Copyright

Harper

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First published in Great Britain by Harper 2016

Copyright © HarperCollinsPublishers 2016

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2016

Cover photography © Henry Steadman (children); Shutterstock.com (Holly bushes & Christmas tree)

Cathy Sharp asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008118501

Ebook Edition © October 2016 ISBN: 9780008118518

Version 2016-08-10

Dedication

For my husband with love.

You make it possible!

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by Cathy Sharp

About the Publisher

ONE

‘Wait until I catch you, you little bitch!’ The man’s voice struck terror into the hearts of the two small girls hiding under the stairs. ‘I’ll tan your hide, Sarah, you see if I don’t.’

Samantha squeezed her twin sister’s hand reassuringly but didn’t say a word; Pa had sharp ears and even the slightest sound might give their whereabouts away. She hardly dared breathe as she heard the sounds of doors being opened and slammed shut as their father searched for them. Tears were trickling silently down Sarah’s face when Samantha touched her cheek. Both of them knew that if Pa found them they would be beaten, but Sarah would bear the brunt of it, because Pa hated her. He blamed her for causing their mother’s death, as she’d been born last and it had taken so long that Ma had been exhausted and died soon after.

Neither of the girls had known their mother, but Pa said she was a saint and, when drunk, accused Sarah of murdering her. Samantha had come quickly and the parents had been gazing fondly on their daughter when Jenni May was gripped with terrible pain once more and this time it had gone on for hours, ending with Sarah’s birth and Jenni lying in an exhausted fever from which she never recovered.

When the girls were younger, a woman had come in every day to take care of them and to cook Pa’s meals. She was a pretty woman, sharp when addressing the twins, especially Sarah, and quick with her hand, but whenever their father was around she was all sweetness and light, and he was taken in by her every word. When she said Sarah was awkward, stubborn and rebellious, Pa agreed that she must be kept in check, but he left the chastising to Melanie.

Although he had drinking bouts every so often, he’d been content enough whilst Melanie looked after the house and everyone had expected they would marry one day, but the previous year, a few days before the twins’ tenth birthday, there had been a fierce quarrel and Melanie had left them, vowing never to return and swearing that Ernie May was an impossible man. She said he’d taken advantage of her good nature and she wouldn’t put up with it a minute longer – declaring that only she would have had the patience to take care of brats like his, and that she would have no more of it. After that, Pa’s temper had grown worse and worse and he’d taken against his daughters, particularly Sarah. It was Sarah who had caused all his troubles, because she had killed her sainted mother. He wished she’d died at birth and wanted only to be free of his responsibility towards the twins.

Samantha knew all this, because Aunt Jane had told her when she visited a week previously. Their aunt was a tall thin woman with a sharp face and a hard mouth, though her eyes sometimes told of something more inside her, something she kept a tight rein on. Samantha had asked her why Pa hated them so, and her aunt told her in a harsh voice that felt to Samantha like the lash of a whip. Sarah had merely stared at Aunt Jane, taking very little in as always. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand anything, as Pa and Aunt Jane thought, but she was slow at putting things together in her mind and she couldn’t form the words properly unless Samantha told her how.

‘You should have been an only child,’ Aunt Jane had told Samantha. ‘The other one caused all the trouble by killing your mother. My brother adored his wife and they longed for a child, even though Jenni was always fragile. The doctors told her she ought not to have children, because of her weak heart, but she wouldn’t listen – and Ernie could refuse her nothing. All would have been well had that idiot not taken so long to come and killed poor Jenni.’

‘But that wasn’t Sarah’s fault,’ Samantha said, feeling protective of her sister. ‘Mummy wouldn’t have blamed her.’ In Samantha’s mind her mother was a beautiful angel, and sometimes when Sarah was weeping and Samantha was hurting with her twin’s pain, she’d felt the presence of someone warm and loving and believed it was her mummy. Sometimes, she felt that their mother was close by, caressing them, and she thought Sarah sensed it too.

‘Jenni was as soft as butter over kids and I dare say she’d have loved her,’ Aunt Jane said, a bitter twist to her mouth, ‘but she’s gone and Ernie has never been the same since. He drinks because he can’t bear it that she’s gone and he hates Sarah.’

‘It isn’t fair,’ Samantha said. ‘Sarah doesn’t mean to break things but she’s clumsy and it just happens …’

‘Well, I’ve told you why your pa drinks and I’ve made my offer,’ Aunt Jane said in her blunt manner. ‘Your pa doesn’t want either of you and he’s made up his mind to go away to work at sea – and that means you’ll be on your own. I’ll take you in, Samantha, and gladly – but I won’t have her. She should be in a proper home where they take care of girls like that … I could ask at St Saviour’s. I hear Sister Beatrice is a good woman, even though she’s a nun and I can’t abide them as a rule …’

Samantha had looked at her beautiful sister and wondered how her aunt could speak so coldly of her beloved twin, who was so innocent and lovely. Her soft fair hair framed perfect features and her wide blue eyes were soft, slightly vacant and dreamy, but her smile was like sunshine, the light coming from her sometimes so bright that it made her twin blink with its radiance. Samantha knew that although twins, they weren’t exactly alike; her hair was a darker blonde, her eyes more grey than blue, and they could clash with storm clouds when she was angry – or that’s what Melanie had told her when Samantha flew into a temper to protect her sister.

Why did her aunt want to put Sarah in a home? It wrenched at Samantha’s heart to think of being separated from the twin she loved and she vowed that she would do anything to keep them together, but she wouldn’t tell her aunt that; she’d only get angry and tell her she was a fool.

‘There’s nothing wrong with Sarah, except that she’s slow sometimes,’ Samantha said, facing up to her aunt. ‘I’m nearly eleven now. I’ve been helping Sarah to wash and dress, and making supper and breakfast for us all since Melanie left – and I can look after us both. I shan’t go anywhere that Sarah isn’t welcome.’

‘Suit yourself then,’ her aunt said, pulling on neat grey gloves. She was dressed all in grey without a touch of colour, and Samantha knew her house was dull and dark, much like her. If she’d gone there without Sarah there would be no sunshine left in her world. She loved Sarah with all her heart and she was never going to abandon her, no matter what anyone said. ‘The offer is there, but I shan’t run after you – and I won’t take her. The best place for her is a mental asylum …’

Samantha hadn’t answered her – she was too upset and angry. Why could no one see that her twin was the dearest, sweetest girl ever? Willing and obedient, she did everything Samantha told her and she never screamed defiance or did anything naughty – and it certainly wasn’t her fault that she’d broken Pa’s favourite pipe.

Despite his unkindness and careless brutality, Sarah adored her father and she often picked up his slippers or a discarded jacket, nursing the object in her arms and crooning a song that no one else understood. Samantha had tried to make out the words but, although tuneful and pretty, the song’s meaning was unclear.

Earlier that evening, while Samantha prepared Pa’s tea so it would be ready for him when he came home, Sarah had helped by laying the table in the big kitchen, as she’d been shown. When Samantha came through from the back scullery with a pot of hot potatoes, she’d seen that her twin had taken down Pa’s pipe rack from the shelf and was stroking one of the pipes. Samantha had immediately been anxious, because the delicate long-handled clay pipe was one of Pa’s favourites.

‘Put that down, Sarah, and help me with the dishes,’ she said.

The sound of her voice had jerked Sarah out of the dream she’d been in, her fingers snapping the long thin stem of the pipe.

‘Oh, Sarah,’ she cried, distressed, knowing what it would mean. ‘What have you done?’

Sarah had dissolved into tears and before either of them realised it, Pa had come in and was staring at the broken pipe.

‘You little devil!’ he said and lunged at Sarah, swiping her across the face with his fist. He was a big man and strong; the force of the blow knocked the fragile girl off her feet and sent her crashing into the oak dresser, causing a china teapot to tumble from the shelf and break into pieces on the floor. ‘Now what have you done? Child of Satan, that’s what you are!’ Pa roared at her. ‘That belonged to your sainted mother. I’ll kill you. I’ve had enough of your wickedness—’

Sarah stared at him in horror and then ran from the room before he could hit her again.

‘Pa, she didn’t mean to do it!’ Samantha said, throwing herself between them. She was still holding the pot of hot potatoes and when Pa caught hold of her, he burned his hand on the pot. ‘It was an accident … Oh, Pa, I’m sorry … I didn’t mean to burn you.’

Pa thrust her away but instead of going after Sarah, he picked up his jacket and went out of the kitchen, pausing at the door to glance back at Samantha. ‘If I find you still here when I get back, I’ll kill the pair of you,’ he threatened before storming out.

Samantha had placed the cooking pot on the floor near the range to keep warm and then gone in search of her sister. She’d found her under the bed in their room and it had taken several minutes to coax her out.

‘Sarah didn’t mean to …’ she sobbed in Samantha’s arms. ‘Pa’s cross with Sarah?’

‘Yes, Pa is cross,’ Samantha said and hugged her. ‘But he’ll go down the pub and have a few drinks and forget about it. Come to the kitchen and have some supper. We’ll put Pa’s in the range to keep warm for him.’

It had taken Samantha ages to bring her sister downstairs and even then she ate only a few mouthfuls of the food. Sarah had left her sitting on the lumpy sofa in the kitchen while she washed the pots in the scullery. After the kitchen was tidy she took her sister upstairs and put her to bed. Pa had threatened things before when he was angry, but then he would get over it and perhaps bring them a packet of chips home for their tea the next day.

Only this time he hadn’t got over his temper.

Samantha had woken to the sound of her twin’s screams, something she’d heard so seldom that she knew Sarah must be terrified. As her eyes accustomed themselves to the light, which came from a lamp in the hall, she saw Sarah lying on the floor and Pa standing over her, kicking her as if she were a piece of filth he’d found in the gutter, his savagery beyond anything Samantha had ever seen.

Without stopping to think, Samantha seized the chamber pot and flung the contents over her father. Some of the wee went into his face and must have stung his eyes for he was temporarily blinded and screamed out in a mixture of pain and frustration.

‘You hellcat, you’ve blinded me!’ he cried, stumbling towards her, his hands flailing to grab hold of her.

Samantha pulled her twin to her feet and propelled her along the landing and down the stairs, seeking refuge in the large cupboard under the stairs. She pushed Sarah right to the end and crawled after her, shoving some empty cardboard boxes in front of them in an effort to conceal their whereabouts if Pa looked inside.

‘I know you’re in here,’ Pa’s voice was suddenly very close and the stair cupboard door was jerked open, the light from his torch waving about. It touched on Sarah’s face but she must have been hidden from him as seconds later, he swore and slammed the door shut again. ‘I’m not coming back – do you hear?’ his tone was loud, penetrating the door and reaching Samantha. She trembled as he went on, ‘You can starve before I come back, do you understand me? You’re to go to your aunt, Samantha – and that Child of Satan can go to the devil for all I care …’

Samantha held her breath as the minutes ticked by. The noise had died down and the house was quiet. Pa must have gone to sleep by now, surely. Yet she dared not risk coming out until he’d left for work. Putting her arms around Sarah, she held her close as they both shivered in their nightclothes. Only when the house had been silent for what seemed like hours did Samantha risk venturing into the hall in search of a coat to keep them warm.

It was very dark and she had to feel her way along the walls, frightened of making a noise and bringing Pa down on them again, but the house seemed unnaturally quiet. She took her own coat and Sarah’s from the old wooden hallstand and carried them into the cupboard. At least they were safe here and perhaps when Pa came back tomorrow, he would be sorry for his show of temper. He was always worse when he’d been drinking and Samantha couldn’t believe he’d really meant to kill either of them.

In the morning the girls were stiff, cold and hungry when they crept out. The black marble clock on the kitchen mantle said it was past six o’clock. Pa went to work at six every morning so unless he’d overslept he must have gone, though Samantha had been awake ages and she’d heard nothing. The range hadn’t been made up and it was cold in the kitchen, but the one in the scullery was still warm. Samantha stoked it up and added the coal and the wood her father had bought in the previous day.

She was hungry and looked in the pantry, but discovered that the half loaf of bread left from their meal the previous day was missing, as were the cold sausages and the cheese that had been on the pantry shelves. Pa must have taken them for his dinner at work. All Samantha could find was some stale cake she’d made earlier that week; there was enough to cut each of them a slice and, she discovered, there was sufficient tea left to make a brew, though only a drop of milk and no sugar.

It would be weak tea but it would warm them through a bit, she thought, as she carried the meagre breakfast through to the kitchen. Sarah was staring at the kitchen shelf, a look of dismay on her face.

‘Pa’s pipes gone,’ she said. Her gaze travelled round the kitchen, the look of fear and puzzlement growing. ‘Tankard and coat gone … Pa gone …’

‘No!’ Samantha cried as the fear struck her too. ‘He couldn’t have gone … He’s coming back; he must be …’

Looking around the room, she saw that the few treasures that had stood on the dresser shelves, like their mother’s tea caddy and a pair of silver berry spoons, had gone. All that was left was an assortment of china that didn’t match and a brass tin, where pins and bits were stored.

She put down the tray she’d been carrying and ran from the kitchen and up the stairs, flinging open the door of her father’s room. He wouldn’t have deserted them … surely he wouldn’t. Pa wasn’t really a bad man; it was only that he missed their mother and got drunk sometimes.

As soon as she looked round the room, Samantha knew that it was true. Her father had few possessions he treasured and only a couple of extra shirts and his best suit, which he wore only for funerals or weddings. The cupboard had been left open, as if he’d torn everything from its place in a hurry, and his brushes and shaving things had also gone from the washstand.

The truth hit Samantha like a drenching of cold water. Their father had abandoned them, as Aunt Jane had said he would. He might have told Samantha of his plans had Sarah not broken his favourite pipe, but instead he’d gone down the pub to get roaring drunk and then he’d tried to kill Sarah.

Yes, he really had meant to do it, perhaps because he knew Aunt Jane wouldn’t take her. Perhaps he’d thought it better for everyone if Sarah were dead?

Samantha couldn’t believe what her thoughts were telling her. No, Pa wouldn’t do this, he wouldn’t attack his daughter and then go off leaving them both to starve … But he had. She sat down on the bed, feeling empty, drained. What was she going to do now?

Samantha knew there was no money in the house. Her father never gave her a penny. He paid the rent and brought home the supplies they needed – and he’d taken everything they had of value. She looked about the room, knowing that the contents wouldn’t fetch more than a few pence from the rag-and-bone man. There were still a few things in the scullery and kitchen, things that had belonged to their mother. Sarah had broken the best china pot, but there might be some copper pans and a few silver spoons in the drawer. She would have to go through every room and take whatever items she could find to the scrapyard later. Samantha was frightened of Alf, the man who ran the scrapyard, but she couldn’t think of any other way to get money to buy food. After that, she wasn’t sure what to do. She knew they wouldn’t be able to stay here: the rent was due on Saturday and Pa wouldn’t be around to pay it.

Samantha ran her hands over her sides, her body aching in the same places that her father’s blows had rained down on her twin. She didn’t know why she always felt her sister’s pain, she just did. That realisation brought her out of her shock and she got up off the bed, knowing she had to go downstairs and see what she could do to help. Poor Sarah must be hurting all over – she already bore the scars of more than one beating and last night’s attack had been the most vicious of them all.

What people didn’t understand was that Samantha and her twin lived for each other. Each felt the other’s pain and sorrow as if it were her own. That was why Samantha couldn’t do as her father ordered and go to Aunt Jane. She’d made it clear she would send Sarah to a place where Samantha knew she would be unhappy. They would never see each other – and that would break both their hearts.

When Samantha walked into the kitchen she found Sarah nursing the clay pipe she’d broken the previous evening, which Pa hadn’t bothered to pick up from the floor. Tears were trickling down her cheeks and Samantha knew that her twin understood Pa had gone, even if she couldn’t grasp what that meant for the two of them. They were all alone in the world now, with no one to turn to, no one who would take them both in.

