Orphans and Angels

by Linda Finlay

  ‘And they’d better not bring any of that mess into my spotless kitchen,’ the housekeeper warned, shaking her wooden spoon at them.

  ‘Don’t worry, Mrs Daws, they’re all off rinsing their hands and I’ve reminded them to wipe their feet on the mat outside. You can sound the gong, April,’ Harry said, and without glancing in Sheena’s direction he went through to the dining room.

  ‘I’ll be in the classroom when they’ve finished,’ Sheena muttered, just as the gong sounded and the hungry hordes surged inside.

  While the children were having their luncheon, Sheena uncovered the sewing machine and set out the new material along with pins, scissors and thread. Having been told they would need to make at least fifteen sets of bedding, she knew there was no time to waste and she decided to make a start. However, as her feet worked the treadle and the machine whirred, so did her thoughts. She’d had the perfect opportunity to apologize and had messed up. You stupid, silly girl, she scolded.

  ‘Did you say something, miss?’ Maggie asked.

  Sheena jumped as she saw the girls staring enquiringly at her. Lost in thought, she hadn’t even heard them enter the room.

  ‘Good afternoon, my angels,’ she called brightly. ‘Come in and we’ll get started.’

  ‘Was you telling Shanksy off?’ Monday asked.

  Seeing her earnest expression, Sheena set aside her own thoughts and smiled.

  ‘If you all work well, my angels, I’ll tell you a story at the end of the lesson,’ she promised. Mollified by this, they took their seats and listened as she explained what needed to be done.

  ‘I have already made a start here so, Maggie, as the eldest, you can take over and work on the machine. Sally, you can pin the hems, while the rest of you tack the seams.’

  ‘Mrs Daws said you might like some help,’ April said, bounding enthusiastically into the room. ‘I don’t like sewing much but I can easily do them big tacking stitches.’

  The room fell silent as the girls set about their tasks but it wasn’t long before they began fidgeting.

  ‘This is so boring, miss,’ Ellen sighed.

  ‘I doesn’t like this cloth, it’s all bare,’ Monday moaned.

  ‘It’s all right for the sheets,’ Sally observed. ‘But our dormitories will look very plain without any colour. Still, I’m sure we are grateful for having new bedding,’ she added sweetly when she saw Sheena frown.

  ‘You know, my angels, you do have a point,’ she said, staring down at the cotton fabric. It was good quality but very stark. No wonder the girls were uninspired. ‘I’ve had a thought,’ she cried, staring at the brightly coloured clothes in the donations box. ‘Where I come from, we make cottage quilts.’

  ‘What’s them, miss?’ Maggie asked, looking up from the machine.

  ‘Covers made of strips of material sewn together and backed with material, just like this,’ she told them, holding up the sheet she was hemming. ‘Why don’t we sort through the contributions the good ladies have left for us and see what we can find?’

  ‘Yes,’ they chorused, and descended on the battered box, pulling out garments willy-nilly.

  To be sure, you’re a glutton for punishment, Sheena O’Reilly, she told herself, for did this not mean she’d be spending hours each evening sewing by candlelight? Then she looked at their faces and smiled, for their sulks had been replaced by ecstatic excitement.

  ‘If you each choose your favourite colour or pattern and put it on my desk, I’ll make sure the fabric is cut into strips ready for your next lesson,’ she told them.

  ‘It’s dory dime,’ June lisped, pointing to the clock.

  ‘Story time, June,’ she corrected. ‘And you are right, my angel.’

  ‘Will you tell us why you were telling Shanksy off?’ Monday begged.

  Sheena smiled. ‘I will if you settle down and resume your sewing.’

  The girls did as they’d been bid and were soon lost in the magic of make-believe so that the ringing of the bell took them by surprise.

  ‘Off you go, my angels. I’ll tidy away,’ she told them, shooing them outside.

  Once she was satisfied the room was ready for classes the next day, she made her way towards the kitchen. Spotting Harry Higgins heading in her direction, her heart lifted. Fixing a bright smile on her face, she determined to finish apologizing properly for her grandmother’s rudeness the previous day. However, as soon as he saw her, he veered off the path and disappeared behind the new shed. Cursing under her breath, she went on her way.

  As Sheena entered the kitchen, Mrs Daws looked up from pounding a huge dish of potatoes.

