Rosie (25 page)

‘I don’t know how,’ she admitted a little shamefacedly.

‘Then why don’t you learn?’ he suggested. ‘There’re often classes advertised. It doesn’t cost much.’

When they parted outside the café Thomas waited before walking back up Flask Walk, and watched Rosie dart nimbly through the traffic on Haverstock Hill. An unexpected lump came up in his throat, catching him by surprise. In her checked skirt and sweater she looked no different from any other pretty adolescent girl. She appeared so carefree, it was hard to believe that she was nursing such a huge, dark secret. He wondered who she would turn to when her father and brother were hanged, for it certainly couldn’t be him.

‘That’s not your problem,’ he told himself firmly as he turned away. But somehow he knew Rosie had dug herself a little place in his heart and he wasn’t going to be able to forget her that easily.

The shine seemed to have gone off the day after Rosie left Thomas, but she still looked in all the shops in Hampstead High Street, and made her way up to the heath as she’d planned. But sitting there in the sunshine by Whitestone pond, she suddenly felt utterly desolate.

There were women and children all around her, girls only a few years older than herself with babies in prams, other women playing with toddlers and a whole family with five or six children sailing boats on the pond. She could sense all these women’s happiness, and felt that not one of them had anything more serious to hide than maybe spending a little too much housekeeping money.

Until now she hadn’t thought beyond her father’s and brother’s trial. It was like a high fence blocking out the view. But all at once it was as if she could see over the fence, and she didn’t like what lay ahead one bit. Thomas was wary of being seen with her now, and she doubted he’d ever want to clap eyes on her after the trial. Just about every person in England would follow the court case, the names Cole and Seth Parker would go down in history and every detail of Rosie’s family and home life would become common knowledge.

It was all very well for Thomas to urge her to go out dancing and find herself a boyfriend, but had he for one moment considered what a potential minefield that might be? So maybe there wasn’t any harm in going out dancing with Linda and Mary. But just suppose she did meet a boy she really liked? What then? Should she carry on with the same story she’d told the girls?

Rosie felt desolate. Telling lies to keep a job was one thing, but she didn’t like the thought of deceiving someone if she grew to care about them. But who would want her if she told the truth? Looking even further ahead, no decent boy would want to marry into the Parker family.

She remembered how she had thought her father’s crime was like an indelible mark on her forehead. Now she knew Seth was involved too, it was far worse than that. It was like being a carrier of a hereditary disease; she might have no symptoms herself, but no sensible man would risk having children with her.

It was after six when Rosie got back to Carrington Hall. She used her key to go in the side staff door, and hearing Mary Connor’s laughter coming from the dining-room, she went straight along there instead of up to her room.

Mary, Linda, Brownlow and Thorpe were just having their tea. They all looked up at her as she came in the room.

‘Where’ve you been today?’ Mary asked.

‘To the library, then I caught a bus to Hampstead,’ Rosie replied.

‘Sounds fun-packed,’ Mary said with heavy sarcasm.

‘It was nice,’ Rosie said indignantly. ‘Hampstead is really lovely.’

‘Well, sorry if this is gonna spoil it for you,’ Linda chimed in, ‘but Matron wants to see you in her office. I think she’s bleedin’ well on the warpath.’

Rosie immediately thought of this morning’s events and her blood went cold.

‘What have you done?’ Mary asked, her blue-grey eyes widening.

‘Nothing that I know of,’ Rosie shrugged. ‘I suppose I’d better go and find out.’

‘Come in,’ Matron replied to Rosie’s tentative knock on the office door. By day this room was the domain of Mrs Trow who did all the administration work, but Matron had a habit of going in there around this time of day, the girls said to snoop on Mrs Trow’s work.

Rosie walked in and found Matron sitting at the desk. The office was very small, a partitioned-off part of a much bigger room which had no real windows, only a pane of glass looking out on to the staircase. A large desk with a typewriter took up most of the space, metal filing cabinets the wall behind, and crammed into the remaining space was a series of pigeon-holes, one for each patient, with medical reference books and stationery piled on top.

‘Bell said you wanted to see me,’ Rosie said from the doorway.

