The Little Runaways

by Cathy Sharp

  ‘She isn’t right for him,’ Angela said softly to herself. That must be what was at the root of her feelings. ‘She isn’t good enough for you, Mark …’

  Her thoughts were suspended as her telephone rang again and she picked up the receiver. ‘Angela Morton here.’

  ‘Angela, it’s Nick. I was thinking … dinner this evening if you’re free? I’ve booked a table at the Savoy.’

  Angela sighed because it was so typical of Nick to just go ahead and book. If he’d asked she would have preferred a quiet pub, similar to the one she’d visited with Mark – but he always took it for granted that he knew best, and Angela found she resented it. She almost turned him down, but she needed a bit of cheering up and since Mark wasn’t available, it seemed she hadn’t much choice.

  Mark was frowning as he left his apartment and went out into the lift that took him down from the penthouse floor to the garages below. His work with the rich and sometimes famous had brought him all the trappings of wealth, including this fabulous Mayfair apartment in a prestigious block, which was perfect for spending several days a week in town – but if he married he would have to think of selling and buying a house instead, probably in the suburbs. A decent garden was the thing, because Mark wanted children. He hadn’t truly thought about it for years. His first wife, Edine, had given birth to their son and it was the boy’s loss that had caused the rift between them and led to her death. Since then he had not thought of a personal life beyond pleasant but casual relationships … until he began to fall in love with Angela.

  Mark frowned as he admitted to himself that he had been, was still, in love with the beautiful young widow, who had turned to him in such distress after her husband was killed. Somewhere along the line, she’d become more than a friend. Carole was a very sexy and amusing young woman, but he wasn’t in love with her.

  He’d tried to stay out of her way since the night he’d had rather too much to drink and stayed overnight with her at that hotel, but he was forced to meet her in the course of his work and was far too polite and decent to hurt her more than he had already. He supposed he ought to tell her that it had been pleasant but was over – that would be the best thing he could do, but it would make things awkward at work.

  Unfortunately, Mark couldn’t remember what had happened between them that evening. If he’d made love to Carole he’d been too far gone to know about it, but the little smiles she gave him now and then made him think something must have happened – which was a nuisance. Mark had no illusions and he knew Angela was aware he’d taken the girl out a couple of times, something he very much regretted. He didn’t feel that it would be appropriate to declare his love for Angela in the circumstances – he ought to leave a decent interval between that wretched night and any proposal he might make to the woman he truly cared for.

  It was embarrassing, if nothing more, and he decided that on his return from the country and a visit to a friend from the war and his wife, he would tell Carole of his regret and break it off – perhaps over a coffee somewhere.

  His mind settled on that issue, Mark got into his car and drove off. He’d phoned someone he knew at the police station and advised them to make a thorough search of the dock area. If Nancy was right her brother should be found quite soon – but the police had been warned that he might be violent and had agreed to keep watch and not move in until they called Mark. He would try to talk Terry out, to make him trust him, show him that no one wanted to hurt him; it was all he could do for now, and he must hope that it was enough.

  FORTY

  Nan looked round the hotel room she’d been given, pleasure taking over from the surprise she’d felt on arriving at the rather lovely old hotel. She’d expected more of a bed and breakfast place, but this was an old-fashioned hotel with an impeccable past. Its décor was a little faded, because nothing had been updated since some years before the war, but the furnishings were once good and the standard of cleanliness was excellent. Her room had a big window with a nice view of the cathedral and town, and it also had an armchair, desk and single chair, as well as the bed, wardrobe and dressing table; the biggest luxury of all was its own tiny bathroom.

  She had just started to unpack when she heard the door knock and went to open it. Eddie stood there, looking a little uncertain. He’d taken off his overcoat and was wearing his old tweed jacket with the patches on the elbows and a pair of fawn slacks.

  ‘I just wanted to know if you were happy with your room?’

  ‘Yes, it’s really nice,’ Nan said, and wondered if she ought to mention the cost of such a special room, but he’d said it was his treat and she didn’t want to make a fuss. ‘I’ve never stayed at such a nice place; even when I married Sam we went to a B and B.’

