Joe stood upright in a single-breasted, cut-down version of a man’s ordinary jacket with cuffs almost covering his fingers. The trousers he was wearing would need to be turned up four inches to be the correct length. Ella stood beside him in a round-necked, blue-serge gown with her eyes mesmerised by detachable lace collars and spools of coloured ribbon displayed under the glass-top counter next to her.
Kate smiled and smoothed the front of Joe’s jacket, noting that the seam of the sleeve cleared his shoulder by a good three inches.
She turned her attention to Ella. The bodice hung loosely over Ella’s slender chest and there were four deep folds around the skirt that could be let out as required. Kate ran her hand gently over her daughter’s cheek and wondered if she could spare a penny for a length of ribbon.
‘There’s years of wear in both sets,’ Mrs Davison declared, folding her chubby arms across her imposing bosom.
‘There’s certainly enough growing room,’ Kate replied. ‘As long as you two don’t shoot up again.’
Joe stretched one hand high above his head. ‘I’m going to grow this tall.’
‘Are you now,’ the shopkeeper replied, an indulgent smile lightening her heavy features. She looked back at Kate. ‘As I say, you’ll not get a more durable set of school clothes for the same price anywhere.’
Kate checked the buttons at the back of Ella’s dress and pulled the shoulder of Joe’s jacket again. ‘How much did you say?’
‘Five shillings for the young lady’s and seven and six for the lad’s.’
Kate looked them over again and, although they were swamped by their clothes, a little bubble of pride swelled in her to see them looking so grand and grown up.
Kate fished into the drawstring bag on her wrist. ‘I’ll take them. If you could wrap them with the rest.’
Ella and Joe went behind the screen and changed as Kate counted out her money.
‘You’re the third mother in this week,’ Mrs Davison said, pulling a length of brown paper from the roll-dispenser screwed to the counter top.
‘Really?’
‘Oh, yes, it’s that new headmaster.’ She closed one eye. ‘He might only have one peeper but according to my sister, it don’t miss a thing. She said that her boy has come on leaps and bounds in his letters and you can almost figure out his writing now.’ Mrs Davison placed two hanks of wool and a spool of thread on to three yards of bleached calico. ‘He drills the children first thing and they do jumping and running exercises too. And, would you believe it – he joins in, too. Strips off his coat and runs alongside them back and forth across the playground.’ She chuckled. ‘Could you imagine old Mr Gardener doing such a thing?’
No, Kate couldn’t, but disturbingly she could only too easily picture Captain Quinn in his shirt.
Mrs Davison cut off a length of string to tie the parcel. ‘I expect it’s his military training. I heard from his housekeeper that he does exercises in the backyard with weights and dumbbells before breakfast each morning.’
Ella and Joe came back and handed their new clothes to the shopkeeper.
With a deft twist and turn, Mrs Davison tied everything together. ‘There you go, young man,’ she said, as she handed Joe the parcel. ‘And don’t swing it or your ma’s shopping will be all over the road.’
Ella and Joe stepped out into the fading afternoon light. A couple of hansom cabs trotted past with their oil lamps already lit. Kate guided the children through the ironmonger’s pavement display and stopped Joe just in time before he collided with the planks of oak and pine leaning against the wall of the timber merchants. The fresh scent of newly sawn wood mingled with the cloying smell from the oil merchant’s vats and the heady smell of the forge down the alley. Kate paused as they reached Sawkin’s fruiters. A young lad standing sentry in a buff apron that almost covered his toes sprang forward.
‘Can I help you, missus?’ he warbled.
Kate picked up an orange. ‘How much?’
‘A ha’penny each or three for a penny.’
Kate squeezed it. ‘They’re not very juicy, are they? I’ll tell you what – you let me have three, for a farthing each, and I’ll take them.’
‘Done.’ He handed the fruit to Ella.
Kate pulled open her purse to fish for the coins when someone stepped out in front of her.
‘Good afternoon, Mrs Ellis.’
