‘I missed you.’
He looked so forlorn that she came to hug him again and urged him towards the fire which she stoked and stabbed with a poker, gave him a cup of tea and a biscuit, and demanded to know the whole story.
With a midday meal on offer he was just beginning to think all was well, when the door opened and Kendrew came in shaking the snow off his hat. His hand paused in mid-air when he saw Nat. ‘What the hell is he doing here?’
Maria approached him like a fawning dog on its belly. ‘He’s just run away because he missed me, Sep.’
Kendrew did not empathize. ‘You damned fool!’ He banged his hat against his leg. ‘You’ll get done for harbouring him. And it’s not going to do him any good, is it? The longer he’s absent the worse the punishment when he goes back – and he will have to go, love, there’s no question of that. This’ll be the first place they’ll come.’
With a heavy heart Maria agreed and turned to Nat, ‘Sep’s right, son. We won’t be able to hide you.’
Nat pressed himself into the chair and beseeched her with grave eyes, while Kendrew rammed his hat back on and came towards him. ‘If we take him back now it might help his case, rather than the authorities having to come for him.’
‘Oh, I couldn’t bear it, Sep.’ Maria clutched her cheek. ‘You do it.’
‘See what you’ve done to your mother again!’ demanded Kendrew, grabbing Nat’s hand. ‘You blasted nuisance, I suppose me dinner’ll have to wait. Come on, let’s have you back where you belong.’
* * *
‘You must consider yourself very fortunate indeed that Mr Chipchase has spoken up for you,’ the superintendent informed Nat after Kendrew had deposited him and left. ‘A runaway would normally earn very stiff punishment… but I am ready to accept Mr Chipchase’s defence that you were unsettled by your mother’s visit and agree with him that she should not come again until you are more stable in your ways.’
Unmindful of Chipchase’s help, Nat raged inwardly at the discipline; but this was not the full extent of it.
‘Furtherto, you will be confined for two days and forfeit all privileges,’ added Raskelf.
Too late for lunch, Nat was marched along to a small room in which was a bed, a table, a jug and bowl of water and a chamberpot. His sole occupation in the next forty-eight hours was to pick oakum. The only time he was let out was to empty the chamberpot. During his confinement he reached the end of his tenth year. His birthday passed unmarked.
Far from being a deterrent, the punishment only served to bolster Nat’s resolve, though it was not until Good Friday that he made his move. The boys attended a church service at St Olave’s. Afterwards, as the others filed out, Nat dawdled at the rear, then when the master in charge looked away he ducked to the floor behind one of the pews, escaping later when all was quiet. This time he did not go straight home but went to lean against Foss Bridge, not quite knowing what to do or where to go. With the shops closed for Good Friday the street scene was tranquil.
He felt that he had been dallying there for ages when a voice said, ‘Hello! Where’ve you been hiding?’ He looked round into Bright’s smiling face – a much changed face from the one he had last seen six months ago. The gaps in her smile were in a different place now. Her front teeth were fully grown but one of her adult incisors was as yet a white stump on the gum, and her freckles had faded during the winter months. Her hair, though, was the same, an untidy bright cape hanging around her shoulders, its ribbon half undone.
‘I haven’t been hiding.’ Looking cross, he turned back to the bridge and there rested his brow.
Bright leaned on the stone too, pressing her hands against the balusters as if trying to push it down. ‘I didn’t know you with your hair like that. Where’ve you been? I haven’t seen you for a long time.’
‘I’ve been away.’
‘Where?’
‘Don’t be so nosey.’
‘Tut! That’s not very nice after we gave you a birthday party, is it?’ objected Bright. ‘I don’t know why I bother with ye.’
‘Don’t then.’
‘I won’t then!’ Offended, Bright pushed herself upright and walked backwards.
Angry at his own impulsiveness and desperate for her to stay, Nat blurted without looking at her, ‘I’ve run away.’
She returned in fairysteps, to ask for details. He told her as briefly as he could about his incarceration at the school. ‘Was it them who cut your hair off?’ She didn’t like his crop. ‘It makes ye look… obstroculous. Where y’off now then?’
‘I can’t go home ’cause that Sep’ll be there. He’ll send me back again. He did it once before.’
‘Isn’t he horrible!’ spat Bright with feeling. ‘Ye can come home with me if ye like.’
