Orphan of Angel Street (28 page)

The next morning she found Margaret Adair giving Stevie his morning feed in the cheerful back sitting room.

‘Do come and sit by me, Mercy,’ Margaret said, smiling.

Mercy went and sat tentatively at the other end of the couch. She hadn’t been sure what to wear, and had put her black skirt on again. She was also warm inside from eating the nicest breakfast she could ever remember having. It had been slops, it was true, but with all milk and crunchy grains of sugar on top. With her stomach comfortingly full she was ready to take on anything.

‘Sit back, dear,’ Margaret encouraged her. ‘I so want you to feel this is your home. I do have such a feeling we’re going to get on. I’m so sorry for James talking to you in that harsh way last night. I’m afraid he does get into a panic when anything the least bit different happens and then he can get rather stiff and starchy . . .’

Mercy watched her carefully, not having any idea that her big eyes and intent stare were making her employer feel quite nervous.

‘I really do want you here, Mercy.’ To Mercy’s astonishment the woman reached across and took her hand for a moment. Hers felt warm and soft.

‘I suppose Mr Adair was expecting someone a bit more . . . well, posh?’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Margaret sighed. ‘Older certainly. He thinks such a lot of our nanny, Audrey Radcliffe. I think she reminds him of the nanny he had as a boy.’

‘Poor him then.’ Mercy clapped a hand over her mouth in horror, eyes stretched wide. What was she saying! ‘Ooh, I’m sorry – I shouldn’t’ve said that.’

But Margaret Adair had hold of her again, was squeezing her wrist, face full of concern. ‘Is that what you think? D’you think she’s wrong, and unkind?’

Mercy felt out of her depth here. What a strange household. Why on earth should this woman be consulting her?

‘I’ve only seen ’er the once,’ Mercy said. ‘I don’t know whether she is or not – I’m sure she’s very good . . .’

The white hand was still grasping her wrist. Margaret Adair’s eyes were pleading.

‘I just . . .’

‘Yes – what? Please speak frankly, Mercy. I think I shall go completely mad if I can’t find someone to speak honestly with.’

Mercy kept looking into her eyes. ‘When I was in the home, the orphanage, that is, there were women working there who shouldn’t’ve been within a mile of children. I suppose she just reminds me . . . there’s summat about her – but that’s just me . . .’

‘Oh Mercy, thank you.’ Margaret Adair gave her wrist another squeeze and then released her. She seemed triumphant, and carried on speaking in a rush. ‘You have no idea what it means to me hearing you say that. She’s so harsh and rigid and Stevie’s so obviously unhappy with her. But James can’t see it. Anything that goes wrong, if Stevie cries or the routine gets upset, he blames me. Routine is his god. Everything Audrey Radcliffe does is right. She knows. That’s his way of looking at it. Babies have to be taken in hand and trained. I’m only allowed to feed him when she says, however much he cries. She barely allows me to play with him. You’ll see, she’ll be down any moment. Some days I feel as if I’ll just explode and shout and scream, I feel so helpless and frustrated.’

Her tears started to fall as she finished speaking. She held up a handkerchief to her mouth. Feeling the quivering of his mother’s body, Stevie came off the breast and poked his head curiously from under the shawl.

‘Oh, and he’s such a darling!’ Margaret lifted him upright and he kicked his sturdy legs. ‘And your nanny isn’t such a perfect archangel either, is she, letting you bang your head again. Look – show Mercy.’

The place above his eye where Mercy had noticed the scar before was raw and inflamed, the skin pink around the wound. Mercy thought about the noises she’d heard.

‘When he was having a bath?’

‘Yes. She said he caught his head. On the corner of the table.’

Mercy frowned. ‘Couldn’t you get another nanny? I mean, not that it’s any of my business.’

‘Oh, but I want it to be your business.’ Margeret’s voice was pleading. ‘You must think me a very strange person, but when you came here, even by little things you said, I knew you had courage. Far more than I have. That you’d question things. I need someone to tell me I’m not wrong and foolish. I need you to be on my side, Mercy. Please don’t be afraid. Say what you think to me . . .’

Mercy’s bewilderment increased. Why was this woman not in charge of her own household? Surely that was how it was supposed to be when you had money? It all seemed very strange to her. She did know though, that she liked her and that she didn’t like the look of Nanny Radcliffe at all.

‘Well, I’ll do my best,’ was all she could say.

