Poor Little Rich Girl (41 page)

Dick nodded his understanding. ‘I know what you mean; India’s a very poor country, isn’t it? So if Lonnie does get away, she’ll come to us just as soon as she’s able, I’m sure. As I told you, I gave her some money, so unless the nuns discovered it at least she can catch a tram to Elmore Street and won’t have to trek all that way on foot.’

‘I think it would be best if I went straight round to the convent after work tonight and had a word with Lonnie. I don’t believe even the most narrow-minded of nuns would object to a child seeing her old governess when her parent is unable to visit. Even if they remain in the room with us whilst we’re talking – and I suppose that is quite on the cards – I will be able to reassure her that her father will soon know the truth. She would do far better to stay right where she is until we can arrange for him, or his representative, to deal with the situation officially. If she was to run away, there could be all sorts of complications. Why, if your mother takes her in, the police might accuse her of kidnapping, or some such thing.’

Dick whistled softly beneath his breath. ‘I never thought of that; you’ve got a clever head on your pretty shoulders, young Hester! Right then, you go
round there after work and tomorrow, when I’ve finished at the yard, I’ll hang about outside Paris Modes until you’re free, then you can tell me how Lonnie is and then perhaps the two of us can go to a café, get ourselves a meal and write the letter to Lonnie’s father together.’

‘That sounds lovely, Dick,’ Hester said gratefully.

‘Well, goodbye for now, Hester love. It was so good of you to come to the funeral! Dick telled me that your boss wasn’t too willing for you to have the time off, but it’s meant so much to me and the kids to have you here. It were the first time you’ve met our Millie and Frank, and the twins, weren’t it? Well, it won’t be the last, because us Baileys stick to our pals and I hopes as how you’ll be a frequent visitor in Elmore Street now we’s home.’

Mrs Bailey stood on the doorstep clasping Hester’s hand in hers, and Hester leaned forward and kissed the older woman’s pale cheek. ‘Goodbye, Mrs Bailey,’ she said gently. ‘And thank you so much for making me feel welcome. Millie is a dear and the twins are charming and of course I’ll visit you just as often as I can. I’ve given Dick my address and told him the name of the shop where I work, so hopefully we shan’t lose touch again.’ She erected her umbrella, having quite a struggle to do so against the fierce wind and rain. ‘Goodbye, Mrs Bailey, and thanks again.’

Battling her way to the tram stop, Hester reflected that she and Dick had already made up for the time they had missed. Dick had ushered her into the front parlour and introduced her to the multitude of friends and relatives there and had then taken her into the kitchen where Millie, Ted’s girlfriend
Ruby and a couple of neighbours were frantically pouring cups of tea and cutting fresh sandwiches. Dick had cleared a space at the table and the two of them had joined in the work, slicing loaves, buttering bread and chatting quietly as they did so. Ruby took the place beside Hester, staring at her curiously out of a pair of heavy-lidded, rather sly eyes. Hester did not much like the tone of Ruby’s conversation, since the other girl had a vulgar streak. But as she was Ted’s girlfriend – at least for the moment – Hester did her best not to appear shocked. Nevertheless she thought Ruby’s remarks were rather unsuitable for a funeral tea and was glad when Millie, Dick’s sister, gave Dick a significant look and sent Ruby to join the others in the parlour.

‘She’s got no sense of what’s right or wrong, that Ruby, if you ask me,’ Millie said quietly to Hester. ‘But no doubt she’ll improve if she stays with our Ted.’

Millie was a pretty, self-confident young woman in her mid-twenties and clearly very fond of her brothers. Hester thought her both kind and sensible and hoped that the two of them might become friends.

Despite the sadness of the occasion it had been a happy afternoon, but now, glancing at the clock over the chemist’s shop, she saw that time had indeed flown. She would get back to the shop in time to help Miss Deakin to clean down, though she was sure the older woman would have closed the premises to customers by now. Thanks to the vile weather, she doubted very much if Miss Deakin would have missed her and knew, in any event, that the older woman would dock her a day’s pay. And it will be no use reminding her that I worked
from seven right through till half-past two, she told herself, because it will only make her angrier. Better to simply accept the unfairness philosophically.

