AN ORPHAN’S DREAM
Cathy Sharp

Copyright

HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2021

Copyright © Cathy Sharp 2021

Cover photographs © Viacheslav Lakobchuk/Alamy Stock Photo (girl), Mark Owen/Trevillion Images (boy and background)

Cover design by Claire Ward © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2021

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: 9780008387679

Ebook Edition © February 2021 ISBN: 9780008387686

Version: 2020-11-06

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

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

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by Cathy Sharp

About the Publisher

CHAPTER 1

March, 1938

Sister Rose Harwell stopped and smiled as she saw Nurse Lily Brown walking towards her. They were often on different wards at the Rosie Infirmary of Button Street and sometimes alternate shifts, too, so didn’t always meet at work. However, they were friends and she waited for Lily to reach her.

‘How are you? It’s lovely to see you,’ she said, touching her arm with a warm gesture. ‘I don’t think I’ve seen you since just before last Christmas. I bump into Jenny most days, but for some reason we never seem to meet.’ Lily’s younger sister Jenny worked at the infirmary too and was often on the same shift as Rose.

A shaft of pale sun touched on the dark flame of Rose’s hair, where it was visible beneath her nursing cap. Her eyes were soft green and lit just now with a look of friendship and affection, but sometimes they could become as cool and icy as the deep water of a mountain pool.

‘I stopped on for an extra couple of hours today because we were busy and one of our nurses didn’t turn up,’ Lily admitted, beaming at Rose. She was clearly pleased they’d met and eager for a chat. Her hair was as dark as her eyes and swept back in a tight knot that was less than becoming but sensible for work. ‘Jenny tells me she has seen you sometimes but, to be honest, I hardly see my sister these days – she usually comes home when I’m about to leave for work.’

Rose smiled sympathetically. ‘Yes, I know; it must be awful when you work different shifts to her, because then you only get a chance to talk at the weekends.’

Lily nodded, stifling a yawn. ‘Sorry, it’s just that it has been a long night. I’m on the chronic sickness ward at the moment and we’ve been non-stop – three of our elderly patients were very ill and we had to call the doctors in during the night.’

‘Oh, I know how disrupting that can be,’ Rose agreed. ‘I’m on the children’s ward now for a few months – and that is one of my favourite duties.’ She gave a little laugh that was infectious and attractive, making Lily smile and nod in response. ‘It doesn’t seem to matter how unwell they are, children always do or say something funny. They just want a little love and attention – don’t you find?’

‘Yes, I’ve noticed it before,’ Lily agreed wholeheartedly. ‘I like that duty too – but someone has to care for the elderly.’

‘Yes, of course, absolutely,’ Rose said. ‘And we came into nursing in the full knowledge that we would care for the sick whatever their age or illness, but the chronic ward is the most tiring – so much bed changing.’ Incontinence was the bane of old age and something that upset the patient far more than the carer in Rose’s experience.

‘Yes …’ Lily smothered another yawn. ‘Look, I have Sunday off this weekend so would you like to come to tea at ours? I know Jenny would love to have you, too, and we’re both off this weekend.’

‘Well, as a matter of fact I’m off duty too,’ Rose replied, pleased. ‘I’m helping out with a charity event at lunchtime – we’re giving the old folk of the area a nice lunch in the Methodist Hall. Some of us are cooking and taking food in, others just serving, but it will all be over by three thirty and I could go home and change and be at yours by four thirty, if that would suit you?’

‘Yes, sounds perfect,’ Lily said. ‘I would like to help out at an event like that – if ever you need more helpers?’

‘How kind,’ Rose said, responding with a smile. ‘We can always find room for an extra pair of hands when we put on something of the sort – it’s only every three months or so but the old folk do appreciate it.’ She met her friend’s inquiring gaze. ‘We give them information about anything they can get help with or any free food that is being handed out by another charity, anything that may be of help to them.’

Lily frowned. ‘Many of the old folk are too proud to ask for charity,’ she said. ‘There’s a woman we know in the next street to us – Flo, her name is – and she just refuses to accept charity. Jenny takes her a cake or something as a gift sometimes, but Flo always gives her some flowers or a lettuce from her garden in exchange.’

‘That’s the problem with a lot of the older folk round here,’ Rose replied, looking serious. ‘Some of them are even afraid to come to the infirmary because they can’t afford to pay and, although they know we treat them for nothing here, they still hesitate and will never call the doctor out if they can help it.’

‘I know.’ Lily shook her head regretfully. ‘Matron does all she can, handing out leaflets at the church and all the clubs in the area but these East End women can be a prickly lot.’

Rose nodded, looking sad. ‘I’ll see you on Sunday, then – and now I’d better get to the ward or I’ll be late and that does not set a good example to my nurses!’

‘Yes, I’d better let you get on, but I’m glad we met, Rose,’ Lily said. ‘Oh, I understand you have a new nurse starting in your ward today?’

‘Yes, we do – Nurse Margaret James,’ Rose said. ‘She’s fully qualified but she’s been working in a country hospital so I daresay it will be a bit strange here for her at the beginning because some of our patients are victims of poverty in a way she may not have seen before.’

‘Yes, perhaps,’ Lily agreed. ‘Anyway, we’ll look forward to seeing you on Sunday.’

They parted then and Rose hurried into the infirmary. The strong smell of carbolic met her as she made her way to the children’s ward, where she was the Sister in charge for the next few weeks. When she arrived, Kathy, who worked in the kitchens and had married Bert, the Rosie’s handyman, the previous year, was taking round hot drinks for the children. Rose noticed she looked a bit glum but had no time to ask if something was wrong.

Nurse Sarah Cartwright – now clearly pregnant with her first child – was already making a tour of the ward with a young nurse following her. Rose knew it must be the new girl. The younger woman was slim and of medium height with shiny dark hair tucked neatly under her cap and a pair of wide dark eyes. She had been assigned to the children’s ward to make it easy for her to find her feet in the first few weeks of her duty at the Lady Rosalie Infirmary rather than being flung into the deep waters of the critical ward.

‘Good morning, nurses,’ Rose said going up to the young women. ‘Did we have any new patients in overnight?’

Nurse Sarah turned, her pretty face lighting up in a warm smile. ‘Sister Norton told me they had a quiet night last night. Oh,’ she blushed and shook her head, ‘sorry, I meant Sister Matthews. I should be able to remember that by now.’ Sister Norton had been married some months.

‘Yes, I doubt she would be too happy to hear staff using her maiden name, Nurse Sarah. However, we’re not going to tell tales, are we, Nurse Margaret?’

‘Oh no, Sister,’ the new recruit said and blushed a delicate rose. ‘I wouldn’t tell on Sarah.’ Rose noticed there was a faint sing-song quality to her voice and thought she sounded a little Welsh although the accent was not pronounced.

‘Do you come from Wales, Nurse Margaret?’ she inquired and the girl blushed again.

‘I was born there, Sister,’ she replied. ‘My father was killed in a mining accident when I was ten so my mother moved to Hampshire, where she had an aunt living. I thought I’d lost my accent after twelve years in England!’

‘You don’t have a strong one,’ Rose assured her. ‘It’s just a little lilt, that’s all – it’s really pretty and it won’t make it difficult for the patients to understand you.’

‘I’m glad.’ Margaret was clearly very conscious that she was in a new job. ‘I shouldn’t want to do that.’

‘What made you want to nurse in London?’ Rose asked. ‘This area isn’t nearly as pleasant as the countryside in Hampshire.’

‘I-I had an unhappy experience,’ Margaret said and looked away as if the words were painful to say.

‘Well, I’m sure you will be happy with us,’ Rose told her. ‘We are all friendly here at the Rosie – but I’m sure Sarah has already told you that.’

‘Yes.’ Margaret shot a grateful glance at Nurse Sarah. ‘And she’s asked me to tea at her mother’s on Sunday.’

‘Well, that is lovely. Mrs Cartwright is a really good cook and we all enjoy being invited to her home for tea.’

‘We’re having a little party,’ Sarah said and now she blushed and placed her hands on her rounded stomach. ‘Next week is my last week at the Rosie.’

Rose nodded. ‘We shall all miss you, Sarah, but we’ll all be visiting, and I hope that one day they’ll change the rules about mothers working as nurses and perhaps you could come back part-time.’

‘Yes, that would be lovely,’ Sarah agreed. ‘However, I certainly want to give my child and husband as much of my time as possible for a few years at least – but I’ll be visiting you all and keeping in touch with my friends here.’

‘Yes, you must,’ Rose agreed and nodded. ‘Good, well, I’ll leave it to you to show Margaret the ropes. I want to read last night’s reports and see if anything needs my attention.’

At her desk, Rose opened the night nurse’s report and started to read. She was feeling a little pang of envy over Sarah’s happy event. She was in her mid-thirties and there was no sign of either a husband or a family for her. Nearly eight years had passed since her last serious relationship and sometimes she thought she would never find love again.

Perhaps that was just as well, though. Rose was dedicated to her patients and often lingered on the ward after her duty was finished. She had friends and a married brother, who lived with his wife and children in the country, her ageing mother, now unfortunately the victim of old age and a fading memory, was being looked after by a distant cousin who welcomed the small income that Rose paid for her care, and then there was Rose’s own lovely landlady – surely that was enough for anyone? Rose really shouldn’t envy a colleague just because she was having her first child.

Staff Nurse Lily Brown decided to take the bus home. She really was too tired to walk and the wind was cool. To be expected in March, of course, but they’d had a few days when it had been quite warm in the sunshine and it was always disappointing when it went back to being bitterly cold. She wore a silk head square over her hair, hiding the thick tresses that had somehow escaped from the tight knot she’d worn at the start of her duty. She’d removed her cap after leaving the Rosie and the wind had got in and played havoc with her luxuriantly long locks, strands of which now waved wildly about her face in the stiff breeze. Her hair was her best feature, or so Lily believed and she’d grown it longer lately, because Chris liked to tangle his face in it when they made love.

The thought made her smile and feel happy despite the fact that she was tired after a long shift on a busy ward and the biting wind. Whatever else was wrong in her world, the knowledge that she loved and was loved made her glow inside.

‘Good night at work, nurse?’ the conductor asked. He was a regular on her route and knew both her and Jenny well, so she nodded. Let him think what he would, she preferred to keep her secret tight inside her. Chris, and their love, was a wonderful secret she could not share with anyone just yet, because his work was a security risk and he was somewhere in Hitler’s Germany working for the British Government as a double agent. Even Lily wasn’t supposed to know that, but Chris had shared what he could with her without compromising himself or his mission. He was concerned, in this year of 1938, that war was looming and he was helping prepare for that eventuality.

Getting off the bus, Lily walked swiftly to the home she shared with her sister. Jenny had her uniform on ready to leave but the kitchen smelled enticingly of bacon frying.

‘Oh, Jenny, that smells delicious.’

‘I made myself a bacon sandwich and I’ll do one for you before I go,’ Jenny said with a look of affection. ‘I’ve got tomorrow off as well as Sunday so I thought we might be able to have some time together.’

‘Yes, lovely.’ Lily smiled warmly at her sister. ‘I’ve invited Rose for tea on Sunday – you don’t mind?’

‘No, of course not,’ Jenny replied. She placed the hot bacon sandwich in front of her sister. ‘I’ll get off then – oh, there’s a letter for you on the dresser.’ She indicated the envelope, smiled at Lily and shrugged on her coat. ‘Bye, then!’

Lily glanced at the dresser and her heart caught. She didn’t often get a letter – could it be from Chris? She took a bite of her delicious sandwich as her sister waved goodbye and disappeared out of the kitchen door. Wiping grease from her chin with a napkin, Lily snatched up the letter and her heart did a little dance of pleasure. Chris’s work meant he wasn’t able to contact her often, his letters rare events, but here one was at long last and she hugged her treasure to her for a moment, savouring the pleasure to come of reading whatever he had to say.

