Orphans and Angels

by Linda Finlay

  Linda Finlay

  *

  ORPHANS AND ANGELS

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Acknowledgements

  Follow Penguin

  For my own Tuesday boy, Leon. My son, my friend.

  1

  Torquay, 1901

  ‘Two deaths and it isn’t even the end of January.’ Mrs Daws shivered, in spite of the warmth coming from the range. ‘I hope that old portent isn’t coming true, Miss Sullivan.’

  ‘And which one would that be?’ Sarah asked, looking up from the early morning cup of tea she’d been enjoying. This was normally her favourite time of morning when the house was quiet.

  Although it was nearly three months since her godfather had died, entrusting his beloved Red Cliffs into her care, she still had much to learn about the running of the place and time to herself was a rare commodity. So many people were relying on her to keep the school open and she was determined not to let them down. Luckily Mrs Daws, the indomitable housekeeper, was happy to give Sarah the benefit of her experience, and also her opinions.

  Fond as she was of the woman, Sarah wished she would hurry up and answer, for once the children rose it would be all systems go until bedtime, especially now that Amelia, their temporary schoolmistress, had left, and she had lessons to plan as well.

  ‘The portent that decrees everything happens in threes,’ Mrs Daws replied in her own time. ‘Should have guessed when I saw all them crows on the lawn.’

  ‘Really, Mrs Daws,’ Sarah said, shaking her head at the woman’s superstitions.

  ‘You might well mock,’ the housekeeper replied, kneading the dough vigorously on the scrubbed table. ‘But nature’s never wrong. You can’t deny that both our dear Queen and Mrs Knight have been taken, and on the same day, too. Who’s next, that’s what I’d like to know.’

  ‘Mrs Daws, Queen Victoria was eighty-one years old and had been ailing for some time, while Mrs Knight … well, I don’t know her exact age, but she was elderly and had been confined to a Bath chair for many years.’ Sarah bit down the lump in her throat. She had known Mrs Knight only a short time, but the old lady had helped her when she most needed it by arranging a sewing bee to make smocks and shirts for the children, and, as well as feeling grateful, Sarah had really valued her friendship.

  ‘All I’m saying is …’ Mrs Daws tutted as the door opened, letting in a blast of cold air. ‘Do be quick, Master Higgins,’ she chided the young schoolmaster as he stamped his boots on the doorstep.

  ‘Won’t be a minute, Mrs Daws,’ he replied amiably. Sarah hid a smile, knowing that despite his assurances, the master would do things in his own time. He might look easy-going with his velvety hazel eyes and generous mouth, but he was a man who knew his own mind.

  ‘You’re letting out all the heat,’ the housekeeper grumbled. ‘Heat which is needed if the bread is to … oh …’ Her voice trailed away as she noticed the young boy standing beside Harry Higgins. He was blackened with grime from his straggly hair to his bare toes and gripping a ragged bundle as if his life depended upon it. As he stood glaring at them with eyes darker than coal, the master gently pushed him into the room.

  ‘This is Solomon and he has come to stay with us for a while, haven’t you, old chap?’ he asked, smiling down at the boy, who scowled back.

  ‘Hello, Solomon,’ Sarah said softly, her heart going out to the boy, who looked as though he’d slept in his clothes. ‘Welcome to Red Cliffs.’

  The boy raised his chin defiantly and clutched the bundle tighter to his chest.

  ‘Don’t amember saying you could use me name,’ he muttered.

  Recalling her godfather saying that children were often defensive when frightened, Sarah smiled and tried again.

  ‘Fair enough, but we need to call you something. As today is Tuesday how about we call you that?’ she suggested.

  The boy gave a snort of derision.

  ‘Now, young Solomon, I expect you’re hungry,’ Mrs Daws said matter-of-factly. He didn’t answer, just stood there eyeing the closed door like an animal trapped in a cage. She put the dough aside to rise, then bustled over and crouched down beside him. ‘Got some nice porridge cooking, if you’re interested? Might even find a drop of creamy milk to go on top,’ she added casually. This caught his attention and he turned and eyed the housekeeper solemnly. ‘Trouble is, only clean children are permitted to sit up to the table so we’ll have to get you spruced up a bit.’

  The boy frowned down at his blackened hands, then shrugged.

  ‘You go with Mrs Daws, Solomon,’ Harry Higgins urged. ‘She’ll take care of you.’

  ‘I already told you, I can take care of meself,’ he snorted.

  ‘So, you don’t want any breakfast then?’ the master replied.

  ‘Does smell good,’ the boy admitted, glancing over the pot on the range and sniffing the air appreciatively.

  ‘I’ll stay for a meal, then me father should be mended,’ the child conceded grudgingly, but Sarah saw the tears glistening in his eyes before he blinked them away.

  ‘Come along, young man,’ Mrs Daws said in that encouraging voice she used on such occasions. ‘We’ll get you cleaned up and then you can have something to eat. Everything will look better once you’ve got a nice hot meal inside you.’ She grabbed a towel from the pulley and ushered him outside.

