The Pretty Girls

by Hazel Aitken

  “Miss Morley, isn’t it? Please be seated.” He waved towards a most uncomfortable looking wooden chair that faced the desk. “Now, introductions. We know who you are and you have met our matron, Mrs Stannard, who tells me you impressed her with your manner and apparent abilities, but these gentlemen will be strangers to you. They are two of our guardians and when you came to their notice at our last meeting, expressed the wish to meet our new assistant teacher. Isn’t that right, gentlemen? They have the power to engage or dismiss, you know!”

  Mr Gidley…Mr John Gidley as Hannah was to discover, made it sound like a joke but she glanced rather nervously at his companions. Mrs Stannard looked amused, her glance indicating that the Master was a law unto himself.

  “Let me introduce Mr Jasper Meredith.” He turned to an immaculately dressed, handsome but severe faced man on his left, “and Dr Marcus Lisle is here on my right. These gentlemen may wish to ask you a few questions, Miss Morley, but be assured your position here is confirmed.”

  He is nice, she thought, putting me at ease like this, and she smiled at him.

  Forty-five or thereabouts, her thoughts continued. A bundle of energy. She recalled old Alice, a supposed psychic who lived in Longwell. She swore she could see haloes and auras; some were dull whilst others pulsated with energy. If she had been present, Alice would doubtless see a lot of pulsation around Mr Gidley!

  “Mr Meredith, you go first,” invited the Master and that man seemed to strip Hannah with his gaze. It took all her self-control to fix him with a steady gaze.

  “I am wondering, Miss Morley, why an attractive woman of your age, twenty, I believe, remains unmarried and seeking employment?”

  Did she fancy Mrs Stannard’s intake of breath or the frown that creased Mr Gidley’s brow. Suppressing a flash of anger, she drew herself up. “I was engaged to be married when I was eighteen,” she replied with coolness. “My fiancé had a change of heart when he met a plain faced-heiress. Obviously I was better off without such a man.”

  “Dear me, quite so, Miss Morley,” put in John Gidley, looking disconcerted. “I believe your late father was a doctor of medicine, a country doctor, is that so?”

  “He was clever and compassionate,” Hannah said enthusiastically, “but impractical when it came to financial matters because he never refused to assist and advise even when he knew the patient could not pay. However, I am proud of him and so is my mother, even if we now find ourselves in straightened circumstances.”

  “Did you assist your father at any time?” The question was posed by Dr Lisle, a man in his early thirties, she estimated, less immaculately dressed than Mr Meredith but expensively so judging by the cut and quality of his dark suit. Black hair flopped over his forehead and his smile was friendly.

  “Occasionally I accompanied him on visits and learnt how to bandage and poultice, and of course he talked to me about cures and medicines. He was fascinated by new modern cures and medicines but was also an advocate of natural country remedies, some of which are most effective, and free of course.”

  “Interesting,” said the doctor, “but there is no money in hedgerow cures. However, your father seems to have been philanthropic and wise in the ways of his patients. Tell me, and I hope this does not sound too indelicate, did you assist in the care of new mothers and their babies?”

  What an extraordinary interview this was proving to be!

  “No, but I remember what my father said about babies that made a difficult entry into this world. He believed that mothers-to-be should watch their diet. He had noticed over the years that those whose diet was mainly fatty foods and bread had more trouble giving birth. The babies were large but not necessarily healthy.” She paused and blushed at the strange turn of the conversation. “He advised a diet of lean meat and leafy vegetables when a woman is enceinte as she is more likely to produce a small healthy infant.”

  Mrs Stannard made a movement. “I think we should tell Miss Morley why we are pursuing this particular line of enquiry.” She looked at Hannah. “You see, we are in need of decent women who can nurse or attend in the lying-in ward. Until now, some very unsuitable women, many of them inmates, have attended the sick and probably brought disease into the place rather than helped to eradicate it.”

  “I believed I was to teach, or at least assist in the classrooms.”

