About the Author

A dedicated reader and scribbler all her life, ROSIE JAMES completed her first novel (sadly unpublished) before reaching her teens.

Significant success came much later, and over the last twelve years newspaper and magazine articles, short stories and romantic novels followed under her other pen name Susanne James.

Rosie’s four family sagas were the next stage, the plots reflecting her fascination with the human condition – how different, yet how alike we all are. And in every story one thing is guaranteed – a happy ending.

Also by Rosie James

Letters to Alice

The Long Road Ahead

Lexi’s War

Front Line Nurse
ROSIE JAMES

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2019

Copyright © Rosie James 2019

Rosie James asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for 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, downloaded, 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.

E-book Edition © June 2019 ISBN: 9780008296254

Version: 2019-05-27

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Also by Rosie James

Title page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Epilogue

Dear Reader …

About the Publisher

For my ever-loving family … Including our precious dogs.

Chapter 1
November 1900

Randolph Garfield stood on the quayside and watched the last huge roll of tobacco being wheeled into his main warehouse. He nodded, satisfied at the superb quality of this consignment, but what had he expected? Virginian tobacco was the finest in the world.

As usual, his trusted foreman was checking each roll as it was stored away safely, and Randolph glanced at his watch. It was late and all the other workers had already gone home. But they would be back here again tomorrow morning, seven o’clock sharp.

Observing the proceedings closely, as he always did, Randolph tightened his hand on his walking cane. He liked the feel of its smooth, round marble head beneath his palm – palpable even through the fine kid gloves he was wearing – and considered the cane as something of a talisman, because it had belonged to his father who had never left the house without it.

Garfield Tobacco, its name marked out in huge steel lettering across the entrance of the three warehouses, was well known in the East End as it had been for two generations before Randolph. His father had died very young, which meant that Randolph had had to accept leadership of the family firm earlier than he might have expected. But he was not resentful in any way. He had been born into prosperity and enjoyed the life of the prosperous, and was giving 3-year-old Alexander, his only son and heir, the same privileges. So it was highly likely that Alexander, too, would follow in the family footsteps when Randolph no longer wished to head the business. He shrugged briefly. There was plenty of time to worry about that because, after all, he was only 40.

When the warehouse was fully secure, Randolph began to make his way from the docks envisaging how those gigantic rolls of tobacco would soon be transformed into thousands of cigarettes, cigars, plug and pipe tobacco and snuff, all supplying the never-ending needs of the public, rich or poor. The pleasure and solace of smoking was a gift of the gods. Certainly a gift for Garfield’s.

It was a miserable, late November evening, the gloom only slightly lessened by pale overhead lighting. Randolph took his usual route from the docks along the cobbled streets, past rows and rows of ramshackle, terraced houses and countless pubs. He had long since become accustomed to the poverty and deprivation all around, the overpowering scent of unwashed bodies and human excrement, of coal smoke hanging permanently in the air, the persistent smell of beer. There were always groups of children hanging about outside, few wearing any shoes, and who never seemed to go to bed, whatever time it was. Randolph doubted any of them had ever seen the inside of a classroom, despite the Education Act three decades earlier having decreed that education should be compulsory.

Throughout the area, various sorts of trading seemed to go on … there were countless private beer and cider houses, and women offering rags and old pots and pans for sale. A prolific number of people were engaged in the dangerous process of match-making, while little ‘match girls’ stood on every corner hoping to sell for a few pennies, and very young children persistently offered themselves to anyone willing to pay for it. Once, Randolph had been approached by a small girl, no more than seven or eight years old, earnestly offering him a ‘good time’. He had been appalled and had brushed her away, but the incident had haunted him for a long time afterwards.

But there was no doubt that the economy was booming, all the workshops and factories along the docks were doing well – including that of his great friend, Jacob Mason, whose business was in steel, and the manufacture of nuts, bolts and allied merchandise. Randolph walked on with a lighter step. It was a wonderful feeling to be successful at what you did. He and Jacob spent many happy hours discussing current topics and airing their opinions about the government. The two men had attended many meetings together but Randolph admitted that he did not always agree with his friend. Jacob had very strong views, and was always convinced he was right.

Now, Randolph began to reach quieter streets where the air was slightly cleaner, and he would soon get to the point at which he would normally hail a carriage to take him home to the house in which he’d been born – an elegant, three-storey dwelling in leafy Belsize Park. It was perfectly situated, and sometimes Randolph would take the long walk from Primrose Hill to Parliament Hill where he could be alone with his thoughts. And Hampstead Heath and Regent’s Park were close by, lovely open spaces for children to run and play. Randolph himself had done so and Alexander, too, sometimes went there with his nanny.

Randolph’s eyes clouded briefly. He could give his son everything that money could buy but he could not give him back his mother who had died giving birth to their only baby. They had planned to have many more children but it was not to be. Sybil had been 30 years old when she’d eventually conceived, and the love of Randolph’s life. And although he was considered an attractive man, being tall and broad-shouldered with scarcely any grey hair, he knew he would never marry again. Alexander’s mother could never be replaced.

Trying to shake off the occasional bout of depression he suffered from, Randolph walked on more quickly. If he hurried, he might be in time to wish Alexander goodnight before the little boy fell asleep.

Suddenly, as he rounded one of the many corners of this lightly populated area Randolph’s progress was instantly halted, and he frowned. What had he almost tripped over just then? Something or other had been tucked to one side, but was certainly an obstruction to anyone walking by. He narrowed his eyes and crouched down, his expression changing to one of genuine horror as he realised what he was looking at.

He found himself gazing down into the small face of a very young baby whose large brown eyes were pooled in the purest white.

Still crouching, Randolph took a deep breath. This tiny infant had clearly been abandoned, in a cardboard box like rubbish. How could anyone do such a thing? Yet he could see that the baby was warmly wrapped in a huge, pale grey knitted shawl and soft white bonnet, and under the chin had been tucked a small pink teddy bear. Someone had loved this child …

Very carefully, Randolph picked up the box, and was surprised by its light weight. He held it to him protectively as he stood up and looked around. The street was quiet and deserted, with no sign of whoever may have left the child there, but luckily Randolph knew that no more than two hundred yards away there was the orphanage. It had been there for years, and he breathed a sigh of relief. They would take the child.

He walked very slowly towards the huge grey building, not wanting to disturb the baby, who had not made a single sound but was just lying there looking up at him. Randolph gritted his teeth. How could anyone leave this beautiful baby?

Randolph could not have been aware of the fragile young girl watching him from her hiding place, nor have heard the rustle of her thin skirt as she crept back into the shadows.

Reaching the orphanage, he rang the bell and waited, and after a few moments he heard approaching footsteps marching across a stone floor. Then, heavy bolts were moved aside and the door opened. A tall, angular woman stood there, unsmiling.

‘Yes? What is it? Then, on seeing a distinguished looking man there and not another vagrant begging for food, the woman moved to one side. ‘Oh … would you like to come in?’

Randolph accepted the invitation and carefully handed over the baby.

‘I found this a few moments ago,’ he said quietly, ‘down there at the far end of the road.’ He paused. ‘I am sure you will know what to do about it.’

The woman looked down at the box and tutted. ‘Oh not another little throw-out,’ she said abruptly. ‘It’s a pity these sluts of girls don’t think before they—’

‘Quite,’ Randolph said quickly.

Together they moved inside and the woman placed the box on a large oak table. And there in the pale lighting they could make out the neat printing on the side.

Angelina. Born 1st November 1900. Weight 6 lb. 3 ozs.

‘This little bastard’s only three weeks old, and tiny,’ the woman said. ‘It could have caught its death out there like that. Good job you came by when you did, sir.’

Just then, another woman approached and took in the familiar situation at a glance. ‘Oh dear,’ she said, her voice soft. She looked up at Randolph. ‘I am Emma Kingston, the superintendent here.’

She was a short, stout lady, her thick grey hair piled up into a knot, her face dominated by thoughtful blue eyes. Randolph smiled briefly.

‘I am sorry to disturb you, Miss Kingston,’ he said. ‘My name is Randolph Garfield and I found this child less than an hour ago. The box had been placed to one side of the pavement.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I am sure you will know how to deal with this … unfortunate matter.’

