Monday's Child

by Linda Finlay

  Miss Green’s eyes narrowed to slits. ‘There’s at least twelve of them little misses in my class. I won’t have time to help them all,’ she protested.

  ‘We shall be teaching them together, Miss Green.’ The woman pursed her lips into a tight line. ‘Regrettably, I have an appointment in town or I would accompany you to the classroom right now and assist. However, rest assured I shall be at your next lesson, and will look forward to seeing what progress the girls have made. Now, I’m sure you are anxious to begin, so I’ll bid you good afternoon.’

  Sarah looked down at her papers but could sense the woman glaring at her. She refused to look up, though, and finally the door slammed behind the schoolmistress. What had she let herself in for? she wondered.

  18

  After her confrontation with the schoolmistress, Sarah welcomed the walk along the seafront. It was overcast, so there were no well-heeled holidaymakers out seeing the sights or taking the air. No doubt they were taking afternoon tea in one of the hotels, she thought, passing a grand building, its front bay windows overlooking the sweep of the harbour. How the other half lived, she mused, thinking of her work-filled days at Red Cliffs.

  Despite the absence of holidaymakers, there was the usual perambulation of horses and carts going about their business. The incongruous sight of palm trees lining the promenade made her smile, and by the time she reached the town, her equilibrium was restored.

  She was shown into Mr Fothergill’s office at precisely two o’clock. It was on the top floor of an elegant Regency building built of pink brick, and the room smelled of beeswax and old papers. The smartly dressed man rose to his feet to greet her.

  ‘Miss Sullivan, I’m sorry to have to ask you to come here, but there are so many documents to go through, it will be easier. I trust you have settled into Red Cliffs?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Mr Fothergill, I have, and I don’t mind coming to see you at all. Truth to tell, I have been so busy since I arrived, it was lovely to get some fresh air on the walk here,’ she replied, settling into the seat he indicated and placing a bag containing official forms on her lap.

  While the man scuttled back to his chair, Sarah looked around. His desk, while no larger than her own, was of walnut and so highly polished Sarah could see her reflection in the gloss. It was also tidy, apart from the folders in front of him, and had an inkstand, pen tray and large blotter arranged in an exact row.

  ‘Now, Miss Sullivan,’ he said, pulling on his silver-rimmed spectacles and adopting a more official tone. ‘You are obviously aware you are the sole beneficiary under the will of Dr Lawrence, apart from the four bequests mentioned when last we met?’

  ‘Yes, although when my godfather mentioned about me taking on his school, I had no idea he intended leaving the actual property to me.’

  ‘Quite,’ he smiled briefly. ‘In addition to the property known as Red Cliffs, its outbuildings, fixtures, fittings and contents, there are a number of matters relating to his estate I need to acquaint you with.’ He sat back in his chair and stared at Sarah.

  ‘That sounds serious,’ she replied.

  ‘You have been left a number of investments which will need to be transferred into your name.’

  ‘Investments?’

  ‘Your godfather was a shrewd man who looked after his money wisely. By taking advantage of the current high bank rate, he was able to use the interest towards the running of the school. If the property has any chance of continuing as it has, these investments need to be transferred, and to that end I have taken the liberty of arranging a meeting with the bank manager in,’ he paused and took out his silver pocket watch, ‘exactly thirty minutes.’

  ‘You mean there’s doubt about Red Cliffs continuing as it always has?’ Sarah asked, frowning.

  The solicitor cleared his throat. ‘Expenditure is high, my dear, and despite your godfather’s best endeavours, funds have been dwindling at an alarming rate.’ Seeing Sarah’s frown deepen, he went on quickly. ‘There is, of course, the offer received from a developer keen to purchase Red Cliffs. It is quite a substantial sum and could, er, prove the answer to your financial, er, problems.’

  ‘Problems I am sure we can overcome, for that was not my godfather’s wish, was it, Mr Fothergill?’ she asked, staring at him directly.

  He shook his head. ‘No, it wasn’t, but as the new owner you should be aware that Red Cliffs, being a substantial property in one of the most desirable areas of Torquay, could realize a tidy amount.’

