The Bad Penny (9 page)

Selina admitted that she thought Matron was ‘all right’. ‘It’s not her fault that we never get enough to eat,’ she told the younger girl. ‘Or that our coats and shoes are too thin for winter wear, or even that we don’t get much in the way of treats an’ that. It’s the Board of Governors. They’re that mean and cold you’d think they’d never been kids theirselves, yet one of the big girls told me, a couple of years back, that their kids – the Board of Governors’ kids, that is – are all spoiled rotten and get whatever they want. No, Matron does her best for us one way and another, and wi’ so many children in the Durrant she has to be pretty strict and see to it that we don’t break the rules. Lots o’ the kids simply hate her, but I’m glad you saw through the coldness and crossness to the softer person underneath.’ Selina looked sideways at her young friend, smiling. ‘And I’m glad you never telled her … about me finding out who are foundlings and who aren’t,’ she added. ‘I’d hate for Matron to know; she’d think me real sneaky and I’d not like that. Mind you, though I understand why you went off to Peel Street, you’d best not do such a thing again. It’s temptin’ for you, with the street so close, but I hope you’ve learned your lesson.’

Patty smiled and sighed, but asked Selina what she would have done, in the same circumstances. Selina laughed. ‘I’d probably have done as you did,’ she admitted. ‘Of course you did wrong to run away from Miss Dawson the way you did, but you’re being punished for that, and it’s taught you something, Patty. Boys are not like girls. They’re rough and spiteful and can be violent. In future, steer clear of boys. Not that I suppose you’re likely to go prowling up and down Peel Street again. Why should you? You know all there is to know about what happened on that day, nearly eight years ago, so there’s no point in further investigation.’

‘But I only went to one house in Peel Street – and spoke to that beastly boy,’ Patty said reflectively. ‘Other people might know other things.’ She sighed. ‘I wish I could find that policeman, the one called Patrick, the one I’m named after. Mrs Thornton said he went to
all
the houses and spoke to everyone. He really might be able to tell me something about – about whoever left me under that hedge.’

‘Yes, but according to what you told me, he got absolutely nowhere,’ Selina reminded her. ‘Please, Patty, don’t go hunting for one scuffer called Patrick in a city where half the police force have Irish connections. If it’s “meant”, you’ll find out anyway without having to get into hot water. And now I’m going to do some revision because the exams are less than two weeks away.’

For some time after her escapade, Patty was really good. She obeyed the rules, never strayed from the crocodile in which the girls were marched to and from the park, and concentrated on getting her schoolwork done as best she could, though she still made sure that she did not shine unduly above her fellows. Selina was a great comfort to her. The older girl understood Patty’s longing for affection and, though she could not be seen to favour one girl above the others, she managed to see a good deal of Patty.

Best of all, Selina must have had a word with Matron, because shortly after the month indoors was over, Miss Briggs came to Patty as she sat outside on the paving stones in the back garden and told her that Matron had heard she had a friend living nearby who would be glad to see her occasionally. ‘I don’t think it can be a relative, since you are …’ Miss Briggs began, then abruptly changed tack, a flush mantling her cheeks,’… since you have never mentioned relatives before. Anyway, Selina has offered to take you round to see this … this person. Being Senior Prefect, she is someone who can be trusted, so if you’ve simply made up a story to get away from Durrant House from time to time, you may be sure Selina will not hesitate to tell me.’

For a moment, Patty was completely baffled and probably looked it. She started to say that she did not understand, that she had made no such claim, and abruptly remembered her interview with Matron. She was almost sure she had told the older woman about Mrs Thornton’s kindness; that must be it then. So instead of the denial that was on her lips, she said demurely: ‘Oh, that will be Mrs Thornton. She’s – she’s just a friend. Did Matron say when we were to go, Miss Briggs?’

Miss Briggs heaved an exaggerated sigh and cast her eyes up to heaven. ‘Why do you think I came out here to talk to you, Patty? Matron says you may go today and Selina is waiting for you in the front hall.’

