Copyright

HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

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First published in Great Britain by Harper 2018

Copyright © HarperCollinsPublishers 2018

Cover design by Claire Ward © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018

Cover photograph © Emma Kim/plainpicture (child); Lee Avison/Trevillion Images (street scene); Shutterstock (suitcase)

Cathy Sharp asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008211639

Ebook Edition © February 2017 ISBN: 9780008211646

Version 2018-02-20

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

A Q&A With Cathy Sharp

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by Cathy Sharp

About the Publisher

CHAPTER 1

‘Want some pocket money?’ the drunken voice asked, and a large hand waved a pound note at Jinny Hollis enticingly. He leered at her in a way that sent chills down Jinny’s spine and she shook her head as he rose to his feet and stumbled across her mother’s kitchen towards her. ‘Come on, it isn’t hard to be nice to me, is it?’

Jinny drew back, feeling the vomit rise in her throat as she saw the lascivious gleam in his eyes. She kept her gaze fixed on the face of the latest of her mother’s punters, backing away, moving towards the door and freedom. He was good-looking in a dark, brutish way with black hair slicked back with hair oil and unshaven chin. Jake wasn’t the first to offer her money in order to be allowed to fumble beneath her skirts, and his approach was the same as that of all the others. When her mother was in the room they played the nice uncle, but as soon as Jinny was alone with them, they tried to molest her. Some offered enticements, money, small gifts and food but others just made a grab for her. She’d been forced to endure rough hands up her skirt and under her blouse more times than she cared to remember, and once, one of them had got her down and tried to force himself on her. Her screams had brought Nellie from next door running in at the kitchen door and her irate neighbour had batted the unfortunate uncle with her rolling pin until he swore at her, got to his feet and bolted.

Jinny would have screamed for Nellie now but she knew it would be useless; her friend had gone shopping down the market and wouldn’t be back for ages. Jinny’s back was against the door now. She wrenched at it, pulled it open and tried to escape into the back yard, but Jake lunged at her, pinning her against the doorpost so that she could feel its sharp edges cutting into her flesh.

‘Got you at last,’ he muttered as he pressed his slack wet mouth against hers and the stink of his breath made the gorge rise in her throat. In desperation she brought her knee up and went for his groin with every ounce of her strength. He gave a yell of shock mixed with pain and staggered back, his eyes filled with a vicious rage that terrified her. Yet her action had saved her, because as he drew back, stunned and winded, she made her escape into the yard and ran for her life.

Tears stung Jinny’s eyes as she ran, her chest heaving; she fought for breath and against the storm of emotion overtaking her now that she was – for the moment – out of danger. Forced at last to stop running because her chest hurt and she couldn’t go any further, Jinny leaned against the wall of a derelict factory and closed her eyes, letting the tears flow.

Why did everything have to be so horrible at home?

Jinny’s mother was almost always drunk when she came back from the pub where she worked behind the bar until late at night. There was usually a man in tow, sometimes known to Jinny and, at other times, a complete stranger. Mabel Hollis just didn’t seem to be able to manage without a man about the place, even though several of them had treated her badly. Some of them beat her and she often had black eyes when she finally got up in the morning, others simply sponged off her, expecting her to provide food and lodgings, as well as the other comforts Mabel offered. Quite a few considered that Jinny should be a part of the bargain, and she’d been fighting them off since she was twelve and was always in trouble at school for turning up late, because if she didn’t do a few chores in the house no one did, and the safest time to do them was in the morning before Jake and her mother got out of bed.

Jinny’s mother seemed to have money for drink and for having her hair bleached and set in the deep waves that men seemed to find so sensual, but she seldom remembered to go shopping for food, and often ended up shoving a few pennies in Jinny’s hand and telling her to get some chips. Mabel dressed and behaved like a tart, and Jinny was ashamed of her. Now that she was coming up to her fifteenth birthday and preparing to leave school Jinny thought desperately of getting away somewhere – anywhere she could live by herself or with friends, away from her mother’s sluttish ways and her men. She couldn’t really call them customers, because most of them didn’t pay a penny towards their keep and some lived off Mabel for as long as she was willing to provide them with whatever they needed.

‘What’s up then, Jinny?’

