Orphans and Angels

by Linda Finlay

  ‘Well, good afternoon to you, Miss Sullivan,’ Sheena greeted Sarah when she walked into the classroom on Monday. ‘What do we say, girls?’

  ‘Good afternoon, Miss Sullivan,’ they duly chanted.

  ‘We’re sewing our dresses, miss,’ Monday added, holding hers up for Sarah to see.

  ‘I am pleased to see that,’ Sarah said, smiling at the girl’s enthusiasm while trying not to wince at the uneven stitching.

  ‘How are things coming along, Miss O’Reilly?’ she asked, lowering her voice so that the children didn’t hear.

  ‘Grand. The angels are working really hard, bless them.’

  ‘You will have noticed Kitty isn’t here …’ Sarah began.

  ‘’Tis a crying shame the poor wee thing had to go along with her mother. Master Higgins acquainted me of the facts when I arrived,’ she added quickly, seeing Sarah’s surprise.

  ‘I see. It’s a terribly sad situation. We’d all become very fond of Kitty, and Luke, too, of course. Still, by your own admission, Kitty was the worst at sewing so at least you’ll have more time to devote to the others. They should easily have their dresses ready for Easter now.’

  ‘I have to admit to wondering whether their outfits will be finished in time,’ Sheena frowned.

  ‘When I saw how little progress had been made on Saturday, I was a trifle concerned,’ Sarah said, giving her a worried look.

  ‘To be sure, I’ll do my very best to see they work hard but they are very young and clearly have had little tuition in remodelling garments until now. As I’ve said before, Miss Sullivan, they need a lot of individual attention.’

  ‘I agree and was thinking it might be a good idea if I inspect their work every Saturday and discuss my findings with you before lessons on Monday. As I have meetings to attend to on that day, I’d be obliged if you could come in half an hour early.’

  ‘That will not be a problem, Miss Sullivan,’ Sheena assured her, making a mental note to prepare an earlier luncheon for her grandmother.

  ‘Good. The girls themselves are so excited at the prospect of having their own dresses it would be disappointing for them if it didn’t happen. Therefore I feel it would be better if each lesson be devoted to their learning and not listening to stories.’

  Sheena felt her cheeks growing hot. ‘Of course, Miss Sullivan. I’ll see to it that they spend all the afternoon stitching,’ she assured the woman. Seeing the children taking an interest in their conversation, Sarah smiled.

  ‘I am on my way into town now to attend one of my meetings, so should you require any assistance please speak to Master Higgins. Good afternoon, girls.’

  ‘Good afternoon, Miss Sullivan,’ they muttered.

  ‘But I likes you dories,’ June wailed.

  ‘Stories, June,’ Sheena corrected. Then seeing their glum faces, she smiled and gave an outrageous wink. ‘If you promise not to stop your stitching while I talk, there’s no reason why we can’t still have our story at the end of the lesson, my angels. After all, you hear with your ears and sew with your fingers, do you not?’ The girls giggled.

  ‘Now to work. Let’s show Miss Sullivan what good little needleworkers you really are.’

  Cheered by the thought of their story, the girls returned to their sewing with renewed vigour. For the rest of the afternoon, Sheena was kept busy showing them how to turn their unpicked dresses into something wearable. Only Edith and Sally could really sew competently and they stitched neatly whilst the others needed constant attention.

  ‘Remember, accuracy is key,’ Sheena kept reminding the ones who were working with more speed than skill. ‘Your dresses must fit you and look good, too.’

  Altering garments to match their differing measurements was no easy task and certainly bore little resemblance to the revamping of the hand-me-downs she’d done for her siblings. That these frocks were going to be on show at the concert was disconcerting, to say the least. Linings could be repaired, holes darned, but the fact remained that if the final result didn’t come up to Miss Sullivan’s high standards, she would get the blame or even lose her position.

  Ah well, Sheena, you’ll just have to be the mistress of reinvention, she told herself, as yet again, June presented her with a wonky seam.

  ‘Now watch closely,’ she told the girl. ‘If you hold the material firmly in your left hand, it won’t move when you stitch it.’

  ‘But it keeps doosing it,’ the girl wailed.

