‘She’s dead,’ Pammy said.
It was the first time I’d heard her speak. She had a gruff little voice that made my heart turn over.
‘Yes, she’s dead, but she can fly up in the clouds,’ I said.
‘My ma’s dead,’ said Pammy. She said it matter-of-factly, but a tear trickled down her cheek.
‘So is my ma. Perhaps they’re friends up in Heaven, and they both take care of Megs,’ I said. ‘Shall we make a dough ma?’
Pammy nodded and tried fingering the dough. She frowned and gave it to me. ‘You make it,’ she said.
‘You can do it if you try,’ I said, but I fashioned the head and body and wings all the same.
Jane had calmed down now. She started pulling at me but I gently shrugged her off.
‘Wait, Jane. I’ll make you an angel too, but I’ll just finish Pammy’s first,’ I said.
I gave Pammy a darning needle and encouraged her to poke two eyes and a smiley mouth on the dough face.
‘She’s smiling!’ she said.
‘Yes, she is. Did your ma have curls? Shall we make her some? You can do that bit. Just roll a weeny bit of dough and curl it round and stick it to her head. That’s the way,’ I said.
Pammy did her best. Then she took another wisp of dough and tried to stick it to her own head. ‘I’ve got curls,’ she said.
‘Lovely curls,’ I said, giving her chin a fond little pinch.
This was too much for Jane. She clenched her fist and battered the dough mother into a blob, and then tried to do the same to Pammy, hitting her hard.
Pammy screamed, Jane roared and Elspeth and Moira cried. Miss Ainsley came rushing into the room.
‘Goodness me, this place is like a bear garden!’ she cried. ‘I thought you were meant to be looking after the little ones, Clover. Why aren’t they doing their cross-stitch? And what on earth is that nasty grey stuff smeared all over the lino?’
‘I’m so sorry, Miss Ainsley,’ I said, hastily trying to scrape it all up and put it in the bowl. I didn’t want her telling tales on me to Miss Smith when she next paid a visit. I wanted to be taken out for tea!
I tried to get the little girls to help me, but all four continued wailing.
‘Oh dear goodness,’ said Miss Ainsley, going from one to the other. ‘Stop this silly noise, girls! I thought you were supposed to be so good with little children, Clover. I can’t see much evidence of it so far. I don’t think we can trust you to look after them again!’
‘Oh, that’s not fair, Miss Ainsley. We’ve been getting along splendidly, haven’t we, girls?’ I said.
Elspeth and Moira nodded, but Jane was too far into her tantrum to see reason and Pammy went and hid in the corner, clutching the mangled remains of her angel.
‘What’s that you’ve got in your hands, Pammy?’ Miss Ainsley asked. She peered closer and must have spotted her pastry curl. ‘And dear Lord, it’s all over your hair too!’
She plucked it out of Pammy’s sparse wisps. Pammy wept bitterly.
‘Please stop! I won’t have this silly shrieking! It’s very bad for my nerves,’ said Miss Ainsley. ‘Dear goodness, what a day! First Cook cuts herself, then Mary-Ann has one of her turns and now you little girls get into a terrible pickle.’
‘What’s the matter with Mary-Ann, Miss Ainsley?’ I asked.
She looked stricken. ‘Never mind, dear. Off you go now. See if you can make yourself useful elsewhere. I need to get these little ones calmed down before supper.’
At least she didn’t seem too cross with me – but what was all the mystery about Mary-Ann? I took the bowl of angel remains and slipped along to the dormitory. There were no big girls on guard now, so I opened the door and crept inside. The curtains were drawn so it was very dark, but I could just about make out Mary-Ann lying in her bed. She was breathing deeply and seemed asleep.
I went to my own bed and checked under the covers, but it was bone-dry. I opened my cupboard very slowly so that it wouldn’t creak and felt for my pillowcase. It still had the soft shawl inside and I could feel Anne Boleyn there too. I felt her head, her body, all four limbs. Thank goodness she seemed intact. I shut her up again, then crept cautiously to Mary-Ann’s bedside and peered down at her.
She had her hands pressed to her forehead as if she had a terrible headache, and when she turned in her sleep she gave a groan.
