Orphans and Angels

by Linda Finlay

  ‘We need to go to the lavatory, Master Higgins,’ Black cried.

  ‘Desperately,’ Brown added, hopping up and down for good measure.

  ‘How amazing this always happens just as we reach the Saloon,’ Harry replied. ‘Perhaps we should go and make use of nature’s facilities.’ As he gestured to the avenue of lime trees beyond, Black pulled a face.

  ‘But I need a number two,’ he wailed.

  Harry raised his brows. ‘Right, boys, who needs to go to the lavatory?’ Apart from Solomon, the boys all waved their hands in the air. ‘Perhaps you could come and make sure they don’t run off, Solomon,’ he suggested, then turned to Sheena.

  ‘Excuse us, will you?’

  She nodded. ‘Any of you need the lavatory, girls?’ she asked.

  ‘We’re not babies, miss,’ Maggie scoffed.

  ‘No, we went before we came out,’ Monday told her. ‘That woman’s waving to you, miss,’ she added, pointing at a brightly dressed woman of indeterminate years who was approaching.

  ‘Excuse me, ducks. I couldn’t help noticing these delightful children’s clothes. My, don’t you all look smart?’ she gushed, her sparkly earrings swinging back and forth as she waved her arm in their direction.

  ‘Why, thank you,’ Sheena replied as the girls beamed proudly.

  ‘It’s this girl’s outfit that has caught my eye, though,’ the woman said, turning to Edith. ‘Would you mind if I asked where you purchased it, ducks?’

  ‘I made it, missus,’ Edith announced, puffing her chest out proudly.

  The woman raised an eyebrow and took a closer look. ‘Are you telling me this stitching was done by you? That you made these stylish garments from scratch?’ she enquired, gesturing to the dress and bolero.

  ‘Nah, we had to unpick a frock from the donations box and rework it to fit. Miss made us patterns to follow but I did all me own sewing.’

  ‘Is this true?’ the woman asked, focusing silver-grey eyes on Sheena.

  ‘Indeed it is. Why is something wrong, Mrs …?’

  ‘Spangles, ducks, ’cos of me dangles,’ she laughed, pointing to her earrings. ‘Everyone calls me Sylvie, though. If what you’re telling me is true, then this girl could be the answer to my prayers. I’m the costumier for the Gaiety Theatre, as well as productions at the Bath Saloons, for my sins. Anyhow, my assistant has seen fit to do a run— I mean, leave me high and dry, and now I’m frantically trying to get all the outfits ready for the cast. We open come Whitsun, see.’

  ‘Coo, I could help you with that,’ Edith cried, her eyes lighting up.

  As the others crowded around to hear what was going on, Sheena smiled politely.

  ‘Calm down, Edith,’ she said gently, then turned to the lady. ‘Mrs Spangles, I am Miss O’Reilly, the travelling mistress of Red Cliffs Ragged School.’

  ‘Charmed, I’m sure, ducks. I got one of me cards in here,’ she said, rummaging in her capacious carpet bag. ‘Ah, here it is. Confirms who I am and where the theatre is,’ she beamed.

  ‘It’s not your integrity I’m questioning,’ Sheena assured her. ‘Edith here is only nine years …’

  ‘I’m ten in two weeks,’ Edith cried. ‘I’ve always wanted a job like that. ’Ow much would you pay?’ she persisted.

  The woman chuckled. ‘Seems like she knows her own mind, Miss O’Reilly, and if Edith can sew like this at her tender years then she’s found her vocation already. Should she want to work in the industry, she’d have no better chance of gaining experience. I’m the best in the business, even if I do say so myself. Perhaps you’d like to come and see the theatre?’

  ‘Oh, please say yes, miss,’ Edith gasped.

  Sheena swallowed, undecided what to do. She had no authority, after all. To her relief, she saw Harry and the boys emerging from the Bath Saloons.

  ‘We’ll ask Master Higgins,’ she said.

  ‘Ooh, he looks nice. Is he your fella?’ Sylvie Spangles asked.

  The girls tittered delightedly and Sheena gave them a warning look. ‘Good heavens no,’ she spluttered.

  ‘Shame, he looks a good ’un,’ the woman replied, nudging Sheena in the ribs. ‘You’d get on well together, ducks, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘Is everything all right?’ Harry asked, looking at Sheena questioningly.

  ‘Mrs Spangles thought you were Miss O’Reilly’s fella,’ Maggie giggled.

