The Forgotten Children

by Anita Davison

  ‘I recently wrote to a friend of mine whom I thought might be able to help.’

  ‘What sort of friend?’

  ‘A Captain in the Salvation Army.’

  ‘Really?’ She twisted on her seat to face him. ‘I didn’t know you had such connections.’

  ‘The Blakes were neighbours of ours in Richmond when I was younger, but we haven’t been in touch recently.’ He returned the letter to his pocket. ‘Captain Blake works in one of their shelters and has agreed to see us.’

  ‘Where is this shelter?’ Flora had never been to a Salvation Army Mission before. Their work among the poor and powerless was valuable although many believed the lower orders didn’t deserve special treatment; a sentiment Flora abhorred.

  ‘In Whitechapel,’ he replied without looking at her.

  ‘Whitechapel?’ Her enthusiasm lifted a notch. ‘Isn’t that where the Ripper killed his victims?’

  ‘That’s not the only thing that happens in Whitechapel.’ Bunny eased his collar away from his throat, telling her he was uncomfortable discussing the most famous murderer in London.

  ‘It was over twenty years ago. I doubt he’s still lurking about the place,’ she said in an attempt to reassure him.

  ‘Don’t joke about it, Flora. He was never caught, remember?’

  ‘Sorry.’ A thought struck her and she turned to face him. ‘Are we going anywhere near where it happened? The murders I mean?’

  ‘Actually, yes.’ He tugged at his collar again. ‘Captain Blake works at the Hanbury Street shelter, near where his second victim, Annie Chapman, was found in a yard behind number twenty-nine.’ His lips twitched into a smile. ‘I thought you were the expert on murderers and their victims.’

  ‘Not all of them.’ She tried to look offended but the idea of seeing the house intrigued her.

  As they left Threadneedle Street and Bishopsgate behind them, the shops and houses took on a run-down, unkempt look with broken windows and piles of rubbish in the streets that reminded her of her recent visit to Southwark.

  Brushfield Street took them past the chaotic clamour of Spitalfields Market, where men in overalls wielded brooms and buckets of water in a valiant attempt to clear spilled blood and offal that littered the road and around the busy market shed.

  Bunny closed the cab windows against the smell as their driver made a left turn into Commercial Street, followed by a right into a narrow road only wide enough for two hackneys to pass.

  ‘Is this it?’ Flora looked up at a line of red-brick buildings with the gable ends over the street, shaped like a row of tiny steps leading up to a single window in the peak.

  ‘Hanbury Street.’ Bunny nodded. ‘The shelter is further along here on the right.’

  Flora was about to say that wasn’t what she meant, but thought better of it. Instead, she searched for a sign with a number on the centre panel and counted along until she identified the one she was looking for.

  Number twenty-nine was a shabby shopfront with a red wooden door to its left and a black one beside it. Flora assumed this must lead to the rear yard where the poor woman’s body was found. The shop had been roughly boarded up some time before, the two rows of windows on the floors above giving every sign of the property being vacant.

  ‘How many women did he kill?’ Flora kept her gaze on the red door as they passed along a street that didn’t improve much in appearance and smelled of cooked cabbage and manure.

  ‘Ah, back to Jack the Ripper are we?’ Bunny sighed. ‘If you must know, five were attributed to him, but between ’88 and ’91, eleven murders occurred in this area. The body of a woman called Martha Tabram was found in George’s Yard Buildings in August ’88. She had been stabbed thirty-nine times, but the police refused to attribute her killing to the Ripper.’

  ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘Because,’ Bunny said reluctantly, drawing out the word, ‘her throat wasn’t cut like the others.’ He slewed a sideways glance at her. ‘Do you wish you hadn’t asked?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Flora swallowed as unwanted images crowded her head. ‘I can be objective about violent crime. I’ve had more than a little experience.’ Even if Inspector Maddox does treat me like a useless novice.

