Jenny's War

by Dickinson, Margaret

  ‘I’ll ask Mr Tomkins for you. He might know.’

  ‘Will yer?’

  ‘Of course. I’ll see what I can find out for you.’

  ‘Ta, missis.’

  ‘Charlotte . . .’ the woman reminded her gently.

  Nine

  But the tentative steps towards understanding were shattered when, after dinner or tea or supper, or whatever anyone in the household now wished to call the evening meal, Charlotte insisted on Jenny having a bath.

  ‘Can’t you leave it for tonight?’ Miles whispered. ‘Let her settle in a bit first. Get to trust us.’

  ‘Miles, the child is filthy. I really can’t.’

  Miles sighed and shrugged.

  ‘Come along, Jenny,’ Charlotte said kindly, but there was a note of firmness in her tone now. ‘Time to get ready for bed.’

  The girl followed her, dragging her feet, but when Charlotte headed for the bathroom Jenny stood at the top of the stairs, hanging on to the banister.

  Charlotte ran the bath water until it was about twelve inches deep. She turned off the water and came out on to the landing, holding a large jar in her hand. Jenny was still standing where she’d left her. ‘You can have some of my special bath salts. They smell lovely.’

  ‘Don’t want to.’

  Charlotte continued as if the girl had not spoken. ‘And I’ve some lovely shampoo that will make your hair shine.’

  Jenny’s glance took in Charlotte’s black hair that looked so sleek and well cared for. It was very different from her mum’s brassy, dyed hair with its dark roots. She took a step towards the bathroom and then another. Charlotte waited patiently until Jenny was in the room.

  ‘Would you like me to help you undress?’

  Jenny hesitated. Her cold heart melted a little under Charlotte’s gentleness. All the jibes about her dirtiness that she’d suffered at school, about her ragged clothes, about the livestock in her hair, even about her mother and the uncles began to fade. She stared at Charlotte and decided to succumb to whatever the next few minutes held. She nodded.

  ‘Right, let’s take your plimsolls off first.’

  Jenny held up her feet one after the other and then raised her arms as Charlotte peeled off the thin, faded cotton dress and lastly her knickers.

  ‘Missis,’ Jenny whispered.

  ‘Charlotte,’ she was reminded.

  ‘Charlotte,’ the child repeated after her, feeling shy at using the Christian name of a grown-up.

  ‘Yes, dear?’

  ‘I – I think I’ve got – things – in me hair.’

  ‘Not to worry,’ Charlotte said cheerfully. ‘We’ll give your hair a good wash in the bath and get rid of them all, shall we? And then perhaps if I comb your hair with a special comb—’

  ‘You mean a nit comb?’

  ‘Er – well – yes, but that would do the trick. Anyway, let’s wash it first and see how we get on.’

  Jenny blinked. This woman – a real lady in the young girl’s eyes – wasn’t throwing up her hands in horror or treating her as if she was something untouchable. Her puzzlement must have shown in her face for Charlotte smiled and said, ‘I was brought up on a farm, Jenny. A few nits don’t bother me, I promise you. In fact, my father still lives at Buckthorn Farm. Maybe we can go there one day and I’ll show you all the animals.’

  ‘Have you got pigs and hens?’

  ‘Yes,’ Charlotte put out her hand to help the girl into the bath, ‘and cows. You can watch them being milked, if you like.’

  Forgetting just what was happening as she chattered about the animals, Jenny put her hand into Charlotte’s and climbed into the warm water. ‘I ain’t never seen a cow. Only in pictures.’

  Charlotte began to soap the child’s body, wondering at the bruises she saw on the girl’s arm, but she knew better than to ask. Jenny submitted to the washing with good grace. In fact, she revelled in the smell of the soap and the bath salts. But when Charlotte asked her to lie back and have her hair washed, Jenny began to scream and thrash about in the water, sloshing it over the side of the bath on to the floor.

  But Charlotte pressed on, talking soothingly to her all the time.

  ‘I’ll drown,’ the girl screamed.

  ‘I won’t let your head go under the water, I promise. But don’t wriggle so. I’ll get shampoo in your eyes.’

  Charlotte was stronger than the girl had bargained for and though she was getting soaked too, she lathered Jenny’s hair and rinsed the shampoo off three times. Then she combed it with a fine-toothed comb, struggling to pull it through the tangled locks without hurting the child. But all the time, Jenny screamed and splashed.

