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‘Of course, if that’s what you wish. I should tell you that I have definitely had the chicken pox years ago, and the measles. I do know the difference – and I helped nurse my young cousin when he took it a few years back.’
Michelle sighed impatiently. ‘You just don’t understand, do you? We have probably more than sixty children here at any one time. If you carry the infection to another person in this home, we could have half of them down with it in days – and we do not have enough nursing staff to cope with an epidemic. I just hope the kitchen staff hasn’t taken it from Maisie, because it could spread through the place like wildfire …’
‘Yes, I perfectly understand. Please do not worry. I shall not risk carrying it back to others. I’m sorry that I distressed you. You must have more than enough to cope with as it is.’
‘To be honest, I could do with more help, but I dare not risk it.’ Michelle picked up the tray and took it inside, kicking the door to with the heel of her shoe. She felt a bit mean for tearing Angela Morton off a strip like that, but Jake had taken the chicken pox despite his proud boast that he never did get ill, and, as luck would have it, he was worse than either his sister or his elder brother.
Sister Beatrice had done her best to contain the sickness to the three children in the isolation ward, and so far her precautions were working. The trouble was that there just weren’t enough trained nurses to cope if a really nasty infection were to spread to the dormitories. Even Sister took extreme precautions when visiting the children, covering up her uniform in the rest room and donning a clean apron before going about her business afterwards.
Neither Michelle nor Sally had had an evening off since Dick first went down with the sickness, several days earlier. They were taking it in turns to rest, but for a lot of the time it needed both of them to keep the children cool and comfortable. If Sister Beatrice had not taken her turn, Michelle thought she couldn’t have coped.
Holding back another sigh, she poured herself a mug of tea, but before she could take more than a sip, Jake was calling out. She put the cup down and went to sit by his bed, soothing his heated brow and watching him with sympathy. He felt so ill and on top of all that he’d suffered in the short years of his life, the sickness was taking its toll on him. He’d certainly got much worse in the last few hours. Seeing how pale and vulnerable he looked, a shiver of fear went through her because she was already fond of him. He was such a likeable little boy and his serious looks had tugged at her heart.
‘Please get better,’ Michelle murmured fervently, hardly knowing whether she was entreating him or praying to God. ‘Don’t die … please don’t die …’ Michelle was afraid that he was slipping away from them, despite all the love and care he’d been given, his once-vital spirit all but extinguished. Yet what more could she do to save him? Although a bright, intelligent boy, his physical strength had been affected by the years of neglect. Her throat caught with tears and she felt a surge of rebellion and despair.
She left him as Susie started to whimper and gave the child a drink to ease her headache. Susie was actually on the mend; she’d only taken it lightly and apart from a tendency to scratch her face because the scabs itched, she was causing less anxiety than either of her brothers.
The door from the rest room opened and Sally entered. ‘I thought I heard the tea tray. How is Jake now?’
‘Still restless. I’m worried about him, Sally, but there’s nothing more Sister Beatrice can do if she comes – and she was up half the night with him, because she insisted we get some rest. Unless, do you think we should have the doctor?’
‘Why don’t you go and speak to Sister about it? The poor little thing seems to be getting worse all the time and perhaps we should have the doctor out.’
‘Normally, we try to manage ourselves. Sister doesn’t like to waste the doctor’s time,’ Michelle said but she was uneasy, fearful that the child might slip away from them.
‘I know,’ Sally agreed. ‘Shall I sponge him down while you drink your tea?’
‘Yes, please,’ Michelle said. ‘He has so many spots now, far more than either of the other two … if Sister Beatrice hadn’t looked at him herself last night I should wonder if what he has is something worse …’ She hesitated. ‘Perhaps I’ll go and talk to her and suggest the doctor just in case of …’
‘What?’ Sally stared at her in horror. ‘You don’t mean smallpox? No, it can’t be … that’s a killer. My father’s mother died of it years ago.’
‘Well, it has crossed my mind – but I’m sure I’m wrong. It’s just a severe case of the chicken pox, but I’ll ask Sister to take a look and tell her that I’m worried about him. If he needs a doctor we shouldn’t leave it too long. Can you hold the fort while I speak to Sister?’