  His face lit up with pleasure and Nan was glad she hadn’t mentioned the money. She didn’t think he had very much, but he’d planned to make things easy and nice for her this weekend and she wasn’t going to spoil it for him.

  ‘I’m glad you like it, my dear,’ he said. ‘Shall we go down for tea? You could order it in your room, but we can’t really have it together like that … people might assume and we can’t have that, can we?’ His words and smile teased her and she felt at home with him. She would never feel threatened with Eddie and his kindness had gone a long way to healing the hurt inside her.

  ‘Yes, lovely.’ Nan had been looking forward to a nice bath and a rest on the bed, but she could do that later. ‘I’d like that,’ she said. ‘The unpacking can wait until after tea. I suppose we can find out the times of the buses to the convent in the morning …’

  ‘Oh, no need,’ Eddie said. ‘I’ve borrowed a car for tomorrow. I use buses in London but they taught me to drive in the Army. It will be much easier. We can telephone in the morning, enquire when Maisie will see you – and then we can have a drive round later and enjoy a meal somewhere before we come back here for the evening. It will make a little treat for us both.’

  ‘Supposing she won’t see me?’

  ‘We’ll face that when the time comes. Now let’s go and have our tea. I’ve been told they used to have wonderful scones and honey … I hope they still do, though their scones won’t be as good as yours, Nan.’

  ‘Flatterer,’ Nan said, and shook her head at him, but suddenly she didn’t feel tired any more. She was here with a friend and she could face whatever the next day brought, even if her daughter still would not see her.

  ‘Did you sleep well, my dear?’ Eddie asked as they went down to breakfast the next morning. ‘My bed was quite comfortable – a feather mattress, I do believe.’

  ‘I slept very well,’ Nan assured him. ‘When do you think I should telephone – before breakfast or after?’

  ‘I’ve already done it for you,’ he said with his gentle smile. ‘I explained about your busy life, how you help the children and staff at St Saviour’s and how much it would mean to you if Maisie would see you just for a few minutes. Mother Superior told me that Sister Mary was still reluctant but she’d managed to persuade her that she ought to at least speak to you. We have to be there at eleven o’clock this morning – which gives us plenty of time to eat our breakfast and drive the ten miles or so to the convent.’

  ‘She will see me?’ Nan drew her breath in sharply, feeling a crushing pain in her chest. Tears stung her eyes but she held them back. ‘Oh … I don’t know what to say. I can hardly believe it. I’ve tried so many times and she would not even accept my letters … this is a miracle.’

  ‘Well, perhaps it is divine intervention, my dear,’ he said, his eyes twinkling at her. ‘I usually find a little gentle persuasion works wonders.’

  Nan stared at him in sudden comprehension. ‘Persuasion … what did you do, Eddie?’

  ‘Well, a friend of mine at the college where I do odd jobs happens to know the Bishop in charge of the convent,’ he said, with a warm look. ‘I suppose I did a little gentle arm-twisting – favours done in the past, you see. Mother Superior was asked in the nicest manner if s
he could see her way clear to having a talk with the youngest member of her house … and it seems a word from the Bishop has done the trick. I hope you didn’t mind my having a word with my old friend?’

  ‘I can’t thank you enough,’ Nan said, her throat tight with emotion. ‘Oh, how kind you are. I’m so glad we met, Eddie. I didn’t think I would ever like or trust a man again – but you are the kindest person I’ve met in a long time.’

  ‘Now you will have me blushing. Come along, Nan; our breakfast awaits and I do believe I can smell good Cornish bacon.’

  Nan shivered as she was shown into what seemed to her a small dark room and asked to wait. A fire of sorts was burning in the stone fireplace but it was nowhere near enough to keep the chill off the ancient and very thick stone walls. How could Maisie bear to live in a place like this? Nan was horrified that her once bright and loving daughter could have chosen such a life. What had that monster done to her? Such violent thoughts of what she would have liked to do to him assailed her that she was ashamed for having them in what was after all a House of God.

