The Pretty Girls Page 7

  “The Master’s idea, Miss Phipps. As you know, he is keen that young minds are fed. As far as I know, and with the full approval of our guardians, naturally, he has purchased maps and charts and some suitable pictures. See! Here is a lovely framed depiction of Ruth gleaning in the fields. Such a wonderful Old Testament story, I always think.”

  Hannah was thrilled with the contents of the box that arrived in her classroom with assurances that by the morrow all would be hung on the walls. “Come girls,” she invited, “this is wonderful. See what we have here!”

  There were murmurs of anticipation and excitement as the children gazed at maps that were incomprehensible to them, a wall calendar, and large framed pictures of New Testament scenes; the Feeding of the Five Thousand, Christ blessing the children and the Raising of Lazarus.

  “I know that one, miss,” chanted Fran Noone. “He came back from the dead, but he wasn’t a ghost like Lucy Gray. That’s right, in’t it, miss?”

  A little of Hannah’s pleasure drained away when she met with Miss Phipps at the end of the morning session. “I don’t know how you did it, Miss Morley, but I know full well you are at the bottom of all this.”

  “All what?” replied Hannah innocently, guessing what was coming next.

  “This…well not exactly rubbish, but ornamentation to hang on our walls. These children will be spoilt; they will expect more of life than it can possibly offer them. You have a lot to learn, young woman.”

  Hannah’s cheeks blushed and as usual when confronted by this unlikeable woman, her heart beat faster, but she was not going to show her emotions.

  “I cannot argue with Mr Gidley. My understanding is that he believes children should enjoy learning and will benefit from educational aids.”

  “Is that what you call them?”

  “No, Miss Phipps. It is what Mr Gidley calls them or so I have heard. Besides, we all need a little colour in our lives.” She did not mean to run her gaze over the unbecoming, unadorned, charcoal grey dress worn by the other woman, and chided herself for what amounted to unkindness, but she had been unable to prevent herself. Confused and alarmed that she, Hannah Morley, possessed a streak of cruelty, she softened her words by adding wistfully that speaking for herself she often longed for colour.

  Before she changed and made her way to the infirmary and the duties that awaited, she caught sight of Miss Phipps again. It was towards the end of the midday meal, referred to as dinner, and the woman was standing over Molly Tinsley. To Hannah’s astonishment, Miss Phipps was running her fingers through the child’s fair hair, almost as if she was playing with the golden strands.

  Well, maybe Miss Phipps harboured a secret and unnatural predilection for pretty little girls. Hannah had heard tell of such things. There had been a sad middle-aged woman in Longwell who had tried to entice the young girls into her cottage, and there had followed whisperings and rumours of her furtive fondling. She had become a laughing stock and a pariah. “Make sure you run past her cottage,” or “Got yer chastity belt on, lass?”

  There was nothing she could do about it, Hannah told herself. Perhaps, though, she had misinterpreted the action. Perhaps Miss Phipps had been caught in a moment of rare kindness.

  The infirmary teemed with those unable to pay for medical services. As Mrs Stannard explained, “These folk had been turned away from the voluntary hospitals and were too poor to go elsewhere, jobless and often homeless.” She added that the service she and her assistants provided was practically unfunded and although Dr Lisle received remuneration for attending those on Outdoor Relief, that is those sick who received monies from the Union, and for his attendance upon those in the wards, he had to pay for prescribed medicines himself and his visits were seldom more frequent than once weekly.

  “What happened to the woman in labour yesterday? Hannah wanted to know.”Did she give birth safely?"

  "She gave birth to a live female child, a poor mite but likely to survive. But a sad ending, the mother overlaid the child this morning.

  “You mean she killed the child by lying on top of it?” Hannah was aghast.

  “We could not prove it was intended. It happens quite often. I was called to the woman at five this morning when it was discovered. The mother seemed unmoved, relieved of a burden, no doubt. Well, if she makes her living on the streets as is likely, how could she cope with a baby in tow? She could not afford to pay for its care and perhaps there was nobody with whom to leave it. Perhaps she did her child a favour.”

