The Little Runaways

by Cathy Sharp

  It wasn’t until later that afternoon that Carole found the message from Sally explaining that Julia would be late. It was on the desk, but someone had placed a stack of files on it. Carole read it with annoyance. Had she seen it, she wouldn’t have reported Sally’s carelessness to Sister, and she knew she ought to explain, but that would make her look a fool and she didn’t feel like back-tracking on what she’d said earlier. She slipped the message into her pocket; she would tear it up later and say nothing about it. Why should she care if Sally was in trouble over it? The girl was going to leave soon anyway.

  Mark could still feel the guilt churning over in his stomach regarding Carole. The knowledge that he’d been very much in the wrong wouldn’t go away. He should have found an easier way of letting her down – of telling her that he wasn’t in love with her. He’d never been very good at this sort of thing.

  Something in Carole’s eyes when he’d told her it was over was bothering Mark. He was normally a good judge of character but he wasn’t sure whether she’d simply been angry – or if there was hurt beneath the natural reaction of angry rejection. He would have to apologise again, perhaps send her some flowers. He chided himself again, as if flowers could ever make up for what he’d done, but it was better than hoping the problem would go away.

  Yes, at least he could do that, he thought, and picked up the telephone. He rang the florist he trusted and gave them a short message apologising for hurting her and asking them to deliver the flowers to Carole as soon as possible. It was never going to be enough, but he couldn’t see what else he could do in the circumstances.

  Having done what he could to put things right, though of course if Carole was really hurt the flowers wouldn’t help much, his thoughts turned inevitably to Angela. He’d known the last time they’d been together that he was fairly caught, the feelings he had too strong for him to find solace with anyone else. Angela’s smile, the scent of her hair and her perfume, which seemed to tantalise him with her sensual sweetness, all of those things haunted his dreams.

  He must speak to her. It was stupid to go on leaving things. His appointments finished for the day, Mark thought he might go down to the dockyard himself and take a look around, just in case Terry was still hanging around. After that he would drive to St Saviour’s, invite Angela out for a nice quiet meal and then tell her what was on his mind.

  FORTY-THREE

  Beatrice watched as the builders carried out the last of their tools. They’d completed the work in excellent time and done a good job, which was a relief, because after knocking the price down she’d wondered if they would cut corners. The house was quiet, silent, as she walked through the ground floor, her footsteps seeming to echo eerily, noting all the improvements, like the new basins in the washrooms, some of which had been cracked and stained.

  A little shiver went down Beatrice’s spine, because she didn’t like the feeling of emptiness, the sense of heavy sorrow that seemed to hang in the air … as if the spirits of the dead fever patients still lingered. What a thought! Those times were long gone and best forgotten. It was because the place was almost empty, echoing with her lonely footsteps. These rooms should be filled with laughing, happy children and she would be glad when they were back from their trip out, and the older ones returned from school. She’d purchased shop-made tomato sandwiches and fairy cakes, which were waiting under slightly dampened teacloths for the school children in the dining room for their tea. Not quite what they were used to, because Muriel and her staff provided a delicious treat of some kind most afternoons, but everything would be back to normal tomorrow.

  Hearing a noise behind her as she prepared to leave the kitchens, Beatrice turned and saw the boy staring at her. For a moment she was stunned. Where had he come from? Surely he hadn’t been hiding here at St Saviour’s all this time?

  ‘Terry …’ she said at last, recovering her powers of speech. ‘Where have you been? We’ve all been worried about you. Nancy has been desperate, afraid that you had come to some harm.’ She paused and saw that he looked dirty, his hair limp as if he’d been in mud or slime or something. He’d certainly been living rough. ‘You look as if you need a good bath, my lad. Let me take you upstairs. You don’t want Nancy to see you like that.’

