War Orphans

by Lizzie Lane

Even though Elspeth had been less than kind to her, the house in The Vale had been familiar, the only home she had ever known. Suddenly she missed it.

  The pale-faced woman opened the huge double doors of the orphanage with an iron key and locked it again once they were inside. The interior was gloomy and cold; the walls painted a glossy brown halfway up and then green all the way to the ceiling.

  Dull as the colours were, they’d been dulled even more by age, unpainted since the day the orphanage was built. The colours and paints were used simply because they didn’t show the dirt and so needed no repainting.

  A marble bust sat on a stone column to her right in an arched alcove. A brass plaque was set in the wall to one side of it with the inscription: LIONEL MERRYWEATHER STANLEYBRIDGE. BENEFACTOR.

  On the opposite wall hung a painting of the same man, his ruddy face clashing with the dullness of his clothes. A silver pocket watch hanging from his waistcoat was the only other thing besides his pink cheeks to add colour to the painting.

  ‘No time to stare,’ snapped Miss Thorpe as she pushed Joanna through a door leading off the reception hall. The room she entered was wood-panelled and carpeted, a distinct contrast with the reception area.

  As the door closed behind her with a dull thud Joanna rubbed at the wrist Miss Thorpe had finally released. Her attention was drawn to the woman behind the desk. The desk was huge and heavy. So was the woman. Joanna couldn’t help but stare.

  ‘The girl, Ryan,’ said Miss Thorpe, pushing her forward.

  The woman sitting behind the desk was enormous. Fat cheeks bulged over a triple chin and bulging neck, where a linen napkin was tucked. In front of her was a huge plate of food.

  Joanna’s stomach rumbled at the smell. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

  The woman’s fat fingers set down the knife and fork. She continued to chew as she spoke. ‘Well, you chose your time well! You should know by now that I dislike having my meal times disturbed, Thorpe. Decidedly bad for the digestion.’

  Up until now the children’s welfare officer had shown the confidence of a woman used to having her own way and being in charge. Her manner now changed.

  ‘I do apologise, Miss Portman, but the council wouldn’t allow me the use of a car. I had to come by bus. It’s the war, you see.’

  Miss Portman grunted something about having a stiff word with that man Churchill if she ever ran into him.

  Miss Thorpe placed a brown manila envelope on the desk. ‘Here’s the paperwork. Would it be possible for you to sign the acceptance form?’ The sharp tone of before had become a wheedle.

  Miss Portman eyed Miss Thorpe with piggy eyes.

  ‘I know what you’re saying, Jane,’ she said, letting slip Miss Thorpe’s first name as a mark of disrespect.

  They’d vowed always to use their professional names in front of outsiders. But Jane Thorpe had interrupted her meal and Miss Portman hated that. She also knew she was angling for her half of the money the orphanage received for giving space to yet another orphaned child.

  Thorpe, having found out Miss Portman kept the fee for her own personal use, agreed to share, a fact Miss Portman resented.

  ‘Come back on Monday. We can deal with the formalities then. In the meantime ring the bell outside. Dawson will deal with the child.’

  Miss Thorpe knew better than to argue. Grabbing Joanna by the shoulders she turned her round to face the door and pushed her towards it.

  ‘Come on. The sooner I get rid of you the better. I’ve got a long bus ride back.’

  She marched purposefully to a table and rang a gleaming brass hand bell.

  Joanna stood feeling helpless and alone, the strings of the brown paper carrier bag cutting into her hand.

  The girl who appeared was older than Joanna and wore a pale brown dress beneath a white apron. Her face was as pale as the woman who had let them in and her eyes seemed too large for her face. She was also very thin and the dress she wore looked too small for her, scrawny wrists showing beneath the tight cuffs, the material faded from numerous washings.

  ‘Dawson. This is Ryan. She is expected. Deal with her. I have a bus to catch.’

  Without bothering to say goodbye – not that Joanna cared – the children’s welfare officer was let out by the same thin woman who had let them in.

  The slamming of the door made Joanna jump. She stared at it in dismay, fearing it might never open again, that she’d be incarcerated in this place for ever.

