War Orphans (34 page)

The doctor disappeared. The woman in the dark green costume strode purposefully towards her. The costume was well cut and made of bulky material.

‘Miss Hadley.' The hand that shook Sally's hand was warm and meaty, the grip strong. ‘I'm Miss Thorpe, children's welfare officer.'

With a wave of her hand, Miss Thorpe directed Sally into a small side room. The room was dull as well as small, brown paint halfway up the walls, then cream to the ceiling. The ceiling was high, far too high for the size of the room.

Miss Thorpe indicated a chair on one side of a desk. She took the other, her fleshy hands meeting and resting in front of her. ‘I hear from Dr Jason that the Ryan girl is an orphan.'

‘I'm afraid so.'

‘Do you know if the child has any other relatives – aunts, uncles, grandparents?'

Miss Thorpe held her head high, the ends of her mouth downturned, her tiny eyes fixing on her from either side of a pair of flaring nostrils. Although she made her feel uneasy, Sally answered the questions as best she could.

She shook her head. ‘I'm afraid not. As far as I am aware, she has no one.'

‘I see.' The pugnacious-looking Miss Thorpe nodded curtly.

It was impossible to read the woman's thoughts, but Sally couldn't help being apprehensive. She was in two minds to offer to take Joanna home with her, but the possibility of Pierre returning held her back. Fostering a child was not something she'd ever considered before and she couldn't understand why she was flirting with the idea now.

Pierre had been her future and even though he was married she still entertained a fond hope that all would turn out well in
the end. If so, they would have their own children. Like most men he was unlikely to welcome looking after someone else's child.

However, if her father could gain custody . . .

Never mind, she thought to herself. If all else failed, Joanna would be found a loving and caring foster home, perhaps one with children of her own age.

It wouldn't hurt to confirm that. ‘I take it she'll be fostered.'

Miss Thorpe gave a short sharp laugh as though she'd just suggested they find the child a spare room at Buckingham Palace.

‘There are too many orphans and evacuees for that matter, and not enough foster families. Joanna will be placed in an orphanage in Brislington.'

‘Brislington! That's miles from here.'

Sally had been prepared for Joanna to be fostered fairly close at hand so she could still see Harry, and also so Sally and her father could visit. It would be enough of wrench for Joanna to be parted from Harry, but at least being on hand to visit would have softened the blow.

Sally eyed the fleshy face, the tiny eyes and the mean mouth. Was it her imagination or was Miss Thorpe enjoying her dismay?

‘Is there nowhere closer?'

‘I'm afraid not. Stanleybridge House is a very long-established orphanage. They are skilled in dealing with all kinds of children from broken backgrounds, though most are orphans.'

Sally fiddled with her gloves, her mind racing as she weighed up the implications of what Miss Thorpe had said. There was no foster parent and no chance of getting one by the sound of it.

‘Can she not continue to be evacuated as her stepmother planned?'

Miss Thorpe shook her head. ‘No. Circumstances have changed. Parents now have to pay a certain amount to the homes offered to evacuees. The Ryan child has no parent, therefore no money is forthcoming.'

Sally played with the fingers of her gloves, all the time trying to decide if what she was thinking would be acceptable. Never mind that Pierre might object to her actions, she had no option but to dive straight in. She might regret it later on, but it had to be done.

‘What if my father and I took her in?'

Miss Thorpe, a local government officer who had no children of her own and didn't particularly like them, pulled in her chin and glared. ‘Your father and you?'

I don't like you
, thought Sally. She nodded anyway and adopted a neutral expression. Best first to see where this interview was going rather than responding to instinct. ‘That's right. I am her teacher and my father treats her as though she's his daughter – or granddaughter. And then there's Harry to consider.'

Even to her own ears, Sally thought she sounded excited. She had failed to endow her voice with the same neutrality as her face.

‘Harry? Is that her brother?'

Feeling slightly foolish, Sally shook her head. ‘No. He's her dog.'

Miss Thorpe looked unimpressed. A friend managed the orphanage she recommended. The governing body paid five pounds for every child referred there, which her friend shared with her. Two pounds ten shillings was a very useful sum indeed.

