A Mother's Secret (13 page)

Chapter Eight

The candle had gone out and there was only the faintest glow from the dying embers of the fire. The common room was cold and filled with strange shapes and shadows. There was a lingering smell of boiled mutton and cabbage from the girls’ supper earlier that evening which did not quite overcome the overpowering smell of dust, chalk and carbolic that permeated the whole building.

Painful cramps were attacking Cassy’s lower limbs and her empty belly was growling like a rabid dog. She peered into a dark corner thinking she had seen something move, but then she realised that it was she herself who was swaying dizzily from side to side. She tried to keep upright but suddenly her knees buckled and she felt herself falling, falling, falling . . .

‘You poor child. This simply won’t do.’

Cassy opened her eyes, blinking in the light of an oil lamp placed at her side. She tried to sit up but was pushed gently down on the cushion that the young teacher had placed beneath her head. ‘I’m sorry, miss,’ Cassy murmured. ‘I must have fell off the bloody stool.’

A gasp was followed by a swiftly controlled giggle, and the teacher laid her hand on Cassy’s brow. ‘You aren’t feverish, that’s something, but I’d advise you not to swear in Miss North’s hearing, however much provoked. Do you think you can sit up now, if I help you?’

Cassy nodded her head and with a little assistance she managed to raise herself to a sitting position. She eyed the stool warily. ‘Do I have to get back on that thing, miss? I don’t think I can stay up there much longer.’

‘Certainly not. You should have been sent to bed hours ago. I simply can’t imagine why Miss North allowed this punishment to go on for such a long time. However, I take full responsibility for releasing you from it. Let me help you to a chair, Cassandra, and then we’ll get you upstairs to the dormitory.’

‘Me name’s Cassy, not Cassandra.’

‘And I’m Miss Stanhope. I teach art, needlework and French.’

Cassy eyed her curiously. ‘Are you a foreigner too, miss?’

Miss Stanhope’s generous lips curved into a smile and her pansy-brown eyes twinkled. ‘My mother was French, Cassy.’

‘Then we’re both half-castes,’ Cassy said with a sigh of relief. ‘That makes me feel much better, miss.’ She scrambled to her feet but was almost overcome by a wave of dizziness and nausea.

‘You’d better sit down, dear.’ Miss Stanhope helped her to a chair. ‘When did you last eat, Cassy?’

‘Breakfast, I think. I dunno.’ Cassy was not about to peach on Lottie who was already in enough trouble on her account. She shuddered as she thought of her new friend locked in the dank, dark coal hole.

‘Sit there and I’ll bring you some food. You can’t go to bed on an empty stomach.’ Miss Stanhope picked up the lamp but seemed to think better of it and put it back on the table. She eyed Cassy thoughtfully. ‘I don’t know where you heard that hateful term, but it’s only used by ignorant people who know no better. If I catch any of the girls using it about you or anyone else, I’ll make sure they are duly punished. Do you understand what I’ve just said, Cassy?’

‘Yes, Miss Stanhope.’

‘Good. Now I’m going to the kitchen to warm up some soup for you. I won’t be long.’

An hour later, having consumed a bowl of broth thick with vegetables and pearl barley, mopped up with a generous hunk of bread, followed by a cup of warm milk, Cassy was feeling much better as she followed Miss Stanhope upstairs to the dormitory. The rest of the girls were sound asleep, their combined soft breathing punctuated by an occasional sigh and the creak of the iron bed frame as someone moved to a different position. Quietly and with the air of long practice, Miss Stanhope showed Cassy how to make up the bed. She waited patiently while Cassy undressed and put on the flannel nightgown purchased from the shop in Oxford Street. With a whispered ‘Goodnight’, Miss Stanhope tucked her in and blew her a kiss as she left the room. The door closed behind her and the darkness enveloped Cassy but she was asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow.

Next morning Lottie emerged from the coal cellar dirty, tired and with cobwebs in her hair but she managed a cheery grin when she saw Cassy. ‘The rats were better company than some of the girls,’ she whispered as she was marched past the refectory table where Cassy was having breakfast with the other boarders.