Both Patty and Selina secretly wondered whether Mrs Thornton would be as glad to see them as Patty had implied, but they soon realised their fears were groundless. Mrs Thornton ushered them into her kitchen with real enthusiasm, sat them down at the big, well-scrubbed table and, after she had made everyone a cup of tea and handed round a tin of home-made biscuits, settled herself opposite them and began to talk. She wanted to know all about Durrant House and the staff there and about their meals, which fascinated her because she could not see the need for such a regimen. ‘Porridge for breakfast every day of your lives, and nothing else?’ she said incredulously. ‘And nowt but pea soup for your dinner, two or three times a week? And baked beans in gravy? It’s enough to turn the strongest stomach.’

‘It’s the bread and marge every day for our tea which is most boring,’ Patty said. ‘There used to be jam sometimes, or golden syrup, but now Cook says there’s a war on, so it’s just plain bread and marge. And we used to have weak tea at breakfast and dinner and watery milk at teatime, but now it’s watery milk or cold water all the time, because of the war as well.’ She gave a contented sigh, looking around the warm kitchen and holding a large piece of shortbread in one hand. ‘I wish you were our cook, Mrs Thornton! If you were, I’m sure we’d still have jam sometimes, because Letty – she’s one of the big girls who works in the kitchen – says Cook takes all sorts home in her bag of an evening.’

‘Well I never did,’ Mrs Thornton gasped, looking truly shocked. ‘Still an’ all, the pair of you must come and see me a couple of times a week – say Tuesday and Friday – and I’ll have some food ready to line your little stummicks. How about that, eh?’

‘It would be lovely, if it were allowed,’ Selina said regretfully. ‘But we aren’t allowed out more than once a fortnight, you know. Most of the girls go to relatives on a weekend, but that’s relatives. I don’t think friends are quite the same.’

Mrs Thornton suggested that she might become an honorary aunt but Selina explained that, since she too was a foundling, it was unlikely that they would be believed. The cook tightened her lips at this, but said mysteriously that she would have a word with someone in authority and see what she could do.

Mrs Thornton really must have intervened, for the girls were given permission to visit the house in Peel Street every Friday afternoon. She must have had a deal of influence in some quarter, too, for jam appeared in the Durrant House dining room once more, and twice a week the cold water was replaced by a mug of tea. It might only be sweetened with saccharin but it was still a good deal more sustaining than cold water.

Because Selina had asked her to, Patty did her best to forget about her origins, but one Friday afternoon, when she and Selina entered Mrs Thornton’s kitchen, they were surprised to find a large policeman sitting at the table and drinking a cup of tea. He grinned at the two girls. Mrs Thornton, who was stirring a large pot over the fire, pushed back wisps of hair from her forehead and greeted them cheerfully. ‘This here’s Sergeant O’Flaherty,’ she said. ‘He walks this beat now and then and usually pops in for a word wi’ meself and it occurred to me that he might know the young constable what found you under the hedge, Patty dear. So when he came by earlier I axed him to call round now, so’s you could hear what he’s got to say.’

Sergeant O’Flaherty cleared his throat. ‘It were young Paddy O’Hara what found the baby under the hedge, but he went back to Ireland five years ago. His uncle died, d’you see, and left him a nice little business. Paddy had married a Liverpool girl and they’d a couple o’ young ’uns, so I dare say it were a sensible move. He were a good policeman, though, and did his very best to trace the baby’s mam, because he thought she must have abandoned the baby only minutes before he found it. It were August and a mild night but it had begun to rain as Paddy turned into Peel Street. Yet the blanket weren’t even damp, so he scouted around a bit, trying to find whoever had left the baby there.’

‘Did he see
anyone?
’ Patty asked eagerly. Her heart was thumping so hard that she felt sure it could be heard all over the kitchen. ‘Did he think the girl had gone into one of the houses on Peel Street? Or might she have run up to Dingle station to catch a train? Only if she come from there, why didn’t she leave me on the platform?’ She turned to her friend. ‘Selina here was found on Lime Street station. As it was raining, you might have thought my mam would have left me at the Dingle if she were going that way herself.’