Her eyes flew open as she heard the voice close by. Micky Smith was three years older and had left school at fifteen to work on the Docks. At school he’d never noticed her, except once when she’d been at the centre of a group of vindictive classmates who were jeering at her, pulling her dark hair and calling her mother a whore and a drunken tart. Even though Jinny knew the accusations were true, she’d tried to defend her mother against their insults and given one of her tormentors a black eye. Several of the others had charged at her, knocking her to the ground, and she’d been struggling to throw them off when suddenly she’d found herself free and a grinning Micky Smith had been looking down at her. He’d offered her his hand, pulled her to her feet and then turned to the gang of sullen girls watching.

‘Jinny’s my friend,’ he’d claimed. ‘If any of you harm her again, you’ll answer to me.’

Jinny hadn’t even thanked him, because she’d hardly spoken to him previously and didn’t know what to say. For a moment their eyes met and then he’d walked off, leaving her standing alone.

‘Micky’s pet,’ one of the girls chanted at her mockingly. ‘Giving it ’im, are yer? Yer just a bleedin’ little whore like yer ma …’

‘Whore like yer ma …’ the other girls hissed but none of them tried to touch her as she brushed past them.

Jinny might have gone after Micky and thanked him then, but he was with some other lads and they were laughing and looking her way. She’d had the feeling they were laughing at her, probably saying what they’d like to do to her or naming her a whore like the girls had.

Now she stared at him, wary and half-mistrusting as she noticed that he was no longer dressed in patched trousers and a jacket with holes at the elbows. He had on a pair of black drainpipe trousers, a blue cloth jacket with velvet on the collar and suede shoes with thick crepe soles. His white shirt sported a thin black tie, which was knotted and pinned with what looked like a diamond tiepin. Knowing that Micky’s father hadn’t worked in years, because of an accident on the Docks, and his mother went charring at several offices, Jinny wondered how he’d managed to become prosperous all of a sudden.

‘I haven’t seen you for a while,’ Jinny said. ‘Not since school …’

‘I’ve been busy,’ Micky said and grinned. He had black curly hair, swarthy skin and very dark eyes; his hair was long, nestling into his nape and he had dark sideburns, rather like those worn by Elvis Presley, the American singer. All Jinny’s classmates swooned over Elvis Presley and talked about his records and the Rock ’n’ Roll dances they attended on Saturday nights. Jinny couldn’t afford to go to the dances and she didn’t have many friends – she couldn’t ever take them home so she was never asked to their birthday parties – but Nellie had an old-fashioned radiogram and she liked Rock ’n’ Roll, too. Jinny had heard her playing Elvis over and over again through the thin walls that separated their terraced houses.

‘I seen ’im at the flicks and ’e’s a bit of all right,’ she’d told Jinny when she went next door for a slice of bread and dripping and a rock cake, as she did most days after school. Nellie had a picture cut from a magazine, which she’d stuck up on her kitchen wall, much to her husband’s disgust, but Nellie only laughed and said if she were twenty years younger she’d be off to America to join the girls who flocked about their new heartthrob. Of course she didn’t mean it, because she and her husband got on well and had two grown-up sons with families of their own, but Nellie liked to tease her long-suffering husband. Both of Nellie’s sons were in the Army and no longer lived in London, but she looked forward to their infrequent visits with her grandchildren, of whom she had three. Colin had two young boys and Brian had a girl of a few months. Jinny knew how much she missed them but she was a cheerful woman in her early fifties and never let on to them that she wished they’d come back home.

‘They’ve got good lives where they are. I was worried to death when they had that trouble over the Suez Canal last year, but it seems it’s all over now, and Brian’s in Ireland now …’ Nellie had told Jinny as they looked at photos the elder son Colin had sent from Cyprus where he was currently stationed with his regiment. ‘Why should they want to come back ’ere then? I know Harold Macmillan says we’ve never ’ad it so good, but ’e ain’t living ’ere in this courtyard, is ’e?’

‘What were you cryin’ for?’ Micky asked; a sparkle in his dark eyes that made Jinny aware that lost in her thoughts she’d been staring for too long. ‘Are you in trouble?’

Jinny nodded, hanging her head, tongue-tied and ashamed. ‘It’s just one of Mum’s blokes …’ she said, because he expected an answer. ‘He tried to grab me … so I gave him one where it hurts with my knee – and he’ll half kill me when he gets the chance …’

Micky nodded his understanding. ‘Jake Harding is a nasty piece of work. Your ma should send him packing. He’s a troublemaker down the Docks – if you knew what I know …’

‘Why don’t you tell me?’

‘Best you don’t know, but he’s in with a bad lot and one of these days …’ Micky shook his head.

