Hunter’s Moon

She looked around. The walls were bare, without paintings or colour. Netherlands was a lot better than some of the other homes, Dolly knew, but it was hardly a place to choose to grow up in. No fires here, no little touches of home. No soft beds … Dolly thought of Evan again, and then of Andy.

Smiling, she touched her lips with the tips of her fingers. Oh, she would sort it out. Andy was a handsome man, not too bright, but good in bed. She smiled slyly. As for Evan Thomas, well, he would have to be taught a lesson, wouldn’t he? A little demonstration to show him that he wasn’t dealing with a common tart.

Calmer now, Dolly walked on. Ahead of her she could see the heavy door of the principal’s room, ‘Miss Clare Lees’ inscribed in gold lettering. Dolly stopped, glanced round, and then touched the letters, imagining it reading ‘Miss Dora Blake’. Or ‘Mrs Andrew Fellows’. Or ‘Mrs Evan Thomas’ … Sighing, Dolly let her fingers fall away from the wood.

Then she turned away and retraced her steps – never realising that she was watched by a silent Alice Rimmer at the turn of the stairs.

Chapter Eight

‘Hilly?’ Alice whispered.

The girl turned over in her bed and then sat up, surprised.

‘Alice, what are you doing here?’

‘I came back,’ Alice said, pulling the edge of the blanket around her shoulders.

‘Where have you been?’

‘Just walking round the streets.’

‘But if they catch you –’

‘They won’t,’ Alice said certainly. ‘It’s four in the morning. No one’s about. How are you feeling?’

‘Not too bad,’ Hilly replied, leaning back against the pillow, her voice low so as not to waken the girl in the next bed. ‘I felt stronger today.’

‘You look better,’ Alice lied, touching her friend’s forehead. ‘Matron said you might go out for a walk tomorrow.’

‘Alice, you shouldn’t be here,’ Hilly replied, her fine, ash-blonde hair lank against her pale face. ‘You’ll get into trouble.’

‘No, I won’t,’ Alice reassured her. Smiling she held up a key. ‘See this? It’s the sanatorium key.’

‘Where did you get that?’ Hilly asked, horror-struck. She knew Alice only too well, knew how the placid exterior hid a wilful streak. They had been friends for years, both of them now fourteen. Only Alice looked fourteen – and Hilly looked like a sick child.

Without Alice, Hilly would have given up a long time ago. The home was dispiriting, gloomy. She had no family and nothing to look forward to – until the day that Alice had arrived at her bedside with her dinner. From then on, things had changed. Soon Hilly was eager to see her and hear the gossip. Alice Rimmer might seem quiet to everyone else, but she was a wicked talker and missed nothing.

It was through Alice that the sickly girl lived vicariously. And it was through Alice that Hilly heard about Evan Thomas and Dolly Blake and Clare Lees. Without her, Hilly would have known little of the tiny world of the home, but Alice told her everything – a spy, reporting back all her trivial espionage.

At first Hilly had spent a third of her time in the home, but as she grew weaker she became more tied to the sanatorium. Ethel had always been kind, but it was Alice who provided the entertainment. Before long, Hilly came to know Alice as no one else did.

It was in Hilly that Alice had confided about Gilbert Cummings’s broken horse and what Clare Lees had said about no one wanting her. It was also Hilly who’d heard about Alice’s ambitions – and fantasies. It seemed a small price to pay, Hilly had thought, as she’d listened to Alice talking about her phantom mother. She knew that it was a fantasy, but what did that matter? Alice was the only person who had chosen to spend time with her. Everyone else kept away, forgot her.

And as the years passed, and Hilly took up permanent residence in the sanatorium, Alice remained constant. She fussed her and petted her as though she was her child, Hilly thought, moved by the frequent kindnesses. Yet there was also a hidden recklessness about Alice which terrified her. Alice might pretend to others that she was quiet and subdued, but Hilly wasn’t fooled. Alice had sneaked out of the home several times, just to walk around the town. Or so she said.

But one night she had told Hilly the real reason.

‘I think I’ll see her.’

‘Who?’ Hilly had asked, bemused.

‘My mother,’ Alice had answered, surprised that she hadn’t already guessed. ‘One day I’ll bump into her, you’ll see.’

Hilly had felt pity well up in her. Neither of them had parents, or even just mothers. That was reality. She could accept it so why couldn’t Alice?

