The Throwaway Children (12 page)

For a moment Frances looked from one to the other and then shrugged. ‘I’ve come for the mending,’ she said. ‘Have you finished? I’ve got to take it up to Matron.’

‘Nearly,’ came a murmur from the sewing group and the girls returned to their mending.

‘Now then, you two,’ Frances said, turning back to Rita and Rosie, ‘let’s have a look at the rota board to see what you should be doing.’ She led them across to the board and looked at the chart.

‘Here’s your name, Rita,’ she said. ‘Tomorrow you are on cleaning Purple Dorm in the morning, and helping in the garden when you get home from school. After breakfast you’re on kitchen duty, so go to the kitchen and you’ll be told what to do. Now, let’s find you, Rosie. You have to help clean your dorm, too, and then after breakfast you’ll be helping to feed the chickens and collect the eggs.’ She smiled down at the little girl. ‘You’ll like that, won’t you?’

Rosie looked back at her, round-eyed. ‘I don’t know where the chickens are,’ she said.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Frances, ‘someone will show you.’

‘Not her.’ Rosie looked back fearfully at Sheila who was now sitting, head bent over her darning. ‘I don’t like her.’

A bell sounded and at once everyone stood and lined up in pairs at the door.

‘Stand in the line with the others,’ Frances said to Rita as she collected up the finished mending. ‘When you get to the dining room you’ll be told where to sit.’ She walked to the door pausing beside the still crimson-faced Sheila. ‘Go easy on them, Sheila, they’re only kids.’

Frances hurried off to give Matron the mended clothes. She knew it would be tough for the Stevens girls from now on, Rita in particular, for she had made an enemy of Sheila, but they would have to get used to Laurel House, as everyone else had.

Another bell rang, and the line of girls led down the passage into the dining room. Each of three long wooden tables was laid with ten places. Across the top of the room was a smaller table with six chairs, and in a corner on either side of this were two separate chairs with no table in front of them. As the line of girls filed in, each went to her allotted place. Rita and Rosie hesitated by the door, not knowing where to sit. Sheila went over to them. As she approached, Rosie shrank away from her, but Rita, her heart thudding, held her ground.

‘You,’ Sheila pointed at Rosie. ‘You sit at the babies’ table.’ She jerked her thumb towards the table by the door where some much younger girls were standing behind their chairs. Rosie looked across at them and gripped Rita’s hand more tightly, not moving. ‘And you,’ Sheila glared at Rita, ‘you sit over there, at the junior table.’ Having given her instructions she turned away, unconcerned whether the two new girls followed them.

Rita took Rosie over to the babies’ table and whispered, ‘You got to sit here, Rosie. I’ll come and find you after.’

Rosie’s eyes immediately filled with tears. ‘But I want to sit with you!’ she wailed. At the sound of her cries everyone turned to look at her.

‘Shh, Rosie!’ hissed Rita, turning scarlet as she felt the eyes staring at them. ‘You can’t. I got to sit over there. Stay here.’

She pulled her hand free and went across to the next table where some girls she’d not seen before were waiting in silence behind their chairs. She took her place behind an empty one from where she could still see Rosie.

‘Not there,’ hissed the girl opposite. ‘That’s Beryl’s chair. Come round here next to me.’

Rita moved to her new place, listening to Rosie’s continuing wails.

‘What is that disgraceful noise?’

Rita looked over her shoulder and saw that Mrs Hawkins had come into the room. The superintendent strode over to Rosie and with one swift movement, slapped her cheek. The wailing stopped abruptly as Rosie was startled into silence.

‘That’s better,’ said Mrs Hawkins. ‘Now, no more of your nonsense.’ And ignoring the subsequent whimpering, she walked to her place at the top table.

The dining room was full now. Rita saw that there was a senior girl standing at each of the tables. It was with relief that she saw Frances take her place at Rosie’s table. Frances had been kind to them before, surely she would be kind to Rosie now.

The other senior girls sat at the small, top table from where Mrs Hawkins presided. There was one space at Rita’s table, and another at the table where Sheila and her friends were sitting. Rita was wondering who was missing when two girls were brought in and were led to the chairs standing in the corner. Rita, looking over at them, realized they must be punishment chairs.

Mrs Hawkins intoned grace, then, with a scraping of chairs, everyone sat down. A creaking sound heralded the arrival of a fat woman in white overalls pushing a trolley. On it were four large dishes, steam pouring from under their lids. Beryl pointed to the girl sitting next to Rita. ‘Daisy,’ she said.