  ‘I don’t know how you do it, Miss O’Reilly. One minute those girls were all moaning they had to make boring sheets, the next they’re chatting away like magpies about cottage quilts. There’s tea in the pot if you want a cup, but you’ve just missed Master Higgins. Seems a bit out of sorts today, he does.’

  ‘Thanks, Mrs Daws, my throat’s parched as a dried-out ditch,’ Sheena murmured, setting a cup down on the table.

  ‘Everything all right?’ the housekeeper asked, giving Sheena one of her knowing looks. Sheena nodded and concentrated on pouring her drink. ‘Hmm,’ the woman murmured, pounding the potatoes harder. Sheena sipped her tea then, unable to settle, prowled the cosy room. She was aware of the housekeeper darting her puzzled looks and, sure enough, it wasn’t long before she spoke.

  ‘Now, you can tell me to mind my own business, but it seems to me that if two normally happy people are going around with faces as miserable as sin, then something must be wrong. Cors, you might not want to talk to a daft old woman …’ She left her sentence hanging in the air.

  ‘Mrs Daws, anyone less daft than you would be hard to find,’ Sheena cried. ‘But you’re right, I am miserable. I do like it here but …’ The housekeeper continued pounding the potatoes but didn’t say anything. Finally, unable to keep her fears to herself any longer, Sheena shared what was worrying her.

  ‘It’s this understanding between Master Higgins and Miss Sullivan,’ she burst out.

  The housekeeper looked up in surprise then dropped her spoon into the bowl. Sinking into a chair, she patted the one beside her.

  ‘Sit down and tell me what you are on about, dear,’ she invited.

  Taking a deep breath, Sheena explained what she’d heard at the farm. The housekeeper frowned. ‘You sure that’s what Bess said?’

  Sheena nodded dismally. ‘Surely you must have heard about it?’ she asked.

  Mrs Daws’ frown deepened. ‘Can’t say as I have, but then I’m only the housekeeper so not privy to everything that goes on around here.’

  ‘Since I found out, I’ve tried not having much to do with him, but Master Higgins is so clever and funny and kind …’

  ‘My, my, you have got it bad,’ the housekeeper sympathized, reaching out and patting Sheena’s hand. ‘Have you spoken to Master Higgins about it?’

  ‘No. As soon as I found out I tried to avoid him but …’ Sheena shrugged helplessly. ‘Then we took the children out and got on so well. He offered to help with my nanna’s door but I’d already told her … Oh, Mrs Daws, I expect you think terribly of me,’ she cried.

  The woman clucked her tongue. ‘I can’t deny some of what you’ve told me has been a surprise,’ she admitted. ‘Still, I’m sure if you talk to Master Higgins, he’ll have a better understanding of how you’re feeling.’

  ‘But how can I when he’s avoiding me?’ Sheena cried.

  ‘Men can be dull-witted, dear. Sometimes they need showing the way, a signal so to speak. Of course, in my day a lady would drop her handkerchief to attract his attention, but I’m sure we could think of something,’ she said peering around the room. ‘Ah, the very thing,’ she said, picking up a copy of the parish periodical the vicar had left. ‘Can never resist a read of this, can’t the master,’ she winked, placing it in Sheena’s hand.

  ‘You think?’ Sheena asked.

  ‘Oh, I don’t think, dear, I know. Now
I’ve got supper to prepare, so off you go,’ she urged.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Daws,’ she cried, jumping up and kissing the woman on the cheek.

  Walking back down the path, Sheena saw the master was still working. Venturing as close as she dared to the new tool shed, she dropped the magazine and carried on walking.

  30

  ‘Miss O’Reilly,’ Harry called. ‘Miss O’Reilly,’ he shouted louder, but still she didn’t appear to hear him. Sighing, he picked up the periodical, thinking to take it back indoors for her to collect. But then his inherent good nature overcame his annoyance at the events of the previous day, and he hurried after her.

  ‘You dropped this,’ Harry explained, holding out the magazine as he caught up with her.

  ‘Really?’ she cried, her eyes widening in surprise. ‘Why, thank you, Master Higgins,’ she added demurely. As she took it from him their hands touched, sending a tingle up his arm. She must have felt something similar for he saw she was trembling.

  ‘My pleasure,’ he murmured. ‘It’s a lovely afternoon, isn’t it?’ She peered around as if checking what he’d said was true, then nodded. Knowing this was his opportunity to get to the bottom of what had been puzzling him, he said casually, ‘And it would be criminal to waste the last rays of the day, so if you’ve finished work for the afternoon, would you object to my walking you home?’