  “You can’t mean that, Mrs Stannard. That is quite dreadful. She killed her baby to save it from future misery? Is that what you are saying?”

  “It’s possible, but I doubt the poor girl thought of that. She may have been temporarily deranged following the birth or it may have been accidental, although I think it unlikely. I suspect she felt trapped by circumstances completely outwith her control and it was one less burden to carry.”

  Hannah felt tears pricking behind her eyelids and fought to control herself. She would never be able to remain calm in such a situation, she was sure. Of course, Mrs Stannard had seen much more of the world and its misery, but even so, what she had just heard was unbearably sad and distressing. “Come along, Miss Morley…Hannah…we have work to do. Focus on that and think too of the transformation that will take place in the classrooms. I would say that we achieved a victory of sorts in that department, wouldn’t you?”

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  Chapter Nine

  “I am not expected to work on a Sunday, Mama, but I am expected to attend Divine service. The Master, Mr Gidley, knows that I belong to the established church so I may attend locally. On the other hand, there are services at Bronton on both Sunday mornings and afternoons when, as Mrs Stannard puts it, ‘the chaplain attends to the spiritual needs of the inmates.’ One could say he has a captive audience.”

  Her mother looked up from the alterations she was making to a dress of her own so it might fit Hannah. “You sound acerbic, my dear, a trifle disillusioned, if I may say so. Does that place have a chapel or place of worship?”

  “Not yet, but there will be one when the new building programme is completed. At present the services take place in the dining hall. Do you think I should attend?”

  “Perhaps, dear, until we are more settled and then we will probably go to the established church closest to our home. I so miss Longwell and our dear old church there.”

  “Mr Gidley is non-conformist, a Baptist I think, no, Methodist…oh, I am not sure, but I don’t gain the impression that he minds how his staff label themselves as long as we try to do our best and treat other people with respect and what he would call Christian kindness.”

  “Admirable,” commented Belle, snipping at a thread. “You say he is a bundle of energy.”

  “I don’t see much of him at all, but Mrs Stannard tells me of his innovations and plans, and she saw what he had written in the Day Book. He keeps a record of absolutely everything, Mama. The names of every single person who enters the workhouse even if they stay for one or two nights. He writes their details and of their circumstances…some are desperately sad…such as the woman and child sleeping in a hedge.” She sighed and bit her lip. “He records the names of runaways and punishments and even mentions purchases. Here is what she said he wrote, and I have to agree that it shows a degree of tenderness, because he recorded having ordered ‘comfortable cots for the little children.’ Oh, and he is suggesting to the Guardians that some form of Christmas entertainment is arranged for them. For the children, that is.”

  “My goodness! He will be proposing that a tree be brought inside and decorated. It is becoming the custom and rather charming, if outlandish.”

  “I don’t imagine Mrs Wilson will indulge in such frivolity but we might have our own tiny little tree, and we could hang biscuits and sweets from the branches. Rosa, that is Leary as you know her, would love it. Did she visit you today?”

  "We were well into our lessons when t
here was such a to-do next door, such screaming and yelling, and the child fled. Later, when she reappeared, she was upset about something else. Apparently, Mrs Wilson had a male visitor and Leary took tea into them. She was disturbed by the way he looked at her and that she was asked to turn around that he might see her better. Oh, and he asked her to remove her cap and commented on her hair. My dear, how old did you say she is?

  Hannah tried to remember. “I think she had been told she was about nine or ten. Why, Mama?”

  “I am sure she must be older. Her figure is beginning to change; you know, assuming more female contours.”

  “Oh, you mean she is developing breasts.”

  “There is no need to be coarse, Hannah. But I suppose so. She was standing beside the window and as she turned her dress pulled across her chest and I couldn’t help noticing. I wondered whether she might be closer to eleven or twelve.”