  ‘Like I said, Mr Fothergill, that was not my godfather’s wish.’

  ‘No,’ he agreed. ‘In fact, Dr Lawrence thought you would be of the same opinion. We had some in-depth discussions about the ongoing management and running of the school. He wanted to make sure everything was in place, although unfortunately he passed away sooner than we expected.’

  ‘He knew he was dying, then?’ she asked in surprise.

  The solicitor sighed. ‘Yes, Miss Sullivan, he did. Now, to continue. The interest from the bank contributes a reasonable sum, although this will have to be monitored. Then there are the sums received from the local authorities in respect of the number of children who have been placed in the school by order of the courts.’

  ‘The courts?’ she gasped.

  ‘I’m afraid so. This is rather than them being incarcerated in a reformatory or the workhouse and covers their care, well-being and elementary education. Red Cliffs employs,’ he consulted his papers again, ‘a full-time housekeeper, part-time laundry woman, one full-time schoolmaster and the services of a travelling schoolmistress, part time. Now, of course, there will be yourself to add to the payroll.’

  ‘Payroll?’

  ‘Even the good can’t live on fresh air, Miss Sullivan, although I have to inform you the wage will be minimal.’ He paused and stared at her over his glasses. ‘Now, about the children. For those who have voluntarily arrived at the school, or been taken off the streets by the good doctor, there are minor sums received from the Education Department to contribute towards their schooling. Red Cliffs will have been sent forms for this.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Sarah. ‘You must mean the ones that were in the pile of my godfather’s papers. I have brought some with me,’ she said reaching for her bag.

  Fothergill frowned. ‘Perhaps we could look at those later? There is much I need to acquaint you with before we make our way over to the bank.’

  ‘Of course,’ Sarah replied. Although the man had spoken mildly, it was clear who was in charge of this meeting, and her admiration for the dapper little man increased. No wonder her godfather had engaged his services, she thought. There was a discreet cough, which brought her swiftly back to the present.

  ‘While these minor sums contribute to the running of Red Cliffs, a significant element of income needs to come from other sources and to this end I am pleased to tell you that the benefactor, Char …’ The rest of the name was lost in another cough.

  ‘Benefactor? Who might that be?’ she asked in surprise.

  ‘I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to disclose any name at this time.’

  ‘Why not? If someone is helping to finance Red Cliffs, surely I should know who they are? I mean, he must have been a friend of my godfather’s?’

  ‘A good friend, yes, but,’ he glanced at his pocket watch once more, ‘we really must move on.’ Fothergill looked quickly down at his papers. ‘In view of the training in crafts and skills the children receive in preparation for work in trade and domestic service, there are council grants available to provide boarding for some of them, as well as assisting in the remuneration of teachers.’

  ‘It sounds as though there’s money available to help with the continued running of the school, then,’ Sarah replied, a feeling of relief spreading through her.

  ‘Gaining access to these funds is not quite that simple, but then these things never are,’ the solicitor remarked, looking serious. ‘In order to obtain these grants it will be necessary to permit inspections by the local a
uthority to ensure the skills are being taught.’

  ‘Oh my goodness,’ Sarah replied. Remembering her earlier discussion with Miss Green, Sarah could see it was vital the woman did as she’d been asked, although there was no problem with Master Higgins’ teaching, from what she’d seen. ‘Hopefully that shouldn’t pose too much of a problem,’ she added brightly, crossing her fingers.

  ‘Now, I know the doctor would have been the first to admit paperwork was not his forte, for he preferred to spend his time looking after the children. However, he did successfully deal with the council in these matters, so must have maintained proper accounts.’

  A vision of the scraps of paper she’d found inside the ledger swam before her, but she shrugged. ‘Well, the books will need bringing up to date, when I have a minute, and there are still boxes of papers to go through,’ she laughed, but the solicitor stared sternly back.

  ‘Miss Sullivan, these accounts will be required for audit purposes.’ Sarah gulped. ‘Look,’ he went on, his voice softer. ‘I know latterly the dear doctor had trouble with his eyesight and was often unable to focus properly, so if I can be of help in any way, please let me know.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Fothergill,’ Sarah cried, relief flooding through her. No wonder her godfather had thought it was misty when he went out; his sight was going.