Well, there was nothing else for it: they would just have to look after each other. As soon as she’d got her sister fed and dressed, Samantha would go to the scrapyard and sell everything of value, and then she would set about finding somewhere they could stay. There were plenty of houses that were standing empty after having been bombed-out in the war. Tramps and homeless people slept in them, and so could she and Sarah – just for a while, just until she could decide what to do …

‘Put that pipe in your pocket and come and eat your cake,’ she said, wrapping an arm around her sister. ‘We’ll be all right, Sarah love. I’ll take care of you now.’

Sarah’s smile was loving and trusting as she looked at her. ‘Samantha take care of me,’ she repeated, and sat down at the table to eat her cake and drink the tea that was now cold.

TWO

‘Well, here’s to you, Sally,’ Angela Morton lifted her wineglass to the young woman who had been such a friend to her at St Saviour’s and was now leaving her job to take up her training to become a nurse. ‘I’m sure we all wish you the very best in your new life – and you must promise you will come and see us when you can.’

‘Yes, of course I shall,’ Sally promised. Angela noticed the girl’s blush as everyone drank the toast and then crowded round her, friends hugging and kissing her and telling her how much she would be missed.

It was true that the young carer would be missed, as much by Angela as any of them, but she knew in her heart it was for the best. To stay on at the children’s home would have brought back too many memories of the man who had filled the children’s ward with laughter when he visited the hospital as a volunteer, the man Sally had hoped to marry until he lost his life in a car accident.

Hearing the phone shrilling, Angela left the staff room where the small party was taking place and ran upstairs to answer it in Sister’s office. It stopped as she reached it and she frowned, wondering if it had been business or perhaps Mark Adderbury … but he would more likely have used the extension in her office had he wanted to speak to her.

A sigh left her lips. It had been a while since Mark had bothered to get in touch, though he’d continued to call in at the home occasionally in a professional capacity. He still nodded and spoke in passing, but his special smile had been conspicuous by its absence. Angela had always thought of Mark as one of her closest friends; when she’d been overwhelmed by grief after her husband of a few months was killed in the war, Mark had been the one who helped her get through it. For a while she’d believed their friendship might develop into something more – but that was before Staff Nurse Carole Clarke came on the scene.

Eager to ensnare a rich husband, the attractive young nurse had made a play for Mark. He’d been flattered at first and they’d gone on a couple of dates, but when he tried to break up with her she told him she was pregnant. Mark had done the honourable thing and proposed. Although she thought he was making a terrible mistake, Angela had felt it wasn’t her place to intervene. But when she caught Carole tampering with records in an effort to discredit Sister Beatrice, and found out that she had lied about being pregnant, Angela had no choice but to get involved. Appalled by his fiancée’s duplicity, Mark had ended their engagement. Carole had stormed out, saving Sister Beatrice the trouble of dismissing her, but her departure hadn’t healed the rift that had opened between Angela and Mark. If anything, he was more distant. It was as though his initial shock over his former fiancée’s behaviour had turned to embarrassment and now he couldn’t bear to face Angela.

In the staff room, Sally’s colleagues were still saying their farewells, but Angela was in no mood to return to the party. Instead she carried on down the stairs, meeting Sister as she reached the hall below.

‘Ah, Angela,’ Sister Beatrice said. ‘I was just on my way up to see you. I’ve been speaking to Constable Sallis. It appears they’ve found a couple of young girls in an abandoned house. They’re in a weakened state apparently. He asked if we would take them in while inquiries are made. Naturally, I said yes.’

‘Poor darlings,’ Angela said. ‘How old are they?’

‘He was rather vague,’ the nun said and shook her head. ‘He thinks about eleven, but he isn’t sure about the younger one.’

‘Ah, well, I’m sure we can fit them in somewhere in the new wing. We have so much more room now that we’re able to move in there.’

‘Yes, thank goodness. Mark Adderbury telephoned me earlier. He suggested we have a small party here for the staff to celebrate the opening of the new wing. He thinks it would be a good idea to ask the Bishop to open it for us. Naturally, I agreed, though I do not particularly see the need myself …’ She waved her hand in dismissal. ‘But if the Board think we should …’

Angela noticed the faint sigh. Sister Beatrice was looking pale and tired. A few months previously she had been attacked by an unfortunate and disturbed boy named Terry and though it didn’t seem possible that she would still be affected by a minor injury, it was clear she was no longer the forthright and energetic Sister Beatrice of old.

‘Is anything the matter, Sister? Are you quite well?’

‘Why do you ask? I’m perfectly all right. What nonsense.’ Sister Beatrice walked off; evidently annoyed that Angela should express concern. She prided herself that she was never ill and routinely shrugged off colds that would send lesser mortals to their beds. Angela shook her head and made her way to the kitchens.

The cook, Muriel, was complaining to Nan, who was trying to placate her but without much success. ‘How I’m supposed to manage with that wretched girl late again I don’t know,’ Muriel said. ‘She was away two days last week – and she knows there’s a mountain of work to do today if I’m to bake as well as make jam from those lovely plums and apples we’ve been given. I can make a pudding with some of them, but most of the plums are too ripe for eating.’

‘I expect that’s why they gave us such a lot,’ Nan said.

The comment made Angela smile. As head carer, Nan had no idea how much badgering went on behind the scenes to keep St Saviour’s kitchens supplied. Angela thought the stallholders at Spitalfields’ wholesale fruit market must be sick of the sight of her, but she’d asked them not to throw their surplus out if it was still useable.

‘It might be too ripe for you to sell on, Bert,’ she’d told her favourite wholesaler the previous morning. ‘But we can always use it for jams and puddings.’

‘Anythin’ for you, me darlin’,’ Bert had said, making her an extravagant bow and kissing her hand. He was in his sixties if he was a day, but handsome, with strong grey hair and harsh features that belied his soft heart. ‘I’ll scrounge some boxes of fruit for your orphans, love, don’t you worry.’

In the months since she’d come to the East End of London as the Administrator for St Saviour’s, she’d learned to love the warm-hearted men who worked the fruit and vegetable wholesale market. They’d made several generous donations of fruit and vegetables, and she wasn’t going to allow their generosity to go to waste, despite a girl being late for work.

‘I’m sure Nancy will give you a hand with the fruit, Muriel, and you know how the children love your jam.’ Angela smiled at her. ‘I’ll have a word with Kelly when she comes in, if you like – perhaps I can find out why she is late so often.’

‘We’re so short-handed these days. I really miss that Alice Cobb; she was always ready to help out in an emergency,’ Muriel sighed as she chopped and peeled.

‘Alice stayed on as long as she could after she married that nice young soldier, but she’s a mother now and it’s too soon for her to come back to work,’ Angela reminded her.

‘She had her baby in June, and a lovely little thing she is too. Alice has been talking about coming in for a few hours when she’s ready.’ Nan saw Alice often, now that she’d taken the girl under her wing, and kept them up to date with her news.

‘If you need any help with washing up, I could give you a hand,’ Angela offered. ‘And I’ll take the trays up to the nurses if you like.’

‘Nurse Wendy usually comes down for hers at about ten …’ Muriel glanced at the clock. ‘I’ve got the washing up from breakfast, and then I’ll need a hand if I’m going to get my baking done and that wretched jam – so if you could possibly ask Nancy to come down, please, Angela.’

‘I’ll give you a hand with the washing up,’ Nan said. ‘I’ve got linen to change today, but Jean will manage without me for a while. I shall miss Sally though.’

‘Yes, we’ll all miss her, but you have Tilly Tegg to take her place, and she seems very willing,’ Angela said. ‘Yes, you do need to get your preserves done, Muriel; it will soon be time to think about Christmas again …’

‘Don’t talk about that yet,’ Muriel begged. ‘I’ll soon have to start thinking about making cakes and puddings for Christmas. Thank goodness we’ve got some dried fruit on the shelves this year. Three years ago I had to make them with carrots and prunes to bulk the mixture out and they didn’t taste the same.’

‘Well it’s still only September,’ Angela said. ‘So there’s time yet. I’ll make a tray of tea and take it up for myself, if you don’t mind.’

‘No, certainly not, you get on and do what you want,’ Muriel said, making Angela smile as she remembered how fussy Muriel had been when she first arrived at St Saviour’s.

Angela left the kitchen with her tray and met Nancy in the hall. Terry’s sister had settled well into her new role at St Saviour’s, even though Angela knew she worried about her young brother in the special clinic Mark Adderbury had found for him. Terry was better than he had been, but still not mentally stable enough to be allowed out yet.

Nancy willingly agreed to help with the jam making, and went into the kitchen. Angela pressed for the lift to come down from the next floor. She was lost in thought as it whirred up to her office floor. As she got out and walked past the sick and isolation wards, she saw Mark come out. He stopped, smiled hesitantly as he saw her, and then took the tray from her. Angela went on ahead and opened her office door. Mark brought the tray in and deposited it on her desk. She offered him some tea, but he shook his head.

‘Mustn’t stop long,’ he said. ‘I was thinking I should telephone or come and see you, soon. How are you, Angela?’

‘Very well, Mark – but how are you? I haven’t seen you to talk properly since … oh, after the concert we had at Easter. I understand you were away at a conference over the summer?’

‘Yes, amongst other things. I always seem to be in a hurry these days.’

‘Well, it’s nice to see you …’

‘Actually, the concert was one of the things I wanted to talk to you about, Angela. Everyone was so pleased with that, and it raised much more than the price of the tickets in donations. I was thinking perhaps we might have a Christmas concert this year …’

‘How funny, so was I!’ Angela said, a laugh escaping her. ‘I know it’s too early to be thinking of it yet. Muriel was quite alarmed when I mentioned Christmas – she’s having staff problems.’

‘I expect you have plenty of them here.’

‘It isn’t easy to find reliable staff. And now we’ve lost one of our best girls – Sally Rush is leaving to take up nursing.’

‘How is she these days?’ Mark said frowning. ‘It was a terrible shock losing Andrew Markham that way … he was a brilliant man, both as a surgeon and with those marvellous books of his.’

‘Yes, the children still love them. Nancy told me that some of them ask her why there are no new books.’

‘Nancy seems to be doing well here.’

‘She’s learning a lot, assisting Muriel and helping with the younger children, but naturally she can’t forget poor Terry and what happened. She visits her brother occasionally, but …’

‘Terry’s breakdown was traumatic for everyone.’ Mark seemed intent as he looked at her. ‘And you, Angela? I never seem to find you around these days. You work terribly long hours. You should make time for some fun.’

‘Well, I do, when I can,’ Angela said, ‘but I have other charity work nowadays – meetings I go to in the evenings. I’m only working here this evening because I have to finish a report on—’

‘Not too busy to go for a drink later, I hope?’ He looked at her and Angela was unsure what she could see in his eyes. ‘We really ought to talk …’

‘Oh …’ Angela hesitated and then inclined her head. ‘I should be finished by eight – if you want to meet somewhere?’

‘I’ll pick you up then and we’ll have supper at that pub by the river – we went there once before, if you remember?’

‘Yes, thank you,’ she agreed. ‘I shall be ready by eight and I’ll come down to the hall. It will be nice spending time with you again, Mark.’

‘Yes, I’ve missed our time together,’ he said. ‘I’ll look forward to this evening.’

‘Yes, me too,’ she said, giving him a smile as she watched him leave. It was time she started work on that report, yet she lingered for a moment, thinking about Mark and the way he’d always been there for her until Carole came between them.

As she put a sheet of paper into her typewriter, Angela’s thoughts turned to Kelly, the girl Muriel had complained about so bitterly. She was a pretty dark-haired girl and bright, always friendly when Angela saw her – so why was she proving so very unreliable?

‘Oh, Mammy,’ Kelly Mason said, looking at her mother as she sat slumped in her wooden rocking chair by the kitchen fire. The kitchen looked as if a bomb had hit it, and needed a really good clean. ‘Why didn’t you tell me if you were feeling ill again? I would have done all this last night. I can’t stop now or I’ll be late again and Nan … I mean Mrs Burrows, told me that she will have to let me go if I keep having time off.’

‘You get off then, my love,’ her mother sighed. ‘Make me a cup of tea first and then I’ll get up and see to the bairns.’

Kelly saw the weariness in her mother’s face and sighed inwardly, knowing that she couldn’t desert her mother when she was like this; getting the younger children ready for school would be too much for her. When Mammy started to tremble and took her tea with unsteady hands, Kelly knew there was nothing she could do but stay for another hour or so to see to the children before she left for her work at St Saviour’s.

Running upstairs to pull her siblings from their beds, Kelly was thinking about her job at the children’s home. She loved working there, even though she was only employed in the kitchens as a skivvy, washing up, scrubbing and helping Cook by peeling mounds of potatoes and chopping cabbage or scraping carrots. Sometimes, Kelly thought she would throw up if she saw another carrot covered in mud, because they had to be scrubbed under the tap in the scullery before she could peel them; she hated the ones with wormholes, especially if there was still something inside, and Cook was so fussy about her food. If she found one speck of dirt in the cabbage she made Kelly’s life a misery.

Her sister and brothers squealed as she yanked the covers off them and then physically ejected them from bed; they were lazy devils and did little or nothing to help Mammy, even though Cate was old enough at nine to help with the simple chores.

‘Get up and wash now,’ Kelly said crossly, ‘or you’ll get no breakfast. I’ve got to get to work and I can’t wait about for you. Mammy isn’t well this morning so you can do the washing up before you go to school.’

‘There’s no school today ’cos there’s a hole in the roof and we wus told not to go in,’ her brother Michael complained bitterly. ‘I ain’t goin’ ter get up yet, our Kelly. You’re mean to get on at us like you do.’

‘Well, you may have a day off but I don’t,’ Kelly said. ‘I’m not telling you again. There’ll be toast and dripping and a cup of milk for you downstairs. I’m leaving as soon as I’ve washed up the supper things – and if I find Mammy worse tonight because you didn’t help her, Cate, you’ll feel the back of my hand.’

‘I’ll help Mammy,’ Robbie said. He was only five but more serious than the others and she knew he tried but he couldn’t do much other than set the table or fetch things from the shop.

‘Thank you, Robbie love,’ Kelly said. ‘Make the others help her too and make sure she doesn’t do too much. I’ve got to hurry or I might lose my job.’ She didn’t earn much but even a few shillings extra helped to pay the rent and make sure there was coal for the fire.

She took Bethy from her cot and into the bathroom, washing her face and changing her nappy. Bethy was nearly three and still in nappies; it seemed she wouldn’t learn to use the potty or perhaps Mammy was too tired to train her into it as she had the others. She’d never really been well since the birth of her youngest child.

Kelly ran back downstairs, knowing that her younger sister would get up even if Michael did not. In the kitchen she settled Bethy in her high chair with a piece of bread and strawberry jam; toast was too hard for the little girl and she liked to suck on her bread until it was soft and she could swallow it without having to chew. Kelly wasn’t sure if the child was backward or simply lazy, like most of her family seemed to be. She herself seemed to take after her Irish grandmother who had brought up a family of twelve and never stopped working until she dropped down dead in her mid-fifties of a heart attack.

Almost an hour later, Kelly had fed the baby, brought a semblance of order to the kitchen and abandoned her brothers and sister to their quarrel over who should do what, as she grabbed her shabby coat and left the house. She saw a bus coming that would take her close to Halfpenny Street and ran to catch it, sighing with relief as the cheery conductor collected her fare. At least she was on her way to work and perhaps Nan would let her off as she was only a bit late …

THREE

Angela popped out at lunchtime to pick up some shopping, taking it back to her flat before returning to Halfpenny Street. In the heart of Spitalfields, the street was typical of others in the neighbourhood with its rundown houses and shabby commercial properties. St Saviour’s had started life as a grand Georgian house with gardens at the rear and three floors plus attics above, but it had long ago lost its air of grandeur. People of all nationalities lived and worked in the surrounding streets, which had once formed part of the prosperous silk district, populated first by émigré Huguenots. In later years many Jewish synagogues and businesses had taken the silk merchants’ place, and they in turn had moved on as a variety of new, much poorer inhabitants flooded in. Even on a lovely September day, the street looked grimy and most of the buildings were dilapidated, but what had for a time been the old fever hospital was now a place of hope for the children who lived there. The window frames and doors had recently been painted and it looked more cheerful now that the attic windows were no longer boarded up, the roof space having been turned into two large offices.

