Orphans and Angels

by Linda Finlay

  ‘Could well be, Miss Sullivan.’ The sergeant got to his feet. ‘It all ties in, along with the fact that the robber who was stashing things up at them barns did a runner before my men could apprehend him. Cors, it’s only circumstantial evidence at this moment in time, you understand.’

  ‘Of course, Sergeant. Well, thank you for coming. I’ll show you out.’

  ‘Don’t you worry, Miss Sullivan. No stone will be left unturned, no lead not followed up. Sergeant Watts will see this man brought to justice,’ he assured her, puffing out his chest so that his shiny buttons strained alarmingly.

  Sarah was just about to shut the door after him, when Edith came into the room.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be in class, Edith?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘Master Higgins sent me to see you ’cos I been scratchin’ my ’ead all morning,’ she sighed. ‘’E finks I might ’ave caught somefink from Kitty.’

  ‘Sleeping like a little lamb, she is,’ Mrs Daws said, bustling back into the kitchen. ‘Shouldn’t you be in lessons, young lady?’ she asked, frowning at Edith.

  ‘Master ’Iggins said you should check me ’air ’cos I been scratchin’ like one of them ’ens.’

  The housekeeper exchanged looks with Sarah, then with a deep sigh snatched up her comb with the tightly packed teeth.

  ‘Come outside, young lady, and I’ll take a good look.’

  ‘Yes, it’s nits,’ she pronounced, a few moments later.

  Sarah’s thoughts flew to the forthcoming inspection. ‘All the children will have to have their heads shaved immediately,’ she said.

  ‘I can’t have me ’ead shaved,’ Edith wailed. ‘Francesca’s goin’ to show me how to dress me ’air like she does.’

  ‘Who?’ the housekeeper frowned.

  ‘Francesca, she’s the star of the show and …’

  ‘Sorry, Edith,’ Sarah interrupted. ‘I know it’s terrible timing for you, and if there was any other way …’ she shrugged.

  ‘Miss O’Reilly did promise to check everyone’s head, Miss Sullivan,’ the housekeeper reminded her.

  ‘But she won’t be in until tomorrow afternoon, Mrs Daws. Edith already has nits, and we can’t risk them spreading. Every pupil is to have their head shaved before luncheon.’

  33

  Edith was still sulking about her hair when Sarah escorted her to the Gaiety on Saturday afternoon.

  ‘Would you like me to come in with you and explain exactly why we had to take action?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ve already told them,’ Edith snapped. ‘And Sylvie and Francesca feel sorry for me,’ she added, rolling her eyes.

  ‘Well, have a good afternoon, and don’t forget Pip will be waiting in the trap to take you back,’ Sarah reminded her. Edith sighed dramatically then, without a backward glance, stalked towards the side entrance. Sarah noted the girl’s theatrics and couldn’t help wondering if this job was a good idea after all.

  Hurrying towards the hall where the women’s meeting was being held, she pondered on the last couple of days, which had been difficult, to say the least. As well as the children’s heads being shaved, all the bedding had needed washing, necessitating Mrs Laver putting in an extra day’s work. Although the woman was willing and a great help to Mrs Daws, it had still meant an added expense. Miss O’Reilly telling them she had heard you could now get powder to treat head infestations hadn’t helped either.

  ‘Gracious me, Sarah, you look ready to do battle,’ Josephine Harmon said, catching up with her as she waited to cross the street.

  ‘I am, believe you me,’ Sarah replied, dodging between the cabs and carts.

  ‘Well, it won’t help the cause if you get yourself killed. I’ve heard that the women working in the mills in Lancashire are getting up a petition to bring to London. As there are over twenty-nine thousand of them that should make some impact, don’t you think? And it’s rumoured the ladies from Yorkshire are to do the same, so word’s definitely spreading.’

  ‘Talking of spreading the word, you could have warned me the inspection of Red Cliffs was being brought forward,’ Sarah said, turning to face her friend.

  ‘I had heard something about that but didn’t know a date had been set,’ Josephine replied, looking embarrassed.

  ‘It’s to be on Monday 20th May so be sure to put it in your diary,’ Sarah told her.

  ‘Ah,’ Josephine replied, looking extremely uncomfortable now.

  ‘What do you mean, ah?’ Sarah asked, staring at her friend. ‘I’m counting on your support.’

  ‘Well, that’s just it, Sarah. As we are now friends it could put me in an awkward position, so another inspector has been assigned in my place.’