  She hesitated for a moment then nodded. ‘I’ll just collect my things and be right with you.’

  They sauntered down the street, an awkward silence between them. Although he could have reached out and touched her, she seemed as distant as the rocks at the far end of the harbour. As Harry pondered on how to phrase his question without causing offence, Miss O’Reilly seemed lost in her own thoughts. Finally, he could stand it no longer.

  ‘I didn’t know you read the parish periodical, Miss O’Reilly,’ he said.

  ‘Mrs Daws thought I might find it useful,’ she replied.

  ‘Really?’ he asked in surprise. ‘Did she have any particular piece in mind?’

  ‘Oh, no, just the thing as a whole,’ she said quickly. Then she stopped walking and turned to face him. ‘I really must apologize for my grandmother’s rudeness yesterday, Master Higgins.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that, Miss O’Reilly,’ he replied. ‘Now at the risk of sounding like some latter-day saint, having just done her a favour, I cannot for the life of me think what I could have done to provoke such hostile a reaction.’

  Colour stained Sheena’s cheeks and she stared down at her boots. ‘It’s because she thought I was becoming too fond of you,’ she finally admitted.

  ‘And that would be a problem?’ he frowned.

  Sheena nodded.

  ‘May I ask why?’

  ‘Because of your understanding with Miss Sullivan,’ she cried, before taking off down the street as if the devil was after her.

  Harry stood there trying to take in what she’d said, then hurried after her.

  ‘Miss O’Reilly, you cannot come out with a bald statement like that and run away. Perhaps you would be good enough to tell me more about this understanding I’m supposed to have with Miss Sullivan.’

  ‘Supposed?’ she cried, turning to him in dismay. ‘Surely the matter of an arrangement to marry Miss Sullivan is not so trivial it could have slipped your mind?’

  Realizing they were attracting the interest of passers-by, he took her by the arm and led her to a bench in the park.

  ‘I think we need to get a few things clear, Miss O’Reilly, so let’s sit down and discuss this properly, shall we?’

  Sarah perched on a stool and watched as Sylvie Spangles, wearing her shiny blouse with cameo brooch at the neck and fingerless lace mittens, showed an excited Edith where all the costumes for that day’s fittings were hanging. The dressing room was draughty and she pulled her coat tighter around her. Seeing her shiver, the woman chuckled.

  ‘Don’t mind Marlin, ducks.’

  ‘Marlin?’ Sarah frowned, peering around to see who’d come in.

  Sylvie laughed delightedly. ‘He’s our resident ghost. A true thespian, he was; couldn’t bear to leave the theatre behind when he passed.’

  ‘Passed? Oh, you mean, died,’ Sarah replied, trying not to shudder.

  Edith beamed. ‘A real live ghost,’ she cried delightedly. However, before Sarah could point out that what she’d said was a contradiction in terms, the girl went on, ‘Is this not the finest place ever, Miss Sullivan?’ Her arms made a sweeping gesture encompassing everything. ‘It smells magical.’

  Sarah wrinkled her nose, thinking the place smelled musty.

  ‘Ah, you’ve got it, Eedie ducks. Knew it as soon as I set eyes on you,’ Sylvie replied, nodding her head so that her earrings swayed back and forth. ‘Now, we’ve got ten minutes until the first one comes for his fitting, so come over here and I’ll show you my bible.’

  Sarah frowned: surely this was no time for prayer? Then she realized the woman was opening a brightly coloured book bound with ribbons and explaining to Edith how she kept track of all the costumes.

  ‘This column is for their names, their measurements and what role they are playing. Then I note down all the costumes they’ll need and what adaptations have been made to them. On this page, I mark down the cost of the rental, how much they’ve paid up front and if it’s not the full amount, show how much they’ll need to give me each week to clear their debt.’

  Edith was quiet for a moment. ‘But if they don’t pay the full cost at the start, they’ll end up owing loads more by the end,’ she frowned.

  Sylvie chuckled delightedly. ‘Spoken like a true businesswoman, Eedie. That’s how Sylvie Spangles makes her money, see? Cors, there’s a lot of hard work goes into getting their costumes just right, so believe you me, that money is well earned.’ She was interrupted by a knock on the door. ‘Come in, Ollie,’ she called, smiling affectionately at the middle-aged man who minced into the room. He was wearing a lilac shirt with red silk scarf knotted at the neck and trousers so tight it was surprising he could walk in them.

