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‘What on earth is going on!’ the cook had demanded. ‘Oh my Good Lor …’ she’d said on seeing the mess. ‘Whatever are we going to do now!’
‘That was all Angelina’s fault!’ Mrs Marshall had declared shrilly, her voice ringing through the corridor, ‘She is such a stupid child! I told her to be careful, but she would insist on carrying the heaviest pan! She thinks she knows everything, can do everything better than anyone else and it’s time someone taught her a lesson!’
For once, Angelina had been speechless. How could she be accused of something that was not her fault? How could Mrs Marshall be so horrible?
Trying to stem her tears, Angelina had just stared unbelievingly at Mrs Marshall. ‘But I wasn’t holding that pan! You know I wasn’t!’ Angelina had spluttered. ‘You dropped it, not me! It’s not fair to say it was me!’
But she was to get no further because just then Emma Kingston had appeared.
‘Oh dear,’ the superintendent had said as she’d surveyed the scene. ‘Never mind, we must make do as best we can – it’s too late to order a replacement, but I’m sure we can deal with this.’ She had lifted the lid from the other pan. ‘Look, we still have the vegetables and the puddings must be in that other one back there on the table, so all is not lost and perhaps marmite sandwiches will fill the gap, just for once.’
‘I told Angelina to be careful!’ Mrs Marshall had declared, determined to maintain the fallacy, ‘but you can’t tell her! Oh no. This one always knows best!’
‘Never mind,’ Emma Kingston had said. ‘Accidents do happen now and again.’ She’d glanced briefly at Angelina. ‘Perhaps you will help Mrs Marshall clean this up, Angelina, and then come and have your own dinner. Mrs Haines and I will take the other pans to the kitchen and prepare the tables. Everyone will soon be getting hungry!’
Then, Mrs Marshall had gone to the kitchen to fetch a large bowl, and soap and water and cloths, and between them, she and Angelina had picked up all the beautiful potatoes, one after another, and the slices of meat, and had washed the floor until all that remained of the event was a large, black stain which would soon dry up and disappear, leaving no trace that anything had happened.
But what would not disappear, ever, was Angelina’s memory of the occasion. As she and Mrs Marshall had knelt there together on the floor, not another word had passed between them. Because what would have been the point? The older woman had told a direct lie to save her face, and as an adult, her version of the accident would be the one believed if Angelina had decided to say anything to the superintendent or Mrs Haines. But it had taught Angelina one of the hardest lessons in life – that adults are quite capable of telling downright lies, and justice does not always prevail.
At the end of the evening, with everything completed, she’d stood up and gazed into Mrs Marshall’s unflinching eyes – only to see a look of triumph. The woman had got herself off the hook.
Mrs Marshall, while carrying all the cleaning materials back into the kitchen, had breathed a sigh of relief. Mrs Haines, the matriarch of the domestic staff, would have had a few choice words to say to her if she had known the truth. The cook had a quick tongue and was ready to criticise the others in her domain when things went a bit wrong, and there had been one or two small incidents recently that had put Mrs Marshall on the wrong foot.
Mrs Marshall had shrugged to herself. Anyway, Miss Angelina Green, the Miss Who Can Do No Wrong, would come to no harm over being accused. Oh no, she wouldn’t get told off. Besides, Mrs Marshall loved it here at the Garfield and couldn’t afford to lose this job. The money was good, and she had a sick husband to feed and take care of.
Besides, who cared about a child’s sensitivities? Children got over things pretty quickly.
Later that night, lying next to Ruby who was sleeping soundly, Angelina had wished with all her heart that she could tell Mr Alexander about what had happened. He would understand and sympathise with her, she knew he would, because each time he visited he always made a point of seeking her out so that they could have their lovely chats together. Mr Alexander was the sort of person you could say anything to, and Angelina had known that he would be as cross with Mrs Marshall as she was.