When Stevie had finished his feed his mother sat him up and he beamed milkily at them both.

‘He’s beautiful,’ Mercy said, drawing closer. She held out a finger to him and he clamped it in his strong fist. Mercy shook her finger and he let out a gurgling laugh.

‘’Ello there Stevie – you’re a fine fella, aren’t you? I must say, Mrs Adair, he’s one of the bonniest babbies I’ve ever seen.’

‘D’you want to hold him for a moment?’

‘Ooh yes!’

Mercy took Stevie on to her lap, holding him upright.

‘He’d almost sit by hisself – look how strong his back is!’ She jiggled him up and down, playing horsey and making clicking sounds with her tongue and Stevie chortled, his beaming face only marred by the harsh red wound above his eye.

They were so busy playing with him, they didn’t hear the footsteps outside. The door opened and Radcliffe stood in the doorway. Stevie, his back to her, carried on chuckling. Mercy, still with Stevie’s hands in her own, saw Margaret Adair’s face tense up, the smile dying from it.

‘Time for a nap now,’ Radcliffe commanded. She stared hard at Mercy.

Mercy stared back. I know you, she thought, her flesh creeping. I know your sort.

‘I’m sorry – I should introduce you both,’ Margaret said. ‘This is Mercy who is to act as my companion.’ Mercy thought she’d better stand up.

‘Pleased to meet you,’ she said, forcing a smile.

Audrey Radcliffe smiled, showing small, uneven teeth. ‘I’m glad to see you’re getting to know Steven.’

‘He’s a lovely little lad, isn’t he?’ Mercy said.

‘Oh yes, he is indeed.’

What was it about this woman? Mercy thought. She had an air of command, of coldness even when she was pretending to be nice as pie.

‘Come along now, Steven, dear,’ she said.

‘Oh, couldn’t he just stay a little bit longer?’ Margaret appealed. ‘He and Mercy were just getting acquainted.’

There was no reply. The woman just stood there waiting to be obeyed, her disapproval seeping across the room.

Margaret quailed and gave in, reaching over to take her son. ‘I suppose time is getting on.’

As she tried to hand Stevie over he clung to her blouse, face crumpling. He’d already begun crying as, without a word, Radcliffe took him away.

Over that first month Mercy settled into the big house on the Wake Green Road. She spent her evenings with Rose and Emmie in the little sitting room at the far end of the kitchen, talking and laughing. She started to feel young again and more energetic, especially as even the servants’ food in the Adairs’ house was better and more plentiful than anything she’d ever been used to. Mrs Parslow went home in the evenings to a little house in Kings Heath. But she was kind enough when she was there, once she’d decided Mercy wasn’t going to get above herself.

But Mercy knew she was still on trial.

‘He might send me packing come the end of the month,’ she complained to the maids one evening.

‘Well, I ’ope you don’t go,’ Emmie said, huddling close to the tiny fire in the grate. ‘It’s been a good laugh since you’ve been ’ere.’

‘I hardly ever see ’im, so I don’t know how he thinks he’s going to know what’s going on.’ Mercy only ever saw Mr Adair in passing and he never seemed to take any notice of her. This wouldn’t have worried her – she didn’t expect him to – except that he was the one who would decide whether she could stay or not. And it was growing more and more important to her that she did stay. The thought of going back to Angel Street would come over her like a rainstorm on a sunny day. She liked Margaret Adair, and her job was easy. She could scarcely believe what a comfortable life she had suddenly found. No more poverty, no more scraping for every penny in that damp, jerry-built house, having to see Mabel’s horrible face! It seemed like a miracle. If only she knew for sure she could stay!

But there was one other thing that made her ache for this certainty and that was Stevie. She adored him almost as if he were her own. She looked forward every day to seeing his wide, brown-eyed face and when she heard him crying she had to stop herself running to give him comfort. If only she could get closer to him. She found it hard to understand Margaret letting herself become so cut off from her child.

If I had a babby, Mercy thought, I’d never let it out of my sight.

‘I’d love to see Stevie more,’ she said to Rose and Emmie. ‘He’s so beautiful. I wish I could just take ’im off and play whenever I like.’

‘You’ll be lucky!’ Rose guffawed with scorn at the very idea. ‘Not with that guard dog ’e’s got looking after ’im!’

One day she was passing through the hall when Nanny Radcliffe pushed Stevie’s black perambulator in through the front door. It was a windy day and Mercy ran forward and helped her shut the door.