  The taxi came to a halt and they alighted onto a narrow, cracked pavement in front of a red-brick building. Despite its unimposing façade, the shelter stood out among the surrounding dilapidated shopfronts and houses. A hardware store stood two doors away, its goods piled into wicker baskets on the pavement beneath a torn awning. Several ragged women huddled near the entrance to the shelter, some of whom carried bundles, though there was not a pair of shoes between them. They certainly looked in need of charity. One woman’s skirt was badly torn and barely covered her modesty, while others were no better clad, their clothes patched and darned, the colours faded to an indistinguishable shade of murky green. A young woman of about eighteen in the distinctive black bonnet and cape of the Army conversed with a woman who held a small child in her arms.

  ‘Why are they standing out here?’ Flora whispered, aware of the odd sideways looks they had attracted. ‘If it’s a shelter, why don’t they go inside?’

  ‘This is a night shelter,’ the female in the bonnet had apparently heard her. She turned from her conversation with the group to address Flora. ‘They have to leave in the morning, but are permitted to return at night.’

  ‘That sounds harsh,’ Flora said without thinking. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound uncharitable, but where do they go all day?’

  ‘Flora,’ Bunny warned.

  ‘It’s quite all right.’ the woman actually smiled, though it was a reserved crack in a stony façade. Not conventionally pretty, she possessed clear olive skin and wide brown eyes that glowed with good health, in stark contrast to the sad, weather-beaten figures clustered on the street. ‘It’s understandable. But if you think about it, allowing the homeless to laze about all day in front of a fire simply makes them more dependent. At least outside they have to make some effort to make a living.’ She turned away to address a figure with a badly faded scarf tied over her wispy grey hair. ‘Now, Peggy, you know the rules. It’s past eight, so you shouldn’t be here.’ The woman called Peggy mumbled something Flora couldn’t catch, but the girl remained unmoved. ‘If you’ve three pennies you can come back at six tonight. But not a minute before, mind.’

  Grudgingly the woman moved away from the door, taking the others with her. The child began to grizzle and was rewarded with a rough jiggling on his mother’s hip. This didn’t appear to help matters as the mewling turned into a full-blown wail.

  The girl’s expression softened. ‘Is there something I can do to help you?’

  ‘I hope so.’ Bunny cast a final look at the creatures who had paused a few paces off. ‘We’ve come to see Captain Blake.’

  ‘Kindly follow me.’ She stood aside to allow them into the main part of the building comprising of a long hall of bare, but recently swept floorboards, with a large fireplace at one end. The girl slammed the door and shot the large bolt on the inside. In response to Flora’s surprised look, she added, ‘We have to keep this locked or they’ll sneak back in when we aren’t looking.’

  Flora exchanged an uneasy frown with Bunny, but the girl seemed unmoved as she took them into a hall where rows of long wooden benches covered the entire floor, each with a number painted roughly on the end. Apart from an odour of damp wood and dust, the room was surprisingly clean without any of the unpleasant smells she had detected outside.

  ‘Where are the beds?’ Flora murmured, only half expecting an answer.

  ‘This used to be a women’s shelter, but now is known as a “sit up”,’ the girl explained. ‘For a few pennies the poor get a bowl of soup, a warm fire, and a bench to sit on.’

  ‘They sit up all night?’

  ‘Did you think they were given feather beds and bathrooms?’ The girl’s smile faded, and with a gesture that they were to wait there, she disappeared through a door.


  ‘She didn’t have to be sarcastic,’ Flora snapped. ‘I’ve never been to a mission before and didn’t know what to expect.’

  ‘I suppose this place is something of a shock,’ Bunny said. ‘Was I wrong to bring you?’

  ‘No, I’m glad you did, but it’s so—’ She broke off as the door opened again to reveal an attractive young woman of about Bunny’s age. She wore her plain uniform dress with obvious pride, her dark hair pulled back from her face in a perfectly smooth bun. Her wide forehead and widely spaced hazel eyes above a mobile mouth broke into a broad smile as she approached.

  ‘Bunny.’ She ran the last few steps and took both his hands in hers in a relaxed, almost intimate gesture. ‘How wonderful to see you again. It’s been so long.’

  Chapter 24

  ‘And you, Emily.’ Bunny grasped both her hands in his, the skin on his neck flushing slightly. ‘Er-allow me to introduce you to my wife. Flora, I would like you to meet Miss Emily Blake. Or should I say Captain?’