Daisy got up and went to the trolley and collected one of the dishes. She set it down in front of Beryl and then returned to her place. Beryl picked up a spoon and began dishing food onto the plates piled in front of her and when every girl had her plate, at a signal from Beryl, they all began to eat. All except Rita. She looked at the pale yellow mess on her plate and wondered what it was. The other girls scraped away with their forks, scooping the food into their mouths quickly, as if it might disappear. No one spoke; the only sound in the room was the chink of cutlery on china as everyone ate their cauliflower cheese.

‘Eat your tea, Rita,’ Beryl said, her voice sounding very loud in the surrounding silence.

Rita looked again at the food in front of her. Pieces of cauliflower floated in a pale yellow juice, with occasional lumps of… something. She picked up her knife and fork and cautiously speared a piece of cauli. She put the piece into her mouth and almost gagged. It was warm and soggy, and the sauce tasted of soap. She spat it out again, and heard the intake of breath as the other girls at the table watched to see what would happen.

‘Eat your food properly,’ said Beryl.

‘You’ve got to eat it,’ murmured Daisy, ‘or you’ll get it again at breakfast.’

‘No talking, Daisy,’ snapped Beryl, and Daisy lowered her eyes to the table, but she dug a finger into Rita’s leg to emphasize her point. Rita looked at her plate. If she refused to eat it now, would it really be back for breakfast? She took another forkful forcing herself to swallow it. There was a glass of water beside each place. Rita reached for hers, and by taking a mouthful of water with each mouthful of food, she managed to get it down without being sick. At last it was done. Daisy had collected a plate of bread and marge from the trolley and had put it on the table. Everyone had helped herself, and by the time Rita had finished her cauliflower cheese, there was none left.

‘If you had eaten up properly in the first place,’ Beryl told her, ‘you’d have had your bread and marge, but as you didn’t, someone else has had it. You’ll know another time.’

When the meal was over, Mrs Hawkins got to her feet and so did everyone else.

‘Purples on washing up,’ she announced, and then stalked out of the room, leaving the girls to file out after her.

‘That’s us,’ Daisy said. ‘We’re Purples. Come on. I’ll show you.’ She led Rita out of the room, and with four others went along a passage to the kitchen. The kitchen maid followed, pushing the loaded trolley, and they were all met by the fat woman in the white overalls.

‘Right, you lot,’ she said as they came in, ‘get started. You.’ The cook pointed at Rita. ‘You’re new! Who’re you?’

‘Rita Stevens.’

‘Well, Rita Stevens, I’m Mrs Smith. You do as you’re told and we’ll get on all right. Isn’t that right, Daisy?’

‘Yes, Mrs Smith,’ replied Daisy obediently.

‘Right. Well, get on with you.’

Daisy went over to the deep sink and turned on the taps. ‘You bring them plates over,’ she said to Rita. ‘You and I can wash, Dora and Mary can dry and Joan can put away. I’ll do the plates, you do the knives and forks.’

It took them half an hour to finish the washing up, then they had to wipe down the surfaces in the kitchen and hang the tea towels on the airer over the range before Mrs Smith, having inspected the now tidy kitchen, said, ‘Right, off you go!’

‘Come on,’ said Daisy, and scurried off down the passage. ‘We got quarter of an hour before prayers.’

‘Prayers?’

‘Bedtime prayers, in the playroom. We all got to be there.’

Rita hurried after her, anxious not to lose her new friend. ‘But I got to find Rosie,’ she panted. ‘I promised.’

‘She’ll be going to bed,’ Daisy said.

‘I better go and find her,’ Rita replied. ‘Will she be in her dorm?’

‘’Spect so, but you can’t go in there.’

‘Why not?’

‘Not allowed. No dorm visiting. They’ll be having dorm prayers in a minute. Babies have bedtime prayers in their dorm.’ She caught hold of Rita’s hand. ‘Come on, we can go in the playroom now.’ But Rita pulled free. She wanted to see Rosie, and check she was all right. She darted back and went upstairs. The door to Green Dorm stood open and she peeped in. Most of the girls were in their nighties. Rosie was sitting, fully dressed, on the stool at the bottom of her bed, tears streaming down her face. Her locker door was open and her satchel was lying on the floor. Knitty was nowhere to be seen.

Rita marched into the room and said, ‘Who’s got my sister’s teddy?’

The girls all stared at her, but no one answered.

‘Who’s got Knitty?’ she demanded again. Still no answer, so she turned to Rosie. ‘Who’s got him, Rosie?’

Rosie pointed to a girl with red hair who was sitting on the edge of her bed. ‘Her,’ she whispered.

Rita crossed the room and grabbed the girl by the wrist. ‘Have you got Rosie’s teddy?’