  ‘What? You mean you’re not coming as well?’ Sarah gasped.

  ‘Here we are,’ Josephine said quickly as they arrived outside the red-brick building. ‘Gracious, look at the turn-out,’ she added, gesturing inside the packed hall. ‘Should be a lively meeting.’

  But, shocked at her friend’s announcement, for once Sarah’s mind wasn’t on the women’s cause.

  Just as her friend had predicted, the meeting had indeed been animated but Sarah was distracted by what Josephine had said. She even toyed with the idea of forgoing afternoon tea with Bertram J. Brightling even though she’d been looking forward to it so much. But she really needed to apologize for leaving him in the lurch at their previous meeting, so determinedly pushing all thoughts of Red Cliffs aside, she made her way to the plush hotel on the front.

  Entering the opulent building with its sparkling crystal chandeliers and rich-pile carpet that made her feel as though she was walking on air, she couldn’t help feeling a thrill of excitement. It was like a different world. The contrasting atmosphere between the musty hall and heady fragrance of the rose petals and clove pot-pourri in the cloakroom was astonishing. Checking her appearance in the gilt-framed mirror, she patted her hair in place and then headed for the restaurant where gentle music was playing. As a waiter led her to the table where Bertram was waiting, he got politely to his feet and smiled.

  ‘I am so pleased you agreed to meet me, dear lady,’ he said, giving a small bow. He was dressed in his customary tweed jacket with yet another colourful cravat at his neck, yet his eyes were wary.

  ‘I must apologize for my hasty departure last week, Mr Brightling,’ she began.

  ‘Bertram, please,’ he reminded her. ‘And I, too, must express regret, dear lady, for my loquacious outpouring. I don’t know what you must have thought of me, rambling on like a blithering idiot.’ He paused, as the waitress approached.

  Sarah watched as she placed a silver stand, artistically arranged with finger sandwiches and iced fancies topped with delicate frosted flowers, on the lace cloth between them. The sandwiches with their crustless edges revealed an array of tempting fillings, and as the aroma of smoked salmon and cucumber wafted her way, Sarah’s mouth watered. Although, she couldn’t help feeling Mrs Daws would lament the waste of good roughage the crusts would have afforded.

  ‘Let us partake of this delicious fare,’ Bertram said, as the waitress withdrew. ‘There is nothing finer than Earl Grey with lemon for whetting the appetite, don’t you think?’

  Sarah nodded and duly took a sip of the fragranced pale liquid. It wasn’t really to her liking but she smiled politely then nibbled at a dainty sandwich. Goodness, she could eat the whole lot, she thought, and, fearful in case she might, promptly folded her hands in her lap and concentrated on the music.

  ‘The Spring Concerto from Vivaldi’s Four Seasons,’ Bertram said, noting her interest. ‘Of course, he composed it for the violin really. “Spring has arrived with joy. Welcomed by the birds with happy songs,” ’ he trilled, waving his hand in time to the beat.

  ‘ “And the brooks, amidst gentle breezes, Murmur sweetly as they flow,” ’ she added. He beamed delightedly, all awkwardness between them gone. ‘You, too, are an aficionado, Sarah? Sorry, that was forward of me, but kindred spirits should be on first-name terms, don’t
you think?’ As he stared hopefully at her, blue eyes sparkling like Sylvie Spangles’ dangles, Sarah felt something stir inside her.

  ‘I do indeed, Bertram,’ she agreed. ‘And, yes, I am a devotee of Vivaldi. He is so descriptive. “The goatherd sleeps. His faithful dog beside him,” conjures up such a peaceful scene, does it not?’ Encouraged by his enthusiastic nod, she continued. ‘And then the contrast of black skies, thunder and lightning, the birds falling silent. It’s such powerful imagery, it almost makes one want to pick up a pen and write.’

  ‘It certainly does,’ he replied, glancing down at the table. For the first time, Sarah noticed the notebook at his elbow.

  ‘You are a wordsmith, Bertram?’ she guessed.

  He shrugged apologetically. ‘Sometimes I feel the urge to put my feelings down on paper.’

  ‘Oh, that reminds me,’ Sarah said, scrabbling in her reticule and drawing out an envelope. ‘I wonder if I might beg a favour of you, Bertram. You see, I penned a letter to Lady Chorlton, which I quite neglected to post. As you live next door, I wonder if I could prevail upon you to see that she gets it?’

  His expression darkened and Sarah frowned, worried she’d overstepped the bounds of propriety.