‘Of course I shall,’ Sally said. ‘You look almost all in, Michelle. After you’ve spoken to Sister, why don’t you take your tea into the rest room and have a little sleep?’
‘If you’re sure you can manage …’ Michelle arched back, feeling the ache in the small of her spine. ‘I’m so tired, but you must call me if Jake takes a turn for the worse … and I’ll ask Sister now if we should call the doctor out …’
Angela looked round the room that had been offered to her. It was clean but basic with none of the comforts she was used to, but it would do for a while and would be useful on those nights when she stayed over at the home to help out, even if she found an apartment she liked. There was no point in staying at a hotel that entailed a long bus ride when she had the use of a bed here. As soon as she got used to St Saviour’s and its occupants, she would look for a nice little flat she could make into a home.
A rueful smile touched her mouth, because so far she hadn’t been made to feel welcome here. Sister Beatrice had greeted her politely but she’d sensed an underlying hostility that she couldn’t explain. Why would the woman want to put a barrier between them from the start? Angela had been sent to help her, and was very willing to do whatever was asked of her, even though Mark had made it clear that her main task was to bring St Saviour’s in line with more modern thinking … but the stern Sister wasn’t the only one to show dislike. Cook had told her that she must ask for what she wanted and not go making tea or sandwiches herself.
‘That’s our job,’ she’d said, scowling as Angela began to lay out the tray. ‘Just ask for what you want, and we’ll give you the proper menu for the nurses and carers. The children have different, of course. Sister Beatrice decides what special diets they need, if any – so don’t go getting food for them without my say-so. You might end up doing more harm than good; besides, I don’t want my precious rations being wasted. We can’t afford to waste a scrap.’
‘Of course not, Mrs Jones. I wouldn’t even know where to start …’
She’d let her gaze wander around the large kitchen with its array of copper-bottomed pans hanging above a huge range, the painted wooden dresser and shelves crowded with an assortment of crockery. A large scrubbed pine table occupied the middle of the long room and was littered with dishes and wire trays, which held freshly cooked pies and jam tarts. The food, she’d discovered, was kept in a huge cold pantry and there was a refrigerator for the perishables. It made a loud chirring noise and sounded as if it were overloaded and might give out at any moment. She guessed that it was some years old. They could really do with a new one, more modern and efficient. Perhaps she could make that one of her first priorities, raise some money towards it – that was if a new one could be found. The shops were still struggling to buy in goods like refrigerators, which had been considered a luxury and expendable when metal was in such short supply during the war.
Yes, already she’d begun to make a mental list of changes, but once she got inside the building next door destined for the new wing, her job would really begin.
‘Well, just remember what I’ve said and we’ll get on all right.’ Cook glared at her. ‘We’re short-staffed at the moment so you’ll have to wait until I’ve done this semolina pudding for the children …’
Angela had waited patiently, wishing that she could just prepare the tray herself, but she didn’t want to tread on anyone’s toes, and would rather not make an enemy of the cook right from the word go.
She’d thought the nurses in the isolation ward would at least be glad to get a plate of both chicken paste and tomato sandwiches, a pot of tea, and the jugs of cold lemon barley for their patients. However, that very pretty nurse had snapped her head off and made her begin to wonder why on earth she’d ever accepted this post. Mark Adderbury had spoken of her being needed and wanted, but it certainly didn’t look that way at the moment.
Perhaps she should have taken the offer to return to her old posting in Portsmouth, and yet there were too many memories there – of happier days when she’d met and married John … but that hurt too much and she was determined to put her grief behind her and throw herself into her new life.
Angela’s mother had been upset that she was leaving home again and had done her best to dissuade her; they had argued so many times over foolish little things that in the end Angela had just packed her cases and left. Her father had been staunch in his support but the arguments had left a little shadow hanging over her.
Putting aside all thought of her mother’s reproachful looks as she left, Angela opened her bag and took out the key to the building next door. Its last purpose had been commercial, some sort of offices she understood, and Mark had warned her that it was in a bit of a state.
‘Take a look straight away and refer to the drawings I’ve sent you,’ he’d said when he telephoned to make sure she’d received his letter. ‘I’d like your opinion, Angela. The architect has opened it up and made a lot of the small rooms into much larger ones. It’s more economical that way, I suppose, to have larger groups of children together, but I’m not sure it’s right. If you have any suggestions then we should like to hear them – before the builders move in, please.’
