Alone Beneath The Heaven Read online

  ‘I don’t want to go back.’ Sarah brought his attention back to herself after a full minute of silence, and then she surprised both of them when she suddenly flung herself at him, pressing her small body against his chest as she sobbed quietly into his jacket. He was quite still for a moment and then his arms came round her, and he said, ‘There now, there now, it can’t be as bad as all that.’ His words mocked him. It was every bit as bad as that and the child knew it.

  When Mrs McLevy had put him fully in the picture earlier that morning as to the sequence of events that had started the ball rolling, he had been doubly dumbfounded at the insensitivity of some of the people in charge of these young minds. That this woman, this Florence Shawe, had taunted the child with the facts of her beginnings in front of her classmates, was quite incredible. He’d said as much to Mrs McLevy, and her reply of, ‘I know, lad, I know, I felt the same meself, but Florrie’s conscience is givin’ her hell over all that’s happened if that’s any comfort,’ had merely brought forth the sharp rejoinder, ‘It’s no comfort at all, Mrs McLevy.’

  The thought of the tough old northerner now prompted him to say, ‘Mrs McLevy will look after you, Sarah. You know she loves you, don’t you?’

  ‘But it’s not like a mam.’ The moment she said it she felt guilty, horribly guilty, and it was her self-reproach that helped her regain control, and say, in a very small voice, ‘I do love Mrs McLevy,’ as she kept her head pressed against him.

  ‘I’m sure you do, Sarah.’ Rodney screwed up his eyes against the flood of pity he was experiencing for this small morsel.

  ‘But - but she’s not mine, is she? She doesn’t belong to me like a mam.’

  A heavy silence followed, one which Rodney felt at a loss to break. He was aware that his own childhood had been privileged, one of considerable wealth but also with the security of a close-knit, loving family, in which each member was genuinely concerned for the welfare of the others. Public school, tennis and cricket in the summer, and winter holidays in Europe - he had taken it all as normal life until leaving the safe, comfortable confines of his élite circle in Windsor and travelling north.

  Since his arrival in Sunderland two months ago, the rawness of life in certain areas of the town where he visited patients had depressed and saddened him many times. He had felt pity, frustration, anger, and a burning sense of helplessness, but never the desire to protect and shield one of the inhabitants, as he did with Sarah. The child had touched something deep inside him, a fount of tenderness, of strong, parent-like compassion, and it had been instantaneous. She had been on his mind constantly since the day before, and when he had received the telephone call first thing, from a governor who was anxious that the matter should not become public knowledge, he had found it difficult to talk to the man civilly.

  A quiet knock at the door, followed by Maggie’s shambling entrance into the room, brought Rodney to the realization that the child had fallen asleep against him, worn out, no doubt, by the traumatic events of the last twenty-four hours.

  ‘She was upset.’ He explained Sarah’s tear-stained face as he placed her gently back in the bed and straightened up, Maggie sighing and flopping into a straight-backed chair at its foot.

  ‘Aye, well it’s not surprisin’, is it?’

  ‘No, I suppose not.’ There was silence for a moment and then Rodney said, ‘What will happen to her, Mrs McLevy?’

  She liked this young doctor. Maggie stared at the tall broad-shouldered figure in front of her. Dr March had always treated the Home’s helpers like dirt - while keeping on the good side of Matron and grovelling for his whisky - but this young man was polite, respectful like, without being patronizing. Her thoughts moderated her tone as she said, ‘She’ll go on as before, lad, what else? There’s no other option.’

  ‘She doesn’t want to go back with the other children.’

  ‘No, I can understand that.’ Maggie paused for a moment. ‘She’s different you see, an’ bairns bein’ bairns, they don’t like it. I don’t mean her looks, although they’re out of the ordinary, but she’s bright, intelligent too, an’ she feels things. She can’t shrug things off like the rest of ’em in here an’ they know it an’ it makes ’em cruel.’

