Читать книгу An Orphan in the Snow - Molly Green - Страница 8

Five minutes later a maid directed her to the kitchen where a pot of tea and some cups and saucers were grouped on a scrubbed pine table. Two young girls were scurrying round a plump woman in a wraparound apron and white cap who stood over an enamel bowl as big as a baby’s bath, hands flying up and down as she crumbled in fat and flour for her pastry. She looked up as June entered.

‘Are you the girl come to help with the children?’ she demanded, though her tone was friendly.

‘Yes. I’m June Lavender – just arrived from London.’

‘Och, you talk funny.’ The woman wiped her hands on her apron and stuck out a floury hand. ‘Name’s Marge Bertram. Call me Bertie. Everyone does. I’m from Scotland. Buried the second husband and decided to have a change and cross the border.’ She laughed. ‘It’s a couple of degrees warmer here, I’ll give it that. Little did I realise how close Jerry would be, trying to smash the docks to smithereens.’ She looked at June, who was waiting to be told to take a seat. ‘Still, you don’t want to hear all that right now. You must be worn out. Tea’s on the table. Help yourself, hen. You’ll have to excuse me getting on as I’m in the middle of cooking dinner.’

‘What time will that be?’ June asked, a little embarrassed but hearing her stomach rumble again. One piece of toast and a spoonful of scrambled egg at six this morning hadn’t gone very far to stave off her hunger.

Bertie looked up at the wall clock, which showed five minutes past eleven. ‘Not until one o’clock.’ Her eyes pierced June’s. ‘Here, I’ll cut you a slice of cake. Don’t tell anyone, mind. It’s supposed to be for the children’s teatime.’

‘I haven’t heard any sound from them,’ June ventured, pouring herself a cup of tea. ‘Are they out somewhere?’

Bertie snorted. ‘No, dear, not at this time of the morning. They’re all in class. These walls are solid. The Victorians really knew how to build. You’ll not hear a peep unless they’re in the next room or right on top of you. Except the wee bairn in the corner.’ She jerked her head to where a child sat silently watching on a three-legged stool in the unlit corner of the room.

June glanced where Bertie had gestured and saw a little girl with pale blonde hair tied up in plaits, and a face like an angel, sucking her fingers. How could she have not noticed her? And there was something familiar about the child. June looked closer and her heart suddenly gave a great lurch. She gasped. The little girl looked the spitting image of her sister Clara when she was that age.

‘Say hello to the nice new lady who’s come to look after you and the other children,’ Bertie said to the child, then turned her head to June and lowered her voice. ‘Poor wee lass doesn’t talk. She’s not said a word since she came here … that’d be a coupla months now. We all thought she was dumb at first. Now we know it’s a mental thing.’

Poor little girl. Whatever could have happened?

June half rose from her chair, but Bertie put a warning hand out. ‘Maybe not come too close at first … don’t want to frighten her any more than she is already.’

‘How old is she?’ June whispered.

‘Three and a half.’

Her eyes filling with tears at such a likeness to her sister, June managed to smile across at the child. ‘Hello, little one. Can you tell me your name?’

‘She won’t answer,’ Bertie cut in. ‘Her name’s Lizzie. But it doesn’t seem to mean anything to her. No reaction or nothing. I’ll explain later – when she’s taking a nap – how she ended up here.’

‘Hello, Lizzie,’ June said, still smiling. The child stared. Even from several feet away she could see that Lizzie’s eyes were dark, unlike Clara’s, which had been a grassy-green just like June’s own, but the child’s other features, the shape of her face – it brought back all the pain again. She felt herself tremble, her nerves on edge. Trying to calm herself she sipped her tea, her heartbeat slowing. She’d be all right. She’d be safe here. Mustn’t go to pieces or she’d be no help to the children. Bertie was right. It was best to keep a distance until Lizzie began to trust her. Something terrible must have happened that had shocked the child.

She finished her tea just as a nurse, a halo of dark curls escaping from her cap, put her head around the door.

‘Oh, there you are. The Fierce One told me you’d arrived.’ She grinned and came into the room.