On her return, Angela met Staff Nurse Michelle coming downstairs with a tray of dirty cups and plates as she entered the hall, and stopped to speak to her.

‘Is Muriel still behind? I think Nan gave her a hand earlier as Kelly Mason was late again …’

‘Kelly is having a bad time at home,’ Michelle said with a sympathetic look on her pretty face. She was a striking girl with midnight black hair and a pearly complexion. ‘Have a word with her before you think of sacking her, Angela. She isn’t lazy. I think it’s just that her mother can’t manage without her help.’

‘Give me the tray, Michelle. I know you have better things to do upstairs.’

Angela carried the tray through to the kitchen and discovered Kelly talking with one of the newer carers, Tilly. They were sitting at a table drinking tea and seemed intent on their talk until she entered, but their conversation died and she fancied Kelly looked a bit apprehensive.

‘Don’t let me interrupt you,’ she said. ‘I came in the hope of a cup of tea.’

‘I’ll get you one, Miss Angela,’ Kelly said. ‘I’m taking my lunch break, miss, and we were only talkin’ about Ireland. Tilly was telling me her auntie married a man from Derry.’

‘Yes, you’re Irish, aren’t you?’

‘Only on me mam’s side,’ Kelly said. ‘Me dad is English; London bred and born. I was tellin’ Tilly how me mam’s been ill all year and I’ve been lookin’ after her as much as I could—’ The girl broke off, a look of anguish in her eyes. Angela understood instantly, because Michelle had warned her. It explained Kelly’s lateness and constant days off. ‘Only in me spare time, though …’

‘Yes, I see,’ Angela said. ‘Has your mother had the doctor, Kelly? Do you know why she’s so poorly?’

‘He wouldn’t come to us, miss,’ Kelly said. ‘We live in a slum down near the Docks. Dad hoped Hitler would do us a favour and blow the cottage up, but it’s still standin’ and the council say we’re a long way down the list – but it’s damp see and Mam suffers from a heart condition. She feels the cold somethin’ awful – and I think I take after her; it’s why I’m always gettin’ a chill.’

‘Well, we shall have to see what we can do to help your mam,’ Angela said. ‘Would your family move into a better place if one were offered, Kelly?’

‘Oh yes, miss,’ Kelly’s face lit up. ‘Me dad would do anythin’ to make her well again.’

‘I’ll speak to some people I know,’ Angela said. ‘I’m helping a Church charity to provide deserving cases with decent housing they can afford. We don’t have enough houses for everyone and there’s always a long waiting list but … it would help if we had a doctor’s report …’

‘The doctor won’t come to our house; he doesn’t like the area – too many bad folk where we live.’

‘I know someone who will come,’ Angela said. ‘If I have your permission I shall bring him myself, Kelly.’

‘I’ll ask Dad and tell you tomorrow,’ Kelly said and put a cup and saucer in front of her. ‘It’s still hot, miss. We’d only just made it.’

‘I’d better get going,’ Tilly announced and stood up. ‘We’re rushed off our feet today.’

‘Yes, and I must too.’ Angela took a sip of her tea. ‘I should like Dr Kent to see your mother, Kelly; if her health is affected by the damp conditions it will help your family move up the housing list. I can’t promise anything. The charity I help out has to be fair and I’m only one small cog, but sometimes they listen to me. If your mother was better, you wouldn’t have to be late so often.’

Kelly’s cheeks turned even pinker and she hung her head. ‘Thank you, Mrs Morton – and I’ll try not to stop away too much. You see, Mammy has a little one still at home and another three at school, and if she’s ill …’

‘Yes, I do understand, Kelly,’ Angela said, ‘and I shan’t be reporting you to Sister for staying away from work – but you must try to come in on time; you know we need you too.’

‘I could always come in and make up me time when me sister gets home from school – I wouldn’t mind working in the evening to make up for being late. Me da’s home then …’

‘Well, let’s see what we can do for your mother first,’ Angela said. ‘Perhaps there is some treatment that will help her.’

She was thoughtful as she made her way to her office. If Kelly’s mother was suffering from the damp conditions in her slum house then the sooner she was on their list the better. Since the end of the war more and more building was taking place, but it took time to get all the kilns and factories producing at full capacity and progress was slow. So many people had been left homeless that pulling down the old slums that had remained standing was not a priority. In time it was hoped to replace all the substandard housing, but it could take years. It was the aim of the charity Angela assisted to help those who needed it most, but there were so many in bad housing and they couldn’t help them all. In some quarters there was resistance on the part of the slum dwellers themselves, who didn’t want to move out to the suburbs; for this reason, the charity had decided to renovate old properties rather than build new.

Families like Kelly’s were often overlooked, and the terrible poverty they endured often bred cruelty, which in turn led to battered children being brought to their door at St Saviour’s. If Kelly’s mother died, the girl would have to leave her job to look after her siblings or they might end up at St Saviour’s or some other children’s home.

Determined to prevent such a tragedy, Angela resolved to speak to Dr Kent about visiting Kelly’s mother. He was new to the area and keen to get to grips with the poverty and sickness he witnessed on his rounds; Angela hoped that would make him more likely to be interested in the Masons’ case.

Angela had no sooner started typing up her report than the door opened and Sister Beatrice entered. She looked thoughtful and rather anxious, as if something were playing on her mind.

‘Is there anything wrong?’

‘Wrong with me? Why should there be? I’m perfectly well,’ Sister snapped, and Angela wondered what she’d said to upset her this time. She was secretly counting the days to her forthcoming move upstairs to one of the new offices in the attic. Perhaps once their offices were no longer side-by-side and they met only to discuss business they would get on better.

‘No reason at all,’ she said. ‘I thought you looked anxious … perhaps over one of the children?’

‘Well yes,’ Sister admitted. ‘I am concerned about the new arrivals, Angela. Samantha and Sarah … As you know, they were discovered sleeping rough in a bombed-out house due for demolition. The police had cleared it of homeless vagrants once already, but they went back for a final check before the bulldozers moved in and found the girls close to exhaustion from lack of food and water …’

‘Have they told you why they were there? Or given their last names?’

‘Not yet. Though I’ve been informed they’re sisters and their surname is May. Samantha seems wary. Sarah is a gentle girl, very pretty and doesn’t say much, just sits there and looks at you.’

‘Can she speak?’

‘She speaks when she wants to – usually yes or no or thank you. They both seem to have nice manners and they haven’t caused a bit of bother … but something isn’t right. Sarah has old scarring and faded bruises, but Samantha was merely dehydrated and hungry; although when I examined the marks on her sister’s body she seemed to wince, almost as if she was feeling Sarah’s pain herself.’

‘Could they be twins? I’ve heard that sometimes twins feel each other’s pain and emotions.’

‘Samantha says they are twins, but they aren’t identical and Sarah seems younger and quieter … perhaps she’s in her sister’s shadow. I think I might ask Mark to have a word with them, next time he visits.’

‘Yes …’ Angela frowned. ‘We don’t want the kind of bother we had with poor Terry.’

‘No, certainly not.’ Sister shuddered as they both remembered the frightened, troubled child who had attacked her. ‘I feel so responsible for what happened. I know his sister blames herself too, but I doubt anyone could have prevented it.’

‘Nancy is coping very well for the moment. Muriel was telling me she’s very good at making pastry – in fact she made the treacle tart some of the children had at lunch.’

‘Yes, well, I’m glad she’s coming along nicely – but I don’t want anything like that to happen here again, Angela. Nancy refused to be parted from her brother and Samantha is behaving in much the same way. She says her sister might be frightened if she woke in the night and she was not there.’

‘Does it really matter if they stay together?’ Angela asked reasonably. ‘As we discussed, we’re moving Mary Ellen and Marion into the new wing next week; they will have one of the smaller rooms with four beds. Perhaps we should put the twins in with them. They’re much the same age, but Sarah seems younger and Samantha needs to get comfortable with us. It is very strange for children who’ve been accustomed to doing chores and taking care of their siblings when they suddenly find themselves having to follow our rules.’

‘Do you imagine I am not aware of that?’ Sister Beatrice was clearly not in the best of moods, reverting to the hostility that she’d shown when Angela first came to the home the previous year. ‘I’ve no intention of repeating the mistakes that were made with Nancy and Terry …’

‘None of us could have foreseen such an outcome,’ Angela said. ‘You mustn’t blame yourself, Sister. Terry had been badly damaged by his father’s brutality, not to mention the trauma of the fire that killed his parents. We shall never know exactly what took place, but Terry’s mind was so badly warped by his father’s torture—’

‘Well, that’s as maybe,’ sniffed Sister Beatrice. ‘Anyway, I’ve been informed by Constable Sallis that the police have managed to trace the girls’ aunt. She may be willing to take them, in which case their stay with us will be a short one.’

‘That’s a good thing, I expect.’

Sister’s gaze flickered and Angela thought she saw distress in her eyes, but then the older woman was turning away, leaving her to carry on with her work. The report was almost finished, which left two letters to compose and type up before she would be ready to meet Mark. But as her fingers rattled the keys of the typewriter her mind kept drifting back to Sister Beatrice’s hostility, and wondering what could have provoked it.

Beatrice entered her own office, closing the door behind her and leaning against it for a moment. She had no idea why she’d been so annoyed to find Angela busily typing away at this hour; her assistant was very efficient and saved her endless hours of paperwork, something she’d found irksome in the past. Mark had assured Sister Beatrice that the Administrator’s role was not intended to usurp hers and that the children of St Saviour’s would continue to depend on her experience and her understanding.

She touched the heavy silver crucifix she wore hanging from a long chain about her neck, and then closed her eyes. She must conquer this feeling of anxiety and anger that came over her sometimes in the younger woman’s presence.

‘Forgive me, Lord,’ Beatrice said. ‘Pride and ambition are unworthy sins and I must submit to Thy will for me …’

Yet even as she mouthed the words she knew she would fight with all that was in her to retain her position at St Saviour’s … but why was she feeling threatened? She’d thought she’d managed to put this behind her, to accept that Angela’s position as Administrator was of benefit to all.

She’d felt so inadequate when Terry’s illness had made him a danger to himself and others. Ever since that terrible incident she’d felt tired and strained – and there was something about the two most recent arrivals that made her uneasy.

Feeling a sudden pain in her side, Beatrice gasped and clutched at herself. Perhaps it wasn’t the silence of little Sarah that had brought on this attack of self-doubt and soul-searching. These terrible stabbing pains had been troubling her for a while, and though she rose above it stoically, it was getting steadily worse – and that was what frightened her. What was the source of her pain? Had it been higher in her chest she would have thought it indigestion and ignored it, but this was low on her left side and could be severe, though it didn’t last long.

She drew a sighing breath of relief as the pain receded. It was foolish of her to imagine that she had some dreadful illness. Beatrice knew she ought to visit a doctor and let him examine her, but she was reluctant. If it turned out she had something unpleasant, she might be forced to take a lot of time off work – she might lose her position here.

A quiet existence in the convent did not appeal to her after a busy life at St Saviour’s, and the prospect of being forced to retire due to ill health was one that sent her into the darkest of moods. She loved the hustle and bustle of Halfpenny Street and the surrounding lanes and alleys – so many people going about their work and the rattle of trams in the distance; bicycles, horses and dray carts, and lorries as they passed, and the cry of costermongers as they pushed their hand-carts and offered fruit and veg for sale – and she was not ready for the quiet of the secluded convent. She did not have time to be ill – not when there was so much to do, and so much to lose. St Saviour’s would manage without her, Angela would see to that, Beatrice had no doubt – but she needed her place here.

Her thoughts were interrupted as someone knocked at the door and then Nan poked her head round. She smiled at the woman who was her closest friend; the only person who knew anything about her life before St Saviour’s.

‘You’re still here then,’ Nan said and entered. ‘I’m on duty until midnight, Beatrice. You should get home and rest. You work too hard – and you look a bit peaky.’

‘I’m all right, perhaps a bit tired. I had no more than a few hours’ sleep last night – but we shall be all right now. Staff Nurse Wendy is settling in well. It looks as if we’ve been lucky this time, Nan.’

‘Yes, it looks like it.’

Beatrice nodded, her stern features relaxing as she asked, ‘Have you heard from Alice recently?’

‘She was well when I popped in last night, though a bit lonely with Bob away in the Army. I think she’s landed on her feet there, providing she doesn’t let herself brood on the past too much. We all have to accept that we can’t change the past, even if we wish we could. You and I both know that, Beatrice.’

‘Yes, we do,’ Beatrice agreed. ‘You’re feeling better about your daughter now I think?’

‘Yes, a bit. I shall always miss my Maisie and wish she’d chosen to stay with me, but Eddie says I must accept her decision. She’s Sister Mary now and not the girl I knew at all. You found solace in becoming a nun and it seems my girl has too.’

‘I found a refuge when I needed one – but then I was given the chance to nurse, first at the Infirmary, and then to become Warden here; I’ve never regretted it. I should hate to have to leave.’

‘But why should you?’ Nan looked puzzled. ‘St Saviour’s couldn’t manage without its Sister Beatrice.’

‘No, perhaps it couldn’t,’ Beatrice said. ‘It does me good to talk to you, Nan. Where is your charming old soldier this evening?’

‘Oh, Eddie is away at the moment, visiting his nephew and his wife. They run a grocer’s shop in the country somewhere. They want him to live with them and help look after the shop. I shall miss him if he goes.’

‘Yes, I know.’ Beatrice felt better. The pain had gone and she’d been worrying for nothing. ‘I’m sure he will keep in touch though.’

‘Yes … but letters aren’t like meeting for tea or having him round for lunch, are they? Still, at my age, I couldn’t expect a romance, could I?’

‘Did you want one?’ Beatrice looked closely at her friend, but although Nan seemed to hesitate, she shook her head.

‘No, not a romance … but he was cheerful company. The first man I’ve felt comfortable with for a long time.’

‘I understand. Well, I’d best go home and get some rest. It will be another long day tomorrow.’

‘We never know what will turn up, do we?’

They walked down to the lift together and then parted. Beatrice made her way through the gardens to the Nurses’ Home, and Nan set off on her rounds, making sure everything was quiet and as it should be in the dorms. Nan was probably right, Beatrice thought; for a while she’d been doing the work of two people and that was the reason she’d been feeling a bit under the weather. Now that the new nurse had settled in, things were bound to improve …

FOUR

Michelle came out of a deep sleep slowly as she heard her mother calling her. There was a note of desperation in her voice and Michelle was suddenly wide-awake as the light was snapped on and she saw her mother standing there in the doorway with tears running down her cheeks.

‘What’s wrong, Mum?’ she asked and jumped out of bed. ‘What’s happened?’

‘It’s your father,’ she said. ‘He was coughing and then he sort of choked and brought up this blood and then he fell back against the pillows and I think – I think he might be dead, Michelle …’ Her mother’s eyes were wide with fear.

‘No, he can’t be!’ Michelle cried, running barefoot through to the bedroom next door. She saw at once that her father’s pillows were spotted with blood and there was more on his nightshirt. Heart racing, she rushed to him and bent over to find a pulse. Thankfully, it was there but faint. ‘He’s not dead, Mum. I think he’s passed out – probably felt weak after bringing up that blood …’ She turned and saw that her two young brothers had come to the door and were staring at her in distress. ‘Freddie, go back to bed,’ she said. ‘I’ll get dressed and phone for the doctor.’

‘Can’t you do anything for him?’ Michelle’s mother asked as her father stirred and moaned weakly. ‘He won’t thank you for fetching the doctor.’

‘You look after him, Chelle,’ the elder of her brothers said. ‘I’ll go and ring from the box on the corner.’

Michelle glanced at the alarm clock by the bed; the time was a quarter to five and the doctor wouldn’t be pleased to be called out at this hour.