  ‘Doing it,’ Sheena corrected her. ‘Well, let’s try again, shall we?’ she said cheerfully. How much easier life would be if Red Cliffs had a sewing machine, she thought. It was ironic really when that Mr Singer, who’d invented the machine, had lived in nearby Paignton.

  She went around checking their work again and was impressed with Edith, who was showing a real flair for dressmaking. Perhaps there was hope yet.

  ‘That’s really good, Edith, well done,’ she praised.

  The girl smiled, then sighed. ‘I used to think Kitty was a right pain in class but it’s so quiet without her.’

  Sheena patted her shoulder. ‘We must hope the wee angel is happy, Edith,’ she whispered.

  ‘I don’t think she will be, somehow,’ Edith said.

  From what the master had told her, Sheena privately agreed. However, she was saved from answering by Ellen calling out, ‘Miss O’Reilly, it’s growing darker and you said we could have a story.’

  ‘Goodness, so it is, my angels. Let me light the candles so you can continue working and then I’ll begin.’

  ‘Goody,’ June beamed.

  ‘Now where did we get to?’ Sheena asked, a few moments later.

  ‘The handsome prince was searching for his sword so he could save the princess,’ Maggie reminded her. ‘I wonder if he’ll find Shanksy,’ she added, giving Sheena a sly wink.

  ‘Ooh, yes, I wonder if he will,’ Monday cried excitedly.

  ‘Hush now, my angels, and remember to carry on stitching whilst I’m talking,’ Sheena grinned.

  When the bell sounded for the end of lessons, the girls groaned.

  ‘But we haven’t found out if the prince managed to save her yet,’ Edith complained.

  ‘Or if he found Shanksy,’ Monday added.

  ‘Well, Wednesday will soon roll round,’ Sheena laughed. ‘Sewing and stories, what more can you ask for, my angels?’ Although privately, she couldn’t wait for their outfits to be finished so she could concentrate on teaching other subjects.

  ‘Sweeties,’ Monday cried, interrupting her thoughts.

  Sheena smiled. ‘Well, off you go then. I’m sure Mrs Daws will have something nice for you in the kitchen.’

  As the classroom descended into silence, Sheena went around examining their work. Edith’s was exemplary, Sally’s stitching was neat but her dress didn’t have the same finesse, Maggie’s wasn’t too bad but the rest left much to be desired. It certainly was going to be a rush against time to get them anywhere near presentable for Easter. Ah well, robes weren’t made in a day, she told herself as she scurried around tidying everything away, then carefully extinguishing the candles.

  ‘Good afternoon, Miss O’Reilly,’ Master Higgins greeted her as she was leaving the classroom. ‘I hope all went well with your lesson and the girls were well behaved?’

  ‘To be sure, the little angels were enthusiastic if not efficient, Master Higgins,’ she replied.

  ‘In my experience, enthusiasm stems from the teacher, Miss O’Reilly, so congratulations.’

  ‘Well, I just have to hope Miss Sullivan shares your sentiments, Master Higgins. She is going to inspect their work every Saturday then tell me her findings on the Monday. And I’m finding it difficult to make the required silk purses out of the sows’ ears available.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll manage splendidly,’ he laughed. ‘By the way, as Jim is requiring extra help, I’m thinking of taking the girls up to the farm on Wednesday afternoon along with the boys. It will give them some fresh air as well and exercise.’
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  ‘Oh,’ Sheena muttered, her smile slipping.

  ‘I know it’s one of your teaching afternoons but you’re welcome to join us, Miss O’Reilly,’ he invited, misunderstanding her look.

  ‘That’s not the problem, Master Higgins,’ she cried. ‘Wednesday is one of the girl’s sewing days and if I don’t keep to the schedule, I’ll have no chance of having their dresses completed by Easter.’

  Harry stared at Sheena in surprise. The misery in her voice and despair glittering in those beautiful emerald eyes tugged at his heartstrings. As she stood there looking so despondent and vulnerable, he was seized by the sudden urge to pull her into his arms and assure her everything would be all right.

  14

  Sarah left the meeting of the National Union of Women’s Suffrage Societies, their impassioned words ringing in her ears. It was true, with Queen Victoria dead and England moving into the new Edwardian era, it was time for women to have their say.