‘Yes, of course. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this, Mark. You’ve been such a good friend to me since … John died.’
‘You know I was fond of him, and he would expect me to help you.’
Mark’s reply had been non-committal, and she’d sensed something … as if he were holding back whatever he wanted to say. Perhaps he understood how sensitive she still was on the subject of her late husband; it still hurt so much and she’d grown a protective barrier to keep everyone away from the source of her pain.
She sighed as she went out of the main building and into the rather dilapidated one next door. The door stuck and she had to put some force into getting it open. A brief inspection told her that the frame had moved out of true, possibly caused by an explosion a few doors down where builders were presently taking down a fire-damaged bakery. The front of their new wing looked as if it might need a bit of rebuilding, but inside was worse.
Angela’s heart sank as she looked about her at the debris. Whoever had left this place had done so in a hurry. Broken furniture lay about and there were old newspapers scattered on the floor, cabinets hanging off the walls and plaster from the cracked ceilings was scattered everywhere. Its condition was daunting to say the least and would cost a great deal to put right.
No doubt the architects and builders had taken all this into account. Her job was to make certain that the plans drawn up were to the best advantage of the children who would live here. She frowned as she saw the clean, clinical layout of the upstairs floors. Down here, there were recreation rooms, and that was a definite improvement. Angela gave that a big tick, because safe space for the children to play was at a premium; they did have a small garden, she’d already observed, but on cool or wet days they needed more to do and this large room at the back with space for them to play various games was excellent. At the front a modern reception area and an office had been planned, which seemed a good use of the available space. She wasn’t so sure about the layout upstairs. With only one shower room for the girls and one for the boys, it did not provide for any kind of privacy and modesty, and in her opinion that ought to be a consideration; there ought at least to be separate cubicles. It would add to the cost, she imagined, which might not go down well with the Board, but perhaps it might not be necessary to knock down so many walls …
As she went upstairs to investigate, Angela was still wondering whether she would be able to break down the resistance of the staff here. Perhaps Cook had taken the lead from Sister Beatrice, who was clearly hostile. It was obvious she felt challenged by Angela’s appointment, far more so than Mark had imagined. A wry smile touched her mouth as she recalled what he’d said about the Warden.
‘You’ll manage her, Angela,’ Mark had told her. ‘She is a little stubborn and set in her ways – but once she sees that you have the good of the children and the staff in mind she will accept you.’
Angela could only hope that was true. She’d been filled with hope when she arrived, keyed up by his encouragement, but after just a few hours she was beginning to wonder if she had done the right thing. No one seemed to want her here; they thought her one of those middle-class do-gooders. Mark had warned her that might be the case at the start. She’d dismissed his warning, but now she knew that it wouldn’t be easy working with people who resented her.
Well, she’d taken the first step to her new life. Whether she’d chosen well or not, her path was set. She would find a niche for herself here, however long it took … and the main thing was to go over this place with a fine-tooth comb and then write her report so that any changes she decided on, and there were a few already, could be sorted out before the builders moved in.
SEVEN (#ulink_73335c8d-2efa-5b47-a508-dc272b59c8b9)
Rose stood outside St Saviour’s, looking up at the forbidding stone walls and three storeys of tiny windows with what seemed to be attic rooms above. She had always thought it was like a prison from the outside, and, indeed, when the old house underwent major alterations in the late eighteenth century, the fever hospital had been intended as a place to keep some people in and others out. Back in the bad old days, men, women and children had been brought here to die. They had been shut away because they were known to have infectious diseases and the authorities of the time saw them as a danger to others. When diseases like smallpox, typhoid or cholera raged through a city they decimated the population, leaving swathes of dead in their wake. In most cases nothing could be done to save those who had contracted these virulent infections, and so they were often locked away from the population and left to die. The warders who were supposed to treat them gave them food and water and precious little else according to the tales that still circulated in the lanes surrounding the old place. It had been a house of fear and death then, but now it had become a place of hope – at least Rose trusted it would be.
Above the door was a stone heart split in two by an arrow, as if warning of the perils of life and death, and underneath in some ancient script the words: St Saviour’sHospital – Make peace with God and render unto Him all that is due for He is the Light and the Way.