Emma Kingston glanced at the other woman. ‘Thank you, Mrs Marshall,’ she said, and with that, Mrs Marshall departed without a backward glance.

After she had gone, Miss Kingston studied the printing on the box, then picked up the baby and tenderly held it to her. She sighed. ‘I am afraid we do get children handed in here from time to time,’ she said, ‘but not usually this young, and not usually in a box.’

For the first time, the baby made a small pathetic gurgle – which made Randolph catch his breath. Why had this happened to him? And after such a long day!

After a moment, Miss Kingston said, somewhat apologetically, ‘Would you mind following me into my office for a few seconds, Mr Garfield? It is always useful to have something definitive to add to my records. Purely a formality,’ she added, ‘but you never know, someone may eventually come forward and claim Angelina … this little angel.’

Randolph followed the superintendent along the hallway and into the living quarters. There seemed to be a lot of doors, all closed, and despite this being an orphanage there was little sound. But of course, it was now getting very late.

In Miss Kingston’s office, Randolph took the chair he was offered and sat down. After putting the box with the baby in it down on a chair beside her, Miss Kingston took out a ledger and opened a fresh page. She looked across at Randolph.

‘I take it you are Mr Garfield of Garfield Tobacco?’ she enquired politely, and Randolph nodded.

‘Indeed I am,’ he said quietly.

‘So, Mr Garfield, would you tell me exactly when and where you found this baby’’ Miss Kingston said, and for the next two minutes Randolph told her the little there was to say.

Presently, Miss Kingston sat back, looking pensive. ‘It’s fortunate that we are still here,’ she said, ‘because the orphanage will be closing at the beginning of next year.’

Randolph was surprised. The place had always been here. He frowned. ‘So – what will happen to all the children?’ he asked. ‘Where will they go?’

The superintendent turned to take the baby in her arms again, rocking it to and fro comfortingly, and Randolph realised that the lady clearly loved children and must have looked after so many in her time. Unlike the other woman who had seemed cold and unfeeling.

‘Fortunately, we only have eight orphans with us at the moment,’ Miss Kingston said. ‘I have tried to cut back because of the impending closure, but normally there are fifteen children here. The ones remaining will be dispersed to other orphanages when we can find places for them. It can be anywhere in the country, of course,’ she added. ‘Not necessarily local.’

Randolph was feeling more unhappy with every moment that passed. Little children, little babies like Angelina, being passed around like parcels. He cleared his throat.

‘But why is the orphanage to close?’

‘Lack of funding, I’m afraid,’ the superintendent said. ‘Of course, we get a little parish relief but our principal benefactor died earlier this year, and sadly he left no provision for the orphanage in his will.’ She paused, smiling briefly. ‘He had been more than generous in his lifetime and I don’t think there was very much left in the end.’

Randolph looked away for a second. ‘And what will you do, Miss Kingston? Will you accompany any of the children who have been in your care?’

Miss Kingston shook her head sadly. ‘I think it is time for me to finish what has been my life’s work,’ she said, ‘though I had had every intention of remaining here for perhaps another ten years when I retire. But fate has taken a hand, so when the orphanage closes, that will be my own farewell, too.’

*

Randolph left the orphanage and walked on slowly. It was strange, but he had never given that place much thought at all – or rather, had never given those children much thought. They were safe and provided for, and much like the youngsters down by the docks, orphans were merely a fact of life. There had always been orphans and there would always be orphans. So why was he, Randolph Garfield, feeling uneasy?

Well, he knew the reason. That little child, that tiny baby, Angelina, had caused him to stop and do something to help her. Those beautiful eyes looking at him like that had secured a place in his conscience.

And in his heart …

The following evening, Jacob Mason came to Number 1 Richmond Villas to enjoy a bottle of good red wine with his friend. This was a ritual which had taken place every other week for years, and the wine was always accompanied by a light supper of cold meats and pickles and a loaf of bread baked and served by Randolph’s housekeeper.

But the main purpose of these occasions was to talk shop, to discuss current events and the state of the world in general. And then they’d exchange news of more personal matters. Tonight, Randolph did have something to recount.

As the two sat either side of a bright log fire in his study, Randolph spoke up. ‘On my way home yesterday evening, Jacob, I had a most uncomfortable experience.’

Jacob sat forward, immediately interested. ‘Go on.’

‘I found … I happened upon … well, I discovered a newborn baby which had been abandoned in a cardboard box. And it was a complete shock, I can assure you’’

Jacob nodded, but seemed unsurprised at the news. ‘What did you do about it?’

‘I took the box to the orphanage just up the road from where I found it – and on the side of the box were the words – “Angelina, born 1st November 1900 weight 6 lbs. 3oz”.’

‘Oh well, that’s all right then,’ Jacob said casually ‘It’ll be fed and clothed and looked after until it can get out into the world and fend for itself.’ He sat back, satisfied with his own summing up of the sad facts.

Not for the first time in his life, Randolph felt angry at his friend’s attitude. To hear Jacob refer to that innocent child as an ‘it’ was upsetting. He let a moment pass, then said, ‘I was very surprised to learn that the orphanage is to close in the New Year. Due to a lack of funding, apparently.’

‘Well, money is what makes the world go around, as we all know,’ Jacob said cheerfully. ‘Other orphanages will take those kids I suppose.’ He took a drink from his glass. ‘Trouble is, Randolph, they can never be anything, amount to anything, give anything back,’ Jacob went on. ‘Just imagine the parentage! The genetic influence! I believe that orphans are usually illegitimate – bastards, in other words. So, genetically speaking, their prospects are hopeless. Hopeless!’

‘I think that is a rather pessimistic view, Jacob,’ Randolph said coolly. ‘It’s obvious that not everyone has the same start in life, but those children are schooled in arithmetic, they are given books to read, and they are taught the bible—’

Jacob interrupted, smiling. ‘I can see that your recent experience has played on your mind and given you cause for thought, Randolph.’

Randolph nodded. ‘I learned that nuns from the priory teach the children and help to look after them,’ he said, ‘together with a small, subsidiary domestic staff.’

Jacob shrugged. ‘I’m telling you, none of them will ever amount to anything. They are the driftwood of life! My father was emphatic about never employing such people. because they’d always be a waste of time. And my father was never wrong about anything! All successful countries, all successful economies, depend on people of good stock, of good background, of intellect, and you and I are part of that, Randolph. We are doing our bit to keep the system going.’ He leaned forward and tapped Randolph on the knee. ‘And, in years to come, when our two youngsters tie the knot – oh, I know it won’t be for a very long time yet – but when they do, they will be continuing the process. And they will produce children of distinction! Useful citizens, Randolph!’

Randolph smiled briefly. Who knew what Alexander might want to do with his life, or who he’d share that life with? Jacob’s daughter, Honora, was still only an infant, but he and his wife Elizabeth, were determined that their little girl would one day be the next Mrs Garfield.

Randolph stared into his glass for a moment. He knew that Jacob was a great admirer of Frances Galton, the distinguished statistician and mathematician. Galton was of the opinion – among other things – that it was simple to place the populace in groups, from the lowest to the highest in terms of what they would be worth to the success of a country, and that the value of an ‘average’ person over a lifetime would be no more than five pounds. He also empathically believed that the lower classes should be discouraged from procreating.

‘I returned to the orphanage today and spoke at length to the superintendent,’ Randolph said, ‘and I learned that there are two trustees, one of whom is a priest – Laurence Dunn—’

‘Oh, I’ve met Father Laurence,’ Jacob interjected. ‘He’s been to my club once or twice.’

‘Anyway, I wanted to know if anyone had returned to claim little Angelina,’ Randolph said, and Jacob snorted derisively.

‘That’ll never happen!’ he said. ‘Orphans are the unwanted in life. Certainly unwanted by the loose, ignorant women who spawn them!’

Chapter 2

The following Saturday afternoon, Randolph left the factory earlier than usual and made his way to the orphanage. He had been thinking long and hard about many things, and had come to a decision. He was not going to see the place close, its young inmates dispersed to heaven knew where. If it was at all possible, he would buy it – he’d already re-named it in his head. It would become the Garfield Home for Children.

His ring on the bell was answered almost at once by Mrs Marshall. She stood aside for Randolph to enter.

‘Is it possible for me to speak to Miss Kingston?’ he said briefly. ‘I will not keep her long.’