‘Oh, Captain Quinn,’ Kate managed to say as she stared up into his face. ‘Good afternoon.’
He smiled and raised his hat. ‘And Miss Ellis, whom Miss Wainwright tells me is a great help with the younger members of the class.’ Ella bobbed a curtsy. ‘And young Master Ellis.’
Joe bowed stiffly.
‘And what have you been up to?’ Captain Quinn asked.
‘Ma’s just bought us our new clothes for school,’ Ella replied.
‘And what do you think of them?’
‘They’re grand, just grand!’
‘Mine are too big,’ Joe chipped in.
A smile tugged at Captain Quinn’s lips. ‘Are they?’
‘They are but the cap fits. Trick hasn’t got a cap.’
‘Trick?’
‘He’s my mate,’ Joe explained. ‘He hasn’t got any boots neither. Mam, can I go and knock for him?’ he asked, looking imploringly up at Kate.
Kate nodded and took the parcel from him. ‘If you promise to keep your scarf on and watch out for the carts.’
Joe dashed off.
Captain Quinn watched him for a moment then looked at Kate with that familiar disconcerting stare.
‘I’m just buying a couple of oranges for the children,’ Kate said, unable to think of anything more sensible to say.
‘So am I. For the school.’
‘Oh, well,’ Kate said, unable to take her eyes from him. ‘I shouldn’t keep you. I’m sure you’re off somewhere important.’
‘I am but which way are you going?’ he asked.
‘Towards the church.’
He smiled. ‘As am I. Let’s walk together. Perhaps I can carry that for you,’ he said, glancing at the package she was carrying.
‘That’s very kind of you, sir, but there’s really no need.’
‘It’s no trouble.’ He hooked his finger in the loop of string and lifted the package out of her arms. They started along the pavement and Kate was suddenly conscious of just how tall he was and how drab her workaday clothes were alongside his tailored suit.
Several tradesmen standing in their shop doorways acknowledged Captain Quinn with a touch of their caps but looked oddly at her walking beside him.
Kate bit her lip and studied his profile hesitantly before she spoke. ‘I hope you don’t think I was being rude when we met last week, sir, but I was just shocked that it was you.’
‘I was a little surprised myself.’ His gaze ran over her. ‘But I didn’t think you were impolite at all.’
They stared at each other for a moment then Kate looked ahead.
‘I trust you’re settled in to the schoolhouse,’ she said, in what she hoped was a conversational tone.
‘I have,’ he replied. ‘I’ve still a couple of chests to unpack but after years of barracks and army food the schoolhouse and Mrs Delaney’s cooking is very welcome.’ They walked on for a bit in silence. ‘And what does your husband do, Mrs Ellis?’
An unhappy lump settled across Kate’s chest. ‘He drives a wagon,’ she replied, remembering Freddie’s last honest job.
They carried on for a few more moments and then he stopped.
‘I am afraid we must now part company.’ He handed the parcel back to her. ‘It’s been a pleasure meeting you again.’ He tipped his hat. ‘Good day.’
‘Good day, sir,’ Kate replied.
His gaze ran over her again then he went through the church gates. Kate watched him make his way across the churchyard.
Ella slipped her hand in Kate’s. ‘Ma.’
Kate looked down at her daughter. ‘Yes, my love?’
‘
Isn’t it exciting having Captain Quinn as the new headmaster, what with him being a soldier and all?’
Kate smiled stiffly. It was exciting, but then so was Freddie when she’d first met him and she could very well do without it.
*
Jonathan marvelled at the vicar’s ability to string out a straightforward agenda item – the buying of a new broom – for Mr Delaney for a full twenty minutes. He could tell that Mrs Benson and Mr Puttock felt the same; the glazed look on their eyes betrayed them. They were all sitting at one end of the table and as close to the potbellied stove as they could get without igniting themselves.
