The Pretty Girls Read online

  Her heart pattered uncomfortably although she had no need to be nervous. After all, the class was orderly and it was obvious that she was attending to her teaching duties conscientiously. Surely no fault could be found?

  “I hope you remember no girl shall leave the room for any reason. They must learn to control their bodily functions until respite at noon, prior to the midday meal.”

  We shall all want to go now you have reminded us. Aloud she replied that yes, she understood. Unable to find fault, Miss Phipps smiled sourly and departed. The girls gave Hannah expectant glances as if she might make comment but she disappointed them.

  By the time she undertook Bible studies, without the aid of the Good Book as there was no Bible in the schoolroom, Hannah was weary. She could not remember the full Catechism and come to that the entire Ten Commandments were rather hazy so she threw herself into the re-telling of the Stilling of the Storm as related by St Luke. As she possessed a natural talent for both story-telling and acting, the girls sat spellbound, their eyes wide with interest and so it was that Miss Phipps found them towards the end of the morning.

  “Never in my life have I been more shocked, Miss Morley. What is the meaning of crashing around the room with flailing arms and making the sound of a roaring sea? This is sacred scripture and you are blaspheming. God will be affronted.”

  “He might be pleased the girls are interested and learning something in a new way.” The words were out and there was no putting them back into her mouth.

  “I shudder to imagine your eternal destiny, Miss Morley. You are a reprobate, a backslider and too full of yourself.” Turning to the girls, she dismissed them before addressing Hannah again. “You and I are not finished. Not by a long way. I shall speak to you this afternoon.”

  “I am sorry, Miss Phipps, but I shall be otherwise engaged. I am part teaching assistant and part nurse. I think I am to report to the receiving ward to bandage, and things like that,” she ended vaguely, unsure of what exactly she was expected to do.

  “I heard you were a doctor’s daughter. I knew you would be too big for your boots and no doubt you consider yourself better than anyone else.” The woman looked as if she was about to spit blood or at the very least froth at the mouth.

  “If that’s the impression I have given, then I apologise. I have seen enough to know that nobody is better than anyone else. We all return to dust and ashes. My father used to say if the coffins of squire and labourer were opened two hundred years hence, nobody would be able to tell them apart.”

  “I have no interest whatsoever in what your father said or did. Whilst you are my assistant, you will teach in the manner I dictate. Failure on your part will result in serious complaint to the Board of Guardians. Understood?” Cold eyes raked her and Hannah quailed inwardly. Alice, the old woman of Longwell with all those psychic powers, would probably say that Miss Phipps had little positive energy and drained it from other people. I bet her aura is purple or black!

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  Chapter Eight

  “The infirmary is across the yards, a big building. The main wards are upstairs, the receiving ward down. I warn you, the place stinks. One requires a tough stomach,” Mrs Stannard told her. “But I am sure you will be worth your weight in gold.” Her friendly tone was particularly cheering after that of Miss Phipps.

  Hannah smelt the place before she entered a low-ceilinged room packed with humanity, most of it unwashed. Later she learned that one ill-functioning privy was situated off the room in a far corner. A couple of rough looking women tended some who waited for more expert attention; one held a sick bowl under the nose of a heaving woman and another mopped the floor in dilatory fashion.

  “We have plans to improve conditions I am thankful to say. These patients are off the streets or on day relief – that means do not stay under our roof. Those who require to be admitted will be taken in if possible, but we are packed to capacity just now owing in part to the closure of areas for alterations. Annie…” she accosted the woman brandishing the floor mop, “I need jugs of hot water and bowls. Bandages I have in my bag, salves and ointments too.”

  The woman called Annie walked as slowly as possible to the door as if in protest. “I am afraid she is a difficult creature. Both these assistants are inmates. Oh, how I wish we might have women trained to nurse the sick. Mr Gidley believes the day will come, but one wonders. Now let us see where to start. That boy with the crushed finger, maybe.”