‘Your mother might be dead, you know.’

Alice had looked at her and shook her head firmly. ‘No, she’s alive.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because I do!’ Alice had snapped angrily. ‘I know she’s alive, Hilly. I feel it.’

‘Did anyone ever tell you that?’

‘No.’

Hilly’s voice had been quiet. ‘So you don’t know for sure?’

‘I know,’ Alice had repeated. ‘I think Miss Lees knows something too.’

‘Why d’you think that?’

‘A hunch.’

‘What kind of hunch?’

‘I don’t know, Hilly! It’s just something I’ve always believed. And I’ll prove it in the end.’

Sighing, Hilly had tapped the back of Alice’s hand. ‘Don’t go out again, please. If they find out –’

‘No one will find out,’ Alice had replied patiently. ‘I know what I’m doing.’

And she seemed to, because she was never caught. Alice’s nocturnal wanderings didn’t uncover her mother, but they bred in her some wildness of spirit. Another child would have been terrified, but Alice was past that. She was quick, kept to the shadows, watching people, events, soaking up the outside world the only way she could. Then, as she grew older, Alice stopped fantasising and began to talk about other ways of finding out about her past.

Now Alice dropped her voice to a whisper as she leaned towards Hilly. ‘They have personal files in the office.’

‘What!’ Hilly said, startled.

Alice motioned her to be quiet. ‘I said, they have files on all of us here. On each child. They’re in the principal’s office. And I want to see mine.’

Hilly sat up in bed, alarmed. ‘Don’t do it, Alice! Please, if you’re caught, they’ll send you away.’ Hilly looked close to tears. ‘I couldn’t go on if you weren’t here.’

Alice shook her head, her voice barely more than a whisper. ‘No one will find out. I’ve got hold of the key.’

‘Oh God!’

‘All I have to do is to look in the files. Then I’ll lock them up again and that’s it. Trust me, Hilly, no one will find out.’

‘No!’

‘Yes!’ Alice said emphatically. ‘I have to know who I am, and where I come from. And I will.’ She slid a key out of her pocket and showed it to Hilly. ‘This is it. This is what will get me in. Then when I look at the files, I’ll know.’

Rising wearily to her feet, Ethel yawned and stretched her arms over her head. God, she was tired. The work didn’t get any easier. And as for working nights, that was a lark and no mistake. Still, with Gilbert unemployed she had to take what opportunities there were. She walked to the mirror and rearranged her white cap. It had seen better days, but then so had she.

They were all getting on – Clare Lees ageing rapidly, and as for that toe rag Evan Thomas … Ethel snorted under her breath. He was still sniffing around Miss Lees, still sucking up to her, although by now he must be wondering when she was going to retire. Dolly Blake was hanging on too. Ethel laughed to herself. Some time back, Dolly had got exasperated with Evan and issued an ultimatum: marry me, or it’s over and I’ll marry Andy. Good luck, he had replied, I hope you’ll both be very happy. It wasn’t what Dolly had expected and so she was forced to do some nifty back-pedalling. She hadn’t really meant it, she explained, she just wanted him to tell her where she stood.

Up to her knees in horse muck, Ethel thought when she heard about it. But whatever she said, it did no good. Dolly might have started off thinking that she would use Evan to further her ambitions, but now she was in love with him. The more he refused to make a commitment, the more she clung on, the eternal fiancé, Andy, always in the background – with his other girlfriends to keep him company. What the hell Dolly was playing at Ethel couldn’t imagine, but Dolly Blake was not going to let go of Evan Thomas. Ever. God makes them and the Devil pairs them, and that’s a fact, Ethel thought.

If her guess was right, though, the ambitions of both Dolly and Evan were no nearer to being fulfilled. Still active, Clare Lees wasn’t going anywhere just yet …

Ethel yawned again and walked over to the door, looking down the corridor.

All was quiet, but then what did she expect? Old Baldwin was flaked out in his bunk in the basement and who else would be walking about at this time? It seemed daft to have her on night duty; the boys were all in bed in the other wing and she had looked in on the girls only half an hour ago. Only Alice had been awake.

But then Alice was always watchful. Ethel sighed. The little girl who had come to the home had certainly grown up. She was fourteen now and comely, very comely. Before long she would have to find work – all the girls did. But what kind of work would Alice find? Not factory work, or service. No, Ethel thought, there were plans for Alice.