‘He hits Mum,’ Jinny said and shuffled her feet. ‘He’s one of the worst she’s had – and … I’m frightened of him …’

‘No need to be,’ Micky said. ‘I’ll sort him for you if you want?’

Jinny looked at him and smiled. ‘He’s a big bloke,’ she said. ‘It’s lovely of you to offer, but I don’t want you to get hurt for my sake …’

Micky looked amused and touched his pocket as if it contained a secret only he knew. ‘Don’t you worry about me, Jinny girl. I can take care of myself – and I take care of my own too.’

‘I never thanked you for what you did at school …’

‘You didn’t have to,’ he said. ‘I don’t like bullies.’

‘Jake is a bully,’ she said. ‘He offered me money for a start but when I said no he tried to force me … he’s not the first to try. Those girls were right that day; Mum is a whore – but she doesn’t even get paid half the time …’ She raised her head defiantly. ‘I’m not like her and I don’t want to be.’

‘I know that, Jinny.’

‘How can you? Everyone thinks I’m like my mum and she’s a slut.’

‘Your mother was all right until your father went off and left her. I suppose she got lonely and desperate …’ Micky said and looked grim. ‘He was a bad ’un, your dad, Jinny. I don’t mind a bit of thievin’ if it comes to that, especially if something is just begging to be liberated – but your dad was a mean sort. He stole from his mates and he got punished for it, so in the end he didn’t have much choice but to clear orf – otherwise he might’ve been lynched.’

Jinny felt the tears burn behind her eyes. She could recall only little things from the time when she’d had a father, but he’d been kind to her and her mother had been happier then, too.

‘You’re rotten to say that about my dad,’ she said resentfully. ‘I thought I could trust you, but now I see you’re like all the rest …’

She turned and started to walk away, but Micky came after her and grabbed her arm, turning her to face him. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you, but it’s the truth. He stole from his works and he broke into houses, but he took from his friends too – and he took a reward for ratting on someone, letting him carry the can for what he’d been part of – and they don’t forgive that around here.’

‘Leave me alone,’ Jinny said and shook his hand off. ‘I don’t believe you – you tell lies …’

‘I do lots of stuff,’ Micky called after her as she walked swiftly away. ‘But I don’t lie to you and I’m still your friend. I’ll look after you, Jinny, and one day you’ll understand that you can trust me …’

Jinny didn’t bother to look round. She knew that it was likely he was telling the truth about Sam Hollis, but she couldn’t bear to hear it. The only bright memories she had was of her dad giving her a pretty doll one Christmas and tussling her hair whenever he came home from work. He’d bought her sweets and told her she was his princess and she’d thought he loved her. To a girl who hadn’t had much love in her life that was precious and she wouldn’t easily forgive Micky Smith for ruining her memory of her dad.

Jinny set out in search of Nellie. When she told her what Jake had done, her kind neighbour would offer her a chance of a bed with them, and this time she was going to take it. If her mother wanted Jake around she would have to take care of their home herself, because Jinny wasn’t going back while he was staying there.

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.

‘You shouldn’t believe a thing these girls say,’ Ruby retorted furiously. ‘Some of them become violent and have to be restrained. I worked in a remand home for some months before I applied for this job and I saw how necessary it is to use force at times …’

‘We are aware that in extreme cases it is sometimes necessary to restrain a violent case, but always the minimum amount of force is to be used. Did you not tell a girl that if she caused more trouble she would be subdued by drugs and locked in a padded cell?’

‘No, of course I did not!’ Ruby retorted and then felt the hot colour rush up her neck and into her face as she remembered she had said something of the sort to Betty Goodge. ‘Well, I told her it might happen if she was violent … she attacked me and I had to subdue her …’

‘Did you know that she tried to commit suicide the day after she was committed to the remand home?’ Mr Irvine asked coldly.

Ruby felt sick and shaken. Her voice dropped to a whisper as she said, ‘No, I was not aware of that … but I’m sure I had nothing to do with it …’

‘You think your threat was not related to her act of desperation?’ the inspector asked sarcastically. ‘Did you not know the girl’s history, Miss Saunders? As a child she was sexually abused and beaten systematically, and when she fought back she was locked in a cellar until she ceased screaming. We knew she was a thief and a little wild, but we sent her here rather than a remand home to give her a chance for a better life – your threats affected her mind powerfully and she went into a decline after her attempt at suicide and is now in the care of a psychiatrist in a secure hospital.’

‘I didn’t realise she’d been locked in a cellar …’ Ruby felt hot and uncomfortable. ‘I do not see that I can be held accountable for what happened to her at the remand home.’

