Poor Little Rich Girl (28 page)

‘Next!’

Lonnie jumped out of bed and hurried over to the washstand. ‘I don’t believe you washed at all, and I know you didn’t clean your teeth,’ she said accusingly as Abigail passed her. ‘Oh, Abby, isn’t this the most hateful place in the world? I’ve never
been so cold before in my life, not even when Hester and I first arrived from India.’

‘Oh, damn! I quite forgot my teeth; I’ll do them when you do yours then I won’t spit in your washing water before you’ve used it,’ Abigail said. ‘Oh, how we used to grumble about the heat on the plains when it was time to go to the hills … well, when I get back to India, I won’t ever grumble again.’

Abigail, Shirley, Marion and Lonnie had all spent their formative years in India, though they had never met there, since they came from such disparate locations as Peshawar, Benares, New Delhi and Bombay.

‘What’s this place like in the summer? Are we allowed any more freedom when the weather’s fine?’ Lonnie asked, beginning to clean her teeth and motioning to her friend to do likewise. ‘It won’t be as cold as it is now, that’s one comfort.’ Lowering her voice, she added: ‘Not that I mean to be here when summer comes – no, indeed! I’d like to run away except that I’ve nowhere to run to, but my father returns from his world cruise in April and he will certainly take me away from this horrid place.’

‘Most of us say that, to start with,’ Abigail remarked. ‘The trouble is, Lonnie, if you’ve no relatives to take you in and your father and mother are not rich, then this school is just about all they can manage. I hate it here, of course I do, but I know it’s all my parents can afford, and I know the younger children will have to come here as well one day, so I try to behave myself and do more or less as I’m told. Otherwise, when the little ones come, the nuns will be horrible to them because of me; do you understand?’

‘Yes, in a way,’ Lonnie said. ‘But I’m an only child
and I intend to be really difficult and awkward, see if I’m not! And my father
is
rich. I’m sure he’d hire a house for me and servants and things and let me go to a day school, rather than stay on in this awful place. Next!’

Lonnie and Abigail returned to their beds and began hastily dressing, for the nuns bore down heavily upon lateness or disobedience. Each nun carried a short strap at her waist which she would ply vigorously upon any wrongdoer and though Lonnie intended to be as disruptive as possible, she had already discovered that strapping was exceedingly painful and best avoided.

Presently, descending the stairs with her dormitory companions, she saw Sister Martha standing in the hallway, gently swinging the strap and eyeing the girls’ woollen-stockinged legs covetously. She was clearly longing to send her strap whistling across someone’s calves but thus far had been denied the opportunity of so doing by the exemplary conduct of her pupils. Lonnie considered climbing aboard the banister and shooting downstairs at top speed, knocking the nun over like a nine-pin as she reached the hall. It would be enormous fun and would mark her out as a girl not to be trifled with, a girl determined to court not merely trouble, but also expulsion. However, there was the strap to be considered … Sighing, Lonnie decided to leave disruption until after breakfast, since her stomach was already growling with hunger and anyway she had an uncanny feeling that the nuns would not willingly expel any pupil. That she would be punished severely she had no doubt, but like the other girls she could not possibly be expelled because her relatives were far away. Already, in five short
days, she had heard of the punishment cupboard, a dark and dreadful basement prison where the truly bad were locked in total, spidery darkness for as long as eight hours. Older girls swore that, in times past, disobedient and difficult pupils had been incarcerated for longer, not even being allowed out to seek their beds but forced to spend the night sitting miserably on the dank earth floor, praying for release.

Lonnie tripped off the stair and drew level with the nun. Sister Martha’s expression was almost friendly and Lonnie realised why when the strap whistled threw the air and caught her across the calves. The nun gave her a brief, mad smile, saying as she did so: ‘Good morning, Sister Martha! Where are your manners, Leonora?’

Lonnie gasped, for the cut had been a painful one, and opened her mouth to tell the nun what she thought of her, but to her own astonishment heard her voice, very small and prim, saying: ‘Good morning, Sister Martha!’

As they entered the dining room and took their places at the long wooden tables, upon which bowls of porridge already steamed, a subdued chatter broke out. It was forbidden to talk on the stairs and corridors or in the classrooms – except when addressing or being addressed by a teacher, of course – but quiet conversation in the dining room was permitted. Wedged on a bench between Abigail and Shirley, Lonnie accepted a mug of weak tea from a dining room monitor and then turned to hiss in Abigail’s ear that her leg was still smarting and that she hated Sister Martha.