  ‘I regret to say Lady Chorlton no longer resides in Hesketh Crescent,’ he told her.

  ‘Oh goodness, I do hope nothing untoward has happened to her?’ Sarah cried.

  ‘Her son secured ownership of the property on his majority and …’ he shrugged. ‘There is no nice way to put this, I’m afraid, dear lady. He insisted she leave.’

  ‘You mean he threw her out?’ Sarah gasped. ‘But that’s terrible. She has been so good to the school, I would really like to help. Do you know where she’s gone?’

  Bertram took a discreet look around.

  ‘Have you finished, sir?’ the waitress asked, misunderstanding his gesture. Bertram nodded and Sarah, all thought of hunger gone, waited impatiently while the woman deftly stacked her tray with crockery and the remains of their afternoon tea. As she bustled way, he leaned forward.

  ‘My housekeeper, whom I inherited along with the lease, was friends with Lady Chorlton’s maid.’

  ‘Then she could pass on my letter,’ Sarah said, holding it out.

  ‘I’m afraid not, dear lady. You see,’ he glanced from right to left, then continued in hushed tones, ‘she, too, has left. This son made unwelcome advances, if you get my meaning. According to my housekeeper, who has served at the house for a long while, he is just like his father. Anyway, he made the poor girl’s position untenable and she fled.’

  ‘That’s awful,’ Sarah frowned, recalling the pleasant young girl with her smartly tailored black dress and pristine white apron. ‘And poor Lady Chorlton,’ she sighed, returning her letter to her bag. ‘Do you know where she has gone?’

  Bertram shook his head. ‘All I know is that she was seen leaving in the family carriage taking one small bag with her. I’m led to believe the son has inherited his father’s estate, and she has been left virtually penniless.’

  ‘How could he be so heartless?’ Sarah whispered. ‘Surely, he has a duty to see she is provided for?’

  ‘As I said earlier, Sarah, it would appear he takes after his father. Now, it was not my intention to pour cold water upon our meeting, so let us change the subject forthwith. When I returned your coat, I noticed the Red Cliffs Ragged School sign on your gates. I found it intriguing imagining what goes on in that big house so why don’t you enlighten me?’ he invited.

  Pushing thought of Lady Chorlton to the back of her mind, Sarah proceeded to tell him about inheriting the house from her godfather. And with gentle prompting from a clearly interested Bertram she gave an account of the day-to-day running of the school.

  ‘It’s a full-time job but one I wouldn’t swap for all the world,’ she finished.

  ‘Your godfather sounds like a wonderful, selfless man, and you, dear lady, obviously share his ideals.’

  ‘What about you, Bertram? Apart from a love of music and words, what do you do?’

  ‘Actually, they are intrinsically entwined and the reason for my removing to Torquay for the season.’

  ‘How fascinating. Do tell me more,’ she urged.

  His eyes lit up, sparkling like the chandeliers overhead. ‘Indeed, dear lady, I can’t tell you just how fascinating it has been. You see, I had this idea in my head that just wouldn’t go away. Then I was presented with this marvellous opportunity, but the trouble was, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get the features of the leading lady right.’

  ‘You mean you’re writing a play?’ she gasped, her eyes widening.

  ‘Written, actually,’ he beamed. ‘You see, almost as soon as I arrived here, I found the perfect muse and my character came to life before my very eyes.’

  ‘How wonderful. And does your play have a name?’ she asked excitedly.

  ‘Oh, yes, it came to me one afternoon,’ he said, giving her a tender look. Then he frowned and looked around the room. ‘The pianist has ceased playing and, regrettably, I think that’s a signal we should be leaving,’ he sighed.

  Sarah, enthralled by his story, could have cried with disappointment.

  ‘Perhaps I could offer you a lift home in my automobile, dear lady?’ he said, getting to his feet and holding out a hand.

  Sarah’s heart almost flipped with excitement. She’d never been in a motor car before.

  ‘Oh, I can walk,’ she suggested, taking his proffered hand, whilst keeping the fingers of the other tightly crossed.

  ‘I wouldn’t hear of it, dear lady,’ he assured her. ‘Whilst you retrieve your coat, I’ll bring my car round.’

  As he negotiated the driveway, Sarah sat back in the leather seats, her pulses tingling with exhilaration. She wondered at the popping noises coming from the vehicle and was slightly perturbed that there was no horse in front of them. They drove along the seafront, people turning to watch as they passed. Soon she became accustomed to the openness ahead and marvelled that everything rushed by at such a speed. She felt as if she were flying and didn’t care a fig about the wind tugging her hair from its knot. All too soon, though, Bertram was drawing up outside the gates of Red Cliffs.

