The Pretty Girls

by Hazel Aitken

  “We aye see dreadful things and hear of more,” Agnes Blair greeted her. “There was that wee new-born bairn found dead in the stinkin’ Irwell, but oh, the wickedness of this makes my puir heart fail.”

  “What’s happened, Mrs Blair? Tell me, do.”

  “Whit’s happened she asks! Only a puir wee lass found wi’ her throat cut and she still trying to breathe. It’ll be a mercy when the bairn passes, so it will. Whatever divil did the deed and left her no doot thought she was away to the angels. But the Lord had different ideas.”

  Of course, she should go straight to the classroom but Hannah’s footsteps marched towards the infirmary. After all, some of her duties lay in that direction. Passing through the outer ward where the casuals gathered for attention and possible admittance, she began to climb the wide stone stairs and was met half way by Mrs Stannard who was coming down.

  “You have heard,” the woman said simply. “It is just a matter of time before the girl dies. Loss of blood and shock, not to mention exposure to the elements. God knows how long she had been lying in that foul place.”

  “Where?” asked Hannah, followed quickly by, “Is there anything I can do?”

  “You might sit with her awhile and it will not be for long, believe me. I will send word to Miss Phipps and she can make the best of it. The child is in a side ward. As to where she was found, on rough land close to the Chorlton Road, a haunt of vagrants and bad sorts, I believe. I await a police constable but it’s no use, the child is long past speech.”

  Two minutes later Hannah stood in a small bare room gazing down at a still figure that might have been made of wax, but with blood matting fair hair and staining thick bandages that hid the neck wounds that drained her life. A none too clean sheet covered her body.

  She stepped closer and reached for a hand that had escaped the sheet and hung limp and pale. Would the dying girl know she was not alone? She hoped so. Then her heart began hammering and letting go of the small hand with its dirt-encrusted nails she staggered slightly, nausea threatening as she took a closer look at the once pretty face.

  It was Sal, she was as sure as she could be. Sal, the little girl who spent long cold hours in the backyard next door to number fourteen.

  ****************************************

  Chapter Ten

  “Miss Morley, I should not have exposed you to this! At times I forget your youth. Sit down before you faint.” Mrs Stannard was back and pulling forward an old wooden chair. “Such a dreadful thing to happen to a defenceless child. A maniac, a monster must have done this to her. I fear she is slipping away now, God rest her. Come, you take one of her hands and I will hold the other. There, child, there, may the Lord receive your spirit,” she intoned softly and blinked back tears.

  Hannah was weeping openly. “Oh, Mrs Stannard, she had such a terrible life and then this…you see, I know who she is. She’s Sal, I know she is.”

  She said the same to the police constable who interviewed her in Mr Gidley’s office later on, but after ascertaining that she had seen Sal at close quarters on one occasion only, and peered at a child resembling her in a backyard, and then from an upstairs attic window which gave no clear view, he seemed disinclined to believe her. “We shall make enquiries. There has been no report of a missing child.”

  There wouldn’t be. Nobody cares about her. Had she spoken aloud? Probably not.

  The young police constable made notes, licking the end of his lead pencil constantly whilst he appeared to ponder on what he was writing down in a grubby notebook.

  “You will let me know the results of your investigations, won’t you?”

  “Don’t know about that, miss. It would be irregular. You’ll hear if anyone is apprehended for the foul deed. It will be reported in the press.”

  “You will enquire at the house in Blackfriar’s Lane, won’t you?”

  “All that can be done will be done, miss.”

  Hannah had to content herself with that but as she told Mrs Stannard she had little confidence in anyone ever being brought to justice. “I am not at all sure that if a police constable actually witnessed a murder, he would be able to describe the killer. I don’t think that man could read or write properly. But I am sure the child now in the mortuary is Sal.”

  Mrs Stannard thought she should take time to recover from the shock and return home, but Hannah was adamant that the best plan was to occupy her mind and walked to the classroom.

  What a difference! Bleak walls were now covered with pictures, charts and maps and the place, almost, if not quite, transformed. The little girls, however, were subdued, bent over their slates.