Now, almost four years later, the superintendent nodded at Angelina’s remark that the girl believed Mrs Marshall had never liked her. Emma Kingston had always been aware of the woman’s short temper – especially, it seemed, with Angelina who, from such an early age had been so bright, so clever, so quick to catch on. Perhaps Mrs Marshall was actually jealous of the child’s ability in the schoolroom, because she herself was not well educated. In fact, little was known about the woman because she never discussed her personal life other than to say that she lived near the docks with her ailing husband. But she was a good worker and always came in on time, and over the years had introduced one or two other women, neighbours of hers, who needed casual employment, and so far all had proved more than satisfactory. Emma Kingston had found this useful, because she preferred to engage recommended staff.
‘Well, we can’t be liked by everyone in this world, can we, Angelina?’ the superintendent said cheerfully. ‘And make no mistake, you are dearly loved by all the rest of us.’ Now then—’ she looked down at the folder on her desk ‘—we shall naturally find you suitable accommodation after you leave here, and I am sure that it will not be difficult to find you work so this is what I want us to talk about. Do you have any particular wishes? You are a very competent girl in so many ways, dear – so, for example, I am certain you would be welcome to learn a trade in one of the hotels or guest houses. You might even like to learn more about cookery because you seem very happy in the kitchen helping Mrs Haines. Apart from washing up and keeping the place clean, she’s told me that you are quick at peeling vegetables and very good at rubbing up short crust pastry!’
‘Yes, I do like being in the kitchen,’ Angelina said. ‘Mrs Haines has taught me a lot.’
‘Or maybe you would like to think about office work,’ the superintendent went on. ‘Perhaps Mr Garfield knows of someone who could do with a young clerk.’ She glanced at Angelina quickly. ‘Of course, everyone has to start at the bottom and you will not earn very much at the beginning.’
‘I wouldn’t mind that, Miss Kingston,’ Angelina said.
‘Of course, there are still a few months to go yet, before we need take any action, but do any of my suggestions appeal to you, Angelina? Or do you have thoughts of your own?’
Angelina took a deep breath. ‘Miss Kingston, I know exactly what I am going to do with my life.’
The superintendent looked up, unsurprised at this. Angelina had had her feet very firmly on the ground from the moment she had taken her first steps.
‘Go on.’
‘I am going to train to be a nurse,’ Angelina said emphatically, and without stopping for breath she went on. ‘I have been thinking so much about it, and talking to Greta, and she’s told me that St Thomas’s have a nurses’ training school and that anyone can apply and I know I’m a bit young but next year I shall be going on fifteen and that’s how old they’ll take you and I know I can be a good nurse because I’ve helped in the medical room for a long time now, haven’t I? Nancy is a ward sister at the hospital now, and she could tell them about me and explain that I work hard and that the sight of blood doesn’t upset me – I know what to do with damaged knees and bumped heads – and I don’t mind cleaning up sick—’
Emma Kingston raised her hand and smiled. ‘Well then, I think we shall have to make some enquiries about this Angelina, and if you think it is really what you want.’
‘I know it’s what I want, Miss Kingston!’ Angelina said. ‘I’ve read all about Miss Florence Nightingale and what a wonderful woman she was and I can’t wait to learn everything and wear a nurse’s uniform and—’
‘You may have to wait a while, my dear,’ the superintendent said, ‘because you are still very young. But this is certainly something to be thinking about, isn’t it?’
Angelina looked away for a moment. ‘There is something that is worrying me, Miss Kingston,’ she said, ‘and it’s about Ruby. You see, she has no idea that I’ve got to leave next year and she’s going to be upset. Do you think she could leave at the same time and then we could go and live together? And I could go on looking after her, couldn’t I?’
The superintendent glanced at her folder again. ‘Well, we don’t know how old Ruby actually is,’ she said, ‘but we are fairly certain that you and she are about the same age. So I think that what you suggest could be possible, and I, personally, would be happy that you would be around to keep an eye on her. But of course, she would have to be prepared to support herself, and it may be difficult to find work for her. She is a very sensitive young girl.’
Angelina was overjoyed. She couldn’t bear to think of Ruby crying herself to sleep without their teddy bear to cuddle.