Miss North prodded Lottie in the back. ‘Be silent. I haven’t given you permission to speak, Charlotte Solomon.’ She stopped, dragging Lottie to a halt in front of the table where the teachers sat. ‘This is what happens to girls who disobey the rules. Unfortunately this child is a habitual wrongdoer, and I tremble to think what will happen to her in later life. The prisons are filled with women young and old who disobey the rules of society. Be warned, Charlotte. There but for the grace of God go thou.’ She concluded by slapping Lottie round the head and giving her a push towards Moss, who stood by with a smirk on her pale features. ‘Take Charlotte outside to the washroom and scrub her clean. I don’t allow filth in my classrooms.’

Some of the girls sniggered softly behind their hands, but others kept their heads down, staring at their empty plates. Cassy was certain that Lottie winked at her as she was led from the room by Moss, who was obviously enjoying every minute of the unfortunate girl’s disgrace.

‘How do you stand it here?’ Cassy whispered when Lottie came to sit by her in Miss Stanhope’s art class. ‘Why don’t you run away?’

Lottie shrugged her thin shoulders. Her wet hair gleamed black like coal and although it was tied back from her face drips of water trickled down her neck. She was shivering violently, but she managed a smile even though her teeth were chattering like castanets. ‘My pa works night and day to pay for my education. He wants me to do well in life and I can’t let him down.’

Cassy frowned as she made an attempt to draw the apple that Miss Stanhope had put on a table at the front of the class. ‘Does he know how they treat you here?’

Lottie shook her head. ‘No, and I’m not going to tell him. They can only get the better of me if I let them, and I intend to work hard and train to be a doctor when I’m grown up. Maybe old North will come to me as a patient and then I’ll stick needles in her and laugh.’

Cassy clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle but Miss Stanhope saw her and frowned. ‘I’m glad that you find sketching still life so amusing, Cassy.’

To explain would mean getting Lottie into further trouble. Cassy thought quickly. ‘No, miss. It was a flea tickling me belly that made me laugh.’

The class erupted in giggles which were quelled by a glance from Miss Stanhope. She made her way between the desks to stand beside Cassy. ‘That’s not funny, Cassy. I hope you aren’t going to be a disruptive influence in class.’

Lottie opened her mouth as if to own up but a paroxysm of coughing made speech impossible and had the effect of drawing Miss Stanhope’s attention away from Cassy. ‘Are you all right, Charlotte?’

‘She’s half froze to death, miss,’ Cassy said urgently. ‘I seen people die of lung fever after getting chilled to the marrow, and she spent the night in the coal hole.’

Miss Stanhope raised her hand for silence as the girls began to chatter between themselves. ‘Get back to work, girls. I’ll deal with this.’ She turned to Lottie with a gentle smile. ‘Come with me, and I’ll see that you get some medicine.’

‘I-I’m all right, thank you,’ Lottie gasped in between spasms of coughing that wracked her small frame.

‘You most certainly are not,’ Miss Stanhope said firmly. She pointed to an older girl whom Cassy recognised as Norah, one of the girls who had found her initial ordeal so amusing. ‘Norah Vickery, I’m putting you in charge of the class for ten minutes while I take Lottie to the sick room. I expect you all to behave like young ladies while I’m gone.’ She hustled Lottie out of the room and as soon as the door closed behind her Cassy found herself being bombarded by paper pellets.

‘She’s got fleas,’ someone chortled.

‘The dirty half-caste has fleas.’ Another voice took up the chant.

‘She should be sent to the coal hole with the sheeny.’

Cassy had bent her head over her work, trying to ignore their taunts, but a pellet struck her on the side of her face and the obvious insult to Lottie made her furious. She leapt to her feet. ‘Shut up, all of you. You should be ashamed of yourselves. Lottie is worth more than all of you put together.’

Norah marched purposefully along the aisle between the desks, and picking up a wooden ruler she brought it down hard across Cassy’s knuckles. ‘You need to learn your place. One more word out of you and you’ll be up before the North wind. She won’t be so lenient this time, you ignorant little chi-chi.’

Even though the pain in her hands was so intense that it brought tears to Cassy’s eyes, it was as nothing compared to the constant humiliation of being pointed out as being different from the others. In the melting pot of Three Herring Court she had been accepted and passed unnoticed amongst the throng of people with different coloured skins and ethnicity, but here amongst the girls who were supposed to be higher up the social scale she was an object of ridicule.

‘She’s crying. What a baby.’ The remark from the far side of the room raised a titter.

‘What colour are her tears, Norah?’ a freckle-faced girl demanded. ‘Are they the colour of river water thick with mud?’

