An Orphan’s Sorrow

‘I’d have left her years back if it wasn’t for the kids,’ George had told her more than once. ‘She wouldn’t care – but the children would be upset and I can’t do it, Jean. I wish I could but …’

Jean had put a finger to his lips. ‘No, you mustn’t think like that,’ she’d said. ‘We can only be friends, George. I won’t be responsible for tearing your home apart.’

‘I know – and I can’t bring myself to do it either, because I did love her once. But I do love you, Jean. I think about you all the time …’

‘Not when you’re in court pleading a client’s case, I hope,’ she said, teasing him, because he was an excellent lawyer and often took cases on others might believe hopeless. ‘I think a lot of you, George but …’ She’d shaken her head.

It was strange how easy she felt with George. They’d met when he had been visiting a friend’s son at the hospital – for a few weeks he’d been a regular visitor and they’d struck up their unusual friendship. She ought to be tense or upset because of their situation, but she never was – just grateful for the few minutes they snatched to be together. He was the man she might have married if he’d been free, though she’d vowed she never would marry again. but there were times now that she felt lonely and reason told her it would be better to marry for friendship rather than go into old age alone.

Sighing, Jean made a pot of tea and picked up her evening paper. The headlines were about a missing heiress. Apparently, she’d just walked out of her house and no one had seen her for days; it was an interesting story, but Jean’s mind wouldn’t concentrate on the news. Morbid thoughts would get her nowhere. She’d made her bed years ago and, for the most part, she was content. Besides, George had some tickets for a concert at the weekend. His wife was going to visit her elderly grandmother in Southend and taking the children so they would have a chance to meet.

CHAPTER 2

Cassie entered the house though the open door that led to the kitchen of the large house and the table had been set for tea with bread, butter and a pot of honey. Glancing uneasily over her shoulder and expecting someone to come at any moment, she moved slowly towards the table and the food, her hand reaching towards the bread. It felt a little dry but was still fresh enough to eat, especially when you were as hungry as Cassie. Up to now she had been taking food from market stalls when the owners weren’t looking, and occasionally from the back alleys when housewives had left their back doors open with the pantry in plain view while they gossiped on their front doorsteps. Her mother had told her it was wrong to steal, but it wasn’t stealing if you were hungry she thought.

She broke off a piece of bread and spread it with butter and honey and bit into it, relishing the sweet taste. Yes, the bread was a bit stale but she’d eaten worse, even when she was at home with … Her mind shied away from thoughts of home. She’d managed to shut her memories off while she was wandering the streets alone.

Looking about her, Cassie saw a bottle of orange squash on the draining board and a tall green drinking glass. She poured herself a generous measure and topped it up with water from the tap, gulping it down. Every so often she glanced over her shoulder, still expecting to be caught and punished and she was ready to flee out of the still-open door, but as the minutes ticked by on the wall clock and she heard no sounds, her sense of fear receded. It was safe and warm here and they wouldn’t look for her this far away from that awful place …

Cassie had walked and walked for days, hiding whenever anyone noticed her, but few people bothered to give her a second glance. She wandered around the large kitchen, touching things, marvelling at the space and how nice it was – even better than when they’d had a daddy to look after them. Since then life had been harder and harder.

Once again she blocked the memories, memories of a mother becoming ill, pale and thin and permanently shrill, of hands that had once been soft and loving which now slapped and pinched, of the loving smile which had gone, of the despair and grief that remained.

In the pantry, Cassie found the shelves were filled with tins of fruit and there were more bottles of squash. She found a bottle of milk too, but when she opened it, it was sour and smelled horrid, so she poured it down the sink.

Not liking the smell that remained, she went out into the hall and slowly mounted the stairs. They were covered in carpet and her feet didn’t make any noise. After the noise and dirt of the streets, Cassie liked the quiet of this house near the river. At the top of the stairs were five doors, all but one closed. Drawn to the open door, she peeped in, half expecting that now someone would shout at her, but the room was furnished with lovely things, even though no one was there. Entering, Cassie looked about her. Everything was so pretty – cream and pink and lots of frothy lace and a fine material you could see through on the bed and the dressing table.