‘Mary-Ann?’ I whispered. ‘Are you really ill?’
What if she had the fever? I reached out gingerly and put my hand on her forehead. She wasn’t burning, but she groaned again.
‘Does it hurt bad?’ I asked.
‘Dreadfully,’ she murmured. She sounded unlike herself, young and scared.
‘Shall I get Miss Ainsley?’
She shook her head and then started crying.
‘There now,’ I said. I knelt beside her bed. I couldn’t help feeling sorry for her, even though she’d been so hateful to me. I smoothed back her long hair and then stroked her forehead. ‘Does this help?’
‘A little,’ she murmured, still crying.
‘Try not to cry – it will make it worse,’ I said, wiping her face with a corner of the sheet. ‘There now. Go back to sleep.’
‘Are you . . . Clover?’ she asked warily.
‘Yes, but don’t worry. I’m not going to put a spell on you,’ I said.
‘You can if you want. Make my head better!’
‘I’ll try.’ I kept on stroking and murmuring, ‘There now. Go away, pain. I’m soothing it away.’
Mary-Ann’s breathing slowed and she relaxed. I tried taking my hand away and she didn’t murmur or groan. I picked up the pastry bowl and crept silently out of the room.
18
THE NEXT MORNING Mary-Ann seemed almost normal, though she was very pale. She didn’t say a word about our encounter, so neither did I. I wondered if she even remembered it because she’d seemed half asleep, but later that day, when we bumped into each other on the stairs, she gave me a tiny nod of acknowledgement.
She was different after that. She was still the boss of the class, she still picked on the weaker girls, she still said cutting things – but not to me. She didn’t make friendly overtures, she left me alone, but she didn’t seem to be my enemy any more.
Occasionally when she was spending the whole day at the home Miss Smith gave us middle girls a lesson. She didn’t teach Bible Studies or Reading or Writing or Arithmetic or Needlework or General Housecare. She didn’t write on the blackboard and set us copying in our notebooks. She simply talked to us, calling her lesson ‘Travel’.
We stayed sitting at our desks, but Miss Smith took us travelling the world, telling us about the huge hot lands of Africa and India, the frozen climes of the Arctic and Antarctic, the thick jungles and vast deserts and endless seas that made up the world. She told us about intrepid women missionaries who went to spread God’s word in heathen lands, and fearless female explorers like Isabella Bird and Mary Kingsley and Marianne North.
I especially liked the sound of Marianne North, who journeyed all over the world and painted all the exotic plants and had recently set up her own art gallery in Kew Gardens.
‘Oh, how I would like to do that!’ I exclaimed.
The other girls mocked me, laughing that a girl from the gutters of London could fancy herself a grand lady artist and traveller, but surprisingly Julia said, ‘Though actually Clover really is very good at drawing.’
Everyone looked at Mary-Ann, expecting her to be furious that Julia of all people should stick up for me. Even Julia looked uncertain, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut, but Mary-Ann simply nodded.
When class was finished I followed Miss Smith back to her office, asking her if I could possibly look at Mr Rivers’s picture again. I stared at the children skipping in the alley and imagined Megs and me joining in the game.
‘You’re missing your break time, Clover,’ Miss Smith said gently.
The children in the alley faded back into the picture. I stared after them wistfully.
<
br /> ‘You look very sad, dear,’ said Miss Smith.
‘I am, Miss Smith. It hurts so. I miss my Megs all the time. We were all in all to each other.’
‘I understand,’ she said. ‘And I think Jesus understands even more. I hope you pray to him every night.’
I prayed to Megs instead, having private little chats to her inside my head when we knelt beside our beds.
‘But in spite of your natural grief, you seem to be settling in,’ said Miss Smith. ‘Is that right?’
I thought about it. For the first few days I’d looked longingly at the front door. Once I’d even let myself out silently and run down the alleyway, but then I’d stopped, unable to think where to go. Thelma had made it plain I couldn’t stay with her.
I’d thought of trying to find my way back to Mr Dolly, but what would I do if Pa and Mildred came looking for me there? I couldn’t bear the thought of being dragged back home, though I often missed the children, especially little Bert. So after walking up and down the Strand feeling lost and frightened I returned to the Sarah Smith Home for Destitute Girls. I’d have been done for if Miss Ainsley had opened the door, but thank goodness it was Sissy. She’d pulled me indoors quickly and given me a hug. She told me she’d tried to run away several times when she first came to the home because she’d found the rules and routine so difficult.
