. I wouldn’t even know where to start …’

  She’d let her gaze wander around the large kitchen with its array of copper-bottomed pans hanging above a huge range, the painted wooden dresser and shelves crowded with an assortment of crockery. A large scrubbed pine table occupied the middle of the long room and was littered with dishes and wire trays, which held freshly cooked pies and jam tarts. The food, she’d discovered, was kept in a huge cold pantry and there was a refrigerator for the perishables. It made a loud chirring noise and sounded as if it were overloaded and might give out at any moment. She guessed that it was some years old. They could really do with a new one, more modern and efficient. Perhaps she could make that one of her first priorities, raise some money towards it – that was if a new one could be found. The shops were still struggling to buy in goods like refrigerators, which had been considered a luxury and expendable when metal was in such short supply during the war.

  Yes, already she’d begun to make a mental list of changes, but once she got inside the building next door destined for the new wing, her job would really begin.

  ‘Well, just remember what I’ve said and we’ll get on all right.’ Cook glared at her. ‘We’re short-staffed at the moment so you’ll have to wait until I’ve done this semolina pudding for the children …’

  Angela had waited patiently, wishing that she could just prepare the tray herself, but she didn’t want to tread on anyone’s toes, and would rather not make an enemy of the cook right from the word go.

  She’d thought the nurses in the isolation ward would at least be glad to get a plate of both chicken paste and tomato sandwiches, a pot of tea, and the jugs of cold lemon barley for their patients. However, that very pretty nurse had snapped her head off and made her begin to wonder why on earth she’d ever accepted this post. Mark Adderbury had spoken of her being needed and wanted, but it certainly didn’t look that way at the moment.

  Perhaps she should have taken the offer to return to her old posting in Portsmouth, and yet there were too many memories there – of happier days when she’d met and married John … but that hurt too much and she was determined to put her grief behind her and throw herself into her new life.

  Angela’s mother had been upset that she was leaving home again and had done her best to dissuade her; they had argued so many times over foolish little things that in the end Angela had just packed her cases and left. Her father had been staunch in his support but the arguments had left a little shadow hanging over her.

  Putting aside all thought of her mother’s reproachful looks as she left, Angela opened her bag and took out the key to the building next door. Its last purpose had been commercial, some sort of offices she understood, and Mark had warned her that it was in a bit of a state.

  ‘Take a look straight away and refer to the drawings I’ve sent you,’ he’d said when he telephoned to make sure she’d received his letter. ‘I’d like your opinion, Angela. The architect has opened it up and made a lot of the small rooms into much larger ones. It’s more economical that way, I suppose, to have larger groups of children together, but I’m not sure it’s right. If you have any suggestions then we should like to hear them – before the builders move in, please.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this, Mark. You’ve been such a good friend to me since … John died.’

  ‘You know I was fond of him, and he would expect me to help you.’

  Mark’s reply had been non-committal, and she’d sensed something … as if he were holding back whatever he wanted to say. Perhaps he understood how sensitive she still was on the subject of her late husband; it still hurt so much and she’d grown a protective barrier to keep everyone away from the source of her pain.

  She sighed as she went out of the main building and into the rather dilapidated one next door. The door stuck and she had to put some force into getting it open. A brief inspection told her that the frame had moved out of true, possibly caused by an explosion a few doors down where builders were presently taking down a fire-damaged bakery. The front of their new wing look
ed as if it might need a bit of rebuilding, but inside was worse.

  Angela’s heart sank as she looked about her at the debris. Whoever had left this place had done so in a hurry. Broken furniture lay about and there were old newspapers scattered on the floor, cabinets hanging off the walls and plaster from the cracked ceilings was scattered everywhere. Its condition was daunting to say the least and would cost a great deal to put right.

  No doubt the architects and builders had taken all this into account. Her job was to make certain that the plans drawn up were to the best advantage of the children who would live here. She frowned as she saw the clean, clinical layout of the upstairs floors. Down here, there were recreation rooms, and that was a definite improvement. Angela gave that a big tick, because safe space for the children to play was at a premium; they did have a small garden, she’d already observed, but on cool or wet days they needed more to do and this large room at the back with space for them to play various games was excellent. At the front a modern reception area and an office had been planned, which seemed a good use of the available space. She wasn’t so sure about the layout upstairs. With only one shower room for the girls and one for the boys, it did not provide for any kind of privacy and modesty, and in her opinion that ought to be a consideration; there ought at least to be separate cubicles. It would add to the cost, she imagined, which might not go down well with the Board, but perhaps it might not be necessary to knock down so many walls …

  As she went upstairs to investigate, Angela was still wondering whether she would be able to break down the resistance of the staff here. Perhaps Cook had taken the lead from Sister Beatrice, who was clearly hostile. It was obvious she felt challenged by Angela’s appointment, far more so than Mark had imagined. A wry smile touched her mouth as she recalled what he’d said about the Warden.

  ‘You’ll manage her, Angela,’ Mark had told her. ‘She is a little stubborn and set in her ways – but once she sees that you have the good of the children and the staff in mind she will accept you.’