  ‘Now, it is time for our meeting with Mr Collings, so if you would like to follow me,’ he instructed, rising to his feet and neatly placing papers in his Gladstone bag. ‘Just one thing,’ he said. ‘Have you been contacted by the late doctor’s nephew again?’

  ‘Christian? No, thank heavens. Why?’

  ‘You should be aware that he has instructed his solicitor to contest the will,’ he advised, staring at her over his glasses.

  ‘He did threaten to do that, but as we hadn’t heard anything, I thought it was just bluster.’

  ‘Although it probably won’t come to anything, to make absolutely certain your uncle’s will is watertight, I have taken advice from counsel. Although this is a formality, it does mean no sale of the property may take place until we receive verification.’ He checked his watch again. ‘Now we really must be leaving.’

  As Sarah followed him down the stairs and over the road to the grand entrance of the bank, her mind was whirling from all the information Fothergill had imparted. She didn’t see the man rushing out of the building until he shouted out.

  ‘You’ll be sorry for this, Collings. When I get my money, I shall be a man of considerable means and you and your bank will not see a penny of it. Out of my way,’ he muttered, pushing Sarah aside. ‘Oh, it’s you.’

  ‘Christian?’ she replied.

  ‘Don’t you “Christian” me. You thought you could come here, sweet-talking my uncle out of my inheritance. Well I’ve got news for you …’

  ‘Mr Lawrence, that is no way to speak to Miss Sullivan,’ Fothergill interjected, taking Sarah by the arm and leading her through the line of customers who were watching the confrontation with avid interest.

  ‘Ignore Mr Lawrence,’ he advised, as Sarah took a look over her shoulder. ‘I shouldn’t be telling you this, but your godfather was a good friend of mine. I believe the reason Mr Lawrence is so upset is that the bank has had to call in their loan,’ he whispered. Then turning, he greeted the bank manager, who was still standing outside his office door.

  ‘Mr Collings, I think you are expecting us,’ he announced. ‘May I introduce Miss Sullivan.’

  ‘Good afternoon. Please step inside,’ said Mr Collings with a smile.

  By the time Sarah left the bank, it was late afternoon, and her head was spinning, while her hand ached from signing a seemingly endless pile of official papers. Who’d have thought there’d be so much involved with the transferring of Red Cliffs into her name? As to the matter of the funding of the school, it all sounded horribly complex and not a little intimidating. And who was this benefactor, Charles, who had pledged his continued investment in Red Cliffs? Both Fothergill and Collings had been decidedly cagey about the man’s identity. It seemed, for the time being, she’d have to respect his wish to remain anonymous.

  Although a light mizzle was falling, Sarah welcomed the long walk back to Red Cliffs. The gentle onshore breeze helped to clear her head, and she stopped and leaned against the railings, staring out at the vast expanse of grey ocean. The bay was busy with shipping. Some vessels were taking on coal at the wharf, while naval and other freighters lay at anchor in deeper waters. The sight reminded her that Monday’s father was out there somewhere, still unaware his wife and baby were dead while his daughter was in the care of Red Cliffs. She’d been so taken up with trying to sort out her godfather’s papers, she’d not had much time to devote to the children recently. Well, from tomorrow, she would make sure that changed, she thought, conveniently putting all thought of official forms and paperwork to the back of her mind.

  ‘By yourself, Sarah Sulks?’

  She jumped as a voice sounded behind her, and turned to see a man calling from the open window of a carriage.

  ‘Christian? What are you doing here?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ve just been to see my new home,’ he announced loftily.

  ‘You’re renting nearby then?’ she asked politely.

  He gave a harsh laugh. ‘The likes of me don’t rent houses, Sarah Sulks. We own them, and it won’t be long until my solicitor confirms Red Cliffs is mine. I shall be moving in very soon, so you’d better start making plans to move out, goody two-shoes Sarah Sulks.’ He raised his hat mockingly then called to the driver to move on. She watched as the carriage rolled away, a sinking feeling spreading through her stomach as she remembered how he’d always stopped at nothing to get his own way. It was only the lamplighter going about his work that brought her back to the present, and she began walking briskly back to Red Cliffs.