Not that the girl knew about them. But Clare Lees had confided in Ethel not so long since; said she had hoped that Alice would teach at the home. She was bright, she said, very quick. It would be a waste to send her out to do menial work. Miss Lees had gone on to say that she wanted to train her, even hinted that she might like to see Alice Rimmer take over as principal in due course. That would be a turn-up, Ethel thought. Alice, of all people. Didn’t Miss Lees know how much the girl hated Netherlands? Didn’t she realise how much Alice hated her?

Apparently not, Ethel thought, opening a window and breathing in the cool summer air. It had been an unseasonably stuffy day and now the temperature was chill. Her eyes regarded the bare courtyard. Someone should have planted trees and bushes there long enough since. It would have made the place more cosy, more welcoming.

A sudden noise made her pause. Ethel turned and looked upwards at the ceiling above her. It sounded like soft footsteps overhead. Was Clare Lees up and working at this hour? It wasn’t likely; she kept to regular hours. So who was it?

Picking up a full bottle of linctus as a make-do weapon, Ethel moved into the corridor. The dull gaslight threw long shadows, the far end in darkness. Slowly she moved towards the stairs and walked up them, one by one. It couldn’t be a burglar – there was nothing to steal.

At the door of the principal’s office Ethel paused and looked in. At first she could only made out the shape of a person and then, as her eyes adjusted to the lack of light, she recognised her.

‘Alice!’

The girl spun round, startled.

‘Alice, what are you doing?’

She faltered. ‘I … I … heard a noise.’

‘At this time of night? You should be in bed,’ Ethel replied, walking in and staring at the girl. Her concern turned to suspicion suddenly. ‘What are you doing in here?’

‘Nothing.’

Ethel’s glance moved to the open drawer. ‘Alice! How could you?’ she snapped, genuinely shocked. ‘What are you looking for?’

‘My file,’ Alice said defiantly. ‘I want to see it.’

‘You want to see the back of my hand, my girl,’ Ethel replied, grabbing hold of Alice’s arm and leading her to the door.

She struggled. ‘I want –’

‘If Miss Lees finds you here you’ll have cooked your goose once and for all, and no mistake,’ Ethel said hotly, then dropped her voice. ‘Good God, Alice, do you want to ruin your chances? She thinks well of you – you could jeopardise everything by doing this. She would never trust you again.’

‘I don’t care!’ Alice said hotly. ‘I want to see my file.’

Annoyed, Ethel pulled the girl to the door, closed it and held out her hand.

‘Give me the key.’

‘I don’t have it.’

‘Don’t lie to me!’ she replied. ‘Give me the key.’

Defeated, Alice handed it to her and Ethel locked the door. Then she put the key into her own pocket and marched Alice downstairs in silence. When they got back to her room, Ethel let go of the girl’s arm and looked at her.

‘You have no idea how disappointed I am in you. I thought you’d stopped doing stupid things, Alice. I thought you’d settled down.’

Alice hung her head. She was crushed by the obvious contempt in Ethel’s voice.

‘Why did you do it?’

‘I wanted to see my file. No one would have shown it to me – so I thought I would find it for myself.’

Wearily Ethel sat down and then gestured for Alice to take the seat next to her.

‘Alice, no one knows anything about your family or your past.’

‘There must be something written down,’ Alice replied. ‘There must be some record.’ She looked hard into Ethel’s plump face. ‘I have to know. It’s driving me crazy.’

‘You’re driving yourself crazy,’ Ethel retorted.

‘I bet if it was you, you’d want to know.’

Ethel looked at the girl curiously. She was right: if their situations had been reversed, she would have wanted to know. Besides, she had always been curious about Alice Rimmer herself. Maybe there was something written down, something to tell them where she had come from.

‘I have to know …’ Alice said pleadingly. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you. You’ve always been kind to me, but …’ She paused and her face became defiant again, ‘… I have to know. Can’t you see that? Ethel, you can understand that, can’t you?’

Ethel glanced away. She had always been too lenient with Alice, had always been too fond of her. In fact she had grown closer to her over the years, Alice coming to visit – although always uneasy after the incident with the toy horse. Birthdays had been remembered, at Christmas there had been presents sneaked in, and Ethel’s pride on seeing Alice grow up had been almost as great as seeing her own sons mature.

