‘Well, I don’t hold out much hope of him surviving,’ she had said as she stared at Jack.
Charlie had felt tempted to bring the children straight back home again, but he knew that this was the only chance of them seeing a doctor, so he had held his tongue.
‘And you do realise that they will have to be admitted as orphans, don’t you?’ she had added, as she wrote their names into a large ledger.
‘But they’ve still got me an’ their sister,’ Charlie had pointed out. ‘An’ this is only till we can find somewhere for them to live – then we’ll fetch them out again.’
Miss Frost had snorted with disgust. ‘Huh! If only I had a shilling for every time I’ve heard that when children have been abandoned here!’
‘But it’s true!’ Charlie had had to control his temper by this time. ‘And we’re not abandoning them!’
Miss Frost had completely ignored him as she slammed the ledger shut and beckoned two of the staff to take the children away. ‘What I’m telling you is that because the children’s parents are deceased and you and your sister are not of age, they will be under the workhouse’s jurisdiction. Do you understand what that means?’
Charlie had wet his lips and shook his head, as he shuffled from foot to foot.
‘It means that myself and the master, Mr Pinnegar, will take on parental responsibility for them for the foreseeable future.’
Charlie hadn’t liked the sound of that at all, but seeing no other choice he had nodded miserably and left with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.
‘So . . . Charlie, are you listening to me? I asked when we might be able to go and see them. They’re bound to have visiting days?’
Opal’s voice brought his thoughts sharply back to the present. ‘Oh, sorry,’ he muttered. ‘Er . . . we can go on Sunday between two o’clock and four if you’re well enough.’
‘I shall be,’ she said determinedly. ‘Even if I have to crawl there!’
And Charlie had no doubt that she would do just that if need be.
Chapter Four
The following Sunday, as they reached the top of Church Road, Opal had to stop to catch her breath. Thankfully the snow had stopped falling the day before, but it was still bitterly cold and the ground was covered in slush and was treacherously slippery.
‘I . . . I shall be all right in a minute if I just have a little rest,’ she gasped.
Charlie frowned. She was still nowhere near well enough to be out and about, as far as he was concerned, but Opal could be as stubborn as a mule when she set her mind to something and nothing could have stopped her going to see Susie and Jack.
He waited patiently until she felt able to move on again and tucked her arm through his. ‘Lean on me,’ he encouraged, and she was only too glad to do as she was told. They still had quite a distance to go, right along Arbury Road and then along Heath End Road before they reached the Bullring, and he wondered if she was going to manage it.
Because Opal still wasn’t strong and the weather conditions were so atrocious, the journey took them at least twice as long as it should have but at last the grey, forbidding walls of the workhouse loomed ahead. They were a little early, but already a line of people who had gone to visit the inmates was snaking along the lane. Charlie and Opal joined the back of the queue and Opal’s heart began to beat faster at the thought of seeing the children again.
At last the door creaked open and people began to file inside. A staff member stood to one side asking each person who they had come to see, and when it came to their turn Opal told her, ‘Susie and Jack Sharp.’
The woman frowned as she stared down at the list of names in the book she was holding. She then asked them to step to one side.
Opal glanced at Charlie in alarm, every instinct she had telling her that something was wrong.
Eventually, the last of the visitors was admitted and the woman told them, ‘I’ll just go and see if I can find Miss Frost; would you wait there?’
‘Something is wrong, I can feel it,’ Opal hissed at Charlie as they waited anxiously.
At last they saw the woman coming back and she told them primly, ‘If you’ll come this way, Miss Frost will see you in her office.’
They followed her along corridors painted a drab brown, and Opal couldn’t help but notice that it was almost as cold inside as it was out.
‘Here we are.’ The woman stopped so abruptly that Charlie almost walked into the back of her. She tapped on the door and, when a voice bade them to enter, she stood aside and ushered them into the room.
Charlie was instantly confronted with the woman who had admitted the children and she glared at him. ‘Yes? What is it you want?’