A cold shiver went down Rose’s spine as she thought of her mother’s probable fate. She wouldn’t be treated as harshly as the people who’d been incarcerated here in those far-off days, but she was being sent to an isolation unit near the sea, because she had tuberculosis. Her illness had progressed to the stage where she coughed up great lumps of blood and she found it difficult to get her breath. Dr Marlow had told them that she ought to have come to see him long ago, and to Rose, when she’d spoken to him later alone, he’d confessed his doubts about her mother’s chances of getting over the disease.
‘If she’d come to me earlier there might have been a good chance that they could save her, but now … well, I’ll be honest with you, Rose, it is one chance in ten that she will recover. The best we can do for her is to put her somewhere pleasant and quiet, where she will receive treatment and kindness …’
‘Is it really as bad as that?’ Rose had asked, a sob rising to her throat, because she couldn’t bear to think of Ma being so ill. ‘She kept saying it was nothing, just a little cough, but then I saw the blood on her mouth – and she’s so exhausted all the time.’
‘Your mother was a very strong woman. Had she not been she would have collapsed long before this, Rose. I wish I could offer you more hope but …’ He shook his head. ‘There is treatment for her illness these days, but I think it may be too late for her.’
‘I think she knows it,’ Rose said in a choked voice. ‘She is worried about Mary Ellen, and so am I. I’ve been offered a place on the staff at the London Hospital if my exam results are satisfactory, but I’m required to live in the Nurses’ Home for the first year or so. If I go home and look after my sister, I might never get another chance – and all that training would have been wasted.’
‘You must not do that,’ he protested, concerned. ‘Being a nurse and rising in your profession is your one chance of getting on, of making a good life for yourself and your sister. It is what your mother wants for you. Have you considered my suggestion?’
‘Putting Mary Ellen in St Saviour’s? We spoke of it. I let my mother think it was my suggestion. She wouldn’t like it if she thought I’d been talking to you behind her back. Do you think they will take Mary Ellen? I heard they were bursting at the seams …’
‘Have a word with Father Joseph,’ the doctor advised. ‘He stands on good terms with the Warden. I’m sure Sister Beatrice will squeeze one more in, she always does. Remember, it’s going to take me two to three weeks to find the right place for your mother and the child may as well stay at home until then.’
Apparently, the Catholic priest had had a word in Mary Ellen’s favour, because a week after she spoke to him, Father Joe had visited Rose at work and told her she should go to see the Warden of St Saviour’s after she’d finished her shift on the wards the next day.
‘I’m not promising anything, Rose, but I think Sister Beatrice will find a place for her, though I know they are pressed for space, not to say funds.’
‘Everyone is,’ Rose agreed. ‘There was so much devastation, so many factories, houses and commercial buildings bombed and burned to the ground. The manager at the Home and Colonial, where I used to work, reckons that it will take years before they clear the bombsites, let alone rebuild all the houses. We just don’t have the raw materials we need.’
‘I dare say it will take years,’ Father Joe agreed. ‘And the trouble never seems to end. There was a fire at a bombed-out factory a couple of weeks ago, caused by an unexploded bomb going off and rupturing a gas main. The people in the streets nearby thought the war had started again.’
‘God help us, I hope that won’t happen; we’ve had enough.’
‘Now then, my child. Don’t you be taking the Lord’s name in vain. Remember what I’ve told you, and don’t be late for your appointment with Sister Beatrice.’
That had been the previous day. Now, standing before the daunting building, Rose took a deep breath and stepped up to the door to ring the bell. Nothing happened, so after a couple of minutes she rang again. A young woman who looked as if she had been scrubbing the floor, her hands red from being in hot water and soda, opened it. She looked Rose up and down, sniffing as she asked what she wanted.
‘I’m here to see Sister Beatrice. Can you take me to her?’
‘I daresn’t do that, miss,’ the girl said. ‘I’ve got to finish me work afore I goes home, see – and me ma will go on somethin’ awful if I’m late, ’cos she wants ter get orf ter ’er job at the pub.’
‘Well, can you point me in the right direction please?’ Rose asked, stepping into the rather dim hallway without being invited. The floors were some sort of dark slate tiles and there was a grand staircase with mahogany banisters at the end of the hall, its wooden steps covered in a dull red carpet.