Nat turned a hopeful eye on her. ‘Are you off for your dinner?’
‘No, I’ve had it – but me mam’ll let ye stop in our house for a bit.’
With no meal on offer, Nat didn’t really want to go with her for there would be questions – there were always questions at the Maguire house – but Bright hauled him in after her. The house stank of fish and with all the clan assembled it was difficult even for a small child to squeeze in. Nat cast a hopeful eye at the table, but all it bore was a jam jar full of daffodils.
‘Why good day to you, young G-nat!’ cried Mr Maguire from his place at the table. ‘And where’ve you been hiding yourself?’
Still as shy as ever in the company of adults, Nat was not quick with his response. Bright answered for him. ‘He hasn’t been hiding, he’s been away.’ She went to sit at her grandmother’s feet.
Mr Maguire had undone the top button of his trousers to accommodate his dinner. ‘Away – where?’
Nat looked at Bright who provided, ‘At school.’
‘And what sort of a school is it where they don’t let y’out to see your pals and cut your hair with a lawn-mower?’
Nat spoke for himself at last, rubbing his head self-consciously. ‘I wouldn’t go to ordinary school so they made me go to this special one where I have to live.’
‘So they let y’out today, then?’ Mr Maguire saw the change on Nat’s face. ‘Ah, ye’ve took it upon yourself to have a day off.’ After a moment he gave a dismissive wave. ‘Ah sure, I don’t blame ye. School’s rubbish, aren’t I always sayin’ that?’
‘You are,’ endorsed Mrs Maguire, drying the dinnerpots with the aid of Eilleen and Mary.
Nat was pleasantly surprised at the lack of condemnation and was encouraged to admit, ‘I’ve run away. I ran away in winter but me mam sent me back. That’s why I haven’t been to see you for a while.’
‘An’ what sort of a woman would have her own child locked up?’ demanded Mr Maguire, and stepped over Patrick and Eugene on the hearth rug to reach Granny’s tobacco.
Nat was quick to defend. ‘She didn’t want to. It’s this man she knows, he made her send me back and now they won’t let her come and visit me.’
‘The scoundrels!’ Mr Maguire sat down again and proceeded to fill the old lady’s pipe. ‘Ah well, if ye can’t go home then ye must stay here.’
A rather nervous Mrs Maguire pointed out, ‘Tommy, we’ll get into trouble with the law.’
‘Bedamned the law! I’m the law in this house an’ if I say our young friend stays then stay he will. He can sleep in one of the boys’ beds – isn’t himself getting wed soon.’ He nodded at Michael who was reclined on the sofa with two of his brothers.
‘Oh no, we’re not having three to a bed again!’ Gabriel and Martin had been looking forward to their brother’s departure.
‘Get yourself a wife an’ ye won’t have to,’ replied his father, and lit the pipe for Granny.
‘Sure, don’t be wanting rid o’ them too!’ cried Mrs Maguire. ‘Twill be bad enough coping without Michael’s wage.’
‘He’s not sleeping with us!’ chorused Pat and Eugene.
Mr Maguire kicked at the nearest buttock. ‘Shut your gob and get the mother a cup o’ tea!’ He
handed Granny the pipe.
The objections continued until Bright stepped in to mediate. ‘We’ve a nice rug on the floor of our room, Nat could sleep on that.’
‘God love her!’ Michael bent over and swung his ten-year-old sister over his shoulder, laughing. ‘The things she comes out with.’
‘What’s wrong with that?’ Bright squirmed at the rough bristles on his chin as he kissed her and set her down.
‘Never you mind!’ Mr Maguire wagged a finger. ‘Nat can sleep on the rug in the boys’ room.’
Gabriel stood and hitched up his trousers. ‘I think I’ll away and make a start on finding that wife.’
‘Just make sure you’re back in time for the Easter Vigil this afternoon,’ warned his mother.
Nat was to discover that the Maguires went to church an awful lot – they must have gone half a dozen times over the weekend and he was dragged with them. Though he didn’t understand one bit of the ritual he quite enjoyed watching Bright take part in the Easter procession through the mean little streets, dressed in her white frock and veil, carrying a bunch of spring flowers, a prayerbook and a rosary. He even enjoyed the enforced bath on a Saturday night, for it meant inclusion in a family ritual when the men would take their turn in the zinc bath in the kitchen, whilst Bright and the other females remained in the front parlour. Then Maguire, his sons and Nat went off to the pub leaving the women to their own mysterious toilet.