‘How old is your father?'

‘Sixty-five, but very spry and I look after him very well, just as he looks after me.' Even to her own ears she sounded as though she were trying to impress.

Miss Thorpe's eyes narrowed. ‘You're a very good-looking girl. I take it you have a sweetheart?'

Sally felt herself blushing. ‘I really don't think that's any of your business!'

‘What if we did pass the child into your care? If you get married, who will look after her then? Your father?'

‘That is so unfair . . .'

‘Your father is in his sixties. He will be way past three score years and ten, as it says in the Bible, when the child starts work. If you marry, the child will be left with him. If he dies she has no one unless you take her in. New husbands are not usually keen to take on other men's brats!'

Sally bristled. ‘I dislike your tone, Miss Thorpe. In fact, I can't help but get the impression that you would prefer to place Joanna in an orphanage regardless of who stepped forward to take her.'

‘Not at all.' Miss Thorpe was unbending, the sort of woman who holds on to her own opinion regardless of any arguments to the contrary. ‘Children thrive in the company of other children. She will also receive a decent education. I'm sure you, as a teacher, would approve of that?'

‘That may be, but my feeling is that Joanna would blossom in a family environment – a happy environment with those around her who love her – including her dog.'

‘There are no dogs at Stanleybridge. They are not allowed. However it is my firm belief that Stanleybridge would suit the child very well.'

‘Joanna. Her name's Joanna.'

‘I'm sorry?'

‘You keep referring to her as “the child”. Not once have you used her proper name.'

Miss Thorpe shrugged nonchalantly. Her manner was dismissive. ‘I have a job to do, Miss Hadley. Many children are referred to my department. I have to determine what is best for each one without becoming personally involved.'

Chair legs scraped the dull linoleum floor as Miss Thorpe got to her feet, signalling that the interview was over.

Seething, Sally did the same. Despite her resolve to be neutral and professional, she couldn't help herself. ‘Perhaps you should consider giving them numbers,' she snapped disparagingly.

Miss Thorpe gave a weak smile. ‘I do.'

Stanleybridge Orphanage was housed in a building not dissimilar to one of the mills its benefactor had owned. Built of red brick, its windows were small, its doors stout and the interior was starkly grim.

Being a man focused on practicality rather than beauty, Lionel Stanleybridge insisted that only browns, creams and greens were used to decorate its dour interior, the same colours used in the many woollen mills that he owned in North Somerset and West Wiltshire.

The mills produced the finest woollen cloth thanks to their proximity to the sheep grazing the Mendip and Quantock hills and the close proximity of fresh running water.

Joanna was taken to the orphanage on a bus. Miss Thorpe had tried to obtain the use of a council-owned motorcar for the journey just as she had before the war. She'd been told that her use of it did not have a high priority. She'd bristled at that and blamed the child she accompanied rather than the war for the council's decision. She'd never been refused use before.

On the bus Miss Thorpe insisted Joanna sit by the window then squeezed in beside her, her bulk filling two-thirds of the seat. Escape was impossible.

Joanna sought solace in the passing scenery, which went some way to helping her disregard the woman she was with and where she was going, though not entirely. She was still numb from the bombing and the aftershock of learning that Elspeth was dead.

No conversation passed between them until the journey was over.

‘Your new home.'

There was a look of self-satisfaction on the face of the children's welfare officer as she eased herself sideways from the seat, snatching at Joanna's wrist just in case she decided to make a run for it.

Joanna was dragged from the bus, her meagre belongings, items of underwear and a new jumper that Sally had brought into the hospital taking up little room in a brown paper carrier bag.

Round-eyed, Joanna stared upwards at the towering height of the orphanage gates. Dark green in colour they were made of iron plate, each plate bound to its neighbour by iron rivets. To Joanna's eyes the rivet ends looked like large boils, as though if she pressed one it would pop.

When Miss Thorpe pulled on a long iron handle a bell clanged gloomily from the other side of the gates.

A door-size portion of the gate opened, and a woman with a pale face and severe bun appeared.

