War Orphans (38 page)

Sally's jaw dropped. Lady Amelia Ambrose was nothing if not forthright.

‘Well!' Sally heaved a big sigh. Amelia's proposal had taken her by surprise. ‘You certainly don't beat about the bush.'

‘Never could stand prevaricating. Get to the point. That's me.'

‘So I've noticed. But I'm only a teacher, I haven't had this kind of training.'

‘You deal with children every day and they love you. I think that's training enough, whether it's in a school inside or outside this place. The children's lives will improve. I guarantee it. Oh, there's just one other thing. I'll be on site too.'

‘I thought you might be,' she said laughingly. ‘A lovely place for animals.'

‘I didn't think you'd want the paperwork or the responsibility of actually running the place. That lot has fallen to me. I'm of the right age and right credentials. My father was a bit of a philanthropist. He gave a lot of his wealth to this kind of establishment and insisted I knew something about running them. He was old-fashioned and expected his children to learn from the bottom up, so to speak!'

Sally was speechless.

Amelia carried on. ‘I've spotted a little cottage in the grounds and there are bags of outbuildings. The War Office can have my place for the duration, I'll have this one. More room for more animals. Until the war ends, then we'll see what we shall see as regards this old place and the children in it.'

‘You don't think we can find homes for the children?'

Amelia shook her head. ‘The bombing's barely started. There's going to be more orphans in need of a home. The authorities are going to be stretched as to where to put them, which means we're going to be busy.'

The days following Joanna being rescued swept past in a blur of activity and hope.

People listened to Lady Amelia Ambrose-DeVere, not just because she was titled but because she got things done and knew how to do things properly and with integrity. Things could not have worked out so well if it hadn't been for her.

There was just one more thing that would make everything quite perfect.

Sally rebuked herself for feeling slightly ungrateful. Yes, she liked the idea of helping Amelia to run Stanleybridge, and so did her father, who was to be employed as grounds man and gardener.

‘Plenty of room for growing vegetables, and flowers. I miss flowers,' he said soulfully. ‘Might as well add a bit of colour to the old place. And the children could help.'

Amelia's ulterior motives regarding requisitioning part of the orphanage's extensive grounds to house abandoned cats and dogs came as no big surprise to Seb either.

‘The children will love it. And so will Joanna and Harry. This old place is going to change for the better. The kids might all be orphans but they'll be happy here.'

Sally certainly couldn't argue with that.

Everything was perfect and she should be supremely happy. Instead, the hole that remained in her life woke her in the middle of the night.

There had been no word from Pierre except for that letter received just before her ladyship had informed her that he was married. She'd replied anyway, not that it was likely to have reached him, things being the way they were.

Lying there in the dead of night she tried to visualise where he might be.

Some people claimed to have psychic powers where loved ones were concerned, knowing instinctively whether they were dead or alive.

Such things are nonsense, she told herself. You didn't wake up because you thought you heard him call you, you woke because you've got things on your mind. Including him.

Of course she did. Psychic powers were nonsense, she told herself. She felt no sense of either his well-being or his whereabouts. All she did was visualise him hidden in a hay barn, perhaps staggering over a mountain pass or dirty, wet and tired on a leaking boat in the middle of the sea.

No word. No letter. Nothing.

The visions she had of him were nothing but the residue of hopeful dreams.

On first being shown her bedroom Joanna had stood round-eyed she tried to take in what she was being told. ‘Should I really be here?'

Sally frowned and smiled at the same time. ‘Of course. You're part of the family now.'

Joanna looked puzzled. ‘But what about the others? Will they become part of a family too?'

Sally shook her head. ‘I wish I could say it will happen, but there are so many children who've lost their parents, so many homes destroyed. All we can do is to make their lives as comfortable and happy as possible.'

Joanna looked down at the floor as the harsh memories of her first night at Stanleybridge came back. The girls in that draughty attic bedroom, the niggardly food portions and the cruel treatment meted out for a nervous child wetting the bed.