Emma Kingston stood up. ‘Well, you’ve certainly given me something to think about, Angelina, so we will leave this for the moment’
Angelina stood as well. ‘I feel really excited that you agree with my plan,’ she said. ‘Even though I am going to miss you all, miss everything when I go. Everyone has taught me things. I mean, people like Mrs Haines, and Nancy when she was here and now Greta – and Miss Jones who is so sweet and kind to all of us and very patient. She was the one who taught us cross stitch and do those patterned squares that we sewed up to make a blanket for the doll’s cot, and she helped Ruby to draw all the flowers that are in the nature books. Ruby loves flowers, knows the names of every one of them.’
‘Ah yes,’ Emma Kingston said. Maria Jones, one of Mrs Marshall’s ‘finds’, had been here for many years on and off, and was always ready to step in when needed.
Before they left the room, Angelina said sadly, ‘Once I do leave, I don’t suppose I shall ever see much of Mr Garfield again or Mr Alexander, either. He’s usually at college now, of course, but he’s always made me feel I was someone special. When I was small I was in love with him and used to pretend that I was Cinderella and he was my Prince Charming.’
The superintendent’s eyes softened. From the moment that Angelina had seen Randolph Garfield’s son it had been obvious that she was enchanted. Each time he’d come to the orphanage, the handsome young lad treated her with the sort of attentive and gallant behaviour typical of a well-bred male of the upper crust – even when he’d brought his pretty and vivacious girlfriend Honora Mason with him. It was enough to turn any girl’s head.
Emma Kingston pressed her lips together. She herself knew what it was to care deeply for someone who would never be within her reach.
As Angelina opened the door for Miss Kingston to go in front of her, she said, ‘Do you know, of all the orphans, it’s going to be the tiny ones I shall really miss – the 4- and 5-year-olds. I would like them all to come and live with me!’
‘Well, you may have tiny ones of your own one day, my dear,’ the superintendent said, ‘and I am sure you will be a wonderful mother.’
‘Oh, I am never going to get married,’ Angelina said firmly. ‘Not now. Not since I’ve decided to become a nurse.’
‘Well, try and be patient about that, my dear,’ Miss Kingston said. ‘You are still very young, and you might have to wait a while for your dream to come true. But whatever you do, Angelina, I have no doubt about one thing – you will always be the one right there in the front line.’
Chapter 4
March 1915
In his bedroom at the priory, Laurence Dunn rose slowly from his knees, crossed himself, murmured a silent prayer and yawned. It was barely daylight, and looked to be another cold, grey morning. Another day like yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that.
Sighing, he washed and shaved – taking great care not to nick his skin – then brushed his teeth, and got dressed, the ritual performed in exactly the same order every day. Because routine was the best thing. There was comfort in routine – as there was in doing one’s duty. And he was satisfied that he had certainly done his – no, was still doing his. He celebrated Mass twice every day at the priory, heard regular confessions, led the nuns in prayer, visited the sick and dying in the parish and had been a trustee at the orphanage for many years. It was he who made sure that every child who passed through the place during his time knew the Ten Commandments by heart, all the thou shall not do this or that, and those other things. Thanks to him, every orphan knew how to behave in life. That was something to take away with them, surely? And Laurence Dunn admitted that he thoroughly enjoyed being part of the orphanage, especially since it had become the Garfield.
His accommodation, though sparse, was comfortable enough, and, recently, he had purchased a new mirror to go above the sink – well, the one that had been there for ages had yellowed so that he could barely see himself. But this replacement was bigger and longer, so that when he took a few steps back he could see much more of his appearance.
The priest was tall and spare-framed, his dark hair brushed away from a prominent forehead. But it was his black, glittering eyes and well-defined eyebrows that immediately caught the attention. He gazed back at himself with a certain amount of pride – one of the seven deadly sins, true, but it wasn’t his fault that he was good-looking. If only fate – or rather his father – had allowed him to pursue another career, Laurence Dunn was certain that his name would be known to thousands, thousands. He would be famous, adored, respected.
He stood back, struck a pose, and raised his arm in a sweeping gesture.
‘Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears! I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him!’ he announced to the stone walls of his room. This was one of the speeches in a Shakespeare play that he never tired of, and he could complete it right to the end. And sometimes, if feeling melancholy, he enjoyed curling his tongue around other of the Bard’s immortal words. ‘No matter where, of comfort no man speak, let’s talk of graves, of worms, of epitaphs.’ The final word was pronounced with a menacing growl.