Mrs Marshall nodded. ‘I’ll tell her,

Presently, sitting opposite Emma Kingston in her office, Randolph said – Firstly, I would like to find out how the baby … how Angelina is getting on. Is she thriving?’

The superintendent smiled. ‘That little one is a born survivor, Mr Garfield,’ she said. ‘We engage a wet nurse for babies this young and Angelina took what was offered straightaway. She sleeps well, is no trouble at all and is so alert! In fact, I would say she is already looking around and sizing up the world she’s been born into!’

Randolph nodded. Would he ever forget those large brown eyes gazing up at him?

‘You say there are eight children here. Both girls and boys, I take it?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Emma Kingston said, ‘At the moment we have four boys and, with Angelina now, there are five little girls..

nd how long do they remain at the orphanage? Generally speaking?’

‘Normally until they are fourteen,’ the superintendent said, ‘Then we try and find work for them, and somewhere to live.’ She shrugged briefly. ‘It isn’t easy, but sometimes a job comes up in one of the big houses or hotels, where they have bed and board in exchange for cleaning work, scullery work, or in the kitchen. And luckily, they do have some experience because from quite a young age they must help here with everyday tasks. It’s never too early to learn such things, is it?’ She smiled. ‘The boys are not so keen, but they are kept busy in our small garden, weeding, clearing up and planting. We try to grow our own vegetables to keep our costs down.’ she added.

Randolph cleared his throat. Why had he never given a thought to the small lives being lived out in this huge building, and other buildings like it?

‘And what about staff, Miss Kingston?’ he asked. ‘How many people do you have working for you?’

‘Oh well … I have Mrs Marshall, who you’ve met,’ the superintendent replied. ‘She is a general assistant and she comes in each day. One or two extra helpers are engaged occasionally when needed, and of course there are always the two domestics who clean and do regular hours in the laundry.’

‘You have quite a task force here, Miss Kingston,’ Randolph said, and she smiled.

‘Ah, but I haven’t mentioned our wonderful cook, Mrs Vera Haines! She is resident, naturally, as is our young nurse, Nancy’ the superintendent said. ‘Nancy is a cheerful young lady who sometimes helps the nuns in the schoolroom, or accompanies the children when they go to the park. But she goes home at weekends, so it’s fortunate that, after all these years, I am well able to cope with any minor medical problems which may crop up. And of course, I can always call the parish doctor if necessary,’ she added.

Randolph glanced at the clock on the wall. He didn’t want to take up too much of the woman’s time, but if he was going to put his plan into action, he had to know what he was taking on – and what it was going to cost. ‘Would you mind showing me around, Miss Kingston?’ he asked politely. ‘Because I would very much like to help in some way if possible, and …’

Emma Kingston stood up. ‘Of course you may look around, Mr Garfield,’ she said, ‘but I am afraid we are beyond help now. We just cannot afford to stay here with the small financial help we receive. The whole place is in need of a thorough overhaul, such lighting as we have needs replacing and the plumbing is in a poor state.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘So one has to face facts – this building is not fit for purpose, and that is why it is to be sold. Apart from the fact that, as I explained, our benefactor has died,’ she added.

Randolph did not reply, but followed her along the corridor and up to the stairs to be shown the five small bedrooms for the orphans – all very neat and tidy, he noted to himself.

‘These rooms at the end are the ones for Nancy, Mrs Haines and myself,’ Miss Kingston said, ‘and our nursery for the babies is there as well. The two small bathrooms we have are downstairs – which can be slightly inconvenient.’

Is Angelina in the nursery?’ Randolph asked casually, and Emma Kingston stopped.

‘Yes – would you like to take a peep, Mr Garfield?’

‘Together, they went into the nursery and as Randolph gazed down at the child he had the greatest difficulty in not scooping her up into his arms. Cocooned in snow-white covers, she was fast asleep. On the soft white pillow was the pink teddy bear, the one tiny possession she had brought with her.

‘She is the most delightful baby,’ Miss Kingston murmured softly. ‘We are all in love with her. It’s as if she’s determined to be no trouble to anyone.’

Just then, Angelina stirred and opened her eyes, and Randolph felt tears welling up in his own. What possible future was in store for this little one, abandoned at birth? Why couldn’t she be his, his and Sybil’s? One of the children they’d planned to have?

The superintendent interrupted his thoughts as she said quietly, ‘Her next feed is almost due, but see? Angelina is looking at us, Mr Garfield, giving us the onceover! This is quite unusual in so young a child,’ she added.

Randolph found his voice. ‘She is … perfect,’ he said. ‘Surely a gift from God.’

Miss Kingston glanced at him covertly. For a hard-nosed businessman, Mr Garfield was rather a surprise.

‘It is very quiet everywhere,’ Randolph said as he followed her back down, and she half-turned to glance at him.

‘Ah well, at this time on a Saturday afternoon the children are usually taken to the park – if the weather is reasonable – but they’ll be back soon and looking forward to teatime. Cook usually makes cakes on Saturdays.’

Emma Kingston opened a door and gestured for Randolph to look inside. ‘This is where food is eaten,’ she said, ‘and the children have three meals a day, breakfast, dinner and tea, and a warm drink last thing.’

Randolph looked down at the two long trestle tables, the wooden benches pushed beneath. ‘I must say that I was aware of a very appetising smell as I came in earlier,’ he said. ‘So what was on the menu for dinner today?’

‘It was tripe and onions today, with mashed potatoes, and an apple for pudding,’ Miss Kingston said, ‘and while tripe may not be everyone’s first choice we are on a very tight budget, so the children must eat what they are given.’ She smiled briefly. ‘Orphans are not allowed to be fussy, Mr Garfield, but our cook always manages to make everything so tasty that it is unusual for even a scrap of food to be left on the plates. And the staff eat exactly the same.’

Finally, Randolph was shown the playroom and the schoolroom next to it, with the single desks in rows and a large blackboard and easel at the front of the class.

‘Do the children enjoy their lessons with the nuns?’ Randolph enquired. ‘I mean, do you have behavioural problems?’

‘Sometimes,’ Miss Kingston admitted, ‘but orphans are just children, all with difficult backgrounds – well, those we know about. But some of them are just picked up from the street, little strays that no one knows a thing about. So of course they can be naughty, but that’s only to be expected– and I try and talk them out of their bad humour with a hug, and maybe a sweet or two,’ she added.

Following her back into her office, Randolph decided that it was time to come clean.

‘Miss Kingston,’ he said, ‘I have something to say which may come as a surprise, but all things being equal, I am going to buy this building, and will expect it to be run exactly as it is at the moment.’

The woman’s reaction was immediate. ‘Mr Garfield … Mr Garfield, I am not sure what to say, but—’

‘The only thing I would ask you to say, Miss Kingston,’ Randolph interrupted, ‘is that, if it all goes through as I hope it will, would you stay on in your present position here and help me … advise me? My business life is obviously totally different from owning an orphanage, as you will appreciate, and I am going to need expert guidance. Can I dare to hope that you will provide that guidance?’

For a full ten seconds Emma Kingston didn’t utter a word. Then she said simply, ‘It would be my privilege, Mr Garfield. And my utter joy.’

He stood up to leave, then hesitated. ‘It is very sad that no one has come forward to claim Angelina,’ he said, and the superintendent nodded.

‘Indeed it is,’ she said quietly. ‘And … I do have news which it grieves me to tell you, Mr Garfield. But the body of a young woman was found late on Thursday night, about half a mile from here and … it seems that she had quite recently given birth.’

Randolph felt his stomach lurch in horror at this information, yet he was well aware that almost every week in the year it was commonplace for nameless bodies to be swept up on the streets of London. Jacob Mason’s classless, rootless, useless human beings …

Chapter 3
December 1913

Alone at home in his study, Randolph stared out at the cheerless wintry scene, his heart heavy with dread. There was no denying any longer that war with Germany was imminent. The newspapers were full of gloom – Mr Winston Churchill who, in the last couple of years, had demanded the construction of huge battleships to counter Germany’s massive fleet, appeared to be hungry for the conflict to begin as soon as possible. And it seemed that he might get his wish because military exercises could be regularly witnessed on the streets of London and artillery batteries had appeared at the mouth of the Thames. Ready and waiting …

Randolph ran a hand through his hair. The thought of war was hideous for many reasons – not only because of the blood, sweat and tears which would be shed, but the damage to the economy would be enormous, the wealth of the country eroded. Any sea-faring trades would be affected, and that included Garfield’s.

