Poor Little Rich Girl (33 page)

Outside the cupboard she heard the clatter of feet descending the stairs and hurrying along the corridor in the direction of the dining room. With the footsteps came the smell of stewed meat and cabbage and Lonnie had to swallow hard and tell herself that the food here was awful and she much preferred her solitude in the cupboard to the insipid food and incessant conversation in the dining room.

She was still sitting, arms round knees, on the cold floor, when a whisper came to her ears. She recognised the voice at once as being that of her friend, Abigail. ‘Lonnie? Are you still in there?’

Lonnie repressed an urge to say, Where the devil do you think I am? and put her own lips nearer the crack. ‘Of course I am, you idiot! Not getting any dinner hasn’t made me thin enough to slide under the door, if that’s what you mean. I say, Abby, I’m terribly cold. When do you think they’ll let me out?’

‘In time for tea,’ Abigail hissed. ‘I’m pretending to tie my shoelace, but if one of the nuns comes along … oh, help! Here comes Sister …’

Her feet retreating hastily was the last sound Lonnie heard before someone wrapped sharply on the door. ‘Leonora! Are you prepared to promise that you will never try to run away again?’

Lonnie remained obstinately silent. The nun’s voice sounded colder than ever when she next spoke, but Lonnie thought she heard a trace of anxiety in the woman’s harsh tones. ‘Leonora, if you don’t answer me at once …’

Leonora said nothing but shifted her cramped position into that of someone waiting for the starting gun to fire. If that door opened, even a crack, she would hurl herself at it, hopefully flattening Sister Magdalene’s long pink nose as she did so, and would escape through the front door and simply keep running until she found somewhere to hide. She had already planned to steal some clothing from a washing line, next time she escaped, for she had soon realised that it was her uniform which singled her out as a runaway. Yes, next time she got out, she would find herself a disguise first and worry about her destination next.

She had hoped that the nun might think she had fainted and would open the door to discover whether her pupil either was prone on the floor or had somehow managed to escape. But the sounds she made as she changed her position were apparently enough to calm the nun’s suspicions. The woman gave a sharp, impatient sigh and said briskly: ‘Stay where you are, then!’ and the click of her shoes as she made for the dining room faded quickly into silence.

Lonnie collapsed on to the floor once more and began to rub her arms as hard as she could with her cold hands. If only she had had the good sense to put on her coat! But she had been given little opportunity. The policeman had brought her in at ten o’clock the previous night and she had been sent, supperless, to bed. Hoping that a punishment deferred might merely consist of a whacking, she had gone down to breakfast in her school uniform and had been pushed into the cupboard before she had so much as raised her porridge spoon to her lips. So now she was not only cold, she was extremely hungry and actually wondered, for a brief moment, if it might be sensible to pretend compliance. After all, the nuns did not always speak the truth by a long chalk, so why should she not make a promise today and rescind it tomorrow? Since she had refused Sister Magdalene’s overtures, however, this was a rhetorical question and not one on which she intended to waste any more thought. Instead, she began to think about Hester. The older girl had been her best friend, more like a sister than a paid governess, and Lonnie guessed that Hester would be searching for her. She also guessed that the staff at Shaw Street would have been kept in ignorance of her whereabouts, for Mollie’s last remark to her had been: ‘I’ll come and visit you,
Lonnie love, on me next day off and I’ll tell Miss Elliott where to find you. All right?’

At first, Lonnie had waited eagerly for Mollie or Hester to appear but later had put two and two together. Allsop had not driven her straight to the school but had dropped her and her cases – and Miss Hetherington-Smith – in a dull, grey street, flanked on either side by large houses. Miss Hetherington-Smith had waited until the car had disappeared and had then hailed a taxi cab which had taken them to their eventual destination. In retrospect, it was clear to Lonnie that Miss Hetherington-Smith had intended no one, not even the chauffeur, to know in which establishment she had placed her niece. So it was useless to wait for Mollie and Hester to find her, because they would not – could not – do any such thing. Instead, she must use her own ingenuity to find out where Hester had gone. The trouble was, the school was on the outskirts of the city and though she had tried very hard to get back to the area she knew, her escapes from the convent had not yet given her sufficient opportunity to do so. If she had only had some money, she could have caught a tram, for she saw by the destination boards that a good few of the passing vehicles were heading for the city centre, but she was penniless.