  ‘Stay away from me, yer old bag,’ Terry snarled. She noticed then that his eyes looked wild and as he brought his arm up from his side she saw a long thin knife. ‘Yer turned Nance against me, yer and that posh bitch, givin’ ’er things. I’m goin’ ter pay yer back – yer first, and then the rest of them.’ A high-pitched giggle left his lips. ‘Once Nance comes back I’m goin’ ter pour paraffin all over this place and set light to it.’

  Beatrice shuddered because fire was the worst thing, the fear that had haunted her for years, but perhaps he was lying. The caretaker had been warned to keep the paraffin locked up. Surely he hadn’t been careless with the key to the garden shed? No, no, she was certain it was just an idle boast, because if Terry had access to the fuel he would already have used it. He was just trying to frighten her. All she had to do was to keep calm and regain control. Despite the weapon in his hand he was just a child and she had no need to fear him. Children always responded to firmness.

  ‘Now do not be silly, Terry,’ she said in a strong voice that belied the way she felt inside. ‘You are not going to do anything silly. Nancy would be cross. She would tell you to put the knife down. Give it to me like a good boy and we shall not say any more about this.’

  ‘No, I ain’t goin’ ter give it to yer.’ Terry stared at her defiantly, his eyes moving wildly from side to side. His body was shaking and he was clearly in turmoil. ‘I ain’t goin’ ter that place yer want ter send me. Me and Nance are goin’ away. I found us a place ter live where they won’t find us …’

  ‘You cannot manage alone,’ Beatrice said quietly. ‘Please, Terry, listen to me. We can find a way to help you. Perhaps you need not leave St Saviour’s …’

  She knew she was lying, because the boy was a danger to himself and all of them, but she had to gain time, to think of something to calm him down. How long would it be before Nancy came back from the trip to the pictures? She’d gone with them to help with the little ones, because there was nothing for her to do here, and Beatrice had wanted the place as empty as possible in case of accidents with all the builders’ materials lying around. She knew there was no one to help her. Even if Staff Nurse Carole could do something she would not call, because she would not risk the nurse’s safety.

  Could she take the knife from Terry? A struggle could be dangerous for both of them, because either one could be hurt accidentally. No, she had to try to talk it from him, to steady him so that he gave it up of his own free will.

  ‘You mustn’t do anything silly, Terry,’ she said. ‘Please, my dear, put the knife down. Nancy will be back soon – and she would be cross if she saw this, now wouldn’t she? Let me get you something to eat. I’m sure you are hungry.’

  ‘I hate yer! Yer tell lies … if I put the knife down, you’ll send me away to the loony bin …’

  ‘Oh, my dear,’ Beatrice said, and the pity rose in her throat, choking her. How could she lie to this poor damaged boy? She wanted to weep with him, to take him in her arms and comfort him, to promise him that everything would be all right, but it would be such a wicked lie to deceive him. ‘I am so sorry … so very sorry, my dear …’

  As she moved towards him compulsively, Terry sprang at her and she felt a stab of pain in her arm as the knife blade pierced her flesh and she screamed. Terry was yelling abuse as he struck at her, the language of the gutter, as if all control had gone. Beatrice put her hands out to try to protect herself, catching at his hands, but somehow he thrust her off, and, as she stumbled and fell back against the table, he sprang at her again, a snarl of rage on his lips.

  ‘No! Stop that now, my lad.’ Father Joe’s voice spoke from somewhere behind her. Beatrice was aware of blood seeping through the sleeve of her habit. Her gaze had become a lit
tle hazy and she was feeling faint, but as if from a distance she watched as Father Joe approached the maddened child.

  ‘Don’t come near me,’ Terry warned. ‘I don’t want ter hurt yer but I’m goin’ ter kill the old witch.’

  ‘I can’t let you do that,’ Father Joe said, with authority. ‘Give me the knife, Terry, now. I do not want to harm you, my child – but I shall not let you hurt Sister any more than you have already.’