  “What you say is very concerning, Mama. Keep an eye on her. You are the only one to do it because I am away for hours every day.”

  “I am not sure I am up to the responsibility. All I can do is ask and listen. Oh, how I hate this place; the noises coming from next door and that poor child out in all weathers, the mice in the walls and our horrible landlady. Life can be very grim, can’t it?” Far worse than you can ever imagine. Hannah thought of the street girl who had smothered her new-born baby. She would not tell Mama about it or about some of the other things she had seen and heard. Instead, she described the boxes that had arrived in the classrooms and Miss Phipp’s reaction.

  *****

  Hannah attended the afternoon service at the workhouse and was secretly amused by the wording painted on banners that had been hung on the bare walls of the dining hall. “The Lord is merciful,” she read, and another, “God is a very present help in times of trouble.”

  Mrs Stannard appeared at her side. “The problem is that God works through human hands and they are often less than kind! I thank Him daily for Mr Gidley because he is compassionate.” She glanced round at the people present. "How many of these have cause to be grateful for anything?

  Suffering was etched on the faces of the destitute surrounding her and Hannah, always finding it difficult to look into eyes that were dull or pain-filled, certainly devoid of hope, looked down at the prayer book she had brought with her.

  “You will not be needing that,” Mrs Stannard whispered. “We have no appointed chaplain. So far the guardians have resisted the request for his salary. We have visiting lay preachers and a curate from a local parish comes here often. His sermons are short and to the point, full of anecdotes and interest. There is no shuffling and not much sniffing and coughing when young Mr Christie is on duty as he is today.”

  “Inmates may attend local churches, mayn’t they?”

  “Oh yes, and they are bound to return to us immediately afterwards. Any who cause trouble in the town or are caught begging are compelled to miss a meal, but Sunday is a meat day so that is not too much of a problem. Come, let us take our seats.”

  ‘Young’ Mr Christie was not quite as youthful as Hannah had expected. He was probably in his late thirties but possessed a full head of brown hair and a smile that embraced his congregation, or should that be audience, she wondered as a service such as she had never before attended, took place.

  Mr Christie’s prayers were short and to the point. If Hannah had been prepared for exhortations to be thankful and grateful, they were not forthcoming. As expected, a blessing was called down upon the beloved Queen and her family, and then for Divine help in difficult and tragic situations, about which many of those present were obviously familiar. She suspected this dynamic man was approved of sincerely by Mr Gidley, but glancing around she failed to see him.

  When the curate addressed the company the sufferings of Saint Paul imprisoned in Rome were interspersed with interesting glimpses into Mr Christie’s own prison visiting. Then to Hannah’s astonishment, he produced a flute with which to accompany the singing of a hymn.

  It seemed that many present were already familiar with the words and Hannah blinked back a tear as cracked voices sang of “grace enough for thousands”, and one verse made a huge impression upon her. Was Mr Christie covertly criticising those who imposed their will upon others? Miss Phipps came to mind as they sang:

  "For we make His love too narrow

  By false limits of our own.

  And we magnify His strictness

  With a zeal He will not own."

  Later, Hannah was to meet Mr James Christie because Mrs Stannard announced that the curate always stayed for a cup of tea and she was inviting Hannah and a few other staff members present at the service to join them in Mr Gidley’s office. Miss Phipps, she informed, would not be present as she had a free afternoon and was visiting friends, and for this Hannah sent up a fervent prayer of thanks although it would have been interesting to know what her protagonist thought of the words they had just sung.

  Extra chairs had been brought into the large office and a log fire burned in the hearth. Two young girls brought in trays of tea and buns, and Hannah found herself seated between Mr Christie and a small middle-aged Welshman who announced that he was from Ruthin where he had a wife and two daughters. “Williams,” he said, “Elias Williams, I ’ave been appointed tailor here.” His accent was quite delightful with a rising cadence at the end of some words and every sentence. “Better pay here, you see. Dilys, my wife, that is, and our girls understand they’ll not see much of me, but there’ll be food on the table. Dilys ails, never strong, and it’s Bethan, our eldest, who runs the house.”