Most of all he enjoyed the company of the youngest Maguire during that Easter holiday, until one morning he woke to find that this was the day Bright and the boys must return to school.
‘And aren’t I glad?’ exclaimed a harassed Mrs Maguire, who had been up since five because her husband was on early shift. ‘Sure, the house has been like a zoo. Eugene, straighten that collar! And have you combed your hair?’
‘Yes, Mammy,’ replied the younger version of his father.
‘It looks like it – come here!’ She dragged him to her and with a wettened comb raked his hair into a tidier style. ‘That’s better! Get back to the table and eat your breakfast. Bright, why are you not eating?’
Bright jumped and her spoon clattered into the porridge bowl. ‘Sorry, Mammy, I was thinking.’
‘Well, save thinking for school. Just eat.’ Mrs Maguire frowned.
‘You look a bit flushed, are ye not well? Maybe ye’d best not go today.’ She was never averse to her daughter taking a day off for another pair of hands was always welcome.
‘No, I feel fine!’ The ten-year-old gulped down her porridge and smiled to show she was in good health.
Nat thought she was mad to throw away the chance of staying at home.
With Bright and her siblings gone the house seemed dead, but for Mrs Maguire’s industry. She always seemed to be on the move. Nat wandered out into the yard and watched her pounding at her washing in the steaming tub. Face glistening she smiled and, still pummelling, asked, ‘D’ye not think your mother would like to know where y’are? The school may have been on to her.’
Nat replied with a mute nod. He wanted to go but knew what lay ahead if Sep had his way.
Mrs Maguire broke off to puff at a wisp of hair that was tickling her face, eventually having to use a bright red hand and leaving suds on her brow. ‘D’ye want I should go with ye?’
Nat shook his head. ‘I’ll go in a minute.’
The woman squeezed water from a sheet and lugged it over to the mangle, asking Nat to turn the handle. ‘I’m not trying to get rid of ye, son. You know you’re always welcome here an’ if your mother isn’t in you’re to come right back.’ She fed the sheet between the wooden rollers, then went around the other side to catch it. Water gushed into a bucket. ‘Tis just that if I were your mother I’d want to know where ye were.’
Nat finished winding the mangle and nodded.
Mrs Maguire studied his flushed face and overly bright eyes. ‘I might be wrong but sure, ye look as if you’re sickening for something, too.’
‘I feel all right,’ muttered Nat, ready to wind the mangle again.
‘You’re certain? Must be the weather – it is awful muggy.’ To emphasize this she tugged at the front of her blouse, then smiled a welcome as one of her neighbours wandered over to gossip. ‘Well, away off to see your mother then, I’ll manage these.’
Without another word Nat left. He was almost home when the policeman emerged from an alley and grabbed him.
‘What’s your name, lad?’ Suspicious blue eyes pierced his.
Nat did not flinch. ‘Prince.’
The officer studied the shorn hair. ‘Hmm, you don’t look much like a prince to me. I’ve been given the description of a boy who’s decamped from the Industrial School. I’ve reason to believe that’s you.’
‘No, that’s not me.’ Nat fought rising panic, trying to keep his tone even. ‘I’ve just been at church and now I’m off home.’
‘Where d’you live?’ The officer saw the slightest hesitation. ‘Aye, I thought so – come on, let’s have you back where you belong.’
Defeated, Nat allowed himself to be led, if not meekly then without resistance.
Mr Raskelf gave him a long lecture, ending with the opinion that it was now dubious if twenty-seven would be allowed to accompany the school trip to Scarborough that July. ‘The lenience which you were shown at your last misdemeanour has been treated with contempt. You are obviously of a mould which requires a sterner lesson.’ He opened a dark blue ledger which Nat knew to be the punishment book. ‘Go with Officer Chipchase now and prepare to receive six strokes of the birch.’
Nat was taken to a cell where he was left to stew for an hour. During that time he alternated between pacing the room and sitting on the edge of the bed, dangling his legs and picking the skin from around his thumbnails. The main cause of his nerves was the knowledge that his punishment would take place before the whole school; floggings always did. He conceded that it must hurt; one-one-five had screamed and cried during his whipping, but then one-one-five did not have the experience of Lillywhite’s viciousness which Nat had endured. The seconds ticked away. Come on, get it over with!
