An Orphan’s Sorrow

Sarah took the food round; she liked this job because it helped her to see whether the children were recovering from the sickness that brought them to the ward. Once they started to sit up and look for food you knew they were well on their way to going home.

Ned only wanted a piece of toast and marmalade. Sarah had told him he just had a tummy upset to comfort him but she wasn’t sure what Ned’s problem was, because the doctors hadn’t been able to make up their minds.

‘Wouldn’t you like an egg or a piece of bacon?’ she asked and he shook his head, looking wan. Sarah frowned; she didn’t think he was getting better at all. She made up her mind to talk to Sister Norton about it.

Sister was still checking pulses and temperatures. Sarah finished her job and saw Sister heading for her office at the end of the ward. She hesitated in the doorway and Sister Norton looked up, clearly irritated.

‘What is it, nurse?’

‘It’s about Ned Rutter,’ Sarah said. ‘Do you think he’s any better, Sister? I think he seems worse …’

‘Yes, he is – and I’m glad you noticed,’ Sister Norton said. ‘I’m worried about him. We thought it was just a stomach infection when he came in with constant bowel movements – but now I think it must be something more. I believe the doctor should do more investigations.’

‘Yes. I wondered … do you think he has some sort of trouble with his gut or his bowels? I mean, he can’t eat much and what he does eat goes through him too quickly. If it’s not an infection …’

‘Are you thinking of a growth of some sort?’ Sister Norton looked her in the eyes and Sarah flinched.

‘I do hope not – at his age! It isn’t fair!’

‘Life is seldom fair, nurse,’ Sister Norton said. ‘We’ll keep a close eye on him, you and I, Nurse Sarah. I want you to tell me whatever you notice, even if it seems unimportant.’

‘Yes, Sister, of course.’

‘Good – and well done for telling me.’

Sarah nodded but made no answer. She seldom got a well done from Sister Norton, though Sister Ruth Linton, one of the senior staff was always praising her.

As she worked through the morning, Sarah’s thoughts remained with the young boy. He called her once urgently and she was just in time to save him from another accident. He was close to tears and she saw that he was very upset because he felt he was naughty to cause her so much extra work and no matter how often she told him she didn’t mind, he still looked unhappy. At lunchtime he once again refused most of the food, eating only a small piece of the treacle tart that had been sent up for the children.

Sarah sat on his bed and asked him if he was in pain. He shook his head, looking at her in silent misery – and then, suddenly it came out. Sometimes he had violent bouts of pain but he could go for days with nothing. However, the more he ate the more mess he made and his mother told him he was a filthy little pig and she would put him out in the yard where he belonged if he went on making a mess.

Sarah saw the tears in his eyes and felt enraged. How could any woman speak to her young son that way? It was beyond understanding, because it was so cruel. She wanted to go round and tell the woman what she thought of her but knew that she dared not. Feeling the way she did, she would be sure to lose her temper and might find herself in serious trouble – might even lose her job. However, she could not hold it inside and so she told Sister Norton a little later that afternoon.

‘Thank you,’ Sister said and nodded. ‘He won’t talk to me – but now I see what is troubling the poor child. Yes, I agree, this is mindless cruelty and needs to be stopped. I shall visit the mother and speak to her.’

‘Is that wise?’ Sarah dared to ask. ‘Might it not rebound on him if we tell her what he said?’

‘Do you imagine me a fool?’ Sister’s brows arched. ‘I shall not go blundering in, but merely talk to her about the boy – discover where her true feelings lie. I believe this child has something seriously wrong. It is not an illness I have come across – most of these cases are infections or some kind of gastric problem – however, I think I do recall something …’ She shook her head as Sarah’s eyes questioned. ‘It was in a medical journal I read a few years back. I shall speak to Dr Mitchell about the boy’s condition.’

Dr Mitchell was new to the infirmary. He worked for a large hospital in London but he knew Lady Rosalie personally and gave some of his time to the infirmary free of charge, because she had asked him if he would.

‘Thank you,’ Sarah said. ‘I can’t bear to think of what that little boy must suffer at home.’

‘You must leave it to me,’ Sister Norton said. ‘Continue to report everything to me and we shall see what we can do for Ned before he leaves us.’