Unable to wait any longer, she ripped the envelope open and devoured the short message:

In the mountains of a lovely ski resort. We should come here one day.

Hope to fly home for a visit shortly. Haven’t time to write more but I wanted you to know I’m thinking of you, my darling Lily …

The letter was signed only with a kiss but she knew his writing and there was no one else it could possibly have come from. The postmark was Switzerland and Lily breathed a sigh of relief. If he was in Switzerland, he was safe and she would see him soon. When they’d parted some months ago, Lily hadn’t expected that she would see her lover again for a long time, perhaps years.

It still seemed strange to think of Chris, who had once been Jenny’s boyfriend, as her lover. When Jenny had first started seeing him, Lily had believed he was one of Mosley’s Blackshirts and, as such, a bad influence on her younger sister. Once she’d understood that he’d infiltrated the dangerous political group to help bring it down, however, Lily had begun to like him more and more and, gradually, she’d fallen in love – but she would never have let him know if Jenny hadn’t told him she no longer wanted to see him. He was her sister’s boyfriend and for Lily that meant he was out of bounds. She’d fought her feelings, never letting anyone see that she was unhappy. Only after Jenny had told Chris she didn’t want to go on dating him and they’d parted, did Lily find the courage to tell Chris that she wanted to be his friend. Chris had asked to meet and talk – and then they’d just fallen in love, in a way that took her breath. The flare of desire was something she’d never known or understood before and it was wonderful. Their passion had been consummated in a hotel bedroom just before Chris left England when he’d thought he might not return for years – but now it seemed he was coming home and Lily’s heart sang for joy.

She didn’t know how long his visit would be for, but she would take every precious moment and enjoy it. She smiled as she finished her sandwich and went upstairs to bed. Jenny must have known who the letter was from, but she’d left her to discover it for herself.

A little frown touched her brow. She hoped Jenny wasn’t regretting her parting from Chris because Lily could never give him up now …

CHAPTER 2

The house in Little Lane was filthy; no one had cleaned it for months and it had never been a very pleasant place to live, although when Doris Bryant had been alive she’d waged a constant battle against the dirt and the vermin that crawled out of the walls. Since her death, however, the mould and the cockroaches had taken over and now progressed at their leisure with no one to stop them with a dose of carbolic or hot soapy water.

Danny shrank into the dark corner next to the old pine dresser that was dented and scarred with the years, hoping to avoid detection as his drunken father lurched through the kitchen door. Jim Bryant had always been a violent man but, with the death of his wife in childbed six months earlier, his temper had grown worse and worse. At first he’d got drunk just on Friday and Saturday nights, drinking most of his pay away, but after he’d lost his job in the cardboard factory, where he’d been a packer for the past three years, he’d spent most of his time in the pub, scrounging drinks from the mates who felt sorry for him for losing his missus. And now that Doris Bryant was not there to demand the rent money and her housekeeping, Jim had ceased to bother paying his rent and there was no coal or food in the house. The house was freezing cold and there was nothing to eat in the cupboards and no money to buy any, although Jim had sold the brass candlesticks and the mantel clock his wife had been so proud of, along with her clothes and few bits of jewellery.

‘Bloody landlord,’ Danny heard his father mutter as he knocked into a chair and sent it crashing to the floor. ‘Who the hell does he think he is, demanding his money? If he thinks he can toss me out, he can think again.’

Danny didn’t answer. He never did when his father was this way, just held his breath and hoped that his angry parent would go to bed without noticing him. If his father saw him cowering in the corner, he would drag him out and beat him. Danny’s school teacher – Miss Thomas – said that if Danny came to school with bruises all over him again, she was going to report his father to the welfare people. Danny wasn’t sure how he felt about that, because he’d heard of other kids being taken away from their family – not that he had any to rely on. His mother was dead, his elder brother Kenny had gone in the Navy and hadn’t been home for years, his grandparents were dead and his father was a vicious bully. He didn’t know what had happened to his mother’s only brother, because his father had driven him away with curses and blows when he’d come asking after his sister and nephew.

Danny had eaten the last scrap of stale bread when he got home from school and his stomach ached from hunger. If the teacher at school hadn’t made sure he got a drink of milk and two of the sandwiches from her lunch packet every day, he thought he might have starved these past weeks. It was bad enough on school days, but at weekends he often had nothing to eat at all, unless one of the neighbours saw him kicking a stone in the street and brought him a bit of bread and dripping or, very occasionally, the woman from the corner shop gave him a bun that was going stale. He could hardly remember what it was like to have a hot meal and a proper cup of tea with milk and sugar.

‘What are you doin’ skulking there?’ His father jerked towards him, staring at him through bloodshot eyes and breathing beery fumes over him. ‘Come out here, you little rat.’

‘Please don’t!’ Danny cried but his father’s fist exploded in his face. Another blow caught his ear and a third felled him. He screamed as the heavy boot connected with his side over and over again, and then he passed out.

Time passed and he lay on the floor where he’d fallen, only ignored because the man had collapsed in a drunken stupor. When Danny came to his senses again it was just getting light. He sat up gingerly, holding himself as he felt the pain in his head and his side where he’d been kicked. His mouth was sore and swollen and he could hardly see out of one eye. He was fearful of another attack, but the sound of snoring told him that his father had fallen asleep on the kitchen couch. Getting carefully to his feet, Danny felt his way to the kitchen sink and filled a chipped mug with water, drinking thirstily for a few minutes, before tipping the rest of the water onto a kitchen rag that had once been spotless white and used for wiping up crockery; now it was filthy but the cold dampness of it against his split lip and swollen eye felt good.

Danny stared at his father as he snored and hated what he saw. But the beating he’d endured that night would be the last that bully would give him, he promised himself. He couldn’t go to school as he was, so he would run away. Glancing around the kitchen, Danny saw an old overcoat that had belonged to his grandfather. He took it down from the hook together with the rucksack that hung underneath it. His father hadn’t left much of value in the house, but Danny knew that his grandfather had left a silver watch and chain to his mother and, so far, his father hadn’t discovered her hiding place. But Danny knew it and he would take the watch, haversack and coat and then he would leave this house for good.

He lifted the floorboard in the bedroom that hid the watch and a brass tin with some old coins in it and placed them in the haversack along with his spare jumper and his one extra pair of socks. It would be bitterly cold sleeping out under the arches, but that was the only place Danny could think of to go. He knew that vagrants slept under the arches every night, because he’d seen them there when he’d been on a bus with his mother. She’d told him he shouldn’t look down on homeless people the way some did, because they were more to be pitied than scorned. His mother had been a lovely person; she’d loved Danny and his brother and even his father, who had always been a bit of a bully – but she’d stood up to him, protecting her children.

‘We don’t know what’s brought them down, Danny love,’ she’d told him that day on the bus, when speaking of the vagrants. ‘Some of them had homes once but ill fortune or the drink took them low. The demon drink is an evil thing, Danny. Your father used to drink too much but I won him from it and he promised me he would never get drunk again when we wed. He’s fallen once or twice but mostly he’s kept his word to me – I’d box his ears if he didn’t and he knows it.’

Danny felt the sting of tears as he remembered. His mum had been a good ’un and she’d loved him. She’d stood up to his father and for some reason the big man had always backed down before the small woman. Danny could still remember the smell of the lavender water she sprinkled on her clothes and the sheets too, because she said it helped you to sleep.

Why did she have to die and leave him alone with his father? Danny knuckled his eyes to stop the tears as he walked away from the house. The gutters were choked with filth, paint peeling on windows and doors, and at this early hour no eyes peered from behind grey net curtains. His face hurt and his body ached all over, and he had a sick feeling inside. He wanted to get as far as he could away from his father and the misery of the past few months. He knew it was going to be cold and he might often be hungry, but he’d got his grandfather’s trinkets and his coat, and he would manage somehow. Mum had said the tramps went to a soup kitchen at the Sally Army every day to be fed, and Danny’s mouth watered as he thought of hot soup and thick bread, and a mug of strong tea. His belly ached with the need for food, because he hadn’t eaten much for days and he wasn’t sure when he would eat again. He wasn’t even sure how far it was to the place he’d seen with his mother, where the tramps had been sitting around a fire in an old steel drum, drinking from bottles and huddling into their blankets. If he could find them, perhaps they might share their fire and tell him where the Sally Army handed out their soup and bread.

Danny knew the archway was down by the river so he reckoned he just had to head for the dockyards and keep walking until he found somewhere to sleep. Perhaps he might even find someone who would give him food for running an errand or carrying things. Danny was twelve, thirteen in August, but he was tall for his age and, though thin, well built; if he lied, he could get away with pretending to be fourteen and therefore old enough to work. He wouldn’t mind working if he got the chance and would do anything that was asked of him. Danny wasn’t going to be like his father and drink his life away!

Mum wouldn’t have liked to think of her son living rough, but Danny didn’t know what else to do. He couldn’t stay with his father any longer, because one of these days Jim would kill him in a drunken fit. He’d rather take his chances with the tramps under the arches. One of them had seen him watching them that day with his mum, and he’d grinned at him. Danny had thought he looked approachable. If he could find someone like that to teach him how to go on, he would be all right – the only other alternative was to go to school and let his teacher report him to the welfare.

Why should he let them send him away to a home somewhere when he was nearly old enough to leave school? Danny wasn’t sure what orphanages were but he knew his mum didn’t approve of them, so they couldn’t be good. He would be working in another year or so and he might as well find a job now if he could. Brushing the tears from his cheeks, Danny stuck his head in the air and strengthened his stride. His father wasn’t going to break him and he didn’t want to be packed off to Canada or Australia, like some unfortunate kids his mother had told him about.

‘I’ve heard all sorts of stories over the years, Danny love,’ she’d told him, scraping marge and jam on a thick slice of her freshly-baked bread for him. ‘Terrible it is. They’re taken from their family and sent all that way on a ship. Now I think that is a disgrace. We might be poor but I wouldn’t let them send my boy to a home or a place I’ve never seen. Them folk think they can do what they like with you, Danny. Once they’ve got you, you’ve had it – it’s what they say that goes.’

Danny’s mother hadn’t liked orphanages. She said people did things to the kids there, things they didn’t ought to, so Danny would live rough and eat whatever he had to eat to get by, but he wouldn’t go in one of those awful places. But he wasn’t going to be a tramp all his life. He was going to find proper work and then he’d have a room of his own and he’d be just fine. His dream of having a warm comfortable home with a mother and father that loved him was just that, an impossible dream. There was only him now and he had to learn to look after himself.

CHAPTER 3

‘Thank you, Kathy,’ Mary Thurston, Matron of the Rosie, said to the young woman who had brought up a tray of tea. She’d remembered to use their best china in honour of their visitor and that was well done in Mary’s opinion. ‘That is most welcome, my dear.’

The girl blushed, smiled and left, closing the door behind her. Mary looked at her visitor as she poured tea for them both. ‘Milk and one sugar I think?’

‘Yes, thank you, Mary.’

Mary handed her one of the best cups reserved for important visitors. ‘So, what can I do to help you, Rosalie?’

‘I don’t think there is anything much just now. I really came to update you, Mary.’ Lady Rosalie sighed as she took a file from her large leather bag. ‘Sometimes I think the list of homeless children is never-ending,’ she said as she gave Mary Thurston a sheet of paper. ‘This is my list of possible foster carers. There are twelve on the list and I think we may get eight or nine good families from it. We have to be so very careful, Mary. I don’t want a repeat of what happened to young Charlie!’

‘No, indeed,’ Mary said. Charlie and his sister Maisie had been in her care at the Rosie and they’d found him a foster home when his sister was ill but he was badly treated and ran away and since then Lady Rosalie had been even more careful about vetting prospective foster parents. ‘And how many homeless children have you at the moment?’

‘Twenty-five,’ Lady Rosalie replied and sighed. ‘All of my children are older – the adoption societies take the babies and very tiny children for whom they can find adoptive parents easily, but the children of six years and older are more difficult to place, particularly when they come from broken homes and are inclined to be difficult.’