‘I reckon it’s up them there stairs and down the corridor to the right. You’ll see the notice on ’er door. I ain’t never bin in there ’cos I’m the downstairs skivvy, see.’
‘Then you’ve no business to be opening the door.’
‘’Ad ter or you’d ’ave stood there all night, I reckon. Nan’s been orf sick fer a week or more and they’re all run orf their feet …’
Deciding that it was useless to reason with her, Rose started for the stairs. She was annoyed because she’d had to take extra time off to come here and so far had not formed a very good opinion of the place. Had there been an alternative, she would not have gone any further. However, people generally spoke well of St Saviour’s and she could only think something must have gone wrong if a young and ignorant kitchen girl was answering the door.
She walked up the stairs without looking back and turned right. Sister Beatrice’s room was at the end, the door firmly closed but with a little plaque on it inviting visitors to knock. Rose clenched her hands at her sides, because if they wouldn’t accept Mary Ellen it meant that she would have to give up her plans to take up the position she’d been offered. Rose couldn’t work as a nurse and be at home with her sister, and if she had to look after Mary Ellen and work in a shop, she would never manage to pay the bills. Besides, she’d set her heart on becoming a nurse. When she had a little more experience in nursing she would earn more than she did as a shop girl, and she could take care of her sister. In her heart she knew that her mother hadn’t much longer to live and Mary Ellen couldn’t be left to fend for herself. A girl as pretty as she was couldn’t be left to wander the streets on her own after school, because anything might happen. Yet you heard of shocking things happening at some children’s homes … Despite her doubts, Rose really had no choice because, if she sacrificed her dreams, both she and Mary Ellen would soon be trapped in the kind of grinding poverty that was impossible to escape. Her sister would just have to make the best of things until Rose could afford to make other arrangements.
Standing outside the Warden’s door, Rose knocked and after a moment was invited to enter. The room was large and furnished with a big oak desk, its green leather-covered top crowded with bits and pieces. Two armchairs with worn arms and sagging seats were beside the fireplace, though no fire was burning, and a small table stood next to one of them, a book lying on top. Apart from some bookshelves and a small cupboard the room looked sparsely furnished, though someone had brought in some plants in bright pots, to stand along the windowsill.
‘Yes, what do you want?’
The question was barked at her, bringing her startled gaze back to the woman behind the desk. She was dressed in the habit of a religious order, her head covered by a hood and wimple, no trace of hair showing beneath it. On her nose was perched a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles, over which she peered at Rose in a distinctly hostile manner.
‘Are you deaf and dumb?’
‘No, Sister Beatrice.’ Rose was stung into a reply. ‘I’m Rose O’Hanran. I’ve come to ask about a place for my sister Mary Ellen. Father Joe sent me …’
‘Oh.’ Sister Beatrice blinked and sighed audibly, removing her spectacles. She pinched the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger, looking tired. ‘Why didn’t you say so at once? I can’t remember everything. We are very busy at the moment.’
Rose swallowed hard, nails turned into the palms of her hands as she battled with the urge to tell this woman just what she thought of her. She hated being made to feel she was begging, but what was her alternative? Giving up her dreams wasn’t an option and she wouldn’t do it.
‘Please, would you consider taking her? She has nowhere else to go and I have to take up my place as a nurse in the hospital next week. I could bring her here on Monday morning. My mother has to go away. She has advanced TB.’ Rose spoke as calmly as she could manage, holding back the caustic comments that rose all too easily to her mind.
‘I hope neither you nor your sister is infected? I suppose you’ve been checked?’ Rose nodded. ‘We’ve got enough problems as it is …’ Sister Beatrice made a noise of frustration as someone knocked, barking out that whoever it was might enter. ‘Oh, it’s you, Angela. I’ve been waiting for those updated lists all afternoon …’
‘Sorry, Sister,’ the elegant woman in a silver-grey dress said apologetically. ‘I wanted to get it right and it was rather a muddle …’ She broke off as she saw the indignant look in Sister’s eyes. ‘We’ve had a lot of coming and going recently.’
‘I am well aware of that – tell me, what beds are available on the girls’ ward, aged about …’ She glanced down at a paper on her desk. ‘Eight, this says … is that right, Miss O’Hanran?’