Approaching the dressing table, she saw that its glass top was littered with pretty bottles with silver-coloured tops. There were hair brushes and ribbons, combs and bottles with stuff in that smelled nice when she held them to her nose – and then she saw the box. It was black with flowers painted on it and when she opened the lid, she discovered a mirror that reflected all the sparkling things inside.

Cassie laughed with delight as she took rings and necklaces from the box and draped them on herself. They were all so pretty and they caught the light from the window – and there were lovely clothes on the bed and in the open wardrobe. Just hanging there, pretty pastels and deep shades in jewel colours that made her want to touch. Drawn irresistibly to one pretty dress in a shining silver material, Cassie stroked it and held it against herself.

She’d always loved to play dressing up with her mother’s things but there had never been anything as beautiful as these dresses and scarves. Laughing as she started to pull all the dresses from the wardrobe and hold them to her, Cassie forgot to be afraid. No one was here. Perhaps no one lived here and she could stay here forever …

It was much warmer in the house than outside and tiredness began to steal over her. Clutching a furry teddy bear she found lying on the bed, she curled up in the big armchair and closed her eyes. She could stay here until someone came to claim the house – but perhaps no one would come and she could stay forever …

‘Mary, my dear, how are you?’ Lady Rosalie kissed her cheek and looked approvingly at the Matron of the Rosie Infirmary, of which, as well as various other good causes, she was a patron. Her main interest in life since her husband’s death some years previously was underprivileged children and she was now chairwoman of a board that dealt with providing foster homes for abused and orphaned children. ‘Forgive me for not coming to see you these past weeks, Mary, but I have been snowed under with work – and my son was home from his boarding school for a time – the poor darling had the measles and they sent him home to recover.’

Mary Thurston smiled and nodded. She understood how busy her friend was and that her only son was very dear to her, the more since she was unlikely to marry again and have the large family she would have liked. Perhaps it was because she’d been thwarted in that that she took such an avid interest in children who needed help. Whatever, it was an interest they shared and Mary was always pleased to see her and to hear what had been happening.

‘Have you interviewed that couple you were thinking of placing on your list as foster carers?’ she asked. ‘The ones who own a little grocer’s shop?’

Lady Rosalie nodded, but looked thoughtful. ‘Yes, I have. I think they will do – but one has to be so careful. We do not need a repeat of what happened to that young lad you asked me to help last year!’

‘You mean Charlie?’ Mary smiled as Lady Rosalie nodded. The young lad had been placed with a husband and wife who proved unsuitable and treated him as an unpaid servant, but he’d got away from them and proved his own resourcefulness by living on the streets for some time. ‘Thankfully, Charlie and Maisie are safe with their aunt now, though I think he may be staying with Mrs Cartwright at the moment …’ Gwen Cartwright had taken Charlie and his sister in until his aunt could fetch them the previous Christmas and Charlie wanted to stay with her when he left school and took up an apprenticeship as a carpenter.

‘Yes – Gwen is an excellent woman,’ Lady Rosalie said with a look of satisfaction. ‘She is now at the top of my list and I shall not hesitate when the right child comes along. I know how fond she and Nurse Sarah are of Charlie and his sister.’

‘Yes, they are,’ Mary agreed. ‘Would you take a glass of sherry, Rosalie – or would you prefer a cup of tea?’

‘Tea, if it’s no trouble,’ Lady Rosalie said and sighed. ‘I am still adding suitable families to my list – if you hear of any …’

‘Yes, of course I’ll let you know.’ Mary looked thoughtful. ‘Is it still your criteria that it must be a couple in business or full-time work – you’re not interested in single-parent arrangements?’

‘Perhaps, in certain circumstances, like Gwen’s where she has an excellent daughter, but in most cases the foster mother needs to be at home to look after her children – and the father needs to be in permanent work.’

‘Well, I suppose that is sensible – but it means quite a few good-hearted women who might take on a child in need would be disqualified.’

Lady Rosalie agreed and that made Mary think hard. She’d known of several cases in the East End where hard-working women had taken in the child of a friend or neighbour who had died. They hadn’t asked for money or support and no one’s permission had been sought, but the authorities wouldn’t sanction their adoption or foster care if it came to their attention, yet it often worked perfectly well.