But now Ethel was angry with her. The stubborn wilful streak hadn’t gone, after all. It was just hidden, concealed.

‘How did you get hold of the key?’

There was a moment’s pause before Alice answered.

‘Miss Lees sometimes uses her side door. She locks the main door – but she leaves the key in. I slid a piece of paper under the door, then pushed out the key from the outside. It fell onto the paper and I then pulled the paper under the door with the key on it.’

‘Very clever,’ Ethel said coldly. ‘Where did you find out about that?’

Alice’s voice was low. ‘I read it in a book.’

Sighing, Ethel looked down. ‘Go back to bed.’

‘But –’

‘Go back to bed, Alice!’ she repeated, and watched as the girl left the room.

For a long time Ethel sat in her chair and listened to the clock ticking, and the water pipes clanking as someone flushed a cistern upstairs. She thought about Alice and worried. The girl was too reckless. It was madness to think of breaking in to look at her records!

Then suddenly Ethel remembered that the bottle of cough linctus that she’d taken to use as a cosh was still up in the principal’s office. Startled, she sat bold upright. If Clare Lees found it she would know that Ethel had been there. She wouldn’t know about Alice, because Ethel would never tell her, but she would have to explain what she had been doing in the principal’s office in the middle of the night.

Ethel felt faint with anxiety. She would be sacked, the money finished, and no references. Her reputation would be ruined … There was only one thing for it, she had to get the bottle back. Hurriedly she got to her feet, went back up the dim stairs and moved towards the principal’s office. Once there, she felt into her pocket and took out the key, unlocked the door and let herself in.

Moonlight shafted over the desk and along the floor. Ethel strained her eyes to see the bottle in the semidark. Finally she spotted it and grabbed it, moving quickly back to the door … Then she turned back. She paused, tempted. She looked at the desk. Her mouth dried, the moonlight falling over the wooden surface.

Get out, she told herself, get out now, before it’s too late. But she couldn’t. Suddenly she had to know what was in Alice’s file. Putting down the bottle again, Ethel ran her tongue over her dry lips and opened the drawer. Hurriedly she sifted through the A – Z listing, stopping on R. With shaking hands she lifted out the file on ALICE RIMMER.

She would be fired if she was caught. Out on her ear … Just put the file back, Ethel, she urged herself. Just put it back … But she couldn’t, and slowly opened the file. The moon shifted a little, throwing its helpful light over the paper as Ethel read the lines written on the first page. She reread them, and reeled, momentarily giddy. Then she slammed the file shut and turned.

On unsteady legs she walked to the door, clutching the bottle of linctus. Clumsily she relocked the door and then pushed the key underneath it as though it had fallen out of the lock. Holding tightly on to the banister rail she then moved down the stairs and back into her room. Once there Ethel Cummings fell into her chair and stared ahead of her.

Finally, she knew where Alice Rimmer came from. Knew who her parents were … A darkness settled over the room and over her heart. What she had read she wished she had never seen.

What she had read she would never forget.

Chapter Nine

Late the following afternoon Ethel came back to Netherlands for her next shift. She had not slept during the day and every enquiry of Gilbert’s was met with preoccupied distance. Each time she closed her eyes, Ethel saw the damning lines written in Alice’s file. Each time she opened her eyes, she saw the same words printed in headlines and snapping from newspaper stands.

Unusually quiet, she went back to work and then, finally, she sent for Alice. It took a while for the girl to arrive and during that time Ethel washed and rewashed several bandages which had never been used, just to keep herself busy.

Finally there was a soft rap at the door.

‘Come in, Alice.’

She walked in nervously and stood before Ethel, certain that she was about to be told that her nocturnal adventure had been reported to Clare Lees. A long moment passed, and then another. Alice finally looked at Ethel, concerned.

‘Are you all right?’

‘There’s nothing wrong with me,’ Ethel replied more sharply than she meant. ‘I wanted to have a word with you.’

How would she say it? How could she phrase the next lines? She paused, studied Alice and felt all the old affection well up in her. Dear God, what good would be served by telling her? What purpose? She had been shattered by the news; what would it do to a wilful, excitable girl?

It would ruin her, Ethel realised. And in that moment she made her decision.

‘Alice, I thought about what you said last night.’ Ethel paused, considering her next words. ‘I realised that it was only natural that you wanted to know about your past and your parents. Well, I went back to the office last night –’

Alice’s eyes had widened. ‘What?’

