After Douglas died Susan really believed she’d sealed her heart up, but she soon found this wasn’t so. What began as mere affection for a couple of motherless little girls was fast growing into love, and with that came the question of how she would fill the emptiness if they were removed from her life. Then there was Reg. She knew she thought about him more than was natural, that she shouldn’t be building her life around his trial and his family. Yet they had all found a way into her heart, and try as she might, she couldn’t distance herself from them.
It was teeming with rain as Susan and Maud came out of the court, one of those typical September days when the summer ends abruptly and without warning. Susan felt the weight of the old lady leaning on her arm, heard her laboured breathing and silently cursed all twelve jury members for their blind stupidity.
Reg had been found guilty of manslaughter and sentenced to twelve years’ imprisonment. At a stroke they had robbed two children of a loving father and destroyed his mother.
Maud had fought with the only weapon she had, her sharp tongue. ‘You bastards,’ she’d yelled at the jury after they gave their verdict. ‘I ‘opes you never get another night’s sleep knowing what you’ve done. You call this justice!’
Susan had tried to restrain and quieten her, and the judge ordered that she would be removed from the court if she said another word. But Maud continued to hiss and swear, and so they both had to leave and wait outside. They didn’t hear the judge’s comments as he passed sentence. They had to learn from O’Keefe that the judge felt some sympathy that Reg had been so wantonly provoked by his wife, and that was the reason he was giving a lighter sentence than was usual.
Maud didn’t agree it was a lighter sentence. As she pointed out to O’Keefe, even with good behaviour it would be eight years at least before Reg would be free, Dulcie would be sixteen then, May thirteen, and she’d be pushing up the daisies long before.
Three months ago Susan wouldn’t have agreed with that last remark. Maud looked indestructible then, but now as she felt her leaning on her and saw the distress in her eyes, she sensed Maud was right. She had lost so much weight in the past few weeks that the skin on her cheeks and neck hung in folds, her legs were badly swollen, her blood pressure was sky high. But worst of all she’d lost the will to live because she knew she really couldn’t look after the girls satisfactorily any longer.
‘I pinned all me ‘opes on them deciding it were an accident,’ she said in little more than a whisper. ‘I really thought my Reg would be ‘ome tonight and all we’d ‘ave to do was find ‘im and the girls somewhere new to live. Why did that bastard ‘ave to say my Reg was a scrapper? All blokes is, ain’t they?’
In his summing up Kirkpatrick, the prosecution lawyer, had laboured the point of how beautiful Anne was, that she was better educated, ten years younger than her husband. He pointed out that maybe Reg could have continued to live with her lack of housewifely talents, even the occasional neglect of him and the children, but when he’d discovered she had a lover that was too much for him to bear, so he used his thirteen stone against her eight, attempted to strangle her and then tossed her down the stairs in a fit of understandable rage and jealousy.
O’Keefe had nothing so strong to fight with, all he really had on his side was Reg’s unquestionable love for his children. He put it to the jury that no father who cared so much would harm their mother. While he agreed that there were fingermarks on Anne’s neck, and that Reg freely admitted he had caught her momentarily by the throat a little earlier under extreme provocation when she said she was going to take the children from him, the facts were that she was killed as the result of a fall. He pointed out the speed at which Reg ran for assistance immediately after it, stressing this wasn’t the act of a guilty man. He finished up by reminding the jury that no one had actually seen what took place, and therefore if there was any doubt at all in their minds that Reg pushed or hurled his wife, they must pass the verdict of Not Guilty.
But by then it was clear the jury were convinced that hurling or pushing was exactly what Reg had done.
Susan hailed a taxi and helped Maud over to it. She felt broken up herself inside, she knew she had no way of comforting Maud or the children. It was shameful that none of Reg’s brothers or sisters had come to the trial to offer support for their mother, brother or young nieces; even the priest from the church Reg had worshipped at in Hither Green had declined to speak up for him. Yet the one thing that stood out most in Susan’s mind was the stunned expression on Reg’s face when he heard the jury’s verdict. That, she felt, was going to stay with her for all time.
In January of 1948, hailstones rattled against the windows of the first-floor conference room at the Welfare offices in Lewisham. The air was fuggy with smoke from one of the men’s pipes and a single naked electric light bulb cast a murky yellowish light down on to the central table and the six people seated around it. Each of the three men and three women had an open file in front of them. The topic for their discussion was the Taylor children.
One of the men was Father O’Brien, the priest from St Michael’s, the Roman Catholic church in Deptford which Maud had attended all her life, and latterly the children too. The remaining men and two of the women held positions as Children’s Officers. The last woman and the youngest by at least fifteen years was Susan Sims, and she was there only under sufferance because Maud and Reg had requested that she was to put forward their views about the girls’ future care.
Almost as soon as Reg had been convicted, the local Welfare bureau had stepped up their interest in the family, making several impromptu visits to the house in Akerman Street. In a report they had found it to be damp, infested with mice, and the lack of electricity, bathroom and outside lavatory concerned them. But their primary concern was Maud’s age and failing health.