  The influence of Miss Phipps, Hannah decided, and trying to banish harrowing thoughts and images from her mind, she informed her pupils that they were to learn the first two verses of the Christmas song or carol called The Holly and the Ivy.

  “I shall sing it and you will learn and follow my lead.” Her pupils looked doubtful and with good reason because no sooner were voices raised in song than the door burst open and Miss Phipps, clad in unrelieved black, stalked across the room.

  “We cannot hear ourselves think, Miss Morley. Such a cacophony of screeching. This is not teaching. It is…it is utter rubbish! Where does holly and ivy feature in the Nativity story? I don’t recall the running of the deer in the streets of Bethlehem. So what explanation have you?”

  “It is traditional,” was all Hannah managed. “A cheerful tune and relatively easy words. I thought…”

  “My advice is that you stop thinking. It obviously causes trouble. You have the brains of a gnat.”

  Hannah began to shake; no doubt partly a reaction to the morning’s events, but anger threatened to engulf her.

  “May we step outside, Miss Phipps. There is something I wish to say.”

  “Well, I do not wish to hear it.” She turned to leave the room but Hannah was at the door first.

  “Miss Phipps, today I watched a child die, her throat had been cut and she had been left for dead on waste ground,” she hissed. “Her life had held no colour or affection, nothing good or to be remembered for the right reasons. My pupils have had miserable existences and I am determined to make their lives better…and may I be damned if I don’t.”

  Miss Phipps took a step back into the room and appalled at her own temerity Hannah put a hand over her mouth. She had crossed a line and even Mrs Stannard and Mr Gidley might consider her dismissal.

  “You knew the child? You recognised her?” The woman’s pale blue eyes widened and held Hannah’s gaze. “What did you say was her name?”

  “I didn’t, but it was Sal. She lived next door to my lodgings, I am sure of it. It was an appalling shock to see her lying there like a wax doll…to see her take her last breath.”

  Miss Phipps seemed on the point of saying something but thought better of it, but as if reconsidering she said, “Quite dreadful, if you wish to speak of it, if you need a listening ear…”

  “Thank you, Miss Phipps, and I apologise for the choice of carol. Maybe the children might learn something you consider more suitable? I have seen a copy of a recently published volume, Hymns for Little Children and there is one entitled Once in Royal David’s City.”

  “Oh, do as you wish. You always do, anyway. I am past caring.”

  What a contradiction the woman was: sharp-tongued and sarcastic, harsh with the girls, but she had offered a listening ear! And Hannah had seen her running her hands through Mollie Tinsley’s hair. She wondered how Mol was keeping up with Miss Phipps’ class of older girls.

  *****

  The next day there was great excitement. With the permission of the guardians, the offer of a tall fir tree from a farmer acquaintance of Mr Gidley had been accepted. News spread like wildfire and with it news also of the beef dinner that was arranged for Christmas day.

  “Plum puddin’ too… Och, my girls will be busy in the kitchens,” announced Agnes Blair. “It’ll nae be a day off for them.”

  “It won
’t be a day off for any of us,” Mrs Stannard said ruefully. “I hope you’ll join us Hannah and you may leave after the meal. The men and boys will eat at noon and the women and girls an hour later. It’ll be like the feeding of the five thousand. I forgot to tell you that some of the guardians and their families show their support by coming along and watching the paupers eat.” Hannah raised an eyebrow and the matron concluded, “Last Christmas there was such a twitching of fine skirts and an obvious fear that the wearers might ‘catch something.’ It was quite horrid of me but I rather wished a flea might take a flying leap!”

  “So you were here last year then. Aren’t most of the staff newly appointed?”

  “Mr Gidley and I arrived about the same time, just before last Christmas and my goodness, what changes a year has made. Last season saw an outbreak of influenza and the weather so cold that for weeks on end the windows were coated with ice on the inside. The basement kitchens were completely inadequate so I am thankful the new kitchen block is now built. Do you like statistics, Miss Morley?” She did not wait for a reply. “One hundred and seventy gallons of tea are brewed at a time and the racks for potatoes look as if they would hold an acre of them!”