  The girl referred to as Dawson spoke to her. ‘Shall I take your carrier bag? Those strings can be a devil can’t they.’ Her smile was warm, a bright oasis in the wan face, and her voice was very soft. ‘All the girls in your dormitory are around your age,’ she explained as they mounted the stairs. ‘They’ll tell you the times of lessons and meals, though there is a timetable on the back of the door. But if you forget just ask. I take it you can read?’

  Joanna nodded. In fact she’d been top in her class at reading, but she had no wish to tell this girl that. Somehow she didn’t think it would go down too well.

  They ascended four flights of stairs before entering a long room with four beds ranged along each wall, eight in all. Two dormer windows jutted out onto the roof. A small cupboard partnered each iron-framed bed. There were no pictures on the sludge-coloured walls and no curtains at the windows.

  ‘This is yours,’ Dawson said to her. She glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone was around before giving Joanna a quick hug. ‘It’s very hard when you first come here, but you’ll get used to it, in time. My Christian name is Anne, but don’t let Mrs Pig or any other adult hear you calling me that. Remember to call me Dawson when they’re around.’ She grinned. ‘That’s what we call Miss Portman. Mrs Pig. No need to ask why, is there?’

  Something inside that had been totally frozen over seemed to shift slightly, especially when she saw that Anne was smiling. So many emotions seemed contained in that smile: sympathy, affection and pity.

  ‘My name’s Joanna Ryan.’

  Anne nodded kindly. ‘Yes, I know.’

  Joanna tried to smile but found it hurt too much to do so. She didn’t want to be here, though goodness knows she didn’t have anywhere else to go.

  Anne read her thoughts. ‘We would all prefer to be elsewhere, Joanna. But we can’t. We have to make the best of it. There’s nowhere else to go.’

  Joanna blinked back the tears. ‘I miss Harry.’

  Anne eyed her quizzically. ‘Is Harry your brother?’

  Joanna shook her head. ‘No. He’s my dog.’

  Some people might have scoffed at that, but Anne had been here a long time and knew that love from any source was better than none at all.

  ‘Lucky you. I’ve always wanted a dog. I think I remember having a kitten but it was such a long time ago. Look, I knew you were coming and might be hungry so I saved an apple from my midday meal. Supper isn’t until seven.’

  She handed Joanna an apple. She devoured it greedily.

  ‘Make sure you hide the apple core. We’re not really supposed to eat in the dorm, but it’s not unusual for meals to be missed. There’s a mouse hole over in the corner. Push it in there when you’re finished and then you’d better change into your uniform.’

  She pointed to a similar outfit to her own that was laid out on the bed. The pale brown looked just as washed out and Joanna didn’t need to be told that it had once been worn by someone else, perhaps more than one person.

  ‘Hide the jumper,’ she said after taking a look in the carrier bag. ‘You can keep the underwear, though I can’t guarantee you getting it back after laundry. Everyone has to take what they’re given.’

  The other girls arrived in the dormitory at six, after completing their chores and their lessons. Unlike the children at Victoria Park, they didn’t come in laughing and chattering, but kept their voices low.

  Anne told her that schoolwork was always preceded and followed by chores.

  ‘And we have to wash the dishes after supper,’ a g
irl named Hilary Evans explained to her.

  Hilary spoke in a Welsh singsong voice and had been in the home for three years.

  ‘Since I was six,’ she explained. ‘At least I think I was six, though I might have been seven. Or five!’ she added casually, as though numbers were unimportant to her.

  She waved her hands about as excitedly as she spoke. Her hands were quite red in places and Joanna was intrigued. Hilary saw her looking.

  ‘I talk too much,’ she said, holding her palms outwards so Joanna could see them better. Red marks that came close to drawing blood crisscrossed her palms.

  ‘When Miss Ogden, that’s the thin woman who also tends to visitors, can’t stop my chattering any longer she sends me to Miss Portman and she gets out her ruler. That’s what she hits me with,’ she explained, sounding oddly proud, as though pleased to see to Joanna’s look of horror.

  Anne whispered in her ear. ‘Because she’s so thin, we call Miss Ogden Miss Stick.’