Hester had guessed right; she reached the shop at half-past six, in no state to start work immediately. Her wretched umbrella had blown inside out, snapping its ribs as it did so, and had had to be abandoned in the nearest litter bin. Wondering whether she would ever be able to afford another one, Hester had had to turn up the collar of her mackintosh and battle on without it. Now, soaked to the skin and with her hair blown into a mass of tangles, she slid into the shop and faced Miss Deakin across the floor. Miss Deakin did not look up and Hester decided to brazen it out. ‘I’m sorry I’m late, Miss Deakin, but I felt I could not abandon my friends immediately after the committal, so I returned to the house with the family and helped Mrs Bailey with the funeral tea. I’ll work overtime tomorrow, if that will …’

Miss Deakin looked up. ‘I telled you you was finished if you left the shop and I meant it,’ she said icily. ‘Get your things out of here and don’t bother to come back, because me sister Aida’s gal leaves school next month and I’ve already gived her your job.’

‘Very well,’ Hester said quietly. She reminded herself that she was underpaid and overworked and that Miss Deakin had always had it in for her, but this did not stop her heart from sinking. Searching for another job would not be easy. She did not doubt that she would find work eventually, but knew she might be unemployed for several days, perhaps even for several weeks, and the thought was a frightening one. Whatever happens, she must pay her rent and buy food. However, she put the thought
resolutely from her and went past Miss Deakin into the back room with her head held high. Gathering up her small possessions, she pushed them into her bag and returned to the shop. ‘Can I trouble you for my wages, Miss Deakin? I shall need some money to keep me going until I find another job.’ She hesitated, then, with some difficulty, swallowed her pride. ‘I – I believe it is customary to be given a week’s warning. If you intend to dismiss me at once, then surely I’m entitled to a week’s wages in lieu of notice?’

Hester walked slowly along the Scotland Road, so immersed in her own thoughts that she never even bothered to avoid the large puddles spreading across the flagstones. Her instinct was first to go back to the Stanny and get herself some decent dry clothes. It would not do to go job hunting looking like a drowned rat without even an umbrella to shelter her from the rain. But then she reasoned that only the desperate job hunted after six o’clock in the evening and in such appalling weather. Besides, she had promised Dick that she would visit the convent and try to see Lonnie. Accordingly, she set out for Stansfield Court, deciding as she walked that she would defer her job hunt until the following day. Reaching Number 10, she went into the hall and set off up the stairs, aware that she was dripping water at every step, but unable to do anything about it. Once in her shared room, she removed every stitch of clothing, rubbed her chilly body dry with a rough towel, and pulled her suitcase out from under the bed. Despite the fact that May had been a mild month, she felt thoroughly cold, so dressed herself from the skin up in what warm clothing she still possessed. Glancing towards the window, she saw
that the rain continued to fall steadily, occasionally gusting sideways as the wind caught it.

Once she was respectable, she gathered up her wet things and carried them down to the kitchen where she hung them over a clothes horse which she pulled as close to the range as she dared. Then, returning to her room for a dry jacket, as she had no second coat, she noticed that Eileen’s umbrella was still in its customary place. Clearly, the other girl had forgotten it that morning. I’m sure Eileen won’t mind if I borrow it, Hester told herself; my mackintosh is simply drenched. She knew it was not usually done to borrow umbrellas without first asking the owner’s permission, but she was desperate. She felt she must get in touch with Lonnie today because tomorrow she would be too busy job hunting to risk a protracted visit to the convent. Accordingly, she picked up the umbrella and made for the door and was halfway down the stairs when she was hailed by Roy Maskell.

‘Is that you, Miss Elliott? Wharra day, eh? It’s easin’ off now, mind, so if you’re goin’ to take a bolt out to the cinema or something, now’s the time to do it.’