Laurence Dunn was entranced with the theatre and went to as many performances as time and money allowed. The stage, the smell, the atmosphere – the escape! He could have been one of those extraordinary players, those masters of the art! He could, he knew he could!
He completed the speech – which took quite a long time – and bowed to the silent applause, taking several curtain calls. Then he felt cross with himself for indulging in this regular exercise because it didn’t help. He had been planted in the priesthood and that would be that until he died. He was 45 years old and surely mature enough to accept what could not be changed, but he just wished he could rid himself of the cancerous envy he felt about his brother. Envy, another of those seven deadly sins …
Ernest was the younger by three years and had been allowed to do what he liked with his life. Their father, also a priest and of very high esteem, had been a domineering man and had commanded Laurence to follow him in Holy Orders, while Ernest had been allowed to look around and try one thing after another. For a very short time he had dabbled in the law, and even tried his hand at military service – though that didn’t last, much too uncomfortable – and in the end Reverend Dunn senior gave up on his younger son and retired to his study to dwell on higher things. Which was all very well, but how had Ernest managed to survive all these years without a proper job? He lived in the West End in a rather nice house by all accounts, though Laurence had never been there, and on the odd occasion that the two brothers met up, Ernest seemed quite well-to-do. Smartly dressed, he always insisted on paying for their meal or their drinks, which was something. Laurence didn’t like to ask where Ernest got his money from, but he had a good idea. Gambling. It was the only explanation, especially as once he’d said to Laurence, ‘You backed the wrong horse, old boy.’
Now, Laurence checked once more on his appearance, and prepared to go over to the orphanage for breakfast. He enjoyed breakfast – well, he enjoyed everything which Mrs Haines produced – and after that he would be there to give God’s blessing to two little girls who were leaving today.
*
Emma Kingston was not feeling at all well. She had slept badly and had woken with a headache. Why today, of all days – but perhaps it was the significance of the day which was causing her upset.
Angelina Green, their little throw-out orphan, was leaving the Garfield for the last time. Of all the children who had been part of her life, the superintendent was already feeling an acute sense of loss, because however much you spoke of coming back and of keeping in touch, she knew this was the parting of the ways, the end. It was the natural sequence of events, but each time it felt like a small bereavement.
She scolded herself at her thoughts. The young girl was more than ready to face the world and was longing to strike out on her own, taking Ruby with her. As it happened, their departure had been postponed by a few months because the room that had been found for them hadn’t been ready. But now, after a few goodbyes to their friends, they would be making their way to their new home. When it was time for any of the orphans to leave, nothing special was made of the occasion except that Father Laurence always joined them for breakfast, and to give them a blessing to send them on their way. And on the final evening, Vera Haines always made cakes for tea, ensuring that there were enough left to make a small parcel for the departing children to take away with them.
Emma Kingston got dressed, took two more of her tablets, and sat down heavily on the bed. It was no good, this migraine was not going to leave her until much later – or even until tomorrow. For the first time in many years she would not be accompanying the children as they left. Someone else would have to do it – but not Mrs Marshall, the superintendent decided at once, even though the woman had done this twice before. No. The name that immediately sprang to mind was Maria Jones. She had a gentle way with the children and seemed especially fond of little Ruby.
*
In their warm coats and hats, and each carrying a suitcase containing their clothes and few belongings, Angelina and Ruby made their way along the street towards the bus stop, with Maria Jones walking alongside, also carrying a suitcase that held sheets and pillows and towels. She smiled down at them.
‘What an exciting day this is for you!’ she exclaimed. ‘A new beginning!’
‘I can’t wait to see where we’re going to be living!’ Angelina exclaimed. ‘Miss Kingston told me that it is very nice, and only a bus ride away from the orphanage, She said that she will be coming to see us as soon as she’s better.’
‘And you will be able to come and see us, won’t you?’ Maria Jones said. ‘You must tell us what you’re doing, and how you are getting on as working girls!’