Sergeant O’Flaherty shrugged. ‘Who can tell, queen? When a gal’s in trouble, she don’t always think clearly. But I tend to favour your theory – that she’d not come far. I reckon what happened was this: she meant to take the baby to the orphanage and leave it on the doorstep, knowing that it would be looked after there.’ He grinned ruefully as Patty began to shake her head. ‘No, no, the Durrant ain’t nearly as bad as some orphan asylums. Your matron’s a good woman and you girls always look neat and tidy, which is more than can be said for some, believe me. But let me finish me story. Your mam were headin’ for Durrant House when all of a sudden, who did she see comin’ towards her but Constable O’Hara. She knew what she were goin’ to do were wrong and she guessed that if she walked past him he’d notice the baby in her arms, might even stop to ask her what she was doin’ out on such a night. She dared not risk being questioned, so she whisked round and hurried off in the opposite direction, pushing the baby – that’s you, miss – into a nice, thick hedge to shelter it from the rain which was already beginning to fall. She guessed that the policeman would see you – perhaps she even hung around, hid behind a gatepost or some such, to make sure that you were found.’ He cocked an eyebrow at Patty. ‘Well, queen? Does that sound possible to you?’

‘Yes, it does,’ Patty breathed, her eyes shining like stars. ‘I don’t feel so bad about me mam leaving me now, Sergeant. I still wish I could find her, though. It ’ud be grand to have a mam of me own.’

On their way back to Durrant House, Selina gave Patty’s hand a comforting squeeze. ‘Are you happier now, Patty?’ she asked gently. ‘Sergeant O’Flaherty telled you all he could. And will you promise me that you won’t go searchin’ for any more information – or not until you’re a good deal older, at any rate? Only I’m leaving the Durrant in October to start work at one of the hospitals and it will only worry me if I keep imagining you running away and getting into trouble for it.’

‘I promise I won’t go chasing off until I’m older,’ Patty said obediently. ‘Oh, Selina, I shall miss you so much! But you’ll come back and see me, won’t you? Matron says that when you leave I can take another girl round to Peel Street on a Friday afternoon … you might meet us there. I’ll take Laura, of course, though she isn’t a foundling. When she’s ten, her mam says she’ll have her home from time to time, on a weekend, and if she’s allowed she’ll take me with her.’

‘That sounds grand, queen, but don’t set too much store by it,’ Selina advised. ‘I’m sure Laura’s mam means well but it isn’t only Laura she’s put in an orphan asylum, you know. There’s three brothers in the Father Berry Home and a little sister in the nursery. But as soon as I’ve got a room of me own, you can come there. Why, once I’m earning, we could go to the cinema, the theatre … we could have all sorts of fun. And you know, Patty, I would never let you down.’

‘Oh, Selina, thank you,’ Patty gasped. ‘Things are looking up for me, aren’t they? I’m really glad I found out about Peel Street or none of this would ever have happened. You know, I’m going to be a nurse like you when I’m grown up, but if I weren’t, I think I’d be a cook like Mrs Thornton. She makes the best food in the world, doesn’t she?’

Agreeing, Selina led the way into Durrant House just in time to join the queue for tea, but for once neither girl was eager for her slice of bread and margarine; Mrs Thornton’s generosity had seen to that.

For all Patty’s intentions, she had not yet asked any of her neighbours for help with the baby. Mrs Clarke would have her hands full with her own little one once it was born, and though Patty had grown quite fond of the other woman she could see that one baby would be enough for Mrs Clarke to deal with at present. Close observation had convinced her that Mrs Knight and Mrs Clitheroe would not do at all. Mrs Clitheroe had two small children and very little patience. When one passed her doorway, it was often to hear her shouting at her small son and daughter and Patty was determined that Merrell should know nothing but love in these crucial first months of her life. But the doctors were beginning to look askance at her small companion, and Nurse Stoddard and Nurse Watkin obviously thought that she should give the child up for adoption. If there was trouble over Merrell, Patty knew that her colleagues would not support her but would, in effect, throw her to the wolves.