  ‘How did you get on, dear?’ Mrs Daws asked as Sarah made her way through to the kitchen.

  The warmth from the range was welcoming after the damp outside, and throwing off her shawl, she went over and held out her chilled hands.

  ‘I’ve never seen so many official papers in all my life, Mrs Daws,’ she sighed.

  The housekeeper clucked in sympathy then went back to spreading scrape onto the slices of bread. ‘But you got everything sorted out? I mean, Red Cliffs can carry on as before?’ she asked, giving Sarah an anxious look.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Sarah assured her, not wanting to burden the woman with talk of funding and accounts. ‘Although there was something curious Mr Fothergill said.’

  ‘What was that?’ asked Harry coming into the room.

  ‘He said Red Cliffs had a benefactor, but couldn’t or wouldn’t reveal his name.’ She turned back to warm her hands and didn’t see the look the housekeeper and master exchanged.

  ‘And is this benefactor to continue helping to fund the school?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Apparently so,’ she replied.

  ‘Thank the Lord,’ Mrs Daws muttered. ‘Ah, here’s April,’ she added quickly. ‘Can you brew us a pot of tea, then take the plates of bread through to the dining room? I’ve made some dumplings to go on the stew, being as how there’s precious little meat in it. The butcher wonders if he could have some money off his account, Miss Sullivan. He didn’t like to ask but it’s been mounting up. The doctor used to pay him something every month, you see.’

  ‘Of course, Mrs Daws. I was able to draw a small amount out of the account today, but until everything’s settled we are going to have to be careful.’

  The housekeeper laughed. ‘We’re quite used to that, aren’t we, Master Higgins?’

  ‘We are,’ he agreed. ‘Might I suggest that you lock any money in the cash tin in the doctor’s, sorry, I mean, your desk drawer, Miss Sullivan.’

  ‘That’s a good idea.’

  ‘Have your meal first,’ the housekeeper suggested.

  ‘Your stew smells delicious, Mrs Daws,’ Sarah said, sniffing the air appreciatively.

  ‘I
t does but, regrettably, I can’t stay,’ Harry replied. ‘Mother’s been under the weather, so I promised to cook her something light for her evening meal. Pip is going to supervise the boys at supper and then help them with their woodwork projects. I’ll come in early tomorrow so you can tell me more about your meeting with Fothergill, my little crepuscular friend,’ he grinned at Sarah, then disappeared out of the door.

  ‘He do come out with some funny things, that master,’ Mrs Daws said, shaking her head. ‘Right, April, if you’ve finished laying the tables, you can get Pip to sound the gong. I’ve got one of me heads, and I really don’t think it would stand up to Maisie’s vigorous bashing.’

  Sarah glanced at the housekeeper and saw she looked pale and drawn. ‘I’ll dish the meal and supervise the girls, Mrs Daws. Why don’t you take a tray up to your room and eat in peace?’

  ‘That does sound tempting, I must admit,’ the woman replied just as the gong sounded and there was the thundering of feet down the corridor.

  19

  By the time Sarah had dished up and said grace, she was ravenous. Despite her meeting with the solicitor and bank manager, and then that unfortunate confrontation with Christian, the sea air had sharpened her appetite. She was tucking into one of the housekeeper’s feather-like dumplings when she realized a little group of girls at the far end of the table were huddled together.

  ‘And when she said we had to look out for blood spurting from our belly buttons, I nearly died!’ As the girl Sarah knew to be Ellen screeched and dug Edith in the ribs, the rest of the little group rocked with laughter.

  ‘May I ask what is so funny?’ Sarah asked mildly.

  ‘It was old Lettuce Leaf. She decided it was time we learnt about sex,’ Edith replied gleefully.

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ Sarah frowned.

  ‘She said to save us from a life of whoring we should know how our body worked,’ Ellen added.

  Sarah gulped, then seeing the boys showing an avid interest in their conversation, knew she had to take control of the situation. Getting quickly to her feet, she rapped on the table with the wooden spoon as she’d seen the master do.