Ruby, who’d been rather quiet, spoke up. ‘I hope I shall know what to do at the salon,’ she said, ‘and that I don’t knock things over and get in the way,’’
‘Ruby!’ Angelina said firmly. ‘Don’t be a silly billy! Of course you won’t! People will love you because you are careful and quiet and ready to do anything asked of you. It will be interesting, Ruby, and you will meet all sorts of different people.’
Ruby was going to be an assistant at a small, local hairdresser’s salon, sweeping up and keeping things tidy for the manager and making tea for clients waiting under the huge machines for their hair to dry. Luckily, the place was quite near the small hotel where Angelina was to be employed as a general domestic help. Their combined wages would be just a few shillings, but enough to pay the rent for their room in the three-storey house, and for their food – if they were careful. Emma Kingston always took great trouble to see that her children would be as comfortable as possible in their new lives, and, fortunately, Garfield orphans were usually easy to place. People trusted the Garfield. This could be partly due, the superintendent sometimes thought, to Father Laurence’s dramatic exhortations regarding bad behaviour and its consequences. She smiled inwardly. She knew that Mrs Marshall had no time for the man at all, and had several times intimated that she knew something suspicious about him. Oh yes, you wouldn’t believe it, not from a man of the Cloth. But since Emma Kingston never indulged in any discussion or gossip about her staff or anyone connected with the orphanage, Mrs Marshall’s secret remained just that. A secret.
Presently, arriving at the large Victorian building, Maria Jones ushered them inside the room on the ground floor which was to be the girls’ new home.
‘Now – what do you think of this!’ she said cheerfully. ‘Isn’t it cosy and light?’ She had already been to check out the place with Emma Kingston, who had come to value the younger woman’s opinion.
Angelina was immediately enthusiastic. ‘Look, Ruby, we’ve each got a bed now! And this little table by the window is where we shall have our meals, and these two soft chairs are where we can relax after our hard day at work. We are going to be very happy here, I know we are – especially as the landlord has lit our fire to welcome us! What more could we want?’
Maria Jones smiled. It was she who had been asked by Miss Kingston to come here earlier to make sure the room was warm when the two youngsters arrived. ‘Look, the small sink here is for your immediate needs,’ Maria Jones said, ‘and outside in the yard is the coal house, and the lavatory and bath. You will be sharing with the people on the next floor – a young couple with a tiny baby.’ She went on, ‘Apart from your fireplace where you can boil a kettle, there’s a stove on the first landing for you to do any cooking – also a communal one, but I’m sure you will manage.’
‘Oh, of course we will manage!’ Angelina exclaimed. ‘We’ve been sharing with others all our lives – haven’t we, Ruby? We’re orphans, we’re used to sharing.’
Ruby, who had said very little, looked pensive. ‘I’ve never had a bed to myself,’ she said slowly. ‘I hope I shall be able to get to sleep on my own.’
‘’Don’t worry about that,’ Angelina said at once. ‘You can always get in beside me until you drift off, and then I’ll transfer you!’ She squeezed Ruby’s arm. ‘It’s all right, Ruby, there’ll still always be the three of us – you, me and teddy.’
After they had made up the beds, and found out where the kettle and the cups and plates and cutlery were stored, Maria Jones went to the door.
‘I had better go,’ she said, ‘because I must report back to Miss Kingston.’ She smiled. ‘’And I shall tell her that I think you are going to be very happy here.’
Much, much later, with Ruby snuggled in beside her and fast asleep, Angelina’s mind was churning with all the hopes and thoughts and ambitions that wouldn’t leave her alone. She knew that, for the moment, her life had been set out for her and that she must accept it. She was lucky to have been found a job, and the owner of the hotel had treated her very kindly at the interview, though the woman in charge of the kitchen where Angelina would be working hadn’t seemed so keen. She’d stared at Angelina suspiciously and had refused Angelina’s offer to shake her hand, turning away curtly. But that didn’t bother Angelina, who had no intention of being there very long in any case. She had already made up her mind about her next step. In August she would be applying to St Thomas’s to join their nursing school. She was already sorting out the details. She didn’t think that she would be a live-in candidate at first, so she and Ruby would still be here together for a while, and after that, well … it was no good looking too far ahead. Things would work out. Angelina would make sure they did.