The Quality Street Girls, page 27
The weight of the incoming paperwork became too much for social services to ignore. When word reached them that the stepmother of Diana had been taken into police custody that was the final straw; a representative was sent to check on the child. When the child was found with a neighbour who insisted in her old-fashioned way that Gracie would be better off ‘with the parish’ and that the sister wasn’t a relation by blood anyway and would be ‘glad if the social would take her’, the child was taken to the Calderdale Social Service department. Here she would await collection and processing, like a parcel returned to the sorting office owned by no one.
Diana returned home to find that her secret child had been stolen from her, and all the demons in hell would have quaked at the ferocity of her rage. Diana left Mrs Royd weeping in her shabby little kitchen and then ran at speed all the way to the Social Service office, adrenaline coursing through her veins like she had never known. The office was closed, and the lights were out, and after she had hammered at their door until her fists bled, she turned and ran to the King Cross police station.
‘It’s alright, Miss Moore,’ Metcalfe tried to calm the hysterical woman that he’d already spent so much of the day with as he led her back into the warm of the station. ‘She’s quite safe—’
‘But she isn’t with me!’ Diana burst out, looking around her for something to do, or something to throw. ‘Where is she? Tell me where she is?’
‘We don’t know,’ Sergeant Metcalfe said, honestly. ‘We just know that she was taken by the social while you were here, but we didn’t get word until after you’d left or we would have told you and tried to make them wait. I know it’s a shock, but—’
‘But what? There’s no buts; you just have to find out where she is so that I can get her back and get her back now.’
Metcalfe sympathised with the girl, but his hands were tied. ‘We don’t have the authority to do that.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well, she’s not a blood relation, is she?’ he said it slowly and tactfully, with no hint that he suspected the truth.
Diana was silent for a moment, a feeling like cold water running through her veins and starting at the back of her neck. She wanted to scream to the world that Gracie was her daughter and always had been, but six years of secrecy had made her wary of giving away the truth without first calculating the risks. If she did what she longed to do now, and blurt out all the truth, she would certainly lose her job, and Gracie might be taken away from her anyway because without Tommo and her stepmother there would be no one to pay the rent and no one to care for Gracie while Diana worked. This was the terrifying situation that Diana had always feared and it had finally come to pass. Now she knew that her best chance was to keep her mouth shut until she could come up with a plan. The thought made bile rise in her throat.
‘That shouldn’t matter,’ Diana whispered, her voice strangled with emotion.
Sleepless Parvin, the pencil-moustached newspaper man, leant against the painted brick archway in the outer corner of the room, quietly taking notes. He was so casual in his attitude that he was almost invisible; it was a skill that he had mastered over many years. He had called into the police station late that Friday night looking for a story, but he sensed that there was an injustice too. If there was anything that kept Parvin going in his lonely life it was the belief that investigative journalism could sometimes right wrongs. He listened without appearing to do so, and he remembered everything. To Sleepless this girl had the passion of a mother, not a concerned sibling, and he decided that he would discreetly see what he could find out.
‘No, give it to me, we’ll buy you a nice doll instead. Or a bear, would you like a bear?’ Mrs Roth was trying to wrestle a red ribbon from Gracie’s hand, but Gracie had a tight grip and wasn’t letting it go. ‘Mrs Vance bought you a tambourine, why don’t you play with that instead?’
Gracie was resisting and repeating over and over again. ‘Not today, thank you, nice lady.’
‘Leave her dear.’ Gwendoline Vance advised. ‘She’ll drop it soon enough. Children are always losing things. Now, shall we go on to buy the goose?’
They stood looking around them at the multitude of market stalls selling Christmas goods, and they didn’t seem to mind that they were getting in everyone’s way by standing three-abreast across the thoroughfare.
‘I thought I’d leave the goose a little later—’ Mrs Roth said.
‘Well, you don’t want to leave it too late, dear. They’ll all be sold. You want to get one now and hang it up.’