‘Yes, I do understand how hard it must be,’ Mary said. Being Matron of the Rosie infirmary seemed an easier task compared to the one her friend faced. Placing a child with a bad foster parent could lead to all sorts of problems, even death at times – and it was so difficult to find enough of the right people, because it wasn’t just a matter of background or even how well off they were: character and kindness were far more important in a foster parent. ‘I am still looking for candidates for your list of carers, but unfortunately, I seem to add to your list of children needing care more often than I do your kind and honest carers.’

‘Yes, and I’m glad you do tell me about necessary cases,’ Lady Rosalie said and smiled. ‘Well, keep your ears open for suitable foster families, Mary – and ring me whenever you need to.’

‘Yes, I shall.’ Mary smiled at her. She glanced at her watch and tutted; how fast the time went when she had company! ‘I must make a tour of the wards – and I dare say you have another meeting to attend?’

‘No, for once I’m going out to lunch with a friend,’ Lady Rosalie said and smiled. ‘Geraint was a friend of my husband. He lost his wife eighteen months ago and had to come up to London for some business today and so we decided to have lunch together.’

‘Well, that will be a nice change for you,’ Mary nodded approvingly. ‘I’m sure you deserve to be taken out for lunch – and I hope you have a lovely time.’

‘Yes, of course I’m bound to,’ Lady Rosalie replied. ‘One sometimes forgets one is still young enough to enjoy life.’

Mary nodded. She would be here at the infirmary the rest of the day and the evening too. Her little apartment was in what would be termed an attic by some but was comfortable and had all she needed; it meant she was able to be the first in every morning and only left the building to go for a walk in the fresh air or to seek some sleep when she could no longer continue at her desk. Her life had little of interest outside the Rosie these days and she occasionally thought that she really ought to take a holiday but thus far she hadn’t found the time.

Sister Rose smiled at her colleague, Staff Nurse Alice Burwell, as they prepared to swap over for the night. Alice was taking her turn on the late shift and had come in fresh and bright to check the records for the children’s ward.

‘Just three cases to watch at the moment, then,’ she said. ‘It looks like being a quiet night.’

‘Yes, providing you don’t get any sudden admissions,’ Rose said and yawned. ‘Oh dear. I’m tired. I’m going straight home to bed.’ She smothered another yawn.

‘Have a good rest. It is sometimes good to be single, isn’t it, and not have a husband and children to look after?’

Rose nodded and left her, switching her thoughts from the busy day in the ward and for a moment allowed herself to think of the man she’d once loved – or thought she did, until she learned that he was already married and cheating both her and his long-suffering wife. The worst thing of all was that he’d had four young children and he’d vowed that he would leave them all for Rose!

‘I think that is terrible, Mike,’ she’d told him, outraged. ‘It isn’t just that you deceived me, it’s your wife and children – how could you ever think of deserting them? I could never love a man who could do that!’

‘I couldn’t help falling in love with you, Rose. You’re so wonderful.’ He’d gone on and on, extolling her beauty and her character, trying to flatter her into taking him back.

Rose hadn’t listened to his excuses. He’d begged and pleaded but she’d left him standing there in the street and hadn’t looked back. Later, in her bedroom, the tears had come, her heart breaking because she had loved him desperately.

Were all men as shallow as Mike Hardy? If they were, then, she, Rose Harwell, wanted nothing more to do with them.

She would never have gone for that first drink with him if she’d guessed he was married and had children and it was no wonder she hadn’t trusted anyone enough to love again since. Yet she had no real desire to be single, and though she would miss nursing desperately, would much prefer to be at home with a husband and perhaps a couple of kids. Or was it too late for her to have that sort of life? Should she accept that she had nothing but her nursing and her friends?

A sharp tingle went down Rose’s spine as she thought about the clever doctor she’d started to like – more than like, if she told the truth, but she was still wary, still unsure that she could trust Dr Peter Clark.

Most of the time, Rose was sure about what she wanted in her life. She liked Peter a lot and she wanted children of her own; she hadn’t realised how important that was to her until she held her brother John’s first daughter, Harriet, in her arms. The feeling it had given her made her melt inside and she’d realised that perhaps her job wasn’t going to be enough for the rest of her life. Rose wanted marriage and children. Perhaps deep love wasn’t necessary. She’d been hurt too much that first time and she didn’t intend to let anyone hurt her again that way. Much better to marry because you liked someone and you got on well – much safer.

Just as she reached the bottom of the stairs, she saw someone entering the front door and stopped, catching her breath. It was as if she’d conjured him up by thinking of him! What was he doing here? None of the children were sick enough to warrant a doctor being called out. ‘Sister Rose.’ Dr Peter Clark looked at her anxiously. ‘Matron asked me to call. One of her patients is very ill – a woman in her seventies I understand?’

‘I’m on the children’s ward at the moment.’ Rose smiled at him, brushing a strand of her flame-red hair away from her face. ‘I’m glad to say we don’t have any children who need urgent attention from a doctor just now.’

He smiled and his face lit up, the serious look banished. ‘I’m glad about that,’ he murmured.’ His eyes were very blue as he looked at her and she noticed that his dark blond hair was too long again and fell forward into his eyes; he brushed it back impatiently. ‘I’d better go and see what Matron wants.’

Rose nodded and walked on quickly, her heart racing. If only Peter Clark would say something to give her a clue as to his feelings! She sensed that he liked her and she knew for a fact that he wasn’t married – Rose had asked about that the first time he smiled at her in a way she thought was special. He was always pleasant to her and she felt that he went out of his way to speak to her each time he was called to the infirmary – and yet he hadn’t asked her out and he’d given no indication that he wanted to be more than a colleague.

Perhaps that was why he’d caught her imagination. Had he been the same as most men she met, making flirtatious eyes at her and asking her out on every occasion, Rose would probably have labelled him a flirt and that would have been that; she wouldn’t have given him a chance. It might be because he made no advances to her that she liked him and had begun to trust him, not just as a doctor – she knew he was brilliant at his work! – but also as a man.

Rose lifted her head as she emerged into the dark streets about the infirmary. Situated at the end of Button Street, the Lady Rosalie Infirmary was right in the heart of the East End of London. Little alleys, mean narrow streets, crowded courts and the broader main streets were all known to her, because she’d grown up only a short distance away, down near the dockyards. Now she lived only a few streets away in a decent lodging house in Bell Lane, which ran off from Shilling Street in a tangent. To get there she had to pass through some rough areas and it made her acutely aware of the extreme poverty of many living in this part of London. It was no surprise to Sister Rose that children came into her ward half-starved and filthy dirty, with nits in their hair and suffering from all kinds of illnesses, including broken bones and bruises. Often their parents were so poor that a slice of bread and dripping was a luxury for the kids and they never saw an orange or even a boiled egg. Most of them thought it was heaven being in the Rosie, where they were fed with good nourishing food.

Shivering, she pulled her coat collar up, glad of the knitted beret pulled over her glossy hair and her warm scarf. She pinned her thick hair up in a French pleat at the back of her head to keep it neat for work. Mike, before she’d discovered he was married, had once told her that her hair had the red-gold flame of a field of ripe corn at harvest time …

Rose walked swiftly towards the end of Button Street. The street lamps weren’t particularly bright and she glanced over her should once, half fearing she was being followed. She’d been followed by a thug once before, but even as he’d tried to steal her nurse’s bag a young man had appeared out of the gloom and driven him away. He’d taken her attacker in an arm lock and escorted him away, calling out over his shoulder that he’d see it didn’t happen again. Rose hadn’t even had the chance to thank him properly, and she had no idea of her hero’s name. Yet she knew that, despite the poverty and the rogues that lurked in these mean streets, there were many honest, brave young men like him who wanted no praise for helping one of the Rosie’s nurses. Folk round here respected the staff of the infirmary, who did all they could to help when they were sick. In the dim light she hadn’t even seen the face of her rescuer clearly, but she’d thanked him in her head many times.

There was no one behind her now and Rose turned into Shilling Street and crossed the road, heading for Mrs Robinson’s house at the end of Bell Lane. It was icily cold tonight and she would be glad when she was inside in the warm. A sigh of relief touched her lips as she entered the kitchen and the homely face of her wonderful landlady greeted her with a bright smile.

‘Well, there you are, Rose. Tired and hungry I’ll be bound. I’ve got a lovely fish pie in the oven and there’s carrots and leeks to go with it, my love – and a nice cup of tea.’

‘Did I ever tell you I think my guardian angel was looking after me when I found you, Beattie?’

Beattie Robinson beamed at her. ‘That you have, my love – and he was looking out for me too, because I needed a lodger and there are some awful folk about – but I got you and I couldn’t be happier.’ Rose had come to the lodging house after her mother could no longer look after herself or be left on her own. Rose paid for her to be cared for by a widowed cousin who was grateful for the extra income and had been a nurse herself, so knew how to care for the mother who hardly knew Rose these days. Rose had found the lodgings cheaper than having to run her own home and although she now earned more, was too comfortable here to think of moving into a house of her own.

She went to Beattie and put her arms about her ample waist. ‘I can smell that pie and it makes me hungry. They feed us at the Rosie – but nothing like you cook!’

‘Sit you down and I’ll serve,’ Beattie said, ‘and then you can tell me all about your day.’ Beattie always wanted to know everything. ‘How is that Matron doing and all your patients then?’

‘Thank you so much for coming to see me, doctor,’ Matron said and rose to her feet as they shook hands. ‘My patient is very unwell. Her fever keeps rising no matter what we do – and I can’t put my finger on the problem.’

‘I’ll be glad to take a look at her. At seventy she should be able to pull through an operation for the removal of a gall bladder. I can’t see why she has a continuing fever – unless there is an infection.’

‘Yes, I think that may well be the case – but I don’t know why. Her dressings have been changed regularly and the wound is healing nicely.’

‘Outwardly,’ Dr Peter Clark agreed. ‘It may be an internal infection – and they are the worst because we can’t do very much about them.’

It was true. A wound to the skin or a limb could be kept clean, swabbed with a disinfectant and healing balms, but there was nothing yet available that would cure an internal infection. You could calm a fever with medicines but if the infection ran too deep it too often killed the patient.

Following Matron to the ward, Peter glanced at the neat rows of beds, each surrounded by curtains which were drawn back to allow the patients to see what was happening. Several of the patients knew him and smiled or waved a hand and he smiled back. He was known to many of these people because he gave much of his time to the East End poor free of charge. Some of his fellow doctors at the London Hospital said he was mad not to ask for payment but Peter didn’t care. He was fortunate to have been left an inheritance which meant that, if he chose, he could sit at home all day or visit a gentleman’s club and drink port wine. But Peter enjoyed being a doctor. There was, in his opinion, nothing better than seeing a sick patient recover and go home to their family.

The curtains around Mrs Edie Simpson’s bed were closed and she was lying with her eyes closed, her face flushed – too flushed. He felt her forehead, finding she was clammy and damp with sweat. Clearly, she had a fever and it made him frown, because he knew her operation had gone well.

He pulled the covers back and then inched her nightdress up to reveal the dressing, which he deftly removed. It looked perfectly clean and when he bent to sniff it there was no smell of putrefaction, which hopefully meant it wasn’t the surgery that had caused this fever.

Using his stethoscope, he listened to her chest and frowned. She seemed perfectly fine – but the fever was a cause for concern. Turning, he looked at Matron.

‘Do we have a ward where she can be placed in isolation?’

‘Yes, there is a small room at the end of this ward, Dr Clark, but—’

‘I’m not suggesting she has anything nasty but I think we should take precautions. It is just possible that she was incubating some kind of infection before her operation and it has now come out.’ Replacing the nightgown to its proper place and drawing up the bedcover, he frowned. ‘I suggest isolation and sponging regularly to cool her down – and something to ease her; she’s moaning a little and may be suffering pain.’