  ‘Can’t - can’t you do something?’

  They looked at each other for a moment, and Maggie raised her eyebrows as she said, her voice scarcely audible, ‘An’ what would you have me do, lad? Keep her tied to me apron strings all day, have her sleep apart from the others, eat alone? Even if that were possible, which it’s not, it wouldn’t do the lass no good. She’s in here an’ she’s got to cope with it the best she can. Now I’m not sayin’ that lightly.’ She raised her hand as he went to speak. ‘God knows I hate to see the bairn suffer, an’ I’ve prayed for things to be different for months now, but it’ll be worse if anythin’, after this last bit of mischief by Florrie. The bairn used to comfort herself with a story she’d made up about her mam an’ da, you know. She thought I didn’t know but her little pal Rebecca told me about it a while back. I think it got so she believed it herself in the end.’

  Rodney swore, very softly, as he glanced down at the small figure in the bed.

  ‘Anyway, don’t you worry about it, lad. You’ve got enough on your plate from what I hear, what with old Dr March laid up an’ you doin’ the lot.’

  Rodney shrugged the comment into insignificance, before saying, ‘I hate to think of any child in a place like this, from what I’ve seen of it, but especially a sensitive, knowing one like Sarah.’

  ‘Well that’s life, an’ all you can do is make the best of it. It don’t do no good to fight against your lot in the long run; what will be, will be.’

  The fatalistic attitude - which Rodney met every day among the very people he considered should be fighting back against the unfairness of society, and which grew steadily more irksome - made his voice curt as he said, ‘I disagree. How will there ever be change if the people don’t make their voice heard?’

  ‘An’ you really think anyone’s goin’ to listen?’

  ‘Yes. Yes I do, Mrs McLevy.’

  ‘Well perhaps to you, lad, aye, I’ll give you that. But to me, an’ others like me? It’s my belief that most of the gentry still think of us as cannon fodder, whatever they might say in their fancy speeches. Me old gran used to say that actions speak louder than words, an’ I agree with her an’ all. You think this place is bad now? You ought to have seen it twenty years back afore the Matron was brought in. I’ve heard stories about it that’d make your hair curl.’

  ‘You’re not saying you approve of that madwoman?’

  ‘No, I’m not sayin’ that.’ Maggie sighed, bending forward and rubbing her swollen knees. ‘Not in most things, any road, but she did get this place up an’ runnin’, givin’ credit where credit’s due.’

  ‘I don’t think I could find it within me to give any credit to that woman, not after what she’s done,’ Rodney said stiffly. ‘Leaving aside the matter of the first attack on the child, she tried to commit what amounts to murder last night, and would have succeeded but for your intervention.’

  ‘Aye, thank heaven I didn’t take me usual dose of laudanum.’ Maggie straightened with another deep sigh. ‘I would have, but for the bairn perhaps needin’ me, but I made do with a drop.’

  ‘You shouldn’t use it the way you do. You know that, don’t you?’ Maggie said nothing but her face was eloquent enough. ‘Anyway, I’d better be going.’ Rodney turned to look down at the sleeping Sarah, his voice soft as he said, ‘I’ll call by tomorrow to see how she is, but she’s doing far better than I expected after everything that’s happened.’

  ‘She’s tougher than she looks, she’s had to be.’

  ‘Yes. Well, good day, Mrs McLevy.’

  ‘Good day, Doctor.’

  Maggie didn’t move from the chair when the doctor left. She wasn’t feeling too good from the residual effects of the smoke, added to her ever present rheumatism, but her eyes were thoughtful as
the door shut behind him. It was strange the effect this bairn had on people; they either seemed to hate her or love her, there was no middle path.

  She glanced at the child in the bed, her small slight frame hardly making a bump under the thin covers, and her fragile blond beauty giving the illusion of frailty.