  Joanna managed a tiny smile.

  Supper was vegetable pie served with thin gravy and potatoes. It was followed by suet pudding with a spoonful of jam. There was no tea, only water to drink.

  Lights out was at eight o’clock. Joanna lay in the dark listening to the snuffling sounds of girls asleep and the sobs of those missing their former life. Even the old building creaked as it settled down for the night, sounding sadly in tune with the girls that lived there.

  Thinking about Harry made her want to cry. Harry was her hero. He’d rescued her and she was desperate to get back to him.

  She was also missing Sally and her father. If it wasn’t for them, Harry might be dead by now. Seb would give him a good home, but she hoped he was missing her.

  ‘I will get back to you,’ she whispered into the darkness. ‘I will see you again, Harry.’

  The walls of the orphanage closed in on her, the big square rooms making her feel she was locked in a box. She made up her mind that she would not stay here. She had run away once and could do so again. It was just a question of waiting for the right opportunity.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  A nurse prevented Sally from entering the ward.

  ‘Who are you looking for?’

  Sally frowned at the empty bed recently occupied by Joanna.

  ‘The little girl, Joanna Ryan. I’ve brought her some more clothes so she can come home with me. I only brought in a cardigan yesterday. Where is she?’

  ‘I’m sorry, but she left this morning.’

  ‘But she wasn’t supposed to leave until this afternoon.’ There was no holding back the dismay in her voice.

  ‘I’m sorry. The children’s welfare officer took us by surprise too. She was most insistent.’ The nurse did not sound as though she entirely approved.

  Sally’s tone was grim and simmered with anger. ‘I bet she was.’

  Her intention had been to have another go at persuading Miss Thorpe to reconsider her offer to foster or adopt Joanna. The obnoxious woman had pre-empted her bid to do just that, dragging her away before she could do anything.

  She returned home, feeling dejected and angry in equal measure. The conflicting emotions left her numb and solid in an odd kind of way, as though she had become a brick wall that divided one range of emotions from another.

  On entering the house she shared with her father, she swept down the passageway leading to the living room at the rear of the house but found it empty.

  She frowned, at first thinking he might be taking Harry for a walk in the park.

  ‘Sally!’

  He called to her from the front room, his wiry frame shifting between the right and left side of the doorframe.

  His muddy boots and ruddy face was evidence that her father had only recently returned from the allotment. Harry had gone with him and now lay contented at his feet, until he saw Sally that is.

  The lively ball of golden fur bounded forward, springing up and down as though his legs were made of elastic.

  Sally bent down to fuss him. ‘Harry. Calm down.’

  Once Harry had calmed, Sally realised they had a visitor.

  ‘Amelia!’

  Her ladyship sat there wearing a lavender-coloured dress, a fox fur draped like a trophy around her shoulders.

  Fear lurched from Sally’s guts to her chest and for a moment she couldn’t breathe.

  Amelia’s stern expression was every bit as good as a written or spoken message. ‘I’ve just come from Whitehall. I know someone there.’

  So that was the reason for the stunning outfit! ‘Pierre?’

  ‘He’s all right, Sally. I’ve had word from his friends at the café in Paris that he’s gone on the run. You see, he’d joined the resistance and they attacked a German patrol. A number of his compatriots were killed. A few were captured and interrogated but he managed to escape.’

  A mixture of fear and surprise caused Sally to gasp so vehemently that her breath seemed to stall in her throat. There was something about the expression on Amelia’s face that didn’t ring true. She was hiding something.

  Sally sat down, her eyes fiercely holding Amelia’s. ‘There’s more. I can see it in your eyes.’

  Amelia looked oddly crestfallen, as though what she’d set out to do had not come off, namely hiding what had really happened and what she was feeling.

  ‘I feel guilty telling you about Pierre’s marriage, though there’s a lot more I thought it his responsibility to tell you about. But the situation being as it is . . .’

  As her voice trailed away Sally felt a bolt of fear shoot through her.

  ‘I take it it’s something to do with Adele?’