‘I must go – I have other calls to make,’ Lady Rosalie said after they’d drunk two cups of tea and chatted for half an hour or so. ‘I shall come again soon – and do not hesitate to ask if you have children who need a foster home.’ She got up and then turned, looking upset as she thought of something. ‘They still haven’t found the little girl whose mother fell down the stairs and broke her neck. Cassie was in a temporary holding centre for sick, problem children and ran away some weeks after Christmas. I keep thinking she might turn up here.’

‘Unfortunately, she hasn’t been brought in to us.’ Mary looked concerned. ‘The nights have been so cold I dread to think how she’s managing alone on the streets.’

‘If only she’d been brought to us instead of that awful place …’ Lady Rosalie sighed. ‘I’m not surprised she ran away from there; it has a bad name. Well, you know where I am if you hear anything.’

‘I shall let you know as always,’ Mary promised and got up to kiss her cheek and press hands before her visitor left. They’d bonded when Lady Rosalie’s husband was dying of his terrible illness and had remained friends. It was a good arrangement, because Lady Rosalie often gave money to the infirmary when it was needed, even though they were officially funded by the council – but that was never enough to run the place as she liked.

Sighing, Mary got up to do her rounds of the wards. London’s East End had so many sick and needy and her wards were often overflowing, some of the beds occupied by men and women who had nowhere else to go. A smile came to her lips. Sometimes she thought it was a pity she couldn’t find foster homes for the elderly and sick as well as the children!

CHAPTER 3

Nurse Sarah kissed her mother’s cheek and reminded her that Charlie would be arriving some time that day. It wasn’t likely that Mrs Cartwright would forget something she’d been looking forward to and Sarah knew she’d been cooking all the previous day in preparation. They both liked the youth who presently lived with his aunt but was coming for a few days to stay with his self-adopted mother. Charlie liked Sarah’s ‘Mum’, as he called her, and he’d been writing her long letters about when he would get to live with her and start his apprenticeship as a carpenter on the docks. He’d got almost a year longer at school, but it had closed for a week for half term and so he was travelling up to London on the train by himself. His aunt had given him the money for his ticket and she’d written herself to make sure Sarah’s mother was happy to have him.

‘As if I’d forget,’ Sarah’s mother said and smiled. ‘I’ve got his room ready and I’ll be baking his favourite cakes this morning.’

‘What about me?’ Sarah asked, teasing her. ‘What about my favourites?’

‘Get on with you!’ Her mother gave her a little shove. ‘That man of yours will be waiting and if you linger any longer, you’ll hardly see him before it’s time for your shift.’

‘Steve will walk me from the bus stop if he can,’ Sarah said. ‘He tries to sneak a few minutes from his regular beat but we’re going to the flicks tonight anyway – so you’ll have Charlie all to yourself.’

She laughed as her mother shooed her out of the door. There was an atmosphere of fun and laughter in their home these days. Sarah had put the uncertainty and distress of the past year from her mind. Her old, unhappy, relationship was forgotten and she’d settled down to being courted by Steve – Constable Jones as she’d first known him. He’d come into her life when Charlie had been staying in the children’s room at the Infirmary, his mother dying after a brutal attack. They’d found the boy and his sister in some derelict houses after the children had run away rather than be sent to an orphanage. Sarah’s mother had taken the children in for a few days and then their aunt had come for them – but Charlie wanted to live and work in London after he left school and he’d asked if he could live with Sarah’s mother when he left school. Mrs Cartwright had been only too pleased to agree.

Sarah couldn’t help feeling pleased too. She wasn’t ready to marry yet, but she thought perhaps it might happen later that year. Steve was giving her time, because he knew she’d been let down by her former fiancé and didn’t want to rush her. However, she knew that she’d fallen deeply in love with him and it was only a matter of time before he proposed. Steve was likely to be offered a police house somewhere in the area when he married and they would be near enough to visit her mother often, most days in fact. Yet a police officer could be moved anywhere and Sarah hated the idea of her mother being completely alone. She’d been strong when her husband died and had never tried to tie her daughter down, but Sarah loved her and worried about her. If Charlie lived with her, as he’d asked, it would mean she had someone to fuss over and Sarah knew that was what her mother needed.