‘Ssssh!’ Ethel cautioned her. ‘This is between us. No one else must ever know. Listen to me, Alice, I have something to tell you.’

The girl stared at her, hardly breathing.

‘I went back and I looked for your file,’ Ethel paused again. ‘I looked once and then again. There was no file. I’m sorry, but there was nothing to see.’

She could feel the hope leave Alice’s body, see her eyes dulling, her lips pale. There was nothing to see. Nothing.

Gently, Ethel put her arms around her. ‘There, there, luv, I had to tell you. I couldn’t leave you wondering, could I? Couldn’t leave you imagining all sorts.’ She held on to the fourteen-year-old, and lied. ‘I’m afraid no one can tell you anything, luv. Because there’s nothing to know.’

Chapter Ten

1927

The world had changed radically in the aftermath of the Great War. Outside the grim Netherlands Orphanage there were posters of women with their hair shingled, their hemlines raised. Some even wore make-up, and at the cinemas in Salford Mae West and Greta Garbo heralded in a new age of glamour. As did Charlie Chaplin, the little man taking on the big boys. Everything was changing, speeding up. In March the land speed record of over 200 miles per hour had been set and in May Lindbergh flew the Atlantic solo.

But at Netherlands Orphanage little had changed. The old regime was still intact, Clare Lees still the principal. She was badly stooped now, her dowager’s hump making her irritable, her voice shrill with the onset of old age and lost hopes. Evan Thomas had hung on too. He had thought his ship would have come in by now, but it appeared to have hit some unexpected rocks. Having been made deputy head several years earlier he was surprised to find himself still the deputy head, but he reckoned that he had come so far, it would be folly to give up now. After all, he was only thirty-six, and life still held promise.

Dolly Blake had also remained at Netherlands, but she had aged less phlegmatically, and now had a bitter expression about the mouth. Her ambitions had faltered and when time passed and she had looked close to being left on the shelf, she had decided that Andy was her best option. After all, nothing stopped her from seeing Evan Thomas after she was married.

Except Andy wasn’t quite the fool she’d taken him for. He had given up his other women, but had never trusted that Dolly would be so honourable. Two years after their wedding he’d come to pick her up from work one night unexpectedly – to find Evan Thomas with his hand down his wife’s blouse. All Dolly’s explaining, begging and cajoling had had no effect. Andy had left her.

The shock had rendered Dolly temporarily insensible, and Evan – sporting a spectacular set of bruises inflicted by an enraged Andy – had backed off fast. He didn’t want to have Dolly hanging round his neck, emotionally or professionally. After all, there had been a scandal and muck stuck.

Being a man, he had escaped the worst of the fallout, but the unfortunate Dolly had a ‘name’ now. It was obvious to everyone that the governors would never approve her promotion. Evan knew it. And Dolly knew it.

Rejected by her lover and deserted by her husband, Dolly had become a public laughing stock. The only place she could escape the gossips was Netherlands Orphanage, and to there she had retreated. The last person in the world to assume Clare Lees’ example, overnight it appeared that Dolly Blake became a prude.

‘You should see her,’ Ethel told Gilbert one Sunday as she folded the washing. ‘All buttoned up and tight-lipped, like some outraged virgin. If she sees one of the boys even looking at the girls she goes mad. Not that they can help it – the lads all hang around the railings when it’s time for church, ogling the lasses. Natural, I call it, but Dolly and Miss Lees think it’s something smutty.’

Gilbert laughed, paused in the carving of one of his wooden animals. It was just a hobby now, each one taking months to complete as he grew older and slower.

‘There’s nothing like poacher turned gamekeeper,’ he said. ‘I always said that the boys and girls should mix; having them separate like that makes them all the keener.’ He stared at the figure he was carving. ‘What about Evan Thomas? Still thinks he’s king of the midden?’

Ethel’s expression hardened. ‘He’s going to stay until Miss Lees retires or pops her clogs. That one’s hard-faced, all right. Too cocky by a half.’ She leaned against a pile of washed sheets. ‘You should see him, strutting about, bossing everyone behind Miss Lees’ back. A right toerag. Thing is, he thinks the job’s all but his – now that Dolly’s out of the running. He has no idea that Miss Lees has other plans.’