‘Mary Ellen will be nine in two weeks’ time.’
‘Near enough then. Well, what is the situation?’
Rose thought how rude she was and felt sorry for the woman who might be her secretary, though she was very well-dressed for such a position; she looked a bit uncertain as she shuffled her papers while the Sister drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair.
‘We have two emergency beds in the sick ward …’
‘No use, we have to keep those in case we need them. What else?’
‘There is a bed free but in the ward with the nine- to twelve-year-olds …’
‘Well, I suppose that would do at a pinch.’ Sister Beatrice glared at Rose. ‘You are certain she doesn’t have an aunt who would look after her – or a kind neighbour? Children are better in their own surroundings if at all possible.’
‘There is no one I would trust to look after her. If there were I should not be here. God knows, it seems a terrible place … I was admitted by a girl who was scrubbing the hall floor …’
‘I resent that comment, Miss O’Hanran. We pride ourselves on giving our children the best care we can manage and on being a warm and welcoming place for those who need us. If as you say you were admitted by one of the kitchen staff, it is because things are difficult just now. We have three members of staff down with influenza, and we have some very sick children in isolation,’ Sister Beatrice said coldly. ‘Normally, Nan sees to the new arrivals at first and then the nurses and carers take over … well, do you want the place or not? I doubt you’ll find anyone else to take her.’
Rose swallowed hard. She wanted to march out right now and tell her mother that she would stay home to look after Mary Ellen, but if she did that they would never get out of the slums that her father’s untimely death had brought them to. Her chest caught with pain, because even now she couldn’t bear to think of Pa’s death and her mother’s terrible illness. Yet she knew she had spoken out of turn and must apologise.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise. Naturally, your staff problems must make things difficult.’
‘We have limited funds, Miss O’Hanran, but St Saviour’s never turns away a child that really needs us however stretched we are – so do you want her to come to us?’
‘Yes, please,’ Rose said. ‘I shall bring her next Monday morning, which is my only free time before I start my new job, if that is all right?’
‘Yes, bring her on Monday. Mrs Morton can take you down and arrange the time with you. She will be admitting your sister unless Nan is back by then. I simply do not have the time.’
Rose clamped her mouth shut, walking out before she lost her temper and told that awful old woman what she could do with her bed. If only Pa hadn’t died she could have left Mary Ellen in his care; he might have liked a drop of good Irish whiskey but he’d been fond of his daughters, especially the youngest one. Her heart ached, because it was hard to lose the people you loved, and Rose was carrying a burden that was almost too much to bear. Seeing her mother grow weaker, knowing she was probably going to die, had been made worse because she couldn’t share her grief with anyone. She had to keep the truth from Mary Ellen as long as she could.
Hearing hurried footsteps behind her, she turned to see Angela trying to keep up with her. She slowed down, because she needed to find out a few things that she hadn’t felt like asking Sister Beatrice.
‘I’m sorry,’ Angela apologised. ‘I know Sister can be a bit harsh but she has good reason for it today – we lost a child early this morning. He only came in a week ago and went down with chicken pox. Unfortunately, he was very weak and he contracted pneumonia. The nurses did everything they could but we lost him, though his elder brother and sister are recovering, I’m thankful to say.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Rose bit her lip, because that put her firmly in the wrong and she knew she’d bordered on rudeness. ‘I didn’t realise …’ she said, but she hadn’t changed her mind about the nun. She’d made Rose feel like something dragged in off the streets and she wouldn’t take that from anyone.
‘She was up all night with him. I saw her when she left after performing the last offices; Father Joe was with her, because the boy’s family was Catholic. Sister was truly devastated, though she hides it behind a brusque manner.’
‘Well, that explains it,’ Rose said. ‘We don’t want Mary Ellen to go out for adoption. Either Ma will come home after she’s cured … or I’ll look after her once I’m in a position to do so.’
‘Yes, I think we’ve understood that,’ Angela said, checking her list. ‘She is a temporary … but she’ll need to live here until you can provide a home for her. I must take some more details and there are some forms for you to sign and then we’ll discuss what she needs to bring with her … and her feelings about coming here. Perhaps we could go back to my office and talk before you leave?’