  She led Hannah to a boy of about twelve, his face drained of colour and his eyes fearful. “Let us look at your injury,” she ordered, not unkindly, and he held out a filthy hand. One finger looked as if it had burst and was bleeding copiously. “Do you know how to deal with such an injury, Miss Morley?”

  “I suggest the site is cleaned and a pad applied to the finger which is then bandaged tightly. The wound must be kept dry and examined daily.”

  “And to prevent infection? Well, you shall see what I have in my bag.”

  For the next two hours, Hannah was almost oblivious to her surroundings as she cleaned and bandaged, examined injuries and listened to Mrs Stannard’s advice. The woman seemed to have a depth of experience and eventually she explained.

  “My late husband was a doctor as was your father. We often worked together. He discussed his cases with me and we set up a surgery in the poorest part of York. He was an acquaintance of Mr Gidley who, when appointed Master here, suggested I apply for position as Matron. Like yourself, I am required to earn my living.” She paused to look around at the remaining patients. “Miss Morley, there are at least five people here who should be admitted. For a start, the man with an infected foot that has poisoned his leg and that poor girl who is about to give birth and came in off the streets. I will leave you whilst I arrange matters.”

  Five minutes later whilst dealing with a leg scraped almost to the bone, Hannah looked up to see a familiar figure enter the foul-smelling room. “Dr Lisle, what a surprise!”

  “It should not be. Today I wear my medical officer’s hat. Yesterday I wore that of guardian. What have we here? You are doing a good job, Miss Morley. This wound, almost certainly industrial, will need much attention and will take a while to heal.” He addressed the patient. “What is your occupation, my man?”

  “Stone breaker, Here at the ’ouse.”

  Dr Lisle shook his head. “I doubt it is possible to rest it but the wound is severe and needs time to heal.”

  “Can’t be done, sir Family to feed.” The man winced with pain. “Gorra keep going.”

  “That’s the trouble, isn’t it? Pressure on all sides. Too little money, no security and large families; no education so no chance of getting out of a system that oppresses the poor.” He seemed to be addressing the room at large but then turned his attention towards Hannah. “I am not a great philanthropist but believe me I have it in me to be a reformer. There is much to be done in this city and one or two affluent families are taking a lead, the Leighs, for example. You’ve heard of them, I suppose.”

  “No, but there is a great deal to be done everywhere,” Hannah cleaned the wound and the man groaned. “I knew of widowed women and their families turned out of miserable cottages that had been their homes for years because the wealthy landowner wanted to re-let. Once as many as nine people, a mother and her children, ended in a workhouse.”

  “You and I must put the world to rights or at least discuss its wrongs,” he smiled and pushed back dark hair, then seemed to remember the injured man. “Keep the wound clean and well padded. Get your wife to dress it and rest the leg at every opportunity.”

  “God bless you, sir, and the lady.”

  “He means you,” whispered Dr Lisle and smiled when Hannah remarked that she had never felt less ladylike. Her dress was blood-stained, her hands sticky with ointment and her hair fast falling down. “Oh, you will do,” was his remark before he turned his attention towards the woman who moaned and writhed as labour pains gripped.
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br />   At the end of a twelve-hour day, Hannah was free to leave. Outside the world was shrouded in thick sulphurous fog that lay like a suffocating blanket. Sounds were muffled and the light of flickering gas lamps, overdue for replacement mantles, barely penetrated the darkness and fog.

  Pulling her cloak closely around her tired body and covering her mouth, she walked slowly back to Belle and another set of duties. There were few people about and those she passed edged away as she did herself, fearful of what the fog might conceal.

  Twice she believed she had lost her way and panic rose, but having passed the apothecary’s, confidence returned. It was short-lived because having left the main thoroughfare and turning into side streets, she became hopelessly confused. It was impossible to be sure that Blackfrairs Lane lay ahead. Putting out a hand to feel for brickwork or fence, she crept along slowly determining that if all else failed she would knock on a door and hope to receive directions. Then somewhere a horse neighed and her spirits lifted. The animal would not be unattended in this area. Help may be at hand.