‘So I did, you disgusting wretch,’ Matron spat at her. She leapt out of her chair and caught hold of Rosie by the shoulder, dragging her in and kicking the door shut behind her before Rosie could even blink. ‘I’ve met some filthy girls in my time. But never one to equal you.’

‘What have I done?’ Rosie asked indignantly, wriggling away from the woman. She couldn’t think of anything which would warrant such a vicious attack on her.

‘This.’ Matron caught her by the neck of her jumper and dragged her towards a cardboard box on the floor. Flicking it open with one finger in a gesture of utter distaste, she pushed Rosie’s head down towards it.

Rosie gagged at the strong smell. It appeared to be two pairs of maroon uniform knickers, and a pair of blood-stained white ones. Surrounding them were four or five unwrapped soiled sanitary towels.

‘That’s nothing to do with me.’ Rosie jerked herself away from Matron. ‘Why should you think it was?’

‘Because I discovered them under your bed and you own several pairs of white knickers identical to those.’

Rosie was so shocked by the accusation she stared stupidly at Matron for a second.

‘Don’t gawp at me like that, girl,’ Matron roared. ‘Explain yourself.’

‘They aren’t mine,’ she said. In fact after a moment’s thought she had a feeling the white knickers were indeed hers and she also realized who was responsible for leaving such a disgusting collection for someone else to find.

‘Don’t lie to me,’ Matron hissed. ‘I know they are yours.’

‘I am not lying, and I do share the room in case you’ve forgotten,’ Rosie snapped back angrily. She could hardly believe that another girl would even think of helping herself to someone else’s knickers, but as angry as she was, she couldn’t actually bring herself to name names.

‘Just as I expected.’ Matron was red in the face now and her already close-set eyes looked like one dark slit across her nose. ‘You would try and put the blame on someone else. They are yours. Don’t deny it.’ She lifted her hand and slapped Rosie’s cheek hard.

Rosie’s temper flared up at such injustice. ‘I will deny it because it’s the truth,’ she shouted out. ‘I haven’t even started my periods yet, and how dare you slap me for something I couldn’t possibly have done.’

‘You liar,’ the older woman yelled back, picking up the box and shoving it into Rosie’s hands. ‘I’ll be reporting you first thing tomorrow morning to Mr Brace-Coombes.’

Rosie didn’t stop to think, but flung the box back at Matron, its disgusting contents spilling on to the floor. ‘Report me to who you like. But those things are not mine and if you want someone to remove them, find the filthy person they really belong to.’ She ran to the door and rushed out before Matron could catch her.

When Rosie burst into the bedroom a couple of minutes later, Maureen was sitting on her bed. Her head jerked up guiltily and Rosie reached her in two strides, slapping her hard across the cheek before the girl had a chance to move.

‘You can get downstairs and tell Matron who those towels and knickers belong to,’ she roared, so angry she was unable to control herself. ‘Go on, now!’

When Maureen didn’t move Rosie grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her until her teeth almost rattled and her glasses fell off.

‘Do you hear me?’ she shouted. ‘You are an animal, Maureen. You already disgust me because you don’t wash, and now you’ve left those stinking things there for Matron to find and get me blamed. And how dare you take my knickers and wear them? Haven’t you got any pride or decency? If you don’t go down now and tell Matron the truth, I’ll make such a commotion that every single person in this place will know how filthy you are.’

‘I’m s-s-s-sorry,’ Maureen stuttered through the shaking, her grey eyes wide with terror. ‘I didn’t say they were yours; Matron just assumed that and I was too scared to tell her the truth.’

‘I haven’t even started my periods yet,’ Rosie snarled. ‘But even if I had, I would never leave such things lying around, neither would any decent person. Now get down and tell Matron, or so help me I’ll swing for you.’

Maureen slunk out, giving Rosie a wide berth, her terrified expression saying that she preferred taking her chances with Matron to staying here for more punishment.

Once Maureen was gone, Rosie sunk down on her bed and began to cry. She was furious with Maureen and Matron, but even more horrified with herself for losing control. She’d never known she was capable of such rage, and it was just another reminder of the Parker blood running through her veins.

The door opened and Linda looked round it. ‘I ‘eard all that’ she said. ‘Good for you.’

‘Go away,’ Rosie said, struggling to compose herself. ‘This is a private matter.’