  The bathroom door opened and a merry voice called, ‘Need any help, Charlotte?’

  ‘Georgie!’ Charlotte exclaimed. ‘What a lovely surprise.’

  At the sound of the man’s voice, Jenny stopped shrieking and stared up at him. He was tall with fair, curly hair and blue eyes that sparkled with fun and laughter. He stepped through the water flooding the floor and squatted down beside the bath, holding out his hand. ‘Hello, I’m Georgie. I’m very pleased to meet you. Would you like me to dry your hair for you, while Charlotte clears up all this mess?’

  Jenny considered for a long moment then she smiled suddenly, quite unaware of the difference her smile made. It was like the sun appearing from behind a stormy sky. It transformed her mutinous little face, turning her into a pretty child in the blink of an eye. She nodded and then clambered to stand up.

  Charlotte wrapped the huge white towel round her. ‘Take her to the nursery. Kitty’s been busy all morning cleaning it and lighting a fire in there. It should be cosy by now.’

  As Georgie picked her up and carried her from the bathroom, Jenny wound her arms around his neck and clung to him. He carried her into the room Charlotte had shown her earlier – the one with all the toys that she’d been given permission to play with. The little girl from the poorest streets in the city could hardly believe her good fortune. The only thing she hadn’t liked in this household so far had been the bath. But now, as the handsome young man sat down on the hearth rug beside her in front of the fire, she had to admit – though only to herself – that it was nice to feel clean, and so cosy and warm too.

  ‘Now,’ Georgie was saying, ‘let’s get that hair dry.’

  Jenny sat patiently whilst he rubbed her hair with a warm, dry towel.

  ‘My, what pretty blond curls you’ve got,’ Georgie murmured.

  Jenny giggled. ‘You sound like the big, bad wolf in “Little Red Riding Hood”.’

  Georgie laughed too – a deep chuckle that made Jenny smile all the more. ‘Oh dear, do I? Well, I promise you I’m not a big, bad wolf.’

  Jenny twisted her head round to look at him. No, she thought, he doesn’t look like a wolf. She liked the way his eyes crinkled up when he smiled – a smile that seemed to light up the whole of his face.

  ‘There, I think that’ll do,’ he said, giving her hair a final rub. ‘Now, have you got a nightie and dressing gown?’

  Jenny shook her head.

  ‘Oh – er – right, then I’ll fetch a blanket to wrap you in. I won’t be a minute.’

  Georgie left the room and returned almost at once carrying a blanket from his own room. When she was snugly wrapped in it he asked, ‘Shall I read you my favourite story? One that Charlotte used to read to me when I was little?’

  Jenny stared at him without answering immediately. Then she asked, ‘Why d’you call ’er Charlotte and not Mum?’

  ‘Because she’s not my mother. My mother died when I was born and my father married Charlotte – ooh, let me think—’ he wrinkled his forehead – ‘about eleven years ago now.’

  ‘Is she your wicked step-muvver?’

  Georgie threw back his head and laughed. ‘Heavens, no. Charlotte is the sweetest, kindest woman you could ever meet.’

  ‘Has she got any children, then?’

  Georgie’s face sobered and he whispered sadly, �
��No. She and my father would love to have children, especially’ – now he smiled wistfully – ‘a little girl. My father always wanted a little girl, but he only got three boys.’

  ‘Didn’t he want you, then?’

  For a moment Georgie looked shocked at her question. ‘Oh yes, of course he did. He’s never, ever made any of us feel unwanted.’ Just in time, Georgie stopped himself from saying, ‘Not even me when my poor mother died giving birth to me.’ The girl was too young to be burdened with such thoughts. But Jenny was a lot more streetwise and knowledgeable than he gave her credit for and she tugged the young man’s heartstrings when she said, in a matter-of-fact manner, ‘I haven’t got a dad and my mum didn’t want me. She ses I’m her little mistake.’

  Georgie didn’t know what to say, but his arm tightened involuntarily around her. After a few moments, he cleared his throat and said, ‘Now shall we find that book and I’ll read to you?’

  Jenny scrambled up. ‘I’ll get it. What’s it called?’