On recognising Miss Thorpe she invited her in unsmilingly. Miss Thorpe duly obliged, tugging Joanna in behind her, her grip undiminished. The two women exchanged few words and those only in regard to required paperwork. Turning swiftly on her heels, the woman led them up the path to the orphanage.

Joanna stared up at the prison-like facade of the building. She was unable to shake off the feeling that if she entered she might never ever leave. For ever! She might be in here for ever!

Even though Elspeth had been less than kind to her, the house in The Vale had been familiar, the only home she had ever known. Suddenly she missed it.

The pale-faced woman opened the huge double doors of the orphanage with an iron key and locked it again once they were inside. The interior was gloomy and cold; the walls painted a glossy brown halfway up and then green all the way to the ceiling.

Dull as the colours were, they'd been dulled even more by age, unpainted since the day the orphanage was built. The
colours and paints were used simply because they didn't show the dirt and so needed no repainting.

A marble bust sat on a stone column to her right in an arched alcove. A brass plaque was set in the wall to one side of it with the inscription: L
IONEL
M
ERRYWEATHER
S
TANLEYBRIDGE
. B
ENEFACTOR
.

On the opposite wall hung a painting of the same man, his ruddy face clashing with the dullness of his clothes. A silver pocket watch hanging from his waistcoat was the only other thing besides his pink cheeks to add colour to the painting.

‘No time to stare,' snapped Miss Thorpe as she pushed Joanna through a door leading off the reception hall. The room she entered was wood-panelled and carpeted, a distinct contrast with the reception area.

As the door closed behind her with a dull thud Joanna rubbed at the wrist Miss Thorpe had finally released. Her attention was drawn to the woman behind the desk. The desk was huge and heavy. So was the woman. Joanna couldn't help but stare.

‘The girl, Ryan,' said Miss Thorpe, pushing her forward.

The woman sitting behind the desk was enormous. Fat cheeks bulged over a triple chin and bulging neck, where a linen napkin was tucked. In front of her was a huge plate of food.

Joanna's stomach rumbled at the smell. She hadn't eaten since breakfast.

The woman's fat fingers set down the knife and fork. She continued to chew as she spoke. ‘Well, you chose your time well! You should know by now that I dislike having my meal times disturbed, Thorpe. Decidedly bad for the digestion.'

Up until now the children's welfare officer had shown the confidence of a woman used to having her own way and being in charge. Her manner now changed.

‘I do apologise, Miss Portman, but the council wouldn't allow me the use of a car. I had to come by bus. It's the war, you see.'

Miss Portman grunted something about having a stiff word with that man Churchill if she ever ran into him.

Miss Thorpe placed a brown manila envelope on the desk. ‘Here's the paperwork. Would it be possible for you to sign the acceptance form?' The sharp tone of before had become a wheedle.

Miss Portman eyed Miss Thorpe with piggy eyes.

‘I know what you're saying, Jane,' she said, letting slip Miss Thorpe's first name as a mark of disrespect.

They'd vowed always to use their professional names in front of outsiders. But Jane Thorpe had interrupted her meal and Miss Portman hated that. She also knew she was angling for her half of the money the orphanage received for giving space to yet another orphaned child.

Thorpe, having found out Miss Portman kept the fee for her own personal use, agreed to share, a fact Miss Portman resented.

‘Come back on Monday. We can deal with the formalities then. In the meantime ring the bell outside. Dawson will deal with the child.'

Miss Thorpe knew better than to argue. Grabbing Joanna by the shoulders she turned her round to face the door and pushed her towards it.

‘Come on. The sooner I get rid of you the better. I've got a long bus ride back.'

She marched purposefully to a table and rang a gleaming brass hand bell.

Joanna stood feeling helpless and alone, the strings of the brown paper carrier bag cutting into her hand.

The girl who appeared was older than Joanna and wore a pale brown dress beneath a white apron. Her face was as pale as the woman who had let them in and her eyes seemed too large for her face. She was also very thin and the dress she wore looked too small for her, scrawny wrists showing beneath the tight cuffs, the material faded from numerous washings.