Sarah felt better as she went off to finish her work. She’d always thought Sister Norton uncaring because she was sharp and strict, but now she thought she might just have been wrong. Steve said you never knew people you met or worked with until you got under their skin and perhaps something or someone had done just that to Sister Norton and the softer side was showing a little.

CHAPTER 4

Nurse Jenny looked around the market stalls. She wanted a birthday present for one of her colleagues and had seen some pretty scarves a week or so earlier. Spying the stall she needed, Jenny stopped to look at the selection and bought a pretty pink and blue scarf and then a green one. She would give the green one to her sister Lily as a little treat. Lily was also a nurse and she liked green a lot. Jenny sometimes felt she neglected her, because she went out far more than Lily did with her friend Chris – boyfriend really, though they had never been lovers. Chris was too often away and Jenny got a bit fed up with staying home when he wasn’t in London, though he was fun to go out with when he was home and generous.

Having bought the scarves, Jenny became aware that she was being watched intently as she approached a stall selling freshly-baked cakes and fruit pies and flans. Her eyes moved over the milling crowd and then she saw the little girl – a dirty little waif with big blue eyes staring at her. Something tugged at Jenny’s heart and she turned to the stallholder, buying cakes for herself and Lily and then a bag with two iced buns in. The little girl was still staring at her in that intent way.

‘Are you hungry?’ Jenny asked, advancing towards the child. The girl took two steps back, but her eyes were fastened on the brown paper bag in Jenny’s hand. Deciding that to try and advance on her would only scare her, Jenny held the bag out. ‘These are for you – if you would like them?’

For a moment the child stared at her as if wondering whether to trust her and then she suddenly darted forward and snatched the bag, running off immediately as though she feared Jenny would grab her if she didn’t.

‘Come back, I shan’t hurt you!’ Jenny called but the child had disappeared into the crowd.

‘Pinched yer cakes, did she?’ a woman asked, shaking her head. ‘Them street kids are a bloomin’ nuisance.’

‘No, I wanted her to have them. I think she was hungry,’ Jenny said. ‘I ought to have done more to help her …’

‘Yer can’t help them urchins,’ the woman retorted with a sniff of disgust. ‘They’re all thieves and rogues; the coppers should shut the lot of ’em up in institutions if yer ask me!’

Jenny’s throat caught with emotion and she felt the sting of tears; she shook her head and moved away. She felt sad that a child of that age should be living on the streets, relying on the charity of strangers to feed her, yet she couldn’t do much to help the child. Neither she nor Lily had time to care for a little girl and the only other thing was to hand her over to the police who might possibly stick her in an institution. The lucky ones came to the Rosie or were placed with foster parents, but many more went to orphanages, often out of London and away from all they knew – the rest lived on the streets or with parents who cared nothing for them …

‘I felt so upset,’ Jenny told her sister when she got in later. ‘I gave her the sticky buns because she looked so hungry – but she needed love and a good home, Lily.’

‘Yes, I know, love,’ her sister told her sympathetically. ‘But she is only one of many, Jenny. She probably has a home but her parents can’t afford to feed her properly.’

‘Perhaps,’ Jenny sighed. The child had touched her heart and yet she knew that Lily was probably right. If the little girl was living on the streets the police would have picked her up and taken her somewhere. She must have a home to go to – even if it was unsuitable.

‘Did you see this?’ Lily offered Jenny the evening paper that she’d bought from the shop on the corner where they lived. ‘That heiress is still missing. The police are looking for her but they say she probably went off with someone she liked.’

‘Why are they making so much of it in the paper?’ Jenny asked, hardly bothering to glance at the article. She was more interested in the child with the big hungry eyes.

‘Oh, they say she is a little bit fey … or not quite right in the head,’ Lily said. ‘She had someone to look after her but the woman was called to a sick relative and says she only left Miss Gillows alone for two days before the police were alerted.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Jenny frowned. ‘How old is she?’

‘About twenty-two.’ Lily smiled. ‘No, she isn’t your little urchin! I wonder if she’s been murdered? She might have been robbed – apparently, she liked jewellery.’

‘Or she got fed up and went off for a while,’ Jenny said and sighed, looking round the kitchen. ‘Oh, I do miss Gran!’

‘Yes, me too,’ Lily agreed. ‘I thought she would always be here but that flu …’ She blinked hard and wiped her face with the back of her hand.