‘The Fierce One?’ June questioned.

‘Matron.’ The nurse laughed and Bertie joined in. ‘That’s what we all call her – Pherson, the Fierce One.’ She looked June up and down and stuck out her hand. ‘I’m Iris Marchant. And you are …?’

‘June Lavender.’ June took Iris’s warm hand in her own cold one.

‘Well, we should get on a treat,’ Nurse Marchant said, shrieking with laughter, ‘what with us being a couple of flowers.’

June laughed too. How wonderful that there was a young woman, not much older than herself, working at Dr Barnardo’s. She was sure they’d be friends. Iris poured herself a cup of tea and gulped it down in a few mouthfuls.

‘And months,’ June added, grinning. Nurse Marchant looked puzzled. ‘June and March … ant. And I was born in June – hence my name.’

‘Oh, I get it.’ The nurse chuckled. ‘By the way, I’m Iris when we’re off-duty – and you’ll be June. But definitely not in front of the Fierce One, whether we’re working or not.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ June said, glancing at the clock. ‘She sounds a stickler.’

‘She is.’ Iris nodded. ‘You need to keep on the right side of her, which is difficult, as it’s nigh impossible to tell what her right side is.’ She chuckled again.

‘You don’t sound like a northerner,’ June said.

‘Me?’ Iris pointed to herself. ‘Definitely not. I couldn’t live up here for good if you paid me. I’m from Kent. Not a good place to be in this bloody war.’ June flinched at the swear word. ‘Though it was quite thrilling seeing the Battle of Britain going on right above my head. My two young brothers went mad with excitement. Daft little buggers. They can’t wait to be old enough to join up.’

June took a piece of Bertie’s delicious fruit cake, barely taking in all Iris was telling her. ‘I’ve been sent here and here I’ll stay,’ Iris rattled on, ‘but not a moment longer after the war’s over … whenever that will be. Luckily, the children keep me on my toes with their various shenanigans. And there’s plenty of food. That’s a draw in itself.’ She grinned.

‘Isn’t the food rationed?’

‘Some things,’ Iris said. ‘But the government looks after institutions, particularly when there are children. And we grow our own vegetables and have a few chickens so we do all right here.’

June put her cup down. The twenty minutes must be up by now.

‘I’m to meet Matron after I’ve finished my cup of tea,’ she said.

Iris pulled a face. ‘She’s such a tartar. Barely gives you time to unpack before she has you working. You’d better get going then. Don’t want to get in her bad books on your first morning.’

With more than a flicker of apprehension June went in search of Matron, who was already waiting outside her office, tapping her large foot impatiently.

‘Right, there you are at last,’ Matron said abruptly. ‘We’ll do the classrooms first.’

With that, she strode down the corridor, June following closely. She opened a door without knocking, then marched into a classroom of about fifteen children. Immediately the children scrambled to their feet, even two small boys not more than five or six years old, looking wide-eyed at the new lady in their midst. The older children, maybe ten or eleven years old, shuffled as they stood, and June saw a yellow-haired boy dig a dark-skinned child in the ribs. The child gave a yelp. All of them stared at her.

‘Miss Graham?’ Matron said, almost as a demand.

A woman of about June’s own height and figure, her strawberry-blonde hair pulled back in a soft, shining Victory Roll, finished wiping the blackboard and put the rubber neatly back on the ledge. June couldn’t help being conscious of her own hair, so thick it refused to be properly styled and would simply fall to her shoulders in unruly waves if she didn’t keep it tied back. The young woman, Miss Graham, came towards them with quick determined steps, her heels clicking on the wooden floor.

‘Miss Graham, this is Miss Lavender,’ Matron said. ‘She’s my new assistant – come to help me with the load.’

‘Nice to meet you.’ Miss Graham had a clipped accent. Her hazel eyes held no gleam of enthusiasm as she extended her hand to June. ‘I’m Athena Graham.’ June sent her a questioning look. ‘Yes, ghastly, isn’t it? Blame it on my mother, who was a Greek nut. I teach English and mathematics, by the way – to all ages, as you can see.’ She dropped her hand. ‘I hope you’ll be happy with us.’