Walking in to her work at the Lady Rosalie Infirmary, Sarah was thoughtful. Her mother was a very youthful 44-year-old and there was really no reason why she shouldn’t marry again, for companionship if not for love, but neither of them had spoken about the possibility. Mrs Cartwright had talked of taking in a lodger and about her friends – but never of another husband.

Sarah sighed and put the problem to the far recesses of her mind. Mum wouldn’t want her to worry, but she couldn’t help it now and then.

Steve was waiting for her when she reached the end of Button Street. He smiled as she went to him, hands outstretched, kissing her lips softly, his fingertips lingered on her cheek. Sarah smiled into his eyes.

‘Miss me?’ she asked and saw the laughter spark, because they spent most evenings together when they could and at the moment, they both worked days.

‘You know I did,’ he said and his eyes told her that he loved her. ‘I looked in the paper earlier and there’s a Laurel and Hardy film showing and an Alfred Hitchcock – which do you fancy?’

‘Oh, I think the thriller,’ Sarah said and looked up at him. ‘Unless you get enough of that in your work?’

‘I don’t mind a good thriller,’ Steve said. ‘Most of them aren’t like life anyway – they make it seem romantic instead of sordid and the murder I was called to last night was as sordid as they come.’

‘Oh, what happened?’

‘I may as well tell you, because one of your nurses was involved – Sister Norton. She was the one who found the poor woman. She’d been murdered by her husband and left on the floor all night and day. Her young son was too frightened to come to us – most of them are – and his neighbour was out all day. No one else in the street will have anything to do with the family. Apparently the boy, Jamie, trusts Sister Norton so he waited all that time for her to come home, out on the street in the bitter cold, because he dared not stay in the house.’

‘How terrible,’ Sarah said, shocked. ‘Poor Sister Norton to find that – and that child … How old is he?’

‘Thirteen, Sister Norton said, but he looks younger; he’s small for his age. You’d think he would come to us or ask the doctor to visit but his father went to prison nearly two years back and his elder brother was questioned at the time. The doctor is already owed money and might not have gone if he’d asked. Jamie must have been scared to death; probably afraid he’d be blamed.’

‘He couldn’t have done it?’

‘No, his story checked out. The neighbour heard shouting at eleven that night but she was in bed so when it went quiet, she just drifted back to sleep. She was out at five in the morning to do her work and then at her daughter-in-law’s all day – the daughter-in-law has three small children and can’t cope alone so Mrs Gilbert helps her until they’re safely in bed. When she got back home, Sister Norton was there.’

Sarah nodded. The story he’d just told her was not uncommon. Violence was prevalent in some of the poorer areas of the East End. Men beat their wives when they returned home drunk and many of them came for treatment at the Infirmary, but this woman wasn’t the first to be murdered by a drunken lout, whether her husband or lover.

‘So where is the boy now?’ Sarah asked.

‘Staying with the neighbour for the moment. Sister Norton offered to take him in for a while but Mrs Gilbert said he’d be all right with her until his brother came back for him.’

‘Yes, I suppose that would be best. Sister Norton doesn’t have time to look after a young boy – I’m surprised she offered.’

‘I was too,’ Steve admitted. ‘She seemed different – more approachable – last night. Maybe she isn’t the ogress she seems, love.’

Sarah laughed. ‘No, she isn’t that bad, just stern, always correcting the nurses under her and making us do things again. She has high standards.’

‘Yes, I think that must be it,’ he agreed. ‘I know she’s grumbled at you because of me a few times – but I suppose she wants her ward run just so.’

‘Yes,’ she agreed thoughtfully. ‘I like that she offered to take the child in, though. It makes her seem more human, don’t you think?’

‘Oh, she’s human,’ he said and grinned as they stopped outside the infirmary. ‘It’s funny how little we know about folk we work with, isn’t it? I didn’t know my sergeant’s little boy is a cripple until yesterday. He was born like it, poor little devil. They’ve just had a daughter and she’s fine – I think it was the emotion and relief that made him talk about it.’

‘Oh yes, I knew about Sergeant Bartlett’s son,’ Sarah said. ‘We had him in the clinic a few months back and he was quite poorly for a while. Your sergeant came in to thank us for looking after him and sending him home well – very emotional he was – and he bought us a box of Fry’s chocolates.’