But all those considerations were not what was really making Randolph’s stomach churn with anxiety. It was the fact that Alexander would almost certainly be the age at which he would be expected to join the British army and do his bit to help defend France and Belgium against the enemy. Randolph had kept a close watch on the news over the preceding months and had a shrewd idea as to what that would entail. The thought that his beloved son should come to harm, or suffer an early death, was the worst possible nightmare. If that did happen, Randolph himself would not wish to go on living.

He tried to cheer up. After all, in a couple of days Alexander would be coming home from his boarding school for the Christmas holidays, and despite everything, that was enough to ease Randolph’s frown.

Ever since Alexander and Jacob Mason’s daughter, Honora, had been born, the two families always spent the two main Christmas days together. The Masons had no other children, nor close family members, so it seemed a natural thing to do. The two families took it in turns to host the festivities and this year it was going to be at the Masons’ house. Although, as usual, there would be merely five of them enjoying the festivities the noise and hilarity was always enough for a crowd. From very early days, the two children had always loved being together, and even now that they were both almost 17 years old, nothing had changed. As Jacob kept insisting, they had been a pigeon pair since birth, and he would always make sure that the ubiquitous sprig of mistletoe was there above the front door so that Honora and Alexander could be witnessed showing their special love for each other and receive a round of applause from Jacob and Elizabeth. But Randolph would merely smile. He hoped his friends were not going to be disappointed in their matchmaking hopes. Alexander seemed engrossed in his college life, and although, next year, he was expected to start a business degree course, Randolph had been advised that they should think again as his son showed an exceptional understanding of physics. It appeared that a different future might await him.

For Randolph, Christmas Eve was the occasion he most looked forward to. Ever since he had a acquired the orphanage, he had made a point of visiting the place several times every month, and Christmas Eve was a special date. He and Alexander would go there together and take presents and treats for the staff. Of course, the children always had a bulging stocking to open on Christmas morning, but it was the magic of the day before which touched Randolph the most. To hear his little orphans sing carols to him, and see their faces alive with hope and excitement, always pulled at his heart strings.

Now, glancing at his watch, he saw that it was almost time for his supper to be served, but first, he needed to look through some papers. Opening one of the drawers in his desk, a small brown envelope took his attention. Of course, he knew what it held because he had looked through it many times.

It was a bundle of precious letters that Miss Kingston had sent him some years ago. Letters that Randolph guarded with the same care that he gave to his important financial papers, because every child who had been capable of doing so had written to him telling him what they would like to be when they grew up and left the orphanage.

This exercise had been Miss Kingston’s idea, and she could not have known the pleasure it would give to their benefactor every time he read the careful writing. There were going to be train drivers and policemen, writers and singers – one 8-year-old wanted to be the Archbishop of Canterbury, and several wanted to own their own sweet shops. But the thing was, they all had hopes, and Randolph did his best to help as many of them as he could. After all, he was influential and had already seen several of the 14-year-olds find work, giving them the chance to earn money and develop some self-respect and independence. Last year he had been especially pleased to see one of his youngsters, who’d always been top of the class in arithmetic, secure an apprenticeship with a firm of accountants – business associates of Randolph’s. And despite Jacob Mason’s cynical outlook on orphans, over the last year or two he had agreed to take on three lads to work in his factory and had grudgingly admitted that, so far, he couldn’t complain. But he had also stated that at the first sign of pilfering or wasting time, the culprit would be out on his ear. ‘It’s all in the genes, Randolph,’ Jacob would say complacently. ‘Just mark my words, because I know I’m right. In the end, none of them can possibly amount to much, not with their background.’

But it was always one special letter in the bundle which Randolph would keep to read last. Not that he needed to read it because he knew it off by heart. The writing was childish but perfectly formed and confident. It read:

Dear Mr Garfield,

I am seven years old and I have been a Garfield orphan all my life. I have not had any other home, and I do not want one because I am very happy here even though the nuns get cross in the schoolroom sometimes and give us the cane.

The only thing I want when I grow up is to get married and have my own house to keep clean, and my own children to look after. I have already met my husband, he is Mr Alexander, and I love him and I know he loves me because when he visits he always says he likes my dress and one day he said he thought my hair was a very pretty colour. He is a kind person so I know he would treat me well and not beat me like Ruby was beaten. Ruby is my best friend, and she is going to be my bridesmaid at the wedding.

Thank you very much for all you give us at the Garfield Home. You are a kind person.

I hope you are well. I am very well.

Yours sincerely,

Angelina Green

August 1914

Emma Kingston glanced at the calendar on her desk. The war, the much dreaded war, was now a month old, and so far all seemed to be quiet. Thoughtfully, she went across to the window and stared out, a shiver of dread running through her. Because surely this was just the calm before the storm. She knew it, felt it in her bones – after all, she studied the papers, listened to the wireless, heard the ranting of their politicians, the determination and intransigence of the unstoppable German invaders. The country, perhaps the whole world, was about to embark on a nightmare of indescribable horror.

And how many of the little orphans who had passed through her hands might be caught up in it, maimed, killed …

Presently, the superintendent popped her head around the school room door.

‘Angelina, would you go to the sick room, please? The nurse could do with another pair of hands this morning. Oh, and after dinner, I would like to see you in my office for a few minutes.’

Angelina, who had been helping the younger children recite their times tables, turned at once to do as she’d been asked. If there was one place she loved best in the world to be, it was in the medical room at the far end of the corridor. For the last couple of days there had been a sickness bug going about and the current young nurse, Greta, always asked for Angelina, who, Greta had said more than once, had a natural understanding of what needed to be done and a gift for reassuring the little patients and making them feel safe. But Emma Kingston had realised this talent for a long time, and it had clearly been proved when a little waif – later known as Ruby – had been brought in from the streets, half-naked and badly bruised. For many weeks the poor child had not uttered a single word, keeping her eyes and mouth tightly shut, and even now, after so many years had passed, the superintendent’s anger rose in her throat at the memory of that little one’s distress. Not even her own kindly experience had been able to make the child talk. But Angelina had taken the little girl under her wing, reading Peter Pan and Wendy to her, over and over again, and letting her share and cuddle Angelina’s precious pink teddy as they were in bed together. So when one day the little voice had finally whispered ‘My name is Ruby’, it had seemed as if Angelina had performed a small miracle.

Now, Angelina tapped on the superintendent’s door and went in. Emma Kingston looked up. This child – no longer a child – had developed into a beautiful young woman. She had grown quite tall, with a willowy figure that seemed full of grace and energy, and her long, golden brown hair falling in soft waves around her face, always shone with health,

‘Ah, there you are, dear. Come and sit down for a few minutes because we’ve one or two things to discuss.’

Angelina sat at the other side of the desk and looked across. ‘Is there something you need me to do, Miss Kingston?’

‘No, it’s more about you, dear, and what’s ahead.’ She cleared her throat. This was one of the duties she never enjoyed. ‘I don’t need to remind you that in a few months you will be 14 years old,’ she went on, ‘and that in January you will be leaving us and moving on to pastures new.’

Angelina sat forward and smiled. ‘You mean that I must make space for another child to come and live at The Garfield?’

‘Yes, I am afraid so, and if I had my way you would all stay on here for ever!’ the superintendent said. ‘But as you know 14 has always been the leaving age, and Mr Garfield, too, is of the opinion that all children should be encouraged to make their own way in the world and accept responsibility for themselves. But he also insists that the door is never closed to any of you and that you are welcome to come and visit as often as you like.’

She looked away for a moment, not wanting to admit that parting with Angelina was going to be hard. She had always been a special child, a favourite child. And why should she not be, because it was thanks to her arrival fourteen years ago that the orphanage had been transformed, or that it even existed in this place. The day that Randolph Garfield had turned up, holding that little shoe box, had been a red-letter day for all of them, and if someone else had found the baby this orphanage would now be an empty shell. Instead, under his ownership, new lighting and heating had been installed straightaway, there were now two bathrooms upstairs, the kitchen had been refitted with new equipment and every room was regularly redecorated in bright colours. Not only those practical considerations had been attended to, but there was always a continuous supply of new books and toys and games – the Meccano sets brought in a few years ago proving an endless fascination for both girls and boys.