Next time I get out, I’ll make my way to Heyworth Street and see Ben in Mr Madison’s shop, she decided now, then stood up, head bent, and began to do vigorous exercises, trying to bring some life back into numbed hands and feet. Next time I get out, I won’t just wander and peer into the shops and dodge down alleyways. I’ll stand on a street corner somewhere and beg for pennies until I’ve got enough money for a tram fare and then I’ll go to dear, kind
Mrs Bailey and ask her to tell me where Hester is, or to hide me herself until I can let my father know what has happened to me, and how unhappy I am.

‘Drat the perishin’ copper! Oh, it’s always the same when you’re in a hurry. Nothin’ goes right, and now the fire’s all but out, just a’cos I were in a hurry to get the kids off to school so’s I could gerrup to the sannytorium in good time!’

Mabel Bailey was doing the family washing and trying to hurry so that she might visit her dear Bob and be back before the kids came out of school. At home, she told herself resentfully, she could have kept an eye both on the fire beneath the copper and on the washing whilst she did other tasks, but in this remote and lonely little cottage the wash house was not a scullery attached to the kitchen but a small, brick-built edifice halfway up the long, sloping garden. It was convenient in a way, Mabel acknowledged, as she returned to the kitchen and picked up the log basket so that she might make up the copper fire. At least, when the washing boiled over, it was just the wash house and the yard which got covered in hot, sudsy water. In Elmore Street when such an accident occurred, most of the ground floor of her home would have been awash.

Tightening her lips, Mabel made up the fire and then popped into the bubbling water the next items to be washed – half a dozen white pillowcases and the sheets off Ben’s and Phyllis’s beds. She waited until the linen had boiled for a sufficient length of time, then began to pull the dripping sheets out of
the copper. She dropped them into the low stone sink and swished them in the rinsing water, then wrung them out as well as she could and carried them to the large mangle. Sighing, she folded them until they would fit into the mangle’s wooden maw, then turned the handle, fielding them neatly on the further side and dropping them into the large wickerwork basket which awaited them. If I’d been in Elly I’d ha’ nipped next door an’ got Peggy Scaulby to give me a hand wi’ the heavy stuff, she reminded herself. But here I’ve no near neighbours at all and though Mrs Hughes up the road is friendly enough, the chances are she’d start jabberin’ away in Welsh, forgettin’ I don’t speak it … and that makes me feel such an outsider!

Mrs Hughes was a plump and friendly little Welsh woman whose husband worked in the nearby quarry. They had two sons, Bryn and Meirion. Meirion was in Ben’s class at school and the two had speedily become good friends, though their cottages were almost a mile apart.

Since she had lived all her life in the narrow, crowded streets of Liverpool, it was only natural that Mabel found her new home both lonely and frightening. At nights, when there was no sound of traffic in the streets, no glow from the gas lamps and no comforting knowledge that there were many friends within call, Mabel felt particularly vulnerable. If it weren’t for my dearest Bob I’d be on the next ferry back to me own place, so I would – but no one could deny that that there sannytorium was doin’ him a power o’ good. Why, he’s cheerful, eats his grub, listens to the wireless … and how his dear old face lights up when he sees me comin’ through the doors at the end of his ward! The doctors may talk cautious, say not to get excited, to remember that he’s still a
very sick man, but he’s gettin’ better with every day that passes; I can see that even if they can’t.

At this point the water in the copper began to rise again and Mabel thrust in the odds and ends which always came last. Rags she used for cleaning, the thin, elderly roller towels which hung on the back door and by the sink, the boys’ old work trousers which they put on for gardening, and the voluminous calico aprons she wore for scrubbing floors, cooking and other dirty work. Whilst they boiled she carried the now empty buckets into the yard and filled them at the pump, then staggered back with her burden and emptied the buckets into the sink ready for the last rinse.

By eleven o’clock the washing was all done and on the line. There was a stiffish breeze and the sky, though by no means cloudless, was calmly blue. It did not look the sort of day when sudden rain showers might undo all the good that a blow would do, so despite the fact that she was going out Mabel left the washing just where it was. She hurried indoors, checked that all was in readiness for when the youngsters came in from school, and went up to her small bedroom under the eaves. Here, she washed again, using a precious piece of scented soap which dear Bob had given her for Christmas – she did not want to smell of the strong yellow soap she used for the laundry – and put on her best white blouse with the high collar and the leg o’ mutton sleeves and the long, dark-grey skirt. Bob liked her to look nice and she always made a big effort when she visited the sanatorium, brushing her mousy hair until it shone and fixing her bun in place with the gold and tortoiseshell combs which had been another Christmas present, only a long-ago one this time, dating from the year of
her marriage. Then she dusted her nose with powder and rubbed her lips with geranium petals so that she would look healthy as well as clean and smart.