‘No, wait,’ she said. ‘Dad’s coming round now. Freddie, go back to bed – you too, Ben; go on now. I’ll clean him up and see how he is and then we’ll get the doctor later if we need to.’

‘Michelle’s right,’ her mother said. ‘No arguments. Your father hates a fuss; you know that – so go quietly now and leave this to us. I’ll fetch you some warm water, Michelle …’

Michelle touched her father’s face. He opened his eyes and she saw the fear in them as he became aware of her and then the blood everywhere. She took his hand and he gripped it tightly. His mouth moved but his voice was only a whisper.

‘What … happened?’

‘You had a coughing fit, brought up some blood and then passed out. You’ll be all right in a while; it’s merely the shock.’

‘You didn’t send for the doctor?’ He clutched at her urgently.

‘Not yet, but you must see him, Dad.’

‘Meant to,’ he said. ‘Don’t think I’ve got long, girl. You’ll have to look after your mother and brothers. Ben will be out to work in another few years, but Freddie’s still a boy …’

‘Don’t talk,’ Michelle hushed him as he closed his eyes, clearly exhausted. ‘Try not to think about the blood; there’s not as much as you think.’

‘Yes,’ he said weakly. ‘Ben is sensible but Freddie needs a firm hand. Remember that when I’ve gone.’

‘Shush … the doctor will help when he comes and you’ll soon be better.’

‘You know that’s not true.’ His eyes reproached her. ‘My own fault, but I didn’t want to let you all down – should’ve done something ages ago.’

‘It isn’t too late,’ Michelle said, praying she was right and not giving him false hope. ‘You’ll need to go away if it’s consumption – don’t look like that; you know I’m right. We don’t know for sure what it is – I’ll look after Mum and the boys, I promise.’

‘Not fair on you – should be courting …’

‘Lie back and rest. I’m going to clean you up and make you comfortable, and then we’ll have the doctor as soon as it’s light.’

‘I can get up and go myself …’

‘You will stay where you are and do as you’re told.’ Michelle fixed him with her best Staff Nurse look. ‘You owe it to Mum and the boys to get better – and the only way that will happen is bed rest in a sanatorium. I shan’t listen to you, Dad, so you may as well listen to me. This attack was sent as a warning. Do as you’re told, and you’ll live to see the boys leave school – both of them.’

The faintest flicker of a smile passed across his mouth, but he was too weak to do more than press her hand. Michelle’s mother came back with the bowl of water and together they changed his shirt and Michelle washed away the blood, tucking him under a clean sheet.

‘Shall I bring him a cup of tea?’ her mother asked. Michelle hesitated, and then shook her head.

‘Only a few sips of water until the doctor has been. I think he’ll sleep now.’

‘Yes, he looks more peaceful,’ her mother said. ‘I was so frightened, Michelle – I don’t know what we’ll do if—’

‘Hush …’ Michelle led her from the room. ‘It’s too soon to think that way, Mum. This has been coming on for a while now. It probably looks worse than it is … let’s wait until the doctor tells us what he thinks; it might not be as bad as we fear.’

‘Well, Miss Morris,’ the doctor said as he finished examining his patient later that morning. ‘You were quite right to call me. I know you think your father has TB, but I’m not too certain of that. We shall do some tests and they will give us a better idea. In the meantime, keep him warm in bed; give him milky drinks and soft foods – nothing spicy for a while at least. It may be ulcers – they cause pain, but a severe attack like this is rare; we’re not sure what causes ulcers in the first place, but bad eating habits can aggravate them in certain patients.’

He was an attractive man with a pleasant smile and a way of looking at you that was appealing. Michelle had been surprised at how young and enthusiastic he was. The doctor they usually saw was much older and set in his ways; this man was bound to have new ideas and theories of his own. Perhaps they’d all been wrong to jump to conclusions, but TB was prevalent in the poorer districts and she knew both her father and mother feared it. Dr Kent was new to the area; he hadn’t been here long enough to understand how many people suffered from bad conditions and poor diets. Yet she would give him the benefit of the doubt and pray that he was right.

‘Bert likes spicy foods,’ Mrs Morris said as they stood at the top of the stairs after leaving the patient to rest. He’d been given something to help him sleep, as he was restless and kept trying to get out of bed. ‘He had some food last night at the pub. It smelled awful to me, and tasted very hot, but Bert has always liked those kinds of foods.’

‘Yes, and that makes me think it may be ulcers, Mrs Morris, rather than TB. I know he’s had a bad cough for a long time, because your daughter told me so and she’s a good nurse – but the blood he coughed up may have been caused by ulcers rather than tuberculosis.’

Mrs Morris looked at him uncertainly. ‘Is that better or worse news, Doctor?’

‘Better – providing you can keep him off greasy foods. Vinegary things are often as bad – so from here on it’ll be rice pudding, jelly, blancmange and soft mashed potato with mince and gravy or boiled fish rather than the things he likes, Mrs Morris. However, he may have to go into hospital for tests. They will sort him out and, if I’m right, he’ll have a good chance of getting over it.’

While Michelle nipped back into the bedroom to make sure that her father was resting, Mrs Morris went downstairs to see the doctor off. When she returned, her eyes were wet with tears.

‘Thank you for stopping until the doctor came,’ she said. ‘You should get off now, Michelle. You don’t want to be late for work.’

‘It’s all right, Mum, I’m on the early evening shift today. I rang and swopped with Paula; she didn’t mind; it means she can go out with her boyfriend this evening.’

‘Oh, then let’s have a cuppa,’ her mother said and looked at her anxiously. ‘Do you think Dr Kent is right – that your father’s cough is bronchitis and the blood was due to ulcers?’

‘I don’t know, Mum. Dad’s been losing a bit of weight recently and together with the cough I thought it might be TB. Did you know he was having stomach pains?’

Her mother shook her head. ‘Well, if it is ulcers he won’t like rice pudding and mashed potatoes for his tea. Your dad loves a fry-up or roast beef, and those’ll be on the forbidden list.’

‘If it is ulcers, he’ll have to be sensible and learn to stay away from the foods that upset him.’

‘Well, I’m glad it happened now; it may bring him to his senses. I’ve been telling him to have that cough seen to but he wouldn’t go to the doctor.’ She wrinkled her brow. ‘I don’t know this doctor, Michelle. Is he new to the practice?’

‘Yes, I think so. We use old Dr Simpson’s practice for the children at St Saviour’s sometimes, but I haven’t seen Dr Kent before.’ She’d thought him attractive, in a cool, remote sort of way; his hair was dark ash blond and his skin fair and his eyes a sort of greenish brown, or what some people called hazel.

‘Well, he seems nice and efficient, though he doesn’t smile much,’ Mrs Morris said. ‘I must admit I was terrified when your father brought up that blood. If you hadn’t been here, I’m not sure what I would’ve done.’

‘Well, I was here.’ Michelle squeezed her mother’s arm. ‘You’ve got to stop worrying and look after yourself, Mum. I’ve noticed how tired you’ve been lately and I think you do too much.’

‘I’ve been worrying about your father. I dread the winter for him and keep thinking it’s time he found himself a job inside somewhere – but he says there aren’t enough jobs going – and we do need more money. At times we’ve hardly enough for the rent, let alone the coal and our food. I wish your dad could get a steady job, something reliable.’

Michelle looked at her thoughtfully. ‘If there was a different sort of job going – slow steady work – do you think Dad would take it?’

‘Give him a chance! What are you thinking of?’

‘I can’t say too much yet; I need to talk to someone first – but leave it with me …’

‘Can I talk to you, Angela?’ Michelle hovered hesitantly in the doorway of Angela’s office. ‘I wanted to ask something – it’s personal.’

‘Of course, come in,’ Angela said and smiled, indicating that she should sit in the chair opposite.

‘It’s a bit awkward,’ Michelle said, feeling almost afraid to ask, now she was here. ‘My father was ill this morning. I had the doctor in and he thinks he may have ulcers in his stomach – and his cough gets worse every winter … and Mum and me, we thought it was time he did an indoor job. Well, indoors more than out – and I heard that the caretaker here was leaving so he could live near his daughter in the country, and wondered if, when he goes …’

‘You would like your father to be caretaker here?’ Angela looked thoughtful. ‘Our present caretaker is planning to stay on until a few weeks before Christmas. Do you think your father will be sufficiently recovered by then?’

‘Yes, if has treatment for his problem he should be feeling better by then,’ Michelle said, her cheeks warm. It was much harder to ask for a favour than she’d imagined. ‘I was hoping he might be considered.’

‘I can promise you he will be considered if he applies,’ Angela said. ‘I’m only one of several people concerned in appointing a new caretaker, Michelle. It would have to go to the Board. I couldn’t tell you now that he would get the position, but I’m sure that his application would be given every attention.’

‘Thank you, that’s all I wanted – just that he could be given a chance. So many men don’t even get an answer to their applications for work these days.’

‘Yes, I do understand …’ Angela hesitated, and then seemed to make up her mind. She looked in her drawer and took out her notepad. ‘What is your father’s current job, and what work has he done in the past?’

‘He was a crane driver for years, a skilled man,’ Michelle said. ‘He used to load and unload cargoes but then the war started and he was in the army for a while, until they invalided him out in ’43. When he came back he had a weak chest; the doctor said it was bronchitis, but it has been worse recently – and he’s been working as a casual worker on the docks for a long time, doing anything he can really.’

‘Do you think he could put up shelves and mend broken windows – things like that?’ Angela asked. ‘It would involve some outside work I suppose, but our caretaker has to look after the garden and the boiler in the cellar …’

‘I think it would be better than what he does now – and it would be regular.’

‘Well, I’ll see what I can do – but I can’t promise anything. You know I can only give my opinion if asked – so perhaps your father would call in one day and have a chat when he’s feeling well again.’

‘Thank you,’ Michelle said, her eyes pricking with sudden tears. ‘You didn’t mind my asking about the post of caretaker here?’

‘Not at all; I’ve been given the task of finding someone suitable and if your father was willing to try, I dare say he might suit us. You are one of our best nurses, so he comes with a good recommendation … but it would have to go to the Board before it could be confirmed.’

‘I don’t know how to thank you …’

‘Let’s see what happens first. We haven’t actually had any other applicants yet, though I’m sure we shall. And your father might not wish to take up the position; it isn’t a great deal of money for a skilled man.’

‘Mum is more interested in Dad’s health than money,’ Michelle said. ‘I’m sure she would manage, even if she did a part time job to help out herself.’

‘Then ask Mr Morris to come and see me here when he feels up to it,’ Angela said. ‘And now I’d better not keep you; I’m sure you’ll be needed elsewhere.’

‘Yes, I shall,’ Michelle said, glancing at the watch pinned to her uniform. ‘I mustn’t be late. Thank you so much!’

‘I haven’t done anything yet.’

Michelle nodded, but she was feeling excited as she left the office. If her father truly had ulcers and bronchitis, then a caretaker’s job could be exactly what he needed …

FIVE

‘Hello, I’m Mary Ellen, and you’re Samantha, aren’t you?’ The girl in the sick ward bed stared at Mary Ellen warily as she approached. ‘Miss Angela asked me to come and see you. She says we’re going to be sharing a dorm in the new wing soon, and she wanted us to make friends.’ She sat on the edge of the girl’s bed. ‘It’s lovely over there, all fresh and new, and the dorms aren’t too big. There will be four of us. Marion, you, your sister Sarah, and me …’ Mary Ellen glanced across at Sarah in the next bed, who sat staring at them, her eyes wide and her thumb in her mouth. ‘Hello, Sarah. I think you will like it here; it’s much nicer in the dorms. Me and Marion go to school with Billy Baggins, he’s a bit older and good at football and running. Once you’re up and about, you’ll have fun here; we do all sorts of things …’

‘Mary Ellen … have fun,’ Sarah repeated, smiling and nodding.

‘Sarah isn’t well yet,’ Samantha said protectively. ‘She doesn’t talk much but she knows everything we say – so don’t think she’s daft!’

‘I wouldn’t,’ Mary Ellen said, puzzled by Samantha’s hostility. ‘Sarah is very pretty. I wish I had hair her colour.’

‘We’re twins,’ Samantha said, the stiffness easing out of her. ‘I thought I could look out for us both after Pa … but I couldn’t find enough food to eat. I tried to sell what we had left but the man cheated me and would only give me five shillings for all of it …’

‘What man?’ Mary Ellen asked.

‘Alf, from the scrapyard. I know it was worth more, perhaps two or three pounds, but all he paid me was five bob and he threatened to tell the police I’d stolen it if I didn’t leave it with him.’

‘Even two pounds wouldn’t have lasted long,’ Mary Ellen said. ‘Don’t you have anyone you could live with?’

Samantha shook her head, but Sarah took her thumb from her mouth and said, ‘Aunt Jane won’t have Sarah. She says Sarah idiot girl – Pa gone away …’

‘Sarah – don’t, love,’ Samantha said, looking at her sadly before turning back to Mary Ellen. ‘I didn’t want to live with Aunt Jane. She’s not kind – and she hates Sarah.’

‘She sounds horrid,’ Mary Ellen said. ‘But you’ll be all right here. It seems strange at first, but Nan is nice and so are the nurses, and Miss Angela. Sister Beatrice is a bit fierce, but she’s not bad really. And we have good things to eat …’

‘Why are you here?’

‘My father died and then my mother got ill. She was unwell for ages, then my sister Rose went off to train as a nurse and we didn’t have any money. Ma wouldn’t tell Rose she was worse and we were so hungry sometimes – and then she got really ill and they put her in hospital, but she died last Christmas. My sister couldn’t look after me – so that’s why I live here; I haven’t got anywhere else until Rose finds us a place to live. She’s always busy and sometimes I think she never will find us a new house.’

‘Pa not come back,’ Sarah said. She reached under her pillow and took out two pieces of what looked like rubbish to Mary Ellen, and then she saw it was a broken clay pipe with a long handle. Sarah held it to her cheek, crooning to herself, tears slipping down her cheeks. ‘Pa not love Sarah … Child of Satan …’

‘What did she say?’ Mary Ellen was shocked.

‘Our father called her that for breaking his favourite pipe. Sarah didn’t mean to upset him, she loves Pa, but he doesn’t care about us. He thinks she’s too slow and clumsy, and he beat her until I made him stop.’

‘How did you do that?’

‘I threw the pee in my chamber pot over him,’ Samantha said simply.

Mary Ellen stared at her in awe for a moment and then erupted into peals of laughter. ‘Oh, that’s so funny,’ she said. ‘You’re brave, like Marion. When a burglar tried to steal our Christmas food she hit him with her crutch and then Angela came and fought him, and he tripped over and hit his head – and then Sister Beatrice came and stood over him with the rolling pin until Alice came and took over from her. She looked so fierce I laughed and so did Billy, even though the burglar was his brother Arthur!’

Samantha sat forward, suddenly showing signs of interest as Mary Ellen recounted the story of how Billy’s brother had planned to eat their special food and then set fire to the home.

‘What happened to him?’ Samantha asked, a gleam in her eyes.

‘Billy heard he’d been sentenced to ten years in prison. He was a thief and he tried to make Billy help him, but Billy didn’t want to so he came back here and hid. That’s why Arthur was intent on burning us all in our beds, ’cept he can’t now, ’cos he’s locked up in choky.’

‘So you were heroes and saved the day,’ Samantha said. She paused for a moment, then asked, ‘What happens here – is it like prison?’

Mary Ellen shook her head. ‘I asked Billy that when I heard my sister Rose saying I would have to come here when Mum was ill. No, it’s OK, even though it’s not like being in your own home. Sister Beatrice is stern and gets cross if you’re naughty and break the rules, but she’s all right underneath. She has to be strict, see. She’s in charge of us and gets into trouble if we do bad things.’

Samantha looked solemn. ‘It was easy at school when we were younger. I sat next to Sarah and explained the lessons and writing to her, but we got told off for talking – and then they separated us. Sarah was taken to a class for younger children and they didn’t bother to teach her anything, but she can learn – if you tell her enough times she will remember.’