‘Yes, doctor.’ Matron looked relieved. ‘You don’t think it is due to the surgery then?’

‘No, I believe she may have brought this in with her – and that’s why I want her in isolation. Gloves, aprons and masks when the nurses look after her. We don’t want whatever she has to spread, do we?’

‘No, doctor.’ Matron smiled at him. ‘I’m so glad you came. I was really concerned that we’d mistreated her.’

‘That she was being nursed well was never in doubt,’ he said. ‘I’ll wash my hands and then leave you, Matron, but please don’t hesitate to call me again if you need me. Either I or my assistant will come whenever we are needed.’

Matron nodded. His assistant was a nice young man but he knew she preferred his personal attendance because, she said, he was so certain and sure – and gentle with the patients. Some of the doctors could be rough and Matron was known to disapprove of that, because a sick person needed gentle kindness, not abrupt words or careless actions.

After washing his hands thoroughly in the basin at the end of the ward, Peter left the Rosie and went out into the night. He hoped the patient’s fever would turn out to be something simple but there was always a chance it could be nasty.

Walking briskly in the night air, Peter’s thoughts turned to the young woman he’d spoken to briefly on his arrival at the infirmary and he smiled. He’d been attracted to Sister Rose from the first moment he’d seen her but some of his colleagues had warned him to watch out.

‘She hates men,’ the senior clinician, Richard Harris, had told him. ‘I asked her for a drink at Christmas about two years ago and she nearly bit my head off – told me she wasn’t interested in no uncertain terms.’

Peter had heard similar stories from other doctors who had tried to interest Sister Rose in a date and failed. At first, she’d seemed a bit frosty with him but recently her smiles had been warmer and he’d been tempted to ask her if she wanted to go for a meal or something, but his natural caution held him back. Peter had loved a young nurse at his training hospital but Sheila had been a terrible flirt and although she’d gone out with Peter for some months, he’d discovered she was dating others behind his back, and sleeping with them too.

When he taxed her with it, Sheila had laughed and said she wanted a good time before she settled down to one man and boredom. Her scorn had hurt him for a while but he’d got over it. A woman who gave herself to anyone that easily wasn’t worth breaking your heart over. So, he’d got on with his job – which he loved – and dated other young women casually, often in a group with other young medical personnel. It was fine while he was young and not particularly looking for a steady relationship, but one day he wanted a loving wife and a family. Although he lived in a small, family-run hotel, which was situated close to the London Hospital where he worked two days a week, he could afford a nice house with a garden, and that was what he wanted. He might even set up as a GP one day, with his own surgery, but it would still be in the East End of London. A country practice wasn’t for him. While there were many sick people everywhere, something about the spirit of the East End people appealed and he liked treating them and seeing them go back to their hard lives with new hope.

Smiling, Peter found his modest and ancient Ford car – still with all its wheels intact. The lads round here would pinch anything but they knew the car was his and any lad who tried to nick his wheels would have his ear clipped by one of the others and told to leave Doctor Peter’s car be.

Next time he saw Sister Rose, he decided, he would ask her if she would like to have a meal with him on her day off; in the meantime, he’d promised to help out at a meal given for the old folk at the Methodist Hall on Sunday …

CHAPTER 4

Danny shivered in the cold wind. His home had never been warm since his mother’s death, but here on the streets it was bitter and getting worse as the night drew on. He’d been wandering for three days, sleeping in the doorways of shops to keep out of the rain that had fallen steadily. As yet he hadn’t found the place he was looking for, but he’d met a boy he’d known by sight from school and he’d told Danny that if he kept walking towards the river there was a mission hall that would give him some hot soup and bread. However, he must have taken a wrong turning because he hadn’t come near the hall.

Shivering with cold, Danny wondered if he’d done the right thing by leaving his home. Perhaps it would have been better to stay there and take the beatings his father handed out when he was drunk. He looked about him as the street lights started to go on and darkness fell. During the day, Danny had walked inside the larger shops, wandering around for something to do and keep warm, but now they were all closing. He’d spent an hour or so in a library but then the lady in charge had asked him why he wasn’t at school. Perhaps he should go to school and ask for help – but his father might fetch him back and then he would really belt him hard. His fear of another beating was worse than the trouble he’d get into for missing school so he’d just kept on walking.

Now he stood undecided, dreading another night alone on the dark streets. Hungry, cold and tired, Danny was close to tears. He didn’t get easily frightened but there was a hollow feeling inside him as he realised he’d got completely lost, and had no idea where he was or where to go.

‘Feeling lost, son?’ a friendly voice asked, and Danny looked at the man who had spoken.

He was thin and wiry, perhaps thirty-odd, with short dark hair slicked back and smartly dressed. His smile was reassuring and Danny nodded his head.

‘I was looking for the Methodist Hall,’ he confided. ‘Jimmy said I can get some hot soup there.’

‘Cold and hungry, are you?’ the man asked sympathetically. ‘It’s not very nice, is it? I know what it is like to go hungry when you’re young – that’s why I work for folk who help lost children.’ He looked at Danny, an odd expression in his eyes. ‘Have you heard of the Sally Army?’

‘Yeah, Ma always used to say they were all right – she said they would help yer without interfering like the council lot.’

The man smiled again, more confidently this time. ‘Yes, that’s right, that’s what we do, lad. Now, I can’t tell you where this Methodist Hall is, but I can take you to our place and I can do better than some soup – how would you like a nice packet of fish and chips with salt and vinegar?’

‘Can we eat them out of the paper?’ Danny asked eagerly. ‘I ain’t never had fish from a chipper, though.’ But he loved chips and it was years since he’d had a packet, the last bought as a birthday treat by his mother for his birthday nearly a year before she died.

‘We’ll get them now,’ his new friend said. ‘And then we’ll go to the Salvation Army Hall. My name is Jim, by the way – just like your friend.’

The man’s voice, smile and tone were reassuring and Danny fell into step with him. His stomach rumbled as he eagerly anticipated the food. He wondered what the fish would be like.

At the shop, Jim told Danny to wait outside and he stood looking into the window that was misted up with steam, stamping his feet to keep out the cold. His grandfather’s coat was too big for him, but without it he would have frozen the last couple of nights and he felt comforted by the knapsack on his back. His silver watch and the few pennies he possessed were tucked safely inside his shirt.

‘Here you are, lad,’ Jim said handing him the newspaper-wrapped packet of fish and chips salted and soaked in vinegar, just the way Danny liked chips. He took them eagerly and began to woof them down, enjoying his first taste of shop-cooked fish in batter, burning his mouth in his haste because they were so hot – so hot but so delicious!

‘Eat them slowly,’ his new friend said, laughing. ‘You don’t want to choke yourself!’ He hesitated then said, ‘Will you tell me your name?’

‘Danny – Danny Bryant,’ Danny mumbled between mouthfuls. The fish and chips were so wonderful that all he wanted to do was concentrate on eating and it wasn’t until they’d left the lights of the busy streets behind that he began to notice his surroundings. It was darker now in these narrow lanes and Danny felt the first prickle of unease. ‘Where are we going, mister?’

‘To the Salvation Army Home,’ he replied easily. ‘They’ll give you a bed for the night and tell you where you can get free food and shelter.’

Danny nodded and continued to eat. He had no reason to doubt what he was being told and yet his feeling of unease began to increase as he noticed the increasing drabness of the streets through which they were passing – he wouldn’t have thought the Sally Army would be here. At the back of his mind was being taken to the Salvation Army Hall by his mother. She’d gone to ask for advice when her mother had been ill and taken to the infirmary – Granny had died that winter and his mother had been sad for a while, but she’d wiped Danny’s tears and told him that Granny had gone to Heaven. When his mother died, Danny’s father had told him to stop his bawling and stormed off to get drunk.

‘Finished?’ Jim asked him and took the greasy papers, throwing them into the gutter.

Mum wouldn’t have approved, Danny thought. She’d always said you should put your rubbish in the bin at home if there wasn’t one on the street. The prickling at his nape increased as they stopped outside a door. Danny knew instantly that this wasn’t the Sally Army Hall – it was just a very shabby house and he hesitated, holding back as Jim knocked at the door.

‘Where are we?’ he asked, feeling suddenly frightened.

‘We’re going inside, Danny,’ the man said and reached out as if he would take hold of Danny’s arm.

‘No! You tricked me – this isn’t the Sally Army!’ Danny backed away as the man lunged at him, trying to grab him. He turned and ran back down the lane but the man was on him at once and he felt a strong hand grab him. As he was grasped by the arm, he kicked out and struggled, yelling and screaming out, ‘Get orf me!’

The man’s hold didn’t lessen as they struggled and then he heard another voice and there were two of them holding him. Danny had no chance of getting away from two grown men and he was snatched off his feet and carried by his shoulders and legs back down the narrow alley towards the house that had terrified him.

‘Thanks, Jake,’ the man he’d thought of as a friend muttered. ‘The little blighter seemed content but then he suddenly bolted.’

‘Got more sense than some of ’em, then.’ Jake gave a harsh laugh. ‘You usually manage to get them inside afore they catch on.’

Danny struggled against his captors. He didn’t know why these men had tricked and then grabbed him, but he vaguely remembered his mother telling him to come straight home from school and not talk to strangers, because you couldn’t always trust them.

He was carried, struggling and protesting, inside the dingy house, which smelled bad of something he thought might be drains. Mum had battled against drains, armed with disinfectant and a scrubbing brush. After her death, Danny’s home had acquired an unpleasant tang but nothing like as bad as this – it was the old, foul smell of years of decay.

‘Let me go! I’ll tell me dad on yer,’ Danny threatened and continued to struggle as he was taken through a dark hall and up narrow stairs. He was banged unceremoniously against the wall and bannister and yelled as he felt the scrape of something on his arm. ‘Ouch, yer hurt me!’

‘Serves yer right,’ Jake said. ‘Keep yer trap shut and yer won’t get ’urt!’

‘I want ter go ’ome.’

‘Yer’ll do what yer told.’ He was suddenly put on his feet and a large hand connected with his ear. ‘Give me any trouble and I’ll make yer wish yer had never been born.’

Danny’s panic started to subside. Threats of this kind were normal in his home and it was the fear of the unknown that had made him panic and start running.

‘I’m thirsty,’ he complained.

‘Behave and mebbe I’ll give yer a glass of water.’

Danny decided that it might be best to keep quiet the way he had when his father was drunk. He had no chance of getting away while there were two of them guarding him – but if he got a chance he would run and next time he would make sure he slipped away unseen.

‘Put him in with the others,’ the man who had called himself Jim said. ‘I’m going out again, see what more I can find – we’re shipping them out in a couple of days.’

‘Supposing he plays up?’

‘You know what to do – give him some of the laudanum.’

Danny’s blood seemed to freeze. He knew that name – the doctor had given it to his mother for her pain. He’d seen her lying in a deep sleep, unable to focus or speak properly. It would be daft to risk that happening to him so he told himself to calm down and think. These men were bad, he knew that now, and he would do all he could to escape them – but he had to be clever.

One of them had unlocked a door and Danny was thrust inside; the door slammed behind him and he heard the sound of a key turning. His instincts were to fling himself at the wood and yell to be let out, but he controlled the urge. If he did that, they might give him that awful stuff that would make him go to sleep.

‘How did he get you then?’

Danny turned at the sound of the boy’s voice and saw that there were another three boys and a little girl in the bedroom, which had just a double bed and some blankets on the floor.

‘He gave me fish and chips. I was hungry …’

‘Yeah, I got a pork pie.’ The boy who was about Danny’s age grinned at him. ‘I were cold and ’ungry and I trusted the bugger.’

‘I did too, at first,’ Danny said and wrinkled his brow. ‘Why has he brought us ’ere?’

‘They’re gang masters,’ the boy said. ‘I’m Ron, by the way, and I’ve been on the streets for nine months since me ma copped it. They’ll send us off around London working for their lot, robbing and stealing, sometimes worse things … but I always told ’em to get lost – I really thought Bob was from the Sally Army.’

