Noel Streatfeild - Thursday’s Child

Margaret and Lavinia succeeded in sitting next to each other and in exchanging a little conversation.

‘The school’s nice,’ Margaret whispered. ‘Miss Snelston turned up Horry’s suit. Nobody can read as well as Peter. We are made to point to each word as we read it.’

‘I’m going tomorrow,’ Lavinia told Margaret. ‘My trunk is coming this afternoon and there are things in it I want to tell you about. I’ll have to wait until everybody is asleep, but I’ll come and talk to you tonight.’

Afternoon school was given up to the lighter subjects. First there was dancing, which Margaret loved, then there was two-part singing and finally drawing. ‘If only it was all school and we never had to go to the orphanage, wouldn’t it be lovely?’ Margaret thought, but soon school was over and Miss Jones was outside shouting ‘Get into line. One two. One two. No talking.’ Sadly, out of the corners of their eyes, the orphans watched the village children laughing and pushing each other about as they ran home to their teas.

For the orphans, work was not over for the day. After tea, which was a slice of bread and margarine and a cup of milk and water, there were what were called ‘tasks’. Some of the girls were sent to sew, others to the kitchen to peel potatoes. For the boys there was wood to cut and bring in and what was called ‘repairs’, which meant mending any piece of furniture which needed it.

The youngest children, of whom Horatio was one, were turned loose during this time to play. There were no toys in the so-called playroom, but the children managed without, so almost at once Horatio was seized on by two small girls who told him he was their little boy for they were going to play ‘Home’. ‘Home’ was an immensely popular game with the smaller children, who could spend hours pretending they were mothers and fathers – creatures few of them had seen.

Margaret, because it was an unpopular task, was sent by Miss Jones to the scullery to peel potatoes. This was supposed to be done in silence, but the cook and her assistant were out so only Winifred was in charge, and of course nobody paid any attention to her. Occasionally she squeaked:

‘Oh, be quiet, do. If Matron was to hear she wouldn’t half wrought me,’ but mostly she kept darting to the scullery door to hear what was going on, for she was only thirteen and had, before Matron took her on to work in the kitchen, been an orphan herself.

Margaret was holding the floor. Apart from the fact that she was new so no one knew her story, she loved an audience and knew how to keep them amused. Of course she told the story of her arrival in a basket, but on this occasion she added a few touches.

‘And every one of my baby clothes was embroidered with – what do you think?’ It was clear the little girls couldn’t think. ‘A coronet. And amongst my baby clothes was a beautiful diamond brooch.’

Susan was amongst the potato peelers.

‘Oh, Margaret, you are a fibber!’

‘I’m not then,’ said Margaret. ‘I’ll write to the rector to tell you it’s true. Then you’ll see.’

‘Who do you think you might be, then?’ another child asked.

Margaret had so often wondered about this she had dozens of suggestions to offer.

‘Well …’ she said, ‘I might be …’ From that night onwards Margaret was established as the queen of storytellers.

Margaret was almost asleep by the time Lavinia felt it safe to come to her bed. She brought with her two books, David Copperfield and A Tale of Two Cities .

‘These are Peter’s. I can’t get them to him as I can’t get into the boys’ dormitory. Anyhow, I don’t believe he’d know how to hide them. Could you?’

‘I can try. I made my tin box into my bed this morning and nobody noticed, but I don’t know if they look sometimes. Really I ought to get them to school, they can be safe in Peter’s desk.’

‘Well, do what you can.’ Lavinia put the books into Margaret’s bed. ‘He must have something to read. He’d rather read than eat. And here,’ she put a piece of paper into Margaret’s hand, ‘is my address. If anything goes really wrong get a message to me there. Perhaps that Miss Snelston would help, she sounds nice.’

Margaret rummaged round and found her tin box and opened it.

‘I’ll keep it in here. I may take this to school. I’ll see. It depends if they search our beds.’

Lavinia found and held Margaret’s hands.

‘Don’t run away, will you? It’s awful enough going off and leaving Peter and Horry, but if you weren’t here I think I’d die.’

‘I won’t run away without telling you, I promise you that. But you will come every other Sunday? Promise.’

Lavinia kissed her.

‘I promise, or at least, if they won’t give me every other Sunday, I’ll find another place to work. I can promise you that.’

‘Good,’ said Margaret. She lay down again and, hugging her box to her, she was soon asleep.

Lavinia drove away the next morning in an estate cart belonging to the Corkberrys. The children did not see her go as they were at school. The young man who drove the cart shouldered her tin box and, though Miss Jones saw her drive away, she neither waved nor smiled. It was a dismal departure.

Lavinia tried hard not to cry but she had to gaze out over the fields so the driver would not see that her eyes were brimming with tears. But if he could not see the young man guessed.

‘Don’t ’ee take on now,’ he said. ‘You’ll like it up to Sedgecombe Place. They be good employers, His Lordship and Her Ladyship. And the grub’s good – far better than you would get in that old orphanage. Cruel hard on the little ’uns they say that be.’

The driver told Lavinia his name was Jem and he worked with the horses. He was a cheerful youth and made Lavinia feel better.

‘Do you think I shall see Lady Corkberry today?’

Jem shook his head.

‘No – not her. There be a Mrs Tanner, she be the one you’ll see. She be the housekeeper. Bit of a dragon seemingly, but they say if you do your work right she’m fair.’

Lavinia’s heart sank. Would Mrs Tanner want to see if she worked well before she promised her every other Sunday?

‘Is it far from Sedgecombe Place – I mean from the orphanage? You see, I want to get back there on my time off, I’ve two little brothers there.’

‘Not far,’ said Jem, ‘maybe four miles – not more. Walk it easy, pretty walk too all along the canal bank.’

Lavinia looked round.

‘I can’t see a canal.’

‘Not from here,’ Jem agreed, ‘but this is canal country, it’s near here where the Shropshire Union Canal runs into the Staffordshire and Worcestershire Canal. I did ought to know for I was born on a canal boat.’

‘Were you? What made you leave it to work at Sedgecombe Place?’

‘The pneumonia,’ Jem explained. ‘Cruel sick I was and down at a place called Autherley my dad had to call the doctor. Well, there wasn’t no hospital near so the doctor told her ladyship about me and she fixed it so I was put to bed in the house. Well, when I was better like, the doctor he said I wasn’t to go back on the canal no more, so that’s how I come to work with the ’orses. I see me dad and mum often enough when they’re passin’. All the way to London my dad goes.’

Lavinia knew nothing about canals. She thought it very odd to be born on a boat.

‘Have you got a lot of brothers and sisters?’

‘Five. Tight squeeze it was when we was all there, but now my eldest brother he has his own boat and the next he give up same as me, then me two sisters got married so now there’s only young Tom left, eleven he is, he leads the horse – not the same one, of course, but the one they give you at the stables.’