Hester slowed as she reached the bottom of the flight and smiled at her landlord’s son. He was a pleasant youth, always friendly, but she really had no time to chat to him now, since she hoped to be safely sheltered at the convent before the rain started once more. ‘I’m not thinking of going to the cinema. I’m going to visit a friend … well, not exactly a friend, a child I knew rather well when I was in India. She’s at a boarding school in Liverpool, in the Prince’s Park area, and very lonely. I thought I’d go over there and perhaps offer
to take her out for some tea … something like that, anyway.’

Roy, who had just come in, took off his waterproof and hung it on the newel post at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Which school would that be?’ he asked, running both hands over his dark hair to flatten it. ‘There’s a grosh of schools in that area.’

‘St Catherine’s Convent. Know anything about it?’ Hester asked, pausing at the foot of the stairs.

Roy shook his head. ‘No, but I know a great deal about the film that’s on at the Commodore on the Stanley Road and it just happens I’m in the money this week; how about comin’ along to the picture house with me? I’ll mug you to fish and chips after.’

Hester sighed inwardly. This was not the first time that Roy had suggested she might like to go out with him and it was becoming increasingly difficult to turn him down without giving offence. However, on this occasion, she had a really good excuse. ‘Thank you very much, Roy, but I couldn’t possibly disappoint my young friend,’ she said primly. ‘Has the rain really stopped, or is it just a pause between showers, do you suppose?’

She walked towards the front door and swung it open. Roy, beside her, examined the sky with a critical eye. ‘I think the worst is over, at any rate,’ he was beginning, when someone shouted from further up the street.

Hester peered, then smiled delightedly; it was Eileen. Roy heaved a deep sigh and turned to go back indoors. ‘I see your mate’s here,’ he said resignedly. ‘So if you goes off with anyone, it’ll be with her. I were goin’ to offer to go up to the convent with you.’ He grinned ruefully at her. ‘Another time, eh?’

‘I’m awfully sorry, Roy,’ Hester called after his retreating back, then turned to face Eileen as the other girl arrived outside the house. ‘Oh, Eileen, am I glad to see you! So much has happened, you wouldn’t believe. I met up with Dick Bailey and his family at his father’s funeral. It meant taking time off, of course, and when I got back to the shop, old Deakin fired me. Then I got drenched coming home and my umbrella blew inside out and broke and of course my mackintosh was soaked … I’m afraid I was about to borrow your umbrella, but it looks as though the rain is over for now, so if you need it …’

‘Ole Deakin
sacked
you?’ Eileen said incredulously. ‘She’s that spiteful, the acid in her must have turned her brain. Heaven knows, she pays you little enough and you work all the hours God sends! Wharrever were she thinkin’ of? What’ll you do, chuck? Even if you marry that Dick, I guess you’ll both need to work for a bit.’ She tried to turn Hester back into the house. ‘I’ve bought some minced beef and a mound of spuds and onions to make a nice supper for us. Come and talk to me while I work.’

Hester pulled away. ‘I can’t. I promised Dick I’d visit Lonnie and I really must. As for marrying, you’re jumping the gun a bit, aren’t you? We’ve met for the first time after months apart so we’re going to have to get to know one another all over again. Don’t worry, I’ll tell you everything – we’ll have a good talk when I get back.’

Eileen shook her head. ‘No we won’t, because if you’re going out, I’m comin’ with you. A poor sort of friend I’d be if I let me mate, what’s just been sacked, go off by herself on such a miserable evenin’. Where did you say the kid was livin’?’

‘She’s at St Catherine’s Convent school on the Belvedere Road,’ Hester said diffidently. ‘It’s a fair distance from here. Dick said it was near Prince’s Park, so we’ll be able to catch a tram. Oh, I’m ever so grateful that you’re coming with me, Eileen, because I’m sure I’ll go to pieces if they try to stop me seeing Lonnie.’