  She made her way from the hall, down the lanes lined with Torbay palm trees, which her godfather had told her had been imported from New Zealand in the 1820s. Apparently, they lent the town a Mediterranean feel. However, having never been fortunate enough to travel abroad, she would have to take his word on that.

  When she reached the harbour, it was a hive of activity with large boats loading and unloading their cargoes of slate, coal and timber. Walking on past the newly built hotel and villas converted to boarding houses to accommodate the increasing number of holidaymakers, Sarah sighed. If only Red Cliffs had the money to move with the times, she thought, trying to push the thought of the latest leak in the roof to the back of her mind.

  The bay itself was busy with merchant ships transporting goods across the oceans, their ‘Red Dusters’ fluttering astern. She also noticed there were more naval boats than usual at anchor, with their superior White Ensign flags flying proudly, while the fishing fleet were out with their nets, ever hopeful of a catch. It hit her for the first time that this was actually a busy working port as well as being a destination for affluent tourists. What a contrast, she thought: the diligent worker and the idle rich, the latter of which there was no sign on this very brisk winter’s afternoon.

  She walked on until she passed the police station. Thinking it a good opportunity to apprise Sergeant Watts of the latest development with Kitty and Luke, she wove her way across the busy road, dodging the carts and dirt being kicked up by the horses’ hooves.

  ‘… So you see, Sergeant Watts, Mrs Bawden has taken Kitty and Luke back and I wondered if you and your men could keep an eye on them?’ The sergeant snapped open his notepad. ‘I mean, it was you who brought Kitty to Red Cliffs yourself in the first place,’ Sarah reminded him.

  The man nodded and took his pencil from behind his ear. ‘Address?’

  Sarah looked mortified. ‘I’m afraid I didn’t get an address from her – I’m sorry. It was all so sudden and the children really didn’t want to go. But you’ll be able to find them, won’t you?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘We’ll do our best,’ Sergeant Watts replied. ‘Like as not she’d have given you a false address anyway, so don’t worry,’ he added, seeing her frown.

  ‘Thank you, Sergeant. I do hope you find them and they are all right. Mrs Bawden claimed it was Kitty’s tenth birthday and that she’d found her a job. However, Master Higgins thinks she is too young to work and should continue her schooling.’

  ‘He could be right, but it’s a hard law to enforce. Parents give all sorts of excuses as to why their children shouldn’t attend,’ he said, pushing his helmet to the back of his head. ‘Well, I can’t promise anything, but I’ll get my men to keep a lookout for them when they’re out on their beat.’

  ‘Thank you, Sergeant. Is there any news about Mr Tyler – sorry, I mean Slater – and the thefts from Red Cliffs? Poor Mrs Daws is lost without her gong.’

  The man shook his head. ‘’Tis a right conundrum, as I said at the time. You invited the man to take an unaccompanied tour of your premises then found things missing after he left. I agree it rather looks as though he took them, but the evidence is circumstantial and we have no proof.’

  ‘It was remiss of me not to have checked the man’s credentials with Master Higgins, but it’s too late now,’ Sarah sighed.

  ‘Ah, he would have done the correct thing,’ the sergeant agreed. ‘Still, the winds of change are blowing.’ He lowered his voice and leaned towards her. ‘Between you and me, Miss Sullivan, even as we speak, a new fingerprint branch is being set up in London. Of course, that’s of no help to you now, but in the future, well, it could ensure hundreds of criminals are brought to justice,’ he beamed, puffing out his chest as if he personally was in charge of this development.

  Sarah watched the shiny buttons on his jacket strain and wobble, more out of fascination at their staying power than the man’s revelation, which, although fascinating, as he rightly pointed out would be of no use to her.

  ‘Well, thank you, Sergeant Watts, you have been most helpful. Should you or your men find out anything about Kitty and Luke’s whereabouts, perhaps you could let us know.’

  ‘Certainly, Miss Sullivan,’ he said, leaning back in his chair. ‘Not like you to be out on a jaunt this time of day, and so smartly dressed, if I might say.’

  Seeing the man’s obvious curiosity, Sarah smiled. ‘I have just been to a meeting of the National Union of Women’s Suffrage Societies, Sergeant Watts,’ she announced proudly. The man’s smile promptly vanished and belatedly she remembered his bigoted attitude towards the female sex.