  ‘What a charming house,’ he exclaimed. ‘I noticed the stunning quoins and elegant façade last time. And what a vista, too,’ he added, peering through the iron railings. ‘It’s just the kind of property I would buy.’

  ‘Really?’ Sarah laughed. Then she frowned as a thought occurred to her. ‘You’re not a property developer as well as a writer, are you?’

  ‘Heavens, no, although I’m not just a wordsmith, I …’

  ‘Cripes, Miss Sullivan, is that you sat in that automobile?’ Pip cried, as he pulled open the gates. ‘Oh, ’ello again, sir,’ he added, noticing Bertram behind the wheel.

  Sarah turned to Bertram. ‘I’d better jump out here,’ she told him. ‘Otherwise you’ll have all the pupils coming out to inspect your car. Much as I love them, they’re a nosy lot and you don’t want sticky fingermarks spoiling your shiny paintwork.’

  ‘I’m sure it wouldn’t matter,’ he replied. ‘However, I do have an appointment later this evening, so better be making tracks and all that. Erm …’ He paused, looked awkward, then seem to gather his strength. ‘I was wondering if you would be free to join me next Saturday afternoon?’ he asked, his words coming out in a rush. ‘We could share more of our thoughts on Vivaldi perhaps?’ As he looked at her hopefully, Sarah’s heart skipped.

  ‘That would be lovely. Summer perhaps. “A gentle breeze blows but Boreas …” ’ she began, but he shook his head and nodded to where Pip stood glaring at them.

  ‘Winter might be more appropriate. “To hear leaving their iron-gated house, Sirocco, Boreas and all the winds in battle,” ’ he intoned.

  ‘Yes, you could be right,’ she laughed. ‘I’ve had a wonderful afternoon, Bertram. Thank you so much.’ He beamed delightedly and she watched as he drove off down the street.
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br />   ‘Coo blimey, miss, thought you was never goin’ to stop yappin’,’ Pip moaned, shutting the gate behind her. ‘You goin’ up in the world, ain’t you?’ he added, eyeing her curiously.

  ‘Did you collect Edith all right?’ Sarah asked, ignoring his remark.

  ‘Oh, yes, miss. Swanned out of that Gaiety like she was a flipping actress. Had this funny thing on her head, an’ all,’ he told her, raising his brows.

  Knowing it was supper time, Sarah went straight through to the kitchen to see if Mrs Daws needed any help.

  ‘No, that’s all right, Miss Sullivan. Kitty’s been helping me whilst April supervised the girls’ sewing. ‘Been having a nice old natter, haven’t we, dear?’

  Kitty grinned. ‘Yeah, anything’s better than doing stupid stitching,’ she replied.

  ‘And how are you today, Kitty?’ Sarah asked, noting the girl had a better colour and that her eyes had lost their glazed look.

  ‘I’m fine. It’s that Edith you need to worry about,’ she muttered.

  ‘Did you have a good time at your women’s meeting, Miss Sullivan?’ the housekeeper asked.

  ‘Women’s meeting,’ Pip chortled, coming into the room. ‘It weren’t no lady driving her ’ome in that posh auto-car, I can tell yer.’

  Sarah felt her cheeks blaze as they turned to her in astonishment.

  ‘Something smells good, Mrs Daws,’ she said quickly. ‘I noticed the children were rinsing their hands ready so I’ll just take off my coat while you sound the gong, Kitty. I’ll supervise supper tonight.’

  After saying grace, Sarah stared around the tables, checking that everyone was happy. The boys, having been served by Pip, were already tucking into their food. The girls, however, were all staring at Edith in fascination.

  ‘What is that on your head, Edith?’ Sarah asked, staring at the black scarf-like creation.

  ‘It’s me twinkly twurban, miss,’ she said proudly.

  ‘You mean turban,’ Sarah replied.

  ‘No I don’t. It’s definitely a twurban,’ Edith glared. ‘I told you Sylvie was ’orrified at the state of me ’ead so she made it for me. And she found me this brooch to put on it so I can twinkle like ’er. Sylvie said me sewing’s so good I can ’elp her accessyrise Francesca’s costume tomorrow. Sylvie says we will be the mistresses of creation and reinvention and that …’