The stall nearest them was a riot of colour in luscious fruits and vegetables that were just begging to be taken home to grace a Christmas table. Beyond that were poultry dealers with fat, feathery birds; a stall with fir trees bound up in tight gauze like green teardrops ready to burst out of their stays. Off in the distance were stalls selling lovingly-made toys, potted preserves, fizzing drinks and all manner of delights. It was among these stalls that Diana had chosen to wander, with her head down and her collar up, passing the long and unhappy hours until the social service office opened on Monday and she could beg to know what had happened to Gracie.
It was two o’clock on Saturday afternoon, and the sun was low and red in the sky, like strawberry cream filling. Perhaps that was why they didn’t see her, but Diana saw them.
Frances Roth and Gwendoline Vance had been so excited at the arrival of little Gracie that Gwendoline had gathered some of her friends to her house to sew through the night so that Gracie would have a completely new outfit to wear in the morning. There Gracie stood, to Diana’s horror, holding the hand of Frances Roth, and dressed from head to toe in a miniature Salvation Army Uniform, exactly like that of her new foster mother. To see her in the custody of that woman was frightening enough, but the uniform in miniature caused her a special kind of chill, a promise of a life to come.
Diana did not wait for them to see her; she began running immediately. She was not far off, but there were several rows of stalls between her and her daughter, and weaving in and out of them was like running through a maze, but run Diana did. Trying to keep her eyes on her daughter she dodged past cheesemongers and florists, knocked over displays of produce and bumped into people carrying bags of oranges. As she stumbled forward to the place where she had seen Gracie, the girl was gone. She looked around frantically for a glimpse of the direction they had taken and chased up and down nearby lengths of stalls, but they had vanished. Mrs Roth had her daughter, and she was out of sight.
Diana returned to the spot where she had seen Gracie, and there on the ground beside fallen orange crates and tissue paper, was a tattered piece of red ribbon that Diana would have recognised anywhere, but she knew its little owner was long gone.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
‘He’s in ’ere an awful lot, isn’t ’e?’ the overalled woman nudged Mrs Grimshaw and pointed in the direction of the supervisor’s office, where once again the newspaper reporter was visiting Laurence Johns. The wall of the office that divided it from their factory workroom was nothing but panelled glass, and they could all see him looking with urgent concern at a file of papers that the newspaper man handed him.
‘It’s none of our business, although I’ll admit it looks worrying.’ Mrs Grimshaw had fit back into her old working routines so happily that she had to remind herself she wasn’t staying much past Christmas, and whatever this was it was none of her business. She was just there to clean up, set up, and wrap up. But still, they did look caught up in something that shocked Mr Johns and animated the journalist. Laurence Johns handed the file back to his friend and waved his hand as though to say that he had read enough, and then they both agreed on something. The journalist shrugged and then Johns waved him out. Mrs Grimshaw looked around and saw that all eyes in the hall were now furtively on the glass-paned office and the two men. It was just like the old days, she thought; none of them could resist wondering at the stories that went on behind closed doors, and like Reenie and so many other women before her, Mrs Grimshaw hoped she’d get to stay on longer than Christmas. This was all too good to miss.
Laurence Johns thought in his office for a few minutes and then decided that he had to send for Diana Moore.
‘This isn’t about the piece rate investigation; you’re not in any further trouble.’ Laurence closed his office door behind her and gestured to the chair in front of his desk.
‘Well, I didn’t think I was. I wouldn’t be talking to the Cocoa Manager if I was in trouble, would I? I’d be talking to Personnel or my overlooker.’ Diana had a point, Laurence hadn’t thought of that, but he had wanted to put her at her ease all the same.
They sat in silence for a moment; Laurence hesitating over where to start, Diana patiently biding her time as always.
‘You know, er … Diana … may I call you Diana?’
‘If it helps. Is there something you’re having trouble saying?’