  But Sarah wasn’t frail. Maggie’s eyes narrowed. Not in her body and certainly not in her mind. Perhaps it was her strength that caught certain folks on the raw? Because the bairn had an intensity of spirit you could view as either a deficit in her character, or an attribute, depending on which side of the fence you were sitting on. And it was nothing to do with her looks. As yet the bairn wasn’t aware of how beautiful she was. Whatever, the lass was going to struggle - with her tenacity of purpose and her courage, she was still going to struggle.

  Maggie sighed very deeply, her hand reaching for the small bottle of laudanum in the folds of her voluminous skirt, before it stilled halfway. No, no more of that, she told herself resolutely. The young doctor was right - it had become a crutch, a way of escape, and she was using too much of the stuff.

  A slight movement from the bed caught Maggie’s eye, and she looked up to see Sarah’s gaze fixed on her face. ‘Hallo, me bairn.’ Sarah stared back at her, her small face unsmiling. ‘You ready for somethin’ to eat yet?’

  ‘No. No thank you.’

  ‘A sup of tea then?’

  ‘No, I don’t want anything. Mother McLevy?’ Sarah wriggled about a bit and rubbed her nose before she went on, ‘The doctor said I’ve got to go back with the others. Have . . . have I?’

  For answer, Maggie merely nodded her head, her face straight. It’d do the lass no good to show sympathy, she was feeling sorry enough for herself as it was, although heaven alone knew she’d got cause.

  Sarah’s face puckered slightly but she didn’t cry, and when she slid back down under the thin cover and turned on her side Maggie uttered a soft sigh of relief. Sarah had to accept it as it was and she’d be all the better for doing so quickly. Once she’d got it straight in her mind it was the only way, she’d make the best of it. Sarah was like that.

  By nine o’clock that evening Sarah was quite sure of what she was going to do, several things having happened during the day to make up her mind, starting with the conversations with the doctor and Mother McLevy. Rebecca had come for a visit, shy and over-awed and not at all like herself, and although Mother McLevy had left them alone they hadn’t talked much, and when they had, it had been all about a new girl who had just arrived and was now sitting in what had been Sarah’s place in class - next to Rebecca.

  ‘You’ll like her, Sarah, she’s ever so nice.’ Rebecca’s plain little face had been earnest. ‘And she says I’m like her best friend who lives in her street.’

  ‘If she’s got a house and a street what’s she doing in here then?’

  ‘Her mam’s ill in hospital, and her da can’t look after her and work an’ all, so she’s just staying for a bit - that’s what she said.’

  ‘And you believed her?’ Sarah’s tone expressed her own disbelief and now Rebecca drew back slightly as she caught the criticism.

  ‘Yes.’ Her voice was defensive. ‘You’ll like her, honest.’ Sarah gave a jerk of her head. ‘I might not.’

  ‘And she’s going to let me play with her skipping rope when her da brings it in. If I ask, she’ll let you too.’

  ‘She won’t be allowed. You’re not allowed skipping ropes and things in here, you know that.’

  ‘She will be, she said so.’

  ‘Huh.’

  Conversation waned still further after that and when Mother McLevy came a few minutes later, Rebecca - still nervous and bashful, and a little wary of the aggrieved Sarah - didn’t ask to come again and Sarah, heartsore and jealous, fought against suggesting it.

  By two o’clock Maggie was suffering the effects of the previous night’s furore, her weariness increased by her having spent what had remained of the night on a straw pallet at the side of Sarah’s bed, and when Jessie insisted she use her bed for a few hours she went without demur, leaving Sarah in the hands of one of the older girls.

  Sarah liked Lizzie Carmichael, and she knew Lizzie liked her, so it made what the older girl had to say all the more credible.

  ‘Coo, Sarah, what on earth were you an’ Mother McLevy thinkin’ of to have a lighted candle by your beds, eh?’ Lizzie’s pleasant, but slightly gormless face was full of foreboding, her slack mouth stretched wide. ‘You won’t half get it when Matron comes back.’