‘He told me his name was Jim …’ Danny frowned. ‘He’s a liar, ain’t he?’

‘Oh, he’s worse than that,’ Ron told him. ‘I feel sorry for them …’ He jerked his head at two of the younger boys. ‘They can’t look after themselves so well …’

Danny wasn’t sure what Ron meant, but he didn’t like the sound of it.

‘If they start on me,’ Ron said angrily, ‘I’ll kick ’em where it hurts and you want ter do the same – if we can get a knife we’ll stick ’em!’

Danny nodded. He’d liked Ron instantly and it made him feel better that he wasn’t alone. ‘We should stick together, all of us.’

‘Yeah,’ Ron said and looked grim. ‘But if I get a chance, I’ll hurt that bugger and I’ll be orf.’

Danny nodded, but his eyes were drawn to the other children, all of them younger than him, and he felt sorry for them as he saw the fear in their eyes. He wanted to run the way Ron said – but what would the other boys and that little girl do? She was such a pretty, delicate little thing and Danny felt sorry for her because she was clearly frightened and miserable, her face stained with tears.

Ron told him to sit down on one of the blankets and he sat next to him so they could talk.

‘Tell me how you left home,’ Ron said, ‘and I’ll tell yer my story.’

Danny nodded. The other children were quiet, looking at him and Ron and the little girl had inched nearer to them. Danny held out his hand to her and she came quickly to his side. He smiled and she leaned her thin little body against his stronger one. He felt protective towards her and the two boys who had been hurt but they huddled together, their eyes dark and haunted, not looking anywhere.

He silently vowed he would try to protect them if he could, but how could he and Ron prevail against men like the ruthless devils who had captured him and imprisoned him in this room? All he could do was wait and see what happened next …

CHAPTER 5

Rose walked into the kitchen of the mission hall and greeted the other helpers. She was given a pile of vegetables to clean and cook and set to with a will. They were serving cottage pie with extra vegetables – carrots, cabbage and baked onions – which were a favourite with the elderly folk who came to these lunches.

Once the food was cooked and the tables had been set, the doors were opened to admit the people who had been invited. They came in in ones and twos and greeted each other, enjoying the chance to gossip and meet friends as much as the good food they would be offered.

Rose started to serve as soon as they were all seated, because there were more than sixty people sitting down to a meal and it took several of them to get around the tables quickly enough to keep the food hot. She served her five tables and then, hearing a burst of loud laughter, looked towards a table nearer the door. Her heart stopped as she saw a man sitting down with some of the elderly ladies and knew him.

What was Peter Clark doing here? He’d been served with a portion of the cottage pie and was eating it, teasing and laughing with the old lady sitting next to him.

‘He’s lovely with them,’ Dora Nokes whispered in Rose’s ear. ‘Particularly with Jessie. She can be a bit of a tartar but he knows how to make her laugh.’

‘Yes, I can see that,’ Rose said and smiled. ‘Does he often come to these lunches?’

‘It’s the first time he’s been to a lunch but he turns up at all sorts of things,’ Dora said and smiled. ‘Apparently, Jessie wouldn’t come for the lunch unless he did so that is why he is here.’

Rose nodded, but she had no time to do more than send another glance at Doctor Peter’s table, because the old folk she’d served first had finished the first course and were waiting for pudding. Laughing to herself, she went off to collect used plates and then serve the tinned fruit and custard that was the favourite of many, followed by a cup of tea.

After serving was finished there was a mound of washing-up. Rose was helping to dry when a man’s voice spoke behind her.

‘Well done, Sister Rose,’ Peter Clark said, and she turned to look at him. ‘That was an excellent meal, everyone – I thank you on behalf of all of us.’ He clapped them and Rose saw the ladies blush and twitter amongst themselves, pleased and flattered that he’d come to the kitchen to thank them.

‘He was one of the men that first asked if we could organise a meal for the elderly,’ Dora told Rose in a whisper. ‘Works at the free clinic sometimes, so my husband says. Stan reckons he’s a good bloke – always helpin’ out where he can.’

Rose finished her work and walked over to Peter, smiling at him. ‘Your ladies seemed to enjoy themselves. They were laughing and looked so happy, especially the one sitting beside you.’

‘That’s Jessie,’ he said. ‘She says some strange things.’

Rose shook her head. ‘I think they were laughing at what you had to say!’

‘Perhaps I contributed a little,’ he replied. ‘Are you finished here now?’

‘Yes, I’m about to leave,’ Rose said and took her coat from the hook on the wall. She turned and waved, calling goodbye to those she’d worked with all morning. ‘I’m going home to change – and then to tea with some friends.’

‘Oh, that’s a pity.’ He looked disappointed. ‘I was going to ask if you’d like to have tea out somewhere with me?’

‘That’s very kind of you,’ Rose said, ‘but I have to hurry.’ She nodded to him and turned in the direction of her home. ‘Thanks all the same …’

Peter stood looking after her and she knew he was thinking she’d just turned him down for no good reason, but she’d stayed late at the mission hall and would only just have time to get changed before she was expected at Lily’s.

Peter stared after the woman he admired, feeling puzzled. She’d seemed warmer and more approachable today than when they worked together and so he’d mentioned going out to tea together but then she’d rushed off as if the devil was after her. Was it something he’d said or was she really in a hurry? He was never sure about Sister Rose.

Shaking his head, Peter started walking. He’d gone to the luncheon because Jessie had refused all invitations, even though she really needed a good meal. She lived on handouts from the Sally Army and the occasional couple of bob he gave her. Probably she got a shilling or a few coppers from other people who felt sorry for her, but the sort of food they’d been served that morning was what she needed. Asked to persuade her to accept what she denounced as ‘bleedin’ charity’, she’d demanded that he go along too and eat the same food.

‘If it’s all right for me it’s all right for you, doc,’ she’d declared, so he’d taken her challenge and eaten every bit of the food put in front of him. It was quite as good as anything he ate in the hospital canteen and he’d smiled as he’d cleared his plate and seen her do the same.

‘That was delicious,’ he’d declared as he finished and saw she’d enjoyed every scrap of her meal too.

‘It ain’t bad,’ Jessie admitted grudgingly. ‘I’ve tasted better in me time.’

‘Where was that, Jessie?’

‘I used to dine at the Ritz with my admirers,’ Jessie told him and winked. ‘Queued up at the theatre backstage to take me out they did – one of the best actresses of my day …’

‘I don’t doubt it,’ Peter replied and grinned. ‘I’ve seen you put on many an act, Jessie!’

She’d given a cackle of laughter. ‘Gawd, but you’re a green one,’ she said. ‘Tell you anythin’ and you’d believe me.’

‘Of course, I would, Jessie – why shouldn’t I?’ He’d winked at her saucily and seen her chuckle.

Peter knew that she had connections with the theatre but no one knew for sure just what she’d been or what she’d done. She might have been an actress or perhaps a dresser backstage for all he knew but she could strike a pose and she was a good mimic. She could make people laugh and he liked her a lot. Whatever her history, she’d fallen on hard times and now her home was wherever she could find a place to park her shabby old pram and sleep on the cardboard and blankets she carted around with her. She’d been offered various places in old folk’s homes but refused them all.

‘I need me freedom, doc,’ she’d told Peter once. ‘I’d die inside one of them places. I’m a wanderer – always have been and always will be.’

Peter knew better than to try and force her. She was just one of many who needed help and others were glad of the places she’d turned down. Peter, like others, did what he could to help those in need, but you could only do what they would let you do.

Sister Rose … his mind returned to the woman who was so often in his thoughts these days. He couldn’t have told anyone why he was so attracted to her. Certainly she was lovely to look at and he admired her work – and he liked it that she’d given up her Sunday morning to help the poor of the district – but it was more than that. It was as if there was an invisible string attached to her that had somehow got tangled up with his strings and wouldn’t let go, something that reached out from inside him to her.

He shook his head, laughing at his fanciful thoughts. Sister Rose had done nothing to encourage him to think of her as more than a colleague – so perhaps he should try looking at someone else for a change?

‘I’m not late, am I?’ Rose asked as she was admitted to Lily’s home and took off her coat. ‘There was a big crowd at the luncheon and it took longer to serve and wash up than I expected.’

‘Well, you’re here now,’ Lily said and drew her in towards the fire. ‘The wind is chilly out, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’ Rose held her hands to the fire and looked around at the little front parlour. ‘This is nice, Lily. You and Jenny are so lucky to have your own home.’

‘It was Gran’s house originally,’ Lily replied and nodded her agreement. ‘She took us in when our parents died and kept what little money there was from my parents’ estate for us to see us through nursing school and then she left the house to us both.’

‘I’ve never had a home of my own,’ Rose said and sighed. ‘My parents always rented until they died and of course I moved into the accommodation at my first hospital while I trained. Beattie’s house is lovely and I’d like something of the sort one day – but I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to afford it.’ A house like her landlady’s was more expensive than she could ever afford on a nurse’s pay, even without the money she was still paying to support her mother.

‘We couldn’t have bought a house ourselves,’ Lily admitted. ‘We earn enough to have a few treats and enjoy life, but nursing wages don’t allow you to save much for a house, do they?’

They smiled at each other in perfect accord as Jenny brought in a tea tray. ‘Those scones look delicious, Jenny – did you make them?’

‘Lily did,’ Jenny said. ‘I made the sandwiches. Lily is a better cook than I am – though I can do a nice roast.’

‘Jenny is a good cook,’ Lily said and gave her sister a teasing look. ‘She is just too lazy to fiddle with anything that takes a bit longer.’

‘You!’ Jenny said and made a face. ‘When you can buy delicious fancy things from Lavender and Lace, I don’t see the point in spending hours baking a sponge cake.’

Rose smiled, enjoying the sisters’ banter. It was so nice to be with friends off duty. ‘My landlady, Beattie, adores cooking and spends hours making wonderful food. I was so lucky to find her.’

‘Yes, you were,’ Lily agreed. ‘Most of the nurses do nothing but complain about the food their landladies serve.’

‘I know,’ Rose replied, then, changing the subject, said, ‘Have either of you been to see Sarah yet? I wonder how she feels about being at home.’

CHAPTER 6

It seemed a bit strange to Sarah to be staying at home every day. Steve was a little preoccupied before he left that Monday morning and when she’d asked what was wrong, he’d shaken his head.

‘It’s just my work, love,’ he’d told her. ‘Nothing for you to worry about, Sarah. I should be home at the usual hour. Take care of yourself and don’t do too much.’

Sarah had smiled and kissed him, waving as he set off down the street. Everyone he met smiled and nodded to him, because he was well known in the district as a fair and capable officer of the law who took an interest in young folk. In the evenings he helped to run a club for the youths who had nothing else to do other than stand on street corners. They gave boxing and self-defence lessons at the club and some of the members had won prizes at a regional level.

Sarah’s nice little modern police house took very little time to clean and she was too restless to just sit down and knit for the coming baby. So, when she’d finished her work, she pulled on her warm coat and went out, locking the front door behind her, and went off to visit her mother who had two foster children living with her at the moment – Charlie, who had recently left school and taken up an apprenticeship as a carpenter, and Ned, who had a delicate stomach and needed a special diet.

Gwen Cartwright loved being a foster mother. She’d said that she would be fine living alone but Sarah was much happier that her mother had company. She certainly helped the children but they saved her from being lonely in the long winter evenings and gave her something to occupy her time.

She was baking when Sarah arrived, her face lighting up as she saw her. ‘Sarah, love,’ Gwen said. ‘I was just thinking I’d pop round to see you when I’d got this batch cooked. How are you?’

‘It’s odd not going to the infirmary every day,’ Sarah told her with a smile. ‘How are you, Mum? Are the boys all right?’