‘Both Mr Taylor and his mother believe a foster-home is the best solution,’ Susan said firmly. She had stated this right at the start of the meeting almost an hour earlier. Since then the discussion had gone round and round in circles and she was very afraid that nothing would be resolved today. ‘They have no behavioural problems, they are doing well at school, and they will be much happier in a family environment.’
‘But fostering is an expensive way of caring for children, and really only suitable in the very short term, Miss Sims.’ The most elderly of the women looked disdainfully over her glasses at Susan. ‘Also the Taylors are Catholics, and most of our foster-parents are Church of England.’
Susan couldn’t really see why the religious denomination of foster-parents mattered. But Father O’Brien had already gone on at length that they should be kept in ‘the Faith’, as he put it.
‘It’s my belief that the father should be compelled to offer them for adoption,’ one of the men insisted, not for the first time during the discussion.
Susan’s blood ran cold each time this man spoke. His name was Arkwright, a big bully of a man of around sixty, with eyes as dead as those of a fish on a fishmonger’s slab. How he managed to become a Children’s Officer she couldn’t imagine. He appeared to have little liking for children, even less knowledge of their needs, and no understanding of parental love.
‘In all likelihood the girls will be adults before Mr Taylor is released from prison. Why should the taxpayers be compelled to keep his children during that time when we have dozens of prospective adoptive parents only too willing to take one of these girls?’
‘But that would mean they’d be split up,’ Miss Denning spoke up. She had had considerable contact with the girls during the summer months, taking them out for trips and picnics, and she was the only person in the group who was backing up Susan. ‘I believe May could manage quite well without her sister, but Dulcie would certainly suffer enormously.’
Susan shot her a look of gratitude. The woman looked formidable, thin as a stick, with a long pointed nose and a very unflattering short grey bobbed hairstyle which only accentuated the length of her face and nose. But she was in
telligent, a staunch believer in keeping families together at all costs, and the only one here today who hadn’t spoken of Reg as if he was a degenerate.
‘It seems to me the ideal solution all round is for the children to go to the Sacred Heart Convent,’ the second of the two men from the Children’s Department volunteered.
‘Hear, hear,’ Father O’Brien applauded, his already bulbous eyes almost popping out of his head. ‘Untold damage has already been done to the children by their immoral mother and their bully of a father. Their great-uncle isn’t the least bit interested in them either. At the Sacred Heart the Sisters will see that they are both spiritually and physically cared for. They will be able to put aside the regrettable memories. It is a small convent with beautiful grounds, and the children will attend a school outside. I know too that Mr Taylor and his mother will find this an acceptable solution.’
It was true Reg and Maud had tentatively agreed to accept this convent if a good foster-home couldn’t be found, mainly because Father O’Brien had been so voluble in its praise, but Susan had visited the place, which was situated in South London between Lee and Downham, and found it cheerless, the nuns dour, cold and unimaginative.
‘Well, we really cannot spend any more time discussing this matter,’ Miss Denning said, glancing at her watch. ‘We must make a decision today. We have agreed that we are likely to run into problems with fostering, and adoption is out of the question, which leaves only children’s homes.’
She paused to look around the table. ‘I have spent some time with Dulcie and May, and weighing up everything I know about them, their individual characters and the family’s strong religious views, I believe the most suitable home is the Sacred Heart. I suggest we have a show of hands if you are in agreement.’
Susan was unhappy that a decision should be made so hurriedly and she was reluctant to agree with something she didn’t support wholeheartedly. Yet she was here only to present Reg’s and Maud’s views, not her own. They believed the convent was a good one, they had faith in Father O’Brien’s judgement. As everyone but Arkwright raised their hands in agreement, she added hers to them.
Father O’Brien looked triumphant. The motion was carried.
‘Would you like to accompany me when I tell the girls?’ Miss Denning asked Susan as the meeting closed and the others began to pack their files away. ‘I’m sure your presence would reassure them.’
Susan glanced around the room. The rest of the group were chatting amongst themselves as if nothing more important had been discussed today than what they should eat for dinner tonight. She wondered if any of them was really aware what this ‘solution’ would mean to Dulcie and May. They had lost their mother in the most shocking way, their father had been imprisoned and their family home was gone for ever. They had barely come to terms with the idea that their father wasn’t going to come home again for many years, and now they were to be snatched from their loving grandmother and the school they’d only just settled in. Perhaps it might be for the best in the long term, but she was terribly afraid that for two such young, vulnerable children it was going to look very much like abandonment.
‘Yes, I’d like to come,’ she said, tears prickling at her eyes. ‘It wouldn’t do for them to think I’d stopped caring too.’
Miss Denning put a comforting hand on Susan’s shoulder as she saw the young teacher’s eyes swimming. ‘Don’t reproach yourself about anything, my dear. You have been a good friend to the family and you did your best for them today. I can’t count the times when I’ve felt, as I’m sure you do now, that I’ve only reached a compromise rather than perfection. It saddens me, but then this isn’t a perfect world.’