  “I am constantly astonished by the size of the place; the separate blocks, the huge exercise yards, the infirmary wards…”

  “You have seen little of it yet. There are fever and itch wards, the lying-in ward, not to mention more and better accommodation for the lunatics and epileptics; nurseries and other classrooms for pupils. Under construction is housing for a schoolmaster and another schoolmistress who will live-in. It is costing a fortune, literally. Over fifty thousand pounds I have heard.”

  Hannah felt privileged to be part of it and said so.

  “Well, the next part is to decorate the fir tree that is being delivered one week before Christmas. Mr Gidley would like the schoolchildren to make decorations and hang them from the branches. He has ordered coloured paper for the making of cornucopias and yet another of his chapel friends is donating barley twists and sweetmeats. He is like an excited child himself and insists that he is doing the rounds of the classrooms making the deliveries in person.”

  Next day his entrance caused a stir and a ripple of anticipation went around the room. As the Master burst in carrying a pile of boxes, followed by two elderly women inmates who were equally laden, she was reminded of Mr Fezziwig, a favourite character in Mr Dickens’s A Christmas Carol. He positively oozed goodwill and seemed delighted with his own version of it.

  “Miss Morley, good morning to you, and to all of you too,” he greeted the girls." Come along…" he went on pleasantly to his two assistants, “Put the boxes on Miss Morley’s desk. You may leave us now, thank you.” Having deposited his own pile of boxes which seemed about to fall to the floor, he turned to survey the room. “Splendid, absolutely splendid. What do you say, you girls?”

  Only Fran Noone stood up. “It’s grand, sir. Thank you very much, sir.”

  “Which picture do you like best? Come on, you tell me, lass.” He addressed a child who bit her lips and hung her head. “Well, I shall tell you which is my favourite. It is Jesus blessing the children. Look at the blue sky and the sunshine and all those happy faces. What about you, Miss Morley? Which do you like best?”

  He had the attention of every girl in the room and they seemed to hang on his words and wait eagerly for her reply. She matched his mood.

  “I love the Nativity scene. The baby and the shepherds, the shining star, and best of all the old donkey!”

  “Quite, quite, and I have another bit of excitement.” He turned to Hannah. “Surprises are fun but it is good to anticipate treats, wouldn’t you say? I have invited a band to play for us. You know, trumpets and flutes and a big bass drum.” He proceeded to march around the room pretending to blow a trumpet and eyes widened further. They stretched even more when Miss Phipps opened the door with such violence that it flew back and hit the wall. She came to a halt, staring at the master as if he was a drunk on Bridge Street.

  “Miss Phipps, my good lady! You mustn’t feel left out. We shall be bringing in materials for your pupils. I shall expect masterpieces, no less, but the main thing is to enjoy the season and its preparations.” She looked at him as if he had taken leave of his senses. “Come along, Miss Phipps, I wish to make the acquaintance of the older girls.”

  *****

  It seemed that Sal’s body was to be buried with undue haste as if, thought Hannah, she was to be tidied away before seasonal celebrations began. The police had completed their enquiries and come up with the obvious statement that she had died at the hands of a person or persons unknown. Yes, they had acted upon Hannah’s statement but on visiting the address nobody knew anything about a missing child. Hannah was told this by Mr Gidley.

  “But my mother and I saw the child in the backyard next door,” she protested.

  “A visiting child. No children live in the house, or so they were informed.”

  “Then they were misinformed, I am sure of it. What about Sal’s funeral?”

  Mr Gidley shook his head sadly. “It will not be a pauper’s burial and she will not go un-mourned. There will be at least six of us in attendance and the Reverend James Christie is to inter her in the parish churchyard and not the pauper’s graveyard here. I think it will be appropriate to place a wreath on her little grave…” he mused to himself and seemed lost in contemplation.