  Hannah realised two things simultaneously. One was that she was already in Blackfrairs Lane and the other that the horse was close by. In fact, the thought had no sooner registered than she almost bumped into a vehicle drawn close to the footpath at the side of the street. Voices, an undertone of urgency and annoyance, the horse’s hooves stamping on the cobbles and an indefinable sense of menace caused her to halt. She backed away, thankful now for the cover of darkness and fog.

  “Get her in then. Go on, lift her up.” It was a man’s voice, surely, but muffled so she could not be absolutely certain. Well-spoken anyway. There seemed the movement of two or three people and she stepped back another few paces. “Get a move on, there. No time to waste and she’ll not know.”

  Then the small drama was over. Words were exchanged and surely that was the clink of coins, the cab door was closed, and there came the crack of a whip. The vehicle creaked as it moved away. Hannah stood for a moment, alert and listening intently before edging along the footpath. Then through her knitted mittens she felt the prick of holly. Why! The horse and cab must have been outside number fourteen, Mrs Wilson’s house, or the adjoining property.

  Upstairs her mother fussed and exclaimed over her lateness. “My dear, I knew it was a bad idea. Working in that place and having to walk back in adverse conditions. This frightful fog came down before darkness fell and I have been worried out of my mind.”

  “Never mind that, Mama. I think it possible someone has been taken ill next door. Believe it or not there was a horse and cab outside as I came down Blackfrairs Lane. I almost bumped into it. How they found their way in this fog beats me.”

  “I do hope it is not that child you call Sal.” In the poor candle light that lit part of the attic room, leaving shadowy corners, Hannah saw her mother’s worried expression. “Leary came up here two or three times for short spells and we looked from the window into next door’s yard. That little creature was out there for hours, clutching some thin garment around her and weeping. I am sure of it because she wiped her face often. I watched until the fog descended and she was still outside.”

  “It is outrageous; such cruelty, and an unjust punishment if that’s what is was. Maybe she has been taken ill. I wouldn’t be surprised if she developed pneumonia.” She paused having taken off her cloak and bonnet. “I shall tell you about my day later. Have you eaten, Mama?”

  Belle nodded. “Leary has taken me under her small wing. Broth that was fairly tasty and bread that nearly pulled out my teeth!” Hannah was pleased that her mother seemed in better spirits and able to make a small joke. “I shall teach her letters and devise simple sums. She will be quick to learn, in my opinion. Do you not find it surprising that Mrs Wilson should permit her visits?”

  “I do, Mama, but she seems abstracted. It’s almost as if she has too much on her mind to care one way or another. Or perhaps she is unwell and sickening for something. There are debilitating winter ailments doing the rounds.” Hannah was opening the large trunk that held most of their belongings. “I need another dress. This one shall be for the hours spent nursing because it is already stained, and I shall require another, plain and suitable for when I take a class of girls.”

  Over the next few days, Hannah became used to an almost unvarying routine. Rising early, she attended to Belle and tidied the attic room. Then she walked to the workhouse in darkness, hurrying as did the factory workers, droves of them, although many others would have started their day’s work even earlier. Then began days so busy that her head spun.

  Miss Phipps and her intrusive observation of activities in Hannah’s orderly class was a source of huge irritation and some anxiety. Hannah dared not disobey and act out Bible stories, or tales from history, for fear of retribution, but she tried to involve the girls in the learning process and taught them several poems and verses. ‘Lucy Gray’ was a firm favourite.

  “It was first published over fifty years ago,” she told her class. “I don’t expect you to remember that fact…well, not all of you, but see if you can all learn some of the verses. It’s a good thing to have a brain that is a store-house full of interesting things.”

  Did she imagine increased interest? The girls were so cowed anyway, so lacking in initiative, their young spirits crushed, but there were a few pairs of bright eyes and when they recited together, their voices rose and fell as if the words held some meaning.

  “So, and what are you learning today?” Miss Phipps had appeared and ignoring Hannah stood with folded hands, long pale fingers pressed together, waiting for an answer.