Susan looked up at Miss Denning and saw real understanding in her eyes. All at once she knew this woman wasn’t entirely happy with the decision either.
‘When are you going to tell the children?’ she asked.
‘As soon as possible.’ The older woman sighed. ‘It’s better to get it over quickly. They have room for them now at the convent, and they’ll adjust to the new school better if they don’t miss too much of this term. Could you come with me tomorrow afternoon? I could pick you up in my car after school.’
When Susan arrived home and found her mother sitting by the fire in the sitting-room putting the finishing touches to the two little tartan pinafore dresses she’d made for Dulcie and May, she began to cry. She sank down on the settee beside her mother, allowed herself to be drawn into her arms and sobbed out her disappointment.
The fire crackled, table-lamps cast pools of soft light on to the Persian rug and the heavy dark green velvet curtains. It was a beautiful room, the furniture well-loved family heirlooms, the many fine paintings on the walls all of exquisite pastoral scenes. But it was very much a family room, childhood photographs of the four children crowding the mantelpiece, Daphne Sims’s sewing-machine on the table, more needlework equipment strewn on the floor, Christmas decorations spilled out of a box waiting to be put away for another year.
Daphne bit back her own tears. The girls had been to tea here several times in the past months, they’d had a special tea party on Dulcie’s ninth birthday in December, and she’d been charmed by them. But in her heart of hearts she was relieved that a long-term arrangement for their care had been found for she was worried by her daughter’s ever-increasing involvement with this family and the depth of her feelings for Reg Taylor.
‘I think it’s for the best,’ she said reassuringly. ‘You’ll still be able to visit them, they’ll be going out each day to school. You know May finds friends everywhere, and I really think Dulcie will be a great deal happier with an ordered, sheltered life.’
‘You always seem to know everything,’ Susan said with a deep sigh. ‘Even what I’m thinking.’
Daphne laughed gently. ‘No, your thoughts are quite safe from me, but any mother watches out for danger, and in the past few months I’ve seen how much all this has changed you.’
‘I thought I’d changed for the better!’ Susan said indignantly.
Daphne took her hand and squeezed it. ‘So you have, darling, you’ve finally learned that this house and our family isn’t the axis the world turns on, and that out there are many new challenges and experiences for you. Find a new job, Susan, soon, get to know new people. You can still see the children, maybe see Maud too. But let Reg go.’
When Dulcie heard a car coming up Akerman Street on Friday evening, she ran straight into the parlour to look out of the window. Very few people in Deptford owned a car, there were none at all in her grandmother’s street, and in the seven and a half months Dulcie had lived here, she’d come to see that cars invariably meant trouble for someone. A doctor calling on someone who was very sick, the police trying to find someone, or the Welfare, sticking their noses into other people’s business.
It was pitch dark although it was only five o’clock, yet Dulcie recognized the green Morris as Miss Denning’s car straight off, and her heart sank. It wasn’t because she didn’t like the lady, she had after all taken her and May out several times, and she seemed very nice. The only reason for her trepidation was that Gran wouldn’t like her coming again, she claimed Miss Denning was a busybody who peered into corners and asked too many impertinent questions.
But when Dulcie saw Susan was in the car too, she instinctively knew it meant something bad had happened. She adored Susan, if she’d been walking up the street alone Dulcie would have run to greet her – even Granny, who was suspicious of anyone posh, liked and trusted her. But in the time Dulcie had been living here, one of the things she’d had drummed into her was that when a Welfare person called with support from someone else, that was something serious.
Dulcie ran into the back room to warn Granny. She was dozing in her chair by the stove, May was sitting at the table doing a jigsaw, squinting at it because the gas wasn’t turned up properly.
‘Granny, it’s Susan and Miss Denning,’ she said, shaking her shoulder. ‘Wake up!’
M
aud’s eyes shot open. Dulcie repeated herself as she pulled the old lady forward in her chair and snatched off her dirty pinafore. Then, going over to the window-sill, she got her teeth which were soaking in a cup. By the time the knock came at the front door, Dulcie had turned up the gaslight, but that only made her notice some mice droppings on the floor.
‘Maybe I should take them in the parlour?’ she suggested.
‘You can’t, it’s too cold – besides, they’ll see how bad my legs are,’ Maud said. ‘I’ll move over to the table and they won’t see anything.’
‘Won’t see what?’ May asked, carrying on with the jigsaw as if nothing unusual was happening.
Dulcie wasn’t going to explain. May was oblivious to such things as swollen legs, mice droppings and black mould creeping up the walls, but if she was asked not to speak of them, she would go out of her way to mention them.
‘Hello, Dulcie,’ the two women chorused as she opened the door to them.
Dulcie made herself look really surprised and pleased. But she noticed immediately that Susan wasn’t herself. She usually enveloped her in a tight hug and bounced into the house, so jolly that none of them ever considered she might be looking around her and thinking what an awful place it was. She had the bag in her hand which usually contained all sorts of little treats for them. But her wide smile was missing, she was stiff and holding back.
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