  “I suppose the new train service has opened up possibilities of working distances further away from home…I have seen the splendid Victoria locomotive station… but you won’t get back to Ruthin often, will you?”

  “No, indeed. A few days now and then if I save up my free time. Mr Gidley is very understanding. Not here, is he, although we are making free in his office. I am told he still has a connection with one of the ragged schools. Could be there now. A good man, very sound.”

  “Miss Morley, I believe…” Mr Christie, who was battling with a sticky bun and a recalcitrant teacup that was in danger of falling on the wooden floor, was addressing her, and smiling kindly at the Welshman she turned to the curate. “May I suggest I hold the teacup whilst you tackle the bun?”

  He grinned and looked boyish. “I see you come straight to the point,” he said.

  “To save you embarrassment and my skirt from being tea stained. My mother finished sewing this dress last evening.”

  Soon his gentle probing questions had elicited much of her situation and in response he informed her that his father had been a harness maker and his education undertaken by the local squire whose son he had saved from drowning when both boys had been ten years old. “It wasn’t in these parts,” he added, “but I find myself here because I felt drawn to city life, to the needs of people who have nothing and nobody to turn to. I suppose London might have absorbed my energies but I had no wish to travel so far south.”

  Hannah’s mind was reeling with information and impressions by the time she started for home and Belle. Besides Mr Elias Williams and the Reverend Christie, she had been introduced to a serious young woman who was to take charge of the infant’s nursery and another who was to assist Mrs Agnes Blair, the self-appointed housekeeper with what that woman considered to be onerous duties. It seemed that a large number of new staff were being recruited owing to the enlargement, rebuilding and renovations taking place.

  There was so much to tell Mama and all of it quite fascinating, but first she must navigate streets that were once again shrouded in fog.

  Rosa, or Leary, as her mother insisted on calling the girl, had appeared on one occasion only, her mother informed, and had been quite distracted because that man as she referred to him, had come calling again. She, Leary, had opened the door to admit him and he had brushed past her in a very familiar manner.

  “It seems he
pushed against her and as she turned to close the door, he fondled her…well, you know…”

  “I can guess. It sounds outrageous, but perhaps she was mistaken, already in a nervous state seeing him again.”

  “I don’t think so, dear. She said he grabbed her nether regions.”

  “You mean her buttocks, Mama.”

  “That is not how she referred to those parts, but I guessed it to be so. Most worrying is that Mrs Wilson was present. At least, when Leary turned around the woman was standing in the hallway, calmly I gather, as if nothing amiss had occurred.”

  “It’s worrying. The child is in danger, Mama, I am sure, but I am at a loss to know what to do.”

  Next morning the fog still drifted around the back streets but not quite so densely as the previous evening and when Hannah took the now familiar walk to work and turned from Blackfriar’s Lane into a cutting that joined the main road, she glimpsed ahead the same squat figure she had spied days ago and once again carrying a large bag. As if aware that she was being followed, or perhaps whoever it was had heard the clack of boots on cobbles, the figure seemed to put on speed and disappeared between the houses.

  Delivering laundered clothes or dressmaking alterations? Hannah put speculation aside as she drew close to the apothecary’s where Sam Webster was already at his work counter, candles burning brightly as he mixed and pounded ingredients. Not yet open to the public he nevertheless crossed to the door and greeted Hannah as he opened it.

  "Life treating you well, I hope, Miss Morley? She nodded smilingly and hoped he too was in fine fettle.

  “Mustn’t grumble. Except for the hours. The old man expects me to work late every night whilst he scuttles home at six o’clock. I might as well sleep under the counter. It’d save time!”

  At the workhouse there was what her father would have referred to as “a bit of an uproar.”