It seemed that Mr Garfield was determined to leave no stone unturned for his orphans, often employing extra tutors to help any child with difficulties, or who showed a talent or willingness to learn. Mr Garfield regularly came in to visit, often bringing his young son with him, and it always surprised Emma Kingston that their benefactor was very good at remembering most of the children’s names. But he never again referred to Angelina’s sad beginning, nor treated her differently from the others. In fact, discussion about any of the orphans was discouraged at the Home. The totally unknown were baptised and given simple Christian names, and told that their parents had died, that they were all in the same boat and the past was the past. The future, their future, was what mattered. The superintendent sighed happily at her own thoughts. Ten years ago she should have retired, but she was still here at the Garfield, and had never been more content with her lot.

‘I shall be very sorry to leave,’ Angelina said, ‘because I have always been so happy here.’ She smiled. ‘Though I am sure the nuns will be glad to see the back of me, especially Sister Bernadette because she’s never forgiven me for calling out that she’d given us the wrong answer to one of the sums in a test. I got caned for that because she said I was being very rude in challenging her authority.’

Emma Kingston smiled briefly. She knew the nuns often used the cane on the children’s outstretched hands, and although she did not approve of physical punishment there was little she could say. The orphanage was fortunate to have the support of the priory, and of the nuns, who came over each day. This was an arrangement which had always gone on, and it was part of the agreement with Father Laurence who still remained a nominal trustee. But the superintendent didn’t care much for the priest who came in far too often for her liking. After all, once prayers and the reading of the day and perhaps a hymn had taken place, there wasn’t that much for the man to do, but he usually made sure he was around to join them at mealtimes. He was very tall and gaunt, always dressed in his long black garb, and he rarely smiled.

‘And I know someone else who won’t be sorry that I’m going,’ Angelina went on. ‘Mrs Marshall! She will be very glad to see the back of me! For as long as I can remember she’s told me to shut up and make myself scarce!’

Angelina looked away for a moment, not wanting to remember that one horrible event between her and Mrs Marshall that had given her nightmares for weeks afterwards.

It had been a day not long after Angelina’s tenth birthday, when both the ovens in the kitchen had stopped working. Such a thing had never happened before, and for two days the orphanage had had to buy in their dinner from outside caterers. At midday, a white delivery van had arrived at the entrance, and Mrs Marshall had been there to receive the food and carry it inside, helped by one of the children. It had been on the second day that Mrs Marshall had called Angelina out from the school room to assist her.

‘Hurry up,’ the woman had said crossly, as the two had made their way down the long passageway. ‘That van won’t wait there for ever!’

‘I am hurrying up,’ Angelina had replied, annoyed that she’d had to leave the arithmetic lesson, her favourite. She’d trotted after Mrs Marshall. ‘I can’t walk any faster! Your legs are longer than mine, remember!’

‘Always ready with a reply, aren’t you, Miss!’ Mrs Marshall had said. ‘I wish I’d been born with even half of your cheek!’

At the entrance, the van had been there, ready and waiting. The driver entered and, one, by one, had placed three large, rectangular, shiny steel pans of hot food on the table in the hall. Then he’d touched his cap and was gone.

Mrs Marshall had gingerly lifted the lid from each pan, and she and Angelina had gazed at the contents. The first had held slice after slice of beef, accompanied by rows and rows of crisp, roast potatoes, all lying in a generous amount of rich brown gravy. The smell had made Angelina’s mouth water.

‘Can we pinch a spud?’ she’d whispered, only to be rewarded with a clip over the ear.

The next pan had held cabbage and diced carrots, and in the third were the puddings, tiny jam roly polys, with a deep space at the end of the pan to hold the hot custard.

‘Come on, let’s get this lot into the kitchen before it all goes cold!’ Mrs Marshall had said tersely, picking up the heaviest pan with the meat and potatoes inside. ‘You bring the vegetables, Angelina. And don’t dawdle!’

The next few moments were to be the ones imprinted on Angelina’s memory for the rest of her life.

With Mrs Marshall going ahead, they’d been making their way along the corridor towards the kitchen, when suddenly the older woman had lost her grip on her hot pan and it fell to the floor with an ear-deafening crash, spilling the contents all over the place. And lying there in front of their horrified eyes, were the precious meat and potatoes, all floating in the gravy – which had begun swirling around and creeping into the cracks and corners of the stone floor.

For a few seconds neither of them spoke, then Angelina had put her own pan down on the floor and began trying to salvage some of the wasted food, just as Mrs Haines, hearing the commotion, had begun hurrying from the kitchen.

‘What on earth is going on!’ the cook had demanded. ‘Oh my Good Lor …’ she’d said on seeing the mess. ‘Whatever are we going to do now!’

‘That was all Angelina’s fault!’ Mrs Marshall had declared shrilly, her voice ringing through the corridor, ‘She is such a stupid child! I told her to be careful, but she would insist on carrying the heaviest pan! She thinks she knows everything, can do everything better than anyone else and it’s time someone taught her a lesson!’

For once, Angelina had been speechless. How could she be accused of something that was not her fault? How could Mrs Marshall be so horrible?

Trying to stem her tears, Angelina had just stared unbelievingly at Mrs Marshall. ‘But I wasn’t holding that pan! You know I wasn’t!’ Angelina had spluttered. ‘You dropped it, not me! It’s not fair to say it was me!’

But she was to get no further because just then Emma Kingston had appeared.

‘Oh dear,’ the superintendent had said as she’d surveyed the scene. ‘Never mind, we must make do as best we can – it’s too late to order a replacement, but I’m sure we can deal with this.’ She had lifted the lid from the other pan. ‘Look, we still have the vegetables and the puddings must be in that other one back there on the table, so all is not lost and perhaps marmite sandwiches will fill the gap, just for once.’

‘I told Angelina to be careful!’ Mrs Marshall had declared, determined to maintain the fallacy, ‘but you can’t tell her! Oh no. This one always knows best!’

‘Never mind,’ Emma Kingston had said. ‘Accidents do happen now and again.’ She’d glanced briefly at Angelina. ‘Perhaps you will help Mrs Marshall clean this up, Angelina, and then come and have your own dinner. Mrs Haines and I will take the other pans to the kitchen and prepare the tables. Everyone will soon be getting hungry!’

Then, Mrs Marshall had gone to the kitchen to fetch a large bowl, and soap and water and cloths, and between them, she and Angelina had picked up all the beautiful potatoes, one after another, and the slices of meat, and had washed the floor until all that remained of the event was a large, black stain which would soon dry up and disappear, leaving no trace that anything had happened.

But what would not disappear, ever, was Angelina’s memory of the occasion. As she and Mrs Marshall had knelt there together on the floor, not another word had passed between them. Because what would have been the point? The older woman had told a direct lie to save her face, and as an adult, her version of the accident would be the one believed if Angelina had decided to say anything to the superintendent or Mrs Haines. But it had taught Angelina one of the hardest lessons in life – that adults are quite capable of telling downright lies, and justice does not always prevail.

At the end of the evening, with everything completed, she’d stood up and gazed into Mrs Marshall’s unflinching eyes – only to see a look of triumph. The woman had got herself off the hook.

Mrs Marshall, while carrying all the cleaning materials back into the kitchen, had breathed a sigh of relief. Mrs Haines, the matriarch of the domestic staff, would have had a few choice words to say to her if she had known the truth. The cook had a quick tongue and was ready to criticise the others in her domain when things went a bit wrong, and there had been one or two small incidents recently that had put Mrs Marshall on the wrong foot.

Mrs Marshall had shrugged to herself. Anyway, Miss Angelina Green, the Miss Who Can Do No Wrong, would come to no harm over being accused. Oh no, she wouldn’t get told off. Besides, Mrs Marshall loved it here at the Garfield and couldn’t afford to lose this job. The money was good, and she had a sick husband to feed and take care of.

Besides, who cared about a child’s sensitivities? Children got over things pretty quickly.