  ‘I can see by your expression that Bunny hasn’t mentioned me, has he?’ She turned a smile on Flora as natural and charming as her lilting voice.

  ‘Indeed, he has not.’ Flora shot him an accusing look, her hand thrust out, forcing Miss Blake to release one of Bunny’s. ‘I’m delighted to meet you.’

  ‘We lived next door to each other in Richmond,’ Bunny said. ‘When we were about, oh, how old were we, Miss Blake?’

  ‘Ten. And when did you stop calling me Emmie?’

  ‘Have you been in the Salvation Army long, Captain Blake?’ Flora asked.

  ‘Oh, please, do call me Emily. I joined my brothers and sisters almost ten years ago now. My army ones, I mean. No one else in my family understood my calling.’ She tilted her head and looked into Bunny’s eyes with the easy warmth born of long intimacy. ‘Only Bunny understood.’

  ‘I thought if anyone could help with our problem, it would be Emily.’ Bunny bestowed yet another smile on the girl, who still retained one of his hands.

  Flora fidgeted, beginning to feel like an outsider.

  ‘I admit to being intrigued by your letter.’ Emily gestured them into a small rear room where a welcoming fire crackled in the tiny iron grate. A plain pine table surrounded by four wheel backed chairs and a rag rug brought colour into an otherwise stark room. The younger girl who had shown them in acknowledged them with a nod as she stacked blankets on a set of racked shelves. ‘Perhaps we could take tea while you tell me what brings you here. Hannah will look after things while we talk.’

  When the girl inclined her head in assent and left, Emily gestured two high backed chairs set in front of a black leaded range where a fire was visible behind a grille in a small door.

  Bunny held out a chair for Flora, but she sidestepped him and took the second, pointedly not looking at him, though from the corner of her eye she caught his wry smile as he took the chair himself.

  Emily set a kettle on top of the range before joining them. ‘Now, how can I be of assistance?’ She folded her hands in her lap and sat in contemplative silence while Bunny explained about the death of Lizzie Prentice and her possible connection to the missing children.

  ‘I’ve heard of St Philomena’s,’ Emily said when he had finished. ‘It has an excellent reputation.’

  ‘At the moment, however I fear this affair will do nothing to enhance that,’ Bunny said.

  ‘I appreciate that.’ Emily twisted her hands on her lap as if nervous. ‘You say the children went missing from the hospital? They weren’t taken from their homes?’

  ‘We aren’t sure,’ Flora said slowly. ‘Some were collected from the hospital on discharge, but others went home first. In one case a man took an eight-year-old girl away in a taxi. It’s not certain that particular case is connected.’ Bunny gave Flora a warning look. ‘However if not, it’s an oddly timed coincidence.’

  ‘And your maid?’ Emily asked. ‘How is she involved?’

  ‘That was my fault.’ Shame heated Flora’s face. ‘I asked her to watch someone whom we believed was involved. This person met with a man in a Salvation Army uniform. Sally followed him and she hasn’t been seen since.’

  ‘You think one of our soldiers is involved?’ Emily’s face paled slightly but the look she split between them was guarded rather than surprised. ‘Is that why you came here?’

  Bunny’s response was interrupted when the kettle rattled on the range and spat a stream of steam into the air.

  ‘Keep talking while I make the tea.’ Emily rose and filled a plain brown teapot with a grace that would not have looked out of place in a Kensington drawing room.

  ‘We don’t know for certain,’ Bunny said carefully. ‘And I don’t wish to insult your organization, I—’

  ‘You cannot insult us in any way I haven’t already heard.’ Emily held the kettle in the air, a smile playing over her full lips. ‘Simply say what’s on your mind, Bunny.’

  ‘As you wish.’ He rubbed his hands across his thighs. ‘Is it feasible that someone, maybe even more than one person, is impersonating your officers?’

  Emily seemed to give his question some thought as she returned the kettle to the range and brought the teapot to the table, her expression not betraying what was going on behind her clear hazel eyes.

  ‘I’m so very sorry about your maid,’ Emily said, at last, handing Flora a full cup of murky brown liquid. She set a small jug of milk and a sugar bowl on the table between them, her enigmatic expression giving nothing away.

