The warm weak tea was a luxury normally confined to once a day at breakfast, when it accompanied a single inch-thick slice of bread and scantily spread jam, and the sight of it increased, rather than diminished, Sarah’s fear.
‘She’ll kill me, won’t she?’
‘No, she won’t kill you, lass.’
‘She will, she’ll kill me.’
And when Mother McLevy didn’t contradict her again - didn’t say anything, in fact, but merely looked at her, her face soft and pitying - Sarah shut her eyes tight.
Chapter Two
‘I find it hard to believe the events of this morning took place, Sarah.’
Sarah had only been in the inner sanctuary of Matron’s office once before, but knew from hearing the older girls talk that beyond this room was a separate sitting room and bedroom, and that both were furnished well, if not luxuriously. According to Fanny Brice, there was linoleum on the floor along with several large clippy mats, and both rooms had a fireplace in which a fire blazed most days, winter and summer.
The office leant weight to this story, its walls being a dove grey rather than the regulation duty green, and the small bookcase and large writing desk in heavy mahogany were of good quality, as were the two high-backed chairs which made up the sum total of the furniture in the small but pleasant room.
Not that Sarah was reflecting on the furnishings as she stood, white-faced and shivering, in front of the illustrious head of Hatfield Home, Mother McLevy having been dispatched before she had set foot inside the room.
‘Well?’ The tone was not encouraging. ‘What have you to say for yourself? I trust you can offer some explanation for your shocking behaviour? You are aware Mother Shawe is in a state of collapse?’
‘I . . . I beg your forgiveness, Matron.’ It was the stock response to any misdemeanour and had been drilled in to each child from day one at the institution.
‘Do you indeed.’
It wasn’t going to work, but then Sarah hadn’t expected it to. Cissie hadn’t been able to sit down for a week and had had all her meals standing up, sleeping on her stomach for nights and nights after she had been sent to Matron for sneaking a piece of lardy cake from the kitchen, when she had been cleaning the big open fireplace and blackleaded hob some weeks earlier. And what was pinching a stale old piece of cake compared to what she’d done?
‘You understand that such scandalous conduct must be severely dealt with, both as chastisement to you in the hope that it will persuade you from such wickedness in the future, and as a warning to others you may have corrupted?’
‘I - I won’t do it again, Matron.’
‘Indeed you will not, child.’ The words were more ominous for the quietness with which they were uttered.
‘She - it wasn’t my fault, not really. She said things—’
‘I am aware of what Mother Shawe said to you, and also how the matter started. You were being defiant, refusing to work at the task assigned to you—’
‘I wasn’t!’ She had committed another unforgivable sin. She had interrupted the Matron. Sarah stared aghast into the cold face, before gulping audibly and adding, ‘I didn’t hear her.’
‘You have a hearing impediment?’
‘No, Matron.’
‘Then I take it you were not paying attention, and the resulting fracas was the consequence of your disobedience.’
Sarah didn’t know what fracas meant but she was aware it didn’t matter one way or the other, it was all her fault and she was going to be punished. Her eyelids blinked rapidly and she felt the urge to go to the privy.
‘I am very disappointed in you, Sarah; very, very disappointed. ’ The figure behind the desk rose to her feet, her movements slow and measured. ‘You have been at Hatfield since you were an infant and there can be no excuse for your conduct. You are fully aware of what is expected of you, and this’ - she paused just long enough for Sarah’s stomach to turn over - ‘this
vicious
rebelliousness is an affront to God and man and must be purged from your mind and body. Go to the cupboard and open the door.’
Sarah’s eyes followed the pointing finger and she saw a cupboard built into the wall which she hadn’t noticed before. When she opened it, it was quite bare apart from a line of long thin canes, each one individually secured within its own niche and standing upright, most split slightly with small f issures.
‘Select one and bring it to me.’
‘Please, Matron, I won’t—’
‘
The cane, Sarah
.’
After swallowing deeply Sarah reached inside the cupboard and lifted a cane from its position, the bamboo breached and damaged in places, and brought it over to the desk. She had ceased to think, her mind numbed by the fear that held her in a paralysing grip.
‘Pull down your bloomers and bend over the chair.’ There was a funny little quiver in the Matron’s voice now that brought Sarah’s gaze shooting to her face, and she saw the strange colourless eyes were bright with anticipation.
She wanted to do this, she
wanted
to whip her bare bum, she was looking forward to it. The thought hit Sarah like a blow, revealing as it did something not quite right, something shameful about the woman in front of her whom she had been taught to respect and fear all her life.
‘Did you hear me, child?’
‘I’m not taking me drawers down.’ She didn’t know where the strength came from when her knees were shaking so badly she could hardly stand, but she couldn’t bear to expose herself to the avid gaze.
‘Don’t be foolish, Sarah, you are going to make matters worse for yourself.’
She didn’t care, she wasn’t going to take her drawers down for Matron or anyone else, it wasn’t . . . nice.
‘I’m waiting.’
‘I’m not going to.’
‘
You will do as you are told
.’
The terror was so great now it was pressing upwards in her throat, threatening to choke her, but still she didn’t move.
‘This is your last chance.’ The tone was soft but icy cold.