Later that night, lying next to Ruby who was sleeping soundly, Angelina had wished with all her heart that she could tell Mr Alexander about what had happened. He would understand and sympathise with her, she knew he would, because each time he visited he always made a point of seeking her out so that they could have their lovely chats together. Mr Alexander was the sort of person you could say anything to, and Angelina had known that he would be as cross with Mrs Marshall as she was.

Now, almost four years later, the superintendent nodded at Angelina’s remark that the girl believed Mrs Marshall had never liked her. Emma Kingston had always been aware of the woman’s short temper – especially, it seemed, with Angelina who, from such an early age had been so bright, so clever, so quick to catch on. Perhaps Mrs Marshall was actually jealous of the child’s ability in the schoolroom, because she herself was not well educated. In fact, little was known about the woman because she never discussed her personal life other than to say that she lived near the docks with her ailing husband. But she was a good worker and always came in on time, and over the years had introduced one or two other women, neighbours of hers, who needed casual employment, and so far all had proved more than satisfactory. Emma Kingston had found this useful, because she preferred to engage recommended staff.

‘Well, we can’t be liked by everyone in this world, can we, Angelina?’ the superintendent said cheerfully. ‘And make no mistake, you are dearly loved by all the rest of us.’ Now then—’ she looked down at the folder on her desk ‘—we shall naturally find you suitable accommodation after you leave here, and I am sure that it will not be difficult to find you work so this is what I want us to talk about. Do you have any particular wishes? You are a very competent girl in so many ways, dear – so, for example, I am certain you would be welcome to learn a trade in one of the hotels or guest houses. You might even like to learn more about cookery because you seem very happy in the kitchen helping Mrs Haines. Apart from washing up and keeping the place clean, she’s told me that you are quick at peeling vegetables and very good at rubbing up short crust pastry!’

‘Yes, I do like being in the kitchen,’ Angelina said. ‘Mrs Haines has taught me a lot.’

‘Or maybe you would like to think about office work,’ the superintendent went on. ‘Perhaps Mr Garfield knows of someone who could do with a young clerk.’ She glanced at Angelina quickly. ‘Of course, everyone has to start at the bottom and you will not earn very much at the beginning.’

‘I wouldn’t mind that, Miss Kingston,’ Angelina said.

‘Of course, there are still a few months to go yet, before we need take any action, but do any of my suggestions appeal to you, Angelina? Or do you have thoughts of your own?’

Angelina took a deep breath. ‘Miss Kingston, I know exactly what I am going to do with my life.’

The superintendent looked up, unsurprised at this. Angelina had had her feet very firmly on the ground from the moment she had taken her first steps.

‘Go on.’

‘I am going to train to be a nurse,’ Angelina said emphatically, and without stopping for breath she went on. ‘I have been thinking so much about it, and talking to Greta, and she’s told me that St Thomas’s have a nurses’ training school and that anyone can apply and I know I’m a bit young but next year I shall be going on fifteen and that’s how old they’ll take you and I know I can be a good nurse because I’ve helped in the medical room for a long time now, haven’t I? Nancy is a ward sister at the hospital now, and she could tell them about me and explain that I work hard and that the sight of blood doesn’t upset me – I know what to do with damaged knees and bumped heads – and I don’t mind cleaning up sick—’

Emma Kingston raised her hand and smiled. ‘Well then, I think we shall have to make some enquiries about this Angelina, and if you think it is really what you want.’

‘I know it’s what I want, Miss Kingston!’ Angelina said. ‘I’ve read all about Miss Florence Nightingale and what a wonderful woman she was and I can’t wait to learn everything and wear a nurse’s uniform and—’

‘You may have to wait a while, my dear,’ the superintendent said, ‘because you are still very young. But this is certainly something to be thinking about, isn’t it?’

Angelina looked away for a moment. ‘There is something that is worrying me, Miss Kingston,’ she said, ‘and it’s about Ruby. You see, she has no idea that I’ve got to leave next year and she’s going to be upset. Do you think she could leave at the same time and then we could go and live together? And I could go on looking after her, couldn’t I?’

The superintendent glanced at her folder again. ‘Well, we don’t know how old Ruby actually is,’ she said, ‘but we are fairly certain that you and she are about the same age. So I think that what you suggest could be possible, and I, personally, would be happy that you would be around to keep an eye on her. But of course, she would have to be prepared to support herself, and it may be difficult to find work for her. She is a very sensitive young girl.’

Angelina was overjoyed. She couldn’t bear to think of Ruby crying herself to sleep without their teddy bear to cuddle.

Emma Kingston stood up. ‘Well, you’ve certainly given me something to think about, Angelina, so we will leave this for the moment’

Angelina stood as well. ‘I feel really excited that you agree with my plan,’ she said. ‘Even though I am going to miss you all, miss everything when I go. Everyone has taught me things. I mean, people like Mrs Haines, and Nancy when she was here and now Greta – and Miss Jones who is so sweet and kind to all of us and very patient. She was the one who taught us cross stitch and do those patterned squares that we sewed up to make a blanket for the doll’s cot, and she helped Ruby to draw all the flowers that are in the nature books. Ruby loves flowers, knows the names of every one of them.’

‘Ah yes,’ Emma Kingston said. Maria Jones, one of Mrs Marshall’s ‘finds’, had been here for many years on and off, and was always ready to step in when needed.

Before they left the room, Angelina said sadly, ‘Once I do leave, I don’t suppose I shall ever see much of Mr Garfield again or Mr Alexander, either. He’s usually at college now, of course, but he’s always made me feel I was someone special. When I was small I was in love with him and used to pretend that I was Cinderella and he was my Prince Charming.’

The superintendent’s eyes softened. From the moment that Angelina had seen Randolph Garfield’s son it had been obvious that she was enchanted. Each time he’d come to the orphanage, the handsome young lad treated her with the sort of attentive and gallant behaviour typical of a well-bred male of the upper crust – even when he’d brought his pretty and vivacious girlfriend Honora Mason with him. It was enough to turn any girl’s head.

Emma Kingston pressed her lips together. She herself knew what it was to care deeply for someone who would never be within her reach.

As Angelina opened the door for Miss Kingston to go in front of her, she said, ‘Do you know, of all the orphans, it’s going to be the tiny ones I shall really miss – the 4- and 5-year-olds. I would like them all to come and live with me!’

‘Well, you may have tiny ones of your own one day, my dear,’ the superintendent said, ‘and I am sure you will be a wonderful mother.’

‘Oh, I am never going to get married,’ Angelina said firmly. ‘Not now. Not since I’ve decided to become a nurse.’

‘Well, try and be patient about that, my dear,’ Miss Kingston said. ‘You are still very young, and you might have to wait a while for your dream to come true. But whatever you do, Angelina, I have no doubt about one thing – you will always be the one right there in the front line.’

Chapter 4
March 1915

In his bedroom at the priory, Laurence Dunn rose slowly from his knees, crossed himself, murmured a silent prayer and yawned. It was barely daylight, and looked to be another cold, grey morning. Another day like yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that.

Sighing, he washed and shaved – taking great care not to nick his skin – then brushed his teeth, and got dressed, the ritual performed in exactly the same order every day. Because routine was the best thing. There was comfort in routine – as there was in doing one’s duty. And he was satisfied that he had certainly done his – no, was still doing his. He celebrated Mass twice every day at the priory, heard regular confessions, led the nuns in prayer, visited the sick and dying in the parish and had been a trustee at the orphanage for many years. It was he who made sure that every child who passed through the place during his time knew the Ten Commandments by heart, all the thou shall not do this or that, and those other things. Thanks to him, every orphan knew how to behave in life. That was something to take away with them, surely? And Laurence Dunn admitted that he thoroughly enjoyed being part of the orphanage, especially since it had become the Garfield.

His accommodation, though sparse, was comfortable enough, and, recently, he had purchased a new mirror to go above the sink – well, the one that had been there for ages had yellowed so that he could barely see himself. But this replacement was bigger and longer, so that when he took a few steps back he could see much more of his appearance.

The priest was tall and spare-framed, his dark hair brushed away from a prominent forehead. But it was his black, glittering eyes and well-defined eyebrows that immediately caught the attention. He gazed back at himself with a certain amount of pride – one of the seven deadly sins, true, but it wasn’t his fault that he was good-looking. If only fate – or rather his father – had allowed him to pursue another career, Laurence Dunn was certain that his name would be known to thousands, thousands. He would be famous, adored, respected.