Repairing to the kitchen once more, she got out of the cupboard today’s small gifts. A new-laid egg which Meirion’s mam had given her and a two-day-old copy of the local paper, the
Wrexham Leader
, which Ted had picked up on the bus. Bob would enjoy reading the paper if he woke in the night. He never complained, though, never said he was bored, and indeed in the daytime she was fairly sure he was not, for the sanatorium was a lively place, with endless comings and goings and a good deal of harmless gossip.

He said the food was delicious, but she had seen other visitors bringing in little comforts and had decided then and there that she would do the same. She would have liked to get herself a few hens so that eggs would be an everyday occurrence, but was reluctant to do so. Her neighbour, a kindly soul, was quite willing to give her an egg now and then for ‘that poor feller shut away in the sanatorium’, but it would have been nice to take an egg in every day as a matter of course.

Still, if there was not always an egg, there was always something good: a piece of her homemade bread with a nobble of cheese, or a little cake, or a rosy apple. And the folk were kind to strangers in their midst – used to it, probably, with the sanatorium so close, Mabel supposed. A crossword puzzle cut from a newspaper, an article or feature which someone thought would amuse or educate, a sheet of rough drawing paper and a pencil so that the invalid might ‘’muse himself if he’s awake in the night … they doesn’t seem to sleep so well up there,
probably because they’s lyin’ around all day’, as one well-wisher had put it.

Carefully checking her appearance in the small piece of mirror which was propped up on the washstand, Mabel decided that she would do. She went downstairs, anxiously checked that all was well there, picked up her old shopping basket and placed the egg, a couple of rounds of bread and the newspaper in it, and headed for the back door. As she went she eyed the rest of the loaf rather hungrily, for doing the weekly wash was hard work and gave one an appetite. But it was no use. Though she had never confessed as much to any of her children – and had certainly not troubled Bob with the unwelcome truth – she was finding life here a real struggle. She had Bob’s pension, but that had never amounted to much, and most of Dick’s money – and Ted’s, too – was eaten up by their lodgings and by bus fares and other living expenses. What she missed most, of course, was the money she had earned herself, and Ben’s contribution. Try though she might, she could not quite feed herself and the two younger kids, take Bob little treats and pay the rent.

The neighbours guessed that things were not easy; probably things were not easy for them, either. But at least they had a wage-earner, and gardens. Mabel had never realised what wonderful things gardens were – why should she, indeed? She did not know one person in Liverpool who owned a garden and though the dwellers in the courts and indeed in Elmore Street had kept hens, they kept them in poor conditions and consequently never had the sort of egg production that was possible here. And the gardens provided so much! Vegetables were only the start. Most of the villagers had apple, pear and plum trees, currant
bushes, strawberry plants or raspberry canes. But in the small cottage rented by the Baileys the garden had long gone to rack and ruin, and though there were three fruit trees at the end of the garden they were still bare of anything but leaves and blossom. Ben and Phyllis looked forward eagerly to fruiting time, but Mabel never let herself think so far ahead.

So now, as she closed the door behind her and made for the lane, Mabel only cast a glance at the food cupboard, and did not seriously think of helping herself to any food. She would eat – sparingly – when the children did. She was a healthy woman, she told herself firmly, and could perfectly well manage on one good, sustaining meal a day. Perhaps she might have some bread and marg when she got back from her visit since by then she would be extremely hungry, but for now she would tighten her belt and step out.

There was a bus from the village to the sanatorium and Mabel always gave Bob the impression that she had caught it, but in fact she almost always walked. She told herself that it was healthier, that she should take the opportunity of getting to know the countryside, but in fact it was more the tuppence she saved daily on her bus fare which influenced her.