  “And so you are, lass.” Mr Gidley reverted to a broad Yorkshire accent. “But we are under pressure and maybe you would you be willing to lend a hand in the sick wards? Not the itch or fever cases for we can’t have thee taking lice or sickness back to your mother or spreading it amongst the school pupils, but you’d be right helpful in other ways; just until we appoint more staff.”

  “Yes, of course,” Hannah replied decisively and Mr Gidley beamed.

  “I knew it the moment I set eyes on you. I shall leave Mrs Stannard to acquaint you with your duties. Any other questions, gentlemen?”

  “Just one.” It was Mr Jasper Meredith who addressed her. “I believe you have lodgings in Blackfriar’s Lane. Not the most salubrious area, is it?” However did he know? Maybe Mrs Simpson or the Reverend Lovatt-Browne had mentioned it.

  “It’s not what we are used to, but I shall find something better when I am able.”

  “Are you acquainted with your neighbours? Strangers in town may need a helping hand.”

  “I don’t know any of the neighbours and our landlady does not encourage familiarity. I shall not miss Blackfriar’s Lane.” I shall miss Rosa, though, and I shall worry about Sal next door.

  “We can arrange for your wages to be paid monthly although quarterly would be the usual thing,” the Master was saying and she liked him even more.

  “Monthly to begin with would be very helpful,” she smiled gratefully. Then Mrs Stannard was indicating that they should leave the gentlemen and Dr Lisle was opening the door for them, and she and the other woman faced one another in the corridor outside.

  “Men!” remarked the matron lifting her eyes heavenwards. “They ride their hobby horses whether it be a pretty face or medical cures! But I think you may be useful on the relieving ward and as we are in a state of flux and change just now, I think your schoolroom duties might be confined to the mornings and…oh, well, we shall see. Now, I propose that I leave you with Miss Phipps who is teaching the older girls. And tomorrow morning please report for duty as early as possible.” She surveyed Hannah’s dress. “I believed you to be in the later stages of mourning.” Hannah explained and Mrs Stannard remarked that the late Dr Morley must have been an interesting parent to possess. “However, you look suitably attired to me. Miss Phipps may have other ideas. Don’t say that I did not warn you. You’ll find out.”

  Five minutes later, she entered the larger of the schoolrooms and came face-to-face with a woman possessing a most disagreeable countenance. Miss Phipps was nearing forty, her greying hair pulled back tightly. Dressed in unrelieved dark grey that did nothing for her sallow skin and with a sneer contorting her features, she looked, as Hannah’s late father would have described her, unappealing. Fifty or so girls, wearing white aprons over their navy-blue serge, sat at tables ranged around the walls. It appeared that two girls shared every slate and Miss Phipps had been doing the rounds approving their work, or otherwise. The wooden ruler she grasped in her hand was raised ominously as if about to strike some unfortunate pupil.

  “Well, come in and keep quiet,” she threw at Hannah. “We are learning our sentences. I will deal with you later.” Deal with me!

  Later proved to be after an hour had passed and the girls were dismissed to take their midday meal. The tedium of that hour would long live with Hannah and she wondered how the girls, cold and frightened, had learnt anything at all. She wondered too how such a woman had come to be employed when it was obvious Mr Gidley was intent on making changes for the better.

  “You will keep to the curriculum that I devise,” Miss Phipps began. “The girls, that is both younger and older, learn the principles of arithme
tic and the English language. They will be taught their Bible. I trust you are familiar with it and are a churchgoer yourself? I doubt, however, that many of them will be able to learn their Catechism but one can but try.” She sighed heavily and moved close to Hannah who quite distinctly smelt stale perspiration. “I understand you will be living outwith the establishment.” She sniffed. “That seems irregular to me but Mr Gidley has his own way of doing things.” She made it sound like one of the seven deadly sins. “However, Miss Morley, I make the rules in the classrooms. You will dress soberly and control your wayward hair.”