Sally bent down so her face was level with that of Joanna's.

‘We can't fit all the girls into this wing of the house, but they're still under the same roof. They'll be better looked after than they've ever been. We can't adopt them all into our small family, but we can make this a happy home, all of us under one roof.'

Sally's smile was reassuring. The tension left Joanna's shoulders but a quizzical look came to her eyes. ‘Does this mean Seb is my father?'

‘Your adoptive father. Yes.'

Joanna's mouth puckered into another question, one that had sprung into her mind and was as bright as a buttercup. ‘Does this mean you're my sister?'

Sally smiled. ‘Yes, I suppose it does.'

*   *   *

The grey days of winter slowly but surely turned into spring. Wildflowers brightened pieces of waste ground that had not yet been put under the plough. Flowers had disappeared from many gardens, each individual doing their best to produce food to feed the nation, or at least their own families. On top of that the railings from around Victoria Park had also disappeared, the metal required to make aircraft so they'd been told.

The spring of 1941 brought brighter weather but the bombing of British cities, especially London, grew ever more intense.

Everything seemed to be sprouting and that included Joanna and Harry. Joanna was filling out and her cheeks were rosy now she was getting enough food. The scared look had vanished from her eyes, at least during daytime. Being locked in dingy places no longer posed a threat, but the experience would take some time to get over.

Harry was no longer the floppy puppy he'd been when she'd first found him in the stream that day a year and a half ago. He had grown into a handsome dog, and although Joanna was his closest friend he found time for the other kids too, in fact, he was in his element. Harry loved all those who loved him.

Seb had thrown himself into making the extensive gardens and greenhouses around the sombre-looking house productive again. An army of adoring assistants helped him in this task.

‘Any of you done gardening before?' he'd asked.

Some nodded but the majority, kids from London's docklands, shook their heads. Just the look of them touched Seb's kind heart. Judging by their scabby faces they hadn't eaten vegetables for a very long time, let alone seen them growing.

One day he found Joanna fingering the petals of a bright yellow daffodil, a faraway look in her eyes.

He laid his hand on her shoulder. ‘Penny for your thoughts.'

She didn't look up at him. In fact, her head drooped further.

‘What's the matter? Come on. Out with it.'

When she looked up at him he could see her eyes were tear-filled. ‘There weren't no flowers on my dad's grave.'

Seb looked surprised. ‘None?'

Joanna shook her head, her small lips quivering as she turned her gaze back to the dancing daffodils. ‘Elspeth said we had to go to the funeral so we'd get the money. Other people took flowers, but she didn't.'

Seb felt the pain Joanna was feeling. His sharp eyes, shadowed by thick white eyebrows, looked over her head to a pretty little spot beneath a birch tree. The trunk of the tree glistened silver in the pale sunlight. In front of it was the remains of a stone cross, its features weathered and softened by rain. Rumour had it there used to be an abbey here at one time.

He'd had a mind to ring the base of the tree with bulbs which would have hidden the old cross from view. Now he had an idea.

‘How about we set up a memorial to your dad – and to your mum, for that matter. What say you I carve their names on that stone over there and we plant flowers in front of it?'

Joanna looked up at him. ‘Does it matter that they're not buried there?'

‘No.' Seb shook his head. ‘They're both in heaven. Both together now. So if their names are here and you're remembering them, then that's where they are. Wherever your heart is, that's where they will be.'

After finding a decent hammer and chisel, Seb etched the names of Joanna's parents onto the old stone. Once it was finished he stood back from it to admire his handiwork. ‘Not a bad job,' he murmured to himself.

The flowers he'd planted would take some time to come up, so with that in mind he handed Joanna a large bunch of wildflowers interspersed with daffodils.

‘For you to lay in front of your mum and dad's memorial,' he said gently.

Joanna took the bouquet in her trembling hand and looked up at him for guidance.

