Edie's Home for Orphans

by Gracie Taylor

  ‘But if it’s his, why doesn’t he marry her?’ she asked.

  ‘He’s a man,’ Vinnie said, shrugging. ‘At least it looks like he’s going to support the poor brat. More than a lot of them do.’

  ‘There but for the grace of God, ladies.’ Barbara rested a hand on Edie’s shoulder. ‘You’d better be careful, Edie. It looks as though he could have his eye on you next.’

  The watch that always hung around Edie’s neck told her it wasn’t quite half past nine when she arrived home, well before her curfew. She put her bike away and dragged her tired body into the house.

  She was glad she’d gone to the dance but she wouldn’t exactly describe it as a good time. She hadn’t been able to recover her equilibrium after Sam had surprised her, and once Vinnie and Barbara had confirmed her fears about the paternity of Tilly’s baby, she’d spent the rest of her evening sitting alone, lost in thought.

  Edie had eventually agreed to dance with Rob again after repeated entreaties, but her mind was elsewhere, and the spell he’d cast earlier broken entirely. Four other men had asked her to stand up as well, but she’d politely turned them down. The only individual she’d got to know well in the latter part of the evening was Princess the cat, who had weaved herself contentedly around Edie’s legs while the others threw themselves about to Glenn Miller records and played gin rummy for cigarettes. Eventually, unable to get into the party mood, Edie had pleaded a headache and set off home.

  When she’d tiptoed up the darkened stairs to her bedroom, she found Tilly in there, sitting on the bed in her voluminous nightie.

  ‘Well?’ she demanded eagerly.

  Edie took off her headscarf and tossed it on to the dressing table. ‘Well what?’

  ‘Well, how was the dance? I’ve been waiting up so I could get all the news. Did you make any new friends? Dance with the boys? Did everyone admire my dress?’

  Edie sank down next to her friend with a groan of pain. There wasn’t a part of her that didn’t hurt now, including her poor little bottom, which was horribly tender after days bouncing down rutted lanes on the rock-hard bicycle saddle.

  ‘I made friends with a very nice cat,’ she said. ‘Her name’s Princess. She lost her eye in a vicious mouse battle.’

  Tilly shook her head. ‘Edie Cartwright, you just better have some good gossip for me. Never mind cats: tell me about the men.’

  Edie’s brain was full of unsettled thoughts. All she really wanted was to go to sleep, but Tilly seemed so excited on her behalf that she didn’t have the heart to ask to be left alone.

  ‘Well, it was all very jolly and gay,’ she said, forcing a smile. ‘The warden played the piano for us. Eight men came over from the airbase: some handsome, all smart, and very good dancers.’

  ‘How many of them did you dance with?’

  ‘Just one.’

  Tilly tutted. ‘Oh, Edie. I bet every single one of them asked you, didn’t they? They must have done, the way you looked tonight.’

  ‘Quite a few asked,’ Edie admitted. ‘Only … I had a little gin and it didn’t agree with me, so I sat down after two dances. Headache.’

  ‘What was he like, the man you danced with?’

  ‘He was a flight lieutenant, Rob Gill. Good-looking, tall, dark hair and eyes, very suave …’

  This was obviously the stuff to give the troops, and Tilly’s eyes sparkled as she conjured up a picture of her friend’s beau.

  ‘Did he make a date with you?’

  ‘He asked, but … I don’t know. I did like him but I don’t think he really suited me, somehow.’

  Actually, Edie wasn’t sure why she’d turned down Rob’s invitation to go to the Palais dance hall with him the following weekend. He was handsome, charming and pleasant, and Vinnie and Barbara had assured her he wasn’t one of those boys, the sort to grab what they could. He just didn’t feel like a good match for shy, awkward little Edie Cartwright. He was too … polished. Too artificial, somehow, like a schoolgirl’s vision of her dream man.

  Tilly looked disappointed. ‘You had a nice time though?’

  Edie forced a smile. ‘Yes, I enjoyed myself,’ she said, not wanting to hurt Tilly’s feelings. ‘The girls are a super bunch, and it was nice to be admired, even if I was too nervous to dance much.’ She leaned over to give her friend a kiss. ‘Thanks for making me pretty, Till.’

  ‘My pleasure. Although nature did the hard work, of course.’ Tilly pushed herself to her feet. ‘Any time you need my services, Edie, just ask.’