  “Oh dear, is it wayward?” Hannah pushed back a strand of dark hair that had a habit of escaping her bonnet. “You will not sport dresses with colourful trims and frivolous tucks and fancy buttons. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Indeed you do.” Hannah knew she sounded sarcastic but could not help it. This woman seemed intent on making those around her miserable and ill at ease. How wretched she must be.

  “I hope we may work together, Miss Morley, although I detect a rebellious spirit and I shall not tolerate it. Till tomorrow, then. I rise at five thirty to make my devotions and begin my daily duties at six thirty. You too will be in attendance at that time. Is that understood?”

  Hannah murmured assent and took her leave. Whyever had such a repellent creature been appointed? It went against all she had learnt so far about changes for the better in this place. She could only suppose that Miss Phipps possessed excellent references and good teaching skills, but if that hour spent in the classroom was anything to go by, the latter were not in evidence today.

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  Chapter Seven

  “…So, Mama, I shall have to leave Blackfriar’s Lane no later than six in the morning and earlier if possible. I have spoken to Mrs Wilson about Rosa…now, do remember, Mrs Wilson calls her Leary…and I probably caught our landlady in a weak moment because she looked quite unlike herself, exhausted and anxious, but she has agreed that the child may sit with you on occasion and you may teach her sewing and reading. I suggested she would be of more use to her employer if she gained those skills.”

  “One could say that you are manipulative, Hannah, but I know you have acted in my best interests, and I daresay the child will benefit. I think, however, I shall continue to call her Leary or I may make a mistake over her name and give the game away, isn’t that the expression?”

  Next morning, Hannah crept downstairs to make her mother’s breakfast and to check that Rosa’s thumb continued to heal. She was wearing a brown dress that looked well on her, although she was unaware of that fact. Replacing shining brass buttons with ones of brown glass and having removed crocheted lace cuffs the dress was, in her opinion, quite spoilt. But it would not do to antagonise Miss Phipps on her first morning.

  Wearing a black cloak belonging to Belle and a matching bonnet of her own, she crept to the front door where Rosa waited to see her depart. “I shall keep the old lady company.” She referred to Belle and Hannah suppressed a laugh. Her mother was not yet forty-five years old! But, of course, to a child she probably seemed aged and her current poor health contributed to that image.

  As always, it was dark in Blackfriar’s Lane and she wished for municipal gas lighting and pools of brightness but steeled herself to walk through the back streets until she reached the lights of a wider thoroughfare.

  It was as she stood outside the door drawing on winter mittens that she became aware of the sound of someone breathing heavily. Someone who stood on the other side of the dividing holly hedge. Someone who was either about to leave or enter the house next door. She had no desire to meet with any of the occupants except for Sal, so she stood and waited for whoever it was to make a move. After a couple of minutes came the sound of boots on the footpath and then the clack of them on the cobbled street, and she felt it safe to begin her journey.

  She waited a full minute, then followed in the wake of the woman – surely those footsteps had belonged to a woman? Sure enough, as she turned a second corner and where gaslights flickered, she saw a female outline. A short dumpy figure carrying a large bag. Perhaps the woman sensed a watcher because she paused and glanced over her shoulder before disappearing between the houses, almost certainly down one of the narrow ginnels that led eventually to the stinking River Irwell that was filled with putrefaction and oily industrial waste from the factories and work yards that were strung along its banks.

  Less than half an hour later, Hannah was being admitted to the workhouse that was filled with activity and subdued chatter at this early hour. Having been told to make her way to the girl’s wards, she did so to discover the occupants washing and dressing themselves in the scratchy uniforms.

  “Silence,” Miss Phipps was bleating and her sharp tones had some effect because the children quietened, as did a couple of gossiping young assistants, and then, becoming aware of Hannah, they stared in fascination.

  “I suggest you shed your outer garments, Miss Morley. You may leave them on the table over there and remove them later.” She indicated a trestle type table that stood in the centre of the long dormitory. Her gaze wandered over Hannah but whether she approved or disapproved of the brown dress, it was impossible to know. “Now hurry up, prayers before we take our breakfast.”