‘Go on,' he said. ‘Go and put them in front of their stone, so they'll know you haven't forgotten them.'

Joanna swallowed nervously. ‘Aren't you coming with me?'

He shook his head. ‘No. They're your parents and likely as not there's plenty you want to say to them.'

‘Do you speak to your wife?'

A lump came to Seb's throat. ‘Every day. Everywhere.'

Seb was enjoying himself because he was doing what he loved doing and the kids filled the hole in his life Grace had left when she'd died. He was doubly happy when a dozen yellow chicks arrived.

‘Every one's a layer,' he'd boasted, as he placed the fluffy yellow bundles in the wooden coop he'd built them, complete with a wire-covered run. The sturdy wooden structure was placed in a cosy corner of the barn, where an old horse Amelia had found abandoned chewed hay.

Those who heard his declaration hoped he was right. A white egg with a yolk in the middle was a luxury, scrambled eggs made from the dried variety being the norm nowadays and not much liked.

‘I could live in here myself,' Seb confided to his daughter as he surveyed the high rafters and the piles of hay and straw.

‘You have a bed in the house, Dad.'

‘I might have to sleep out here. There's foxes to consider.'

A range of pigsties at the rear of the property had been converted to house the overflow from Lady Amelia's animal refuge. Two donkeys, a goat and a Shetland pony had joined the unending parade of dogs and cats left at her door. These munched their way through the orchard, where the long grass and fallen apples that hadn't been found added to their diet.

The Hadley house near Victoria Park had been let to people whose own home had been destroyed in a bombing raid.

Despite her new surroundings, Sally still awoke in the middle of the night hearing her name being called. Sometimes the
unmistakeable timbre of Pierre's voice reverberated in her head, so strong, so believable, that she answered, ‘Pierre? Is that you?'

There was never any reply.

For a while she would lie there listening to the old house creaking and groaning as it settled down for the night.

Tonight it was Joanna who woke her. ‘No! Let me out! Let me out!'

Sally grabbed her dressing gown and raced along to Joanna's room.

The child was sitting up in bed, her eyes staring at the far wall.

Sitting herself on the bed, Sally hugged her close.

‘It's all right, Joanna. It's all right, darling,' she said, her soft fingers caressing Joanna's head. ‘Did you have a bad dream?'

Joanna's eyes blinked into wakefulness as she looked up into Sally's face.

‘I thought Elspeth was here. I thought she was going to lock me up in the dark.'

Sally continued to smooth the girl's hair as she laid her own head against that of the child.

‘Elspeth's dead. She can't hurt you any more, Joanna. Not ever.'

It turned out that Seb was right about foxes. The chicks were no longer small and fluffy but growing plump and sprouting feathers.

Joanna and Harry walked with him to the barn, Joanna carrying chicken feed and Seb carrying a pail of water as there was no facility close by. Suddenly Harry shot off, barking loudly and heading straight for the barn's wide open door.

They saw a sudden flash of rusty red as the fox ran, belly close to the ground, Harry right behind him.

‘Just as I thought,' muttered Seb. ‘He'll be back. Seems tonight I'll be swapping my bed for a bundle of hay.'

Alarmed by what might have happened, Joanna counted the distressed chickens.

‘There's one missing. Oh no! Oh no!'

Seb turned at the sound of her dismayed voice. ‘Are you sure?'

He counted himself then shook his head. ‘You're right. Blast that fox!'

Grumbling threats of what he would do when he found that fox, he found the place where the sly creature had stuck his snout into the chicken run followed by his sleek red body.

More wire, a hammer and some nails and it was quickly repaired. All the same, he promised himself that he would definitely be out here tonight. ‘Don't you worry,' he told Joanna. ‘I won't let him take another. I'll be out here waiting for him.'

Lady Amelia had given him a gun for just such an occurrence as this and Seb couldn't wait to give it a go. It had been a long
time since he'd fired a gun and swore he would never do so again until it was absolutely necessary. This was an occasion he deemed necessary.