Sarah’s eyes wore a glazed look, as if she were lost in her crooning. She’d stopped listening to them, and was fondling her father’s broken pipe, her cheeks streaked with tears.

‘You should tell Nancy about her. She’s younger but works with the carers. She’ll help Sarah with reading and puzzles once you’re settled in. She reads to the little ones, but Sarah could join them in the mornings rather than go to school with us.’

‘Perhaps … but they might send her to a special school. It’s what Pa was saying last year, but it didn’t happen; there wasn’t a spare place for her. My aunt wanted to put her in a mental institution for daft people and that’s why we ran away. If they try to do that to my Sarah, we’ll run away again.’

‘You ought to tell Miss Angela what you’ve told me,’ Mary Ellen said. ‘I’m sure she wouldn’t let them send her away if you asked her not to.’

‘No, I shan’t tell them,’ Samantha said fiercely. ‘Promise me you won’t tell either, Mary Ellen. Cross your heart and hope to die if you betray us.’

‘I shan’t tell anyone,’ Mary Ellen said. ‘I think Sister would let you stay if she could, but it might not be up to her …’ She broke off as the door opened and someone came in. It was Nurse Wendy and Mary Ellen wished she could share the secret with her, but she’d promised she wouldn’t on pain of death and that was a solemn oath.

‘Ah, here you are, Mary Ellen,’ Wendy said. ‘I’m glad you’ve been making friends with Samantha and Sarah, as you are all moving into the new dorm tomorrow. This afternoon, one of us will be helping you and Marion to pack your things. Samantha and Sarah, you’re both perfectly healthy and will go to your dorm straight from here. You’ll find your clothes and things waiting in the dorm, but I’ll bring you your school clothes. You’ll wear a skirt and blouse like Mary Ellen’s …’

‘What happened to our clothes?’ Samantha asked, reverting to her hostile manner.

‘They’ve been washed and you will find them in your locker with the new undies and nightdresses you’ve been given. Everyone has to wear school clothes unless you go out with a relative for a special treat.’

‘We haven’t got any relatives,’ Samantha said.

Mary Ellen frowned over the fib but didn’t contradict her. Her new friends had both an aunt and a father, even though one of them didn’t want Sarah and the other had deserted them – but it was up to Samantha to share her story when she was ready. Mary Ellen wouldn’t tell. Nothing would make her …

‘They were talking easily when I went in,’ Wendy told Angela later that day when they sat together in the staff room, ‘but Samantha clammed up as soon as she saw me. I’m sure Mary Ellen knows a lot more about them than we do, but you know how loyal she is. Wild horses wouldn’t get it out of her unless she thought it would save their lives.’

‘We can’t force her to tell us and I shan’t try,’ Angela said. ‘We’ll have to wait until the twins feel they can trust us … Is Sarah still clinging to that dirty old pipe?’

‘Yes. She hid it as soon as she saw me, but I knew what it was. I’ve seen her holding it to her cheek and singing. Tears slip down her cheeks but she doesn’t say anything – merely parrots whatever Samantha says if she has to answer.’

‘She may simply be slow. Sarah is a sweet, loving child and Samantha is protective of her. There’s nothing wrong with that.’

‘As they’re both girls, there’s no bother about them staying together. Perhaps Sarah will have more to say when she feels comfortable with us.’

‘Well, they may not be here long; you see, they have an aunt who may be willing to take them.’

‘Oh, well perhaps that’s best,’ Wendy agreed. ‘I’d better get back to the ward. I left Jean to give the children their drinks, but she’s due a break soon.’

She met Tilly as she was on her way to the kitchen and greeted her with a friendly smile, but though the girl smiled back, she walked on without speaking. Wendy hadn’t got to know her yet. Sometimes Tilly would join in a conversation, but more often she was quiet and wary of saying much. Wendy thought there was something sad about her …

Wendy had known enough sadness of her own. The only man she’d ever loved had died in the war, as had so many others – and then Wendy’s mother had died of cancer. She’d spent months nursing her and afterwards she’d wanted a change from general nursing, so this job had been a godsend. Wendy loved her job here and, although it couldn’t fill the empty space inside her that the deaths of her loved ones had left, several of the children had already found their way into her heart …

SIX

Angela filed away her reports and stretched her shoulders. She really wished that she was going somewhere nice that evening instead of a charity meeting. Her evening out with Mark had ended so abruptly; they’d hardly had time to have a drink before he was rushing off to see his patient.

‘I wouldn’t go, but Alan Royston is a friend,’ Mark had told her. ‘I told them to call me if there were complications during the operation – it’s always risky, trying to remove a tumour on the brain. No matter how skilled the surgeon, it could go either way.’

‘I understand, Mark,’ Angela had said, swallowing her disappointment. ‘You must go to your friend. If anything should happen you would never forgive yourself.’

‘I was the one who talked him into having the op. The tumour had grown to the point it was going to kill him or leave him severely impaired. If he dies now I shall be left wondering if he might have had a few more months if he’d refused …’

Angela’s heart went out to him. She suspected he wouldn’t take the death of a friend easily and she wished she could have gone with him to support him. However, Mark would never have allowed it.

She was reaching for her jacket, ready to leave for the evening, when the phone rang. Angela hesitated and then reached for the receiver. ‘Angela Morton here.’

‘Angela, my love,’ her father’s voice came down the line. ‘How are you? I’m planning to pop up to town this weekend, and I thought perhaps dinner and the theatre later? I can stay overnight and we’ll have lunch the next day before I go back.’

‘Oh, Daddy, it is lovely to hear from you, and I’d love to go out to dinner with you on Saturday. I’ll try to get tickets for a show. Shall I book them and a room for you?’

‘No, I’ll see to the room,’ he said. ‘It’ll be good to see you, and we need to have a talk. It’s about your mother – but we’ll discuss all that when I see you.’

‘Is something the matter? Mother isn’t worse, is she?’ Angela’s mother had been drinking heavily for months before her breakdown the previous Christmas, when it had all come out. It had taken months to persuade her to go to a special clinic in Switzerland for treatment, and in the end it was Mark who had persuaded her to do so.

‘No. In fact from the sound of it she’s feeling better. I’ll tell you all the news at the weekend. I won’t keep you.’

‘Yes, all right. Lovely to hear from you. I’ll look forward to the weekend.’

She frowned as she replaced the receiver. Her mother’s behaviour had been erratic for some time, but the breakdown last Christmas had come as a shock. Despite his attempt at reassurance, Angela couldn’t help feeling anxious about whatever it was her father wanted to tell her.

Mark had known of Mrs Hendry’s illness for months but he hadn’t told Angela – and she’d been angry with him for that. Perhaps that was one of the causes of this rift between them. Angela had been in the wrong; Mark could not betray a confidence, and it was her father who should have told her but he’d kept it to himself. In the aftermath of the breakdown Angela had offered to give up her work at St Saviour’s, but her father wouldn’t hear of it.

As she set off homeward along Halfpenny Street, Angela’s thoughts were preoccupied with things she could do nothing about. She turned the corner and passed the newly restored and recently reopened pub with its hanging baskets bringing a touch of welcome colour. The scent of the blooms was no longer overpowered by the tang of city drains, thanks to the efforts of the road sweeper who’d been hired to keep the pavements and gutters clean. He was an ex-soldier – his limp a relic of the war, if she was not mistaken – and he never failed to tip his cap in greeting whenever they passed on the street.

She could hear the tooting of a car horn somewhere and out on the river there was a hooter blaring from one of the barges. The vacant spaces left by Hitler’s bombs made the area seem more rundown than it actually was, but some headway had been made in clearing the rubble and one or two new buildings were going up, bringing a sense that things were moving on at last. There were still shortages, and rationing had yet to be lifted on essential items such as sugar, butter, canned and dried fruit, chocolate biscuits, clothing and petrol. Yet there was a growing feeling, encouraged by upbeat newspaper reports, that they were finally leaving those dark years of war and devastation behind.

More and more of late, Angela was aware of a vague sense of wistfulness, of needing something more in her life. She longed to be going somewhere nice for a change instead of another charity meeting. It would probably be very dull, since the housing charity was made up of a few well-intentioned people who wanted to contribute but seemed incapable of actually doing anything. Until Angela had taken over as secretary, their meetings had been spent going round and round in circles, talking endlessly and never reaching a decision. By sheer force of energy, she’d managed to galvanise them into approving funding for new housing to be built on the site they’d acquired. Now if she could only get them to come to a decision on which builder would carry out the work …

The Methodist hall, with its walls clad in dark oak wainscoting and drab grey paint, and a permanent odour of musty old books in the air, was not the most welcoming of venues. As usual, the old-fashioned radiators were proving unequal to the task of heating the draughty interior, and Angela was debating whether to hang her coat on the hallstand or keep it on for the duration of the meeting when she was hailed by Stan Bridges, Chairman of the Housing Society.

‘Angela, just the person! I’d like you to meet Henry Arnold,’ he beamed, ushering her towards an extremely attractive young man. ‘Henry, this is Mrs Morton, one of the unpaid angels who keep our little charity run—’ He broke off as the door opened to admit another new arrival, then hurried over to greet them, Angela and her new companion immediately forgotten.

‘Mr Arnold, I had no idea you would be coming tonight,’ Angela said, extending her hand to him. ‘I knew we had whittled the list of prospective builders down to three, but I thought it was to be decided this evening …’

‘Please, call me Henry,’ he said, giving her a smile that lit his blue eyes with a dazzling brilliance. ‘I think I precipitated things rather. Stan Bridges is the director of a firm for whom I have recently built a block of offices and he mentioned over a drink that this project was open for tender.’

‘So you thought you would jump the gun and present yourself uninvited?’

The note of annoyance in her voice was too pronounced to be mistaken, and Henry Arnold’s expression betrayed a flash of pique that gave way to amusement. ‘You’ve got me wrong, Angela,’ he said, a faint northern accent discernible. ‘Stan asked me to come this evening to meet you and some of the others. You see, he thinks my proposition is too good to be missed.’

‘And what is your proposition, exactly?’ Angela replied coolly. She didn’t care for his presumption in using her first name without invitation.

‘I’ve been invited to pitch my plans to you this evening,’ he said. ‘Basically, I’ve told Stan that I will not only match any offer from my rivals, I’ll take twenty per cent off it – and give as good quality or better.’

‘And what will you get out of it?’

‘The pleasure of knowing six families will have decent homes to live in at rents they can afford,’ he replied. ‘I’m a wealthy man, Angela. My father made a fortune up north from his mills – and I’ve taken up where he left off. Since I came out of the Army I’ve gone into building on my own account and there’s more work than I ever dreamed of. Once the brick ovens really get going again, we’ll see houses shooting up all over the country. We’re building a better Britain, and everyone must benefit from that – I hope you’ll agree?’

‘Yes, I do agree that we want decent homes at affordable rents,’ Angela said, wondering why she’d immediately felt hostility towards this man. She knew the charity board would be likely to agree to his proposals – how could they refuse such an offer? Yet she wondered what the catch was – what he hoped to gain. He struck her as altogether too smooth, too good to be true. ‘But why should you offer us such a bargain?’

‘I make my money from the rich men who can afford large office buildings in the centre of London and other big cities. My firm is delighted to take every penny we can from them, but when it comes to deserving causes, I’m a different animal. I like to help those who need it – and I’m told you’re the same.’

‘I support good causes, but I don’t have the kind of fortune I imagine you have at your disposal.’

The corner of Henry Arnold’s mouth lifted in what she took to be a superior smirk. ‘Not many do, Angela. My father gave me a damned good start and I’ve built on his work. I dare say I could live in comfort for the rest of my life without lifting a finger – but why should I? Particularly when I can use some of my money to help those that need it.’

‘I can’t think of a single reason,’ Angela conceded, realising she was beaten. He seemed insufferably arrogant, but she supposed he had every right to be given his wealth and his good works. ‘I suppose I must thank you for coming to our aid. Twenty per cent is a lot of money – but I intend to get those other estimates, Mr Arnold. I will specify exactly what we want, and I shall expect to get it.’

‘Naturally. I wouldn’t expect anything less of you. I’ve been informed you’re very efficient – a dragon lady, I’m told, when it comes to protecting your children at St Saviour’s.’

‘A dragon lady? I’ll take that as a compliment. I’m only too happy to go into battle for the home and do whatever I can to help Sister Beatrice. Now she is a dragon lady if ever there was one.’

‘So I hear. I know the builder you employed at St Saviour’s – he swears he’d never work for you again even if the alternative was going broke. Sister Beatrice questioned every last thing he did – and he caught the sharp edge of your tongue a few times, I believe.’

‘Indeed?’ Angela glared at him. ‘I merely pointed out various areas where the work was not up to standard and refused to pay until it was finished to my satisfaction.’

‘And will you do the same where I’m concerned?’

‘Certainly I shall.’

‘Good. If any of my men let you down, they won’t work for me again I can promise you. You’ll find my standards are as high as your own, Angela.’

She was about to disabuse him of the notion that they were on first-name terms, when the chairman called everyone to take their seats so the meeting could begin.

‘I’ll call in and see you,’ Henry Arnold whispered to her as they moved towards the committee room. ‘I want to see where you work. I know you’re always looking for funds for your orphans and I might be able to help …’

Angela did not answer. Something told her that he’d come to this meeting in order to meet her and yet she couldn’t for the life of her think why. Perhaps she was imagining it, but she felt he’d deliberately provoked her, trying to gain her interest. If so, his plan had backfired. She was in no mood for arrogant men who thought they were more important than everyone else.

Suddenly a meeting that had promised to be dull and tedious had Angela alert and eager to hear every word. This man would bear watching; his promises sounded generous but all too often when something seemed to be too good to be true, it was. Well, if he thought he could pull the wool over her eyes, he was mistaken. She didn’t care if he were as rich as Croesus, when it came to St Saviour’s she would brook no interference.

SEVEN

‘It’s so lovely to see you, Michelle,’ Alice said as she welcomed her into the ground floor flat that her husband had rented for them. ‘Bob’s away at the moment – the Army sent him to protect someone at a political conference in France – and it feels strange being here on my own with the baby.’

‘I expect you miss him.’ Michelle gave her the small posy of flowers she’d bought in the market on her way over. ‘How are you in yourself?’

‘I’m really well. I get tired when she cries all night, but I know all babies do that and it’s to be expected.’ Alice sighed, feeling scruffy and lacklustre, especially when she looked at Michelle, who was as slim and attractive as ever. Her blue-black hair gleamed with health, whilst Alice felt hers looked dull and lifeless. ‘My sister came by yesterday. She tells me I should be happy that I’ve got a nice home and a good husband, but Mave doesn’t understand how lonely it gets when he’s away.’

‘I can see how you would feel a bit miserable sometimes,’ Michelle smiled. ‘But you’ve got an adorable baby girl and a devoted husband, when he’s home.’ She laughed as Alice pulled a face. ‘Cheer up, love. Angela told me to invite you to the Church Hall on Saturday. She’s having another one of her clothing sales, and she’s putting food on. I said you might help out by making tea – that is, if you felt able?’

‘I’d love to,’ Alice said and hugged her. ‘Mave might lend a hand too, if I ask her. You could both come back here afterwards for a fish and chip supper.’

‘I’ll be on duty in the evening,’ Michelle said, ‘but I’ll have supper with you another time, when I’m back on days.’ Then, after a pause, ‘You are managing all right? I mean, you’re not short of anything?’

The sudden question made Alice laugh. ‘Bob makes sure I have enough money. I’m better off now than I ever was at home, Chelle. Mave asked me the same, offered me a few bob, but I’m all right. I can cook and I’m good at managing my money – but I should like to learn to sew better. Mum couldn’t never be bothered to show us how to do it properly. I thought I might go to lessons at night – it’s two and sixpence a week, but that’s not too bad.’

‘Why don’t you let my mother teach you? She’s a trained seamstress. You could come round ours, chip in for supper – and then, if I’m home I’ll walk back with you.’