‘But a couple of days back on the streets trying to sell flowers soon changed my mind,’ she said. ‘Heaven knows what might have happened if I hadn’t come back. And now look at me, one of the staff! You’re a bright girl, Clover, brighter than me. You’ll get on even better. You’ll love it here too, you’ll see,’ she’d said.
I didn’t love it here. I didn’t want to end up in Sissy’s place. I wanted to be an artist or an explorer or a doll-maker – any or all of these things. But I couldn’t be any of these things now so I answered Miss Smith’s question with a nod.
‘Yes thank you, Miss Smith, I am settling in,’ I said.
‘And you have made friends with the other girls?’
‘I suppose I have,’ I said. ‘I’m even sort of friends with Mary-Ann. Miss Smith, why is she here? She’s not at all like us other girls. She talks like a lady.’
‘Yes indeed, she does,’ said Miss Smith.
‘Then why is she destitute?’
It was Miss Smith who hesitated. ‘I wonder if I can trust you with this information, Clover. It’s very private.’
‘I won’t tell a soul, Miss Smith, I swear,’ I said.
‘Our girls come here for various reasons, most of them tragic. You have been very understanding with Jane. She’s not quite right in the head and consequently finds it hard to behave herself. Her family abandoned her. And poor little Pammy was very cruelly treated because she is a little backward,’ said Miss Smith.
‘Yes, but Mary-Ann’s not wild or backward.’
‘I’m sad to say her family had her locked up in a lunatic asylum,’ Miss Smith said gravely.
‘A lunatic asylum? But that’s where they put mad people!’ I exclaimed.
‘Yes, it is. And asylums are very grim places,’ said Miss Smith.
‘She’s not mad though,’ I insisted.
‘Of course she’s not. But she suffers from a condition which makes her have occasional seizures. She falls down and becomes insensible and then has to rest afterwards.’
‘That happened to her recently! And then she had a very bad headache and I tried to soothe her,’ I said.
‘That was kind of you, Clover.’
‘But she was all right the next day. Not a bit mad,’ I said.
‘Some people think that seizures are a sign of the devil, that sufferers are possessed. This is clearly nonsense, but even well-educated, God-fearing folk sometimes think like that. When Mary-Ann grew older and her seizures became worse her family consulted their priest, who unfortunately advised incarceration. She was locked up and put under restraint – a terrible experience for anyone, let alone a little girl. She spent nearly a year there – until while having treatment one day she seized an opportunity to break free. She climbed out of a window and ran away. It took her many days of wandering and suffering before she reached London, but then some kind soul directed her to our door,’ said Miss Smith.
‘My goodness!’ I said. ‘Poor Mary-Ann. So will her seizures ever stop?’
‘I don’t think so. I have taken her for a consultation at Miss Garrett Anderson’s New Hospital for Women and Children, where they were very sympathetic but could not really help. Life is going to be difficult for Mary-Ann, but she is a very determined and resolute child,’ said Miss Smith.
‘She’s certainly that!’ I agreed.
‘I think the same could be said for you, Clover. But I have been hearing good things of you.’
‘Even from Miss Ainsley?’
‘Miss Ainsley feels you are a little too impulsive at times, but she can see you’re trying hard to conform to our ways. And Sissy speaks very highly of you. So as you have kept your side of the bargain I must keep mine. Perhaps you would like to come out to tea this Saturday?’
‘Oh, I would absolutely love that! Do you think we could possibly have buns – or would that be too expensive?’
‘I think my funds will stretch to a plate of buns, and maybe a plate of cakes too,’ said Miss Smith. ‘I’ll ask my little friend Hetty as well. So, make sure you’re spick and span and waiting downstairs at three o’clock this Saturday.’
She looked me up and down. ‘Perhaps you might like to wear a fresh cotton dress for the occasion?’
Miss Ainsley had let me wear Mr Dolly’s black mourning outfit every day so far, but the dress was getting very stained and creased now, though I’d done my best to sponge it. I fingered the worn folds anxiously, not sure what to do.