  As the door closed behind them, Sarah looked askance at the master. Despite the early hour, he appeared shattered and, unusually for him, a little dirty.

  ‘Nasty accident at the foundry,’ he explained. ‘Mr Smith, Solomon’s father, has been taken to the infirmary, badly burned and not conscious. I was on my way here when Sergeant Watts collared me and asked if we could take the boy in. Little blighter had other ideas, though, and put up quite a fight, insisting he could look after himself. Bit me so hard, he drew blood.’ He held up his hand so that Sarah could see patches of dark red mixed with grime.

  ‘I’d best bathe it,’ she said, hurrying over to the sink and wringing out a cloth.

  ‘You’d make a good nurse, Miss Sullivan,’ he teased, then winced as she gently dabbed it with iodine.

  ‘Hold still, you baby,’ she chided. ‘I suppose such a job would have its benefits,’ she chuckled, enjoying her advantage over the handsome schoolmaster. ‘There, no dressing needed. What about Solomon’s mother?’

  ‘According to Watts, she upped and left years since, saying she’d had enough of living in dirt and squalor.’

  ‘That must have been hard on the boy. How long do you anticipate him staying?’

  ‘To be honest they’re not expecting the man to survive,’ Harry sighed.

  Mrs Daws, who’d come back into the room, shot Sarah one of her knowing looks. ‘Happen the crows were right the
n,’ she muttered. Sarah shook her head, amazed that such a sensible woman should believe in the old sayings. ‘I left April helping Mrs Laver clean up the urchin. Thank the Lord, she had to come back today to finish off the laundry. Like a wild animal he was when he saw the copper full of hot water. Took both of them to prise those filthy rags off him. Said he didn’t want no females pawing at him. Wasn’t about to be parted from his precious bundle either, insisting they weren’t to touch it.’ She went over to the range and stirred the pot furiously. ‘Poor little blighter.’

  ‘Indeed, Mrs Daws,’ Sarah agreed then, hearing footsteps thundering overhead, grimaced. ‘Sounds like the children are up and about so I’ll leave Solomon in your capable hands. As I’m taking the girls’ classes until a new travelling mistress is appointed, I’d better go and make a start on the office paperwork. It means I won’t have as much time to help you, though, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Always managed before,’ the housekeeper said philosophically.

  ‘I have an invoice here from Bert for the work he did converting the front bedroom into another dormitory for the girls,’ Harry Higgins said, looking at her ruefully. ‘He’s held it back for as long as possible but …’ He shrugged and followed her through to her office.

  ‘I know, and it isn’t fair to keep him waiting for his money any longer,’ Sarah agreed, remembering the handyman lived from hand to mouth. ‘It’s just that the budget we set for the first quarter has already gone to the wall and now there’s another child to accommodate. Although we did say we wouldn’t take in any more children, I don’t like the thought of not being able to help Solomon, but …’ She shrugged helplessly. ‘I don’t suppose the orphanage could have him?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. With the deaconess still indisposed and her school closed, they are full to capacity. Besides, it was you who suggested we shouldn’t take in any more children.’

  ‘Only because we’re trying to juggle the finances for those already here,’ Sarah replied quickly. As Harry’s hazel eyes searched hers she felt a pang of guilt. How could she be worrying about money when poor Solomon was likely to be orphaned within the day? After all, wasn’t that why her godfather had opened his home, to help those children who desperately needed care? If only that invitation to meet with the school’s benefactress would arrive. Although they were desperately trying to raise funds themselves, she couldn’t deny that some financial assistance in the interim would help.

  ‘You’re right, of course. We’ll do our best for Solomon, the same as we do the others,’ she said, unable to tear her gaze away from his face.

  ‘Don’t worry, Sarah, we’ll manage,’ he said, patting her hand. At his touch, the familiar tingle travelled up her arm and she smiled. ‘It’s not only the budget that has gone to the wall, is it?’ he asked softly. ‘Things have been so hectic recently, we’ve yet to share that fish supper we promised ourselves. It’s high time we remedied that, so, Miss Sullivan, will you do me the honour of escorting me into town on Saturday night?’

  At his formal tone, a giggle bubbled up in her throat but, not wishing to upset his manly pride, she forced it down.

  ‘I thought you’d never ask, Master Higgins,’ she replied coyly.

  ‘Good. Now that’s arranged, I really must go and see how Mrs Daws is coping with our Tuesday child, as you’ve called him. I fear Solomon’s not going to be an easy pupil and will probably need caging in class. Only joking,’ he added when he saw Sarah’s look of alarm. ‘Talking of classes, I can be flexible with my timetable until the new mistress is appointed, so which afternoons will best suit you to take the girls?’