Charlie drew himself up to his full height as Opal clung fearfully to his arm. ‘We’ve come to see our brother an’ sister. I brought them here a few days ago.’
‘Names?’ she barked as if she had never seen him before.
‘Jack and Susie Sharp.’
She ran her finger down a list of names on the desk in front of her. ‘Ah yes, here we are, although I’m afraid you have had a wasted journey.’
‘What do you mean?’ The colour had drained from Charlie’s face and Opal looked as if she was about to faint.
‘Jack Sharp died the day after being admitted here,’ she told him coldly.
‘What!’ Charlie clung to the back of a chair; the shock of her bald statement made him feel as if he might faint.
Beside him, Opal let out a low groan of distress, putting her hand to her mouth as she tried to hold back the nausea. How could her little brother be dead? He had been so full of life just a few weeks before; how was it possible that his little life had been snuffed out so soon?
‘B-but there must be some mistake . . . Jack can’t be dead!’ Opal stammered.
‘I assure you he is.’ Miss Frost’s eyes were as icy as the ground outside. ‘An undertaker took his body away the same day he died and he will have been buried in a pauper’s grave by now.’
Opal felt as if Miss Frost had stabbed her straight through the heart, and the pain was so intense, she wasn’t sure she’d ever recover. With her mother so sick, Jack had become her responsibility, and she’d shouldered it gladly. It had been up to her to keep him safe and she’d failed.
An image rose in her mind of Jack, just a year ago, when he had taken his first steps; she could hear his gurgling cry of delight and picture his small face – his eyes sparkling and his black hair tousled around his rosy cheeks – as he wobbled towards her. She had caught him up in her arms, kissing him over and over as she twirled him around, his plump arms clasped tight around her neck, his squeals of delight making her ears ring. And now the thought of him lying cold and alone in an umarked grave nearly sent her to her knees.
‘And what about our Susie?’ Charlie demanded, realising that Opal was incapable of speech.
‘It is my job to do what I feel is in the best interests of the children, so when a good family showed interest in her I rehomed her with them.’
‘You wicked cow!’ Charlie spat, angry colour flaring in his cheeks. ‘I told you clearly we would be coming back for them. Tell me where she is right now!’
The woman grinned – a cold, hard grin that could strike terror into the hearts of the children in her care. ‘I am not at liberty to divulge the name of adopters, but you can rest assured that she will have a very good life. And now, if that is all, I must wish you good day.’
For a few seconds brother and sister stood rooted to the spot, too shocked to say a word. But then Charlie stepped towards the desk, his fists clenched and his face twisted with fury. ‘No! That is not all! Tell us where she is, or . . . or—’ Words failed him, and he had to take a deep breath to stop himself leaning over the desk and shaking the woman until her teeth rattled.
Sensing this, Miss Frost narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Or what?’ Her eyes dropped to his fists, then she looked back up at him. ‘I suggest you leave immediately, and if you don’t I will have
to call the constable. Perhaps a few days in a cell will calm you down.’
Charlie felt a tug on his jacket and he looked around at Opal; her face was deathly pale as she shook her head at him.
She needed to gather her strength and then she would be back. She would find out where her sister was if it was the last thing she did.
Miss Frost, meanwhile, merely nodded towards the door. ‘I thought as much. Now kindly leave and don’t come back.’
Then picking up her pen, she started to write in a ledger on the desk in front of her, as though the grief-stricken boy and girl standing in front of her had ceased to exist. And for her, they had.
Opal pulled on Charlie’s hand, and, shoulders sagging with defeat, they staggered from the room.
Once in the corridor, Opal began to cry: great gulping sobs that tore at Charlie’s heart. He had truly thought he was doing the right thing when he had brought the children there and now look what had happened. He didn’t know how he was going to live with himself.
‘Dear God . . . I’m so sorry, Opal.’ He reached out to her as she leaned heavily against the wall, but she slapped his hand away.
