Trust Me (16 page)

The large window was shrouded in white draped muslin, the walls were white too, and the altar was covered with a white cloth embroidered with gold thread. The only light came from a dozen or so small candles burning in little glasses under holy pictures.

Getting down on her knees, she began to pray. ‘Holy Mary, Mother of God,’ she began, ‘please protect May and don’t let her do anything worse. I’m sorry I pulled at Sister Teresa, but she shouldn’t have shaken May like that.’

Suddenly all the events of the entire day caught up with her at once. There was no granny to run to, no friendly neighbours, she and May had been cast off, abandoned in a harsh, cruel place where no one cared about them. Wasn’t it already bad enough that Mummy was dead and Daddy in prison? Did she and May have to be punished even more by being taken away from Granny and shoved in a nasty place like this? It wasn’t fair! They hadn’t done anything bad.

She leaned her arms on the pew in front and wept out her despair.

Sister Teresa was wild with fury at May’s cheek and the ensuing tantrum. Although she and all the other Sisters had been told by Mother Superior to be extra gentle with the two new girls because they had just been torn away from their grandmother, she saw no reason why this should mean they should get away with such shocking behaviour.

Mother Superior might be officially in charge at the Sacred Heart, but in reality she was too old and frail to be anything more than a figure-head. Sister Teresa ran the convent and had done so since the end of the war. It was she who controlled the housekeeping, supervised the other Sisters and kept the children in line. In Teresa’s opinion some of the younger Sisters like Grace were far too soft; she knew if they had their way the girls would be allowed all over the grounds, in and out of the house as they pleased, given toys and books, pampered with luxurious food, and before long the convent would be a shambles. As only a handful of the children had their keep paid for by a relative, the rest had to be kept by Church funds, so Sister Teresa saw it as her duty to the Church to keep expenditure to a minimum. As she also believed that every child who arrived through the doors was already stained with the sins of their parents, she felt no compassion for any of them.

She knew the Taylor girls’ father was in prison for killing his wife, she’d read a report on the family. Clearly, judging by the scene tonight, their children were cast from the same mould. But she had her own way of breaking that mould and recasting children in a fit and proper manner.

As she carried the screaming, struggling child downstairs, tucked firmly beneath her arm, she decided on her most successful punishment. The girls whisperingly called it
the Dark Place
and quaked as they spoke of it, for those wilful girls who had been put in there were never the same again.

Sister Teresa couldn’t use it very often, for Mother Superior claimed it was cruel and had banned its use, yet just the threat of it was usually enough. But Teresa had been observing May Taylor ever since her arrival, and she knew she wasn’t likely to be intimidated by mere threats. Just the way she turned on beaming smiles and got others to return them was evidence she’d been spoiled and adored all her short life. Unless she wiped out her confidence now before she had a chance to worm her way into some of the weaker Sisters’ affections, she would always be trouble. No one came out of the Dark Place with their confidence intact.

Sister Teresa put her hand over May’s mouth as she went past Mother Superior’s sitting-room. The old lady was a little hard of hearing so she probably hadn’t heard the din from upstairs, and Sister Teresa didn’t want her hearing anything now. Down the stairs to the basement she went, still keeping the struggling child gagged, and through the dining-room, where she paused to grab the cane from its permanent position beneath the large wooden cross on the wall.

May let out another shriek as she released her mouth, and struggled even harder to get free when she saw the cane.

‘Scream all you like,’ Sister Teresa said through half-clenched lips. ‘No one is going to hear you.’

The basement was eerie at night, four long tables set for breakfast, and the only light a small red lamp beneath a picture of the Sacred Heart. The kitchen beyond was in total darkness, except for a very faint glow from the stove, and that made sinister rustling and stirring noises. Sister Teresa went through the kitchen and on through the door to the passage which led to steps up to the laundry rooms in the outhouses. It was very cold out here, and pitch dark. She kicked the door shut behind her before dropping May to the stone floor, and waited a second or two before flicking on the light.

The child was stunned momentarily into silence, not only by suddenly finding herself sprawled on the floor, but by the extreme cold. Her wide blue eyes were frightened, her nose was running, yet she still stuck her chin out in defiance.