  It was Molly Tinsley who stood up, her short fair curls haloed around her small dainty head. “Please Miss Phipps, we were learning about Lucy Gray. You know, the poor girl whose ghost came back.”

  “What utter nonsense! For the sake of all that’s Holy, what are you teaching them, Miss Morley?”

  Hannah felt anger rip through her. Careful, don’t let her know she has upset you.

  “Oh dear, Miss Phipps. Molly did not explain very well. You will recall William Wordsworth’s moving account of the child lost in a snowstorm on the moor. The poem first appeared in a publication called Lyrical Ballads in 1800 or thereabouts. I think the volume contained work by Samuel Taylor Coleridge as well.”

  “That’s quite enough from you,” her superior said rudely. “There’s no need to show off your knowledge and in any case you would do better to teach these ignorant children poetry of a religious nature. Do you understand?”

  “Indeed we do, don’t we, girls?” Hannah could not resist, and encouraged, most of her pupils chorused, “Yes, Miss Phipps.”

  Of course she would pay for it later but the expression on the other woman’s face was a study to behold and well worth it.

  Later she found herself recounting the incident to Mrs Stannard as they sat over bowls of mutton broth at a top table in the dining hall. “Oh, do be careful, Miss Morley. It does not do to make enemies. I rather think Miss Phipps has friends in high places. At one time she was employed by a wealthy local family, cousins or friends, I am not sure which, of one of our guardians. You have met him, of course, Mr Jasper Meredith.”

  The next morning Molly Tinsley was absent from class and Hannah asked if anyone knew why that should be? Red-haired Fran Noone stood up and said timidly, “We think she’s moved in with Miss Phipps, miss. She went yesterday afternoon when we were doing needlework. She was fetched.”

  “Wait here quietly, girls. I need to investigate. Don’t make a sound.”

  The injunction was unnecessary because the children lived in fear of being punished for any misdemeanour.

  After rapping on the other classroom door and being told to enter, Hannah did so and faced a fierce looking tyrant. “May I have a word, Miss Phipps?” She did not wait to be told that this was not the moment, instead she rushed in with her question: “Molly Tinsley is absent from my class. I am informed that she has been moved up into your own.”


  “What I decide to do in the best interests of my pupils, mine I remind you, is entirely my affair. Tinsley may be younger than others in my class but she will fit in very well. A bright pupil. Has that answered your impertinent question?”

  “Yes, thank you, Miss Phipps.” The words almost stuck in Hannah’s throat as she scanned the rows of girls looking for a halo of golden hair. Yes, there was Molly, smirking in a self-satisfied manner from her seat at a table placed against the bare wall. Hannah nodded in her direction and took her leave. I shall get even with you, Miss Phipps.

  The opportunity arose sooner than anticipated when once again she sat beside Mrs Stannard at the midday meal. “I have been thinking about the classrooms,” she said as she cut into gristly meat. “It is not a subject I am in a position to raise with Mr Gidley but I feel the pupils would benefit from charts and maps, maybe some pictures. I have a Bible full of beautiful pictures and something along the same lines but larger would look well.”

  “Do I sense more than a simple suggestion, Miss Morley? Never mind, I am in agreement and will raise the matter with the Master. He is keen that young minds are filled with readily absorbed information, that colour is brought into drab lives. He used to teach in one of the ragged schools, you know.”

  “I am afraid I don’t know much about them.”

  “In a nutshell, Miss Morley, the children who attend are too poorly clad and unwashed to attend Sunday schools, cannot afford to pay for education, and are usually from city slums. People such as Mr Gidley offer lessons in the evenings and on Sundays too. He firmly believes that education is a necessary aid to upward social mobility.” Her tone was warm and enthusiastic. “It is an enormous privilege to work with such a man as you will discover for yourself.”

  A week later, Hannah did indeed discover when boxes arrived in the classrooms, filled to the brim with the very items she had mentioned to Mrs Stannard, who herself appeared on the scene just as Miss Phipps looked about to become a victim of spontaneous combustion, as Hannah later related to Belle.