As the vicar asked his warden yet again to explain the attributes of a hazel over hog’s bristle, Jonathan shifted his position and struggled to keep his patience. Mrs Benson, swathed in furs, looked up and gave him a kindly smile. He took a deep breath and resigned himself to another ten minutes of mind-numbing tedium and his thoughts drifted back, yet again, to his meeting with Mrs Ellis.
Of course, he knew he should have simply greeted her and walked on but when her blue eyes fixed on him he could do no other than play the gallant. His gaze drifted up to the small stained-glass window in the apex of the room and he realised that the gold halo of St whoever was almost exactly the same colour as her hair.
Mr Overton’s voice cut through his thoughts: ‘So if you could arrange to purchase our caretaker a new broom, Mr Puttock, I’d be grateful. If we could now move on to Captain Quinn’s report. Are there any comments?’
‘Most enlightening,’ Mrs Benson said.
Mr Puttock raised a bony finger. ‘If I may?’
‘Of course, sir,’ Jonathan replied.
‘While I approve wholeheartedly of the new regime of discipline you’ve introduced, I do wonder about the need for the great number of books you’ve bought since you arrived,’ he said, holding up Jonathan’s four-page report. ‘Is it strictly necessary?’
‘It is if you want the children to learn to read properly.’
‘I feel I must agree with Mr Puttock,’ the vicar said in his Sunday-sermon tone. ‘They have the school Bibles. Generations have learnt their lessons using God’s word.’
‘As I did myself,’ Jonathan said. ‘But all the books in the school, including the Bibles, were in such a shocking condition that I had no choice but to donate them to the West African Missionary Society. However, as you can see in my report, I secured a very good discount from the wholesaler in Houndsditch who indicated he would give us the same favourable terms next time.’
The churchwarden’s faced flushed. ‘Next—’
‘That was very enterprising of you, Captain Quinn,’ Mrs Benson cut in. ‘And I see you have bought the Little Scholars series. I read the favourable report in The Times about them. Did you see it, Mr Puttock?’
The churchwarden was wrong-footed. ‘No. No, um, I haven’t had a chance yet.’ He adjusted his half-rimmed glasses and studied Jonathan’s report again. ‘Well, perhaps we can overlook the books, but maps and charts of African beasts?’ He gave what can only be described as an oily smile. ‘With all due respect, Captain Quinn, most of these children will never travel further than the River Lea. They’ll have no need to know where China is. And if they want to look at a lion, they can stroll down to Jamrach’s Animal Emporium and see what he has in stock. Don’t you think, Mr Overton?’
‘I must disagree with you, sir,’ Jonathan cut in, in the tone that had put down more than one barrack-room rebellion. ‘Apart from the fact that hundreds of local boys become sailors and make their way to the four corners of the globe, England needs an educated population if it is to capitalise on the new colonies and markets our merchants open up each day.’ He fixed Mr Puttock with a steely look. ‘Of which China and Africa are two of the most lucrative.’
Mrs Benson’s lips twitched and the churchwarden’s colour flared again but he didn’t reply.
Mr Overton shuffled his papers. ‘Mmmm. We’ll let the matter rest but I would appreciate, Captain Quinn, if you would address any further requests for equipment to the board first. Now, if we could just review the pupils joining the school in January.’
The guardians drew out their lists.
‘This all seems very encouraging,’ Mr Overton said approvingly. ‘We must be almost full.’
‘There are three places left,’ Jonathan said. ‘And I am seeing two parents at the end of the week so I expect they will be gone very soon.’
The vicar beamed. ‘Excellent.’ He looked at his fellow guardians. ‘I propose that we formally enter into the minutes our heartfelt thanks to Captain Quinn for his hard work.’
‘I would like to second that,’ Mrs Benson said, nodding in agreement.
Mr Puttock tapped the paper on the table in front of him. ‘I notice you have given a place to the Ellis boy.’
‘I did,’ Jonathan said.
Mr Overton ran his eye over the list again and looked apprehensive. ‘Of course, had we known there would be such a demand for places, I might not have given him a recommendation.’
‘Why?’ asked Jonathan.