  ‘The doctor said she’s not coming back.’

  ‘Matron?’ Lizzie’s voice was high. ‘Oh don’t be daft, course she will. She’s Matron, isn’t she?’

  ‘But he said—’

  ‘They had to rescue her you know, out of the infirmary. She’d passed out. Margaret says Mother Preston said it was tryin’ to save you an’ Mother McLevy an’ that she’s a hero. Everythin’ is as black as the ace of spades in there, they reckon none of it is any good, it’s goin’ to cost a mint to replace it.’ Lizzie’s tone plainly stated she was glad she wasn’t Sarah and responsible for such destruction. ‘I bet Mother McLevy is sent packin’, you know what Matron’s like.’

  ‘But she didn’t mean it.’

  ‘Don’t make no difference.’

  ‘Well it should, it should make a difference.’

  ‘Aye.’ Lizzie’s expression was pitying. ‘Do you want me to read to you, or play I-spy or somethin’?’

  ‘I don’t care.’ She didn’t, she didn’t care about anything any more. If Mother McLevy was going to lose her job, just because she’d been thinking about her, she wouldn’t be able to bear it. It wasn’t fair, and the doctor had said it would all be all right. He’d lied to her. The awfulness of the thought turned her stomach over. She had to do something, but what? What could she do?

  The thought that had been there earlier resurfaced. She would run away. She sat quiet, lost in the enormity of it. But she could, and she’d leave a note to say she’d lit the candle, not Mother McLevy, and that it was all her fault. A little glow of martyrdom warmed her briefly. She could say she was older and get work as a scullery maid or something in a big house. She knew she could do it. A girl had done something similar in the Sunshine Review, a twopenny magazine that Cissie Wright had had smuggled into her and which had been passed round the dormitory.

  And then Mother McLevy wouldn’t get wrong, and she wouldn’t have to see the Matron again, or Mary Owen, or any of them. Her innate honesty forced Sarah to acknowledge her motive wasn’t totally sacrificial. Would Rebecca miss her now this new girl had come? The pain which had been grinding away since Rebecca’s visit intensified, causing her to press one small fist hard against her mouth. She hated skipping anyway, it was stupid. They were all stupid.

  At ten o’clock she slid out of bed carefully and crept to the door. Mother McLevy was sharing the slightly larger room of Mother Bryant next door, they had squeezed another bed into the limited space earlier that evening, and Sarah had been listening to continuous snoring for over half an hour now while she thought out her plan of action.

  First she’d have to pay a visit to the laundry - she couldn’t run away in her shift - and she just hoped there were some boots drying in the boiler room; it’d been raining that day so there might be. Course, they’d likely be boy’s boots - her small nose wrinkled fastidiously - it was normally the boys who got theirs soaked, but it couldn’t be helped. And then . . . then she’d climb out of the laundry-room window - the main front door and the two side doors would be locked by now - and if she skirted round to the front and kept to the edge of the main drive she should reach the gates within five minutes. Her stomach turned over with a mixture of nervous anticipation and fear.

  It was a pity she didn’t dare go to the dormitory first; she’d have liked to have taken the blue velvet ribbon Mother McLevy had bought her for her last birthday, and the sampler she had been working on for the last twelve months and recent
ly finished. It didn’t occur to her the sampler was the indirect cause of all her present trouble, precipitating, as it had, Mary Owen’s fermenting envy and spite. But she didn’t dare - she shook her head in agreement with her thoughts - it’d be just like Mary Owen to wake up and start yelling her head off, she’d got a voice like a foghorn as it was.

  The corridor outside was ominously dark and empty, and again her stomach jerked and trembled. Mother Shawe had said the bogeyman would get them if they left their beds at night. She paused on the threshold as her eyes darted into the gloomiest corners, but facing Matron in the flesh was more frightening at this moment than spectres unknown, and so she padded out into the blackness on shaking legs.