‘Charlie is thrilled to bits to be working,’ Gwen told her and laughed softly. ‘He couldn’t wait to give me half his wages on Friday – I don’t really want to take his seven shillings, but he is determined to pay for his keep, bless him.’

‘Let him pay, Mum,’ Sarah told her with a smile. ‘You can save some of it for him and then one day, if he needs it, you can give it to him – or spend it on whatever he needs.’

‘Yes, that’s what I’ll do – I used to do the same with the money you gave me. It came in handy for your wedding.’

‘Yes, I know.’ Sarah went to put the kettle on as her mother took a batch of sweet-smelling coconut tarts and another of rock buns from the oven. Her mouth watered in anticipation because those tarts had hot strawberry jam beneath the layer of crisp coconut and were delicious. ‘Oh, my favourites!’

‘Yes, I know. I was going to bring some round,’ Gwen nodded and looked pleased. ‘Ned likes them too.’

‘Is he able to eat them now?’ Not too long ago the young boy had had to be very careful with what he ate and most treats were banned.

‘Last time we visited the doctor he told me to start letting him try things in moderation, so that’s what I’ve done – and he can eat one of these without getting tummy trouble.’

‘How wonderful. I must tell Matron when I visit the infirmary.’

‘Yes, I expect you’ll go in now and then just to see your friends,’ Gwen agreed. ‘Are you feeling well in yourself, love?’

‘Yes, I’m fine, Mum. I could’ve worked a bit longer really but Steve wanted me to look after myself and I couldn’t argue, because he’s so loving and good to me.’

‘So he should be,’ Gwen said but there was only warmth in her tone. Sarah knew her mother truly liked her husband and was glad she’d married him.

‘Look at those drawings Ned did at school,’ Gwen said, indicating some pictures on the sideboard. ‘I think he’s very talented.’

Sarah picked up the drawings, which were of a dog, a cat and a cottage surrounded by trees and flowers. She was surprised how well done they were, far more advanced than she would have expected of a boy of thirteen.

‘This dog is wonderful,’ she said. ‘You should frame it and hang it on the wall, Mum.’

‘Yes, I’d like to – but they belong to Ned. He might like to give it to his mother.’

‘After the way she behaved towards him?’ Sarah shook her head. ‘As far as Ned is concerned you are his mother now. He loves you and he would hate it if he was made to go back to her.’

Gwen nodded. ‘I’m just his foster carer but I would adopt him if they would let me.’

‘Perhaps you should speak to Lady Rosalie about it,’ Sarah suggested. She had made the tea and carried the tray to the table and could no longer resist the tantalising smell of the coconut tarts, biting into one with relish, then going on, ‘I know she’s always looking for more foster mothers – it is possible they might even ask you to take another child on if they get stuck, but I’m not sure if you could actually adopt Ned.’

‘I think I’ll pop round to her office tomorrow,’ Gwen said and smiled as her daughter reached for another of her favourite treats. ‘You can take some of those home, love, you don’t have to eat them all at once!’

‘I hope you didn’t mind my ringing you this evening?’ Matron Mary Thurston asked her friend Lady Rosalie. ‘Only, there is a little girl in our ward, June, and I know she was beaten severely before she was found unconscious in the school playground and brought in to the Rosie. Sister Matthews questioned her very gently and she said it was some bullies outside the school – but I believe it was either June’s mother or father. Sister Matthews noticed she flinched when her parents were mentioned.’

‘Then we must get to the bottom of it – and if June has been ill-treated, we must intervene,’ Lady Rosalie said. ‘I shall start inquiries immediately if you will give me the name of her parents and her address.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Mary said and passed on the details. That done, their conversation turned to other things.

‘When is your son coming home again?’

‘He is going to a friend’s home for a week for the Easter holidays; Freddie Forsdyke comes from a good, kind family so he’ll be all right with them,’ Lady Rosalie said, ‘and I shall have both the boys for part of the long summer holidays – I’m taking them down to our cottage in Cornwall for a month then. Freddie’s father is being posted overseas and his mother wants to go out and see him settled – and so I said I’d have both boys while she’s away.’

‘You’ll enjoy that,’ Mary suggested and heard the smile in her friend’s voice as she agreed.

‘Yes, I shall. Children are so special, it’s why I love my work for the orphans we help to place in foster homes,’ Lady Rosalie told her sincerely. ‘However, a long summer break will be wonderful. I only wish you could come with us, Mary.’

‘Well, I might manage to come down for a week,’ her friend said, ‘if you would like to have me?’

‘Yes, I would love it – and your nurses are well able to look after the infirmary for a week.’

‘Yes, of course they are,’ Mary agreed. ‘I’m not foolish enough to imagine I am indispensable, Rosalie. If I died tomorrow, I could be replaced—’

‘You’re not ill I hope?’ There was sudden alarm in her friend’s voice and Mary laughed.

‘No, not at all, I assure you! I normally don’t bother to take holidays because I have no one to share them with, but if I could spend a week with you and your son and his friend, well, I should enjoy that.’

‘Come for as long as you like. There is plenty of room.’

‘Thank you – but a week will be sufficient, at least this time,’ Mary said. ‘Well, that has cheered me up! I’ve been worrying about a patient we have in isolation – a woman in her seventies who isn’t recovering as she should – but the idea of a holiday at the sea makes me feel much better.’

‘Good, I’m glad of that …’ Lady Rosalie paused and spoke to someone over her shoulder. ‘Forgive me, Mary. Someone has called and I need to speak to him. I shall keep you in touch with what I discover about June’s family.’

‘Yes, of course. Thank you.’

Mary replaced the receiver and smiled. A holiday at the seaside. Well, wasn’t that nice? It was years since she’d been away for a holiday – not since her dearest mother passed on. In her early years of nursing she’d lived at home with Mama and, when her health failed, cared for her, interrupting her nursing career to look after her until she died. While she’d been able, they’d taken a little holiday each year, either at the sea or in the countryside visiting places like Ely in Cambridgeshire. Mama had loved that small town with its beautiful cathedral and they’d spent many happy hours by the river eating either at the Lamb Hotel, where they’d stayed, or in little pubs and cafés. It had been such a happy time …

Sighing, Mary put the memories – good and sad – to the back of her mind. It was time to make her rounds of the infirmary. First of all, she would go to the kitchens and have a chat with young Kathy who had been looking a little down in the mouth lately so she’d see if she could help, and then she would call in on Edie Simpson and see how she was getting on. At least she had a chance of avoiding the spread of an infection – and she’d alerted Rosalie to the plight of little June. She frowned at the thought of the little girl’s injuries. So many children in the district were ill-treated and she couldn’t possibly help them all, but those that came to her attention would be looked after and cared for. She just wished she could stop the cruelty but it was a huge task …

Kathy finished her work in the kitchens and got ready to go home. Her husband Bert was still working, but she had a half day and she was almost reluctant to leave. Here there were people to talk to and have a laugh with but at home her mother would be grumbling as usual. Nothing Kathy ever did was quite right, even though she tried hard to please.

Bert could do no wrong in his mother-in-law’s eyes but Kathy had only to suggest that she did one of the jobs her mother normally did and it brought down a ton of complaints on her head.

Matron had asked Kathy if anything was wrong, but she couldn’t tell her – it would be disloyal, for one thing, and for another it would sound as if she were the one complaining. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her mother, she did – but perhaps two women living in the same house would never quite agree.

Kathy wished now and then that they had decided to live in their own house when they married, but her mum had offered to take them in and, as Bert said, it made sense.

Sighing, Kathy decided to buy a nice cream cake for tea from Lavender and Lace, the lovely little teashop around the corner that all the nurses liked to buy special treats from. Kathy liked them too, but Mum thought it was a waste of money – well, it was her money and for once she was going to do as she liked and take a treat home that they would all enjoy.

She thought about what Matron had been telling her about Lady Rosalie’s orphans and wondered how folk could be cruel to young children. Kathy loved going up to the children’s ward; she liked talking and playing with the children but couldn’t stop long because she always had work to do.

It would be nice to foster one of those unfortunate kids, Kathy thought – or to have a child of her own. A smile touched her mouth. If she was living in her own home, she would have had a little girl or boy to live with her and be glad to help with some of Matron’s hard luck stories, but of course it wasn’t her house and her mother would say she had too much to do already – but Kathy had a big heart and perhaps one day she would have a family to match …

CHAPTER 7

Danny opened his eyes and looked about him. It was dark in this place, darker than it had been in the house he’d first been taken to and he thought they were somewhere near the docks from the sounds coming from outside. He’d heard hooting from barges on the river earlier, when a little light had still shown through the high windows, and the noise of a crane working – at least, he thought it was a crane. Once he’d heard men’s voices coming from outside and he’d tried to call out to alert them but Jake had been there and had hit him hard just above his ear and knocked him to the ground. Danny had lost consciousness then and it was dark now that he was awake again.

‘Are you awake, Danny?’ he heard the soft timid voice of the little girl he now knew was called Marjorie and felt the touch of her small hand on his. She’d clung to him after he’d arrived at the house and he’d tried to comfort her through that first night and the next day until they were all given something to drink that made them fall asleep. When he’d woken, he’d found they were all still together and he was one of the last to wake.

‘They give yer more ter make sure you was knocked out,’ Ron told him when Danny tried to stand and fell back, his head spinning. ‘I heard that bugger Ron say as you were a troublemaker.’

Danny had felt sick and his head was pounding. He’d sat on the floor until the dizziness passed and Marjorie had sat next to him, her shoulder against his, seeking warmth.

‘I’m cold, Danny,’ she’d told him. ‘I’m hungry …’

‘Yes, so am I,’ Danny had agreed. His stomach ached because he hadn’t eaten since he’d been given those fish and chips. He thought the men were keeping them hungry to subdue them and he felt the anger ball inside him. If he had something sharp, he would stick it into Jake the next time he came near him.

‘Are you all right?’ Marjorie asked now and Danny looked at her. She was only eight and looked so small and vulnerable that he felt protective of her. Those wicked devils had stolen her from the street outside her front garden when her mother was hanging out the washing in the back garden. She’d screamed and kicked but they’d bundled her into a van and driven off with her and she was terrified and often cried for her mother. ‘I was worried when you didn’t move after that man hurt you.’

‘I’m all right, Marjorie,’ Danny told her and put his arm around her, trying to instil some warmth into her frail body. ‘I’ll try to protect you as much as I can.’

Tears filled her blue eyes. ‘What will they do to us, Danny?’ she asked. She sniffed and wiped her nose on the sleeve of her coat which was blue and looked better than most of what the others were wearing. Danny thought she must have been taken from a better area. Her parents were probably frantic with worry, and they were right to worry, because unless he and Ron could find a way for them all to escape the future looked frightening for all of them.

‘I don’t know – but it isn’t nice and it’s against the law to hold us here like this,’ Danny said. ‘We’re going to try to get out of here when they open that door, so you stick close to me, Marjorie. Run when I tell you to … do you promise?’

Marjorie nodded vigorously and her hand held on to his. He knew she was frightened and he tried to be brave and strong for her, even though, underneath, he was nervous himself. He would do what he could to get away from here, but he wasn’t going without Marjorie and the others could come if they were quick enough. He knew Ron had been telling the other boys what their plan was: to all attack the men they feared at the same time, kicking, scratching and biting at once so they were overwhelmed. It wasn’t much against men armed with drugs that could knock them out, men who had far more strength than them, but since they had no weapons it was all they could do. They had to fight or they were lost!

‘I shall be glad to get off duty,’ Constable Steve Jones remarked to his fellow officer after they’d finished pounding the beat allotted to them that evening. He stamped his feet to instil a little warmth into them. ‘I suppose we’d better check out the information that docker gave us and then we can get off to the station for a cuppa. It will probably be a waste of time, but we’ve got to show willing.’