‘Neither did Miss Sampson,’ the inspector told her. ‘However, it has been decided that we shall visit more often in future and see how things are going here. For the moment I find that everything is in order – but I must tell you that the Department frowns on the use of threats …’

Ruby had fretted with frustration after that last visit. It wasn’t her fault if a wild girl had tried to take her own life because she’d been sent to a place where the discipline was harsh. Besides, the attempt had failed and had probably been staged to gain attention. Betty was now in a hospital and most likely running rings round the staff there …

She glowered at the wall that divided her office from the orphanage next door. It had been Ruby’s ambition to take over there when Sister Beatrice retired – and surely that couldn’t be much longer.

She wondered what Miss Sampson had to say to her and hoped she wasn’t in her bad books again …

‘Well, that is the intention,’ Ruth Sampson said, giving Ruby a triumphant look. ‘It isn’t confirmed yet, because we still have to come to terms with the Board of St Saviour’s – but I’m fairly certain that it will go ahead by the end of the year. We shall take over the whole building and you will be in charge of both sides … if you wish to accept the position …’

‘Yes, of course …’ Ruby stared at her, unsure of what she was hearing. ‘You’re saying they’re closing their doors and we’ll be in complete control of the orphans as well as our girls …’

‘Yes, that is the idea. St Saviour’s cannot continue to support two homes, as I’m sure they realised, but they kept it on because Sister Beatrice fought the closure and local people supported her – but now they’ve realised it is untenable …’

‘What will happen to her – to Sister Beatrice?’ Ruby asked, feeling an odd pang of sympathy for the woman she’d resented at the start but now rather admired from afar.

‘Her methods are outdated and since I am in overall charge I should not accept her continuing presence. You will run the kind of home we require with the proper standards. We shall continue to take in children from the streets for a short time, but other centres are being planned and eventually we shall be what we are now but much larger … It makes more sense for sick children to be dealt with in specialised centres these days before being moved out to the country. The nurses next door are an unnecessary luxury.’

‘Yes, I suppose so …’ Ruby was a little disappointed. She’d quite liked the idea of taking in the children in need. ‘So it will happen by Christmas?’

‘Possibly the following January … but it isn’t settled yet. There could be complications so you must keep this to yourself. Were it to become known … I wouldn’t put it past that woman to stir up the local population again …’

‘Of course, you may rely on my discretion …’

‘Naturally.’ Miss Sampson smiled. ‘I was sure I could … This will be a promotion for you, Ruby.’

Ruby agreed and left the office, feeling thoughtful as she walked back to her home. Once, she’d thought she felt more for Miss Sampson than she ought, but the gloating in her eyes as she’d spoken of Sister Beatrice’s dismissal had left a nasty taste in Ruby’s mouth. Ruby didn’t like the old bat much, but she did respect her and felt oddly guilty that she was being sent packing just like that. It seemed unfair after all her years of service …

As she entered the building where her small flat was situated, Ruby saw a young woman burdened down with parcels and bags and realised she must be moving into the vacant apartment above. Seeing the girl drop some of her parcels, she darted forward as the lift opened.

‘Here, I’ll give you a hand with those,’ she said and scooped them up. ‘I’m Ruby and I live in the flat below you.’

‘Hi, I’m Carla.’ The girl’s bright eyes made Ruby feel an odd tingle at her nape and she dropped her own. The flame of her hair as it curled about her face was striking and there was something about the girl that instantly appealed, her smile reaching out to Ruby’s lonely heart. ‘Come on up, I’ll be glad of help with all this lot – and then perhaps we can get to know one another over a cup of coffee …’

‘Well, I’ll give you a hand in with all this stuff – but I’ve got some reports to write this evening.’ Ruby saw Carla’s smile dim and wished the words unsaid, but she couldn’t go back on them and perhaps it was best she didn’t. Ruby couldn’t afford to get too close to a girl like this; she had to think about her career …

CHAPTER 3

‘Keep yer mouth shut, Beth,’ Andy Rutherford hissed at his sister as they trailed in the wake of the police sergeant. ‘If they know where we came from they’ll send us back, and I’d rather die than be made to do that.’