  Beatrice was swaying with faintness. She clasped her arm as the blood seeped through her fingers, vaguely aware that someone else had entered the room and was shouting at the boy to drop the knife. A struggle ensued as Father Joe tackled the lad and within a few minutes had grappled the knife from his hands. What happened then was very hazy, though Beatrice thought she heard Mark Adderbury’s voice and a little later Angela’s and then Nancy’s, but they came she thought from far away.

  ‘What happened? What did he do?’

  ‘He stabbed Sister Beatrice. Get her upstairs to the ward and ask Carole to bind up that wound before she loses more blood.’

  ‘What’s wrong with Terry? Is he dead?’

  ‘No. He’s gone into shock and fallen down that’s all.’ Mark answered Nancy’s question, because all she could see was his body slumped on the ground. ‘I’m going to give him an injection to help him, Nancy, and then I’m going to take him away in an ambulance. You can’t come with me, I’m afraid, but very soon we’ll take him to the clinic and you can come then and see him settled in his room.’

  ‘I’ll help you upstairs,’ Angela said to Beatrice. ‘Help me with Sister, Nancy. There’s nothing you can do for Terry now, just leave him to Mr Adderbury. He will do all he can. Believe me, you can trust him.’

  It must have been about then that Beatrice passed out, because the next thing she knew she was lying on the bed in the nurses’ rest room and Angela was standing by the bed, looking down at her.

  ‘Terry …’ she said faintly. ‘What happened to that poor boy?’

  ‘He collapsed. Mark had to sedate him just in case he came round and was frightened. He’s been taken to a private room at the hospital, where he will be kept under observation until Mark can take him down to the clinic. He said something about tomorrow …’

  Tears trickled down Beatrice’s cheeks. ‘I should have cared for him better,’ she said. ‘He was just a frightened little boy and I let him down – and now …’ She choked on her emotion and could not continue.

  ‘No, Sister,’ Angela said, and took Beatrice’s hand in her own slender one. ‘You must never think like that. We did all we could for him here but it was too late after the fire. He had been driven to the edge by that brute of a father and from what I understand it was Terry who most likely started that fire to punish his father for what he’d done to Nancy.’

  ‘He was frightened of being shut away for ever, that’s all …’

  ‘Yes, and perhaps he will be. After Father Joe stopped him killing you, which I believe was his intention, he went into what Mark described to me later as a catatonic state. Mark says he may stay that way for good, but in the right place with good people about him, he may recover. We can only pray for him – but whatever happens you are not to blame.’

  Beatrice inclined her head, aware now of the pain in her arm. ‘It was brave of Father Joe to tackle the boy. Is he all right?’

  ‘He has some small wounds to his hands where he wrestled the knife from Terry, but Carole bound them for him after she’d seen to your injury, which was much the worst.’

  Beatrice pushed her way up against the pillows. ‘Carole should be off duty now. I must see to things …’

  ‘You must lie there until you feel better,’ Angela told her. ‘Carole went off after she’d tended your arm and bound up Father Joe – and Staff Nurse Michelle is now on duty. Sally has volunteered to stay with her until Jean comes on at eight so everything is under control. Nan wants to come up and see you, and if you’re ready I shall make you a nice cup of tea – if you feel up to it?’

  ‘Thank you, perhaps I shall stay here for a bit longer,’ Beatrice said because she’d realised that her head was spinning. ‘I must thank you all for coming to my rescue. I did try talking to him, you know – but he was too frightened to listen.’

  ‘Father Joe told us you were so brave. He was there for a while listening but dare not interfere. He acted only when Terry attacked you.’

  ‘I wanted so much to save him from the abyss …’ Beatrice blinked back her tears. ‘I never thought he would really try to kill me. I only wanted to help him but he thought I meant to grab him and shut him away.’

  ‘Father Joe says you’re a ministering angel. He waxed lyrical about how you cared only for Terry and not one whit for yourself. I’m just sorry he hurt you so badly, Sister. I wished you hadn’t had to face him alone.’

  ‘Thank you – and Father Joe for his compliments. It sounds as if he’d had a few tots of good Irish whiskey.’ Beatrice discovered that she could laugh.