‘Too bleedin’ right,’ Constable Reed agreed and grinned at him. He was a tall, thin man, new to the station and eager to earn his place amongst his colleagues. ‘Even he said it’s probably nothing – a light flickering last night in the old abandoned Hudson warehouse was probably vagrants sheltering overnight, but then he thought he heard a child scream this morning when he went into work and it’s been playing on his mind so he decided to report it. So we need to make sure – especially with that little girl being reported missing Thursday last week.’

Some of their colleagues had already searched the docks looking for little Marjorie Lacey but so far there was no sign of her. The search was still going on but hope had faded of finding her alive. It was thought she must have wandered away and they were considering dragging the river for her body.

‘The place has been empty, for years,’ Constable Steve Jones said. ‘The import firm it belonged to went out of business and for a while a gang of thieves took it over to store their ill-gotten goods, but we put most of them away last winter.’

They were approaching the warehouse now and it was immediately clear that the derelict building was once again being used, because the bar and padlock had been taken off and the door was slightly open. Constable Jones sent a warning look at his colleague and received a nod of understanding in return. Both men grasped their truncheons, determined looks on their faces. If someone was up to no good it was their job to sort it out.

Pausing outside the door, they heard a cry of alarm and then a child’s scream, followed by more yells. Galvanised into action Constable Jones wrenched the door open and charged in, followed closely by his colleague. One young boy and a small girl were huddled together under the guard of one disreputable rogue, while two others were holding a second boy on the ground. Another two slightly bigger lads were attacking the abusers with feet and fists and yelling.

Constable Jones’ truncheon crunched against the neck of the man attacking the lad and Constable Reed hit the second man in the face. The rogue went down with a grunt and stayed down as a third man came charging in like a bull but the young constable swung his truncheon, hitting him three times in the face until he went down on his knees, blood streaming from a cut over his eyebrow.

‘Bloody pigs,’ the first man muttered as he fought back with his fists, but he was no match for an infuriated Constable Jones and went down after the fourth blow on his shoulder. Constable Reed kicked the man at his feet in the side but was warned by his more experienced colleague.

‘Reasonable force,’ he barked. ‘Put your cuffs on him, mate.’

Constable Jones cuffed his own prisoner, resisting the urge to beat the filthy beast to a pulp. He knew how his colleague felt, but he also knew their superiors would kick up a fine dust if they worked the offenders over. It was dinned into their heads all the time that their duty was to apprehend and leave the punishment to others, no matter how much they would love to give the bastards what they deserved.

The boy who had been on the floor was shaking and another one of them was holding the side of his head, but the one protecting the girl was pale and angry. His eyes smouldered with resentment as he looked at the men now being ordered to stand up by the police constables.

‘Why don’t yer kill the buggers?’ he said bitterly. ‘It’s what they deserve. I’d ’ave done fer ’im if I could.’

‘And what’s your name, young ’un?’ Constable Jones asked.

The boy hesitated for a moment, then, ‘Danny. I thought ’e was all right ’cos he give me fish and chips, but ’e’s the worst of the lot.’

‘You’ve learned a useful lesson then, Danny,’ Steve said. ‘It’s best not to trust strangers – unless they’re police officers or men who have been introduced to you by someone you know well.’ He paused, then said quietly, ‘Have you been hurt?’

‘Only cuts and bruises – but I’m not sure about the other two, or what they had in store for me and Marjorie. They brought us all ’ere last night because they were goin’ ter sell us to some bloke but ’e didn’t turn up so they got drunk.’

‘Good lad,’ Constable Jones nodded to his colleague. ‘Go and get some help here, mate. We need an ambulance for the children.’ He glanced down at the men lying battered and bruised on the ground and then at the one he’d forced to his knees and cuffed. ‘I’ll take this one to the station.’ He saw that Danny looked nervous and took his helmet off. ‘You’re not in trouble, lad. You seem bright to me and you can likely give me some more information.’

‘Look out, sir!’

Constable Jones moved sharply as the cuffed man lunged at him. This time he used his fists and felt a satisfactory crunch as the man’s jaw cracked under his hammer blows and he fell to his knees with a groan. Steve Jones shot a look of triumph at his victim.

‘I’m an amateur boxing champion, you bit of shit, and that was sweet. Try it again and I’ll break your ribs. Just have another go. Please. I’d love an excuse to do for you once and for all. Think yourself lucky I stick within the law!’

The man spat at his boots but Constable Jones didn’t rise to the provocation. He knew the police doctor would question him rigorously about the man’s injuries. Glancing at the smaller boys, he felt shocked to his core that these men could take advantage of these vulnerable children in this way. They were cruel and heartless, using them for their own ends and ruining their young lives.

‘Tell your friends I’m sorry,’ he said to Danny. ‘Tell them they will be going to the hospital, where they will be safe and cared for.’

‘All right – what about me?’ Danny asked, his jaw jutting defiantly.

Steve looked at him, smiled and nodded. ‘I’m going to take you to the police station and get a statement. After that I’ll give you a cup of tea and a bacon sandwich – and then we’ll see.’

‘Danny has been through a rotten time,’ Constable Steve Jones said to the matron of the Rosie three hours later. ‘I’ve left him with Sister Matthews. He’ll be all right with her, I know – but I thought I’d better tell you Danny’s history.’

‘He was one of the children they hadn’t physically abused,’ Matron said and the look on her face spoke volumes. ‘Why was that do you suppose?’

‘He said he fought them off and I think you’ll find he’s got a few fresh bruises – and some old ones. Danny was badly beaten by his father which is why he went on the run a few days ago. He couldn’t remember exactly how long, but he thinks it might be a week or a bit more.

‘How did he get picked up?’

‘He was hungry and a man offered him food – told him he would show him where the Sally Army Hall was and that they would give him a bed for the night. Danny trusted him because his mum had told him the Sally Army was all right, but they locked him in a house in a dingy alley with the others and then moved them to the warehouse to be taken away by someone on a ship.’ He shook his head. ‘They would have been sold overseas and that would have been the end of them.’

‘My God! It sticks in your throat,’ Matron declared, furious now.

Steve nodded. ‘I wanted to kill them – but I’m trained to obey the law.’

She nodded her understanding. ‘Could Danny tell you where the house was?’

Steve nodded and smiled in satisfaction. ‘He’s a bright boy and when he realised what was happening to him, he started taking notice. He said the name of the alley was Treacle Lane and it was the fifth house down on the left and the window has a crack in it.’

‘Very bright boy,’ Matron said and looked surprised. ‘I don’t think many lads would have noticed that sort of detail.’

‘His mum told him always to take notice of things so he could tell her,’ Steve said, nodding. ‘I knew there was something special about him so that’s why I chose him to give evidence. His friend’s name is Ron and he’s been taken to another hospital while the little girl has been restored to her parents after a health check.’

‘I am very glad to hear it,’ Matron said. ‘At least we have one happy ending.’

‘Her mother cried. She’d been blaming herself for not watching Marjorie and I think her husband half-blamed her too – but they have their daughter back and they’re lucky. Had a conscientious docker not reported what he saw and heard, she might have disappeared forever.’

‘Poor little thing,’ Matron said and now she looked angry. ‘If I had my way men like that would hang.’

‘The law doesn’t allow for that – unless we can prove a child has died because of what they’ve done, but I know they will be put away for a long time. We caught them red-handed and we’ll make sure they don’t breathe fresh air again for years.’ His eyes took on a grim look.

Matron nodded. ‘They deserve all they get. And you say the other children have been taken elsewhere?’

‘To the London Hospital, because they were in a bad way. The older one isn’t talking but I think he has been on the streets a while,’ Steve said. ‘We know there’s a gang trading in children – these brutes were planning to sell the children on to them, but when the buyer didn’t turn up, they took their anger out on the kids. I dread to think what might have happened if we hadn’t got there when we did.’

Matron crossed herself. ‘Dear God, what is the world coming to? Men do such evil things sometimes – may the Good Lord forgive them and protect our children.’

‘It’s a terrible world, Matron,’ Constable Jones said. ‘It makes me sick to my guts sometimes – and this is the tip of the iceberg, believe me, though we manage to find some of the missing kids before it’s too late.’

‘I thought we had put that kind of thing behind us in Victorian times … Well, we’ll be glad to take Danny,’ Matron said shaking her head in distress. ‘It’s the least we can do – and you can be certain he will be safe here with us until Lady Rosalie can find a foster home for him.’

Constable Jones put on his helmet and smiled at her. ‘We know that, Matron. My Sarah always says she knows you and Lady Rosalie will always do what you can for the kids round here. It’s the reason I brought Danny here. I’m not sure what will happen to the others, because some of them will need psychiatric treatment, but Danny has a good chance of getting over this so we thought this the best place for him.’

‘I’m glad you did,’ she said and nodded. ‘I’ll go and see how he’s doing shortly – and thank you for bringing him to us.’

‘No, Matron, it’s us that thank God for you.’

‘Well, it’s kind of you to say so – and don’t worry about young Danny. We will look after him.’ She smiled at him. ‘Give my good wishes to your wife. Tell Sarah we miss her at the Rosie but she is to look after herself and enjoy preparing for her baby.’

‘Thank you, Matron. I’ll be off duty shortly and I shan’t forget your kind words.’

He was thoughtful as he went down the stairs. Danny’s history was a familiar one; abuse at home from a drunken parent sent the kids running from comparatively safe homes to the dangers of the street and those that didn’t perish often ended up as child prostitutes or thieves stealing for an abusive master, unless they were fortunate enough to be picked up by the law. The kids had no idea that the misery they endured at home could get a hell of a lot worse on the streets. Danny hadn’t wanted to go into an orphanage, but his experience in that warehouse had changed his mind. He could only hope the lad settled down now he’d got a chance of a better life. Some of them ran away again the first chance they got, but he had a feeling Danny might knuckle down and make something of his life. He was certainly in the right place to make it happen if he tried.

‘Well, you seem well enough to me apart from those bruises,’ Nurse Margaret said after she’d examined Danny. ‘I’m going to give you a nice warm bath and then we’ll put you in the isolation ward for a few days to make certain you haven’t got anything infectious – and we’ll give you something to eat.’

‘Constable Jones give me a bacon butty and it weren’t ’alf good,’ Danny said, ‘but I wouldn’t mind somethin’ ter drink, miss.’

‘I’m sure Nurse Anne will give you whatever you like; some orange squash and a piece of cake, perhaps?’

Danny nodded. ‘Yeah, thanks. I ain’t ’ad proper cake fer a while, not since me mum died.’

‘Was your mum good to you, Danny?’ Margaret smiled at him kindly.

‘Yes, miss,’ he said. ‘We were all right until she died and then me dad took to the drink – you won’t make me go back to him, will you?’

‘No, Danny, I’m sure you will be allowed to stay here until a safe home is found for you. If your father asked for custody the magistrates would refuse because of what he did to you – but I don’t think he’ll ask, do you?’

‘Nah, probably wouldn’t want me if’n he knew where I was. Glad ter get rid, if yer knew the truth.’

Margaret laughed and shook her head. ‘I’m going to give you that bath now.’ She gave him an encouraging look as he hung back. ‘The water is lovely and warm, Danny. Now, do you want me to wash your back, or do you want to do it yourself?’

‘I can wash meself but I ain’t sure what ter do wiv the water – ain’t ’ad a bath in a tub like this afore,’ Danny said as she led the way into the shining clean bathroom and he saw the gleaming white bath with its steaming water.

‘You just pull the plug to let it go, but don’t worry, I’ll be here to help. I’ll leave you for a minute or two; I’m going to bring you some clean clothes and then we’ll take you to the isolation ward until the doctor takes a look at you. You’ll be by yourself for a while.’

‘All right, nurse,’ Danny said. ‘I itch all over. I reckon I got fleas – and Mum would go mad if she knew.’

‘Your clothes are filthy and torn, so we’ll throw them away and you’ll have new ones and once we’ve washed your hair with our special shampoo you’ll be rid of any creatures. Don’t worry, Danny, we have lots of children who have worse things than you. Just give yourself a good wash and you’ll feel a lot better.’ Nurse Margaret smiled at him as she prepared to leave.