His younger sister Beth nodded, silent and instinctively obedient. Her large brown eyes were wide with distress as she held on to Andy’s hand, her face pale with fear. The last thing she wanted was to be sent back to a life that terrified her. She was seven years old, pale and vulnerable, and all she’d known in her short life was abuse, hunger and fear. Love was something she felt for her elder brother, because he was her protector and her refuge, though she couldn’t put a name to her feelings. She only knew she was safe with Andy: he’d taken a beating for her more than once, saving her from the Beast …

‘It ’ull be all right,’ he whispered with a reassuring smile, his eyes lighter in colour than hers and his sturdiness making him seem so much stronger and fitter than his sister. ‘Not like before …’

Beth’s hand trembled in his and nodded silently. She believed in Andy, who was six years her senior and seemed to the timid girl wise and brave and her only protection from those who wanted to hurt her.

Sergeant Sallis glanced back at them and smiled kindly. ‘Don’t be frightened, Beth,’ he said. ‘I told your brother they were good people here and they are. Sister Beatrice looks stern, but she’s the kindest person I know – and Staff Nurse Wendy is lovely, as is Sister Rose.’

‘Why are they called sisters?’ Andy asked curiously. ‘Is it a place for nuns?’

‘Bless you no, it’s a proper children’s home, one of the best around,’ the police officer said. ‘Sister Beatrice is a nun but she’s also a nursing sister – and Sister Rose used to work in the London hospital.’

‘That’s where they took Ma when she was bad,’ Beth said and Andy squeezed her hand hard, making her look at him in protest. ‘I wasn’t going to say,’ she whispered.

Sergeant Sallis looked from one to the other, but didn’t press for more information, merely nodding to himself before moving off again. Beth was a little nervous of anyone in uniform, but Andy had told her they could trust him.

‘You can tell by his eyes,’ Andy had whispered to her when the police had taken them in and fed them. ‘He’s all right, Beth. I wouldn’t trust him just because he’s a copper, mind. It’s the way he smiles with his eyes and means it – not like the Beast …’

Beth felt sick at the mention of the Beast. She’d clung to her brother, shielding behind him as the policeman told them he was taking them to a place where they would be safe and looked after. Once before, after their mother died, someone had told them that and it hadn’t been true, because they’d been made to go and live with the Beast, but Andy was listening and agreeing to the policeman’s suggestion.

‘We’ve got to do what he says for now,’ he’d whispered to Beth. ‘It won’t be for long, love. As soon as I can work I’ll find us some rooms and I’ll look after you. I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again …’

Beth nodded, and held on tightly to her brother’s hand. She’d been cold and hungry for days, because they’d slept rough in a little deserted shed down by the railway, living on the food Andy managed to beg or steal. He’d tried to get work, because he was strong, but the bosses kept turning him away – he wasn’t old enough to work legally, they said, and they would be in trouble if they let him do a man’s job. Once or twice since their escape, Andy had found work washing down lorries that had carted dirty loads and he’d come back to her stinking like drains, but the only place he could wash was in the men’s toilets and he had to be careful. He’d taken his shirt off to wash once and a queer bloke had come after him, offering him money to do something that Andy thought was rude. So now he filled bottles of water and they washed their faces and hands as best they could in their little hut, but both of them were itching and Beth thought she’d seen something moving in her brother’s hair. She shuddered at the thought and longed to be clean again, but she would remain dirty all her life rather than go back there … to the Beast’s house.

She felt sick at the memory of the months since her mother’s illness and sudden death in hospital. Left alone at the mercy of the Beast, they had lived in terror, never knowing whether he would return drunk or sober. Beth sometimes thought her step-father was worse sober than when he was drunk; drink mellowed him for a while and if she was careful and kept out of his way, she had little to worry about. However, when he was sober, he swore at them both, expected Beth to do the chores her mother had done and gave them very little to eat. They were, he vowed, nothing but a nuisance and he could not be bothered to bring up children who were not his.

‘The silly bitch shouldn’t have gone poking her nose in where there was sickness,’ he muttered furiously as he landed a blow on Beth’s arm when she reached for a piece of bread spread thinly with dripping. ‘If she hadn’t gone and caught scarlet fever, we should’ve been eating a decent dinner instead of this rubbish – and I’m havin’ that last slice so keep your dirty fingers orf it!’

Andy was made to do all the chores Beth couldn’t manage, like digging the allotment and cleaning the gutters out when the rain came pouring down the walls because they were choked with filth. He had to polish the Beast’s boots and clean the bike he used to get to his work in the canning factory, fetch him fags and beer from the pub on the corner, and clean the stove out in the mornings, as well as putting the rubbish out in the bins. All the jobs the man of the house was supposed to do and the Beast had never bothered with, leaving them to his long-suffering wife and then her young son.