An hour later, the two girls, both crestfallen and mystified, were making their way back along Belvedere Road in the direction of the tram stop. ‘Well, that were a wasted journey,’ Eileen said. ‘D’you think it were true, what that nun told us? That your Lonnie was bein’ punished for writing something rude on the flyleaf of her prayer book?’

‘Oh, I think so,’ Hester said, after some thought. ‘I don’t believe a nun would tell a deliberate lie, do you? And we know Lonnie ran away in the park so that she could speak to Dick privately, because he told me so. They’ve promised I can see her at four o’clock tomorrow, though.’

‘If you ain’t in work by then,’ Eileen pointed out. ‘If you gerra job, then you’ll likely be workin’ till six, or even later, same as wi’ Miss Deakin. Mind you, as they keep tellin’ us, we’re in a Depression, so mebbe it won’t be quite that easy to gerranother job.’

‘I’m sure it will,’ Hester said stoutly. ‘After all, I’ve had a good deal of experience of shop work now, and that was what stopped me from getting a better position the last time I was job hunting. Come to think of it, though, I’m supposed to be meeting Dick tomorrow evening, outside the shop. If I’m not in work, I’ll go up to the convent first, but if I am … oh, goodness, however shall I get in touch with Dick?’

*

Lonnie waited until all the children in her dormitory were asleep and then sat up and quietly reviewed the past dozen hours or so. She had been in the punishment cupboard for what had felt like a lifetime though, in fact, the nuns had released her shortly after the other children had finished their tea. Lonnie, who had missed all three meals that day, had been absolutely furious when the nuns ordered her to bed without so much as a piece of bread or a drink of water to satisfy what was now a considerable degree of hunger. But think of their faces tomorrow morning when they find me gone, she had told herself. Oh, they will be mad as fire – and worried too, I shouldn’t wonder – because they won’t catch up with me in a hurry now, not with a bit of money in my pocket and somewhere to hide myself away from them!

Having made up her mind to go, she slid quietly out of bed and began to dress. It was not a particularly cold night but the wind was still gusty, though the rain had ceased and the moon rode high in an almost cloudless sky. So better to wrap up as warmly as she could since clear skies could mean a frost before morning and for the time being at least she would have to manage without a coat or hat. The downstairs cloakroom was far too dangerous, what with having to descend the stairs, the creaking boards of which might easily give her away, plus the fear of meeting a nun coming away from or going towards one of the night offices. No, when she made up her mind to run away by night, it was simply because she had noticed the fire escape.

If it had been near her own dormitory window she might have made use of it before tonight, but it was not. However, to punish her for some sin, Abigail had recently been moved to another attic room and
it was when visiting her there (illegally of course) that Lonnie had first set eyes on the fire escape. It wound down from the attics to ground level and was a rather wobbly-looking edifice, but Lonnie thought it a good deal safer than the stairs. No one would dream that a child would risk an escape which meant descending its fragile-looking metal steps, especially at night, she was sure, so she set off, silent as a moth, along the corridor to Abigail’s room.

She inched the door open, suddenly full of a nervous fear that one of the girls within might be wakeful, but it seemed safe enough. Six little iron bedsteads with six little sleepers therein, she saw with satisfaction. Oh, and joy of joys, the sash window was slightly open, with wedges of newspaper holding it. Abigail had told her how those wedges fell out when the window was rattled by the breeze, so that the girls were forced to sleep through the constant creaking.

Lonnie crept forward and pulled out the newspaper wedges, then eased the window gently up. No one woke, or even stirred, and it was the work of a moment to slide out of the gap she had created and step on to the fire escape.

It was, as she had thought, somewhat wobbly. In fact, had she not been so desperate to escape, she might have judged it too unsafe. But though wobbly, it was not noisy. She began to descend the steps, gaining confidence with every moment, and presently was actually standing on the ground, breathing a little hard and considering her next move.