‘Why did you bring them to this godforsaken place?’ she said in a choked voice. ‘Jack is dead and now we’ll never see Susie again.’
‘B-but I thought I was doin’ what was best for ’em. I didn’t know what else to do.’
Taking her arm, he led her towards the door. There seemed no point in remaining now, and with a heart heavy with grief and guilt, he half carried and half dragged his sister back to the little derelict cottage.
‘Just look what we’ve come to,’ Opal said dully when the cottage came into sight. It was hard to accept that she and Charlie were all that was left of their family now and that they had been reduced to living in such a place.
‘Come the spring I can repair the hole in the roof and start to make it more habitable,’ Charlie told her, but she shook her head.
‘And what will we use to pay for the improvements, eh? Brass buttons?’ Her voice held no hope and once again guilt sliced through Charlie like a knife.
She shrugged off his arm and staggered towards the door. Once inside, she went to the blankets that the younger children had lain on and raised them to her nose. She could still smell them, and the tears started afresh as Charlie looked on helplessly.
For the rest of that day and night, she lay curled up, refusing food or drink – not that they had much – and Charlie grew increasingly concerned. He had never known Opal to be like this. In the past, she had taken whatever life threw at her in her stride, but now it was as if her spirit had been broken and she had lost the will to live.
He vowed then that he would do whatever it took to make it up to her; he had let all his siblings down so badly, and all that was left for him now was to do everything in his power to make sure Opal was safe and to find Susie.
With this in mind, early the next morning he set off for the town, determined to find work – any work – that would earn enough to get them some food. It was Christmas Eve, and as he thought of Christmases past, a lump swelled in his throat. Those happy times could never come again and now it was up to him to ensure that he and Opal at least had something to eat. The realisation made him hurry his steps. There was bound to be a market on; perhaps a stallholder would employ him for the day?
Opal meanwhile lay staring into the flickering flames of the fire, steeped in misery. The time spent out in the cold the day before had made her chest tight again and she could never remember feeling so ill. Sweet memories of Jack and Susie went round and round in her head and the pain in her heart was unbearable as she thought of them. Where was Susie now? And where was little Jack buried? There were no answers to either of the questions, and so she just lay there, wishing that she could die too.
When Charlie reached the market, it was teeming with shoppers crowding around the stalls, all preparing for Christmas Day. The atmosphere was light and it seemed as if everyone was smiling – everyone but Charlie, that was. For a short while he surveyed the scene, feeling out of place amongst the cheerful crowds, and wondering where he should ask first.
He decided on the fruit and vegetable stall. As he approached, the stallholder – a short, thin man wearing fingerless gloves, his nose pink with cold – was shouting out his wares as he cheerfully tossed potatoes into a basket being held out to him by one of the women crowding in front of him. Gathering his courage, Charlie tapped the man on the arm. Annoyed at the interruption, the stallholder looked round impatiently, and before Charlie could say a word, he frowned and shook his head. Undeterred, Charlie moved on to the next stall, a cart piled with second-hand clothes that were being pawed through by a gaggle of women wearing shawls over their heads. Once again he was turned away. Despite his disappointment, he kept going, but most of the market folk had already taken on someone to help with the Christmas rush and Charlie’s spirits sank even further.
Eventually he stood dejectedly against a wall, watching as people bustled past, swaddled up against the cold in thick coats and hats, baskets over their arms full of paper-wrapped parcels. The smells issuing from the stalls selling hot peas and faggots or jacket potatoes were enticing, and his stomach began to rumble with hunger as he realised that neither he nor Opal had eaten that day.
If he didn’t find work soon, he might have to admit himself and Opal into the workhouse, too, but he knew she would rather die than end up in there, and his sense of desperation grew.
But he couldn’t give up now. So, pushing himself away from the wall, he shuffled on.
‘Any work going?’ he asked a red-faced, portly stallholder.