‘Hey, Nurse Peel! Mrs Owens on the second landing wants to sell her pram. It’s old and battered but it’s got four good wheels and the hood and apron ain’t too worn. Are you lookin’ for such a thing for young Merrell there? She offered it to me but I’m superstitious; there ain’t no way I’ll buy a pram till after me baby’s born. Want to come down now and take a look at it?’

Patty swung round. It was Mrs Clarke, wearing a big beam and a smock dress so distended that she looked like a rubber ball.

‘A pram!’ Patty said. Could this be the answer to her problem? If she had a pram, she could leave the baby outside the houses where her patients were confined – or she could do so at this time of year, at any rate. In winter it would be different. And come to think of it, she told herself ruefully, it would scarcely do to leave the child outside at night, either. Still, it would be nice to have a pram. Merrell was getting jolly heavy, and the more she thought about it, the more an idea began to grow in her mind.

‘Well? Have you got a moment?’

Patty smiled gratefully at her neighbour and bent to pick Merrell off the old piece of blanket on which she was lying. ‘Yes, I’m really interested in a pram,’ she said. ‘Thank you very much for thinking of me, Mrs Clarke. How much is she asking, do you know?’

‘Well, she’s
askin
’ ten bob,’ Mrs Clarke said as the two of them clattered down the stairs. ‘But I don’t s’pose she expects to get that much. For someone wi’ a grosh o’ kids, mind, it ’ud be worth every penny, but then folk wi’ a grosh of kids don’t have ten bob, so I dare say she’d settle for seven and six.’

They reached the end of the stairs and turned on to the lower landing. Mrs Clarke made straight for No. 14. It was a warm day and the front door was open, but she knocked on it anyway before shouting cheerfully: ‘Hey up, Mrs Owens! I brung a pal to see the pram.’

Mrs Owens appeared so quickly that Patty thought she must have been expecting a customer when she heard their tread on the iron stairs. She was a small, round woman, with big, light grey eyes and a tiny, tight little mouth. She stared at her visitor with great interest and Patty guessed she had been told about the nurse who lived on the upper landing and was intrigued to find her on her own doorstep.

‘Good morning, Mrs Owens; Mrs Clarke told me you had a pram for sale,’ Patty began, but Mrs Owens clearly did not think it polite to start talking business before one was even introduced.

‘Good morning, Nurse. Ain’t it a fine day?’ she said, her eyes darting all over Patty from head to toe and taking in the baby in the crook of her arm. ‘That’s a fine little lass you’ve got there. I dare say you’ve been told I were widdered last year but I’m still mortal fond of babbies.’ She held out her hands invitingly. ‘Can I have a hold?’

Patty, smiling, handed Merrell over. A month ago she would not have done so, but as she got to know her neighbours better she began to realise that most of them were both reliable and trustworthy. They might have very little money, but what they had they used to the best advantage, and the women who lived in Ashfield Place seemed to be better off – and perhaps more enterprising – than those who inhabited the cramped, old-fashioned and unhygienic courts.

Mrs Owens took the baby and looked down into the small, fair face, her own expression softening. ‘Ain’t you a little beauty, then?’ she crooned. ‘Wharra little princess. How old would she be, Nurse?’

‘She’s almost six months, and she’s got two teeth already,’ Patty said proudly. ‘She’s getting a good deal heavier, too, and beginning to try to sit herself up.’ She leaned forward and brushed a lock of fair hair from the baby’s forehead. ‘You’re getting on just fine, aren’t you, Merrell?’