  ‘The Wind in the Willows. It’s over there on the bookshelf. That one right at the end. That’s it. You’ve got it.’

  Jenny picked it off the shelf and carried it carefully back to Georgie. Then she sat down on the rug beside him.

  ‘Have you read this before?’ he asked.

  Jenny shook her now-drying curls and Georgie paused to marvel at their silky softness and at her bright blue eyes. And when she smiled her cheeks dimpled prettily. She was going to be a beauty when she grew up.

  ‘Nah, Mum never reads to me. Miss Chisholm does, though.’

  ‘Who’s Miss Chisholm?’ Georgie asked, visualizing a kindly, elderly neighbour who took pity on the child. The young man could sense her loneliness even without being told details of her home life.

  ‘My teacher. She brought us here on the train, but she’s gone back to London now.’

  ‘Really?’ Georgie was surprised. ‘I’d heard that teachers were staying to help out at the schools.’

  Jenny shrugged. ‘Well, Miss Chisholm isn’t.’

  She looked down at the book expectantly and so Georgie opened it and began to read. Jenny snuggled closer to him, resting her head on his chest and putting her thumb in her mouth.

  His voice was deep and soothing and soon Jenny was drowsy. Georgie stopped reading the story and looked towards the door. Beneath her drooping eyelids, Jenny saw Charlotte and Miles standing there.

  ‘We’re reading,’ Georgie said.

  ‘So we see.’

  They came into the room and stood looking down at Jenny and Georgie sitting on the rug.

  ‘I think it’s time she went to bed,’ Jenny heard Charlotte say and though she would have liked to have argued to stay up a little longer, she really hadn’t the energy to resist.

  ‘Right, little one,’ Georgie said. ‘Time for beddibyes.’ He picked her up and Jenny wound her arms round his neck and laid her head against his shoulder.

  ‘Poor little scrap,’ she heard Miles murmur and felt his gentle touch on her curls as Georgie carried her out of the nursery and into the bedroom next door to it. He tucked her into bed and Jenny heard him say, ‘Charlotte and Miles are right next door and I’m just down the corridor. If you want anything, you only have to shout and we’ll come running. All right?’

  ‘Mm.’ She was very tired but there was one more thing she needed before she could go to sleep. ‘Bert?’

  She heard them speaking to each other, asking what it was she wanted. And then Charlotte must have realized for, after a moment, she was tucking the shabby teddy bear in beside her. And then, to Jenny’s astonishment, Charlotte bent to kiss her forehead.

  As the three grown-ups moved away, Jenny drifted into sleep, comforted and reassured by the night light left burning on the mantelpiece and still with the feeling of the gentle kiss on her forehead.

  Ten

  By the time Jenny stirred the following morning, the sunshine was streaming in through the gap in the curtains. She stretched, luxuriating in the softness of the bed. She opened her eyes and looked around the room at the pretty wallpaper and the white furniture. Her fingers touched the crisp cotton sheet and the soft blanket covering her. She sat up slowly, still staring about her. Then she remembered: she’d been evacuated with her schoolmates. Into her mind came the picture of Bobby and Sammy’s train departing without her. Her heart contracted at the loss of her friends. Now she was amongst strangers and she had no idea what to expect. Remembering the trauma of the two disgusted spinsters throwing up their hands in horror at the sight of the head lice made her shudder again. She touched her hair. It felt soft and silky and her head no longer itched.

  She sat up in the bed, clutching Bert, and wondered what she ought to do. She could hear no sounds from below and didn’t know what time it was. Should she get up now or wait until someone called her?

  Perhaps the maid, Kitty, would come or maybe the lady called Charlotte. Or better still, perhaps Georgie would come to wake her. But the minutes passed and no one came. Jenny grew restless and, at last, still clutching Bert, she scrambled out of the big bed and went to the window. She pulled the curtains open and looked out. The view from the bedroom window was over the flat land towards the sea and seemed, to the city child, to stretch for miles. The sky overhead was a cloudless bright blue and so vast that Jenny shrank back from the window. She’d never seen such space, such emptiness, nor experienced a place that was so quiet. Always, in the city, there seemed to be noise. Shouting, laughter, doors banging, the sounds of footsteps in the street and the rattle of wheels – even, now and then, the sound of a motor.