  Flora added milk into her cup, though it made little difference as the brew remained a dark brown. She took a tentative sip and choked.

  ‘Oh dear, is the tea all right?’ Emily’s eyes widened in alarm.

  ‘It’s fine,’ Flora’s voice lifted, but she recovered herself quickly. ‘Perhaps a little stronger than I’m used to. Might I have some sugar?’

  ‘Of course.’ Emily pushed the sugar bowl across the table towards her before she lowered herself into a chair opposite.

  Bunny frowned at a point somewhere on Flora’s chin, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and held it out. Wordlessly, she took it using it to wipe her face though she stoically refused to look at him, certain he was grinning at her.

  ‘I’m not avoiding your question.’ Emily’s knuckles whitened on the table top as if she was summoning courage to speak. She took a deep breath and seemed to make up her mind. ‘Have either of you heard of the Emigration Bureau?’ Without waiting for an answer she continued. ‘Our founder, General Booth established the bureau twenty years ago. He advertised in the Social Gazette offering free passage to domestic workers who were prepared to travel to Queensland, Australia, for work. Recently the bureau has made arrangements for children to be relocated in rural homes in Canada. Farms mostly.’

  ‘Where do these children come from?’ Flora asked.

  ‘All over London.’ Emily fiddled with her teaspoon. ‘The reason for our circumspection is because we have our enemies in Government who disapprove of sending our labour force abroad. Thus, we tend not to publicize the service too freely so as to avoid scrutiny. We keep records of the adults, but statistics for children were not begun until last year.’

  ‘Isn’t that somewhat lax?’ Flora fought to keep her voice neutral but doubted she succeeded. ‘To send children thousands of miles from their homes without knowing much about them or where they came from?’

  ‘It’s not quite as arbitrary as that. Very few children have been sent without their parents.’

  ‘Even so—’

  ‘Flora.’ Bunny placed a warning hand on her forearm. ‘Where is this Bureau? It might be worth paying them a visit.’

  ‘I doubt it.’ Emily shook her head. ‘They don’t have a proper office, just a few clerks working out of a corner room at our headquarters. It’s a philanthropic practice, so I doubt any of our members would be involved in anything untoward.’

  ‘Isn’t kidnapping maids considered untoward?’ Flora snapped, only to find herself on t
he sharp end of Bunny’s angry look. ‘I’m sorry, she blurted, horrified to find her eyes welling. ‘I’m finding this more emotional than I thought. Sally means a lot to me and she could be anywhere, even hurt, and—’ Her throat closed and she took a deep breath in an effort to compose herself, aware of Bunny’s arm sliding across the back of her chair, his fingers moving gently across the nape of her neck.

  His touch calmed her and her breathing slowed as she became conscious she was embarrassing herself in front of a young woman who shared a past with Bunny.

  ‘I apologize, I don’t mean to sound accusing,’ Flora began. ‘How can you be sure these children are going to good homes? That they are not simply being used as cheap labour on farms treated no better than slaves?’

  ‘Isn’t a life of hard work in healthy surroundings preferable to being maimed in a badly equipped factory, or even starving to death in a city slum?’ Emily’s tone became defensive. ‘I assure you we only have their future welfare at heart.’

  ‘Is that true for your entire organization?’ Bunny asked.

  ‘The Bureau searches out candidates among the poorest, it’s true,’ Emily set down her cup with a firm click. ‘Although I can assure you we have never recruited from hospitals. Which leads me to your original question.’ She leaned forward, her hands clenched on the table top. ‘A little while ago, a woman arrived at another of our missions with a request. She asked if her nephew might be added to the list for emigration. At thirteen, the boy was a bit of a handful. He had joined a street gang known to be involved in local burglaries and she wanted to prevent his being sent to a training ship.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m not familiar with that term,’ Flora interrupted. ‘What exactly is a training ship?’

  ‘They are prisons for young men,’ Bunny said. ‘Decommissioned navy vessels are moored on the Thames at Purfleet and Chatham. Boys in their teens convicted of less serious crimes are sentenced to what is euphemistically called, training.’

  ‘Euphemistically?’ Flora raised an eyebrow at him.