Sometimes she met up with other visitors to the sanatorium once she reached the gates, for the drive was almost a mile long and the bus did not penetrate the grounds. But today she met no one since she was later than usual, the washing having taken up all her morning. However, she hurried on and presently was walking into the wide entrance hall. She needed no help from the staff now but made her way directly to the men’s ward, with its sunny balcony overlooking the humped shoulders of the Llandegla
moors. As she pushed open the swing doors she felt her smile begin. Soon, soon she would see him, touch his thin hands, drop a kiss on his white brow. Darling, darling Bob! All her self-sacrifice faded to nothing at the thought of her husband getting better, staying with her. He and she had been sweethearts at school and their love had never faltered. Her loneliness, the difficulty she had over money, the way she dreaded the night-times when she felt most lonely … all dimmed and vanished in the strong light of her love. I’ll stay in the cottage for a lifetime if it means I can keep Bob, she told herself, crossing the room, seeing his figure in the long cane chair out on the balcony. Oh, Bob, I couldn’t live without you!

It was Monday, and Monday was washing day, so Bob knew that his Mabel would be later than usual. She was always later than usual on a Monday. It was annoying that he could not picture her at her work with any accuracy since he had never set eyes on the cottage, but she had described it so minutely and so often that he had a good idea of the set-up there. She would be in her calico apron, tossing the dirty linen into the bubbling copper, rinsing it at the low stone sink, folding sheets and pillow cases and then mangling them, trotting out to the line – it was a fine day – and finally returning to the cottage kitchen and making sure that all was well there before setting out to visit him.

It was a brilliant day. The balcony was glassed in but today the windows were open, letting in the lovely, refreshing breeze as well as the warmth of the sun. Bob sighed with pleasure. He thought how sad it was that he should have come to know and
appreciate the countryside so late in his life … when it was almost over, in fact.

For appreciate it he did. He lay on the balcony and watched the wildlife and marvelled at everything. Rabbits came each evening to graze on the sweet, well-mown grass of the sanatorium’s wide lawns. Sometimes he saw a fox sneaking along beside the hedge in the early dawn or late dusk, sometimes a badger snuffled along the edge of the moor, and there were always the wild, leggy sheep and now their bouncing, happy lambs. Bob had always had the knack of stillness, but it had availed him little enough in the city. Here, however, it was different. If you stayed quiet and still you could see and note everything, from the buds on the trees as they gradually uncurled to the shy primroses on the bank, the rosettes of deep blue wild violets, the shambling run of a hedgehog and the quick, sly dart of a stoat.

He tried to tell the other men in his ward – there were five of them – that they should enjoy the life which went on beyond the glass, but they grunted and grinned at him and then turned back to their racing pages, or to the wireless, or to mending their socks or completing a jigsaw. They were not countrymen and saw no reason to watch what went on beyond the glass, though they would comment every time an aircraft passed overhead or a shepherd whistled to his dog to round up the flock.

We’re all poorly, so why don’t they see, as I do, that this is a wonderful opportunity to enrich the life we’ve got left? Bob wondered. One man, Giles, was very ill indeed. His breathing could be heard from the men’s lavatories down the corridor and every time he coughed there was blood. But Giles went on backing the dogs and the horses, when he could
get someone to place a bet for him, and though he was a convivial sort of fellow and sometimes padded down the corridor in his regulation dressing gown and slippers to visit a pal on another ward, he said frankly that he was not interested in rabbits or them little ginger cats or dogs or wharrever which old Bob found so entertaining.

‘If we was to have a bet as to how many rabbits would be on view at once on a partic’lar evenin’, now that would be worth lookin’ at,’ he had said in his breathy, gasping thread of a voice. ‘But them other things … no, no, they ain’t for me, ole feller.’

So Bob did not talk about his interest much, any more, except to his dear Mabs, and she was interested in everything, talked about keeping a few hens when he was well enough to join them in the cottage, never seemed to realise …

But no point in dwelling on that! Better to think of the pleasure he felt each weekend, when Dick and Ted would turn up with stories of Laird’s. They made him laugh until he cried, sometimes. Then there was his girl, Millie, and her husband Frank, who somehow managed, despite their busy lives, to come and see him every few weeks. They did not always bring the twins because Frank’s mother was willing to take care of them whilst they visited him. But once or twice, the little girls had come, filling him with grandfatherly pride as they chattered and played about his bed. Millie was expecting another baby in August and naturally they were hoping for a boy. Bob hoped so too and sometimes he and Mabel talked about the new child and Bob allowed himself to wonder whether he might hold it in his arms before …