  ‘This is Mrs Spangles, Master Higgins,’ Sheena said quickly. ‘She came over to compliment the girls on their dresses.’

  ‘And she wants me to ’elp her with the costumes for the theatre. I can, can’t I, sir?’ Edith begged.

  ‘This is Master Higgins, from Red Cliffs,’ Sheena said, turning to the woman. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mrs Spangles,’ Harry nodded politely.

  ‘Likewise, I’m sure,’ the woman grinned. ‘Now this young lady here tells me she wants to work with costumes when she grows up. I need a helper and she would benefit from the experience, so what do you say to me showing young Edith and Miss O’Reilly where she’d be working, young man?’

  At this the children burst out laughing.

  ‘But thir’s an old man,’ June lisped.

  ‘Thank you, June,’ Harry replied. ‘What do you think, Miss O’Reilly?’ he asked turning to Sheena.

  ‘Please, please, please, say yes,’ Edith pleaded.

  Seeing the desperation in the girl’s eyes, Sheena nodded.

  ‘If you can take the children back to the school, I’ll be happy to see exactly where Mrs Spangles works. Then, at least I can report back to Miss Sullivan.’

  As Harry led the children away, Sheena, with Edith hopping excitedly at her side, accompanied Sylvie Spangles away from the harbour, before turning right and stopping outside a large building with arched doorways. Large framed posters advertising the forthcoming production adorned the walls, but before they had a chance to study them, a uniformed doorman came towards them doffing his hat.

  ‘Good afternoon, Sylvie,’ he said, opening a side door for them.

  ‘It could be now, Alf,’ she replied, hurrying inside. The large domed foyer, hung with chandeliers, smelled of beeswax and tobacco. As Sheena and Edith stared around in awe, Sylvie Spangles disappeared through another door.

  ‘Welcome to bedlam, ducks,’ she called, gesturing to a large table draped with all manner of fabric, ribbons and furbelows. Wicker hampers spilling with clothes sat on the floor whilst the walls were lined with shoes and boots.

  ‘It’s always like this before a new play. Our producer’s using a new writer and he’s a perfectionist; insists the devil’s in the detail. Anyhow, he’s changed the leading lady’s outfits at least three times. I can’t deny it gets frantic but you’ll never get better experience of putting costumes together, ducks,’ she told Edith.

  ‘I think it’s all wonderful. When can I start?’

  ‘Wait a moment, young lady,’ Sheena cautioned, trying not to smile. There was no denying Edith was already in her element. ‘You say you put together costumes, Mrs Spangles, so what exactly would Edith be required to do?’

  ‘Well, most of them actors hire their outfits these days and it’s my job to see that all their costumes are tailored to fit …’

  ‘Like we did at school, miss,’ Edith cried.

  ‘Of course, we have to be careful not to cut material unless we really have to. It’s more a case of adapting the shape by resewing seams, taking up or letting down hems. When I worked in Shaftesbury Avenue, we had to remember the three Rs: rework, recolour, reworn, which just about sums everything up. Of course, the fun is in adding the sparkle and glitz, but there’s the boring side, too. Actors and actresses are notorious for ripping something just before the curtain goes up.’

  ‘I don’t mind what I do!’ Edith cried. ‘I can work with Mrs Spangles, can’t I?’ Edith asked, turning to Sheena.

  ‘You’d have to continue your schooling,’ Sheena reminded her.

  ‘I’ll work extra ’ard, promise. Not that it’ll
do much good ’cos I’m useless at English and ’rithmetic,’ she sighed. ‘Still, I won’t need them if I’m to work here, will I?’

  ‘Now that’s where you’re wrong, ducks,’ Sylvie Spangles smiled. ‘A good costumier keeps a book of all her customers’ measurements so you’ll need to be able to write names and numerals clearly.’

  ‘Well, I will work extra ’ard in class then,’ Edith promised.

  ‘Perhaps we could agree on the young lady working some afternoons and at the weekend so she can continue her lessons?’ Sylvie suggested.

  ‘I’ll have to discuss it with Miss Sullivan, and I’m sure she’ll want to meet you, Mrs Spangles, but in principle I can’t see why it couldn’t work. As you say, the experience would be invaluable for Edith’s future.’

  ‘And I’ll get paid?’ Edith asked anxiously.