  Hannah suspected that he had leaned heavily on the guardians to obtain permission for a light oak coffin to be made, quite beautiful, the wood gleaming and brass handles adorning the sides. Either that or he had the financial support of chapel friends and some of them, she decided, swelled the band of mourners who stood beside the newly dug grave in the churchyard. Representing the workhouse and apart from herself were the Master and Mrs Stannard, Agnes Blair, who wept noisily, Dr Lisle and two other men whom she assumed were guardians.

  The Reverend Christie, visibly moved, dispensed with some of the Anglican burial service and spoke of the brevity and uncertainty of life, of mysteries beyond our comprehension and likened the unfortunate child to a fallen sparrow, noticed by God and now safe and at peace in the hollow of His hand. “We are unsure of this little one’s name but let us call her Sally, for everyone must have a name.” He glanced at Hannah who was wiping her eyes on a lace trimmed linen handkerchief.

  Returning his glance, she stiffened as she noticed behind him and at least fifty yards away on the other side of the churchyard a cloaked and motionless female figure standing beside and almost merging with a tall ancient yew tree.

  Was she an apparition? A spectre come to watch the sombre and sad proceedings? Or, and this was more alarming, someone who knew more about the circumstances and death of this tragic girl than was known to those present. On a day when wisps of fog shifted and mingled with the breath of mourners in the still cold air, there was a sinister air about the hooded figure and Hannah shivered.

  She turned towards Mrs Stannard who was at her side, hoping she would follow her gaze, but even as she did so the figure disappeared as if aware of Hannah’s intent.

  Later she mentioned the incident to the matron but she was almost dismissive. “I am afraid many people have a morbid interest in death and news will have filtered through that this child had been the subject of a police investigation. Some sad person with not enough to fill their days, no doubt.” She sighed heavily and pushed back strands of her mousey coloured hair.

  “Now Hannah, I was wondering whether your mother might wish to join us on Christmas day. As far as she is concerned, it will be very civilised. Mr Gidley has relations coming from Yorkshire who will stay. There are rooms for them in one of the new blocks, but rather than be alone for a good part of the day Mrs Morley may wish to accompany you and should that be so we will provide transport.”

  How thoughtful! How kind! Hannah was taken aback although recognising that the last place her mother would wish to be on Christmas day was in the workhouse,
albeit as a privileged visitor.

  “My dear, you don’t have to concern yourself over me,” her mother greeted her that evening and waved a piece of paper in her direction. “I have heard from Mrs Mariah Simpson who suggests that I spend a few days with her over the festive season. No doubt she guesses that you will be occupied for much of the time but stresses that she herself would welcome my company. Truth to tell, I would like to warm myself at her log fire and hear the village gossip and see old acquaintances. Besides, I would dearly like to attend a Christmas day service in Longwell Church.”

  “Then you shall, Mama. But how are we to get you there? I am not sure that we can afford a cab and you can hardly sit on the back of a carrier’s cart!”

  “Mariah Simpson has thought of that too. The Reverend Horatio Lovatt-Browne has a cousin, a lady I gather who is to spend the season with him, and she will be passing this way. Of course I cannot have her coming here, it is too dreadful, but something can be arranged…” she ended vaguely.

  “Then you must write and accept, and we will prepare some kind of wardrobe for you and make plans. It is a splendid invitation…oh, and we must buy a suitable gift for Mrs Simpson. I came across a shop selling delicious looking bon-bons and the most exquisite artificial flower arrangements and table decorations that would brighten any home.”

  “You don’t mind, my dear, do you? It means you will be free to spend more time at your work and I know you love to be with your little girls…and you tell me they have a tall decorated tree and there is to be a brass band…”

  Did she mind? Just a little bit, Hannah thought. Privately she had planned a few treats and surprises for her mother and they had been going to decorate their own small tree in the attic room as a surprise for Rosa. Well, she could go ahead with that and she must not spoil Belle’s happy anticipation because her mother deserved a few pleasures and interests which had been sadly lacking for many months.

  “Truly, I am delighted for you. If you don’t wish the Reverend’s cousin to come here, and I fully understand, perhaps you might be collected at the apothecary’s. I am sure they would permit you to sit inside for a while or so.”