Danny wondered if he should tell this nice lady about the ache in his midriff. Some of the other bruises hurt more, but the ache was unpleasant and he’d had it for a while now – since a few hours after his father had kicked him, but it was gradually getting worse.

Yet they seemed to think there was nothing wrong and he didn’t want to make a fuss in case they sent him off somewhere else. The other kids had gone to the big hospital and might end up anywhere, perhaps overseas for all Danny knew. He’d heard Mum complaining more than once about children being sent to Australia or Canada and he didn’t want to go to either place. It didn’t seem too bad here, and after his recent experience he wanted to stay where it was safe and warm for a bit, so he would keep quiet about the discomfort he was feeling and hope it would go away …

CHAPTER 8

‘How are you feeling, my love?’ Constable Steve Jones asked his wife as she turned to look at him. She was wearing a pretty floral apron over her maternity dress and to him she glowed, her beauty increasing with every day that passed. ‘Matron sent you her love and said to take care of yourself.’

‘You look tired – was it a rough night?’ Sarah asked her husband. She went to put her arms around him and hold him, loving the strength and solidness of him and his smell. ‘I love you, Constable Jones.’

‘I love you, Mrs Jones.’ Steve smiled and bent to kiss the top of her head. ‘Something smells good.’

‘Bacon, egg, and bubble and squeak,’ Sarah said. ‘I know that’s your favourite – and a fried tomato, of course.’

‘You spoil me …’

‘I intend to,’ Sarah assured him. ‘You need something warming inside, Steve, after a long night on the beat.’

‘It was particularly rough tonight,’ he replied, frowning as he remembered. ‘We took some boys to hospital and there are now some rogues in the cells who should never be allowed out!’

‘Oh Steve!’ Sarah looked distressed. She didn’t need to be told what he meant in so many words. Having worked at the Rosie for years, she knew all about abused and damaged children. ‘I’m glad you caught those evil men.’

‘We had a tip-off from a docker,’ Steve said with a slight frown, ‘And I wonder if he’s in danger. The rogues we took in were only a small part of the abuse and I don’t think for one moment we’ve stopped it. We’ve cut off a few tentacles but of course they’ll just grow more.’

‘You do all you can,’ Sarah soothed. ‘That club you and your friends run does a lot of good, Steve – look at Jamie and his friends. He is doing so well in the police cadets and he can defend himself against the bullies these days.’ The previous year, Steve had helped a young lad who had been bullied to stand firm against the perpetrators and to make friends, too.

He nodded, smothering his sigh. ‘Yes, we do what we can, same as Matron does what she can – and your mum. She took Ned in and Charlie lives with her now he has his apprenticeship. Gwen is a blooming marvel if you ask me.’

‘Mum is rather wonderful,’ Sarah said fondly. ‘Do you know, I think she’s courting a man from the friendship club she attends? She hasn’t said anything yet but there’s a look in her eyes – she’s having fun!’

‘Well, good for her,’ Steve said and grinned as his wife set the plate of hot food in front of him. ‘She deserves all the happiness she can get, love.’

‘She certainly does,’ Sarah agreed. ‘I just want her to be happy. She loved my dad but they weren’t always happy towards the end. He wasn’t well but he hid it from her and she thought he was skiving off work when he was in too much pain to do anything much.’

‘He should’ve told her,’ Steve agreed. ‘Whatever it is, it should never be a secret between husband and wife – not if they want their love to stay bright.’

Sarah nodded, agreeing with him. ‘I hope this friendship turns out well for her. She hasn’t told me much yet – but that might be because she thinks I will criticise her for caring about someone else too soon after Dad’s death.’

‘You wouldn’t mind?’ Steve looked at her, a forkful of bubble and squeak halfway to his mouth. Sarah shook her head. ‘No, of course you wouldn’t – but perhaps she just isn’t sure yet.’

His wife smiled. ‘I think you’re right. You know Mum well. She likes you so much, Steve. She would probably talk to you.’

‘I’ll pop round this evening on my way to work,’ he promised and tucked into his meal with gusto. It was hard work being a bobby on the beat in London’s East End and this would set him up a treat.

‘Three cases of measles?’ Sister Rose arched her delicate eyebrows when Margaret told her the news the next morning. ‘That is really unfortunate. Matron must be worried, because we could easily have a lot more of the children going down with it.’ Measles was a highly infectious disease that anyone could catch; it spread quickly between children and could be dangerous if the child was already ill from another underlying condition.

‘She’s imposed a strict quarantine on all wards,’ Margaret said. ‘She asked me to tell the kitchen girls to make sure to knock and leave the trolleys outside the door. Kathy came in and got sent off with a flea in her ear! All visitors are banned from the wards until the outbreak is over – and Nurse Anne’s mother telephoned to say she won’t be in this evening, because she’s taken it.’

‘Now that is serious; it means we’ll be short staffed again. Poor Anne, she will feel it having to stay at home when she knows we need her.’ Sister Rose sighed; it never rained but it poured. ‘And you say some of the adults have it as well?’

‘It seems that a gall bladder surgery case brought it into the infirmary,’ Margaret told her. ‘She was brought in as an emergency and operated on that same night but although her surgery went well, she was running a fever. Matron called Dr Clark out the other evening, because she was worried about her. He suspected some sort of prior sickness and advised Matron to move the patient – she’s called Edie Simpson – into isolation. She wasn’t showing any other symptoms then, but lo and behold, the spots have now come out.’

‘Poor lady,’ Rose said sympathetically. ‘It’s bad enough to have an operation on a gall bladder but then to have the measles on top! No wonder she wasn’t making progress.’

‘Yes, she was quite poorly but Matron was relieved when the cause showed itself. She’d wondered if the infection was internal – which might have meant there was not much chance for Edie then, but the measles will go and apparently the sponging and soothing drinks are now helping to take down that fever.’

Rose nodded. Measles could be an extremely nasty illness, causing many unpleasant consequences such as deafness or fits in vulnerable patients but could also be quite mild.

‘Well, it’s a good thing all the sufferers are now in isolation and we must all be very careful about hand-washing and clean aprons, Nurse Margaret.’

‘Yes, Sister.’

‘Now, tell me, have we had any new cases brought in to our ward?’

‘Yes, Sister.’ Nurse Margaret handed her the report Sister Matthews had written before she went off duty. ‘There is a young boy – well, he says he’s thirteen soon but although he’s very skinny he looks quite big and strong for his age. Nurse Sarah’s husband brought him in last night – he’d been snatched from the streets and beaten but he wasn’t abused like some of the other lads.’

Rose frowned as the nurse recounted what Constable Jones had told her about the boys being abducted and abused and felt slightly sick. Disgust wouldn’t cover what she felt about men who could do that sort of thing – well, in her opinion, they weren’t men, they were evil monsters.

‘Poor child,’ she said now, feeling the sting of tears but blinking them back. ‘I hope they throw the culprits in the deepest darkest cell and throw away the key!’

‘That’s what my mum always says about that sort,’ Nurse Margaret agreed and then blushed. ‘Sorry, Sister …’

Rose ignored her blushes. ‘Danny’s injuries – they are just bruises from the beatings?’

‘Yes, so Sister Matthews said. He is down for a visit from Dr Clark today but he seems quite perky. I was told he ate his breakfast this morning and wants to get up.’

Rose nodded. Nurse Margaret had been on duty since six that morning while Rose’s shift on duty hadn’t started until half-past ten. She didn’t like this late start, because it always felt as if she had to run to catch up.

‘I’ll go and see him now – hear what he has to say for himself.’

Danny Bryant was sitting up in bed reading an old comic and seemed absorbed when she approached him, but the moment she got close he glanced up and, briefly, she saw fear flicker in his eyes. It faded the moment he saw her smile and he grinned cheekily.

‘Mornin’, Sister,’ he chirped. ‘Yer a bit late in, ain’t yer?’

‘Yes, I didn’t start until half-past ten,’ Rose replied, feeling amused by his observation. He was a bright boy and she had no doubt he’d been subjected to long-standing abuse. That instant reaction to someone coming close wasn’t due just to his abduction – and she could see old bruises along with the fresh ones. ‘Do you mind if I sit on the edge of your bed and talk to you, Danny?’

‘Nah, ’course not,’ he said obligingly. ‘What can I do fer yer, Sister Rose?’

‘How do you know I’m Sister Rose?’

‘Because yer looked after me mum on the women’s ward when she was sick.’ Danny looked at her consideringly. ‘You was real kind to her and she got better that time.’

‘What was wrong with her, Danny?’

‘Me dad said she had a weak ’eart,’ Danny said and his eyes brimmed with tears, which he swiped away with the back of his hand. ‘I dunno – but she just got weaker and weaker and then one mornin’ she didn’t wake up. Dad tried to make her but he couldn’t. I saw him cryin’ – I ain’t ever seen him like that, ’ceptin’ that time.’

‘I expect you cried too, didn’t you, Danny?’

‘Yeah – she was me mum. Best mum ever. Dad was all right when she was ’ere.’

‘Did he change after your mother died, Danny?’

‘Yeah, ’e started drinking and that.’ Danny’s gaze fell away. ‘Dad would belt me fer tellin’ tales, but it’s the truth and Mum always said ter tell the truth and shame the devil.’

‘Where is your father now, Danny?’

‘Dunno,’ he replied and frowned. ‘He came home drunk about ten days ago and belted the life out of me. I blacked out and when I woke up, he was snoring on the couch so I made a run fer it while I could. I took a few bits of me grandad’s but they got pinched. I daren’t go back ’ome ’cos he’d kill me.’

‘I don’t think we could let you go back to someone who treats you like that,’ Rose said. ‘I think Matron will let you stay here until we can find a safe place for you – either an orphanage or a foster home.’

‘What’s a foster ’ome?’

‘It’s a safe place where people who like young people take children without parents in and look after them, so it’s like having a new mum and dad, sort of.’

Danny digested that in silence. ‘I suppose it would be all right. I thought I could manage on the streets, find a few jobs ter buy food – but it ain’t safe out there, Sister Rose.’

‘You’ve learned a valuable lesson then, Danny.’

‘Yeah, reckon I ’ave,’ he said and grinned at her. ‘Know what I’d like, Sister?’

‘Why don’t you tell me, Danny?’ Rose invited with an encouraging smile.

‘I reckon the best thing in the world is makin’ good food what folk like to eat,’ he said with a serious look. ‘Mum used to cook like an angel – leastways, that’s what Dad said. He was always happy when she fed him a lovely dinner or a piece of her angel cake; light and soft that was and tasted luverly.’

‘Is that what you’d like to do when you leave school – cook food for others?’

‘Yeah …’ Danny looked thoughtful. ‘Dad said it was only fer sissies when I helped me mum cook cakes, but I liked it and she said I was good at it.’

‘Well, I think it is a lovely idea,’ Rose said. ‘And your dad is wrong – there are a lot of men who cook good food – a man who cooks is called a chef.’

‘Yeah? Yer ain’t kiddin me?’ Danny looked intrigued, his eyes alight with wonder.

‘No, I wouldn’t do that.’ Rose smiled at him. ‘Perhaps if you work hard at school you will become a chef when you’re older.’

‘I’d like that and then I’d bake a special cake fer you, Sister.’

‘I shall hold you to that,’ Rose said and stood up. ‘I have other patients to see, Danny. Doctor will come and visit you soon – and then you may get a visit from Lady Rosalie. She’s a nice lady who will try to find you a suitable home with decent people.’

‘Thanks, Sister.’ Danny went back to reading his comic and Rose began her tour of the ward.

Danny was a brave boy and she hoped a good home could be found for him. She would make sure that Matron and Lady Rosalie knew of his ambition to become a chef, though she doubted he would be lucky enough to be placed with a family of cooks. Danny would be put on a list with others until an available suitable family could take him.

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