  ‘You’ll get a fair wage, young lady,’ Mrs Spangles assured her. ‘Perhaps Miss Sullivan would like to bring Edith here to see what she’ll be doing and I can discuss money with her then?’

  ‘Thank you,’ Sheena replied. ‘Come along, Edith, I’m sure Mrs Spangles has work to be getting on with, and we need to speak with Miss Sullivan.’

  Having attended a lively meeting of the NUWSS, Sarah and Josephine were walking back along the seafront.

  ‘Well, you must have worked up an appetite after all that,’ Josephine grinned, stopping outside the entrance to the Grand Hotel.

  ‘I really can’t decide whether to go in or not,’ Sarah confessed, staring nervously at the elegant building.

  ‘What! You can’t tell me you put on your best dress for the benefit of a group of women,’ Josephine scoffed.

  ‘Well, I …’ Sarah stuttered to a halt. In truth, she’d been wavering ever since she’d read the note from Bertram J. Brightling. On the one hand she found him fascinating and was keen to get to know him better, on the other she felt it would be too intimidating entering such a plush place. Still undecided, she had dressed carefully, yet here she was, dithering. Before she knew it, her friend had opened the door and pushed her inside.

  ‘No,’ she protested, but it was too late. A uniformed man had approached and was smiling askance.

  ‘Oh, I’m meeting a Mr Brightling for afternoon tea,’ she told him.

  ‘Of course, madam. You may leave your coat in the cloakroom over there,’ he replied. Knowing there was no going back, she nodded her thanks and walked briskly through the door he’d indicated. The room was larger than their lounge at Red Cliffs and plushly carpeted in deep burgundy. After having handed over her coat to the attendant, she hastily tidied her hair then, heart thumping like a drum, made her way through to the dining room. She just had time to take in the far-reaching views over the bay before a waiter approached and escorted her to a table where Bertram was waiting.

  ‘I am delighted you could join me,’ he said, getting to his feet As Sarah stared into Bertram’s earnest blue eyes, she could see his sincerity and began to relax at last.

  ‘It was kind of you to invite me,’ she replied. Suddenly she was looking forward to finding out more about BJ, as she and Josephine had nicknamed him. She was also eager to experience first-hand the splendid cuisine the hotel was renowned for.

  ‘It’s a delightful place,’ she added as soon as the waiter had poured their tea. She took a sip and tried not to stare longingly at the finger sandwiches of smoked salmon adorned with slivers of cucumber, or the dainty fancies artistically arranged on a tiered glass stand in front of them. Should she help herself or wait to be offered, she wondered. Deciding the latter would be polite, she took a discreet look around the room while she waited.

  A man in white jacket and bow tie was playing the piano at one end of the room, and the atmosphere was genteel. The other tables were discreetly placed a respectable distance apart, and the ladies, partially hidden by the huge potted ferns that seemed to predominate, were elegantly coiffured and wearing stylish afternoon frocks. Sarah hoped she didn’t look out of place in her navy dress with its lace collar. Feeling his gaze upon her, she turned back to her host.

  ‘Miss Sullivan, or would it be too forward to call you Sarah?’ Bertram asked.

  ‘Sarah will be fine,’ she replied.

  ‘Sarah, I have to confess to having been fascinated since the first time I saw you,’ he confessed, looking somewhat awkward and ill at ease. He cleared his throat. ‘You are like no other woman I have met before, with your English rose complexion and …’ His voice trailed off and, seeing the colour creeping up his neck, Sarah looked politely away.

  She sat sipping her tea and watching people in their finery promenading along the front, casting her mind around for something to say in return. Suddenly she gave a gasp and hastily put down her cup. Ignoring Bertram’s puzzled look, she snatched up her reticule, mumbled her apologies and hurried out of the hotel.

  28

  The road outside the hotel was thronging with cabs drawing up and porters waiting to help unload their passengers’ trunks. Desperately Sarah scanned the promenade through the gaps in the passing traffic, but of Kitty there was no sign. She dashed across the road and hurried in the direction of the harbour, the way she’d been sure she’d seen her heading. After walking for some minutes without another glimpse, she was just wondering if she’d dreamed seeing the girl when someone called her name.

  ‘Miss Sullivan, wait.’ Looking up, she saw Edith running towards her, Miss O’Reilly hot on her heels.

  ‘Edith, Miss O’Reilly, what are you doing here? Is everything all right?’

  ‘Miss, it’s the bestest thing ever,’ Edith cried. ‘I’ve got a job and you can come and see where I’ll be working.’