At last two officers escorted him to the dinner hall where the meal had been delayed for the occasion. Knowing what to expect, Nat looked straight ahead as he was marched between the long rows of apprehensive faces, but his bold tread faltered when confronted by the special table that had been reserved for him, and Mr Raskelf with the birch. Trembling from head to foot, he was ordered to strip to his underwear then spreadeagled on the table where his limbs were roped to its legs. The officers stepped back. Mr Raskelf, who had been waiting patiently nearby, now came forward. There was a nerve-racking pause. Nat blinked and waited. Then came a whoosh! The twig he had erstwhile despised made great impact on both flesh and mind. He gasped with the shock of it, his eyes wide and smarting. Never could he have imagined a pain like this! The second lash was even worse. He yelled in agony. The birch fell again. This time Nat was spared. Just before passing out he made a sensible decision: never would he escape again.
* * *
Bright was rather put out when she came home from school at lunchtime. ‘Where’s Nat? He said he’d meet me.’ She flopped into a chair and looked petulant.
On her way to the scullery with a pan, Mrs Maguire glanced at the clock. ‘I suggested he go visit his mother and he went, but that was hours ago. Maybe he decided to stay.’
Bright’s demeanour changed. ‘Or maybe she sent him back to that school! Oh, Mammy, why did ye tell him to go?’
Shrouded in steam, Mrs Maguire laid into the pan of potatoes with a masher. ‘Tis no good blaming me for what his mother’s done. Anyway there’s no saying she has sent him back.’
‘No, but that Mr Kendrew would!’ argued Bright.
‘Well if he has there’s nothing we can do about it. Sure, tis none of our business really. Join your brothers at the table now.’
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘Eat!’ Mrs Maguire spooned out a doll
op of mashed potato.
Throughout lunch, Bright picked at her food, causing Mrs Maguire to return to this morning’s observation. ‘You’re sure you’re not going down with something? I know how keen you are to win this prize, but maybe you’d best stay off this afternoon.’
‘No, I’m dandy!’ Though not dandy at all, Bright forced herself to consume the meal in its entirety. Last year, due to one paltry day off she had lost the attendance prize which she so desperately coveted. She wasn’t about to be robbed of it this year and her mother was well aware of this.
‘You look awful hot.’ Mrs Maguire reached out to touch her forehead.
Bright shied away. ‘It’s sunny out there! Anyway, I’d better be off. Please may I leave the table?’
‘Tis customary to ask before ye get to the door,’ chided Mrs Maguire. ‘Patrick, Eugene, you get yourselves back to school too.’
Bright faltered. ‘If Nat isn’t here when I get home can we go find out where he is?’
‘You’ll have to ask your father. Look at you scratching! Come here and let me have a look at ye.’
Bright, who had been rubbing her body, ducked out of the door. ‘I’ve got to go – bye, Mammy!’
She was to return in an hour’s time, escorted by one of the nuns. ‘Mrs Maguire.’ Sister Sebastian wore a disapproving frown. ‘Would you be so kind as to tell me why you sent your daughter to school with measles?’
‘Measles?’ Bright’s mother clapped a hand over her mouth.
‘Measles!’ Came the disgusted echo. ‘Have you not seen the rash on her?’
‘Why, no, but I thought she looked a bit feverish…’
‘Feverish indeed! She needs to be isolated at once, and to receive medical attention.’
‘Yes, yes, of course!’ Mrs Maguire portrayed guilt. ‘Won’t you forgive me, Sister, twas just that Bright kept harping on about the attendance prize…’
‘And so you were prepared to put the whole school at risk!’ The nun turned on her heel. ‘Doubtless when I return I shall find the pupils falling like skittles!’
This exaggeration gave way to some truth. Within a week half of Bright’s classmates were absent through the disease. Chastened, the girl languished in her darkened room, wondering what had happened to Nat – for her incapacitation had taken precedence over the search for him. Upon being deemed officially ill, Bright was a terrible patient, letting all the world know how she felt and having them all run around after her, bringing her books to read and lozenges to suck and any other treat she could elicit.
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