‘We all do,’ Abigail said frankly. ‘She’s the worst of the lot, if you ask me, but you’ll feel her strap over
and over, Lonnie, if you don’t fall in line. After all, it doesn’t hurt you to say good morning, does it?’

‘No – oh, no-o, but I forgot,’ Lonnie explained. ‘Why did she have to hit me, though? She knows I’m new.’

On her other side, Shirley gave a derisive snort. ‘She was longing to hit someone, that’s why,’ she informed Lonnie. ‘She always stands there, at the foot of the stairs, hoping to be able to punish someone for something. The best way to treat them is to obey all the rules on the surface whilst they’re watching, and undermine them in any way you can whilst they’re not.’

Lonnie thought this over. ‘Yes, I know what you mean,’ she conceded at last. ‘I’ll try to do as you say, Shirl, but they make me so angry! Oh, and isn’t the food
dull
? Don’t we ever have eggs and bacon for breakfast? Or something other than stew for lunch?’

‘No, breakfast is always porridge, bread and margarine and weak tea,’ Abigail admitted. ‘But it isn’t always stew for luncheon and sometimes we have quite nice high teas. If only they weren’t so strict – and so fond of using the strap – I suppose life here would be bearable, but as it is, every girl in the school feels she’s serving time, as though this were a gaol.’

‘Which it is,’ Shirley chimed in. ‘Tell you what, girls, we’ll form a secret escape committee and see if we can break out some time!’ She turned to Lonnie. ‘We go out into the great big world twice a week. They walk us around the streets in a crocodile as far as Prince’s Park where we are allowed to play hop-scotch or other games which they consider ladylike. Apart from that we never
leave the school and in my opinion it’s not right. If only the parents knew …’

‘Why don’t you write and tell them?’ Lonnie said bluntly, finishing her porridge and reaching for the bread and margarine. ‘We’re allowed to write letters on Sunday afternoons, Sister Bernardette told me so when I first arrived. She’s my favourite, Sister Bernardette, she’s really nice.’

‘Oh, we can write letters all right,’ Abigail said. ‘But the nuns read them and if you say anything against the school, Mother Superior will send for you and tear your letter up. Then she will dictate another letter and that is the one your parents see.’

Lonnie ground her teeth. She said nothing more but concentrated on eating her breakfast, whilst inside her mind she was already plotting against the school and its regime.

A week after his father’s admission to hospital, Dick came home to find his mother in a state of great perturbation. Her hair was on end, there was no meal on the table and various objects were strewn about the room.

‘Mam! What on earth’s happened?’ Dick said, his heart sinking into his boots. When he had left the hospital the previous evening, his father had seemed better, actually sitting up in bed and talking almost brightly of how he would soon be home. Surely he had not had a relapse? Oh God, let me dad be all right, let Mam just be flapping about some small thing, Dick prayed.

Mrs Bailey must have guessed what he would think for she said quickly: ‘It’s all right, chuck, don’t get to worriting, but the consultant had a word wi’ me when I popped in this afternoon to take your dad
a bottle of milk stout. Sister said to build his strength up in any way I could … but that’s not the point. The consultant telled me that your da’ needs fresh air and quiet, and you know, our Dick, Elmore Street ain’t exactly a backwater. There’s a deal o’ traffic comes past our house now, going between Heyworth Street and Landseer Road … and then there’s the tannery – when the wind’s in the right direction, the fumes from that place are enough to turn you sick.’

‘So what’s the plan?’ Dick asked bluntly. ‘You know we promised our dad we wouldn’t let them send him to the sanatorium, no matter what.’

‘Ah, but that’s the point,’ his mother explained. ‘The consultant talked a good deal o’ sense to your da’. He says the air’s cleaner over the water provided you steer clear o’ the docks an’ that. He says there’s a sannytorium on the Wirral which we could reach each day, easy as easy, by bus or even on foot. It makes sense because you and Ted both work over there and rents ain’t so high and believe it or not, our Dick, he’s talked your dad round. So what do you say?’