‘Merrell! That’s an unusual name,’ Mrs Owens remarked. ‘I dunno as I’ve ever heard it before.’ She looked quickly up into Patty’s face and then downwards once more into Merrell’s. ‘Who do you reckon she favours, Nurse? Is it her dad?’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ Patty said, surprised. ‘But of course, I only met her dad once and that was quite a long time ago. I suppose I ought to have gone back and visited him again but somehow I’ve never got round to it. Anyway, I doubt he’ll be much interested in Merrell now. He’s got half a dozen other kids, you see.’

Mrs Owen looked startled and shot Mrs Clarke a quick glance under her eyelids before remarking sagely: ‘Well, if that ain’t fellers all over! Still, I reckon the little ‘un’s a good deal better off with you than with him.’ Abruptly, she became businesslike. ‘Now about this pram, Nurse. It’s in excellent condition ’cos I’ve never used it for carrying wood or coal or anything of that nature an’ I’ve always kept it clean an’ nice. Me daughter Beryl had it for her two little ’uns but she’s like her mam, real house-proud, so it’s not one whit the worse. I expect Mrs Clarke telled you I were hopin’ for ten bob but I could knock off a shillin’ for an outright sale.’

Handing Merrell back to Patty, she began to demonstrate the pram’s various functions. The handbrake still worked; it was, as Mrs Owens had claimed, immaculately clean; and though the apron was sadly worn, it still looked waterproof.

‘I’ll take it,’ Patty decided. ‘I’ll have to go back for the money, Mrs Owens, since I was hanging out my washing when Mrs Clarke told me about the pram but I won’t be a tick.’

‘Leave the little lass wi’ me,’ Mrs Owens said eagerly. ‘Just whiles you run upstairs, I mean. My Beryl’s children are seven and ten, so it’s a treat for me to hold a little babby.’

‘She isn’t very little,’ Patty said ruefully. ‘That’s why I shall be so glad to have the pram. Carrying her on my hip is all very well but when I’ve got my midwife’s bag, with all my medical equipment in it, poor Merrell is almost more that I can manage.’

‘Ah well, you’ll have the pram in future,’ Mrs Owens said comfortably, as Patty and Mrs Clarke hurried along the landing and up the stairs. As they gained the upper floor, Patty could hear Mrs Owens beginning to sing a lullaby and smiled to herself. Who would not love Merrell, she thought as she returned to her own flat and picked up her purse. I wonder why she was interested in who she looks like, though?

And presently, humping the pram up the stairs with Merrell inside it, she put the question to Mrs Clarke. ‘Why do you think Mrs Owens asked if Merrell looked like her father? I mean, small babies just look like other small babies, don’t they? And from what I can remember, which isn’t a lot after six months, Merrell looks more like her mother, I think.’

Mrs Clarke giggled. ‘More like yourself, you mean. I think she’s ever so like you, both of you bein’ fair an’ all, and I’m sure Mrs Owens thinks the same. She’s not a bad old body, but she’s curious as any cat. What she wanted to know was why you ain’t livin’ wi’ Merrell’s father. Of course, we’re all interested,’ she added honestly. ‘Most folk is too polite to ask and anyway, fellers bein’ what they are, most of us reckon you’ve been let down.’

Patty was so surprised that she almost let go of the pram handle. So Mrs Ruskin had been right. The women in Ashfield Place had all assumed that Merrell was her own child, probably a love child since no man had appeared at No. 24, and this was the reason why they had accepted her so completely. For a moment, she wondered whether to disabuse Mrs Clarke, tell her the true story, but then she hesitated. Believing her to be one of themselves, the women had given her the sort of uncomplicated friendship she had never received in her adult life. If she told them she had adopted the child – and adopted her unofficially, at that – she had no doubt that their attitude would change. Without even meaning to do so, they would distance themselves from her once more. She would go back to being the professional, the midwife with a regular salary coming in, someone to be respected but never loved, never fully accepted. Was that what she truly wanted?

Once, Patty would have unhesitatingly told the truth and withdrawn into her shell again, but that was the old Patty; the new Patty was so different that, looking back, she might have been two separate people. The Patty of now did not want to revert to the Patty of yesterday. She was proud of Merrell and discovered she was quite happy for people to assume that the relationship between them was that of mother and daughter. Mr Mullins was very probably not as black as he was painted, but she could not bear to think of his reclaiming the child. If everyone assumed that the baby was hers, then Merrell would
be
hers.