  She went to the fire, trying to warm her hands, but she was shivering and perhaps not all of it came from the chill of the room. Hearing the door open behind her, Nan went rigid, almost too afraid to turn and look, but she forced herself to do so and found that she was looking at a tall, thin woman dressed in grey with a white band around her face and a grey headdress covering over her hair – what did they call that? Was it a wimple? She must ask Eddie; he seemed to know such a lot, perhaps because he’d travelled when he was in the Army. The woman’s face was gentle, but Nan did not know her. Could this be the same girl that had once looked at her with wild eyes and screamed that she, Nan, was to blame for what had happened to her?

  ‘Maisie?’ she whispered, her throat tight with emotion. ‘Is it you?’

  ‘I am called Sister Mary now,’ the soft voice answered. ‘But you named me Maisie. You wanted to see me … Mother?’

  Mother, she had called her Mother! The word seemed drawn from her reluctantly but she had spoken it. Nan’s eyes stung with tears and for a moment the words would not come. Everything she had wanted to say had flown, leaving her staring like a fool.

  ‘I wanted your forgiveness,’ she managed at last. ‘I loved you so much, Maisie, but I’d just lost your father and my son, and I had to work so hard to keep a roof over our heads. I took that monster into my home, but had I ever guessed what he was doing to you – I would have killed him. I swear I would have hanged before I let him touch you. Please, you must believe me …’ The tears would not hold back; she had no power to stop them, letting them run heedlessly down her cheeks. ‘Please, can you understand and forgive me?’

  ‘I forgave you when I gave myself to God.’ Maisie’s voice took Nan’s breath and as she looked at her daughter she saw a look of serenity and peace wash over the girl’s face. ‘It was required of me and I spent many hours praying for the grace of God so that I might let go of all worldly things.’ She made a move towards Nan, her hands outstretched. ‘I was not sure that I was strong enough yet to face you, Mother, but now I know that God has blessed me truly. I must ask you to forgive me so that we may part in peace.’

  ‘I forgive you?’ Nan asked in wonder.

  ‘Yes, for I sinned against you. I was bitter and I said cruel things. I know now that you loved me and would not have allowed … but all that is past and in God I have no anger or hate. I am His and He has made me whole again.’

  ‘So you are happy here … in this place?’ Nan shivered and Maisie laughed. It was a laugh of childish delight, familiar and dear.

  ‘You find it cold and cheerless? We grow accustomed to the cold, and we do not feel it. The body is nothing and the spirit is all. Here, we are one with Our Maker and ask for nothing but the food He gives us and the comfort of His love.’

  ‘You will stay here all your life? It is what you truly want?’

  Maisie took her hands, looking into Nan’s eyes as she replied, ‘Please accept my decision, Mother. I am at peace here. I could not live in the world you would have me return to for then I should hate and I should be in torment.’

  ‘Shall I never see you?’

  ‘Perhaps there will be a reason. If you were ill I might ask permission to come to you, but I would ask you not to come here unless I am permitted to invite you – there are times when we ask guests to join us for special festivals.’

  ‘Will you allow me to write to you?’

  Again, Maisie’s smile was so gentle and loving that Nan’s heart caught.

  ‘Yes, write to me once a month if you wish, and I will answer you when I feel that God wishes me to help you. My order does not forbid all contact with family but we are in the main a reflective order and do not encourage visits or other communication.’

  ‘I see …’ Nan looked deep into her eyes and saw that Maisie had given her all she had to give and she must accept it. ‘Thank you for seeing me and explaining … for forgiving me.’

  ‘It was God’s wish,’ Maisie said simply. ‘Go from here in peace and do not mourn the loss of a daughter. If you love me be glad that I have found my salvation in His love.’

  ‘Yes, I shall try,’ Nan promised. ‘Goodbye, Sister Mary.’

  Maisie inclined her head and left the room by the door through which she’d entered. A moment later Mother Superior came to show Nan out, her smile one of consolation but also triumph, because she knew that she and her sisters had won. Nan understood now that Maisie belonged to them, to her God and the order who had taught her to find peace.