‘Oh, but wharrabout Ben’s job and the work you do, Mam? Can we afford to manage wi’out what you and Ben bring in?’

Mrs Bailey crossed the kitchen, took Dick’s hands in hers and gazed straight into his eyes. ‘Could we manage wi’out your dad’s pension … wi’out your dad?’ she asked bluntly. ‘Because according to the doctor, that’s what we’ll have to face within a few weeks if we don’t up sticks. I talked to Ben when he came back from school earlier an’ he’s agreeable. There’s a lot to be arranged – this house for instance – but I reckon if all goes well we can find ourselves a little place to rent across
the water and be out of here in a week to ten days.’

Dick gaped at her. He knew his parents had lived in Elmore Street ever since their marriage, thirty years earlier, guessed what a wrench it would be for his mother to tear up her roots. But he had never doubted the depth of the love between his parents and knew that his mother would give everything she possessed to have his father fit once more.

‘What about the house?’ he asked. ‘I’m sure the landlord could let it easily, ’cos you’ve always kept it nice, Mam, but …’

‘We ain’t lettin’ it go to no one through the landlord, ’cos if we did that we might never gerrit back,’ his mother explained. ‘I’m goin’ to sub-let it to Mrs Kinnerton’s daughter Ethel.’ She glanced round the kitchen furtively, as though she expected to find listeners everywhere, then lowered her voice. ‘It – it may not be for all that long, son. The – the consultant says fresh air can’t cure the damage done, it – it just means we’ll have your dad for a bit longer, and that’s good enough for me. What d’you say, Dick? The others are all with me, but you’re the main wage earner, so it’s up to you.’

‘We’ll go as soon as we’ve got somewhere suitable,’ Dick said at once. ‘I’ll ask around at work, but there’s usually places to rent on the outskirts of the city.’ He had not yet removed his outer clothing but now he took off muffler, jacket and cap and hung them on the kitchen door before turning back to his mother. ‘As soon as I’ve had me tea, Mam, I’ll nip round to Shaw Street. I’ve been meaning to go ever since I let Miss Hester down because I were meant to meet her the day Dad were taken bad. I’m surprised she hasn’t come calling, but I dare say
she’s been busy, same as I have. I’ll let her know our new address when I know it meself, but in the meantime, wherever we’re living, the pair of us can always meet up for a few hours of an evening.’

‘I thought you didn’t want to go round to the house in case you made trouble for the gal,’ Mrs Bailey remarked, going to the pantry and fetching a loaf of bread and a large piece of cheese. She thumped them down on the table and returned to the pantry for a slab of margarine and a jar of pickled onions. ‘There you go, la’. Sorry it ain’t a proper cooked meal, but I want to get off to the hospital as soon as Ted comes in. Phyllis is in bed and Ben’s round at the Madisons’, explaining about the move, so you’ll have to make do wi’ bread and cheese tonight.’

‘Bread and cheese is fine,’ Dick said, taking a seat at the table. ‘As for not wanting to visit the house, what choice have I got, Mam? But I won’t ask for Hester straight out, I’ll … no, I’ve a better idea. There’s a devilish high wall at the foot of their garden, and I reckon I could gerrover it if I took a couple o’ sturdy boxes to stand on. That way, I can speak to the servants wi’out the old gal hearin’ what’s up.’

Mrs Bailey came and sat down opposite her son. ‘You go to the front door, like a Christian,’ she said instantly. ‘You’ve nowt to be ashamed of, young Dick, but if you goes sneakin’ round the back everyone will think you’re up to no good. Why, if a scuffer were to catch you …’

Dick, with a mouthful of bread and cheese and pickle, laughed and nearly choked himself. His mother rushed to give him a cup of tea and presently, mopping his streaming eyes, Dick told her that she was right. It was far more sensible to go to
the front door and ask to see Hester. If she were not available, he would produce a letter from his pocket and give it to the butler or maid who answered the door, requesting that it be delivered as a matter of urgency.

His mother applauded his decision, but reminded him to come straight to the hospital when he had finished his business in Shaw Street. ‘Your dad will want to hear from your own lips that you’ll be just as happy in Birkenhead as in Liverpool,’ she told him. ‘The most important thing, the consultant said, is to keep your dad calm and happy. Ah, here comes Ted. I hear his step on the cobbles!’