The man shook his head as he finished serving a customer and turned to the next. ‘Sorry, son. The missus ’ere is ’elping out today.’
Charlie’s shoulders sagged as he turned to make his way through the crush of people around him – and it was then that he spotted a very well-dressed, elderly gentleman in front of him, clad in a smart top hat and a coat that looked as if it had cost more than Charlie could earn in a year.
And out of the pocket of the coat was sticking a finely tooled leather wallet.
Charlie licked his lips and gulped. The man looked wealthy, and there was no doubt a lot of money in that wallet. He had never stolen anything in his life before, apart from eating a few of the strawberries he had picked for the farmer – but then, he told himself, he had never been this desperate before, and the money wasn’t really for him, was it? It was for Opal. Somehow, he had to make it up to her for taking the children to the workhouse, but how could he buy her food if they had no money?
Without even realising he’d decided to do it, his hand snaked out as if of its own volition and suddenly the wallet was in his hand. He felt as if all eyes were on him as guilt coursed through him, but a quick glance around assured him that no one was paying him any attention, so he melted into the crowd, with the wallet seeming to burn his hand. Once he was a good distance from the man, he stole into a narrow alley and with shaking hands he opened the wallet and gasped.
There were two crisp, white pound notes in there, as well as a small amount of change. Suddenly his legs felt as if they had turned to jelly as he realised what he’d done. Opal would never forgive him if she ever found out, and had his father been alive, although he had been a mild-mannered man, he would have skelped his backside with a belt, for sure. Just for a moment he felt like throwing the wallet away, but then common sense took over and he knew that this was the only way he and Opal were going to survive – until he could get a job, at least. Stuffing the money into his pocket, he threw the wallet down and stepped back out into the marketplace, and gasped as he saw the man whose wallet he had taken talking to a policeman. Shame and guilt washed through him, but he raised his chin and marched into the butchers’.
‘I’ll have that cockerel hanging in the window, please. Oh, and I’ll take some of them sausages an’ all.’
‘Right, y’are, son.’ The plump but
cher hooked the bird down and after throwing some sausages in with it he wrapped them up in brown paper and plonked them on the counter. Next stop was the fruit and vegetable stall, and then it was on to the baker.
An hour later, Charlie set off for his temporary home with a sack bursting with goodies slung across his shoulders. He had even bought Opal a very pretty warm woollen shawl for Christmas. All he had to do now was pray she would never find out how he had come across the money to pay for it.
When he arrived home, Opal was still lying curled up in the same position he had left her in. She barely glanced at him as he entered, but as she watched him unpacking all the food on to the table she slowly pulled herself into a sitting position.
‘What’s all this?’ She stared at the food incredulously.
‘I’ve been working here, there and everywhere and everyone was in a generous mood with it being Christmas so they paid me partly with food and partly with money. I did some deliveries for the baker an’ the butcher an’ all, then bought everything else with me wages.’ All the time he was talking he kept his eyes downcast, for he was too ashamed to look at her.
Opal pulled herself to her feet and tottered unsteadily to the table. ‘Why, this cockerel is enormous,’ she commented wide-eyed, her stomach rumbling at the sight of it. ‘There’ll be enough on that to make stews for the rest of the week after I’ve cooked it.’
‘Aye, that’s what I thought.’ Charlie gave her a nervous grin. ‘An’ look, I’ve got swede, carrots, onions, turnips an’ potatoes, an’ all. I even bought you a bit o’ fruit. Some apples an’ oranges, look. Didn’t our mam always say how good fruit was for you?’
Opal gaped. She couldn’t even remember when she had last tasted an orange, and the sight of them made her suddenly feel hungry.
Charlie, meanwhile, was still unpacking the bag. ‘I’ve got flour and yeast, an’ some oats. Oh, an’ there’s a twist of tea and a pat o’ butter here as well. I even got some oil for the lamp an’ some candles.’
The Winter Promise Page 3