  ‘I come to be clothed,’ he announced, affecting a bow. Sarah had to stifle a giggle as the grandiose statement came out as an effeminate squeak.

  ‘Now, Ollie dear, this is my new assistant, Eedie, and her teacher, Miss Sullivan,’ Sylvie told him.

  ‘Hello, there,’ he greeted them cordially. Then he frowned and took a second look at Sarah. ‘But we have met before, have we not?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Sarah replied, certain she would have remembered such a spectacle.

  ‘Ollie Burns never forgets a face, love,’ he replied. ‘It will come to me, never fret.’

  ‘Right, Eedie, time for work. Pass me the whistle and flute off that rail, and we’ll see how it fits.’ Eager to please, Edith scurried over to where Sylvie was pointing, then frowned. ‘Hurry up, ducks, we haven’t got all day,’ she said, snapping her fingers impatiently.

  ‘But there ain’t no whistle, or no flute come to that,’ Edith cried.

  To her astonishment Ollie burst out laughing. ‘Now ain’t that the funniest thing you ever heard?’ he chortled, tears running down his cheeks.

  ‘I don’t think …’ Sarah began.

  ‘Don’t mind him, ducks,’ Sylvie said. ‘Control yourself, Ollie. Anything less like an English gentleman and more like a constipated penguin I’ve yet to see. Now, Edith Curdy, you just pass me that navy and cream striped suit, there’s a good girl.’

  ‘But you said …’ Edith began, feeling stupid.

  ‘Sorry, ducks, it’s how we speak in London. Whistle and flute, suit, see?’

  Edith brightened and passed over the garments. ‘This is going to be such fun.’ She watched as Sylvie took out her tape and measured the man, meticulously recording her findings in her book.

  ‘How’s your lines coming along, Ollie?’ the woman asked.

  The actor rolled his eyes theatrically. ‘Don’t even ask,’ he sighed. ‘Still, it’s a good p
lay. This new producer has got some swell ideas. He showed me the posters earlier. They’re being put up as we speak, but will only show the leading lady bit by bit. He’s saving the big reveal until opening night. Quite a wheeze, eh?’ he said, holding out his arms obediently for Sylvie.

  ‘I’d like to be a leading lady,’ Edith sighed, draping a fur stole around her shoulders and parading up and down. ‘And ’ave a catchy name like yours. Is Sylvie Spangles your real name?’

  ‘Remember your manners, Edith,’ Sarah chided.

  ‘That’s all right, ducks,’ the woman smiled, through a mouthful of pins.

  ‘Well dressed like that, you could be Eedie Ermine,’ Ollie suggested. ‘I’ve got it,’ he said, snapping his fingers so that they all jumped. ‘You’re that lady on the posters,’ he cried, turning to Sarah. ‘Said I never forget a face.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Sarah laughed. ‘Well, Edith, it’s time we were getting back to Red Cliffs,’ she said, squinting at the tiny travelling clock on the table.

  ‘Oh, miss,’ Edith cried. ‘I ain’t hardly done nothing yet.’

  Making a mental note to ask Miss O’Reilly to begin teaching the girls correct pronunciation, Sarah got to her feet.

  ‘I’ve got to make sure Ollie’s trousers fit now, so you’d better run along, ducks,’ Sylvie said. ‘Tell you what, you’ve been such a help you can take that bit of fur with you,’ she added, pointing to the stole Edith was still sporting.

  ‘Cor, really? Ta ever so,’ Edith cried, stroking the fur lovingly. ‘I can’t wait to come back again.’

  ‘’Bye, Eedie Ermine,’ Ollie called. ‘You, too, Miss Sullivan,’ he added, eyeing Sarah thoughtfully.

  ‘Good day, Mr Burns. In future, Mrs Spangles, Pip will be conveying Edith in the trap so she can spend whole afternoons with you. Though I’d feel easier in my mind if you would see her safely back onto it at the end of her working sessions.’

  ‘Cors I will, ducks,’ the woman said, giving Edith a wink. ‘You leave it to me.’

  Out in the street, Edith hopped up and down excitedly as she studied the bills advertising the forthcoming play.

  ‘Coo, look, miss, that man was right, you can only see ’er feet,’ Edith cried, but, glad to be outside, Sarah was already striding down the street, breathing in the fresh, salty air.