‘Suit yourself,’ Linda pouted. ‘I only wanted to say I admire your spunk. Me and Mary thought you had the makings of another bleedin’ doormat.’

It was over an hour before Maureen slunk back into the room bearing an angry red hand-print on her cheek where Matron must have slapped her. She was quivering with fright and clearly thought Rosie was going to lay into her again.

But Rosie had calmed down and her anger was now directed more at Matron than a girl who’d never been taught basic cleanliness. She had found her letter from Miss Pemberton had been read. The hair grip was gone, the letter put back in the envelope the other way round.

‘I’m sorry,’ Maureen whined and burst into tears. ‘We’re supposed to take them down to the incinerator, but I always forget. And I’m really sorry too that I wore your knickers, but I didn’t have any clean ones of my own.’

Rosie softened then. She could guess what Matron had put the girl through. Maureen might be much older than herself, but she wasn’t very smart. She took the girl’s hand and led her over to her bed.

‘It’s okay. I’ll forgive you. But you’ve got to learn about washing and stuff,’ she said softly. ‘It’s important. No one likes smelly people, it’s horrible. So you’ve got to do what I tell you.’

Later that night when the light was turned off, Rosie thought how ironic her situation was. Maureen really believed she came from a nice home, with a proper bathroom, and that a loving mother had given her all the knowledge on feminine matters that Rosie had passed on to her.

Rosie wondered what the older girl would think if she was to get a glimpse of May Cottage in the middle of winter when her father and brothers’ boots turned the kitchen floor into a sea of mud. If she saw them coming in late at night, drunk as lords, vomiting into the sink or even on the floor, or if she found herself on the receiving end of their foul language. She wished she could admit that most of her knowledge came from women’s magazines, that bath night for Rosie had been a tin bath on the kitchen floor, and that until a few months ago her knickers had been only suitable for rags and no one in their right mind would want to borrow them. Maureen had said too how much she admired her fancy table manners and Rosie almost laughed aloud. Mrs Bentley could take the credit for those!

After Rosie had made some tea and Maureen had had a bath, she’d opened up more about herself, telling Rosie about the man who had raped her and how she had ended up in a lunatic asylum. It was a harrowing story and one she guessed the girl had never told anyone else. It was so very tempting then to admit to her own background if only to point out that people could actually learn to live differently.

But she hadn’t, and she never would. One thing she had learned in recent months was that you shouldn’t put complete trust in anyone. Miss Pemberton, Thomas and Mr Bentley all invited trust. But Miss Pemberton had sent her here. For all she knew Mr Bentley might betray her later on if the price was right. Thomas seemed to have changed his mind about being her friend. She couldn’t trust anyone but herself.

Almost two weeks later and a whole week into her father’s trial Rosie discovered just how fragile her invented past was, and the dangers of letting people get too close to her.

It was Sunday evening and all the girls who were not on duty had gathered in the staff sitting-room after tea. Linda, Mary and Maureen were there, along with Gladys Thorpe, one of the nurses. The room was intended for all the staff but in practice it was only the younger ones who used it.

Present and past staff had done their best to make this room a cosy retreat by adding pictures, cushions and books, but their widely differing tastes and furniture which had been passed on by well-intentioned people when they grew tired of its ugliness or shabbiness, gave it a forlorn air. Bars on the window, a noticeboard with staff rotas and Matron’s many curt memos were a constant reminder that they were all almost as institutionalized as the patients upstairs.

Sundays seemed twice as long as any other day because for some reason for which no one could offer an explanation, the patients always played up.

There were theories: that there were fewer domestic staff on duty and therefore the chargehands were distracted by having to fill in for them. Because a vicar came and gave a service in the day room, or that this was the day visitors usually called and brought back to the patients vague memories of life before Carrington Hall.

Whatever the reason, there were always more puddles on the floor, messed pants, tantrums and fights. So when six o’clock came, all the staff coming off duty were too weary to do anything but flop into chairs and commiserate with one another. Fortunately Matron always went to Evensong, and rarely came home before ten because she had supper afterwards with a friend, so they tended to gather in the staff room drinking endless cups of tea and smoking cigarettes until minutes before she returned.