  ‘It might have been the tot of brandy we gave him, but he certainly thinks the world of you, I can tell you that,’ Angela said, her eyes bright with affection for the priest. ‘He told me that we are all angels here, but that you were a saint – but perhaps I’m giving secrets away,’ she teased. ‘I can only say that you amazed me, Sister Beatrice. Even when you could hardly stand up and were clearly losing your senses, all you kept telling us was not to hurt Terry. Most people would think he deserved his punishment.’

  ‘Oh no,’ Beatrice said, tears trickling. ‘No child deserves the life he will have now. I think I shall weep for him inside all my days.’

  ‘It is very sad,’ Angela agreed. ‘I am going to fetch that tea – and perhaps a sip of brandy for medicinal purposes. Just lie there and rest and Nan will come up to see you. We were all very upset when we saw you were hurt.’

  Beatrice sighed as she lay back against the pillows. She felt no resentment against the boy who had attacked her, merely pity. She knew that Nancy was going to be distraught, though perhaps in a way for her it was the best thing. Nancy had made herself responsible for her brother all her life, but now she would be free to grow and learn to live for herself. She was an intelligent girl, brave and able to fight off the hurts of the past and make a good future – and if ever the boy became calm enough to live outside the walls of a clinic perhaps she could look after him. Yet in her heart Beatrice feared that Terry would never be allowed to walk freely again. It was his desperation, because he too knew that he was ill and becoming worse, that had made her want to comfort him, but in his confusion he had not recognised her true concern for him, and he had fallen into the darkness from where she doubted he would return. Mark might talk of improvements, but in all probability Terry would be little more than an empty shell, sedated and controlled by drugs, because otherwise the violence could return.

  Tears wetted her cheeks once more before she brushed them away. Even the angels of St Saviour’s could not save every damaged child that came into their care. Beatrice had many more needing love and understanding. She might never forget Terry, but she must push the grief to a dark corner in her mind, because there were so many others who needed the love that filled her heart for them. Hidden behind the calm, sometimes stern face she showed to the world, it was her reason for living.

  ‘Well, then, Bea.’ Nan’s voice greeted her cheerfully as she entered the room bearing the tray of tea Angela had promised. ‘What happens when I go out?’

  ‘It’s as well you weren’t here,’ Beatrice said dryly. ‘There would probably be two of us lying here then, because you might not have been able to overpower him as Father Joe did, but I know you would have tried. I hope you haven’t brought me any brandy as Angela threatened? A hot strong and sweet cup of tea is all I need and then I shall get up and see just what has been happening since I passed out.’

  Nan smiled indulgently at her friend. ‘When Angela told me you were looking fragile I said it wouldn’t last. Here’s you
r tea, my dear friend. I’m glad you are feeling a little better. You gave us all the fright of our lives – and poor Father Joe was in tears at the sight of you being helped off. Blamed himself for letting things go too far, but Angela says he was a real hero.’

  FORTY-FOUR

  Alice was just getting ready to go to work that evening when the door of her room was opened and her landlady walked in. She had a look of outrage on her face and Alice’s stomach clenched, because she guessed what was coming.

  ‘Did you want something?’ she asked, facing her proudly.

  ‘You know very well why I’ve come,’ the woman said. ‘You’re pregnant, aren’t you? Oh, don’t try to kid me, I know the signs – besides, I saw the baby clothes lying around.’

  ‘You went through my drawers,’ Alice accused her, angry herself now because she’d carefully put the things away as she bought them and they were still wrapped up. ‘You had no right to do that. I pay my rent on time and …’

  ‘Yes, I’ll give you that, but for how long? You’ll be out of a job soon – and, besides, I don’t want a baby here. This is a respectable house and I don’t let my rooms to girls like you. I’m not a hard woman. You can have two days to find somewhere else – but after that, out you go … and I shall want another week’s rent in lieu of notice.’