The laughter that followed this cruel jibe seemed to have the opposite effect on Norah, and perhaps remembering her position of trust she called for silence. ‘That’s enough. Get on with your work.’ She poked Cassy with the ruler. ‘Stop snivelling, you silly little girl. Do you want to get the rest of us into trouble?’

Cassy wiped her eyes on her sleeve and was about to tell Norah and the rest of them to go to hell when Miss Stanhope returned. She cast a practised eye around the class, who were apparently engrossed in their efforts to draw the apples. She eyed the scattering of paper pellets surrounding Cassy’s chair with a wry smile. ‘It seems to have been snowing indoors.’ She bent down to retrieve one of them, holding it between her thumb and first finger as if studying an object of scientific importance. ‘It appears that I am mistaken.’ Her voice became sharper and her expression hardened. ‘Norah, you know who perpetrated this childish attack on Cassy. I expect you to see that the mess is cleaned up before those concerned leave the room.’

‘Yes, Miss Stanhope,’ Norah said sulkily, shooting an angry glance at Cassy as she made her way back to her seat.

‘And,’ Miss Stanhope continued in crisp clear tones. ‘If I catch any of you calling anyone derogatory names they will spend the evening in detention, writing lines. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Yes, Miss Stanhope,’ the class replied in a singsong unison.

‘Good, then you may continue to work. I’ll come round to each one of you in turn and see how you are progressing.’ Miss Stanhope patted her sleek dark hair, although there was not one strand out of place that Cassy could see, and her heart swelled with gratitude towards the pretty young teacher whose kind words had warmed her chilled heart. She grasped the stick of charcoal between her fingers and made a concerted effort to draw an apple, but never having used a writing implement of any kind she found it difficult and the result looked more like a cabbage than a piece of fruit.

‘A good try,’ Miss Stanhope said when she glanced over Cassy’s shoulder at the mass of black squiggles. ‘Write your name in the top right hand corner of the paper, Cassy. I’ll mark your efforts later.’

Cassy stared up at her, uncomfortably aware of the blood rushing to her cheeks. ‘I can’t, miss.’

‘What do you mean, Cassy?’

She hung her head. ‘I dunno how to write me name, miss.’

Giggles were quickly stifled by a curt command from Miss Stanhope. ‘I didn’t know that, Cassy. You will need extra tuition to bring you up to the required standard, and I will personally see that you get it.’ She spun round to face the rest of the class. ‘You are dismissed. Go to your next lesson quietly. Remember that you are young ladies and not a herd of elephants on the rampage.’

Following the example of the other girls, Cassy rose to her feet as Miss Stanhope left the room. She was about to follow the others as they filed out to their next lesson when Norah caught her by the hair. ‘Oh no you don’t, chi-chi. You’ll stay here and clear up the mess you made.’

‘But it wasn’t me,’ Cassy protested, jerking her hair free from Norah’s grasp. ‘Miss Stanhope said . . .’ A blow round the head cut her off mid-sentence.

‘I’m head girl and you do as I say, worm. Pick up it up and put it in the wastepaper basket. Best hurry, chi-chi. If you’re late for the North wind’s Latin class, you’ll be in for a wigging.’

Reluctantly, Cassy went down on her hands and knees to comply with Norah’s command. As a result she was late for Miss North’s Latin class and forced to stand in the corner for the whole lesson, all of which went completely over her head. The chanted chorus of declensions meant nothing to Cassy and it seemed a waste of time learning a language long dead. She spent the hour wondering how Lottie was but it was not until the break for their midday meal that she discovered her new friend was confined to the sickroom, and extremely unwell.

Cassy’s troubles were of little moment compared to her concern for Lottie, who was feverish and seemed to have come down with a severe chill. Somehow Cassy managed to get through the lessons that day, and after supper in the common room she took the opportunity to slip away whilst the girls were enjoying their one period of free time and totally ignoring her. She found the sickroom without much difficulty and entered quietly, making certain that no one saw her. Embers of coal glowed feebly in the grate, and a single candle on the washstand emitted a straggly stream of light. There were two single beds in the room, and in the one nearest the wall Cassy could just make out the tumbled mass of Lottie’s dark hair spread over the pillow like water-weed floating in the Thames. She moved swiftly to her bedside. ‘Lottie, are you all right?’