‘Well, no … I …’
‘Alright, Mr Johns, let me help you out a bit.’ Diana thought she knew where this was going and she wanted to get it over with so that she could go back to work. Work was the only thing that helped her to forget what was happening to her. ‘I’m guessing you didn’t invite a packing girl here to talk about the cocoa growing people of the African colonies, and I know you didn’t invite me here to ask me to step out with you in the park come Sunday.’ She held his eye as she made that last statement to make sure that they were both clear that she was not a helpless damsel in distress, and that she would not be treated like one. ‘I suspect Lady Mackintosh has heard about my stepmother and our situation, as she hears about all the great tragedies among her husband’s workforce, and she wants to suggest some charity that might give us blankets or soup, and you have been nominated, as her particular friend, to suggest it to me. Is that about the size of it?’
What Laurence said next, he said gently and quietly, but it took the wind out of Diana, and she was left speechless. ‘I know that the little girl that you call your sister is your daughter and that Frances Roth knows it too, and she’s trying to take her from you. I’m sure it’s not because she cares about the little girl, but because she cares about winning out over you. I don’t know why, and I don’t need to know why, but I don’t like it.’ Laurence waited to see if Diana would try to deny it.
Diana began to wipe away tears that had taken her completely by surprise. She had been ready to say a sarcastic thank you to an offer of inadequate help, and then to get back to work. She felt like this softly spoken young man had seen the real her, and for the first time, she had no defence.
‘I haven’t told Lady Mackintosh. I haven’t told anyone; but yes, Lady Mackintosh is a personal friend, and I do have some influence with the family.’ Laurence moved around from behind the desk and drew a chair nearer to sit beside the troubled girl. Laurence reached for her hand, and Diana, shocked at what was happening, let him take it. ‘I want you to know that no one here would ever come between a mother and her child. If you were married it would be a different matter because then you would have a husband to provide for you and duty would keep you away from the factory. For the moment you need a wage and we will not prevent you from earning one here merely because you have a child. If it comes to it, I will personally involve Sir Harold, and he will make certain that you can keep your place.’
Diana was grateful, but she was beginning to see that this man was naive and that he offered false hope. ‘But I’m a fallen woman, Mr Johns.’ She said it as though it was her armour against the world; she knew what she was and it didn’t hold any shame for her anymore. ‘You’ve seen the world outside of Halifax, but you forget what people are like here at home. Every overlooker is going to complain that I’ll lead the other girls astray and put ideas in their heads, and you’ll try your best, but soon enough you’ll have to stand aside as they let me go with a reference and a week’s pay. It’s how things are. You’re a kind man, but you can’t stop it happening if they know what I’ve done.’
‘I can and I will. You’ll need a place to stay where both of you can—’
‘You are very, very kind, but I have to do what is best for my daughter. I have to protect her the way that no one ever tried to protect me. I’ve never told her that I’m her mammy because I couldn’t risk it; she’d have told someone at school and then word would have got out. Then I’d have lost my wage and she’d have gone hungry and barefoot, and that was when we had Tommo payin’ the rent. If I tell her now that she’s my baby what will happen later when we have to be separated? When I can’t earn enough to pay someone to mind her, feed and clothe her and keep a roof over our heads? It will break her heart. I’ll not do that to her Mr Johns; if it kills me I’ll not let her get hurt anymore. I’ve made my decision,’ Diana’s voice began to break again with emotion, but she gritted her teeth and composed herself. ‘I’ve decided that Gracie will have the best possible life if she’s adopted by a good family. A family where she’ll have siblings and toys and a doctor whenever she needs one; and lots and lots of love. I do need your help Mr Johns, and I do want you to speak to Lady Mackintosh for me, but I want you to ask her if she knows of a family who would adopt my daughter and keep her safe.’