The silence, it seemed, had lasted rather long for Mrs Clarke. She tugged timidly at Patty’s sleeve. ‘Merrell’s father is your business an’ no one else’s,’ she said. ‘If you don’t want to talk about him then you don’t have to. Why, Etty Darville – she lives on the ground floor – she’s had three children from three different dads and she’s married to another feller now and no one thinks the worse of her for it. Not very much worse, anyway.’

Patty giggled. ‘I must meet Mrs Darville sometime,’ she said cheerfully. ‘But I’m not like that, you know, Mrs Clarke. I got Merrell by – by accident, you might say, and I’m certainly not interested in getting myself a husband. I – I don’t like men very much, to tell you the truth.’

‘You shouldn’t judge ’em all by one who’s let you down,’ Mrs Clarke said reprovingly. ‘There’s good fellers an’ bad and you just have to look out for a good ‘un. But there, I dare say you know that.’

They had reached Patty’s door by now so they said their goodbyes; Patty thanked Mrs Clarke sincerely for telling her about the pram and then pushed it into No. 24, closing the door behind them. The pram made the room seem small but Patty guessed that she would soon get used to it. She went and fetched a pillow from her bedroom and propped Merrell up against it so that the child could watch her as she made their tea. ‘Aren’t you a lucky girl to have a special place all of your own?’ she said as she moved around the room. She picked up Merrell’s flannel rabbit and the rattle she had bought from a vendor on the Scotland Road, and popped them into the pram with the child. ‘Just you sit there and play with your bunny and presently you shall have some lovely bread and milk.’

Much later that evening, when Merrell had been bedded down for the night, Patty sat by the fire and began to plot. The moment Mrs Clarke had suggested that she should buy the pram, a picture had popped into her head. As she did her messages, she often saw large and shabby prams with babies and small children perched within being pushed along the pavement by older children. Most of these children were shabby, dirty and neglected-looking and some of them were undoubtedly taking care of younger brothers and sisters while their parents worked.

Why should I not take advantage of a system which obviously works very well, Patty asked herself. It would mean virtually adopting another child because of my night work, but it need not cost me very much and it would be a good grounding for some little girl in the ways of keeping house. The more she thought about the idea, the more it appealed to her. Other people did it, as she knew very well. There had been girls at the Durrant whose older sisters had been loaned’ to aunts, uncles or even friends who needed help with their own children. It was quite common for a man, left a widower, to ‘borrow’ a niece to assist him in running his family until such time as he might remarry or until a child of his own was old enough to help. Now that Patty was considering the idea for herself, she realised that the obvious thing to do would be to return to Stanton’s Court and speak to Mr Mullins about the possibility of hiring one of his daughters to help her to bring up little Merrell.

Even thinking about it, however, sent a cold shudder through Patty’s slim frame. So far as she knew, Mr Mullins had never revealed that his wife had had twins and that one of them had lived. Patty had told him that the child was small and weak so he might honestly believe that the second twin had died too. If she went boldly to his house and told him that this was not the case he could turn nasty. He could even try to blackmail her, or take the baby back, or threaten them both. The possibilities were endless. Yet though she shrank from it, Patty was sure that she should go to the Mullins with her request. It was their right, and because she had taken Merrell it was also Patty’s duty to appeal first to the family.

However, the week was a busy one and it was not until several days later that Patty was able to take her day off. In the interim, she had delivered five new babies, which naturally increased her workload during the day, so when her day off came round she was faced with a great many household tasks and thought, wistfully, how nice it would have been to have someone to help her. Nevertheless, she washed and polished with a will, baked four large loaves of bread and made a batch of currant scones. Then, telling herself that she could draw back at any moment, she popped Merrell into her pram, slung a string of beads across the front of it and set off towards Stanton’s Court.