  ‘Thank you, Harry,’ she said, touched by his thoughtfulness. ‘As you know, I intend working on boosting their self-esteem so that when they leave here they will have a chance of securing decent employment. Amelia has done a wonderful job of teaching them their stitches and I want to capitalize on that by showing them how to adapt the donated clothing to fit. Apart from their school smocks, most of them have never had their own outfits and they are excited at the thought. If it’s all right with you, I would like to increase their sewing lessons to three afternoons each week, starting this afternoon.’

  Harry chuckled. ‘Those girls have really grown on you, haven’t they?’

  ‘I can’t deny I’ve become fond of them,’ she admitted. ‘It’s a tough world out there, especially for females. One way or another, they’ve had a hard start in life and I want to ensure we do as well as we can for them whilst they are here. Sewing could be the best chance for some of them to gain financial independence when they leave.’

  ‘Very commendable, Miss Sullivan. I’ll see the boys receive comparable tuition, though not in needlework, of course, otherwise they’ll be complaining the girls are getting preferential treatment and that would never do. You’d better use the classroom rather than the workshop, though. The boys are in the middle of making coops for the chickens and there’s wood and sawdust everywhere. I hope this extra work won’t make you too tired to walk out with me on Saturday night?’ He grinned so that she knew he was teasing.

  ‘I shall think of it as extracurricular homework,’ she assured him, her heart leaping at the thought.

  ‘Well, I guess that’s better than detention,’ he chuckled.

  ‘And there’s to be none of your threatened disciplinary methods,’ she warned, shaking a finger at him.

  ‘I’ll try to remember,’ he promised, his eyes twinkling mischievously. ‘See you at breakfast.’

  Hearing his laughter echoing down the corridor, Sarah smiled. She knew the persona of stern schoolmaster he portrayed would be absent away from Red Cliffs and she looked forward to resuming their easy-going banter.

  Catching sight of the leather-bound volume on her desk she pulled herself back to the present. The book was entitled Principles for Trading and Profit and had belonged to Mrs Knight, Amelia’s grandmother. Flicking through the pages, Sarah saw they were covered in copperplate writing, as neat as her stitching had been, and contained masses of information the woman had collected during her years as proprietor of her draper’s store. Amelia had thought Sarah might find it useful, insisting the old lady would have wanted her to have it. Knowing she’d been a shrewd and successful businessperson, Sarah hoped she might glean some wisdom on how to save Red Cliffs. Turning back to the first page, she began reading.

  The only way to succeed in business is for income to exceed expenditure. It is essential therefore the proprietor be aware of the total running costs of the establishment.

  First Principle (a): Set a Budget for Expenditure and Endeavour to Keep Within It

  Well, she’d failed in that already, for although she and Harry had sat down and worked one out at the beginning of the year, the bills were flooding in faster than funding became available. Finding money to keep going was an ever-present headache. Now they had another pupil to care for and she daren’t even think of the roof that needed repairing. With a sinking heart she read on.

  First Principle (b): If outgoings should exceed income, find a way(s) to address the shortfall sooner rather than later either by increasing income or reducing costs. Only by doing this can you keep your business a viable proposition.

  Outgoings were definitely exceeding income at the moment so what options did she have? There was the offer from the developers, of course, but she was adamant the magnificent house that had been her godfather’s home, and which he’d generously opened up as a school for ragged children, shouldn’t be turned into a hotel for the idle rich. Quite apart from that, selling would mean finding new premises and relocating the school. She stared around the shabby yet comfortable room and shook her head. Out of the question.

  There was still some funding due from the Local Authority but the forms had only recently been submitted and money from that source would take time to materialize. The garden produce that had been carefully stored, whilst abundant, was only sufficient to feed the school and Sunday soup kitchen, although Harry had got the pupils di
gging up the lawn at the other side of the house to increase the size of the vegetable plot – an action that had been met with disapproval from some of their neighbours. Although the houses were set well apart, they deemed this to be an up-and-coming area and weren’t backward in voicing opinion that the school lowered the tone.

  Mrs Daws had suggested turning the extra produce into chutneys, jams and pickles, which they could sell at the Church Fayre, but that wouldn’t be until much later in the year and besides, the woman had enough to do already.

  There was still her forthcoming meeting with Lady Chorlton, whom she had recently been informed was the school’s mystery benefactress, but Sarah was still awaiting her invitation to visit. Her solicitor, Mr Fothergill, had promised to let her know as soon as he received word from the lady but, under the circumstances, Sarah wondered if she dared prevail upon him to instigate an early consultation.

  Hearing the gong sounding, she snapped the book shut. Breakfast was always a busy time and with the new arrival to be settled in the housekeeper would need her help. Mrs Knight’s pearls of wisdom would have to wait until later.

  2

  Opening the door to the kitchen, Sarah saw the girls standing on tiptoe, their noses pressed to the glass as they peered outside. Then she heard the commotion coming from the yard.

  ‘What on earth is going on?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s poor Bunter, miss, he’s getting hurt,’ Monday explained, her periwinkle eyes grave as she turned to face Sarah. At six years old, she was a sensitive child who hated any sign of aggression.