Beth wasn’t good at ironing and sometimes she got a few blows because she’d creased the Beast’s trousers wrongly or scorched his shirt. When he wasn’t at work, and despite his slovenliness about the house, Beth’s step-father liked to dress well if he was going out. He’d tried to thrash her when she’d accidentally scorched his best blue shirt and Andy had stepped in to stop him, but the Beast had turned on Andy, beating him until he fell to the ground and lay still.

The Beast had stared at the boy lying unconscious at his feet and shrugged, before snarling at Beth, ‘Tell anyone about this and I’ll kill the pair of you. I’m going out …’

He’d slammed off out of the house, leaving Beth to kneel by her brother’s side and bathe his forehead with cool water as she wept. Andy had come round at last, feeling sick and woozy, but gradually the mist had cleared, and that was when he’d told her that they had to run away.

‘But where shall we go?’ Beth asked plaintively. She hated the Beast but she was even more terrified by the idea that they would run off somewhere, because at least in this house that had been their father’s they had beds and there was sometimes food to eat.

‘We’ve got to go, Beth,’ her brother insisted. ‘Next time he will kill us – besides, he’ll probably have us put in a home somewhere if we stay. He doesn’t want us around now that Ma is dead, and I hate him.’

‘I hate him too,’ Beth agreed, and allowed him to persuade her that they should escape while their step-father was out down the working men’s club he liked to visit on Friday nights, playing darts for the local team.

They’d taken some of their clothes, the few that fitted and weren’t falling apart with wear; they’d also taken an old flask that had once belonged to their father filled with water from the tap, what was left of the bread and dripping, Andy’s pocket knife, two chipped mugs and two spoons from the drawer, two towels, their spare shoes, Beth’s rag doll and a Biggles book that Andy’s father had given him long ago.

There was no money in the house. The Beast had made sure of that, giving Beth’s mother only a small amount for shopping each week. After her death he paid for everything himself, never sparing a copper for either of the kids, and giving them only enough food to survive and that grudgingly.

Perhaps it was because they’d been hungry for a long time that the hardships of life on the streets hadn’t hit them immediately, but by the time the police picked them up after a tip-off from one of the railway workers, Beth was so hungry she cried most of the time, and Andy wasn’t much better.

The promise of baths, food and clean clothes was tempting and Beth’s feelings swayed between apprehension and hope when the policeman told her they were nearly there. When she looked up at the severe building with its grimy walls and small windows up in the attics, she pulled back and her fear made her want to run, but Andy pressed her hand and Sergeant Sallis smiled at her, as if he sensed her nervousness.

‘It’s all right, Beth,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t look much, but it’s warm and they look after you here. I promise you … cross my heart and hope to die if I tell a lie …’

A reluctant smile came to her face and she stepped forward, some of her fear evaporating as she saw a woman in a pale grey uniform and a white frilly cap standing in the hall.

‘Ah, you must be Andy and this is Beth,’ the nurse said and her smile lit up her face. ‘My name is Staff Nurse Wendy, and I’m going to look after you. I think you both need a nice wash and then I’ll tuck you up in bed and bring you something lovely to eat.’

‘It’s not time for bed,’ Beth said solemnly and she saw a twinkle in Nurse Wendy’s eyes.

‘No, but I think you must be tired and hungry after all you’ve been through, and I want to make sure you’re quite well before you go to the dorms – and perhaps start school …’

‘School – can I go to school?’ Beth’s heart did a little skip, because it had been ages since she’d been allowed to go. The Beast said she had work to do for him and didn’t need all that nonsense.

‘Yes, you can and you should,’ Nurse Wendy said and looked at Sergeant Sallis. ‘Thank you for bringing them to us. I shall look after them now.’

‘Yes, I’m sure of that,’ he replied and hesitated, before offering his hand to Andy to shake. ‘You’ve been a sensible lad. If you ever need my help, please come and tell me and I’ll do my best to sort things for you.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Andy said. ‘When I can work I’ll ask you for a character reference so I can get a good job.’

‘You should study hard and do something worthwhile, lad. I think you’ve got it in you to do well …’ Turning to Beth, he said solemnly, ‘It has been nice to meet you, miss. I know you’ll be safe here with these kind people.’

Beth thanked him shyly, and then she saw that Nurse Wendy was holding out her hand. She hesitated, looked at her brother, and when he gave her a little nudge, slid her hand into the nurse’s. She had begun the long journey back to trust, but was still anxious enough to look over her shoulder and make sure that Andy was following close behind …

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