  Edie looked up at her. ‘Tilly …’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Your dress did get one compliment tonight.’

  ‘Who from?’

  ‘Sam Nicholson.’

  Tilly’s eyebrows lifted. ‘Sam was at the dance?’

  ‘Not as a guest. He came to bring some eggs for the kitchen.’

  ‘Oh. So he … You didn’t dance then, the two of you?’

  Edie laughed. ‘Dance with Sam? Of course not.’

  ‘Is it as absurd an idea as all that?’

  ‘I suppose I just can’t picture Sam on a dancefloor.’ She met Tilly’s eyes. ‘Can you?’

  ‘Of course, why not? Not that I’ve ever seen him at any sort of social, but I should imagine he looks rather handsome in his best bib and tucker.’

  Edie fell into a thoughtful silence.

  ‘Well, goodnight then,’ Tilly said, taking this as her cue to leave.

  ‘Tilly … wait.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘We’re friends, aren’t we?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘So you know that if you ever needed to tell me anything … I mean, if you were upset or worried …’

  Tilly looked blank. Edie tried again.

  ‘I just mean that if you ever need a friend to confide in, I’ll be right here. Troubles shared are troubles halved and all that.’

  Tilly blinked. ‘All right. Thank you.’

  ‘So, um … is there anything?’

  ‘Not that I’m aware of. But thanks for your concern, Edie.’

  Chapter 18

  Patricia arrived at quarter past eleven exactly. She was always perfectly punctual; in fact, she prided herself on it. That was just the sort of petty achievement she would pride herself on, Prue reflected bitterly. The woman’s self-worth was entirely based on her feeling of superiority over others.

  Prue heard the doorbell chime as she was arranging flowers in the dining room. The girls were in the kitchen preparing dinner, while Jack was outside feeding that damn bird of his. He would insist on going to the stables to see it, even in his best Sunday suit, and always came back reeking of horse and tobacco.

  She accepted, now, that she had no choice about taking in these evacuees, but the idea still unsettled her.

  It wasn’t so much having them in her home, although opening Applefield Manor up to two children was frightening to say the least. Still, if it was just a case of giving them lodgings for a little while then she could probably cope with that. What Edith had said about the horror of the bombing raids had been preying on her mind, and she didn’t doubt, too, that Patricia could make life difficult for her – maybe even force her to give up the whole house to the war effort. Taking in the children was definitely the lesser of two evils if the alternative was having troops charging about the place, using her topiary for bayonet practice.

  What was really troubling was the idea that she would have to be in loco parentis to children who were neither kith nor kin to her – strangers from an unfamiliar part of the country. She would hate them to be unhappy, but how did she even begin to give them what they needed?

  She’d never been good with children in that way some women naturally were. Even with Bertie, although she’d adored the boy from the moment he was put into her arms, she had worried she wasn’t innately maternal enough to raise him properly. And if Prue had struggled with her own son, how on earth would she manage with the two little aliens about to burst into her life? Thank goo
dness for Edith and her expertise with young ones.

  Actually, she’d grown to rather like that girl. Prue had discovered in her a strength of character that she’d never have expected in one so young. Edith’s willingness to work, the way she’d stood so calm and unruffled when Jack had been having one of his episodes, and her solid common sense about her appearance as she’d got ready for her dance had all impressed Prue.

  She had been flattered, too, when the child had asked for her advice about her costume – and, although she was half embarrassed to admit it, she’d enjoyed helping. Seeing the girls’ excitement had reminded her of her own youth, getting ready to receive Albert when he’d taken those first bashful steps towards courting her – when, with blushing surprise, Prue had realised what a fine young man the friend of her girlhood had become.

  Yes, Edith was a good girl. Perhaps she might fit into their strange little household after all.

  Straightening her collar, Prue took a deep breath and went to answer the door.

  Any last lingering thought of turning the two evacuees away vanished as soon as she saw them, labels around their necks like a pair of lost parcels. Prue had never been so shocked at a child’s appearance.

  The little boy, who Prue guessed must be around five or six, was ashen-faced and seemed absolutely terrified, gripping his sister’s hand; the girl, some years older, looked positively fierce. Each held a case in one hand and a pair of shoes, tied together by the laces, dangled over their arms. Their little feet were stockingless, bare toes wriggling against the hard ground, and they were both so gaunt that their cheekbones stood out. Modern clothes aside, they could have come straight from the pages of Oliver Twist.