He stood back, struck a pose, and raised his arm in a sweeping gesture.

‘Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears! I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him!’ he announced to the stone walls of his room. This was one of the speeches in a Shakespeare play that he never tired of, and he could complete it right to the end. And sometimes, if feeling melancholy, he enjoyed curling his tongue around other of the Bard’s immortal words. ‘No matter where, of comfort no man speak, let’s talk of graves, of worms, of epitaphs.’ The final word was pronounced with a menacing growl.

Laurence Dunn was entranced with the theatre and went to as many performances as time and money allowed. The stage, the smell, the atmosphere – the escape! He could have been one of those extraordinary players, those masters of the art! He could, he knew he could!

He completed the speech – which took quite a long time – and bowed to the silent applause, taking several curtain calls. Then he felt cross with himself for indulging in this regular exercise because it didn’t help. He had been planted in the priesthood and that would be that until he died. He was 45 years old and surely mature enough to accept what could not be changed, but he just wished he could rid himself of the cancerous envy he felt about his brother. Envy, another of those seven deadly sins …

Ernest was the younger by three years and had been allowed to do what he liked with his life. Their father, also a priest and of very high esteem, had been a domineering man and had commanded Laurence to follow him in Holy Orders, while Ernest had been allowed to look around and try one thing after another. For a very short time he had dabbled in the law, and even tried his hand at military service – though that didn’t last, much too uncomfortable – and in the end Reverend Dunn senior gave up on his younger son and retired to his study to dwell on higher things. Which was all very well, but how had Ernest managed to survive all these years without a proper job? He lived in the West End in a rather nice house by all accounts, though Laurence had never been there, and on the odd occasion that the two brothers met up, Ernest seemed quite well-to-do. Smartly dressed, he always insisted on paying for their meal or their drinks, which was something. Laurence didn’t like to ask where Ernest got his money from, but he had a good idea. Gambling. It was the only explanation, especially as once he’d said to Laurence, ‘You backed the wrong horse, old boy.’

Now, Laurence checked once more on his appearance, and prepared to go over to the orphanage for breakfast. He enjoyed breakfast – well, he enjoyed everything which Mrs Haines produced – and after that he would be there to give God’s blessing to two little girls who were leaving today.

*

Emma Kingston was not feeling at all well. She had slept badly and had woken with a headache. Why today, of all days – but perhaps it was the significance of the day which was causing her upset.

Angelina Green, their little throw-out orphan, was leaving the Garfield for the last time. Of all the children who had been part of her life, the superintendent was already feeling an acute sense of loss, because however much you spoke of coming back and of keeping in touch, she knew this was the parting of the ways, the end. It was the natural sequence of events, but each time it felt like a small bereavement.

She scolded herself at her thoughts. The young girl was more than ready to face the world and was longing to strike out on her own, taking Ruby with her. As it happened, their departure had been postponed by a few months because the room that had been found for them hadn’t been ready. But now, after a few goodbyes to their friends, they would be making their way to their new home. When it was time for any of the orphans to leave, nothing special was made of the occasion except that Father Laurence always joined them for breakfast, and to give them a blessing to send them on their way. And on the final evening, Vera Haines always made cakes for tea, ensuring that there were enough left to make a small parcel for the departing children to take away with them.

Emma Kingston got dressed, took two more of her tablets, and sat down heavily on the bed. It was no good, this migraine was not going to leave her until much later – or even until tomorrow. For the first time in many years she would not be accompanying the children as they left. Someone else would have to do it – but not Mrs Marshall, the superintendent decided at once, even though the woman had done this twice before. No. The name that immediately sprang to mind was Maria Jones. She had a gentle way with the children and seemed especially fond of little Ruby.

*

In their warm coats and hats, and each carrying a suitcase containing their clothes and few belongings, Angelina and Ruby made their way along the street towards the bus stop, with Maria Jones walking alongside, also carrying a suitcase that held sheets and pillows and towels. She smiled down at them.

‘What an exciting day this is for you!’ she exclaimed. ‘A new beginning!’

‘I can’t wait to see where we’re going to be living!’ Angelina exclaimed. ‘Miss Kingston told me that it is very nice, and only a bus ride away from the orphanage, She said that she will be coming to see us as soon as she’s better.’

‘And you will be able to come and see us, won’t you?’ Maria Jones said. ‘You must tell us what you’re doing, and how you are getting on as working girls!’

Ruby, who’d been rather quiet, spoke up. ‘I hope I shall know what to do at the salon,’ she said, ‘and that I don’t knock things over and get in the way,’’

‘Ruby!’ Angelina said firmly. ‘Don’t be a silly billy! Of course you won’t! People will love you because you are careful and quiet and ready to do anything asked of you. It will be interesting, Ruby, and you will meet all sorts of different people.’

Ruby was going to be an assistant at a small, local hairdresser’s salon, sweeping up and keeping things tidy for the manager and making tea for clients waiting under the huge machines for their hair to dry. Luckily, the place was quite near the small hotel where Angelina was to be employed as a general domestic help. Their combined wages would be just a few shillings, but enough to pay the rent for their room in the three-storey house, and for their food – if they were careful. Emma Kingston always took great trouble to see that her children would be as comfortable as possible in their new lives, and, fortunately, Garfield orphans were usually easy to place. People trusted the Garfield. This could be partly due, the superintendent sometimes thought, to Father Laurence’s dramatic exhortations regarding bad behaviour and its consequences. She smiled inwardly. She knew that Mrs Marshall had no time for the man at all, and had several times intimated that she knew something suspicious about him. Oh yes, you wouldn’t believe it, not from a man of the Cloth. But since Emma Kingston never indulged in any discussion or gossip about her staff or anyone connected with the orphanage, Mrs Marshall’s secret remained just that. A secret.

Presently, arriving at the large Victorian building, Maria Jones ushered them inside the room on the ground floor which was to be the girls’ new home.

‘Now – what do you think of this!’ she said cheerfully. ‘Isn’t it cosy and light?’ She had already been to check out the place with Emma Kingston, who had come to value the younger woman’s opinion.

Angelina was immediately enthusiastic. ‘Look, Ruby, we’ve each got a bed now! And this little table by the window is where we shall have our meals, and these two soft chairs are where we can relax after our hard day at work. We are going to be very happy here, I know we are – especially as the landlord has lit our fire to welcome us! What more could we want?’

Maria Jones smiled. It was she who had been asked by Miss Kingston to come here earlier to make sure the room was warm when the two youngsters arrived. ‘Look, the small sink here is for your immediate needs,’ Maria Jones said, ‘and outside in the yard is the coal house, and the lavatory and bath. You will be sharing with the people on the next floor – a young couple with a tiny baby.’ She went on, ‘Apart from your fireplace where you can boil a kettle, there’s a stove on the first landing for you to do any cooking – also a communal one, but I’m sure you will manage.’

‘Oh, of course we will manage!’ Angelina exclaimed. ‘We’ve been sharing with others all our lives – haven’t we, Ruby? We’re orphans, we’re used to sharing.’

Ruby, who had said very little, looked pensive. ‘I’ve never had a bed to myself,’ she said slowly. ‘I hope I shall be able to get to sleep on my own.’

‘’Don’t worry about that,’ Angelina said at once. ‘You can always get in beside me until you drift off, and then I’ll transfer you!’ She squeezed Ruby’s arm. ‘It’s all right, Ruby, there’ll still always be the three of us – you, me and teddy.’

After they had made up the beds, and found out where the kettle and the cups and plates and cutlery were stored, Maria Jones went to the door.

‘I had better go,’ she said, ‘because I must report back to Miss Kingston.’ She smiled. ‘’And I shall tell her that I think you are going to be very happy here.’

Much, much later, with Ruby snuggled in beside her and fast asleep, Angelina’s mind was churning with all the hopes and thoughts and ambitions that wouldn’t leave her alone. She knew that, for the moment, her life had been set out for her and that she must accept it. She was lucky to have been found a job, and the owner of the hotel had treated her very kindly at the interview, though the woman in charge of the kitchen where Angelina would be working hadn’t seemed so keen. She’d stared at Angelina suspiciously and had refused Angelina’s offer to shake her hand, turning away curtly. But that didn’t bother Angelina, who had no intention of being there very long in any case. She had already made up her mind about her next step. In August she would be applying to St Thomas’s to join their nursing school. She was already sorting out the details. She didn’t think that she would be a live-in candidate at first, so she and Ruby would still be here together for a while, and after that, well … it was no good looking too far ahead. Things would work out. Angelina would make sure they did.