Athena Graham didn’t sound a particularly happy person herself. Maybe the boys played her up, yet somehow June couldn’t see her allowing them to get the better of her.

‘I’m sure I will be.’ June smiled. ‘I’m looking forward to it.’

Miss Graham turned towards the class. ‘You may sit.’

There was a scuffling of chairs as they sat down with expressions of undisguised curiosity. June looked over at the sea of faces. All boys. They began muttering and one of them gave a low appreciative whistle when June sent them a shaky smile.

‘Enough of that, Jackson,’ Matron admonished. ‘Where are your manners?’

‘Left them in the dorm this morning, Matron.’

The other boys sniggered.

‘What did you say your name was, Miss?’ another boy asked cheekily. He had a too-thin face and dark, greasy hair which flopped into his eyes.

‘I didn’t say,’ June began, ‘but I’m Miss Lavender.’

The boy flicked his head back and the swathes settled into place for a few moments. ‘How do you do, Miss Lavender?’ he said in what he obviously thought was an upper-class accent. The boys giggled again.

‘Hello to all of you.’ June smiled. ‘I hope to get to know your names very soon. It’ll take me longer than you because there’s only one of me, but I’m sure—’

‘That’ll be all, Miss Lavender,’ Matron said, taking hold of June’s arm. ‘We must continue our tour. No doubt we’ll see you at dinner, Miss Graham.’ And with a nod she firmly escorted June out of the door.

‘Now the art studio,’ Matron said. She opened the door and June inhaled the familiar smell of paint and turpentine. It took her straight back to her home in March, where she would help Clara to make a painting for their mother. June noticed the atmosphere in the studio was far more relaxed than Miss Graham’s class, as this teacher was walking around, looking over the children’s shoulders and smiling encouragement at their work.

‘That’s coming along really well,’ she was saying to one of the girls.

‘Mrs Steen – needlework and art,’ Matron snapped out as though she was contemptuous of Mrs Steen’s particular subjects.

‘Barbara,’ the teacher said in an undertone so the pupils wouldn’t hear. She grinned as Matron flashed her a warning look, and her friendly grey eyes lit up her plain features. She took June’s hand firmly in her own plump one, and June warmed to her instantly.

‘And the third teacher we have is Miss Ayles,’ Matron said, as they left the art studio and she strode ahead into the next classroom. ‘She’s the senior teacher and has the older children. She teaches religious instruction, history and geography with particular emphasis on our glorious Empire.’

From Matron’s tone, history and geography were far more acceptable.

Miss Ayles was thin as a stick, with spectacles halfway down her nose, and an abundance of liver spots on her face and hands. Her grey hair was drawn back into a severe bun, every hair held in place at the sides by two black combs.

‘Miss Lavender is my new assistant,’ Matron said, edging June forward.

June smiled and put out her hand. Miss Ayles’s lips lifted a fraction at the corners in acknowledgement, but her dry handshake was brief and gave nothing away.

It was plain that some of the staff didn’t seem best pleased to have her there. June pressed her lips stubbornly together. She’d show them she was a hard worker who would put her heart and soul into whatever was in store for her. Her thoughts flew again to Lizzie. She was just about to summon the courage to ask if they could go up to the nursery, when Matron said:

‘We’ll put our heads in the door of the sick ward. Don’t want to go in and catch anything. Nurse Manners will be there. She’s got two of the girls in, both with tonsillitis. They’re twins – Daisy and Doris Smith – and when one gets something, so does the other. They’ve been ill for a week now.’ Matron sniffed and spread her fingers wide down her navy-blue dress as though smoothing out a crease, and June couldn’t decide if she was annoyed with the twins catching everything at the same time or didn’t have much confidence in Nurse Manners’ nursing abilities.

‘I’ve met the other nurse – Nurse Marchant. She seems very nice.’