‘You can still wear your smart black coat, dear. We’ll have your black dress laundered and then you can keep it carefully folded in your bedside cupboard and wear it again if you really feel the need,’ said Miss Smith.
So on Saturday I wore a blue dress. Sissy found me one that wasn’t too big and wasn’t too small. It was a novelty to have a new dress that fitted perfectly and was such a pretty colour. It still couldn’t make me look pretty. I was too small and scrawny and my face was pinched, even though I’d put on a little weight now I was having regular good meals. But I was as clean as clean nowadays, with pinker cheeks, and my hair was well-brushed and shiny, though it was sparse compared with Mary-Ann’s.
My black coat still looked very smart, if a little sombre, but my felt boots had hardly any soles left. I had to wear my ordinary boots, but I polished them until they shone.
The girls in my dormitory raised their eyebrows when they saw me all dressed up.
‘Going out to tea, Clover?’
‘Is Miss Smith taking you?’
‘So you’re Miss Smith’s little pet now?’
‘Stop that nonsense,’ said Sissy, breezing into the dormitory. ‘You know perfectly well that Miss Smith doesn’t have favourites. She’s taken you all out to tea at some time and I dare say she will again. Now stop lounging around the dormitory, it’s a waste of your free Saturday afternoon. As it’s such a lovely sunny day I’m taking the little ones for a walk in St James’s Park. You can come too if you promise to walk two by two and behave yourselves.’
There was a squeal of delight and they rushed around getting ready.
Sissy put her arm round me. ‘You look very fine, Clover – quite the little lady. Go and wait for Miss Smith downstairs. Have a lovely time,’ she said.
‘I will,’ I said, though my tummy had tightened into knots. I’d been so looking forward to going out to tea with Miss Smith, but now I rather wished I was going out for a walk with Sissy and the other girls instead. I wasn’t sure if I could make polite conversation all afternoon. And what exactly would this teashop be like? Would it be very grand? What if I spilled tea all down myself? Would I have to use a knife and fork if we were just eating buns and ca
ke?
I’d had difficulty using cutlery at the home. I’d been used to eating with my hands before, but here we had to cut everything neatly and hold the fork and knife properly. Mary-Ann had mocked me when I first used a spoon. What if all the people in this grand teashop laughed at me too?
‘It will be all right,’ Sissy whispered reassuringly, as if she could read my mind. ‘There’s no need to be scared. You couldn’t make a worse fool of yourself than me when I was first taken out for a meal by Miss Smith. It was before I even lived at the home, when my own dear sister Lil was still alive, and my pa. I’d met up with Hetty on the streets and—’
‘Hetty? I’m going to be having tea with this Hetty,’ I said.
‘Yes, I guessed Miss Smith would introduce you two. You’ll love her, Clover. Anyway, Miss Smith took us both to this fancy restaurant and I got all unnerved and I couldn’t read the flipping menu, and then, when the meal came – a huge great amazing meat pudding – I stuck half of it in my napkin on my lap to take home to Lil, and the gravy seeped right through and started dripping down my legs! Dear Lordy, I couldn’t get out of there fast enough,’ said Sissy, laughing.
‘Well, I’m definitely not going to order meat pudding. I want buns and Miss Smith said there might also be cake,’ I said.
‘There you are then. You can eat buns and cake without fussing,’ said Sissy. ‘But run downstairs right this minute. It was chiming three when I came into the dormitory. You’ll be keeping Miss Smith waiting.’
I flew down the stairs so fast my boots slipped and I tumbled down the last three steps on my behind.
‘Goodness, Clover, have you hurt yourself, child?’ Miss Smith hurried towards me, looking concerned. She had a strange-looking girl with her, wearing the oddest old-fashioned clothes – a floppy white cap, a brown stuff dress with a white apron, and enormous boots much too big for her. She pulled a face at me and I jumped up quickly, feeling like a fool.
‘I’m fine, Miss Smith,’ I said, smoothing my skirts hurriedly. ‘I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting.’
‘That’s quite all right. I can see you’ve been dressing very carefully. You look delightful, dear. That blue really suits you,’ she said.