  ‘Prue,’ Patricia said with a curt nod. ‘I’d like to introduce James and Agnes Cawthra, from London. Children, this is Mrs Hewitt. She will be taking care of you from now on. Can you say good morning to her?’

  Neither of the children spoke. The boy just blinked wide, frightened eyes at Prue, while the girl fixed her with a defiant stare. Prue had never before encountered such an angry-looking child.

  ‘Hello, children,’ Prue said in her best Children’s Hour voice, smiling warmly. She cast a quick glance at Patricia, who was watching her with eyebrows raised, waiting to see if she was going to object to their arrival. ‘Welcome to Applefield Manor. I hope you will both be very happy during your stay here.’

  The girl scoffed. ‘Fat chance of that, Missus.’

  Prue blinked, taken aback.

  ‘Well, we shall do our best, I hope,’ she said. ‘Come in, please.’

  ‘I’ll leave you to get know one another,’ Patricia said, with the smug smirk of one who felt she’d won this round. ‘Do call if you have any trouble with them, won’t you, Prue?’

  Prue knew what that meant. This was a test, one her ‘friend’ was hoping she’d fail.

  ‘No need to worry about us,’ she said cheerfully. ‘I’m sure we’ll become great friends. Goodbye, Patty.’

  She ushered the children into the hall. The youngest, James, was already casting awestruck glances around the big house. His sister just stared determinedly at the carpet.

  ‘Well, let’s introduce ourselves properly, shall we?’ Prue said, feeling more uncomfortable by the second. She wished she could fetch Edith, but she was up to her elbows in flour, making rhubarb crumble in the kitchen. ‘My name is Mrs Hewitt. What do you like to be called?’

  ‘Aggie,’ the girl muttered. ‘This is Jimmy. He’s my brother.’

  The child’s ferocious undertone seemed to be expecting some sort of challenge, but Prue only nodded.

  ‘And what age are you both?’ she asked.

  ‘Ten, me. Jimmy’s seven last birthday.’

  ‘Seven! You’re very little for your age, Jimmy.’

  ‘What of it?’ Aggie demanded.

  ‘Merely an observation.’ Prue frowned at the child, irritated by her aggressive manner. ‘Perhaps, Aggie, you might like to let your brother speak for himself.’

  ‘Nah, he don’t.’

  ‘He don’t– he doesn’t what?’

  ‘He don’t speak. Not to people he don’t know. I talk for us.’

  Prue glanced down at their bare feet, and the shabby shoes dangling from their arms. ‘Why don’t you wear your shoes? You’ll catch cold going about barefoot.’

  ‘We’ve only got these pair each. If we don’t wear ’em much they’ll last us longer, Bet says. Saves money, see.’

  ‘Bet is your … stepmother?’ Prue hazarded, trying to remember what Patricia had told her of the children’s situation.

  Aggie snorted. ‘Stepmother, that’s a laugh. Bet was Dad’s bit of stuff, before he died of a bomb. She keeps me and Jim around for the extra rations, only we don’t see ’em unless we can swipe a bit while she’s out cold.’

  ‘Out cold?’

  ‘From the whisky. She drinks it in ladles.’

  ‘That’s, er … does she indeed? In ladles? Well well well,’ Prue said faintly. What a child this was! ‘Now, would you like to go to your room and rest a little before dinner?’

  Aggie shrugged, which Prue decided must mean yes.

  ‘Bring your cases and follow me,’ she said.

  The children trudged behind her on their dirty feet and she showed them into the bedroom she’d prepared. It hadn’t been used in years, but there were twin beds: she’d anticipated that the siblings would feel less homesick if they shared. Prue had also brought in some children’s books and a few of Bertie’s old toys.

  For the first time since they’d arrived, Prue saw Aggie’s scowl lift as she caught sight of the shelf of books.

  ‘These ain’t for us, are they, Missus?’ she asked in a hushed voice.

  ‘Certainly. Do you like to read?’

  ‘When I can get ’em.’ Aggie took a book from the shelf and regarded the cover reverently. It was an old Greyfriars Holiday Annual, with a colourful illustration on the front, of Billy Bunter and his chums taking part in their school sports day. The little girl held it up to show her brother. ‘Here, Jimmy, these’re a bit posh.’

