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CHAPTER 2

‘Well, I shall be sorry to lose you, Hannah.’ Sister Beatrice frowned over the top of her glasses at the young woman sitting in the chair at the other side of her desk. She put down the newspaper she’d been reading, an article about the launch of a campaign to stop smoking, because of new research into cancer diseases thought related to the practice. As always she wore the dark grey habit of a nun with a white starched apron and simple headdress, a heavy silver cross and chain about her neck. ‘I must admit I’ve come to rely on you as one of my most trusted staff – and it’s so difficult to find girls who want to work here these days …’

‘I’ve loved working with you at St Saviour’s,’ the carer said and looked genuinely sorry. ‘But this is a wonderful chance for my husband to have his own business. We’ll be moving across the river and he’ll need help in the shop – so what with that and having another baby …’ She placed her hands on her bump and smiled. ‘I just shan’t have the energy or the time …’

‘Oh, I understand perfectly and I wish you well in your new life,’ Beatrice agreed. ‘Your husband and your family come first of course. It’s just that I shall need to find someone to take your place when you leave.’

‘Well, I do know of someone looking for her first job. She’s just left school and her neighbour asked me if she thought Jinny might be taken on here as a kitchen help, but she’s an honest girl and bright. I think you might like her – and Nancy was only fifteen when she started, wasn’t she?’

‘That was rather different,’ Beatrice frowned at her, because Nancy was a special case. ‘This girl is hardly old enough to be given the care of children, but I suppose she could be taken on as a girl of all work. If she is willing to do kitchen work, as well as anything else she’s asked, that might solve a part of our problems. We’ve had a succession of girls coming for a few weeks and then leaving in the kitchens since Muriel retired last Christmas. Unfortunately, Mrs Davies can be a little difficult …’

‘Yes,’ Hannah replied ruefully. ‘I’ve run afoul of her tongue a few times, but she’s just finding her way and Sandra says her bark is worse than her bite.’

Thank goodness for Sandra, who had become a friend as well as a colleague since she joined their staff! Beatrice relaxed mentally as she thought of the young woman who had begun as a part-time secretary and occasional carer after her stint in prison almost two years previously. Sandra had been imprisoned after a farcical trial on trumped-up evidence and only the perseverance of her friends had got her free with her name cleared. In truth she owed her freedom mainly to Ikey, the man who was now her husband; Sandra owed him far more because he’d rescued her children – Archie Miller from an uncertain fate on the streets and June from the clutches of unsuitable foster parents. Beatrice had employed her without a reference and given her a temporary home here at St Saviour’s in the nurses’ home until she’d married, and Sandra had more than repaid her since with her friendship and her hard work.

As Ikey’s wife – or Nathaniel Milvern as he was known in his professional life, as a police officer – Sandra had no need to work but she’d continued to come into St Saviour’s every day. They’d married very quietly in the spring of 1956, because Ikey was still recovering from the brutal attack on him. However, he was now back at work and involved in several projects aimed at helping London’s unfortunates who lived on the streets.

‘Yes, I believe Sandra can manage her,’ Beatrice nodded, and glanced through her diary. ‘Very well, send this young woman to see me … the day after tomorrow in the morning at ten thirty. I shall ask Sandra to join me and we’ll see. If this girl … what was her name again?… If she is suitable we’ll give her a chance.’

‘Jinny Hollis,’ Hannah said and stood up. ‘She’s a pretty girl, sensible and pleasant, but she’s had a terrible home life for years, Sister, but I know you won’t hold that against her. She needs a job and somewhere to live, so her neighbour told me. Had she been brought in when she was younger I know you would’ve taken her in – as you do all the kids in trouble.’

‘I take as many as I can,’ Beatrice said and sighed. ‘Unfortunately, we’re only a halfway house now and many of our children are moved on to the new place after just a few weeks. I regret that we were forced to give up the one wing of St Saviour’s, which means we only have room for sixty orphans at the most, but I suppose it is progress … or so they tell me …’

‘You haven’t thought of taking a position at Halfpenny House in Essex?’ Hannah asked, on her feet now and lingering at the door.

‘No, I think not,’ Sister shook her head emphatically. ‘I’ve spent the last twelve years or more here in Halfpenny Street at St Saviour’s; it’s where I belong and I have no desire to move.’

‘It wouldn’t be the same without you,’ Hannah said, hesitated, and then offered shyly, ‘I shall miss working with you and Wendy and Sister Rose and the others …’

Beatrice inclined her head but said no more as the carer left. She’d said all she had to say and since the parting was inevitable there was nothing to do but accept it. She’d lived too long and suffered too many partings, each of which left a little shadow on her heart, but God gave her strength to carry on with her work. Her fingers clasped the heavy silver cross she wore on a long thick chain and she winced as she felt stiffness and pain; it was arthritis, she imagined, and it was gradually working its way through her body: shoulders, back, neck and now her hands. She flexed her fingers trying to relieve the pain and felt it ease; exercise helped. Beatrice had learned that from watching her father, who had been a butcher and used to working in cold conditions and standing for long hours. He’d developed a severe form of the disease as he’d grown older but he’d been too stubborn to give in and had carried on working until he died … of a heart attack.