She turned over to face Ruby who was deeply asleep, and very carefully lifted the smaller child into her arms and moved the few steps to the other bed, and tucked her in. Ruby was still clutching the little pink teddy bear, and Angelina didn’t have the heart to take it from her. It was their first night away, after all.

After the excitement of the day, even Angelina was beginning to feel tired, which was unusual. She seldom felt tired because there was always so much to do. So much to think about.

In the quiet of that modest room, she let her imagination take her to that honeyed, secret place in her heart. A place she was visiting more and more.

She was here in bed with Alexander beside her. Her Prince Charming had claimed her as his own and she could feel his gentle, kind hands, could hear his deep voice murmuring sweet words.

‘I love you, darling Angelina, with all my heart,’ he murmured. ‘You know I always have, and I always will.’

‘I know that, Alexander, and I will always love you, too,’ Angelina softly whispered the familiar words which she had said over and over to herself for so long, felt his caress, the beat of his heart against her own, his requesting lips on hers. And she murmured again, ‘I know I can never be yours, Alexander, but I will love you until the end of my days.’

Chapter 5

For the first few weeks, life did seem strange to both the girls, because for the first time in their young lives they had to work out their own routines. To get up in time without being told – and go to bed when they felt like it – to sort out their clothes, and their mealtimes, and keep their room clean without it being checked up on by Mrs Marshall or Miss Jones.

Before they were to start work, Angelina and Ruby had been given three days to get used to everything, and to find their way around their new neighbourhood. On the first morning, straight after breakfast, they went out to do a little shopping.

Dressed in their warm hats and coats, because it was still very cold, they left the house and started walking towards a small row of shops at the far end of the long street.

The first one they came to was the greengrocer’s, which had the name ‘Foster’s’ in big letters above the door. Already displayed outside were ranks of vegetables, all neatly set out. Potatoes and carrots and parsnips and onions, and opposite, at the other side of the entrance, were baskets of tomatoes and apples, pomegranates and oranges. Ruby looked up at Angelina.

‘Anybody could steal all this,’ she whispered, ‘because no one is looking after it, are they?’

Just then, the owner appeared at the door. He was a middle-aged man, dressed in a long white apron down to his knees, and with a jaunty white hat on his head. He smiled at the girls.

‘Good morning, young ladies! Is there anything I can get you today?’

Both girls returned his smile. ‘Oh, no thank you,’ Angelina said, ‘but I am sure we will be buying our vegetables from you very soon.’ She hesitated, then said, ‘You see, we have only just moved in – down the road in the big house at the end – and we have enough of everything for now. But thank you very much.’

The man grinned down at them. ‘Well, welcome to the area, and I am sure you are going to be two of my best customers.’ Then he picked out two rosy apples and two oranges and put them into a brown paper bag. ‘Have these with my compliments,’ he said as he turned to go back inside. ‘I hope to see you again very soon.’

‘Oh, thank you, Mr Foster,’ Angelina said, ‘that is so kind of you!’

Ruby, clutching the bag of fruit, looked at Angelina as the two walked towards the next shop. ‘I thought we had to pay for everything,’ she said.

‘Of course we do, Ruby – usually – but not if it’s a present.’

The next shop was the butcher’s, outside of which were carcasses of lambs and pigs hanging on huge hooks. Ruby shuddered. ‘I don’t like the look of this,’ she said. ‘Those poor animals, Angelina.’

Angelina shoved Ruby ahead of her. ‘Well, don’t look, Ruby. Now here’s the newsagent’s – and there are sure to be sweets! Come on, we haven’t spent anything yet, so we can afford to buy some toffees. We both like those, don’t we?’

Walking on slowly, they passed the hardware shop and the grocer’s, and finally they came to the baker’s. The smell of freshly cooked bread was enough to make them stop and enter. Even though they had enough food in their cupboard to be going on with, they both decided they could afford to buy a currant bun each, to eat now. At last they retraced their steps and began making their way back home.

‘I think I am going to really like living here, don’t you, Ruby?’ Angelina said, licking sugar from her fingers. ‘Everyone is so kind and seems to like talking to us.’

Ruby nodded as she finished the last of her bun. ‘And look over there, Angelina – I can see swings and see-saws. That must be a park over there, like the one we used to go to when we were at the Garfield.’

Angelina stared across. ‘Yes, of course it’s a park – and there are sure to be seats where we can sit when the weather gets warmer.’

There was silence for a few moments after that, with Angelina being acutely aware that, suddenly, her recent high spirits had dropped like a stone. And she knew it was because of that certain memory, two years earlier, which had refused to leave her, even though it was childish and silly.

It had been a lovely Saturday afternoon over Easter, and they had all gone to the park in the care of Miss Jones. Unusually, Miss Kingston had accompanied them as well. Everyone was especially happy because, after all, they had a week’s holiday from school, and each child had received a big Easter egg, with smaller ones inside, some of which they’d taken with them to eat in the park.

Angelina and Ruby had been swinging contentedly together, side by side, to and fro, when in the near distance but away from the play area, Angelina had suddenly spotted two figures she’d recognised only too well. On one of the long benches beneath a huge sycamore tree, Alexander had been sitting there with Honora Mason. Beautiful Honora, his girlfriend. He’d had his arm around her shoulders and was looking down at her, and she was gazing up at him and smiling. Every now and then she would laugh her tinkling little laugh and she’d seemed so happy, so sure of herself and of what her future held.

Angelina’s mouth had suddenly gone completely dry as she’d witnessed the scene. For her, the afternoon had been completely ruined. She’d known she was being silly, because everyone knew that those two had always been meant for each other, and that one day they were sure to get married. But as long as Angelina didn’t actually see them together, she could put that thought from her mind, could pretend that it wasn’t true, after all. But that day, she couldn’t deny the sight of her own eyes, and it was no good. She had never had any real chance of being anything more to the man of her dreams than one of his father’s orphans whom he’d taken it into his head to be especially kind to. And had she been making that up, all this time, thinking she was someone special? Because he’d talked to other children as well, had seemed to take a real interest in what they were doing. Why had she allowed herself to fantasise that one day he would put that silver slipper on her foot and take her away to his palace and that they would live happily ever after?

She’d stopped swinging and Ruby had stopped too. ‘Are you going to eat one of your chocolates now, Angelina?’ Ruby had said.

‘No,’ Angelina had replied. ‘I just don’t feel like one, Ruby.’

‘Have you got a tummy ache?’ Ruby had asked as she’d started carefully removing the silver paper from one of the little eggs in her pocket.

‘Not a tummy ache,’ Angelina had replied, ‘but I want to go home, now. I hope it’s nearly time.’

As they’d all trooped back, Angelina had heard Miss Kingston talking to Miss Jones about Honora Mason and about what a lovely girl she was. And wasn’t it charming to see two young people so much in love?

Now, as they were strolling back home, Angelina tried to shake off her pointless memories. She glanced down at Ruby. ‘Isn’t Miss Kingston clever to have found us somewhere like this to live, Ruby? I know it’s a very long street and the grey houses look exactly the same – all those windows like beady eyes staring down at us are a little bit threatening! But it already begins to feel like home. It really does. Do you feel like that, too, Ruby?’

‘’Course I do,’ Ruby said, tucking her hand into Angelina’s arm. ‘As long as we’re both here together, anywhere will always feel like home.’

Angelina didn’t say any more, thinking that one day soon, Ruby would have to get used to being a bit more by herself. Because a day didn’t pass without Angelina envisaging herself dressed in a nurse’s uniform …

But before that, next week, she must start working at the hotel, and the idea didn’t appeal. It seemed such a waste of time when she could be starting on her proper career. But as Miss Kingston had advised, Angelina must be patient. She was still very young – perhaps too young – for St Thomas’s to take her.

Angelina narrowed her eyes at her own thoughts. Just you wait, St Thomas’s. However hard you try, you won’t keep Angelina Green away. Not for long.

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