‘Would your mum teach me? I could pay her the two and sixpence …’

‘Do that and she’ll chase you off with a chopper,’ Michelle teased. ‘She might be little but she’s pretty fierce if you get on the wrong side of her. No, seriously, bring some fruit or cakes. You’re a good cook, Mave said so at the wedding; you can make cakes. Our Freddie never has enough of them.’

‘I’ll do that, then,’ Alice said. ‘You’re my best friend, Michelle. Thanks for standing by me through all this. Everyone from St Saviour’s has been so good to me. Nan has invited me for tea this Sunday.’

‘I love Nan. Everyone does, she’s like a second mother to us all – but Sister Beatrice … well, I respect her, especially the way she keeps going whatever …’ Michelle hesitated, then went on, ‘I know you won’t say anything – but I think she might be unwell.’

‘Sister Beatrice, ill? I don’t believe it – unless you mean a cold or something?’

‘No, it’s worse than that …’ Again, Michelle paused as if unsure whether to continue. ‘I’ve seen her flinch like she’s in terrible pain – and sometimes her face goes very white.’

‘Has she said anything? She ought to see a doctor if she’s in pain.’

‘I don’t know whether she has seen one or not,’ Michelle said. ‘I daren’t ask. You know what Sister Beatrice is like. And she’s so irritable lately, I’ll probably get my head snapped off.’

‘Well, she would be touchy if she’s in pain. Someone ought to say,’ Alice said. ‘Why don’t you mention it to Angela? She won’t mess about – if she thinks you’re right, she’ll go straight in and say.’

‘Yes, she would,’ Michelle agreed. ‘Where angels fear to tread, Angela charges in regardless. I’m hoping she can help my father get the job of caretaker. She hasn’t said she can for definite, but if his tests are all right, and he’s not got TB, he’s in with a chance.’

‘It’s time your family had a bit of luck, Michelle. Are you hungry? How about I put the kettle on and we’ll have a slice of my coconut cake?’

‘Good idea,’ Michelle said as Alice filled the shiny new kettle one of the girls from St Saviour’s had bought her as a wedding present; it had a whistle that let everyone know when it was boiling. Alice set it on her modern gas cooker, which Michelle envied on her mother’s behalf. ‘I like coconut cake – especially if it’s moist and chewy.’

‘It’s moist,’ Alice said, then added doubtfully, ‘but I’m not sure it’s chewy – it isn’t one of those pyramid things you make with condensed milk. It’s a proper cake with a lot of coconut. I bought a bag of the desiccated stuff at the Home and Colonial. Isn’t it lovely that things are beginning to come back into the shops again?’

‘Best not eat too many cakes, even if you can buy them,’ Michelle teased. ‘If you want your figure back …’

‘Never was as slim as you,’ Alice said and laughed. ‘I’m so glad you came round, Michelle. You’re a real tonic.’

‘That’s what friends are for. I’ll always be your friend, Alice. We have to stick together, be there for each other.’

‘I know.’ Alice embraced her. ‘Don’t worry about your dad too much, love. I’m sure he’ll be fine.’

‘I hope you’re right. He’s ever so miserable since the doctor put him on that diet.’ Michelle sighed. ‘Oh well, he’s got an appointment at the hospital tomorrow for some tests, so we should know what’s wrong in a couple of weeks …’

Leaving Alice’s house two hours later, Michelle was lost in thoughts of her father as she walked through the narrow streets towards her tram stop. She was vaguely aware that several of the streetlights weren’t working, but when the moon disappeared behind a cloud it suddenly became difficult to see. A shiver ran through her, and Michelle registered that it wasn’t so much the cold night air that had caused it as the sense that she was being followed. She glanced over her shoulder and saw a man some distance behind her. When he noticed her looking at him, he stopped walking and bent to tie his shoelace.

Michelle walked on. Determined not to let on that she was afraid, she deliberately slowed her pace. Her shadow did the same. He was following her; she wasn’t imagining it. She turned into the next street, which was busy with people and traffic, then suddenly stopped within sight of her tram stop. Once again he stopped too, loitering outside a newsagent’s and pretending to be interested in the window display. When he turned to look at her, Michelle saw that he was uncertain what to do.

‘Why are you following me? What do you want?’

‘What makes you think I’m followin’ yer?’

‘We both know you are …’ At that moment Michelle saw a police constable approaching on his bike. He was within hailing distance. ‘Tell me what you want and go or I’ll scream and tell that policeman you threatened me.’

‘Bitch!’ The man grabbed her arm, his fingers pinching her flesh. ‘I’ve been told to give yer a warnin’. We ain’t forgot yer, Alice Cobb, even if yer are married to that bloody Army boy. One of these days Mr Lee will be payin’ yer a visit and you’d best tell him what yer know or you’ll be sorry.’

‘Tell Mr Lee he should look after his own affairs instead of employing idiots who don’t even know the person they’re supposed to be following. I’m not Alice and I’m not frightened of you or your Mr Lee.’ She glared at him. ‘Now take your hand off my arm and crawl back into whatever rotten hole you came out of. If you ever come near me or my friend Alice, I’ll be talking to the police about you and your Mr Lee.’

The policeman had seen them now and he shouted something. Michelle wrenched away from the man, who glared at her but then glanced nervously in the direction of the constable and set off at a brisk pace, disappearing into a nearby alley. The constable wobbled to a stop beside her, putting his feet to the floor. His trouser legs were clamped with bicycle clips, exposing shiny, thick-soled black boots; beneath the helmet that was firmly strapped under his chin, an anxious pair of eyes peered out at Michelle. He looked so young and inexperienced, she doubted that he would have been much use against the brute who’d harassed her.

‘Was that man annoying you, miss?’

‘Oh, it was a case of mistaken identity. He thought I was someone else.’

‘You don’t want anything to do with the likes of him. He’s a nasty piece of work, that Big Harry. Did he upset you?’

‘He gave me a bit of a shock,’ Michelle admitted, ‘but he didn’t hurt me. I think his intention was to give me a warning, but I told him he had the wrong person.’

‘His kind don’t care who they threaten,’ the constable said. ‘You be careful, walking alone at night, miss.’

‘It’s all right, I’m catching my tram now; it’s coming round the corner.’

‘Off you go then. And don’t worry – we’ll keep an eye on him. If he bothers you again, tell us and we’ll soon sort him out.’

Michelle smiled inwardly as she thought of the constable trying to sort out Big Harry, but she thanked him for coming to her assistance. Then, seeing her tram arriving, she excused herself and ran for her stop. It wasn’t until she sat down that she realised how shaken the experience had left her.

She wondered why Butcher Lee and his gang still thought Alice would know something about Jack Shaw – the East End bad boy that Alice had been soft on but who had left her high and dry. After all, she was married to someone else now, and Jack hadn’t been seen since the night he broke into the boot factory with Arthur Baggins, intending to rob the safe. Someone had set fire to the building while they were inside; Arthur had escaped, but Jack was presumed to have died. If by some chance he had escaped, he surely wouldn’t risk returning to London knowing the Lee gang were out to kill him.

Michelle was pretty sure Alice knew no more about Jack’s fate than she did, otherwise she would certainly have mentioned it. Still, if Lee thought otherwise she’d have to warn Alice to be on her guard.

The morning after Michelle’s visit, Alice returned from the market to find a letter waiting for her. The sight of it sent a tingle of apprehension down her spine: it was addressed to Miss Alice Cobb rather than Mrs Manning, and she was almost certain she knew the handwriting.

For a moment she considered putting it straight in the bin without opening it, but something wouldn’t let her. Though she knew she ought not to read it, she couldn’t resist slitting it open and taking out the contents.

I got a mate to deliver this, Alice love. He said he knew where you were living and I daren’t bring it myself. I can’t come to your home, but I want to see you. I should never have left you. I think of you and my kid all the time, and now I’ve got things sorted we can go to America. My ship leaves in three weeks and I want us to be on it together. Please meet me, Alice. It’s too dangerous for me to come to you, but if you take the train to Southend, I’ll meet you by the pier. Come next Saturday and I’ll be there every hour from twelve until nine at night. I’ve put in £2 for your fare, and the key to a locker at Euston Station. I need you to fetch a parcel for me, Alice love. No one will notice you and it’s important … do that for me, Alice, and you’ll never regret it, I promise.

I still love you, Alice. I’ve never stopped thinking about you, but I had to keep moving around. People were looking for me, and I couldn’t let you know where I was until now.

So he was alive! Alice sat down on the nearest chair, feeling sick and shaken. Her hands trembled as she was caught by a surge of disbelief mixed with elation. He was alive, despite what everyone had told her. She felt overwhelming excitement followed almost as swiftly by despair, for it was too late. Tears stung her eyes and trickled silently down her cheeks, as she realised that she still cared for him.

She’d never quite given up on Jack Shaw, even when everyone said he was dead, but now she felt as if the breath had been knocked out of her. Alice looked at the two one-pound notes Jack had sent, staring at them as if they would burn her. She held the small key with a numbered tab in her hand and frowned. What was it that Jack wanted her to fetch? It must be important to him or he wouldn’t have asked. As glad as she was to learn that he hadn’t died in the fire, she knew she couldn’t trust him. He’d probably put some of the stuff he’d stolen in that locker and Alice wanted nothing to do with his ill-gotten gains.

Had this letter arrived only a few months ago she’d have gone to Jack without a second thought, even though she knew he couldn’t be trusted. Part of her longed to go to him even now, in spite of the way he’d abandoned her and their daughter to fend for themselves, but she couldn’t. She was married to Bob now, and she wouldn’t hurt him, not after all he’d done for her. He was a good, decent man and she was fond of him.

But fond wasn’t the kind of all-consuming love she’d felt for Jack. A bitter sense of loss filled her and she knew that, despite everything, she still loved Jack; he was still there inside her head and her heart, even though he’d let her down. She’d tried to forget him but all it took was this letter to start up that aching need inside – but she couldn’t go to him, she couldn’t leave Bob.

She shoved the money and key in her apron pocket, feeling the tears sting her eyes and the angry hurt well up inside her as the shock started to wear off. If he came knocking on her door she would give him back his money and that key. It was the only thing to do – the decent thing.

Alice wouldn’t be on that train on Saturday. She was going to keep her promise to help out with the teas at Angela’s charity sale. She wouldn’t meet Jack in Southend, she wouldn’t see him ever again – but a part of her wanted to. A part of her wanted to take her child and run to the man she loved. Regret surged, and she wished that she’d never agreed to marry. If only she’d turned down Bob’s proposal and stayed with Nan, then she would be free – but for what? What sort of a life was Jack offering her?

Hearing her baby cry, Alice went into the kitchen and picked her up, looking down at her with love. Her heart felt as if it were being torn in two as she held Susie to her breast and rocked her. She was Jack’s child, but did he have the right to know her after the way he’d deserted them?

Besides, it was too dangerous. The Lee gang were still watching her; every so often someone would follow her when she went out with the baby, and only this morning she’d noticed a man staring at her in the market. Thus far, no one had approached her and she’d hoped that after a while they would realise it was a waste of time and give up.

No, it was stupid even to think of Jack. If he’d truly wanted her, loved her, he would have kept his promise to send for her a long time ago. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she suspected that the only reason he’d got in touch was because he needed her to fetch whatever was in that locker.

Bitterness swept through her as she remembered the way Jack had broken his promises in the past. He was no good, just as her father had warned at the start.

EIGHT

‘That seemed to go well,’ Wendy said, surveying the empty stalls after the sale of second-hand clothes and bits and pieces had finished. ‘I don’t know how you manage to find so many nice things to sell, Angela. I bought a good leather bag for myself.’

‘I have to thank my father for a lot of it.’ Angela turned to him with a smile. He was waiting patiently to take her home so that she could change for the evening. ‘Dad asked our neighbours if they had anything for me to sell on behalf of St Saviour’s and they overwhelmed him with stuff. He sent it up in three large boxes on the train.’

‘Nan told me you’ve raised almost a hundred pounds from the Bring and Buy evenings you’ve been holding at your home, and hers.’

‘It seems women like exchanging the clothes they don’t want for something different, so we’ve done well, but once rationing is over and there’s new stuff in the shops people won’t want second-hand so much.’

‘A lot of women won’t ever be able to afford anything else.’ Wendy laughed softly. ‘Some of these clothes are better than anything I could afford to buy new. Besides, whatever happens in future, you’ll think of something. Everyone says you’ve done wonders since you’ve been here. The children have all sorts of treats these days, and it’s all down to you.’

‘It’s a team effort—’ Angela stopped abruptly as she noticed the man standing near the hall doorway. ‘I didn’t know he was here.’

Wendy followed her gaze. ‘Who is he?’

‘His name’s Arnold.’ Angela’s father frowned. ‘He arrived at the same time as I did. You were too busy to notice, Angela.’

‘I met him at a charity meeting the other night. I can’t think what he’s doing here though.’ Angela tried not to let the others see her annoyance. ‘Come on, Dad, let’s go. I want to get changed before we go out this evening. Wendy will finish up here for me, won’t you?’

‘You know I will, Angela,’ the staff nurse said, smiling. ‘Have a lovely time with your father.’

‘Angela …’ Henry Arnold touched her arm as she was about to pass him. ‘I was hoping we might have a word?’

‘Please telephone me, Mr Arnold,’ she said. ‘This is my father – Mr Hendry. We have an appointment and must leave now.’

‘I really do need to talk to you, Angela.’

‘Another time,’ Angela said. ‘Please excuse us, we have to go.’

She took her father’s arm and propelled him away. He looked at her, puzzled by her abrupt manner, which had bordered on rudeness. ‘That isn’t like you, Angela. The man was only being polite.’

‘I know, but I don’t like him. I may have to deal with him on behalf of the charity I represent, but I don’t have to spend time with him otherwise.’

‘Not like you at all,’ her father said, puzzled. ‘Ah, here’s Adderbury. You’re not going to brush him off too, I hope?’

‘No, certainly not,’ Angela said, but smiled hesitantly as Mark came up to them. ‘You almost missed us. We had a successful afternoon.’

‘I had hoped to be here sooner, but I was delayed. I’m glad it all went well for you.’

‘Yes, it did.’ Angela smiled at him. ‘Please call me when you can, Mark. We should talk sometime, but you’re always so busy.’

‘I’ll find the time,’ he promised. ‘Have a good evening. Nice to see you, Edward. We must catch up soon.’

‘Drop by for a drink one weekend, when you’re in the country.’ The two men shook hands and they parted.

Angela opened the door of her car. She didn’t often bother to drive in town but she’d had several bits and pieces to bring over earlier.

‘Well,’ she said as she eased the car into the steady stream of traffic. ‘I think you’ve got something to tell me, Dad?’

‘It’s about your mother,’ he said. ‘Good news and … well, rather odd news too, but I’ll explain when we get to your apartment. You need to concentrate on the traffic, Angela …’

Angela installed her father in one of the most comfortable chairs, gave him a drink and then sat down opposite, looking at him expectantly. He sipped the wine, nodded his approval, placed it on the small table at his side and assumed a serious expression.

‘Your mother wrote to me. She says she feels much better and doesn’t think she needs to stay at the clinic any longer, but … she doesn’t want to come home.’

‘What do you mean, she doesn’t want to come home?’ Angela was puzzled. ‘If she feels better, why wouldn’t she come home?’

‘Apparently she wants to stay with a friend she met in Switzerland. She’s been invited to say in a villa in the South of France and that’s what she wants to do.’

‘Not come home to you? Is she cured, after only a few months?’ Angela couldn’t believe she was hearing this properly. ‘Have you been invited to this villa too?’

‘No, there was no mention of it – and I’m not sure I’d want to go if there had been.’ He hesitated, then, ‘I’m not sure she is cured yet – but the clinic is voluntary. I can’t force her to stay if she wants to leave, Angela.’

Her father was looking tired, his skin grey and his whole manner defeated, as if he was finding it all too much to bear. She hadn’t noticed at the Church Hall, but now she could see that his youthful air had left him. He’d always seemed so much younger than her mother, still a handsome man and full of vitality, but now he looked drained.