Beatrice shook her head, dismissing old memories, which could have no bearing on her life now. She’d taken her vows after tragedy drove her to despair but for years now she’d led a busy, interesting life here at St Saviour’s, looking after the children given into her care. It was a demanding job sometimes, needing all her strength and patience to carry her through, but it was her life. Indeed, she did not know what she would do if the job were no longer hers. A return to the convent would be unfortunate; here in St Saviour’s she’d become used to warmth and the comfort of her office and her room in the nurses’ home, and she ate well – better than her fellow nuns did at the convent, she knew. Beatrice remembered how cold it had been in the small impersonal cell that had been hers when she first became a nun. Over the years her room at St Saviour’s had acquired some small comforts, a few books, a picture or two – mostly of gardens. She did appreciate gardens, though it was years since she’d had one to tend, as well as the little things the children had made for her, all of which she treasured. At the convent such treasures, if not exactly forbidden, would not be understood; she was supposed to have given up all worldly pleasures, but she feared that her years in nursing had somehow made her fonder of her personal comforts than was right.

Perhaps fortunately for her turn of thoughts, the telephone shrilled and she picked it up, smiling as she heard the voice at the other end.

‘Sergeant Sallis, how nice to hear from you again; I thought you’d forgotten us.’

‘I’m pleased to say things have been quiet for a while, but we had two children brought in this morning – found wandering down by the Docks, both of them filthy and hungry, and the boy has been beaten quite recently …’

‘Bring them in and we’ll see what we can do,’ Beatrice said and shook her head, because it was the same old story. Things were supposed to be getting better now. It was a brave new world and filled with clever inventions and hope for a bright and exciting future, but in some of London’s meaner streets, of which there were still far too many, the old evils of poverty, dirt, cruelty and neglect still flourished. ‘Are they related?’

‘Brother and sister. His name is Andy and hers is Beth. If they have a second name they’re not giving it, but we’ll make some inquiries and discover who they are.’

‘Very well – until then we’ll look after them as always.’

‘Thank God for St Saviour’s. If ever you close your doors, Sister, I don’t know what we’ll do. Social Services don’t know what to do with the kids – and they ship them off somewhere so they feel disorientated and miserable, and that’s why half of them run away again. I’m sure they would rather be on the streets that are familiar to them than sent off to some cold clinical place where they can’t even make themselves understood half the time …’

‘Let’s hope it doesn’t happen for a few years,’ Beatrice said and smiled. She liked the police sergeant who had been bringing her waifs and strays from the streets for as long as she could recall. St Saviour’s was always the first place they thought of, though of course these days the Welfare people had to have their say and would no doubt make an appearance to check the details. However, they were normally kept busy with cases of abuse within the family and had little time to bother over a home proven to be more than adequate.

‘I’ve heard rumours …’ Sergeant Sallis said. ‘They have been talking about redeveloping that whole area again …’

‘Oh, we had that some years ago,’ Beatrice said blithely. ‘There’s a covenant on the building so I’m not too bothered about the threat of redevelopment – they can carry on around us as much as they like but our Board won’t budge.’

‘I’m relieved to hear it,’ he said. ‘I’ll bring the children in myself – and we want to know if they tell you anything about the beating. It was nasty, I can tell you that, and I’d like to bring whoever did it to justice.’

‘Naturally, we shall keep you informed.’

Beatrice replaced the receiver. Sometimes the children told the nurses things in confidence once they were settled and no longer terrified, but she could pass on such information only if the child gave permission. Much as she agreed with the police officer that the perpetrator should be punished, a child’s confidence must be respected.

Rising to her feet with a suppressed groan, Beatrice decided it was time for her to visit the sick wards. Wendy had some cases of a particularly nasty tummy bug in the isolation ward at the moment, one of them a girl from the council home next door, but fortunately the room kept for lesser ailments was free and they would put the two new arrivals in there until they were sure they were ready to be assigned to their dormitories.

Once again, she regretted that the wing next door had been taken over by the council for their disturbed girls. She wished they could return to the past when St Saviour’s had been able to house so many more children for as long as necessary. However, that had been taken out of her hands and, no matter much she disliked it, it was a fact of life that she could not escape and she must make the most of what she had …

Ruby Saunders read the letter again and frowned.

My dear Miss Saunders, Miss Sampson had written. I should like you to visit me this afternoon at about three if you can manage it. I have something important to discuss with you – something concerning St Saviour’s that will be to your advantage … please be prompt. Ruth Sampson.

Ruby folded the letter and frowned as she placed it in her top drawer. A request from Miss Sampson was tantamount to an order, so no matter what she’d planned for her afternoon she must attend her at her office.

Relations between them had been a bit strained for a while after that business with the Miller girl, because Ruby should never have been taken in by those people who’d applied to be foster parents – but what had happened subsequently hadn’t been her fault. The Children’s Department should have checked the Baileys’ details more thoroughly. All she’d done was recommend them as possible foster parents.

Ruth Sampson had had her fingers rapped publicly when the papers got hold of the scandal. The department had tried to keep it private, but somehow one of those scandal rags had nosed out the story and made a meal of it, though the child hadn’t been named. So Ruth had been reprimanded and Ruby had borne the brunt of her displeasure, but she’d weathered it and hung on, and now it seemed that she was being offered a reward.

Ruby had been made to eat humble pie after the truth came out about those awful people who had abused June Miller and for a while she’d felt regret, but then her natural sense of certainty had come back and she’d begun to resent the way Sister Beatrice seemed to have an almost free hand next door. St Saviour’s was inspected about once a year or so, but it seemed Sister Beatrice always managed to get away with a glowing report. Ruby, on the other hand, had been questioned about her methods of discipline more than once and now had to suffer twice yearly intrusion into her regime.

She’d felt she was being criticised and, after the last interview was over, asked whether they were dissatisfied with her.

‘We have been told that you threatened one of the girls you sent on to a remand home with violent punishment if she misbehaved there …’ Mr Irvine, the Department’s chief inspector, told her.