The girl stuck her tongue out.

‘Susan, that’s the girl what bit Sheila!’ muttered the girl on the next bed.

‘An’ I’ll bite you an’ all if you don’t give him back right now!’ hissed Rita, pulling Susan’s arm towards her mouth. Susan gave a squeal and tried to jerk her arm free, but Rita was holding on too tightly. Lowering her mouth to the girl’s arm, Rita repeated, ‘Where’s Knitty?’

‘Under her pillow,’ called Rosie.

With a firm grip on Susan’s arm, Rita reached under the pillow and retrieved Rosie’s beloved toy. She tossed him over to her. ‘You can all remember that I’m the one who bit Sheila, and if any of you touch my sister again, I’ll come back and bite you all over. OK?’

Her words were greeted by silence. ‘OK?’ she repeated, lowering her mouth towards Susan’s arm again.

‘Yes!’ squeaked Susan. ‘OK!’

Rita let her go and turned back to Rosie who was clutching Knitty to her, tears still streaming down her cheeks. ‘Stop crying, Rosie,’ she said. ‘Come on, you’d better get undressed. Put Knitty under your pillow for now.’ She took the teddy from Rosie and hid him quickly under the pillow. She was just in time, for at that moment the matron came into the room. She paused in the doorway, looking at Rita in surprise.

‘And just what do you think you’re doing in here, young lady?’ she demanded.

‘I just wanted to say goodnight to Rosie. She’s my sister and—’

‘Dormitory visiting is not allowed,’ said the matron, as if Rita hadn’t spoken. ‘Out you go, and no coming back.’ She fixed Rita with a steely eye. ‘You should be in the playroom by now for evening prayers, you’ll be in trouble if you’re late.’

Outside Rita stood in the passage for a moment, long enough to hear Matron saying, ‘Come along now, Rose, you haven’t even undressed. Susan, I thought I told you to look after Rose and tell her what she has to do.’

‘Please, Matron, I did, but she…’ began Susan.

Rita didn’t wait to hear any more; she daren’t risk Matron catching her again.

Rita was only just in time for evening prayers. When she walked into the crowded playroom Daisy waved at her, and Rita edged her way round to join her.

‘We all have to stand in dorms for prayers,’ Daisy said. ‘Did you find your sister?’

‘Yes, but Matron came in and turned me out.’

‘The Dragon,’ nodded Daisy. ‘Don’t want to get in her way!’

The door opened and Mrs Hawkins stalked in. There was a shuffling of feet as all the girls stood up and waited for the evening roll call.

When the superintendent had finished she said, ‘Step forward, Rita Stevens.’

Rita could feel the colour flood her cheeks, but at a shove in the back from Daisy, she took one pace forward.

‘This is Rita Stevens,’ Mrs Hawkins said to the assembled girls. ‘She and her sister, Rose, have come to live here. It’s up to all of you to teach her how we behave here at Laurel House. Step back, Rita.’

Rita stepped back, her face still flaming. One or two of the other girls smiled. Everyone knew who Rita Stevens was, the new girl who had bitten Sheila Nevin. She’d already made one enemy.

‘Two girls were late getting into croc after school today,’ Mrs Hawkins went on, ‘Joan Cameron and Pamela Wynn. We do not tolerate tardiness here. If anyone is late tomorrow it’ll be dormitory stools on Saturday for everyone.’ She paused and then added, ‘Is that understood?’

There was an answering chorus of ‘Yes, Mrs Hawkins.’

‘What’s dormitory stools?’ whispered Rita to Daisy, but Daisy stood hard on her foot and she fell silent.

‘Ready for prayers, please,’ said Mrs Hawkins, and all the girls put their hands together and closed their eyes. Rita did the same.

‘Oh Lord,’ intoned Mrs Hawkins, ‘teach these poor, weak girls a due sense of gratitude for all Your mercies to them; for their good fortune in being in this place where all their wants are supplied. Teach them to be duly grateful for the generosity they are shown in this house. Let them learn to be obedient to those set in authority over them, each to know her place. Teach them to work hard and keep them from the evils of idleness, laziness and the devil’s work that comes with these sins. Punish those who transgress, oh Lord, that they may learn humility and obedience. Amen.’

‘Amen,’ came the murmured response.

Rita opened her eyes, but on finding Mrs Hawkins glaring at her hastily closed them again.

‘Oh Lord, bless our benefactress, Miss Emily Vanstone. Bless her for her kindness to these unfortunate girls, her generosity in taking them from the gutter and providing them with a home and all the comforts of life. Amen.’