‘Well, I never,’ Steve said and sighed as the church clock struck the hour. ‘I’d better go and so had you, love. See you this evening!’

‘Don’t forget Charlie will be there tonight.’

‘I shan’t.’ Steve smiled and walked off.

Sarah entered the infirmary and saw Kathy Saunders talking to her friend Bert Rush. They worked together on the cleaning staff and were supposed to be attending to the floors and stairs. Everyone knew that Bert was sweet on Kathy but until recently Kathy’s mother had refused to let her go courting. The girl was still only seventeen and Bert was nearly twice her age, but Kathy’s mother thought the world of him because he’d saved the girl from a brutal assault and she allowed her to go out with him. Sarah wasn’t sure how the age difference would work out if their relationship became serious, but she knew Kathy was happier now.

Going quickly up to the children’s ward, which was where she normally worked, she saw that Sister Norton was already there and making her first round of the day. The night nurse was just leaving and she shot Sarah a look that told her to be careful.

‘And where have you been, nurse?’ Sister Norton asked as she went to join her on her round. Her eyes went to the clock but she saw that it was just one minute past the hour and contented herself with a frown.

‘Sorry, Sister,’ Sarah said. ‘Is there anything you particularly want me to do?’

‘Yes, I need this child given a bed bath please – and then you start the breakfasts, please.’

Sarah nodded. She bent over the little boy in question and caught the sour smell of his diarrhoea and her throat gagged, because it was unusually strong. He’d been having bouts of it ever since he’d been admitted and, so far, the medicines they’d given him hadn’t stopped it.

Sarah smiled at him reassuringly and went off to fetch a bowl of warm water and cloths to wash him. When she pulled back the covers, she understood the smell. He had rolled in it all night by the looks of things and it was all over the sheets and his nightclothes.

Setting to work with a will, Sarah stripped away his dirty pyjamas and the soiled sheets and then washed him clean and dried him on soft towels. He was a little sore on his bottom so she applied a soothing cream, dressed him in clean pyjamas and sat him in a chair while she got the bed tidy. He looked at her shyly as she told him he could get back in bed when he liked.

‘I’m sorry, Nurse Sarah. I didn’t mean to do it …’

‘I know that, Ned,’ she told him gently. ‘You’ve got a nasty bug in your tummy and it’s not your fault. When the doctor gets it sorted, you’ll be all right to go home again.’

Tears welled in his eyes. ‘Ma says I’m dirty and she thinks I do it on purpose, ’cos it ’appens so much. I don’t think she wants me ’ome.’

‘Of course, she does,’ Sarah said and smiled down at him. Now that he was clean and fresh, he looked beautiful and she couldn’t imagine any mother not loving him – and yet she knew it happened. Women with too many children, too little money and too much to do might turn from a child that habitually messed its bed night after night. Anger and tiredness made people say things they didn’t mean and Sarah wouldn’t condemn a woman she didn’t know. ‘I’m sure she loves you, Ned.’

‘Nah, she don’t; she thinks I’m a nuisance,’ he said. ‘Mark is her favourite and Jinny. She never wanted me ’cos I ain’t me dad’s, that’s what she says, but I don’t know what she means. Do you know what she means, nurse?’

Sarah shook her head. It was clear to her what the boy’s mother meant but she couldn’t tell him. She felt pity in her heart for the youngster. Unwanted and unloved, he struggled with an illness that recurred frequently and because of it felt he was a nuisance to everyone.

‘You’re not a nuisance to me, Ned,’ Sarah said. ‘Just call me if you feel you need the toilet quick – but don’t worry if you make a mess.’

Ned clearly hadn’t told the night nurse that he was soiled. If she’d bothered to check she would have known but Nora was new to the infirmary and Sarah thought her a little careless in her work. However, she would reserve judgement until she knew more.

After she’d cleared away the dirty linen and water, Sarah returned to the ward. Mabel had brought the breakfast trolley up from the kitchen. She was new too, and had replaced Ruby in the kitchens as a helper. Thankfully, the cook hadn’t left them and the food served up was still hot and edible. Not like home-cooked food, but reasonable, and most of the kids ate it up as soon as they felt well enough. It was probably better than they got at home.