‘I am in charge here,’ Sister Teresa said, lifting the cane threateningly above her head. ‘You will never answer me back, question anything I say or do. Do I make myself clear?’

The child cowered on the floor, eyes on the cane. ‘I only wanted my dolly,’ she whimpered.

With that the nun brought down the cane, striking May hard on her legs. She screamed in pain, half turned to get up and run, but in doing so presented her bottom. The Sister struck her three more times in quick succession, then tossed the cane aside. Reaching down, she caught May by the shoulders of her pinafore dress, hauled her to her feet, then, holding her with one hand, opened the small door in the wall behind her with the other.

This was the Dark Place. Not a cellar, or a cupboard, but a place used to store ice in the days when the building was a private house. Two steps went down to an area of around six square feet, and as it was built alongside the well-shaft which once supplied the water, it was always very cold even in high summer, the thick stone walls slimy and wet.

‘Get in there,’ the nun said, pushing the child hard. ‘You can scream as loud as you like because no one will hear you. When you are through with screaming, think on why you were put there. By morning I expect you will have seen the error of your ways.’

May did scream as she stumbled down the two steps into the pitch darkness below. But as Sister shut the heavy, lead-lined door and locked it, it was silent again in the basement, for the door made it completely soundproof.

Dulcie cowered away from Sister Teresa as she came into the chapel some time later. ‘I’m sorry, Sister,’ she bleated out. ‘I didn’t mean to pull at you and shout, I was just trying to help May.’

Sister looked down at the girl and took sadistic pleasure in the abject terror in her eyes. During the course of the day she had already observed the new girls were not alike in disposition. May was full of herself, bold as brass, but this older one was fearful, docile and sensitive. There was no need to punish her physically, the anxiety she’d feel by not being told where her sister was would make her suffer enough.

‘Your sister was responsible for what happened tonight,’ Sister Teresa said in a quiet, even voice. ‘Not you. So in future don’t interfere. Now go and see Sister Grace for your bath. I will get you your clean clothes and bring them to you and escort you down to the dormitory. I don’t want to hear another word from you tonight. Is that understood?’

Dulcie was astounded by the gentleness in the woman’s voice and by the knowledge that she wasn’t going to be punished further. Maybe she’d let her imagination run away with her because the other girls said this nun was so nasty. Yet she didn’t quite dare to ask where May was, that might be seen as insolence. Besides, May was probably in bed by now, and she’d find out what happened to her then. ‘Yes, Sister Teresa,’ she said gratefully. ‘I’m very sorry about what happened.’

Half an hour later Dulcie was walking down the stairs behind Sister Teresa to the Juniors’ dormitory on the ground floor. She could barely manage to genuflect at the statue of Mary on the turn of the stairs for she was wearing a flannel nightdress that was too large for her and carrying a bundle of clothes. Her hair was brushed free of its plaits and she had wound the rubber bands from the ends securely around her wrist so she wouldn’t lose them. One set of clothes was the everyday uniform of a maroon jumper and grey skirt, along with clean underwear and grey socks. The other was a worn navy blue kilt and a matted Fair Isle jumper to wear tomorrow.

As she understood it, hers and May’s clothes would go into that cupboard and get dished out next Saturday night to someone, not necessarily them. But right now she didn’t care that she would be seen tomorrow in clothes that were far shabbier than her own. All she was concerned about was May.

Most of the other girls had had their baths by the time she got to the bathroom, for there were three baths in the room and the girls all used the same water. But Carol was still in there, and while Sister Grace turned away for a moment, she whispered that she thought May had been taken to something she called ‘the Dark Place’. She couldn’t elaborate on this, but just the way her eyes had rolled implied it was a terrible punishment.

‘This is your dormitory,’ Sister Teresa said, pointing to the room on her left at the front of the house. ‘The lavatories and washroom are there,’ she went on, indicating the door directly ahead of Dulcie. ‘Put your clothes in the locker beside the bed and you will find your rosary hanging on the bed-head. I shall be back in a few moments for prayers.’