Her feet seemed to move over to the chair of their own volition and she paused, glancing over at the Matron again who was now walking out from behind the desk and round to the chair, before she bent over the high wooden seat, the chair-back against her right side and the top of her head touching the floor.
‘Your bloomers?’
‘No.’>
‘You will do as I tell you, do you hear me?’ Matron’s voice was a hiss and as Sarah felt a hard hand yank at her clothes, she brought her left hand round to hold down her smock, only to have it smacked violently away. As her smock billowed about her head she felt strong fingers tear at her red flannel drawers, and the certain something that had surfaced earlier, and which she had not known was part of her disposition until that day, rose again, hot and fierce. She sprang up and began to fight back, using fists and feet in between piercing screams.
A ringing blow across one ear, swiftly followed by another across the other side of her head lifted her right off her feet and brought her spinning round to fall across the seat of the chair, upturning it so it fell with her to the floor.
And then the Matron seemed to go completely mad, snarling like a dog as she brought the cane down with all her strength on any available piece of flesh she could reach, the wood whistling through the air with ferocious intent again and again as she vented her fury and frustration on the half-unconscious child at her feet.
That she would have killed Sarah but for Maggie’s intervention was in no doubt; as it was, Maggie could barely hold the enraged woman until help, in the form of two other Mothers, came running in answer to her yells.
‘
What on earth?
’
‘Hold her, hold her.’ As the two women took the Matron from her, Maggie bent over the whimpering little figure on the floor. ‘Come on, me bairn, come on, you’ll be all right.’ It was a ridiculous thing to say to the blood-splattered child, and even Maggie, who had seen more of the seamier side of life than she would have liked after her husband was killed in the Great War, and she was forced to eke out a living for herself and her child working at anything she could put her hand to, was white-faced.
‘What happened?’ One of the Mothers came to kneel beside Maggie, the other supporting the now sagging Matron against the wall.
‘What do you think?’ Maggie could barely speak for the anger that was filling her body. ‘You know as well as I do what she’s like with ’em, she gets pleasure out of inflictin’ pain. We all know it an’ we’re all guilty of turnin’ a blind eye an’ all, an’ this is the result. She’s near killed the bairn.’
‘She’s never gone this far before.’
‘No, but there’s plenty bin scarred for life, ’cept it’s where it don’t show. Well, enough’s enough, I’m not lettin’ this go, by all that’s holy I’m not. Look at her.’ Maggie had lifted Sarah into her arms as she had been talking, the contact causing the child to cry out in pain and then turn into the ample bosom as she moaned like an animal. Sarah’s smock had nearly been wripped off her small back, and she was covered all over in red and blue weals which patterned the blood-smeared skin with grotesquely raised ridges.
‘The child is wilful, she needs correcting.’
At the sound of the voice behind her Maggie swung round so quickly she almost dropped Sarah. The Matron was still leaning against the wall, but other than that slight show of weakness her appearance was the same as usual, all trace of the furious rage that had consumed her a few moments before gone, and her manner imperious.
‘Correctin’? You’ve damn near killed her.’
‘A slight exaggeration I think, Mother McLevy.’
‘Oh you do, do you now?’ The Matron’s countenance showed a vestige of unease as Maggie advanced slowly. ‘Well I suggest you take a good look at your handiwork an’ then say that agen if you can, you perverted swine, you.’
‘Well really! How dare you—’
‘Oh I dare, Matron, I dare.’ There was no heat in Maggie’s voice, but the flat weight of her words carried more menace than any show of anger could have done. ‘An’ I should have dared a good few years afore now, ’cept I needed a roof over me head an’ three hot meals a day, God forgive me. But this time you’ve gone too far. The bairn needs a doctor, an’ even Dr March can’t turn a blind eye to this.’
‘You are over-reacting, Mother McLevy. A hot bath and a few days in the infirmary will calm the child’s agitation, there is nothing wrong with her.’
‘She’s havin’ the doctor if I have to go an’ fetch him meself.’
For a moment they stared at each other in open hostility, and then as Sarah’s whimpering intensified the Matron made an obvious effort at conciliation. ‘I know you are particularly attached to this child—’
‘That’s nothin’ to do with it.’
‘Nevertheless, your attachment makes you anxious about her and that is commendable of course, even if it colours your view of the present situation.’
‘Oh I see, that’s your tack, is it? Well how about you, Jessie? Do you think the bairn needs the doctor?’ Maggie spoke directly to the woman who had knelt with her at Sarah’s side. ‘Are you goin’ to tell it like it is, or toady to madam here so’s she can whip another little ’un half to death?’
Maggie saw Jessie gulping in her throat, but she knew the woman’s history; a violent father followed by a violent husband who had punched her so hard when she was expecting her first child she had miscarried the infant two months before he was due to be born. It was something Jessie had never recovered from, so she wasn’t surprised when the other woman said, ‘I think . . . I think she needs a doctor’, although it was clear the Matron was taken aback.
‘Mother Bryant—’
‘You heard what she said an’ so did I.’ Maggie interrupted the Matron before she could say any more. She didn’t bother to question the other woman in the room - Lizzie Price was a bootlicker, she wouldn’t stick her neck out to save her own mother. ‘The bairn needs a doctor an’ she’s gettin’ one.’