Читать книгу An Orphan in the Snow - Molly Green - Страница 9

No one took the slightest bit of notice of June as she opened all the doors on the ground floor, taking note of the common room, the dining room, the cloakrooms, and a few steps down to the laundry room, where she could just make out two figures who were plunging what looked like poles into two enormous copper boilers and giggling through the steam. One of them looked up, sweat pouring off her forehead, and waved. There was also a playroom and a grand library. She had a few minutes’ quiet browse around the shelves, looking over her shoulder every so often in case she was spotted and reprimanded. What a luxury if she was allowed to borrow a book now and again, although most of these seemed very highbrow. She couldn’t see any novels, for one thing. At home she’d built up a small collection of books but she’d had to leave them behind when she went to London, and her room here felt bare without them. They’d been her friends when she’d had no one else. She shook herself. Mustn’t think.…

She climbed the main staircase and looked into the bedrooms. There were five large rooms, laid out like dormitories, containing eight identical narrow beds with a small locker next to each one. And near the door there was a larger single bed, she guessed for one of the adults to keep an eye on the children. Everywhere was clean and neat. Nothing out of place. It didn’t look as though any children lived here.

She thought of the state of her childhood home. Before she’d left at 16 to train as a nursery nurse, it had been chaos. Stella had already left home three years before to get married and move to Wisbech, leaving June with their violent father and a drunken mother. A mother who when Clara died had only found solace in drink, and as a consequence had neglected the home. June had done her best to keep everything going but it was almost a relief when her mother drifted into a coma one sunny morning in her bed. A once attractive woman lay on the pillow, her mouth open, her eyes wild, looking haggard and beaten before she gasped her last breath. June swallowed hard as the memories reached out to pull her back in – forcing her to relive it as she had already done, over and over, hundreds, maybe thousands of times, since it had happened. She’d been left with her father, an unkempt bully of a man, with a temper which erupted at any moment. He’d had not a shred of decency or compassion for comforting his grieving wife after Clara’s death.

The only time June had seen any sign of distress in him was after her mother’s funeral when June told him she was leaving home and going to live with Aunt Ada. He’d realised with a jolt of fear there was no one left to look after him. June’s lip curled in disgust, willing the old images to stop replaying. But they were too strong.

June had flown down the stairs to where Clara lay crumpled at the bottom. She cradled her sister’s head in her arms. Clara’s eyes were wide with terror. Thank God she was still alive.

‘Clara, darling, I’m here. You’re going to be all right.’

Clara smiled – an angel’s smile. Her eyes held a wise expression and June felt her heart sing with joy that her sister would indeed recover. She smiled back at her.

And then June heard a long sigh escape Clara’s lips as her head lolled to one side.

Clara had just had her eighth birthday.

As long as June lived she would never, ever forgive her father. And one day she would see that justice was done.

Tears fell from June’s eyes as she pulled the dormitory door shut. Would she ever stop reliving that nightmare? She brushed the tears away with the back of her hand, hoping against hope that no one would spot her and ask what was the matter. She could never tell anyone.

A bell sounded.

She heard footsteps behind her and spun round to see Iris.

‘I came to see how you were getting on. If I could answer any questions.’ Iris looked at her sharply. ‘You’ve been crying. Are you all right?’

‘Yes. I’m all right.’

Iris didn’t look convinced. ‘By the way, that was the bell for dinner. Are you hungry?’

‘Starving,’ June said, thankful the subject of her crying was closed. She followed Iris back into the hall. A noise like thunder crashed over her head and seconds later a stream of children came flying down the stairs, pushing and shoving and calling out.

‘Where on earth’s Matron?’ Iris sounded irritated as she glanced about her.

‘I’m here.’ Matron appeared from one of the oak doorways. ‘Right, children.’ She clapped her hands loudly and they immediately stopped their noise. ‘Before you go in, I want you all to know Miss Lavender is going to help keep you lot in line.’

‘Hello, Miss. You came in our class,’ a boy of about ten with a cheeky grin shouted over the banister. ‘Have you got any sweets for us?’

‘You’re not allowed sweets,’ Matron told him. ‘Now come on down, all of you, and line up, so Miss Lavender can take a look at you all … and keep your traps shut for once.’

June flinched. This was not the sort of language she ever used to keep children in order, but she knew she mustn’t make a comment – not yet. The children lined up, still shuffling and muttering, but they were obviously in awe of Matron as they’d quietened right down.

‘Can you all tell me your names and how old you are?’ June said, smiling at the first child and letting it travel along the row until it fell on the last. ‘I shan’t remember them all right away but I’ll do my best, and I’m sure you’ll remind me.’