‘’Er, thank you,’ Audrey Radcliffe said, sounding surprised but not hostile. She smiled. Mercy felt encouraged, and bent over Stevie. ‘Hello there!’ She reached out and tickled him under the chin. ‘How’s the beautiful lad then?’ She looked up at Audrey Radcliffe who was standing, watching. Mercy was taken aback. She had expected the woman to stiffen and tell her to leave off but instead she saw an odd, wistful expression on her face.

Mercy smiled at her again, her heart thudding. What was it about this little woman that made her so uncomfortable to be with? All her childhood nerves around Miss O’Donnell and the others rushed back through her. But this was a chance, and she decided to risk it.

‘I, er – I like babbies. I was wondering if I could come up and see him like – I could give ’im a bath or summat for you?’

The woman seemed to tighten up. ‘Oh, I don’t think so.’ She started to push the pram on down the hall. ‘No. That’s my job. You leave all that to me.’

Soon after, when Margaret had gone out for an hour and the sun was winter bright, Mercy looked out and saw the pram in the garden. Through the glass she could hear Stevie crying. There was no sign of anyone else. Nanny Radcliffe must have put him out for his sleep. She was rigorous about him getting enough fresh air.

Mercy had a great rush of longing. If only she could just go and take a peep at him! She was alone: Rose and Emmie were busy, and she would have loved to play with him or walk him round the park. Perhaps she could just go and rock him to get him to sleep . . .

She went to the back door, unlocked it, and went out into the garden, hugging herself. She had no coat on and it was freezing cold! She could hear Stevie’s cries, loud now, and wretched.

When she reached the pram, she gasped, horrified. Stevie had been put outside with no covers on. Not one! He was clad simply in a vest and napkin, his arms and legs bare. He was crying wretchedly, his nose was running and his fingers and lips had a blue tinge.

‘Oh my Lord, the stupid bitch!’ Mercy reached in without giving it a thought, gathered him up into her arms and carried him back into the house. Sitting by the fire in the back sitting room, she held him wrapped in a shawl and rocked him, warming him until eventually he grew drowsy and slept in her lap. She still carried on humming, looking down into his chubby face, the scar over his eye at last beginning to heal properly. She laid him softly to rest on the couch and sat watching him, mesmerized. Imagine if he were hers. Belonging to someone! Really belonging. Being able to call him family. She pretended to herself that Stevie was hers, imagined trying to build a life for him. How she would work to see he had everything better than her! And she would never, never leave him . . .

‘What are you doing?’

The voice at the door made her jump violently. In that split second she had to decide what to say. She wanted to shout, but knew she must be polite.

‘He was crying. I just thought I’d give ’im a bit of a love, that’s all. He was cold,’ she pointed out, trying to speak humbly. She had to keep on the right side of this woman.

Audrey Radcliffe stared at her for an uncomfortably long time. Mercy saw that she, too, was struggling, having to decide how to play this one. To Mercy’s astonishment she walked across the room and sat down. She put her feet in their pointed shoes neatly together.

‘You shouldn’t go against what I say, you know.’ Her voice was oddly childlike, wheedling almost.

‘Sorry,’ Mercy said, controlling her anger. ‘Only it is cold—’

‘I’m the child’s nanny, not you.’

‘I know, only—’

‘Me. Not you.’ She smiled suddenly, eyes fixed on Mercy’s face, then stood up again. Mercy noticed to her astonishment that her hands were trembling. In a desperate voice she said. ‘Don’t tell her.’

‘Tell who?’

‘Mrs Adair. About this afternoon. It won’t happen again, really it won’t.’

‘Awright. No, ’course I won’t.’ Mercy smiled up at her. So she was human after all. She was worried about losing her place here! But looking at her Mercy could still only feel the same sense of disquiet. There was something oddly wooden about her. Something not right . . .

‘Shall I bring him up when he wakes?’

‘All right. Straight away though.’ She was on her dignity again now, and went out of the room without another word.

‘Well,’ Mercy murmured to the sleeping baby, ‘she’s a rum’un all right, that one.’

‘You surely have no objection to her staying with us now?’ Margaret Adair pleaded with her husband. ‘She’s been here a month and she’s been marvellous.’

James Adair had arrived home from the works and the two of them were in their bedchamber, changing for the evening. James was sitting on the edge of the bed unfastening his shoes. He hesitated before answering.