  ‘I’m sorry that they’re more for boys,’ Prue said. ‘They were my son Bertie’s.’

  ‘I don’t mind boys’ stuff.’ Aggie looked up from the book with interest. ‘Is Bertie bigger or littler than us?’

  ‘Oh, a lot bigger. He’s a man now, away fighting in the war,’ Prue said. ‘But he was no bigger than you are when those were his favourite stories. What do you read at home, Aggie?’

  ‘I can’t get books much. Bet don’t read so there’s only Dad’s old ones, and I’ve read all them loads. Sometimes I nick a couple from the library if I can sneak ’em out without getting caught.’

  Prue raised her eyebrows. ‘You don’t mean you steal them?’

  Aggie shrugged. ‘Have to, don’t I? They won’t let me have a card, snooty beggars, and I can’t keep reading Dad’s over again. I’ve read Tales of Terror a hundred times already.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound like it’s a storybook for little girls.’

  ‘It’s all there is.’ Aggie drew herself up. ‘Anyhow, I don’t want no little girl storybooks.’

  Jimmy was examining Bertie’s old toy fort with its painted soldiers, an expression of wonder on his dirty little face. He reached out and touched one of the faded redcoats with the tip of his finger, as if worried it was a mirage that might soon disappear.

  Prue crouched down to bring herself level with him.

  ‘Do you like to read too, Jimmy?’ she asked gently.

  The little boy shook his head, then looked at his sister in mute appeal.

  ‘Told you, he don’t talk,’ Aggie said shortly. ‘He can’t read yet, Missus, he’s only seven. I read to him sometimes, when Bet’s asleep and I know I won’t get a smack.’

  ‘Seven’s big enough to read a little.’

  ‘He don’t know his letters. Our old teacher picked on him about it, said he was simple.’ She cast Prue a look of challenge, as if defying h
er to make a comment. ‘He ain’t though. He’s bright as I am. Bright as you.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it.’

  ‘Jimmy likes to invent stuff. He can fix ’most any machine just on his own. That’s brains, that is.’ Aggie turned back to the books, and her eyes sparkled. ‘Here, can I really have all these?’

  ‘I told you, Aggie, they’re yours if you’d like them.’ Prue got to her feet. ‘I’ll leave you to rest for a little while. Dinner will be in an hour: do make sure you wash before you come down.’

  Edie was rubbing together fat and flour for a crumble when Prue came in and sank into a chair at the table.

  ‘Oh my goodness!’ She rested her forehead on her palms.

  ‘What is it, Prue?’ Tilly asked. ‘Are the children here?’

  ‘Are they! I honestly don’t know,’ Prue murmured. ‘The oldest one’s ten but she’s cynical enough for forty-five, and the boy seems to be some sort of deaf-mute. Whatever has your aunt sent me, Matilda?’

  Edie felt a twinge of guilt. She had meant to greet the evacuees with Prue, but she’d become so absorbed in her baking that she’d lost track of the morning.

  ‘I’m sorry, it was my fault,’ she said. ‘I promised I’d help with them.’

  ‘Oh, never mind apologising. If I thought I couldn’t manage, I’d have fetched you.’ Prue rubbed her eyes. ‘I ought to be able to manage. I did raise a child once. Mercy, I even used to be one. But these children! Can they go into Borstal at ten? I’m sure Aggie must have done some time.’

  ‘Is she that bad?’ Tilly asked.

  ‘Tough as old shoe leather. I’ve never met a child so convinced the world is out to get her. And really, I’m hardly surprised. This common-law stepmother they live with sounds like a monster.’

  Edie frowned. ‘Really?’

  Prue nodded. ‘A violent drunk, apparently, and it’s obvious she barely feeds the little mites.’

  ‘Where are their parents?’

  ‘I understand from Patricia that the mother died when the boy was a baby. The father was killed when a bomb fell on his factory last year.’

  Edie felt a surge of fellow-feeling. Orphans, thrust on an unenthusiastic relative: she could sympathise with that. Still, at least Aunt Caroline had always been kind in her way. Edie could only imagine the misery of a childhood with a parent figure who neglected and abused when they ought to nurture.