‘Because Mrs Ellis is a Catholic.’
Mrs Benson’s soft white brows pulled together. ‘Really, Mr Overton,’ she said, sharply. ‘I don’t think we should hold that against her. The children attend the church each week without fail, which is more than can be said for some members of the congregation.’
The warden pursed his lips. ‘Perhaps so, Mrs Benson, but you can’t deny that the Ellis children come from bad blood.’
Jonathan’s expression darkened. ‘Mrs Ellis struck me as an exemplary mother. She may be poor but her children were clean and tidy with good manners and stout boots on their feet. I haven’t met their father yet but he clearly provides for his family. I distinctly remember in your reference letter, Mr Overton, you stated that the family have a long association with St George’s and that you would recommend him without hesitation.’
‘Well, James Ellis, the children’s great-grandfather, was church warden but . . .’
‘But Freddie Ellis, their father, hasn’t been inside the church since he got married,’ Mr Puttock chipped in. ‘And then only because Kate Ellis’s family forced him.’ He chuckled. ‘And that was a story that had tongues wagging for weeks.’
‘It’s sad to say but truly Freddie Ellis hasn’t provided for his family from the moment he had them,’ Mr Benson said quietly. ‘It’s Mrs Ellis who puts boots on their feet and food on the table. It’s a pity he’s back.’
‘Back?’
‘Two years at Her Majesty’s pleasure for receiving stolen goods most recently, and four years before that for some other crime,’ Mr Puttock replied. ‘I’d keep an eye on your new books, if I were you, in case the Ellis lad takes after his father.’
Jonathan stared at them for a moment before speaking. ‘Thank you for enlightening me,’ he said, in a controlled tone. ‘But I stand by my initial judgement of Mrs Ellis, who it seems has made the best of a difficult situation. She may be young but in my estimation she is a fine example of womanhood . . . I mean motherhood,’ he added quickly, forcing himself not to shift under Mrs Benson’s unremitting stare.
There was a moment’s silence and then Mr Overton cleared his throat. ‘If there’s nothing else it falls upon me to thank Captain Quinn for his detailed and encouraging report. I call the meeting to a close.’
The vicar turned to talk to Mr Puttock, which gave Jonathan the opportunity to speak to Mrs Benson.
‘May I offer to escort you to your carriage?’ he asked.
‘That is most gentlemanly of you, Captain Quinn,’ she said, leaning on her cane and rising to her feet. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder. She adjusted her coat and Jonathan offered her his arm to lead her out of the vestry.
‘It’s a very long time since I had a handsome man escort me from a church,’ she said.
Jonathan laughed. ‘I was never that before and I certainly don’t qualify now.’
Mrs Benson st
opped in her tracks for a moment and held him back with surprising strength. ‘That is for another to judge, Captain Quinn.’
‘Your pardon,’ Jonathan replied, as they began again along the path. ‘May I ask you a question, Mrs Benson?’
‘As long as it’s not my age, you may,’ she replied, leaning on his arm.
‘At my interview you asked about my recent dealings with children. Why?’
‘I wanted to know if you actually liked children. An important qualification for a headmaster, wouldn’t you agree?’
Jonathan raised his eyebrows. ‘I certainly would.’
‘Now come on, young man. Get me to my carriage before this wind takes away what little breath I have.’
A moment later Jonathan was opening the door and helping her inside. She settled in and he placed the rug over her legs.
‘Are you free Tuesday next at four o’clock, Captain Quinn?’ she asked, as he closed the door.
‘I am.’
‘Then come to tea. I insist – and am too old to be argued with,’ Mrs Benson said, her eyes dancing with amusement.
Jonathan smiled as he closed the door. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’
Joe blew on his hands and rubbed them together, wishing he’d remembered to pick up the knitted gloves his mother had left out for him that morning. He should have been home an hour ago but he didn’t care. It was only three weeks until the best day of the year and he had to speak to his father about it.
Hold On to Hope Page 9