‘I know.’ Jenny went to put her arms around her. ‘I bought you a little present – it might cheer you up a bit.’

Lily sniffed harder. ‘You’re a good sister, Jenny. I hope you know I love and appreciate you?’

‘Of course, I do,’ Jenny said. ‘Are there any letters for me?’

‘No.’ Lily smiled. ‘I would tell you if Chris had written, Jenny – but I’m sure he’s busy. He’ll write as soon as he can, I know.’

Jenny shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter. What shall we have for tea?’

‘I thought I’d make some tinned salmon sandwiches.’

‘Lovely,’ Jenny agreed. ‘I bought a nice cake for afters so we can indulge ourselves.’

She went to take off her coat and wash her hands while her sister made their tea and as she did so, Lily wondered why Chris hadn’t written for a few weeks. It was foolish of her but she sometimes thought she looked forward to his letters more than her sister – and that was stupid. He was Jenny’s boyfriend and could never be anything more to her. She bit her lip as she buttered bread and spread the salmon, mashed with vinegar and pepper, onto the bread, then cut the sandwiches neatly into triangles.

Jenny had been concerned about the little urchin she’d seen in the market but there were so many of them. Frowning, she wondered for a moment if it was the child, Cassie, the police had been searching for with no success. Her mother had fallen down the stairs at her lodging house, taking the girl with her. While the girl had been knocked unconscious for a time, the mother had fallen badly and broken her neck. When the neighbours found them, the child had been taken to a place of safety and cared for – but it hadn’t been very safe after all, because she had run away when she came to her senses.

Lily couldn’t understand how the people who were supposed to care for her had been so careless. She’d been in a ward with other sick and disturbed children and she’d just walked out – something that just wouldn’t have happened at the Rosie. Such a pity she hadn’t been brought to them but they had lived in a different area of London.

Shaking her head, Lily’s mind returned to Chris’s letters; he would write again soon, she was certain, because he loved Jenny.

Lily sighed, looking up with a smile as her sister entered the kitchen. Jenny was so lucky … but Lily loved her and she didn’t begrudge her her happiness.

‘Shall we go out somewhere this weekend?’ Jenny asked. ‘I’ve got Sunday off and so have you.’

‘Yes, let’s do that,’ Lily agreed. ‘We haven’t had a day out for ages.’

CHAPTER 5

Jean caught Dr Mitchell before he left after visiting the chronically sick ward. He was walking hastily towards the entrance when she touched his arm and turned to her with a frown, as if he felt annoyed that she had delayed him.

‘A moment of your time, doctor?’

He hesitated, then, ‘Is it important?’

‘Yes, I believe a child’s life is at risk …’

‘In that case my time is yours,’ he said. ‘Is there a pub where I could get a beer and a sandwich? I haven’t had lunch and we could talk as I eat – I’m back on duty at my hospital this evening.’

‘Yes, of course. I’m sorry to have delayed you – perhaps another time …?’

‘No, if it was important enough to ask, it deserves a reply,’ Matthew Mitchell replied. ‘Are you hungry? A ham sandwich and a beer would just fill the bill for me.’

‘And me,’ she agreed, feeling she would enjoy eating a meal in company with someone for a change. ‘Yes, I’d be delighted to treat you, doctor – after all, I’m the one taking your time.’

‘I never say no to an attractive woman,’ he quipped and they left the infirmary, crossing the road. Jean led him down a narrow lane to a pub she’d had a drink in with George a few times. He nodded approvingly. ‘This is clean and the food looks freshly made …’

They found a table and Dr Mitchell insisted on ordering at the bar. Jean was content to let him. She never drank or ate at a pub by herself and it was more comfortable that way, but she would insist on repaying him their bill.

Dr Mitchell returned with a tray with their sandwiches of crusty bread and butter, ham and mustard, and two glasses of pale ale. Jean sipped her drink tentatively and found it wasn’t bad. She smiled because she’d never tried it before, normally sticking to lemonade or, very occasionally, a port and lemon.

‘Thank you,’ she said and took a sandwich. He was already on his second and if he hadn’t told her she would have guessed that he’d missed lunch, not unusual, she suspected, for such a busy man.

‘Now,’ he said and took a swallow of beer, ‘tell me please.’