  ‘Try to understand,’ the nun told Nan as she opened the gate for her to leave. ‘This is Sister Mary’s home and her refuge. She could not survive in your world.’

  Nan inclined her head but could not answer. Her emotions were in turmoil, swirling this way and that as she fought to understand them. There was anger and bitterness because her daughter had been stolen from her, but there was also the memory of that look in Maisie’s eyes, of the peace that came from inside.

  A part of Nan wanted to scream in rejection of this order of holy women who had taken her loving, rebellious daughter and turned her into a pale shadow, and yet another part of her was already coming to terms with what she knew was the end of her hopes. Maisie was lost to her. She could write to Sister Mary and she might be answered but there would be no reunion, no return to the old mother and daughter relationship – yet that had been lost the moment she’d let a monster into her home.

  The pain was still there inside her, like a nagging toothache that goes on relentlessly until the surgeon pulls the tooth, but perhaps the terrible guilt had begun to ease, and in time she too might find peace.

  ‘You are not sorry you went?’ Eddie asked that evening after they had dined and sat in the hotel parlour by a roaring fire. ‘I wondered if perhaps it was too difficult for you.’

  ‘No, I am glad I saw her. She seems to be at peace, and she forgave me – asked for my forgiveness, though she need not …’

  ‘You must let go of your guilt and accept that what happened was beyond your control. Maisie is at peace and you must try to forgive yourself now, my dear.’

  ‘Sister Mary is at peace. Maisie … my daughter … no longer exists. It is as if she died …’

  ‘Perhaps that had to happen.’ He took her hand. ‘I think that whenever you lose a child, whether it be through death, through a breach or simply marriage, it leaves an empty space behind. You’ve filled it with your love for the children of St Saviour’s, Nan. Move on and let Sister Mary live her life and forgive her.’

  ‘Forgive her?’

  ‘Forgive her for not needing you, for becoming someone else … for growing up into a woman who knows her own mind.’

  Nan blinked hard and held on to his hand. ‘I couldn’t have faced this without you,’ she choked. ‘Yes, I must learn to forgive, as she has.’ A smile wavered, failed and then settled on her face. ‘It will be easier tomorrow and in time I dare say I shall be
happy for her.’

  ‘Of course you will, because you’re you – and I do like you very much, my dear Nan …’

  FORTY-ONE

  ‘You have no idea where Terry might be?’ Constable Sallis narrowed his gaze as he looked at Nancy. ‘There are no friends of your family who might take him in? It’s very cold at night. Surely, he wouldn’t sleep on the streets for all this time’

  ‘I am so worried about him,’ Nancy said, her mouth trembling. ‘He’s never been away from me at night. He must be so cold and hungry …’

  ‘It’s my experience that children usually return home if they are cold and hungry,’ the constable said. ‘I would wager he’s found a friend who has taken him in and is feeding him.’

  ‘There was a man on the Docks, as I told you,’ Nancy said. ‘I don’t know his name … Terry might have called him Nobbler or Cobbler, something like that, but I’m not sure. He had a job moving wood, stacking it and helping out generally about the yard. That’s all I can tell you, sir.’

  ‘Well, it’s something. I’ll bet that he’s either been working with this man or he’s taken him home. He might have found a place to sleep on the Docks, in a warehouse or a shed of some sort – but if he earns a few bob he’ll buy food. I’ll report this again, miss, and I’ll send someone to look, more thoroughly this time. There can’t be so many places dealing with a lot of wood. Now, don’t you worry, we’ll find him.’

  ‘Thank you, Constable,’ Sister Beatrice said. ‘Run along to the kitchens now and have your cooking lessons, Nancy. I’m sure Terry will turn up soon.’

  ‘Bound to.’ Constable Sallis added his mite with a kindly smile at Nancy, but looked concerned as the door closed behind her. ‘He sounds just the sort of lad to land in trouble, Sister. We’ve been asking if anyone’s seen him but we’ll do another full search. There are a hundred places a boy like that could hide on the Docks, and you never know what sort of tale he’s spun this mate of his.’