  Sarah frowned then looked askance at Miss O’Reilly.

  ‘Edith, you’re so excited, it would probably be better if you let me explain things to Miss Sullivan,’ Sheena smiled, but as she began telling Sarah about their meeting with Sylvie Spangles, the other woman frowned.

  ‘Forgive me, Miss O’Reilly, but I have something important on my mind right now. Can we speak back at Red Cliffs?’

  ‘But, miss, this is really important,’ Edith cried, tugging at Sarah’s arm.

  ‘Very well,’ Sarah sighed, knowing she had no chance of catching up with Kitty now, always supposing it had been her she’d seen. ‘You were saying, Miss O’Reilly?’

  ‘That I told Mrs Spangles I had no authority, and would have to discuss things with you, Miss Sullivan,’ Sheena explained. ‘But the woman seems a genuine soul and it would be a wonderful opportunity for Edith to gain experience in costume making.’

  ‘And I’d be earning some good lucre so could ’elp you with the running of the school,’ Edith added sagely. ‘The theatre’s just beyond the end of the prom, so please, please, say you’ll come and see her now?’ Edith begged.

  Before casting one more desperate look round for Kitty, Sarah looked into the girl’s shining eyes and nodded.

  ‘Very well, show me the way then. But I’m not making any promises, mind,’ she told them. As she assumed the mantle of proprietress once more, all thought of Bertram J. Brightling disappeared from her mind.

  ‘To think, come Monday our Edith is going to be working as an assistant costumier,’ the housekeeper murmured, cup of tea balancing on her lap as she sat with her feet up beside the range.

  ‘I rather fear she’ll be more of a runner, Mrs Daws,’ Harry replied. ‘Although I have to say from the brief conversation I had with the woman, she did strike me as being genuine. A colourful character, but sincere.’

  ‘I was sceptical at first but when Mrs Spangles explained how important it was for Edith to continue learning her arithmetic and English, I could see she had the child’s best interest at heart. Miss O’Reilly thought it a good idea, too,’ said Sarah.

  ‘So Edith will still attend my lessons?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Most definitely. It was agreed that she will work at the Gaiety three afternoons a week and longer on Saturdays. I shall take her there on Monda
y to satisfy myself all is well, then Pip can run her back and forth in the trap each time.’

  ‘The Gaiety, eh? Long time since I’ve been there. Mrs Laver and I used to go to the odd matinée when the good doctor was still alive.’

  ‘And I’m sure you can again, Mrs Daws,’ Sarah told her. ‘With Edith not available to help, Miss O’Reilly has kindly offered to come in an hour earlier on each of her days as she will need the extra time for sewing the bedding. I had to point out we couldn’t reimburse her, but she is happy to do it for the sake of the school.’

  ‘That girl has got a heart of gold,’ Mrs Daws murmured. ‘The least we can do is give her luncheon, then.’ At the thought of seeing more of Sheena, Harry smiled and the housekeeper shot him a knowing look.

  ‘Oh, by the way, Sergeant Watts called in whilst you were out. Said to tell you his men have had a tip-off about them burglaries and the net was closing in.’

  ‘Did he elaborate?’ Harry asked.

  The housekeeper shook her head. ‘You know what he’s like. Just stood there telling me how important this operation was that he’d mounted. Anyway, he said you’re to stay away until he gives you the all clear. Though you needn’t worry about the farmhouse itself, ’cos he’s keeping an eye on that, an’ all.’

  ‘That won’t help with Bess’s crops, though, will it?’ he sighed. ‘Oh, well, it’s time we were planting our own here so I’ll get the boys onto it tomorrow afternoon. Pip can supervise whilst Solomon and I continue with the new shed.’

  ‘Ah, another Sunday rest to look forward to,’ Mrs Daws sighed contentedly.

  Sarah smiled fondly at the woman. ‘You deserve it, Mrs Daws.’

  The housekeeper returned her smile, then turned to Harry. ‘I see Solomon follows you round like a willing slave, hanging on to your every word. A bit of hero worship there, Master Higgins, I think.’

  ‘Well, I have some paperwork to catch up on before I turn in,’ Sarah said, getting to her feet.

  ‘And I’ve some invoices in my desk that need paying,’ Harry grimaced. ‘I’ll just go and get them.’

  ‘First thing tomorrow will do,’ Sarah told him. To her surprise, he looked uneasy.