‘You can do that after we’ve had dinner,’ Matron interrupted, clapping her hands again. ‘It’ll be cold at this rate. File in, all of you.’

‘I’m worried about the little girl, Lizzie,’ June whispered to Iris. ‘Matron said she has her meals in the nursery.’

‘I don’t agree with it at all,’ Iris said under her breath, ‘but Matron says she’s a disruptive influence over the other children.’

‘What did she do that’s disruptive?’

‘When she first came they put her in the dining room with all the other kids,’ Iris explained, ‘but if one of the teachers told her she had to eat what was on her plate and she didn’t like it, she’d throw the plate on the floor.’ Iris smiled ruefully. ‘We lost a lot of plates that week. Matron got angry and said Lizzie had to have her meals in the nursery from now on.’

‘But she’ll never learn to behave if she’s taken out of a normal situation like eating with the others,’ June protested.

‘I said as much to Matron but she ignored me. Matron is always right. You’ll soon find that out – if you can put up with it.’

June knew that Iris was warning her that she might not be able to put up with it; that Iris wouldn’t be at all surprised if she left. June pressed her mouth tight, resolving that it would take a lot more than that for her to give in her notice. In her experience Lizzie needed to know she was part of the home, whether she was naughty or good, and mix with the other children. June was sure it was the only way to encourage her to speak.

‘You’ll have to help serve at that table over there,’ Iris said, pointing, ‘and I’ll take this one. Don’t know where Kathleen’s got to – she’s the other nurse.’

‘Oh, yes, I met her in the sick bay.’

‘Of course. She takes the third table … oh, here she is.’

Kathleen shot in and gave Iris a wave, smiled at June, then rushed to her place, and the dining room became a crescendo of noise again until Matron appeared and banged on the table.

‘Fold your hands together for Grace,’ she said, raising her chin, her eyes rolling back in their sockets, her hands clasped, as though she were in direct contact with God. ‘For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful. Amen.’

‘Amen,’ repeated the children.

There was a clatter of plates and cutlery as two kitchen maids brought in the steaming bowls of stew and potatoes. When June had served all sixteen boys at her table, there was another kind of noise – slurping, gulping, hiccupping – but at least they were clearing their plates. She took a few bites but the excitement of the day seemed to have rid her of her appetite.

But now she had a purpose. She was going to look after the children who lived in this huge old house. Try to make it up to Clara. Make sure she would never forget her dearest sister.

After the children had all taken turns to tell June their names and ages, she looked round for Matron, but the woman was nowhere to be seen. Not knowing what to do next, she went to Matron’s office and tapped gently on her door but there was no sound from within.

‘Are you looking for Matron, Miss Lavender?’

June turned to see Miss Ayles, the history and geography teacher, regarding her from behind her spectacles.

‘Yes. I was wondering what she’d like me to do. And if sometime this afternoon I could clean my room. It smells of damp and I don’t think it’s good to sleep in such an atmosphere.’

‘I’m not surprised. It’s been empty for quite a while. We’ve not had an assistant to Matron since the war started but now we’ve got ten more children – evacuees – it’s not been easy with the shortage of books and pencils.’ Miss Ayles peered at June. ‘So I should go and get your room done, Miss Lavender, while Matron takes her hour-and-a-half nap.’ She wrinkled her thin nose. ‘Some nap,’ she added under her breath. ‘This might be your only opportunity before bedtime.’

‘Does everyone live in?’

‘The teachers and nurses are up on the third floor, the maids on the fourth. I have my own cottage as do Cook and Matron.’ There was a note of triumph in her voice and June hid a smile. ‘Is there anything else I can answer?’

‘No, you’ve been most helpful,’ June said. ‘I think I’ll go to the kitchen and ask Mrs Bertram where I can find some cleaning things.’

Cleaning took longer than she’d thought. She went downstairs more than once to check Matron wasn’t looking for her but all was silent. The children were in class, or if they were in the younger group they were having a nap themselves. But, two hours later, June ran her eye over the room. She’d managed to straighten the wardrobe, get rid of the dead flowers and clean out the vase, and she’d washed everything down, including the windows and frames and wainscot, with soap and vinegar and bleach. It was a remarkable improvement though the room still looked sadly stripped of homely items. Somewhere she had a photograph of herself and her sisters with their mother. She delved into her travel bag, unwrapped it from its newspaper and smiled as she set it on the shelf above the fireplace. She stood back to admire it. One photograph, but it made all the difference.

A few paintings – prints of course – would brighten the room but she had no money to buy anything extra. Maybe she’d find something in a second-hand shop when she’d settled in properly and saved a bit of cash. Until then, she was satisfied the room looked infinitely cleaner and smelled infinitely fresher. After the long journey she’d surely sleep tonight.