Jean launched into an account of all that Nurse Sarah had told her. ‘I wondered if it might be a nervous complaint?’ she offered apprehensively, because doctors didn’t like nurses giving their own diagnoses. ‘I read something similar once in a medical journal but it was a long time ago and I can’t recall it accurately – but this child doesn’t have an infection causing his diarrhoea I’m certain of it.’

‘Ah …’ Dr Mitchell nodded and devoured another sandwich, looking thoughtful as he chewed. ‘Yes, I see. Well, you did right to ask me, Sister Norton, because I do know of the condition, though it is not generally diagnosed. It is difficult to be sure and a lot of people questioned the original thesis by Doctors Crohn, Ginzburg and Oppenheimer in 1932 – it’s usually known as Crohn’s Disease, by the way.’

‘I don’t know if that’s the paper I read,’ Sister Norton acknowledged. It had been published after her training and she knew that she might not have read all the articles in the medical journal she still took each month. It was difficult to keep up with new discoveries, especially when you were a hard-working nurse and lived alone.

‘You’re not the only one,’ Matthew Mitchell smiled at her and Jean found she was smiling back. ‘Some doctors are not completely convinced by their findings but I think they were probably right to publish. I’ll look in on the boy tomorrow. Unfortunately, if it is Crohn’s as I suspect, there is no known cure and we’re not sure how to treat it – but it is a physical condition and in certain cases might be critical.’

‘That’s what I feared,’ Jean replied and watched him wolf down the last sandwich. He certainly was hungry! She offered him the one left on her plate but he shook his head.

‘No, I’m full now – and I must go. Thank you for bringing this interesting case to my attention, Sister Norton. I shall see you tomorrow.’

She took some money from her purse and offered it to him. ‘For the meal …’

‘Not necessary,’ he said and gave her another blinding smile. ‘It was a pleasure, Sister Norton. We must do it again sometime when I’m not in a hurry.’

She watched as he disappeared out of the door, pausing to salute her before he disappeared. For a moment Jean stared after him, feeling a little as if a whirlwind had caught her up.

Jean decided to visit Marth on her way home. Jamie was at the kitchen table demolishing a thick slice of bread and dripping and by his expression it would seem that he enjoyed the fatty treat. He looked better and brighter than when she’d last seen him and she felt relieved that she’d done the right thing. Her immediate reaction had been to take him in until a proper home could be arranged, which meant either his brother’s return or an orphanage, but Jamie looked at home with Marth and actually managed a grin.

‘I just came to see you were all right,’ she told him, surprised to feel a tug on her heartstrings as she looked at his face, which was still slightly grubby, though cleaner than the previous day. ‘Not giving Marth too much trouble, I hope?’

‘Nah, ’course not,’ Jamie said and looked at her. ‘I’m a good boy, ain’t I, Marth?’

‘Well, I wouldn’t say you’re good but you ain’t bad,’ Marth said and her plump body shook with mirth. ‘Yer ain’t no trouble to me, lad. Yer can go and play wiv your mates for an hour or so if yer want.’

‘Thanks, Marth!’ Jamie scrambled down from the table and grabbed his worn jacket before shooting out the back door before she could change her mind.

‘You should let him help with the work,’ Jean suggested. ‘Might do him good, you never know.’

‘Aye, well, ’e fetched in the coal this mornin’,’ Marth said, ‘and ’e ran to the corner shop for a loaf for me.’ She hesitated, then: ‘Will yer take a bite to eat or a cup of tea, Sister Norton?’

Jean was about to refuse when she realised she had nothing much to do at home that evening. ‘I wouldn’t mind a cup of tea,’ she said and sat down at the table. ‘I had a sandwich and a glass of beer with a friend – well, I drank half of the beer. I’ve never tried it before but I could do with a nice cup of tea.’

‘Sit you there and I’ll brew a fresh pot,’ Marth said, smiling and nodding. ‘I made a seed cake when I got home. It’s still warm, if you could fancy a slice – I’m havin’ one meself.’

‘Then I shall too,’ Jean said. ‘Do you know if Lizzie heard from Archie at all? Did he find a job down south?’

‘Not that she ever told me, but she didn’t talk most days – it was that wretch she wed. Told her to keep her mouth shut or he’d fill it for her with his fist.’

Jean nodded, letting the older woman talk, her gossip spreading to others in the street. It was as well to know what was going on, because when the women turned up with black eyes and broken arms at the Infirmary it helped to know if it was truly an accident or the result of a brutal beating.