  When ready, the children lined up, crocodile fashion, and were marched down wide stone stairs to the vast dining hall lit by large tallow candles that resided in wall-mounted wrought iron sconces, augmented by a few new gas lights that must surely soon replace the candles altogether.

  On one side of the room, boys were already seated at long tables and the girls took their places on the other. Morning prayer consisted of Bible readings and prayers to Almighty God, thanking Him for delivering these children into the care of the workhouse where their souls might be saved even as their bodies were nourished. Miss Phipps led the extempore prayers, her voice rising in a pitch of fervour that failed to convince Hannah of her sincerity.

  When she had finished what had seemed like a recitation, kitchen assistants placed platters of bread on each table and then returned to the kitchens for large pots of gruel, ladling the contents into bowls which were passed along the tables. There was no talking, no visible smiles or shared glances, and Hannah’s heart was heavy.

  Seated at one of the tables she supervised the smallest girls whilst taking sips of the gruel which she had to admit was thick and filling if lacking taste.

  “For what we have just received…” intoned Miss Phipps at last, “may the Lord make us truly thankful.” With one accord the children rose to their feet, formed long lines and filed from the room. Hannah followed the little girls, who led the way to their classroom.

  “Have you got this clear? Arithmetic, English language, and then Bible study. You have forty girls aged between seven and ten years old, and you are here to teach them something. No mollycoddling, no gossiping, and be sure I shall check on your progress several times this morning, so be warned, Miss Morley.”

  “I shall do my best, Miss Phipps. I am sure the girls will show me where equipment is stored.”

  “Equipment? Oh, you mean slates. They are in the cupboard over there. Likewise the slate pencils. You have your own blackboard. Was there anything else, Miss Morley?”

  Hannah surveyed the dreary room but shook her head. The windows were placed too high for the pupils to see the outside world. A few charts, maps and pictures would enliven the walls but there was no point in saying so.

  The girls were docile and subdued, polite but unengaged, thought Hannah as she looked at her class.

  “Now, you know my name but it will take me a while to get to know you all,” she began. “So, for a start I suggest that if and when I ask any one of you a question, that person stands up and says her name loudly before giving me any other information. Is that clear? I am not going to fire questions at you but to begin with we are going to make a sentence about an animal. Who would like to suggest what animal that mi
ght be?”

  There was no response. “Shall it be a cat or a dog, even a cow?”

  A red-haired girl sitting to the front made a movement and Hannah smiled encouragingly. The tall child rose slowly, her pale cheeks reddening. “Noone,” she whispered. “Me name’s Noone.”

  “Have you another name? A Christian name?”

  “Fran, miss. What about a cat, miss?”

  “Thank you, Fran, a cat will do very well.” She turned and wrote CAT on the blackboard. “Copy those letters, girls, and then we will construct a sentence that includes the word cat.”

  A few minutes later, Hannah did the rounds and helped those less able. “Now, what did the cat do? Let us construct a sentence that makes sense. For example we could write, ‘The cat lay in the sun,’ but I want you to make suggestions. You,” she pointed to a wide-eyed child half way down the room, “what do you think the cat did? And please tell me your name first.”

  “Lottie. He got ate, miss.”

  “Do you mean the cat ate something?”

  “No, miss. He was ate by a dog.”

  “Oh dear, I think we shall have to try again.” Several girls sniggered before an extremely pretty fair-haired girl, taller and bolder than most of the others, stood up without invitation and said loudly, “Molly Tinsley, miss. How about: ‘The cat sat on a wall’?”

  Hannah wrote the sentence and watched as pencils squeaked and scratched the words on slate. The morning lessons passed remarkably quickly. Simple arithmetic followed. Dusters flapped as slates were cleaned but not before Hannah had inspected every one of them, correcting gently where necessary and speaking encouragingly. She fancied several of the girls were very poor learners. What her father would have described as slow on the uptake. Hannah was writing figures on the board when she was aware of a draught of cold air and turning saw that Miss Phipps stood in the doorway.