  Amelia looked down at the floor and her fingers beat a nervous tattoo on the chair arms before she found her voice.

  ‘Adele has always been wild. There’s no harm in her as such, she just can’t help herself. Like many other men, Pierre was drawn to her as a moth to a flame. She’s wild, exciting and incredibly beautiful, exuberant is a good description. The thing is, she’s prone to spontaneous and ill-conceived affections and notions. She just can’t help herself.’ Amelia raised her eyes watching for Sally’s reaction.

  Although discomforted by the bold description of this Gallic beauty, Sally urged Amelia to go on. ‘I have broad shoulders,’ she stated, her tawny hair flying around as she nonchalantly tossed her head. Inside her stomach felt as though she’d dined on barbed wire.

  ‘I hinted to you that Pierre and Adele became at odds over her political beliefs. Adele supports Hitler and all he stands for. Beautiful she might be, but her judgement is flawed. Her latest lover is a German general. It may be she had something to do with Pierre’s escape. One can never tell with Adele. War or not, she is not one to abide by the rules.’

  Sally swallowed, her thoughts very much her own. Pierre was married, yet she hadn’t banished him from her heart. I should be feeling guilty, she thought to herself. Am I wanton because I don’t, in which case am I any better than Elspeth Ryan?

  ‘I need to see him again.’

  She heard herself saying it, but Amelia’s description of Adele was something of a salve to any guilty feelings she might – should – harbour.

  ‘Do we guess as to where he’s gone?’

  ‘My guess is Spain. I was going to go there myself once to fight in the civil war. Strange that it’s a neutral country now, though who knows what it’s really like for the people living therein.’

  Seb had been listening quietly, Harry was lying at his feet and making low noises in his throat as Seb stroked his ears.

  ‘When did this happen?’

  Amelia shrugged. ‘The message was brought to England by the daughter of a friend, who had met up with Pierre at some point in France. Her father’s English and a civil servant in the War Office. Her mother French.’

  Seb frowned. ‘How come she was in France at this late stage? Come to that, how did she get out?’

  ‘I’m not sure of the whys and wherefores and got a very blank look when I dared t
o ask. I got the impression I was being warned not to enquire too deeply.’

  Sally frowned.

  Seb explained. ‘Her ladyship means the young woman was on a secret mission. They’ll be recruiting many people who speak fluent French and flying them in behind enemy lines.’

  ‘I can’t comment either way,’ said Amelia. ‘Except to say that Pierre is likely to be heading back to England in the hope that he’ll get snapped up to do the same.’

  Sally devoured the words. Suddenly it felt as though the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders. Pierre was on his way home, but what about his wife?

  ‘Don’t ask me about Adele,’ said Amelia immediately reading her expression. ‘I cannot say whether she’ll come with him. They may be married but as I have already explained to you, Adele will suit herself. She belongs to no man. She never will. As for what her political allegiances might be now . . . I cannot say.’

  Seb got up from his chair. ‘I’ll just put the kettle on. Cup of tea, your ladyship?’

  ‘Amelia. Call me Amelia, Mr Hadley.’

  Seb smiled. ‘Only if you call me Seb.’

  Amelia’s attention switched to the dog. ‘I’ve always liked cocker spaniels. Judging by the look in Harry’s eyes, I would say he’s of above average intelligence.’

  ‘He rescued the little Ryan girl from a bombsite. Nobody else realised she was still there.’

  ‘I read about him in the paper. He’s quite famous.’

  Sally felt an instant prick of pride. The Evening World had sent a reporter and a photographer along. Her father had been over the moon though insisted he would not be photographed. ‘The dog’s the hero, not me.’

  Harry looked from one woman to the other and wagged his tail.

  Amelia laughed. ‘Yes, young fella,’ she said, ruffling his ears. ‘You know we’re talking about you.’

  Looking at him, Sally was reminded of Joanna’s predicament. She’d made enquiries of the children’s welfare department at the council offices, asking to see Miss Thorpe’s superior if possible. There was no point in seeing Miss Thorpe. The woman seemed openly hostile.

  ‘Are you a relative?’ a female voice had asked on the other end of the telephone.