Laurence was speechless. He’d never seen such ferocity and vulnerability and love; it was overwhelming. ‘You can’t … I mean that you shouldn’t have to—’
‘My mind is made up, Mr Johns. Gracie is a poorly little girl, and she’ll never be well as long as she has to live in the places that I’d be able to afford, if I’m lucky enough to afford anywhere at all. If you know a kindly, rich old man who wants a wife to cook for him and doesn’t mind her bringing an illegitimate daughter in tow then by all means I’ll take him; but I think that only happens in moving pictures, don’t you? I need to be realistic, and I need to act fast to get her away from Frances Roth. The Social won’t leave her with Frances if Lady Mackintosh recommends a family. They don’t have to be rich, they just have to be able to keep her well and happy.’
There was silence again. Laurence noticed that silence with Diana was easy. They could pause and take stock in each other’s company and neither one of them was racing to fill the gap with chatter. She was a rarity, and she was right.
‘I think you’re starting to understand Mr Johns. Sometimes you can’t have what you want, and you have to give up the one you love to keep them safe.’ Diana stood up to leave, smoothing out the skirt of her white overall to indicate that she was leaving the real her behind and returning to the battleground of work with her mask of apathy. ‘I want Lady Mackintosh to think that Gracie’s my halfsister. I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I believe that if her new family think I’m her sister, they’ll let me visit and write, but if they know I’m her mother they’ll want a clean break. When will you speak to her?’
‘Are you sure about this?’
‘As sure as I’ve ever been about anything, Mr Johns.’
‘I think you should call me Laurence.’
The nurses were turning on the lights over each patient’s bed as the sun over Halifax disappeared behind dark clouds. Heavy snow was on its way.
‘You’ll need to say your goodbyes to your sister quite soon, it’s time for her to get some rest.’ The kindly nurse touched Mary on her shoulder to gently encourage her to think about heading home for the night. Privately the nurse didn’t like the idea of the girl leaving it any longer or she’d be caught out in a blizzard, but that was none of her business.
Mary nodded to the nurse and then began tidying up the piles of brightly coloured magazines, get well cards, toffee wrappers, and general clutter that had piled up around Bess.
‘You can leave all that,’ Bess said contentedly. ‘I don’t mind where it is.’
‘I don’t want the nurses thinking we’re more trouble than anyone else, I’ll tidy up if you won’t.’
‘Oh, but leave me Harpers Bazaar where I can reach it, I like looking at the lovely actresses.’
Mary scowled; her sister had no concept of the difficulty of their situation and hadn’t once asked after anyone else. If only Reenie were here, she thought to herself; she would know what to do with her. But Reenie was no longer on hand because Mary had chosen to betray her to Mrs Roth for the sake of a job at Mack’s. Mary’s only consolation was that it would at least give her the chance to take overtime to pay towards the doctor’s bills and the cost of the new baby. The consolation was very slight.
At the thought of the baby, Mary decided it was finally time to pluck up the courage to ask the question that had been hanging over her for months. She clutched her tattered little purse to her chest for reassurance and crept like a frightened mouse over to the nurses’ station. The nurses were all busy with other things, but now that she had come this far Mary was determined to persevere and quietly ask the question that she had hardly dared to think of until now, let alone ask. ‘Excuse me, I’m sorry to bother you, but I wanted to ask about my sister and the baby. Is the baby going to be alright? It wasn’t hurt too, was it?’
The nurses looked up from their teacups, patient files, and textbooks. They were puzzled for a moment, but then one of them asked ‘What baby?’
‘My sister,’ Mary tried to whisper across the counter. ‘She’s going to have a baby.’
The nurse gestured to her colleagues that she would handle this one, and led Mary off to a quiet corner to explain. The nurses felt sorry for the girl and her sister; they were just kids, really, and it was rotten that they had to manage all this on their own. Where was the mother? They’d seen her once, and then that was only for five minutes to shout over the top of everyone.
‘Is it bad news?’ Mary felt the cold of anxiety as the nurse paused at the dark, far end of the corridor where they wouldn’t be overheard.