First, she decided, she must get as far away from the convent as she could, and she realised of course that she must stay out of sight. A child in convent uniform in this area would be instantly recognised for what she was, a runaway. But a mile away …
or two … it might simply be assumed that she was about her normal business. Though what normal business a child of her age might have on the streets after midnight she did not pause to consider.

If she had had time, she had meant to pinpoint a line with some clothing on it which she could take. Well, steal. Only it wouldn’t have been stealing but merely borrowing, since she fully intended to take it back just as soon as her father came for her. Unfortunately, however, she had jumped the gun and done her midnight flit without any real preparation. So she would either have to get far enough away from the convent for the uniform to mean nothing, or have to go amongst the smaller streets where there might be washing left on the line. The nuns sometimes walked their pupils through very poor areas and more than once Lonnie had eyed the lines of damp, greying washing and longed for the opportunity to ‘borrow’ something as a disguise.

As she considered these things she had moved away from the convent, flitting along in the shadows, glad for once of the dull brown of the uniform since it was far less conspicuous than blue, red or even green would have been. And presently she had a piece of luck. An ancient pram was propped up against a wall, the tramp who owned it being sprawled out asleep in a doorway with a bottle clasped to his chest. The tramp smelt and so did his pram but nevertheless Lonnie peered inside, half expecting to find a baby within. Instead, she saw newspapers, some split kindling, and a moth-eaten woollen shawl.

Lonnie’s fingers itched to grab the horrid garment but this really would be stealing, since no matter how you looked at it she would be unable to return it to the tramp when she no longer needed it. Then she
thought that he had probably prigged it in the first place, and then a little voice in her head said sagely: ‘Exchange is no robbery,’ and before you could say ‘knife’ – or even ‘thief’ – she was wrenching off her limp brown cardigan, pushing it into the pram, and extracting the shawl.

It was a long one, and very ragged, but it covered Lonnie completely, from her shoulders to the soles of her feet, and when she pulled it higher and draped it round her head she was pretty sure she was unrecognisable, not only as a convent girl but as … well, as a girl. Not even the hated Sister Magdalene would have recognised her in that shawl.

Lonnie was still draping the garment around her, wrinkling her nose against the smell, but realising that she would soon grow accustomed, when some movement or the slight scrape of her shoes on the pavement must have alerted the tramp to her presence. He lurched to his feet, muttering imprecations in a slurred voice, and reached out a hand to grab hold of her; it was so black that it almost blended with the night, save for his fingernails, which looked white in the gaslight. Lonnie, however, was too quick for him. Fear lent wings to her feet and she fairly flew along the pavement, twisting and turning along the narrow streets, determined not to be caught by the nightmarish figure of the filthy old man. The trouble was by the time she realised that the pursuit had faded into silence, she was thoroughly lost. With her heart still hammering and her breath coming short, Lonnie stopped and considered the situation. There was no need to fear the tramp any longer – she had got clean away – but the streets were empty and should a scuffer come along she would stand out like a snowflake in a coal shed.

The thing to do was to take shelter in some convenient passage or doorway, to curl up beneath her shawl and to sleep until morning. Accordingly, Lonnie dived down the nearest jigger and began cautiously to investigate the small courtyards behind the houses. It was not long before she discovered a tiny shed with a pile of potatoes in one corner and some sacks in another. The owner had locked the shed but had neglected to remove the key so Lonnie slid inside and made herself a nest on the sacks. For a little while she lay wakeful, thinking what a nice surprise the tramp would get when he looked into the pram and found her neat cardigan. Poor old man, he’d probably be able to sell it for – oh, a shilling – and then he could buy himself a nice meal. She had considered leaving him one of her precious sixpences, but prudence forbade it.

The thought of a nice meal reminded her of her own hungry and hollow state. She picked up one of the potatoes and rubbed the dirt off it, then took a large bite and was surprised to find it quite tasty after her long fast. She had noticed a tap in the yard but suddenly realised she was far too tired to go in search of a drink and snuggled down, promising herself that she would wake as soon as it was light and get some water then.