Matron’s lip curled. ‘She’s nice enough though she’s an argumentative little madam and I won’t tolerate it. She wouldn’t get away with such behaviour if nurses weren’t so thin on the ground because of the war – which the British shouldn’t have been involved with in the first place.’

June managed to hide her astonishment at Matron’s outburst. She’d hardly been in the orphanage more than an hour or two. It made her feel uncomfortable that Matron should say such things about Iris, whom she’d taken to immediately. What a dragon. She wondered how many years Matron had been at the home and how the staff got on with her, having such threats hanging over them.

They walked down some steps at the far end of the house. Matron hesitated, then knocked and opened the door. June hovered outside, not wanting to disturb the two sick little girls.

‘It’s better to wait for me to tell you it’s all right to come in,’ a voice said in a firm tone, and a short, stocky young woman appeared, her face flushed and frowning, her arm thrust out as a barrier.

‘I’m the matron. I can come in whenever I choose.’ Matron tried to brush the nurse’s arm aside, but the younger girl’s arm was strong.

‘No, I’m sorry, you can’t. The girls are sleeping and I won’t have them disturbed. You know I’ll call you if they take a turn for the worse.’ The nurse gave June an apologetic smile. ‘I’m Kathleen Manners.’ She turned to Matron. ‘I’ll come over later with a full report on the girls when Iris takes over this evening.’

‘See that you do.’ Matron’s face was red with annoyance as she turned. The door clicked behind them.

Someone else who wasn’t going to take orders from Matron. June was pleased that Kathleen hadn’t succumbed. But she made a mental note that Matron was displeased if anyone didn’t agree with her.

‘Saucy slip of a girl,’ Matron was saying. ‘I’ll be putting in my own report.’ Her chest was heaving with frustration and her breathing was loud enough to reach June’s ears.

‘I was hoping I might see Lizzie,’ June ventured, wanting to change the subject. ‘Poor little mite. What happened to her that she can’t speak?’

‘Refuses to speak,’ Matron said with such vehemence June took a step back in shock.

‘Oh, surely not.’

‘Surely so. It’s obvious. The child’s seeking attention. She’s got another think coming if she reckons she’s going to get it. That’s why I’ve kept her separate. The other children think she’s peculiar and then they start acting up, pretending not to hear or speak, the way she does.’

‘May we go and see her?’ June asked.

‘No. My legs won’t carry me up the all those flights more than once a day. The nursery’s on the top floor. Where you and the maids are. But you’ll meet Hilda, the nursery assistant who looks after her, soon enough. The girl eats like a horse. She’ll be first down to supper, mark my words.’

‘So Lizzie sees the other children at mealtimes?’

Matron threw her a sharp look. ‘No. I’ve just told you the child has to be kept separate. She has her meals in the nursery. Hilda’s a fast eater. She bolts hers down and then brings Lizzie hers.’

‘Do you mean Lizzie is alone while Hilda goes to have hers?’ June asked. She didn’t like to think of the scared little girl locked in a room on her own. ‘Isn’t there someone who could keep an eye on her for a short time – in case something happened?’

‘No,’ Matron said. ‘We’re short-staffed and I’m on a tight budget.’ She drew her eyebrows together. ‘The child is hardly “alone”, as you call it, not with everyone here.’ She gave June a sharp look. ‘You ask rather too many questions on your first day, my girl, and you’ll do everyone a favour to keep those opinions of yours to yourself.’ With that she stomped down the stairs leaving June trailing after her, her heart beating a little faster than it should.

‘I must get on,’ Matron said over her shoulder. ‘I’ve got paperwork to do so perhaps you can get one of the others to finish showing you around.’

June chewed her lip as she gazed after the unbending figure. She had a horrible feeling Matron wasn’t going to take any notice of her experience as a nursery nurse. She was the kind of woman who knew best, that was plain to see, and wasn’t interested in anyone else’s suggestions.

She felt bad thinking such things when she’d only just arrived but Matron certainly didn’t put herself out to make people feel at ease. June was determined she wasn’t going to make an enemy of her. That would be fatal. She squared her shoulders and began her tentative exploration of this mansion she must now call home.