‘Are you ill, Daddy?’ she asked quietly. ‘Is it your heart?’

‘Well, you know I’m not the man I was.’ He forced a smile. ‘I’m feeling a bit upset, that’s all. I thought when your mother left the clinic she would come home to me – but her letter was that of a stranger, someone writing out of duty …’

‘Does she know you’re not well?’

‘No, and I don’t want her to,’ he said, giving Angela a direct look. ‘It’s nothing serious, my love – and if she’s happier staying with her new friends … Well, we must let her have her life. It seems that your mother was disappointed in me. I couldn’t give her what she wanted. So now … she’s decided to go her own way.’

‘It sounds as if you think she isn’t coming back.’

‘I’ll be surprised if she does. You see, the friend she’s going to stay with is a man. Quite a wealthy man, I gather.’

‘Oh, Daddy!’ Angela was shocked at the implication in her father’s news. ‘After all you’ve done for her – for us …’ Angela felt anger rise up inside her. How could her mother have done this to him, especially when he was unwell.

‘Perhaps it is for the best, my love. You mustn’t worry about me. Someone comes in twice a week to clean and she does a bit of shopping and cooking for me, so I’m well looked after and I still have you – don’t I?’

‘You know you do,’ she said, but her eyes stung with tears and her throat was tight. Her head was running the whole gamut of emotions: love and hurt for his sake, and anger with her mother for behaving so callously. ‘I’m sorry, Dad. I think she is being very unfair.’

‘She thinks we’re the ones who’ve been unfair to her. Your mother believes I love you more than her – and she might be right. In truth, our marriage has been over for some years, but I tried to hold it together for everyone’s sake and the result was disaster. Mark explained it all to me; it seems that the drinking, the shoplifting and spending sprees were all symptoms of an illness that was created by deep depression.’

‘But you gave us both so much, Dad.’

‘I tried, but it wasn’t enough for her … Perhaps what I gave was only money, at least as far as she was concerned. Had I loved her enough, I might have seen her despair years ago, but I was too busy – and I must admit, selfish too. Don’t imagine I shall go into a decline even if it comes to a divorce. I’m sorry for your sake though, Angela; we’ve let you down, and people will talk.’

Angela got up and went to kneel at his side, looking up at him earnestly. ‘You’ve never let me down, Daddy. If you need me, I’ll come home,’ she promised. ‘Remember that, dearest. You are the most important person in the world to me.’

‘I’m managing, my darling girl,’ he said, tenderly stroking her hair. ‘I thought you should know and it isn’t the kind of thing I wanted to say on the phone or in a letter.’

‘No, better to hear it from you,’ she agreed, but inside she was fuming. Her mother had sent him a letter rather than tell him to his face and that made her furious, but there was no point in saying more. He had accepted it and to make a fuss would only cause him more strain. ‘Now you must excuse me while I go and get ready for dinner. Tonight we’re going to have a lovely evening together, Dad, no matter what.’

NINE

‘I took Sarah’s pinafore skirt to be washed,’ Wendy told Angela as they sat drinking coffee in the staff room a few days later. ‘That dirty old pipe was in the pocket and I was tempted to throw it out, but instead I gave it a bit of a wash and put it in the locker by the side of her bed.’

‘That was good of you,’ Angela said. ‘To us it’s only a dirty old thing, but it means something to that child and she doesn’t have much.’

‘She’s a bit backward …’ Wendy twiddled a strand of her light brown hair round her finger. She was growing it longer so that she would be able to put it back in a knot under her nurses’ cap, but felt it was dull and unremarkable, and envied Angela her pale blonde locks. Angela had such lovely eyes too, the colour of an azure sky. ‘Have you noticed that she agrees with everything Samantha says, echoing her like a parrot?’

‘Yes, I think we all have, though she can speak independently if she wishes. Do you think they are settling into the dorm all right?’

Wendy hesitated before she answered, then inclined her head. ‘Yes, they’ve settled quite well. I think Samantha is happy enough here. She and Mary Ellen get on well and I think they’re working on a scheme to earn some more stars for a trip to the zoo.’

‘Yes, all the children like to earn points towards that trip.’ Angela laughed. ‘Have you settled in now, Wendy?’

‘Yes, I think so,’ Wendy looked sad, her soft brown eyes moist. ‘It took me a while to get used to living in the Nurses’ Home after Mother died – but I’m getting over that now.’

‘It must have been so sad for you, nursing her yourself at home.’

‘It was what I wanted to do, but it was heartbreaking.’

‘I’m sure it must have been,’ Angela agreed. ‘Losing someone you love is terrible – but seeing them fade … I’m sorry, I can see it still hurts you.’

‘No, not now,’ Wendy said. ‘I loved Mum and I’m glad to talk about her, Angela. Everyone avoids the subject – but you know what it’s like to lose someone …’

‘Yes.’ Angela got up to pour more coffee but Wendy shook her head.

‘I ought to be getting back to the wards, thanks all the same.’

Wendy left Angela and went out into the hall, but instead of returning to the wards immediately, she went into the new wing. It still smelled of fresh paint and everything looked modern and bright, much nicer than the old wing.

Hearing the sound of crying and screaming as she approached Mary Ellen’s dorm, she hastened her step. A child was in acute distress and by the sound of it that child was one of the twins – Sarah.

‘Stop it, Sarah,’ her sister was pleading. The blanket and sheets had been stripped from Sarah’s bed and were lying on the floor in a heap. Tilly had changed the sheets only that morning; now they were crumpled and it looked as if one of them had been torn. ‘Don’t upset yourself like this …’

‘Want go home,’ Sarah wailed. ‘Don’t like it here. Pipe gone, Pa gone – Sarah want go home …’

‘We can’t go back,’ Samantha said, trying to catch her sister in her arms, but she pulled away and started to scream again. ‘Stop it, Sarah, or they might send us away and we’ve nowhere else to go – please.’

‘What is the matter?’ Wendy asked. Samantha turned to look at her, and for a moment there was resentment in her eyes – and was that a faint trace of fear?

‘Sarah’s pinafore dress has gone and Pa’s pipe was in the pocket. She loves that pipe because it was his. Now she won’t stop crying. She’s never like this …’

‘Oh, I am sorry,’ Wendy said. ‘Look in your locker, Sarah love. I took your pinafore so I could wash it for you – I’ll bring it back as soon as it’s ironed. The pipe is in your locker …’

Sarah looked at her blankly, but Samantha rushed to the small cupboard at the side of her sister’s bed and opened it. She saw the pipe lying on top of a pile of clean knickers and socks and picked it up, offering it to Sarah, who snatched it out of her hand and held it to her cheek, which was still damp from her tears.

‘Pa’s pipe come back, Pa come back,’ she said, and looked hopefully at her sister as if trying to make her understand. She sat on the edge of the bed, the broken pipe clutched to her cheek as she crooned the song no one but she could understand.

‘Oh, Sarah,’ Samantha said, wiping the tears from her cheeks with her hanky. ‘Don’t cry. Pa won’t come back; he doesn’t care about us, he never did – I’m so sorry …’

‘I’m sorry I touched your pipe,’ Wendy said, sitting down on the bed and looking at the sisters. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you, Sarah. I know that it means a lot to you and I wouldn’t throw it away. You must keep it safe with you all the time.’

‘Pa loves his pipe,’ Sarah said. ‘Pa come back for pipe?’

‘No, dearest,’ Samantha told her, putting an arm around her thin shoulders. ‘The pipe is broken. Pa doesn’t want it any more – and he doesn’t want us. Aunt Jane won’t have us both and no one else will. We have to stop here where we’re safe.’

Sarah looked at her. Her song had stopped and she seemed to be weighing up what her sister had told her. ‘Pa not come back for pipe? Not come back for Samantha and Sarah?’

‘No, never,’ Samantha said. ‘He went to sea and left us to fend for ourselves. We couldn’t get any money and we nearly starved, Sarah. Remember how cold and hungry we were before we came here? We have to stay here where it’s warm and they feed us.’

Sarah stared at her in silence for a moment, and then a heart-rending wail rose from deep inside her and she hurled the clay pipe against the wall. It shattered into pieces and fell on the floor.

‘Oh, Sarah – your pipe!’ Wendy rushed to gather up the bowl and one piece of the stem that hadn’t shattered, bringing them back to the sobbing child but she refused to take them, shaking her head furiously. ‘Don’t you want it? I’ll put it in your locker, shall I?’ She bent down to place the two pieces in the locker but Sarah swooped on them and hurled them at the wall, and this time the bowl shattered into small pieces.

‘Hate pipe, hate Pa,’ Sarah cried and then turned her back on Wendy.

Samantha tried to put her arms around her, but she shrugged her off and jumped up, then ran towards the door. Samantha stood indecisively until Wendy asked if she ought to go after her sister.

‘Sarah has to learn that we can’t go back,’ Samantha said, and there were tears on her cheeks now. ‘Pa doesn’t want us, miss; he never did. When we were born it killed our mother – Sarah was the last and our mother wasn’t strong enough. My aunt says Pa will never forgive us …’

Suddenly she was in Wendy’s arms, sobbing out her story, telling her how they’d hidden from their father after he tried to kill Sarah in his fury over the broken pipe.

‘Surely he wouldn’t have meant to harm her?’ Wendy said, shocked.

Samantha drew back, looking at her with the eyes of a child that knew too much.

‘Yes, he would, Nurse. He always hated her. It wasn’t too bad when we were little; we had a lady called Melanie who came in and looked after us. She wasn’t kind to us, but we were clean and we had food – and Pa didn’t hit us. Then one day she got cross with Sarah and hit her, so I shouted at her and told her she was wicked. When Melanie slapped my face, Sarah kicked her ankles for hurting me. So Melanie left. She told Pa she wouldn’t stay in a place with evil children.’

‘Oh, Samantha, I’m so sorry.’ As the weeping girl buried her face in Wendy’s uniform, arms wrapped tightly round her waist, the nurse stroked the girl’s soft hair, encouraging her to let all the misery come pouring out of Samantha. It was as if the floodgates had opened and she couldn’t hold it inside any longer. Her eyes looked enormous in her pale face, dark with anguish and remembered pain.

‘I didn’t mind that she’d gone, but Pa was angry and gave Sarah a good hiding for upsetting her. After that, he didn’t ask anyone to come in, so I cooked what food he brought home and I did my best to look after Sarah … but she breaks things. She doesn’t mean to – they just seem to slip through her fingers. Pa said she was a Child of Satan and threatened to put her away in a place for lunatics. Aunt Jane said that was where she’d put her too, but she’d take me in. Then I woke up and Pa was kicking Sarah, and when we ran away and hid, he went off and left us.’ Samantha paused to draw breath before continuing: ‘He took all the food and money and Mum’s valuables, and there was only rubbish left and the man from the scrapyard wouldn’t even buy the pans I took him – but he gave me five shillin’s for lettin’ him touch my chest.’ Samantha looked up defiantly. ‘I took his money and then kicked his shins and ran off. I took Sarah and we hid in a bombed-out house down by the docks …’

‘Good for you,’ Wendy said, and gave her a hug. ‘In your shoes, I’d have done the same. But now you’re safe here and your aunt will visit you—’

‘Don’t want to see her!’ Samantha drew back in alarm. ‘She’ll put Sarah in one of those awful places!’

‘No, she won’t. I promise you, Sister Beatrice wouldn’t let her do that and neither would Angela or any of us. You belong to us now, Samantha. You’re safe here with us and we’ll take care of you both. Sarah may have to attend a special school – that will be for Sister to decide – but I’m sure that she will keep you both here.’

‘Sarah can do simple sums and things, if I show her,’ Samantha said. ‘She can help with cooking or laying tables, if I tell her what to do – and she can draw people’s faces really well. She isn’t daft.’

‘No, she certainly isn’t. I’m going to tell Miss Angela what you’ve told me; she will talk to Sister and decide what to do. They won’t let anyone take you from us, Samantha. When I tell Angela the whole story, she will be on your side. Now, I think you’d better see if you can find Sarah, love. It’s raining outside and, although it isn’t cold, we don’t want her getting a chill.’

TEN

Alice got the surprise of her life when she unlocked the door of her flat and went in that evening. She smelled the cigarette smoke first and her nerves prickled. Had one of the Lee gang broken into her home?

‘Is that you, Alice?’ Bob’s voice came from the bedroom and then he strolled into the hall wearing his army trousers with braces and no shirt. His hair looked wet and she thought he’d been having a shower. He’d had one put in the bath, as he preferred a shower. ‘Good, I’m glad you’re home. I hope you haven’t been working? I thought we’d agreed you were going to take care of yourself for a bit longer?’

‘Bob!’ Alice felt a surge of emotion as she saw the anxious look on his face. It was obvious how much he cared for her, and yet she’d spent the afternoon wishing she was on the train to Southend! ‘I went to help out with the teas at a charity event for the home. It was only for a couple of hours – I didn’t do too much, I promise. It was nice seeing all my friends.’ Her cheeks turned pink as she spoke, for the letter from Jack had stirred up old feelings and she still felt torn.

‘That’s all right then. How have you been?’

‘I’ve been fine.’ She rushed over to give him a hug to cover her guilt. He gave her a quick hug back and then released her. ‘I didn’t expect you back today, Bob. How long have you got?’

‘Three days. I shouldn’t have been due for leave yet, but my mate wants next weekend off and so I swapped with him at the last minute. I didn’t send a telegram because I thought it might put the wind up you.’

‘It would have,’ she admitted. ‘I’ve only got a bit of yellow fish for tea – or we could get pie and chips from the shop, if you’d rather, then have the fish in the morning with some bread.’

‘I don’t go much on that sort of stuff,’ Bob told her. ‘You have it tomorrow, Alice. I’ll take you out this evening – we’ll have steak and kidney pie at that pub we went to last time I was home. They always do a good meal there.’

‘Yes, all right,’ Alice agreed. In truth she was exhausted after helping with the teas, even though it had been fun and all the St Saviour’s girls had made a fuss of Susie, picking her up when she cried and spoiling her, but Alice wasn’t about to tell Bob that she would rather stay at home. ‘I’ll make us a cup of tea and then get changed.’

‘No, you go and put your feet up for a minute,’ Bob said. ‘I’ll make us a cuppa and then you can take your time getting ready. Mave said she’ll be over in an hour to take care of Susie for us.’

As he disappeared into the kitchen, Alice lifted Susie out of her pram and hugged the sleeping baby to her. It was a good thing that Bob had come back unexpectedly, she thought. All the way home Alice had been wondering if it was too late to catch the train to Southend – and now she was glad that she wouldn’t have to think about it any more. She’d had a timely reminder that she was married to a decent man and would be a fool to throw it all away for a rogue like Jack Shaw.

Alice was aware of being watched as she and Bob ate their meal in the pub. The atmosphere was a bit smoky but that didn’t stop her enjoying the tasty food and the glass of lemonade shandy she’d had with it. Bob had offered her the usual port and lemon, but Alice thought she might be better off sticking to a weak shandy, with more lemonade than beer.

‘Only until the baby’s weaned,’ she told him with a smile. ‘I don’t want her to be a drunkard, do I?’

She was enjoying the unexpected treat and didn’t particularly notice the man staring at them until Bob had finished his plum tart and custard. She touched him with her foot under the table and he looked startled.

‘We’re being watched,’ she said. ‘He’s sitting to your right – in the corner – and he’s been staring at us for a while.’

‘Perhaps he’s envying me my lovely wife,’ Bob quipped before glancing over his shoulder. The smile was gone from his face as he turned back to her. ‘I know him – he’s one of Butcher Lee’s henchmen. Let him look, Alice, we’re not doing any harm and nor is he – but if he follows us home I’ll tackle him.’

‘He or someone like him has been following me for weeks, ever since you were home last time.’

Bob frowned. ‘You didn’t tell me. Why didn’t you write and tell me, Alice?’