  ‘Lot of stuck-up women talking of things they know nothing about,’ he sniffed.

  ‘On the contrary, Sergeant, we are well informed and intend making our feelings heard,’ she replied.

  ‘You’d all be better placed considering the feelings of your men,’ he snorted. ‘A woman’s place is in the home, cleaning and cooking a nice nourishing meal for when her husband comes back after a hard day’s work. If you want my advice, Miss Sullivan, you should leave it to we men to run the country. We understand these things.’ He gave a patronizing smile.

  ‘Well, thank you for the benefit of your Victorian ideas, Sergeant. Luckily, for us women, we are moving into more enlightened times. Good day to you,’ Sarah said stiffly, taking herself outside before she succumbed to the urge to smack the supercilious grin from his face.

  The wind had increased, making the palm trees sway, sending the dust and dirt from the road billowing in her direction, bringing with it the noxious smells of horse dung and rotting seaweed. To avoid the flying sand stinging her face, she decided to take the more sheltered path through Rock Walk. Although a desirable place for women to promenade in the clement weather, protecting them from the rays of the sun, today it was deserted.

  Walking briskly past a clump of bushes, she remembered this was the very place where Kitty had hidden her brother when their mother had upped sticks and left them to fend for themselves. The boy, all skin and bones, had been burning up with fever. Poor things, what would happen to them, she wondered. It was only right the law be on the side of the parents if they were deemed responsible enough to look after their children properly. But surely not if they weren’t. Unbidden the words of the school motto, Love Never Faileth, popped into her head.

  I have to confess I find myself questioning the sentiment, Uncle. As was her wont, whenever she was stressed about anything to do with Red Cliffs, she found herself talking in her head to the man who’d bequeathed her his beloved school. I’ve done my best, Uncle, but the roof’s sprung another leak, Kitty and Luke have gone back to their mother and now Solomon, whom, by the way, I named our Tuesday child to remind me never to turn away anyone in need, is so unhappy he is in danger of isolating himself. Oh, Uncle, what can I do?

  As a gentle whisper on the breeze, his voice came to her. Like the seven hills Torquay is built on, Red Cliffs has strong foundations and will survive. Stand firm in your resolve, be open to new ideas and you will
thrive.

  Goodness, what a strange answer, Uncle, she replied, hurrying up the hill towards the school. The shadows were lengthening by the time she arrived.

  ‘Afternoon, Miss Sullivan,’ Pip chirped, letting her in through the metal gates.

  ‘Thank you,’ she replied. ‘No disaster has befallen the school in my absence, I hope?’

  ‘Nah, the place is still standing,’ he grinned. ‘The verger called by but he spoke with the master. Said young Sally was a virtuoso, whatever that is. I thought she was just singing.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Sarah smiled distractedly, for she’d spotted the master and new mistress outside the classroom. They were standing extremely close together, seemingly unaware of her approach.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ she said politely. Like naughty schoolchildren caught out, they sprang apart.

  ‘Oh, good afternoon Miss Sullivan,’ Harry replied. ‘I hope your meeting proved interesting.’

  ‘Yes, it did, thank you. I’m surprised to see you still here at this time, Miss O’Reilly. I trust all went well with your needlework lesson?’ She turned to the schoolmistress, whose cheeks were tinged with pink.

  ‘Ah, to be sure, it did, and I was just leaving,’ she replied quickly.

  ‘I’ve been telling Miss O’Reilly about our proposal to take the girls to the farm on Wednesday afternoon.’

  ‘That was your suggestion, I believe, Master Higgins,’ Sarah corrected him.

  ‘Yes, and bearing in mind the way Farmer Jim and Bess are struggling, I still think it a good idea. The children all require fresh air and exercise, and helping others is what the ethos of Red Cliffs is all about, isn’t it?’

  ‘Then by all means take them, Master Higgins. You can go, too, Miss O’Reilly,’ Sarah added.

  ‘Ah, but …’ the mistress began, looking beseechingly at Harry.

  ‘Miss O’Reilly is worried it will take the girls away from their needlework, thus delaying the schedule you have set,’ he replied.