The tea was drunk, the cake eaten and only then, reluctantly, Jean took her leave. She didn’t know why, but she was feeling down in the dumps. It had suddenly come home to her that she had no life outside her work, except for her occasional outings with George. Work had always been enough for her before but suddenly she felt that her life was empty – not meaningless, because her job was important, but sad. Yes, she decided, she felt sad, and she’d made up her mind long ago that she wouldn’t let herself look back or regret. Then she’d met George and their friendship had filled a space in her life. For a while that had been enough but now …? A sigh escaped her. She wasn’t sure what was wrong with her tonight, but it wouldn’t do. She must pull herself together, go home and have an early night to make sure she was ready for work the next day.

Jamie ventured to the end of the lane, looking for another boy to play football or rounders with, but there was no one about on his street. Their mothers probably had them doing jobs before they went to bed, just like Ma used to with him. The thought of his mother lying on the ground, staring up at him with dead eyes and blood all round her head, made tears start to his eyes and he cuffed them away angrily. He’d shut the horror of it out of his mind but sometimes it crept back … He wasn’t going to cry though. Boys didn’t cry! His father had taught him that long ago.

‘Yah, cry baby, cry!’ Voices chanted at him from the shadows making him jump. He hadn’t seen them standing there and for a moment he was scared but then he saw them emerge from the shadows, two boys from his school, both of them older and bigger than Jamie. He knew that they seldom attended school and came from Bull Lane, which was some streets away and an even worse area than this one. Jamie also knew that they had a reputation as bullies, but they were on his street and he was too proud to run.

‘I’m not crying,’ he muttered and scowled at them. ‘I ain’t afraid of you Red Brothers, neither.’ They ran with a gang of street children who called themselves Brothers of the Red. It was a name that held no meaning for Jamie but he was aware that many children were terrified of the Brothers, associating the word red with blood, as they were meant to.

‘If yer ain’t afraid, prove it,’ the taller of the two challenged, taking a menacing step nearer Jamie. His name was Leo Ruffard and both boys were in the class above him, or should have been if they ever bothered to turn up; the second lad’s name was Mick Rimmer, but they called themselves brothers.

‘All right, put ’em up then!’ Jamie said defiantly and lifted his fists before him, ready to punch. He’d had enough fights at school over his father after Pa was sent to prison to learn that most boys backed down if he showed them a boxing stance. He might be small for his age but he wasn’t a coward and he was ready to have a go. Not that he knew how to box properly, but Arch could and he’d shown him a few sharp moves.

‘If your assailant is bigger than you, hit below the belt,’ Arch had told him. ‘It ain’t proper rules and it ain’t fair, but if he’s a bully he deserves it.’

Jamie waited for the Red Brothers to come at him, thinking they would take him together, but the elder one – Leo, he thought – suddenly brought out a knife with a long blade. Jamie’s blood froze. He knew he couldn’t get near enough to land a low blow with someone who carried a knife. His eyes moved from side to side as he thought of his chances of escape, which were probably nil. Realising they would chase him down before he could get home, Jamie retained his stance.

‘Only bloody cowards use a knife,’ he said lifting his head with reckless defiance. ‘If you weren’t scared, you’d face me like a man!’

Leo stopped and the younger boy took his cue from him, hesitating and looking to his senior for guidance. Jamie was scared but determined not to back down. No point in running when they’d get him anyway. He was still waiting for them to pounce when Leo suddenly laughed and a second later his shadow laughed too. The knife went back into Leo’s pocket. Jamie waited uncertainly.

‘What yer doin’ out then?’ Leo asked. ‘We’re goin’ ter ’ave a bit of fun – want ter come?’

‘Yeah, why not?’ Jamie breathed a sigh of relief, hardly believing that he was being asked to go along with them and not lying beaten and bloody on the ground. ‘Where yer goin’?’

‘If yer want ter run wiv us, yer shut yer mouth,’ Leo said. ‘If yer ain’t a coward yer might be allowed to join the Button Street Brothers.’

Jamie took a deep breath. Arch had warned him never to get involved with the gangs of street children but his brother wasn’t around to protect him anymore and he knew if he walked away now they would gang up on him another day and that day he would be beaten or stabbed.