  She padded to the door, opened it and peered out up and down the landing. Kitty was emerging from the room next door; the one Jenny had been told was where Charlotte and Miles slept.

  ‘Oh!’ Kitty was startled by the girl standing there completely naked and even more surprised that the child showed no embarrassment.

  The maid blinked and then said kindly, ‘’Mornin’, duck. Did ya sleep all right?’

  Jenny nodded. Kitty came towards her. ‘Let’s help you get dressed and then I’ll take you down for your breakfast. The other’s have all finished theirs, but Cook says you can sit in her kitchen to have yours.’

  ‘Where’s Georgie?’

  ‘Master Georgie? Oh, he’s around somewhere.’

  Jenny could see Kitty’s look of disgust as she picked up the girl’s clothes. The thin cotton dress was secondhand – maybe even third-hand – and washed so many times that even by the time Jenny got it, the pattern had faded. But now the pattern was even further obscured by dirt.

  ‘This could do with a wash, duck,’ Kitty said, but not unkindly. ‘Have you got another frock?’

  Jenny shook her head. She didn’t want Kitty, who was dressed so neatly in a clean, white apron, to see her only other dress, which was even dirtier than the one she was wearing.

  ‘We’ll have to put this ’un on for the minute, then. I’ll tell madam and see if we can get you summat else. Where’s your socks?’

  ‘Ain’t got none,’ Jenny said, pulling on her plimsolls. They seemed too tight for her and already her big toe had worn a hole in the right one.

  ‘Right, you’ll have to do, then.’

  Kitty had not troubled the child to wash; she’d heard the commotion in the bathroom the previous night and didn’t want to spark another rumpus. Instead, she led the child down the wide staircase and through the door from the hallway that led to the kitchen.

  ‘Here she is,’ Kitty announced to Mrs Beddows.

  The cook looked up from peeling apples and smiled a welcome. ‘Come in, lovey. I bet you’re hungry, aren’t you?’

  Jenny merely nodded and climbed on to the chair at one end of the table. Kitty set a bowl of cereal in front of her and poured creamy milk over it. ‘There now, you get that down ya an’ then I’ll make you some toast.’

  ‘I’ll just go and find madam,’ Jenny heard Kitty murmur to Cook. ‘Tell her little ’un’s up.’


  But a few moments later, not only Charlotte but Miles, too, came into the kitchen as Jenny was finishing her breakfast.

  ‘Hello,’ Charlotte said softly. ‘Did you sleep well?’

  Jenny nodded.

  ‘Cat’s got her tongue, I reckon,’ Kitty laughed.

  Jenny gazed up at Charlotte and Miles, her glance going from one to the other. ‘Where’s Georgie?’

  ‘He’s outside. Would you like to go and find him?’

  Jenny glanced towards the big kitchen window and shook her head. But as she slid off the chair, she looked up at Mrs Beddows and said politely, ‘Thank you for my breakfast.’

  ‘You’re welcome, lovey.’

  Charlotte held out her hand. ‘Let’s ask Georgie to come indoors, then, shall we?’

  For the first time that morning, Jenny smiled.

  Georgie played with her for the rest of the day. He showed her how to climb on the big rocking horse in the nursery and how to play several of the games stacked on the shelves; Snap, Draughts and even Happy Families, when they roped in Miles and Charlotte to play too. But the little girl’s favourite time was after she’d succumbed to another bath and hair wash and was wrapped up snugly in a brand new nightdress and dressing gown and was sitting on Georgie’s knee reading more chapters of The Wind in the Willows.

  If she had to suffer a bath to be able to sit on Georgie’s knee each night, Jenny decided, then it was a small price to pay.

  When Charlotte had come home in the afternoon loaded with parcels, Jenny’s eyes had been round with wonder as the garments spilled from the wrappings and the bags.

  ‘A’ they all for me?’ she whispered.

  Georgie laughed. ‘Well, they’re too small for Charlotte and I’d look silly in a girl’s dress, now wouldn’t I? How about you try them on and show us how pretty you look?’

  With Kitty’s help in her bedroom, Jenny had tried on everything, each time running downstairs to the morning room to show them. She stood before Charlotte, Miles and Georgie, twirling round.

  ‘They fit nicely,’ Charlotte smiled, ‘but you’ll have to come with me when we buy you some shoes. You’ll need to have your feet measured properly.’