‘I try to ignore them. I know why they follow me – in case I meet Jack Shaw.’

‘How’re you supposed to do that – he’s dead …’ His eyes narrowed intently. ‘Alice, what’s going on? Don’t tell me he’s alive?’ She inclined her head slightly and he frowned. ‘Bloody hell! How do you know – have you seen him?’

‘No. I wouldn’t,’ Alice said, but her cheeks were warm because she knew how close she’d come to taking that train. ‘It’s over, Bob. He let me down and I’m with you now.’

‘I can’t stop you if you want to go to him, Alice, but—’

‘I wouldn’t go, Bob. Even if I knew where to find him.’

Bob leaned towards her, taking her hand where it rested on the table. ‘You’ve heard from him, haven’t you?’

Alice hesitated, and then nodded. ‘He sent me two pounds and asked me to meet him today – but I went to the jumble sale instead.’

‘What about the money?’

‘It’s in the drawer at home. I didn’t know what to do with it. I’d send it back, only I don’t have an address for him. I certainly don’t want it.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes …’ Alice met his eyes, seeing the hurt and the fear – fear that she would leave him, and suddenly she felt wretched for even entertaining the thought. ‘I did love him once, Bob, but I never trusted him. You’ve been good to me and I wouldn’t hurt you for the world. I do care for you, you must know I do – and I trust you to look after me and the child.’

‘Good,’ he said and smiled. ‘You leave the Lee gang to me, Alice. I’ll have a word with someone I know and he’ll warn them off. I don’t want them bothering you again.’

‘Be careful, Bob.’ Alice felt a flicker of fear. ‘I don’t want you to be hurt.’

He grinned at her. ‘I’ll be careful – as careful as I need to be. I’ve told you before; I can take care of myself.’

Alice couldn’t bring herself to remind him of the speeding car that had knocked him down earlier that year. She’d since been told that the attempt on his life had been intended as a warning to her not to step out of line, but she couldn’t let Bob know or he might do something reckless.

Alice glanced at the table where the watcher had been sitting and saw he’d gone. She told Bob and he laughed, taking out his wallet to settle the bill.

‘He must have known what I was saying,’ Bob said. ‘I’ll make sure they stay away from you, love – you must keep ignoring them and I’ll do the rest.’

Alice didn’t answer. Being shadowed hadn’t scared her, but the thought of what the Lee gang would do to them both if Bob tried to stand up to them made her blood run cold. Bob thought he could take care of himself – and perhaps he could in a fair fight – but the Lee gang didn’t believe in fighting fair. They’d set the boot factory on fire to get even with Arthur and Jack for taking something that belonged to them – it didn’t bear thinking about what they would do to Jack if they ever caught up with him.

Alice lingered as she browsed the stalls in Spitalfields. The covered market, situated off the busy Commercial Street, was open seven days a week and in all weathers. Almost everything you could want was available here, from fruit and vegetables to cheese and fish, long rolls of cloth and remnants, boots, books, second-hand goods of every description, cheap Indian rugs, umbrellas, handbags, and fresh flowers. The scent of lilies wafting from the flower stalls was so overpowering, Alice began to feel a headache coming on. As if that wasn’t enough, Susie had woken up in her pram and was beginning to whimper. Alice put a dummy in the baby’s mouth and rocked the pram. She would be glad to get home, because right now she was cold and tired and desperate for a cup of tea.

Alice had bought some terry towelling, which she planned to make into more nappies for Susie, and now she was ready to buy the fruit she would take with her to Michelle’s house when she went for her sewing lesson. She was disappointed to see there were no bananas this week; it had been so nice to see them back after seven years without, but they were still thin on the ground. Fortunately there were some lovely big black grapes on offer, so Alice decided to buy a bag of those instead. She paid her money and was turning to leave when a young lad came up to her. He grabbed her arm, giving her an odd look.

‘I reckon you dropped this,’ he said, and pressed something into her hand. Alice was about to say that it wasn’t hers when she realised it was a note of some kind. The lad winked at her and went off, disappearing into the crowds.

Alice glanced at it and realised it was a note from Jack. She hesitated, knowing that she should throw it away, but instead she put it into her pocket, too cold and fed up to look at it now. She was tired and her head was throbbing as she made her way quickly to the tram stop. Moments later a tram arrived and she got on, grateful to the conductor who lifted the pram on for her, folding it and tucking it in the luggage rack under the steps to the upper deck. Alice cradled Susie in the crook of her arm as she fumbled for her purse to pay her fare. Susie would be ready for her feed when she got home and then Alice would be able to put her feet up and relax with a nice hot cup of tea. Except it was hard to relax when she thought about the letter in her pocket. Jack obviously wasn’t about to give up on her, but Alice had made up her mind – she wasn’t going to fetch that stuff for him however many letters he sent her …

ELEVEN

‘Angela, I want to talk to you about the new children …’ Sister Beatrice said, entering her office as she was typing up the monthly report. ‘I know they’re with Mary Ellen and Marion in their new dorm now and I’d like you to bring me up to date with the situation. I’m not sure about—’ Sister gasped and clutched at her side suddenly. ‘Oh – I must sit down for a moment …’

‘What’s wrong, Sister? Are you in pain?’ Angela asked, immediately concerned by the sight of the older woman’s pale face and obvious distress. ‘What can I do for you? Please let me help you …’

‘I’ll be all right in a moment. Please do not fuss,’ Sister said through gritted teeth, gesturing for Angela to sit back down. ‘It comes and goes – ahhh …’ she went quiet and sank into a chair, clearly shaken by the ferocity of the pain. ‘I’ve never known it to be this bad …’ she gasped and clutched at herself again.

For a moment Angela was so shocked that she couldn’t think. Sister Beatrice wasn’t the sort to get ill; she was strong and stubborn and never allowed a child to bother her, but perhaps the strain of all that trouble with Terry had pulled her down … yet that was months ago and this was more than strain. She could see by the colour of Sister’s face and the way she was holding her breath that the pain was bad.

‘I’m going to call the doctor,’ Angela said, reaching for her telephone.

‘You’re over-reacting,’ Sister Beatrice’s tone was angry. ‘I’ll be all right soon I tell you.’ She stood up and took two steps forward, then tottered and fell to the ground, where she lay writhing and moaning in agony.

Angela knew it must be something serious to make Sister collapse in this way. The onset of pain had seemed sudden and unexpected, but then she remembered the Warden’s irritability of late and her habit of hiding her emotions and anything else she considered signs of weakness. It was quite possible that she had been suffering for weeks without telling anyone.

Angela rang immediately for Dr Kent and told him what had happened. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can,’ he said. ‘In the meantime call one of the nurses to look at her – but don’t try to move her on your own unless she is able to get up herself.’

‘I’m going to get a nurse,’ Angela said, bending over Sister Beatrice briefly. ‘Please don’t try to do anything. We’ll help you to get up when I come back.’

Running swiftly down the hall to the sick room, she discovered that both Wendy and Michelle were there, discussing the patients’ notes. Michelle came towards her instantly, alerted by Angela’s urgent manner.

‘It’s Sister; she’s ill,’ Angela said. ‘I’ve rung for the doctor but it’s going to take him a while to get here.’

‘I’ll come,’ Michelle said. ‘I’ve been worried about her for a while. I thought she might simply be tired but, knowing Sister, she’s probably been hiding something.’

‘Yes; she would think it weak to give in,’ Angela agreed.

Michelle rushed on ahead of her. As Angela entered her office she discovered that Sister had managed to get to her feet in her absence and Michelle was helping her into the armchair provided for visitors. Sister’s face was grey and she looked very ill. She had her eyes closed and was holding her side, obviously in agony.

‘What’s wrong with her?’ Angela hovered as Michelle took Sister’s pulse and touched her forehead, which was sticky with sweat.

‘I’m not sure, but I think from the position of the pain it may be appendicitis,’ she said, looking anxiously at Sister. ‘How long have you been having these pains, Sister?’

‘A few weeks,’ Sister said weakly. ‘It wasn’t so bad at first and it always went after a while but now … it’s getting much worse.’

‘We’ve sent for the doctor,’ Michelle said, ‘but if it is acute appendicitis you will need an operation.’

‘I shall be all right, I tell you. All this fuss …’ Sister gasped and could not continue for a moment. ‘I can’t leave St Saviour’s. Who will look after things here?’

‘Angela and the nurses and the carers,’ Michelle answered before Angela could speak. ‘We shall take care of things while you’re away, Sister – but you have no choice. If I’m right and it bursts – you could die.’

Sister Beatrice looked at her. The truth was in her eyes, for she knew it as well as her staff nurse. If the inflamed appendix ruptured she could be in very serious trouble. She turned her head suddenly to be violently sick on the floor. Angela rushed to give her a handkerchief and offered a glass of water, which she accepted, looking sheepish.

‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Please don’t worry. I will soon clear it up. Michelle, do you think she would be more comfortable in the sick bay?’

‘No, I don’t want anyone else to see me this way – the children mustn’t be upset,’ Sister said, a note of authority in her voice. ‘I must get home and rest. I shall be all right in a while …’ Yet even as she spoke, she clutched at her right side again.

‘The doctor will be here shortly and you’re not going anywhere but hospital,’ Michelle insisted. ‘Angela, could you go down and ask one of the girls to come up and clear this up? I should like a couple of minutes alone with Sister.’

‘Very well; I’ll get a cloth and bucket. No need to let anyone else know about this,’ Angela said and went out.

She had reached the bottom of the stairs when Dr Kent rushed in, looking anxious. Stopping to explain what had happened, Angela directed him back to her office and then went off again in search of warm water and a mop. By the time she returned to her office, Dr Kent was very much in charge of the situation. He had opened his bag and was giving Sister an injection.

‘This is a mild sedative to ease the pain,’ he told her. ‘I’ve rung for an ambulance and it will be here shortly. I shall telephone the hospital and let them know to prepare for an emergency operation. Acute appendicitis is very serious, Sister. You must know what could happen if there should be a rupture – I’m surprised you didn’t seek medical advice before this.’

‘I could not neglect my duty. Besides, it suddenly became much worse.’

‘Yes, that is what happens if you neglect the warnings. It can come on very suddenly in its severest form.’

‘You must see I cannot desert the children …’

‘Nonsense! No one is irreplaceable,’ he said firmly and Angela saw Sister’s face twist as if he had added fuel to the flames. ‘Your staff will manage perfectly well until you can take up your place here again – something you won’t do if you’re dead. No more arguments. I believe we may be in time to prevent the worst happening, thanks to the prompt actions of your assistant.’

Sister nodded but didn’t answer. She was looking at Angela, an unspoken appeal in her eyes.

‘We shall manage until you return,’ Angela promised. ‘I will visit as soon as you’re well enough – and you can give me your instructions then.’

They both knew she did not need Sister’s instructions, but it was all she could think of to comfort her. Although they did not always see eye to eye where the running of the home was concerned, Angela respected Sister Beatrice’s devotion to the children.

‘The children will be all right,’ Michelle said as she helped Dr Kent assist Sister to her feet. ‘We’ll take you down in the lift and they won’t see you – and the ambulance will be here soon.’

‘Yes …’ Sister had ceased to resist. She was clearly close to collapse and went with them, but at the door, she paused and looked back. ‘The twins – take the greatest care of them, Angela. I’m not sure about this aunt of theirs and someone told me—’ she broke off with another gasp of pain, unable to finish what she’d been about to say.

‘Yes, Sister Beatrice. I’ll take care of them,’ Angela promised. ‘Please, don’t worry. We’ll do our best for all the children while you’re away. You must rest and get better soon and come back to us.’

Sister Beatrice was led away and after Angela had cleaned up the vomit from the floor, she headed to the kitchen knowing that she needed to let everyone know what had happened.

‘Was that an ambulance I heard outside?’ Muriel asked anxiously when she took the bucket back to the scullery area. ‘Who’s ill?’

‘I’m afraid it’s Sister Beatrice,’ Angela told her, and saw the shock in her face. She turned pale and sat down, staring as if she’d seen a ghost. ‘I know I can trust you to keep this to yourself, Muriel. The doctor thinks she has acute appendicitis and will need an emergency operation.’

‘God have mercy! My niece’s youngest daughter had that – it burst and she died. They couldn’t do nothin’ for her – pray God, Sister don’t go the same. Whatever shall we do without her?’

‘We shall have to manage as best we can until she comes back,’ Angela said calmly. ‘We have good nurses in Michelle and Wendy, and Paula too. I’m sure we shall manage.’

‘But Sister is always here,’ Muriel said. ‘We all turn to her when we need her. Does Nan know? She’ll be dreadfully upset. She’s very fond of Sister – as am I.’

‘Yes, I’m sure everyone is,’ Angela said. ‘But if we all continue to do our jobs as normal we shall manage. Hopefully it won’t be for too long.’ Angela believed this, though she knew there would be no time for any extras, like the party to celebrate the opening of the new wing; that would have to be cancelled now.

‘It might be for the best,’ Cook said dolefully, dabbing at her eyes with her white apron that was smeared with some kind of sauce. ‘I don’t like the sound of it, though – emergency operation isn’t good, Angela. It isn’t good at all …’

‘No, it’s very upsetting,’ Angela said. ‘But I assure you, I can manage the office work as usual and the nurses will all do their duty.’

‘But Sister tells me what to cook for the children – some of them have special diets and she’s always the one that works out what’s right for them. I’ll do my best, but I’m not sure I can manage without her guidance …’

‘I will consult with Michelle or Wendy and tell you what’s needed.’ Angela sighed inwardly. Sister Beatrice had no doubt been a tower of strength, but there was no reason things should collapse because she’d been taken ill. ‘I dare say Sister has a record of things like that in her office.’

‘Yes, perhaps,’ Cook said. ‘But it won’t be the same. We discuss all the menus over a cup of tea and a slice of my best fatless sponge and … oh well, I suppose we’ll manage somehow.’ She sighed heavily. ‘But if anything should happen …’

Angela suppressed a feeling of irritation. She’d thought Muriel was her friend, but it seemed that old loyalties were the strongest. She would simply have to show them all that she was perfectly capable of managing at St Saviour’s without Sister’s help.

‘We must pray Sister returns to us soon,’ she said. ‘I’d better go and find Nan – she’ll be terribly upset if she learns of Sister’s illness from somewhere else …’

‘I knew something was wrong with her,’ Nan said after Angela had persuaded her to sit down and have a cup of tea with her in the staff room. ‘I sensed it and she looked so tired – but I thought that she might not have been sleeping because of what happened with Terry. She still blames herself, even now …’

‘Sister has been tired and anxious of late,’ agreed Angela. ‘I suspect she’s been suffering nagging pains for a while but carried on working regardless when she ought to have gone to the doctor.’

‘Beatrice is like that,’ Nan said. ‘She holds things inside, won’t give in to whatever is upsetting her. She went through a terrible time as a young woman, before she joined the nuns, and I imagine she got used to hiding pain. I didn’t know her back then, but she’s told me a few things over the years … I do know she was married for a time, and I believe there was a child, but I can’t say more than that.’

Angela didn’t press her for details, even though the news that Sister had been married came as a considerable surprise. Occasionally she had wondered what Sister’s life had been like before she became a nun, but it had never occurred to her that Beatrice might have been married. Though she told herself it was none of her business what terrible sorrow had driven Beatrice to give up all worldly things and enter a convent, she couldn’t help wishing she knew more – perhaps if she understood more of why Sister was so passionate about her work at St Saviour’s and why she felt that Angela was trying to undermine her role when all she wanted was to help, then she would know how to reassure her that was not the case.

‘Let’s hope that holding back won’t have cost her her life,’ Angela said.

‘I don’t know what we would do without her,’ Nan said in a mournful tone. ‘I know you do a lot of the office work now, Angela, but … everyone respects Sister Beatrice: the nurses and carers, children – and the locals too. So many people stop her when she goes out, asking for her help. And every month she goes into the slums to visit families and check their health and give advice, making sure mothers know how to sterilise the babies’ bottles – lots of small but significant things like that.’

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