She did not truly believe she would sleep, but the long, uncomfortable day in the cupboard, followed by the extreme activity of her escape, proved too much for her, and very soon she did.

Lonnie awoke to broad daylight and movement. For a moment she could not imagine where she was, then she remembered and cast a terrified glance around the shed. Where should she hide? She jumped to
her feet and hurried across to the door, dragging the shawl around her as she did so, but even as she reached it, the door opened outwards and a large man, wearing a flat cap and very dirty overalls, came in. Lonnie supposed, afterwards, that his eyes were not accustomed to the dark, for he did not seem to see her but walked straight over to the potatoes, picked up a sack, and began loading the one into the other. He was whistling a tune beneath his breath and Lonnie slid out of the shed and was tiptoeing across the yard towards the back gate when a woman’s voice said loudly: ‘Who the devil do you think you are? Bert, there’s some thievin’ little bugger been shut in our shed all night. Here, you! I bet you’re laded down with spuds, ready to sell ’em to anyone for a few pence. Stop, thief!’

The last words were spoken as Lonnie shot through the gate and belted along the jigger, her heart once more thundering out its message of fear and pursuit. As she had the previous evening, Lonnie continued to run until she felt safe, then slowed to a walk. I’m making a real mess of this, she told herself severely, clutching the shawl around her and trying to look inconspicuous. I wonder where I am? It’s no use going to Elmore Street because there’s nobody there I know. I dare not go back to Shaw Street, though I’m sure Mollie would shelter me if she could, but that’s the first place they’ll look. I don’t know where Hester is – nor did Dick – so it’s no use expecting help from that quarter. If Dick hasn’t left for work I suppose I could go to his lodging in Priory Street, only I don’t know where it is and anyway, Mrs Beasdale might turn me away and I haven’t got enough money to go traipsing round the country if she sends me off. No, definitely the best thing for me to do is to go straight
to Wales, to that village Dick spoke of – Bwlchgwyn – find the cottage and cast myself on Mrs Bailey. I know she’ll help me because she’s a mother and mothers always help children, my
ayah
told me so.

Lonnie was a practical child with a keen, retentive memory. In the halcyon days before Hester had been wrested from her, she and her governess had often taken the tram down to the Pier Head and watched the ferries leaving for Woodside, so she was in no doubt as to her next move. First she must catch a ferry to cross the water, and when she reached Birkenhead she would search for the bus station. Dick had described the journey which he had intended to take on the morrow whilst they ate their tea in the café in Prince’s Park. Even then, she had realised that Mrs Bailey and the cottage would be a far safer refuge than the best of landladies. Besides, Birkenhead was only just across the water from Liverpool. If the police were informed of her defection, they might easily pass the word to Birkenhead that a convent child had gone missing. But Wales was a different place – they even spoke a different language – and Dick had said the cottage was remote, with few neighbours. From there, she could write to her father freely and tell him the awful truth about St Catherine’s Convent School for Girls. Rescue, she did not doubt, would swiftly follow.

It could not be said that Lonnie walked swiftly up the long lane which led to the cottage. It would be truer to say she limped slowly, for it had taken her a good twenty-four hours from the time of her escape from the convent to reach this particular point in her journey. She had made her way to the landing stage and had caught the ferry to Birkenhead Woodside
where she had asked a passer-by the way to the bus station.

This had been only a short walk, but when she got there she realised that yet another choice awaited her. She could either catch a bus at least part of the way into Wales, or she could buy herself one more meal.

She hung around the bus station for a little while, meaning to cup her hand and whine for money, for she realised she would be exceedingly hungry by the time she reached the cottage, but found her pride would not let her do so. She had grown to hate the shawl but realised that folk would more willingly help a pathetic little down and out than a child dressed neatly in brown gingham and sandals. So she had remained wrapped in the shawl and presently she was proved right when a plump young woman, emerging from the chip shop, saw the wistful way Lonnie was eyeing the portion she had just bought and gave her a generous handful.