All the beds except one nearest to the window were occupied, the girls burrowed down because it was so cold. Dulcie glanced around her as she made her way to the vacant bed, but as she saw May wasn’t already in one of the other beds, her heart began to flutter with fright. She had been told earlier today there were two Junior dormitories, eight girls in each, so maybe May was in the other one, behind the third door she’d seen by the washroom.

By the time Dulcie had put her clothes away, Sister Teresa was back, ordering all the girls out of bed to kneel for prayers, so there was no time to go and investigate. Dulcie dropped to her knees on the cold lino and closed her eyes, but peeped through her lashes at the other girls. Carol, Helen, Janet, Ruth, Susan and Margaret were there, and another girl with freckles whose name she’d forgotten. All their heads were bent, their fingers flicking along the beads as they devoutly chanted the Rosary.

The girls leaped back into bed afterwards. Sister Teresa turned off the light and left after a stern warning that there must be no talking. Dulcie waited a moment or two, expecting someone to speak, but no one did, so, too scared to be the one to start it by asking where May was, she just lay there. She could hear the soft sounds of thumbs being sucked, the odd cough or the rustle of bedcovers as someone turned over, and she didn’t think she’d ever felt so desperately lonely in her whole life.

She had shared a bed with May for as long as she could remember, and without that small soft body curled up to her back, the bed felt too big, and cold. Since November when it turned cold, they’d shared with Granny too, and though Dulcie had often been irritated by the sound of her snoring and smacking her gums, she’d give anything to hear it now. She turned her face into the hard pillow and cried. She couldn’t even bring herself to say her own private prayers the way Granny always said she must, for she felt God had deserted her.

Sister Teresa waited until after midnight when all the Sisters were sleeping soundly before releasing May. The other Sisters believed she had merely given the girl a couple of strokes with the cane, then put her to bed, and as long as May was found there in bed in the morning, anything she said would be put down to a nightmare.

She had to go right in and haul May out bodily, for she was rigid with cold and terror and incapable of moving unaided. Sister Teresa lifted her out, shut and locked the door again, then sat May on a stool in the kitchen to look at her. She was in a disgusting state – hysteria had made her vomit down her clothes, and she’d wet herself, but that happened to everyone imprisoned in there.

‘Are you sorry now?’ Sister Teresa asked, looked dispassionately at the drawn, dirty face in front of her. May’s eyelids were red and swollen, a clean white track down each cheek from tears, knuckles skinned from banging on the walls and door.

‘Yes, Sister,’ May hiccuped, and tears filled her eyes again as the warmth of the kitchen crept into her frozen body. ‘Very sorry.’

‘You will never answer me back again or question anything I say to you?’

‘No, Sister,’ she whispered, her eyes cast down on the floor.

‘That’s good, because you know if you do where I’ll put you, don’t you?’

May nodded.

The nun turned to the big kitchen sink and began to fill it with warm water. She always bathed the children down here after their punishment – to take them upstairs would attract attention. ‘Take off your clothes,’ she said. ‘You’re in a disgusting state.’

When the child was down to her vest she picked her up and sat her in the sink, using the opportunity to explain that she should never be naked in the sight of the Lord. May said nothing, all the fight had gone out of her, her eyes were vacant, she didn’t even wince as the sponge passed over the weals on her legs and bottom.

Sister dried her afterwards, wrapping her in the towel while she removed the wet vest and replaced it with a dry one. Then she produced May’s own nightdress and put it over her head.

A tiny spark came back into the child’s eyes then. She touched the soft warm material and looked up at Sister with gratitude.

‘You don’t deserve to have that back of course,’ Sister Teresa said in a dry tone. ‘But when I opened your suitcase a while ago and found your doll was broken, I thought it might make you feel better.’

‘Belinda’s broken?’ May’s eyes widened in horror.

‘Yes, my dear, into pieces I’m afraid. But it was very foolish of your grandmother to pack a china doll in a suitcase.’

She went over to the kitchen table and opened a newspaper bundle. There lay the remains of Belinda, her china head caved in. A gaping hole in her skull revealed in a macabre manner the sockets and mechanism which made her eyes open and close. One crushed leg lay beside the trunk, which also had a gaping hole, and the two arms and other leg, all broken in two, were scattered about her.